The Vicar's Daughter

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “Cassandra.”

  She turned to face her mother, whose knowing expression instantly brought fire to her cheeks.

  “Guard yourself,” Mama said while removing a set of plates from the burlap they’d been wrapped in. “Do not forget who you are simply because a man catches your eye.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Cassie said, though she knew exactly who she was. She was the youngest daughter trying desperately to create a match for her older sister. She moved to a crate and began unpacking the glasses.

  Each time Mr. Glenside returned to the tent, Cassie purposely busied herself with her back to him for fear that if she looked into those eyes again, or saw that smile once more, she would freeze and her mind would go blank. What was happening to her? She’d never experienced anything like this before and did not know what to make of it, think of it, or do about it.

  Finally, her father climbed atop the wooden box he always used for his outdoor announcements and welcomed everyone to May Day—the first day of summer and the opportunity to celebrate the fertility of the land and livestock that was the foundation of country life. He introduced the Maypole and explained its significance while the younger children, girls mostly, began to move toward the front of the group. The festivities were a welcome distraction from the thoughts cluttering Cassie’s senses.

  When she had been younger, Cassie loved twining her ribbon around the Maypole, and she watched with delight as the children hurried forward to take hold of their special ribbon. Mr. Simpson brought out his fiddle and began to play while the children wove in and out of one another, laughing and shrieking as they braided the ribbons around the pole. Next would come the Morris dancers with their bright costumes and energetic dance, and then the Queen of May would be crowned, a symbol of another year of prosperity for the village.

  “Cassie,” Lenora whispered. “Is that him?”

  Cassie followed Lenora’s gaze to Mr. Glenside and felt an energy move through her like a breeze . . . or an arrow. He was laughing at the children’s antics, his arms folded over his chest and his face bright. “I believe so,” she said softly, then wondered why she was hedging. He was standing next to Mr. Bunderson and the contrast of her reaction between the two men was worrisome. Cassie had been pining over Mr. Bunderson for months, yet he looked quite ordinary next to Mr. Glenside.

  “I don’t think I can do it, Cassie.” Lenora clutched at her arm.

  “Do what?” Cassie said, tearing her gaze from the men and looking at her sister in confusion.

  “Smile at him. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your dream.”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten.” The desire to remove and ponder on whether or not she should encourage Lenora toward Mr. Glenside any further tempted her. But no. She’d already made up a dream and written letters; she could not stop now. “Um, it’s just . . . what I mean is, that you must smile at him. You promised me you would.”

  “But maybe it was just a dream,” Lenora said.

  Cassie considered telling her that it was just a dream and no smile was necessary, when Lenora’s grip on her arm tightened.

  Mr. Glenside looked their way, smiled slowly, and then tipped his head.

  “Smile,” Cassie said, smiling herself and elbowing Lenora in the side and talking through her teeth. “For heaven’s sake, smile at the man before he thinks you a complete dolt!”

  Lenora’s eyes were wide as the saucers stacked on the table, but the corners of her mouth suddenly went up, snapping into the shape of a smile. It looked completely false and ridiculous, but it was a smile, and she couldn’t chastise Lenora for the admirable effort. Not with Mr. Glenside looking their direction and a fake dream lying between them.

  After a few moments, Lenora turned away, tugging at the corner of the tablecloth as though to straighten it. Mr. Glenside turned his head back to the Maypole, but at the last moment, he caught Cassie’s eyes.

  Goodness, she thought for perhaps the fifth time as warmth rushed into every empty space within her mind and heart. He is so handsome.

  He gave her a nod. She smiled and nodded in return. He continued to hold her eyes until Mr. Bunderson leaned in and said something in Mr. Glenside’s ear. Then it was Mr. Bunderson looking at her.

  Cassie smiled politely and turned away. All of this—the advice, the letters, the dream—was because of Mr. Bunderson, and yet she no longer wanted his notice. The realization was terrifying.

  “So you have met the Wilton girls,” Mr. Bunderson said, nodding toward the young women beneath the canopy.

  “I met Miss Cassandra earlier today, but I have not been officially introduced to her sister.” Unofficially, however, he felt he knew her quite well. The thought that Evan likely knew her better than Mr. Bunderson did gave him an odd sense of pride. No one here—except Cassandra—was aware of the connection he and Lenora shared. Perhaps that was why Miss Cassandra seemed so taken off guard when they’d met. What did she think of the letters?

  “Not sure many people have had an official introduction to Miss Lenora Wilton,” Bunderson said with a laugh. “She’s a queer thing, shy as they come. Why, I’ve lived in Leagrave my whole life and am friends with Christopher Wilton and I have never had a conversation with Miss Wilton.”

  “To be shy is not a failing of character,” Evan said with a knowing smile. “I would imagine she is improved in smaller groups.”

  “You would imagine, would you?” Bunderson said, grinning. “You’ve lived here, what, a week, and can already define Miss Wilton so confidently?”

  “I have been here nearly six weeks, thank you very much.” Evan took hold of his lapels and puffed out his chest, making Bunderson laugh loud enough that several people turned to look. He bowed as though he had performed just for them, while Evan dropped his hands, feeling sheepish for having drawn their attention. The onlookers turned away with varying degrees of amusement.

