by Jenny Frame
“Wow, going from that to a slow, quiet village like Axedale must be a big shock to the system.”
“It was what I needed to do.” Finn didn’t want the conversation to veer into why she was here, so she asked Quade, “What do you do here, Quade?”
“Well, I run my farm, and I’m also assistant estate manager at Axedale Hall. Have you seen Axedale yet?”
“I just passed by the gates. It looked beautiful from what I could see.”
Quade smiled proudly. “It is. The village is so proud of the estate. It’s undergone a lot of refurb work since the countess inherited.”
Finn had heard that Axedale had an interesting owner. “What’s this countess like?”
“Harry? She’s a good friend. She and the village had some rough times when she first inherited the title. There was a lot of bad blood between Harry and her late father, but then she fell in love with her housekeeper, Annie, and she helped Harry fall in love with the village and the estate.”
Finn smiled. “Sounds like a fairy tale.”
“Yeah, a bit of a beauty and the beast love story, but Annie tamed the beast.”
Finn couldn’t help but laugh at that description, and then the guilt she had momentarily forgotten churned inside her.
I have to get out of here.
Quade continued, “It really was. Bridge praises Annie’s name because she even got Harry to come to church.”
“The vicar?” Finn doubted Quade would be so friendly towards her if she knew what Finn had done that afternoon.
“Yeah, Bridge is Harry’s best friend. They went to school together, but they chose very different paths in life. Bridge is so happy Harry found love.”
Just then, the pub door opened and Bridge walked in. Their eyes met, and Bridge walked straight back out. Finn didn’t have the strength to follow her.
“That’s not like the vicar,” Quade said.
Finn sighed. “It’s my fault. I upset her today.”
“Bridge is a very forgiving person. Just go and talk to her.”
“I don’t think it’ll be quite that easy. I’m not ready to be around people, Quade. I hurt them. I’m sorry. I’ll get you another pint and head home.”
Chapter Five
Bridget set off from the vicarage to start her day at the church. Bridge liked to start her day early. Her morning walk was peaceful, a time to contemplate and pray. She felt so tired this morning. Last night she could barely sleep with thoughts of the past, and when she did doze off she dreamt of the past.
If only Harry had been here to talk to. She would have understood—she was the only link to her past. Bridge knew the only way to find peace and solace was in her work, and in God, and so she hurried down to the church. As she walked through the high iron gate to St. Mary’s church, she heard the comforting sound of Mr. Butterstone on the church organ. Now that he was retired, he always came early to get a head start on practicing the next week’s hymns and church music.
Bridge walked through the graveyard at the front of the church and made her way to the back door, which led to her office. Her secretary Janice Street, a middle-aged woman who had dedicated her life to the Church, was waiting for her.
“Good morning, Vicar. How are you today?”
Bridge hung up her biker jacket on the coat stand and sat at her desk. “Very well, Jan,” she lied. “Any messages for me?”
Jan brought over her writing pad. “Ten phone messages, and a lot of emails have come through to you.”
Bridget was always drowning in messages. Administration was a huge part of the modern vicar’s role, giving her less time to do what she really wanted to do, minister to her flock.
“Oh, and this is the post for today.” Jan handed over a large pile of letters, the top one of which was from the bishop.
Bridget couldn’t deal with Bishop Thomas Sprat this early in the morning, so she put his letter to the back of the pile.
“Could I get some coffee, Jan. I’m having trouble getting going this morning,” Bridge said.
“Of course, Vicar. I won’t be a jiffy.”
Jan headed to the church hall kitchen, and Bridge sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. She’d started drifting to the sounds of the organ music gently filtering through to the office, when she heard a shuffling. Her eyes sprang open and she saw a note had been slipped under the door.
She got up quickly and picked up the note. I would like to talk to you about yesterday. Meet me at the bench on your walk tonight, and I will explain.
Bridge’s anger and annoyance had dissipated somewhat from yesterday, but it still hurt that Finn would use her grief to make a point. When Bridge was in the moment, it was easy to believe Finn’s performance was real, but as reality settled in, she realized it must have been some sort of trick. How Finn got that information, she would never know, but at the very least maybe this could be a catalyst for Finn opening up to the village. It was Bridge’s calling to forgive and she would always give people a second chance.
That evening, after her day’s work, Bridge set off for her walk, and as she reached the brow of the hill, she saw Finn waiting for her on the bench.
“Evening,” Bridge said as she sat down next to Finn.
She could feel Finn move a few inches away from her on the seat, already trying to keep her distance, even though she was here to apologize. Finn was definitely hard work, and had no intentions of giving up the chip on her shoulder anytime soon.
“Hi,” Finn said, meeting her eyes only briefly before returning her gaze to the view. “Thank you for coming. I want to make things right…about yesterday. Although I was annoyed with you, I shouldn’t have used my skills and techniques to fool you and upset you.”
Throughout the whole explanation, Finn never looked at her once, and that, coupled with the half-hearted apology, made Bridge’s vow to forgive Finn start to weaken by the second. Her skills? Finnian Kane’s arrogance showed no sign of dissipating.
