by Kate Hewitt
“Baby clothes would be good,” she said, trying to sound casual and failing as her voice choked halfway through. A beat of stunned silence, and then her mother and sisters erupted into cheers and whoops of joy as they all clustered around her, hugging and kissing her and talking to her bump.
“I’m so happy,” Ruth said, and then grabbed her by the shoulders to stare sternly into her face. “This is what you want, Miriam? Truly? You’re not doing this out of some misguided sense of responsibility or pressure from us?”
“No, I’m not,” Miriam answered, “and yes it’s what I want.” And with those words a sense of peace settled on her like a blanket of freshly fallen snow. “Yes,” she said, more firmly this time. “It really is.”
Chapter Twelve
“You look beautiful.”
Ruth dabbed her eyes with a little laugh as she shook her head. “Look at me, crying again. I’m such a ninny.”
“You’re the mother of the bride. You’re allowed to cry.” Esther took a swipe at her own eyes. “And Miriam and I are pregnant, so we’re allowed to cry. It’s just Rachel who has no excuse.”
Rachel let out an incredulous laugh as she blew her nose. “I’m always hormonal, and this is a big deal. I’ve given myself full permission to blubber like a baby.”
“What about me?” Anna said as she dabbed her eyes, being careful of her freshly applied eyeliner and mascara. “I’m supposed to be radiant, not panda-eyed.”
“You are, darling, you are.”
Anna took a deep breath and then gave her sisters and mother a watery smile. “I wish Jamie were here.”
For a moment they were all silent, remembering the brother they’d lost when he’d been only ten years old, in a car accident on Thornthwaite’s high street.
At least, Miriam knew everyone else was remembering him. She couldn’t, because she didn’t have any memories of Jamie. Not one, no matter how hard she tried to think back, to conjure some phantom image of memory from the depths of her mind. Nothing ever came.
“He’s here in spirit,” Ruth said robustly. “In our hearts. And we’ll see him again one day, in heaven.” She blew her nose again. “Right, we’d better get on with the photographs if we want to make it to the church in time.”
The last week had been a whirlwind of wedding and Christmas events, from a bridal shower for Anna at a teashop in Keswick, to the midnight Christmas Eve service, with the first snow falling as they stepped outside.
Christmas Eve had been the first time Miriam had been in church since her parents had left Thornthwaite, and she’d been humbled by everyone’s unreserved welcome.
She’d been given two more bags of maternity clothes by women she only knew by sight, and another woman had told her she had several packets of nappies spare that she’d drop by the vicarage for Miriam to pick up. Several people had given her impromptu hugs, including Dorothy of the maternity clothes, whom Miriam had finally and profusely thanked. In return Dorothy had promised to bring another bag of clothes by, and some baby things, as well.
Oh, there had been a few speculative glances and side-eyes, but it hadn’t been nearly as bad as Miriam had thought it would be, and it had left her feeling that she should have gone back to church a lot sooner.
Of course, there was the whole matter of belief.
Christmas had been lovely too, despite the few strange tussles between Anna and Ruth, which no one seemed to know how to handle. The girls had all their jobs since the year dot when it came to Sunday roasts or Christmas dinners—Anna did the Yorkshire puddings, Esther the green veg, and Rachel the pudding. Miriam, being the youngest and without culinary skills, had set the table, learning how to twist the napkins into fancy shapes. Jamie, she knew, had lit the fires in the living and dining room, but she didn’t remember it.
This Christmas, however, it seemed as if her mum didn’t have a job. Instead of chief organiser, master chef, and Mistress of All Things, she could be found wringing her hands or seeming to be in the way of someone else.
Anna had bought the roast, and planned the side dishes, and even made a Christmas pudding, way back on Stir-up Sunday in November, when she’d been visiting for the weekend. Ruth ended up peeling potatoes, looking slightly morose.