  “Do I detect admiration in your assessment of Miss Lenora?” Bunderson asked, arching one dark eyebrow.

  “Would it be so surprising?”

  “Her family is very well respected, and while I can agree that her countenance is fine, it is certainly not to the level of her sister. I think Miss Cassandra ten shades prettier than Miss Lenora.”

  Evan couldn’t help but consider Bunderson’s assessment as he looked at the sisters, still busy with their work beneath the canopy. Cassandra was a bit taller than Lenora despite being younger, and she carried herself with more confidence. Both women had slender figures, but Lenora’s was a bit more feminine. Evan felt guilty comparing them. Lenora was the one who had opened up to him in her letters, and despite the nervousness he saw in her now, there was a part of her that was as confident and self-possessed as her sister. “I think both sisters are equally pretty,” Evan said diplomatically.

  “Well, good, then. You set your sights on Miss Lenora and get her out of the way so I might try my luck with Cassie.”

  Evan pulled his eyebrows together. “‘Out of the way’? What exactly do you mean by that?” And why did he call Miss Cassandra Cassie? That seemed rather familiar.

  “The vicar only allows one daughter out at a time—there were once six of them, you know. One daughter is presented, makes a match, and then the next will be available.”

  “So Miss Cassandra is not out?” In Evan’s prior society, it was typical for girls to be considered out once they reached the age of sixteen. They were not presented so formally as the Wilton girls would be, but Evan had never heard of anyone holding to the tradition of waiting for the elder to marry before the younger had her turn. Did not Shakespeare have a story with such a plot? He could not remember how it ended. “How old is Miss Cassandra?”

  “Twenty,” Mr. Bunderson said, shaking his head as though disappointed. “I can’t imagine why she has not thrown an absolute fit at the arrangement. My sisters would never have stood for such heavy-handed rules. All t
hree of my sisters were out at one time, and my second sister married before the eldest did.” He shrugged. “It would be very difficult to be a clergyman’s child, I think. Such expectations must feel oppressive. To say nothing about how ungenteel the girls have become.”

  “Ungenteel?” Evan asked. He didn’t think he’d ever heard the term before.

  “They do some of the cooking, cleaning. Even here, they’re at the serving table rather than enjoying the party. I suppose with so many children and only a vicar’s living it’s difficult to manage a household appropriately. Still it’s only their relationship to the church that elevates them at all.” He shrugged again and turned toward the children, who had undertaken a new game now that the Maypole was finished. “I understand their mother stepped down some when she married.”

  Evan chose not to comment. He didn’t see the women’s efficiency as a drawback, but then he’d been raised in a home where his mother did all the cooking and cleaning; they had never employed a servant. Mama had often labored long into the night to make a hundred copies of an invitation to a ball, each one written in her perfect hand. The family needed an income after Father’s death, and she’d taken pride in being able to contribute. Evan looked around this new company he kept and wondered if they would see his mother’s skill as an embarrassment.

  Don’t think on that now, he told himself. The Morris dancers were invited to perform and while many people stayed to watch, others began moving toward the serving table where the Wilton girls stood alongside the servants, preparing plates for the guests. Bunderson suggested they get a plate and Evan agreed. A few minutes later, he found himself face to face with Miss Cassandra, who stood opposite him at the first table.

  She looked up and her cheeks went as pink as the dress she wore. A bright yellow ribbon was tied around the knot atop her head, and a matching ribbon was tied in a bow at one wrist.

  “Thank you,” he said when she handed him his plate.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Glenside.”

  She avoided his eye, and he found it amusing how like her sister she was in that moment, nervous and tongue-tied. Lenora was at a table further into the tent, her back to the crowd as she busied herself with some other task. Did Miss Cassandra disapprove of the letters? Is that why she seemed embarrassed to see him? He watched her until she met his eye once again, then smiled in hopes of getting some reassurance that she didn’t think poorly of him for the secret correspondence. She smiled back, free and unrestrained enough that he took it as confirmation of her approval.

  “Have a good day, Miss Cassandra,” he said as he moved down the table.

  “Good day to you too, sir,” she said under her breath.

  As he walked away, he felt sure she was watching him, and when he glanced over his shoulder, she darted her glance away. He began to smile, but then stopped himself. Lenora, he said in his mind as though reminding himself of which sister he had interest in.

  He searched for Lenora again. She was still at the back of the tent but while he watched, she turned, a stack of plates in her hands, and caught his eye. She froze like a rabbit. He smiled. She didn’t even blink. He nodded, and finally she did too, a quick bob. She remained in place however, until he turned away, wondering if that might be the only thing that would get her moving again. When he glanced back, she was hurrying forward with the plates. Bunderson was flirting with Miss Cassandra, who showed none of the embarrassment she’d seemed to feel with Evan. Maybe she did disapprove of the letters.