“Well, I think I can honestly say I’ve never had such an apology in my life. So basically, you’re not sorry because I deserved it?”
Finn whipped around to look at her, surprise and anger in her eyes.
“What? I go to all the trouble of inviting you here to make things right, even though you walked into my house like a trespasser, and you won’t accept my apology?”
In that one sentence she realized why Finn had invited her up here. Everything was on her terms. She could have quite easily knocked on her church office door and spoken to her there, or come to the vicarage, but she didn’t.
“You think it’s that easy? You think you can give me your directions to come and have your apology bestowed on me? That might work on your entourage who follow you around, hoping you’ll bless them with your attention.” Bridge leaned in closely to Finn’s shocked and angry looking face and breathed, “Well, that doesn’t wash with me, Magician. You can take your conjuring tricks and stick them where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Bridge immediately got up and started to walk away. She smiled to herself when within a few seconds she heard Finn’s footsteps catching up with her.
“Hey, don’t walk away from me, Vicar.”
She kept up her pace and didn’t look back. She could feel Finn by her side, but still she didn’t look.
“Bridget, stop. I’m talking to you,” Finn said with frustration in her voice.
“But I’m not talking to you. You need to learn some manners, Magician.”
“Excuse me? I need to learn some manners? Ever since I got to this village, you haven’t left me alone.”
Still Bridget didn’t look at her but just smiled. She was starting to enjoy the hint of desperation in Finn’s voice because she wouldn’t give her the attention she was used to getting.
“Look at me,” Finn demanded.
Bridge put her hands in her pockets and kept her gaze forward. “You don’t deserve my attention. You may be grieving at the moment, but you’re behaving like a spoiled brat, and I do
n’t give my attention to spoiled brats. Yesterday you thought I didn’t wear my dog collar because I was trying to psych you out. I wasn’t. Plainly and simply I wasn’t wearing it so as not to frighten you, because that’s what you are frightened of—me, and what I represent. Come back when you can apologize properly.”
She heard Finn almost growl with anger and frustration. Then the footsteps stopped and Finn shouted, “Don’t hold your breath, Vicar.”
* * *
Finn attacked her canvas with her paintbrush like she never had before. Big bold colours were splashed across the surface as she tried to quell the frustration and anger she was feeling. She couldn’t sit still since she got back from her time trying to talk to the vicar. She had so much energy and anger, and she just couldn’t get the things the vicar said out of her mind.
“Frightened? I’m not bloody frightened by a vicar in short skirts and heels, and I most fucking definitely don’t want her attention.”
Her heart thudded as the conversation played over and over in her mind. Bridget had totally disregarded everything she said, and wouldn’t even look at her. To top it off, every time Finn thought of Bridge calling her Magician, as if she was nobody, and not worth her time or energy, it made her feel…she couldn’t quite work out what, but it made her want to snap her paintbrush in half.
“Fuck this.”
Painting just wasn’t cutting it. She cleaned up her brushes and headed out for a run. It was dark and quiet in the village, but Finn enjoyed the peaceful, calm atmosphere. Just what she needed for this feeling, like she had ants crawling under her skin.
Her run took her down towards the church. As she got closer she could hear the strains of organ music and singing. Finn looked at her watch and realized it must be an evening prayer service or something.
Being an atheist, it had been a long time since she had been inside a church, but she had been brought up in the Charismatic Christian community until she and her sister finally broke away when she was sixteen, so she was well versed in hymns and church practice.
Finn slowed to a stop when she got to the gates and took a drink from her water bottle. The singing stopped, and she was sure she could hear Bridget’s voice.
Although she was taking a break from the exertions of running and cooling down, her heart started to speed up. She tried to picture the vicar in her pulpit, smiling and bestowing her attention on her willing congregation, and she had the urge to see her in the flesh.
Don’t be an idiot. She hadn’t been in a church since she was seventeen, and she wasn’t about to start now. Finn took another drink of water and started to walk away.
Finn took a few steps and had the insatiable urge to look back. She couldn’t stop herself, and as soon as she turned her feet started walking back to the church and through the gates. Inside the entrance door to the church, she saw a stone bench.
Maybe she could go that far, just to hear what Bridge was sanctimoniously preaching.
She took a chance and walked up to the threshold. Even walking through the front door was a huge psychological barrier for her, but as she had gotten closer, the louder she could hear Bridge. The louder she could hear her, the more she wanted to hear.
She looked down at the threshold nervously. “What are you frightened of? There’s no God ready to strike you down.”
But that was the problem. Since her sister died, she just wasn’t sure any more. Everything that had once made clear, total sense, including her career, was now in flux.
Finn looked at the wristband she wore that had belonged to her sister. If I’ve got Carrie, I’ll be fine.
She took the step over the threshold, and remained in one piece. She took a seat on the stone bench and listened to Bridge’s words float through from the church. It didn’t feel like enough. She was being pulled to the door. Finn knew she was acting irrationally, but somehow, she couldn’t stop herself. She got up and inched to the door, before peeking around the stone door frame.
There was nothing to see but another archway and another set of big oak doors. Finn imagined that those doors opened onto the centre aisle of the church. Maybe she could open them, just a crack, and then she might be able to see her nemesis in action.