“I feel badly,” Anna whispered as she brought a dish of cranberry sauce into the dining room where Miriam was attempting to twist napkins into elegant swan shapes. She seemed to have lost the knack. “I feel like…I don’t know…as if I’ve put Mum out of a job.”
“Well, you have, a bit,” Miriam returned as kindly as she could. “I mean…you’re the next vicar’s wife, not Mum.”
“But it’s so strange.” Anna bit her lip. “And the reason I did all this is because I’ve been trying so hard to be an amazing vicar’s wife like Mum was. But I didn’t expect to hurt her feelings. I wanted her to be proud of me.”
“She is proud of you, Anna, and she would be even if you hadn’t made your own Christmas pud—which I must say is something I will never do.” Miriam tried to coax a smile from her sister. “But I don’t think this is really about you. It’s about Mum having to let go of who she was when she was here.”
“I thought she was happy in China—”
“But this isn’t China. Thornthwaite holds memories for all of us, and the vicarage especially.”
Anna smiled and shook her head. “When did you get so wise?”
“I’m just making it up as I go along,” Miriam said with a laugh.
“No, you’re not,” Anna told her with a quick hug. “This is the real deal, Miriam. Thank you. What you said helps.”
They managed to regain their equilibrium as a family during Christmas dinner, and Anna asked Ruth to bring in the pudding, which Miriam thought was a nice gesture, and one she saw her mum appreciated.
After dinner, they opened presents, which had always been the family tradition: stockings beforehand, presents afterward. Miriam came away with an impressive collection of baby clothes in various shades of pink, with a few lavender and mint green items thrown in. Every tiny outfit made her realise, with a thrill of both excitement and terror, that this was real. She was going to have a baby. She was going to be a mother.
Anna invited Miriam to stay over on Christmas Day, but Miriam declined, realising she actually wanted to be back in her own cosy little house—and she wanted to see Dan. It had saddened her somehow, that he wasn’t part of all the festivities. It felt a little bit as if he’d been neatly cut out of the Holley family picture, and no one even seemed to notice.
As she walked up the lane, she peeked in through the French windows as had become her custom, and she saw Dan watching telly on the sofa, a beer in hand.
She knocked on the window, and he looked over, gesturing for her to come in as he rose from the sofa.
“Miriam! Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas.” She’d seen him briefly at the midnight service last night, but she’d been so busy at the vicarage all day she hadn’t caught sight of him since. “How did you spend the day?”
Dan shrugged, smiling. “Mostly just watching telly and eating what I like.”
Which sounded terribly lonely. “Is that how you usually spend Christmas?”
“Yep.” His voice was light, deliberately so, and a guarded look had come over his face. Miriam understood it now; he didn’t want her feeling sorry for him. She understood that, all too well.
“That sounds heavenly, about now,” she said as she flopped onto the sofa. “I’ve had enough of family nosiness and banter to last me for a good long while, lovely as it all is.”
“You Holleys always did like a good argument.”
“Yes, we seem to.” Her heart twisted as the loneliness of Dan’s Christmas hit her afresh—no stocking, no presents, no tree even. It was just like any other non-working day. “How did you spend Christmases before your mum died?” she asked.
Dan blinked, looking startled, discomfited. “The usual way.”
“Tell me.”
He hesitated, his gaze distant as he marshalled his memories. “There was always a stocking at the end of my bed,” he said slowly. “With an orange in the toe. Because that’s the way my mum’s family did it, and so she did it, as well.”
“Sounds nice,” Miriam murmured, not wanting to break into his memories; he seemed transfixed.
“And cinnamon buns on Christmas morning…homemade, with loads of icing. I’d wake up to the smell of them. After I’d opened my stocking and had a cinnamon bun, we’d get ready for church, and then open presents afterwards. Christmas dinner was always a beef roast, and we always had pavlova for dessert because my mother didn’t like Christmas pudding.”
