Cast the First Stone
Page 29
‘You may be surprised, shocked even, inclined to think that this is not fitting behaviour for your rector. I have no idea how you will react to this, but, as I told Fiona when I married her, I hadn’t always been a clergyman. I think she knew what I meant.’
For once, but for by no means the first time, Simon felt that he had the congregation in the palm of his hand. The rest of the sermon – not a long one – was about looking honestly at yourself and recognizing your own shortcomings instead of being ready to condemn others. In the Bible story about the woman accused of adultery there was not one person who had not done wrong – sinned against God or against another human being – at some time or another; no one who could, in all honesty, ‘cast the first stone’. So it was in our own time and circumstances. And it was only God who could see into the hearts and minds of men and women and know the truth about them.
‘Your rector, you see, is only human,’ said Simon in conclusion. ‘My wife and I trust that we will continue to have your support in all that we try to do . . . and your understanding of our human frailty.’
The final hymn was ‘Now thank we all, our God’, which was sung enthusiastically. Fiona stood with him at the door to say farewell to the people, as he had asked her to do.
Those members of the congregation who came, maybe, once a month rather than every week made no comment about Simon’s surprising sermon. They just shook hands with him and Fiona, all, however, with a smile and an understanding glance. There appeared to be no feeling of reproach.
Others, including Mrs Bayliss and Miss Thorpe, shook hands and said good morning quite civilly, but without any real warmth. Simon knew he could expect no other than that. Women like Ethel Bayliss would not climb down immediately from their high horse, but he had the feeling that they had got the message and that there would be no more unpleasantness for Fiona. After their failed attempt at stirring up trouble, he doubted that they would attempt to treat him in the same way.
Many of the folk smiled readily at their rector and his wife, saying how pleased they were about the forthcoming ‘happy event’, and hoping that all would go well for Fiona during her pregnancy.
‘You look positively radiant, my dear,’ said one of the ladies who attended each Sunday but who usually had little to say. ‘God bless you, and your lovely husband,’ she added, kissing Fiona rather shyly on the cheek. ‘We think the world of him,’ she whispered, ‘and of you, too.’
‘Thank you so much,’ said Fiona, humbly. She felt that this middle-aged woman, whose name she had to admit she didn’t know, was typical of most of the congregation. She began to believe that she and Simon would have the support and understanding of most, if not quite all, of the church folk. Simon’s brave admission might prove to have done far more good than harm, although she had wondered at first if he was making the right decision.
There were a few who were more outspoken, those who knew Simon and Fiona rather better than most people did.
‘My goodness, Simon – what a story!’ laughed Joan Tweedale. ‘You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’
‘Yes . . . Be sure your sins will find you out! It’s tit for tat, as my wife says,’ he smiled. ‘It was a shock,’ he added, ‘but it turned out to be a very pleasant one. He’s a grand young man. I hope that sometime – though maybe not just yet – I might be able to introduce him to all our friends at St Peter’s.’
‘Do you know,’ Simon said to his wife later that day, ‘so many people have asked me whether we want a boy or a girl; and I always say we don’t mind . . .’
‘So long as he or she is all right,’ added Fiona. ‘And it’s true, isn’t it? We don’t mind.’
‘I suppose, if I’m absolutely honest, I would have hoped for a boy,’ said Simon. ‘But I would never have said so, especially not to you, my love. But now . . . well . . . it’s turned out that I’ve got a good deal more than I bargained for. A grown-up son of twenty-one! I always thought that God had a sense of humour!’
Epilogue
Fiona gave birth to a baby girl on the Sunday evening of December eleventh, which was the third Sunday in the season of Advent. Simon took her to the hospital in the early hours of the morning. She knew that he must, of course, preach at both services as there was no visiting preacher that day.
He dashed to the hospital after the morning service, hoping to see his wife and, possibly, the new arrival. He was told, however, that she was in the labour ward, and that it would be better for him to go back home.
He was inundated with good wishes for Fiona at the evening service. He said a prayer for her safe delivery, knowing that every member of the congregation was praying with him.
He lost no time in driving, for the third time that day, to the hospital.
‘Mr Norwood, you have a baby daughter,’ said the smiling nurse who led him into the single room, where Fiona was sitting up in bed with the newborn child in her arms. She smiled radiantly at him. ‘It’s a girl, Simon!’ He could tell by the elation in her voice that it was what she had, secretly, been hoping for.
He kissed her lovingly before gently moving the soft woollen shawl aside to look at his little daughter. She was sleeping, but as he gazed at her in wonder she opened her eyes – a bluey-grey indeterminate colour – seeming to look straight at him. Her hair was a feathery golden down, the same shade as Fiona’s, on her perfectly shaped little head. Her mouth was a tiny rosebud and her cheeks tinged with the palest pink. Simon was sure there could never have been a more beautiful baby.
‘She’s so lovely, darling,’ he whispered.
There was a window opposite Fiona’s bed, and the curtains were not fully closed. In the dark-blue velvety sky a single star was shining, brighter than all the others.
‘The evening star . . .’ mused Fiona. ‘It might not be, of course, but it seems like it to me.’ She turned to her husband. ‘I’d think I’d like to call her Stella,’ she said. ‘That is . . . if you agree.’
‘I think that’s perfect,’ said Simon. ‘Our very own little star. Thank you, my love . . . for everything.’
He was aware, though, of just a glimmer of sadness in his wife’s demeanour, together with the joy. He sensed, rather than saw it in her face. He knew she must be remembering the first little girl to whom she had given birth.
He had found his son, although Gregory had been unknown to him. Simon made up his mind, in that instant, that one day, if it was his wife’s desire, they would try to find her daughter.