Finn plucked up her courage and moved to the next set of doors. They had huge iron hoops for door handles and she rested her hand on one. Her palm became sweaty, and her breathing quickened.
Why am I doing this?
Again, the urge to see Bridge just once pushed her forward, and she pulled the door open a few creaky inches. Luckily the congregation was singing so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Feeling brave she opened the door a few more inches and saw her—Bridget Claremont in her full robes and regalia. She looked different, even more at peace with herself. Her countenance was warm and open, but despite her vestments, she wore her bright red lipstick. Finn wondered if she still wore her killer heels under her robes. The thought excited her for some bizarre reason.
The singing stopped and the congregation was seated. Bridge started to speak. “We are gathered here this evening to remember the greatest tragedy in Axedale’s history. The death of one hundred and ten good family men in the mining disaster of 1922. It was a tragedy that left children without fathers, wives without husbands, and family and friends without good men who made this village the thriving community it was. Each successive generation has vowed to remember them on this night every year, so that their memories will never fade.”
Finn was held captivated. Bridge’s speaking and preaching style was gentle, reverent, and sincere. She immediately thought of her father, Gideon Maxwell, Evangelical pastor and faith healer. His preaching style was the opposite of Bridget’s. It was brash and flash, and lacked sincerity, and of course his whole faith was based on a lie.
Bridget continued. “Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live—”
At that moment, Bridget looked up from her notes and appeared distracted for a few seconds as she scanned the congregation, seemingly looking for someone, and then her gaze fell on Finn. She had been rumbled. Finn held her breath and held Bridge’s gaze for a second more, and then turned and didn’t look back. As she ran home, she realized something was different since she had met Bridge on the hill by the bench this afternoon. She hadn’t thought about her grief and her pain once, and she hadn’t had one drink.
Chapter Six
A week had gone by since Bridge had seen Finn lurking at the back of her church, and she’d had neither sight nor sound of her since, and neither had Quade. It had been a big surprise to see the world-renowned atheist peeking in to their service. The Finn whose eyes she locked onto that night was very different to the arrogant, demanding brat she’d met in the afternoon.
It was early evening and Bridge was walking from the vicarage to the church hall for their weekly parish council meeting. She chuckled to herself remembering how much she enjoyed pricking Finn’s arrogant façade, and how Finn had followed her, trying to demand her attention.
Why Finn had sneaked into the church she had no idea. With her arrogance left at the door, Finn looked like a lost little boy, and Bridge had to physically stop herself from giving in and paying another visit to Finn’s cottage to check in on her.
Maybe I should—
Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. and Mrs. Peters and Quade making their way to the meeting.
“Evening, Vicar,” Mr. Peters said.
“Good evening, all,” Bridge replied.
Finn offered Bridge her arm, and she happily took it. “Chivalrous as always, Quade.”
Quade laughed. “I try my best.”
Mrs. Peters rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get inside, shall we? It’s getting a bit chilly.”
In the church hall they were greeted by Mr. Finch the pub landlord, Mrs. McCrae, Lady Harry’s social secretary, Mr. Butterstone who took the minutes of each meeting, and deputy church warden Mr. Winchester.
T
hey all greeted each other, and Bridge took off her jacket and placed it over the chairperson’s seat. Normally that was Lady Harry’s seat, as she chaired the meetings, but as she was away, Bridge was taking the chair in her stead.
They exchanged small talk for a few minutes before Bridge brought the chatter to an end and brought the meeting to order.
“Let’s get started, shall we, and then we can share a drink at the pub sooner, eh?”
“Carry on, Vicar,” Mr. Peters said.
Bridge looked down at her parish council agenda and said, “First, as you know, the countess sends her apologies for not being able to make the meeting tonight, but she and the family are in Italy at the moment. In fact, I received an email from Lady Harry only this morning and she asked me to show you these pictures.”
Bridge took out her mobile and showed the committee the first picture of Harry and Riley, up to their waists in mud in an archaeological trench, both wearing baseball caps back to front and both smiling broadly.
This received a collective Aww from the committee members, all apart from Mr. Winchester, who sighed audibly. He had been close to Harry’s father and his nose was put out of joint when Harry joined the parish committee.
“They are like two peas in a pod, that pair,” Mrs. Peters said.
Then she showed the second picture of Annie being held lovingly in Harry’s arms, in front of the Colosseum in Rome.
“They look so happy,” Mrs. McCrae remarked.
“Could we get on with church business please, Vicar?” Mr. Winchester said. He had never been happy with a female vicar to start with, but a gay vicar was even worse.
Bridget gave him her most polite smile and said, “Of course, Mr. Winchester.”
She put away her phone and went back to her agenda. “The first two items on the agenda are Witch’s Night in a few weeks’ time, and then the start of rehearsals for the winter show.”
Both were big events on the village calendar. Witch’s Night was a quaint old village festival that dated back to the early eighteenth century, and the village show helped raise funds for worthy village projects. Everyone put their all into it every year. She knew Riley was very sorry she was going to miss it this year.