Miriam couldn’t help but notice that Dan’s father didn’t get much of a mention in any of his memories, and whenever he spoke about him, he tensed up. Miriam couldn’t remember his father… He’d died right around the time she’d left home, but he hadn’t featured in her life at all before then.
“That sounds like a really good Christmas,” she said quietly.
“It was.” Dan was still gazing into the distance, looking a little sad, and Miriam didn’t know whether it had been a good idea or not to ask him to remember. Sometimes memories hurt. He turned back to her. “But those Christmases stopped a long time ago.”
“When your mum died?” He nodded, and Miriam asked cautiously, “Why? I mean, I understand, of course, but you still had your dad…”
“My father wasn’t much of one for holidays. Or for anything, really, besides work, especially after Mum died. Before, he was…happier, I suppose. But after he just sort of…shut down. Made work the most important thing. The only thing.”
And Dan had been all of ten. “That doesn’t sound like a great way to grow up.”
Dan shrugged. “I had a good childhood, before.”
“Still.”
“No one’s life is perfect, Miriam. Look at your family, with the loss of your brother right in the middle of it.”
“Yes.” She paused. “But that never really affected me, since I don’t remember him.”
“Death and grief always affect you,” Dan said quietly. “Even if you don’t realise it.”
“Maybe.” Miriam was silent for a long moment, reflecting on that. Maybe part of her rebellion and anger growing up, her air of sulky defiance, had been related to Jamie’s death. Maybe she’d acted out because she was the only one who couldn’t remember. Who felt different. Alone, somehow. “Maybe,” she said again.
Dan patted her hand. “This is all getting a bit deep for Christmas, isn’t it? And here I was, in the middle of watching Home Alone.”
She laughed then. “Not really.”
“Absolutely.” He clicked the remote, and the film burst onto the screen with a cackle of sound. “The bad guys are just about to get it.”
“I actually love that part.”
“So do I.”
He didn’t ask her to stay, and she didn’t ask if she could; she just settled in to watch the rest of the film, laughing at the silly bits with Dan and then finally uncurling herself from the sofa, reluctant to return to her empty house.
“Thanks for that. I think some mindless comedy was just what I needed.”
“Anytime, Miriam.”
He looked so serious, so intent, that for a millisecond Miriam’s breath caught in her throat. Then she realised she couldn’t get up from the sofa without help, thanks to the fact that she was turning into a whale. With a laugh, Dan pulled her up.
“That’s getting harder to do.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Not long now, though.”
“No.” Her heart raced at the thought. Only five more weeks to go, and she didn’t feel remotely ready. But then maybe you never did.
She said good night, and Dan saw her to the door, and the normality they’d enjoyed for the last few weeks returned. She was such a numpty for thinking treacherous romantic thoughts even for a second. She really, really needed to stop doing that.
*
A couple of days later, feeling even more like a beached whale in her bridesmaid dress, Miriam started thinking about Dan again. He was coming to the wedding… Would he ask her to dance? Just as a friend, naturally, but still.
But still what?
“It’s time to head to the church,” Esther announced as she came into the bedroom. “Simon’s arrived.”
Poor Simon had been kicked out of the vicarage for his last night as a bachelor, and had stayed with a parishioner so Anna and her family could take over their old house, and have photographs of them in all the familiar places—Anna coming down the sweeping staircase; the bridesmaids in front of the fireplace in the front room. It had all been beautiful, and also emotional.
Now Miriam stepped out with her sisters and mother, Anna and her father coming a bit behind, into the clear, cold sunshine of a perfect winter’s day. Everything glittered.
Miriam took her place in the line-up of bridesmaids, with Rachel and Esther. Ruth kissed Anna’s cheek before being escorted into the church by one of the ushers, a friend of Simon’s from theological college. The church bells, which had been pealing continuously for a quarter of an hour by the church’s assiduous bell ringing team, fell expectantly silent.