  Evan moved toward an empty table but thought of what Bunderson had said about Lenora’s shyness. Though he still felt he knew her better than Bunderson did, he wondered what a woman afflicted with such shyness would be like as a wife. For a man who already felt out of place, would a wife unable to help him navigate through society pose an even greater difficulty?

  May 9

  Dear Mr. Glenside,

  How wonderful it was to see you at the social last week. It seemed as though you were meeting some of the fine people in our village, and I hope you enjoyed yourself. I tried all afternoon to muster the courage to speak with you, but I am glad that I was at least able to share a smile with you as you had requested in your last letter.

  My sister said that she did get an introduction. I hope you found her personable. She was quite struck by your fine manners and was eager to give me her report after we had finished clearing all the frippery of the event. I am glad the weather was so fine.

  Cassie paused and laid down her pen before staring out the window toward the Glenside estate, though she could not see it from here. She sighed deeply and reflected on the exchanges she’d shared with Mr. Glenside at the social. There was not much to ponder on, and yet the few minutes she had spent in his company outshined every other moment of the day. She told herself the powerful feelings were due to her investment for Lenora’s sake, but she worried that her own curiosity and interest was becoming a factor. Cassie had caught Mr. Glenside’s eye a time or two, but wondered if she were smiling to further his good impression of her for Lenora’s sake or for her own. She’d put off this letter almost a week because of her consternation.

  Cassie stood up from the writing desk, but then sat back down. She wanted something else to occupy her thoughts, but she needed to finish this letter. Only after she wrote to him would he write her back, and she was increasingly eager to read his words. Would he share with Lenora what he’d thought about Cassie?

  She wrote another line about the event, but her mind wandered once more and her pen went still.

  Mr. Glenside had come to church on Sunday, sitting at the end of a row near the back whereas the Wilton family always occupied the second pew. When the family exited, he’d been talking with some of the other parishioners. She’d wanted to find a way to speak with him, and yet to do so would draw too much attention to them both. Instead she’d found herself talking with Mr. Bunderson and trying to find the pleasure in their conversation that she usually did. Unfortunately, it was as though all the invigoration and interest she had once had for Mr. Bunderson had disappeared. In its place was curiosity about Mr. Glenside. Only curiosity, she told herself.

  Now she was writing him a letter and unable to find the right words. She had always felt as though she were writing from Lenora’s heart, but it felt different now. Changed. But that was silly. Nothing had changed. Cassie was still doing all of this to help Lenora. That was her goal.

  Cassie straightened in her chair and picked up her pen with resolution. She dipped it into the ink to ensure a fresh line before returning her attention to the letter. She needed to prove—to herself if no one else—how determined she was to do right by Lenora. And then, as she wrote, an idea formed as to how she could move the letter writing a step forward.

  Thank you again for your kindness to me and for not requiring more than that smile. I have enjoyed our getting to know each other on paper. It has given me such an easy time of feeling comfortable. As a token of my thanks, I shall leave a gift for you in the glen behind my family’s barn. If you come on the north lane toward the vicarage, you will see a copse of trees that hides a bit of grassland in the center. Cassie often goes there to read or paint. It is lovely. I shall leave the gift there for you Saturday morning. Pray do not arrive before ten o’clock; I cannot guarantee it will be there before then. I shall retrieve the basket later in the afternoon when I can get away unseen.

  Your friend,

  Lenora

  May 13

  Dear Lenora,

  I must beg your forgiveness for the shabby presentation of this letter. I am right now sitting on the stool I presume you left in the middle of the glen, and I fear my penmanship will suffer for want of my desk. A pencil is not easy to navigate on a man’s knee as it turns out. I am also holding the prize you so graciously left for me. I am a great lover of toffee, and, as I have already partaken of one of the offered treats, I can quite confidently comp
liment your cook for the excellent confection—unless you made it yourself, in which case I would be doubly impressed.

  One of my fondest memories was visiting my grandmother in Thurst for Christmas and being spoiled by her excellent toffee. She would let us eat as many pieces as we could want, and there are few things more satisfying to a child unused to sweets than a belly full of candy. You do have the most charitable of hearts, and I consider myself quite privileged to have come to know you as I have.

  I must admit that I am increasingly eager to become better acquainted with you and have spoken with my uncle regarding inviting your family for dinner. It would be a casual affair, not too much of a crowd, but would give us a chance to spend more time together. Please let me know if that is acceptable to you. If it is, I shall pursue the arrangements with my uncle.

  Best Regards,

  Evan

  Cassie sat on the stool in the glen and read the letter a second time. Mr. Glenside had held this very paper only a few hours before, when he’d come for the toffee she left for him in the basket. Toffee she had made herself. She had impressed him with her usefulness!

  When she’d arrived, the basket had been empty save for his letter, filling her with a warm sense of familiarity toward the man who had enjoyed her treats. Enjoyed them because she had thought to move their relationship beyond letters. Letters that were from Lenora.

  The pit opened in her stomach again, and she forced herself to focus on the next part of the letter—dinner at Glenside estate. Such a step was reasonable, even expected, and yet disheartening too. Cassie should show Lenora the letters. The thought drained every bit of energy through her toes, and she immediately began to formulate an argument.