From within the church Miriam heard the strains of organ music—“Praise My Soul, The King of Heaven.” One of their parents’ favourites, and most likely Anna and Simon’s, as well.
“They’d better get a move on,” Esther muttered. “It’s freezing out here. And I need a wee.”
“You just went five minutes ago,” Rachel protested, and Esther gave her a sniffy look.
“I’m pregnant. Five minutes is a long time for my bladder.”
“And mine,” Miriam said. “Considering I’ve got a six-pound baby sitting on it.” Esther snorted with laughter, and Miriam smiled. She hadn’t joked or even talked about her pregnancy much, because it had felt so forbidden, the elephant everyone stepped around. Now that she knew she was keeping this baby, it felt allowed. It felt good. She laid one hand on her admittedly massive bump.
Then Esther was starting in, followed by Rachel. Anna had chosen not to have a maid or matron of honour, insisting all three sisters should have that role. Finally it was Miriam’s turn, and with a last smile for Anna, she started down the aisle of the church, her head held high, her gaze straight ahead.
It was a very public thing, she realised, to walk down the aisle with every single gaze trained on her, especially when she was nearly eight months pregnant and hadn’t been the most consistent of churchgoers for about five years. Also especially when most of the congregation had seen her in nappies or worse.
As Miriam walked her gaze moved along the pews, seeing many familiar faces but searching for one. Dan. She felt a sudden, deep need to see him, to have him smile at her. And then, just as she was reaching the end of the aisle, she saw him—and he did smile at her. Her heart swelled, and then she noticed the woman sitting next to him, young and attractive in an athletic sort of way, and Miriam watched as she leaned forward and whispered in Dan’s ear. Dan turned and smiled at her, whispering something back.
Miriam nearly tripped on the hem of her gown. She made it to the end of the aisle and turned around to face the church doors, her mind and heart both reeling. As the organ music swelled and Anna started down the aisle on her father’s arm, one thought was pulsing through Miriam’s stunned mind.
Dan had brought a date.
Chapter Thirteen
It shouldn’t surprise her, Miriam told herself as Anna came down the aisle, looking lovely and ethereal and so very happy. It certainly shouldn’t faze her. So, Dan had brought a date. So what? It made sense that he’d want a plus-one when he was facing the entire Holley family for the first time since his broken engagement. The fact that he’d never mentioned it to her didn’t mean anything, either. Why should he? He might be her boss, her landlord, her friend…but she didn’t lay claim to all his thoughts or plans.
She
certainly shouldn’t be feeling this disappointed. This…heartbroken. No, that was too strong a word, surely. She wasn’t heartbroken. It wasn’t as if she was in love with Dan Taylor, far from it. He’d just been kind when she’d needed a friend, and her reaction now was making her realise she’d started to depend on him a little too much.
This was a wake-up call, Miriam decided. She needed to expand her social circle, make a few more friends now that she knew she’d be staying in Thornthwaite and living life as a single mum. No more weekend evenings curled up on Dan’s sofa watching the latest series on Netflix. Although it wasn’t as if she was going to be painting the village red, in her condition, or later, with a tiny baby in tow.
“Simon, repeat after me.”
With a start Miriam realised she’d missed half the wedding ceremony. She focused on her father, who, after escorting Anna down the aisle, had switched places and was now performing the marriage. She forced herself to pay attention as Simon and Anna both repeated the sacred, ancient vows.
“To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law, and this is my solemn vow.”
The words reverberated deep inside Miriam; this was serious, sacred stuff. She wondered if she would ever make such an important promise. If she would get the chance.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
A smile broke across Roger’s face like a wave crashing on the shore, and Anna and Simon started grinning at each other like a pair of loons. A whoop went up from the congregation, and then scattered applause.
“Kiss her!” someone shouted, and so Simon did.
Miriam wondered if she would ever feel as happy as they so obviously did. Unable to keep herself from it, she searched the pews once more for Dan. He was smiling at his date.