The Vicar Takes a Wife

by Victoria Kovacs

  “I am serious,” Lady Godfrey continued. “You must find a wife and find one soon. I am quite bored with you and you’re the most interesting person around.”

  Nicolette smiled coyly. “We look forward to you coming to supper all week long. We prefer your company to that of any other man.”

  Hosea’s knee jerked up, slamming into the table and rattling the dishes. “Goodness, must you smash the china like a Greek?” said Lady Godfrey.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Hosea. “There was an itch on my foot.”

  Lady Godfrey shook her head. “Find a wife and save us from dullness. Better yet, we are going on holiday to Italy in a few months to alleviate our ennui. We shall keep our eyes open for a wife for you, someone who won’t mind living in such a tiny vicarage. If Simon hadn’t wasted his inheritance and wasn’t living out of my purse, the fool, I should have the extra funds to expand the vicarage. It might be outfitted with a larger sitting room, a bedroom or two, even a conservatory.”

  “Perhaps we won’t have to look as far as Italy to find someone to fulfill the desires of Mr. Honeywell’s heart, Mama,” said Nicolette.

  “Speaking of Italy,” Hosea said a little too loudly, “what cities shall you visit?”

  “All the usual ones. I’m sure we’ll get our fill of cathedrals and art. We leave in spring and will return by midsummer. The heat and the crowds will teach us to appreciate England’s chill and the lack of society in West Eastleigh, a lack which makes it imperative you go elsewhere to find a wife. If not London, try Bath.”

  “Thank you most kindly, but I beg you to allow the Lord to find me a suitable companion. It worked well for Adam, did it not?”

  “It most certainly did not,” Lady Godfrey sniffed.

  Later that night Hosea sat in his study musing on Lady Godfrey’s threat. “Lord, if Lady Godfrey finds me a wife, I am done for. Do I need a wife? Where does the Word say I must have a wife?” Hosea picked up his worn Bible and let it open to Proverbs. “Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favor from the Lord,” he read. “That cannot be right. Surely this is a coincidence, except that I don’t believe in coincidences. Is this a sign, Lord? Is it too much to ask for confirmation of your will?”

  A knock at the door interrupted his prayer. Mrs. Fitzgerald entered and set a cup of tea on his desk. “Will that be all, Mr. Honeywell?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

  “I bid you goodnight. Don’t stay up too late; you’ll strain your eyes and you’ll be needing spectacles. You might have one of your strange dreams again. You always do when you stay up late,” she gently chided.

  “You’re right, Mrs. Fitzgerald. Do forgive me; I’ve kept you up late again. You mustn’t trouble yourself on my account.”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald laughed. “Who will, if not your housekeeper? Someone has to look after you since there’s not a Mrs. Honeywell to do the job.”

  Hosea cringed. “If Lady Godfrey has her way, she will have me married off before the year is out. It’s more for her benefit than mine. She says I bore her and somehow my wife won’t.”

  “I look forward to meeting the young lady. She’ll have her hands full between you, Lady Godfrey, and the parish. Good night, Mr. Honeywell.”

  “Good night,” Hosea replied, glad another conversation about the future Mrs. Honeywell was ended. His tea grew cold as he tried to concentrate on his study of the Minor Prophets, but even they spoke on the topic of marriage.

  Sometime after one o’clock he fell into an uneasy sleep at his desk and, as Mrs. Fitzgerald foretold, he had a strange dream. He’d had strange dreams ever since he could remember. What made them strange was that they came true. Sometimes events occurred exactly as they appeared in the dream; at other times the dreams contained symbols that manifested in unexpected ways in the waking world. Either way, they were disturbing.

  Confessing this burden to Bishop Pringle, Hosea was not relieved when the bishop laughed. “Can you interpret dreams as well as Joseph and Daniel? Her Majesty might put you in charge of running the kingdom, ha-ha!” Bishop Pringle didn’t view prophetic dreams as a burden. Of course, he wasn’t the one dreaming them.

  In his dream, Hosea stood within a circle of flames. “Hosea,” a Voice called.

  Hosea fell to the ground trembling. “Speak, Lord; your servant is listening.”

  “Go, marry a whore, and have children with this whore; for the land is engaged in flagrant whoring, whoring away from ADONAI.”

  Hosea was sure he had misheard. “Did you say to marry a what?”

  A gust of wind stirred the flames to greater height while the ground shook and a cacophony of screams and hoofbeats rose to a crescendo until he awoke, gasping and shaken. The fire was dead in the grate and the candle on the desk had almost burned out, but he had just enough light to see. He grabbed his journal and scribbled:

  7 January 1877—I have had another dream which I believe is prophetic. The Lord has instructed me to—that is, I think he said

  He paused, chewing the end of his pen. “Surely the dream is metaphorical. I’m not one of the prophets of old, Lord. You wouldn’t instruct me to do such a thing. Have I done something to displease you? How can such a match be possible?” He flipped the pages of his Bible to the New Testament in search of guidance and read aloud the first verse he saw:

  With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.

  He jumped up and paced the room. “I’m just a country vicar. I believe I’m doing my best to serve you, Lord. Have I sinned and this is my punishment? Forever bound to a fallen woman? Where would I find such a person?” He returned to his desk and flipped the Bible back to Psalms, one of his favorite books that always brought him great comfort. He read:

  If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me.

  He shoved the book away, but he could not shove away his rising panic. “One cannot open the Bible willy-nilly and hear the Lord speak. It simply isn’t done. See? I’ll prove it. The third time will show it’s a mistake. It’s a coincidence.”

  Mentally shoving aside the burning conviction he felt about lying to himself, he flipped the pages once more and read aloud:

  A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.

  Hosea dropped into his chair, defeated. “I never should have stayed up late reading.” He picked up his pen and began composing a letter. “I must speak with the bishop. He will know what to do. What a wretched business!”

  “Do sit down, Honeywell. It’s good to see you again,” Bishop Pringle said a few days later. “How’s parish life treating you? I trust you don’t find West Eastleigh too challenging?”

  Hosea slumped in his chair. “Not at all, unless you count Sunday suppers with Lady Godfrey. She is most anxious about my bachelorhood.”

  Bishop Pringle winked. “Now there’s a catch. Marry her and you can give up the church and live out your days in ease.”

  “Marry her?” Hosea sat up. “She is twice my age!”

  “Just teasing, Honeywell, just teasing. Tell me more about this dream. You’re becoming quite an Old Testament prophet, eh? Next you’ll be smashing stone tablets and getting thrown into lions’ dens.”

  “I hope not,” Hosea cringed.

  The bishop laughed. “Just teasing, just teasing. I think Her Majesty would disapprove of such shenanigans going on in our happy little isle.”

  “I hope so,” Hosea wiped his brow. “These dreams are unsettling enough. I cannot imagine facing lions or the disapproval of the head of the Church of England.”

  “Never mind,” Bishop Pringle waved aside the thought. “Tell me, what did the Lord say this time? Your letter was so urgent, I thought it must be quite dreadful.”

  “It was. It is. It is more dreadful than you can possibly imagine.”

  “Go on,” the bishop leaned across his desk.

  “It’s serious. I’m quite at a loss as to what to do.”
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  “Of course it’s serious,” Bishop Pringle guffawed. “When did the Lord ever speak to the prophets about frivolous matters? As for what to do, if you truly believe the Lord has instructed you to do something, you’d better get on with it.”

  Hosea was horrified by the bishop’s veritable blessing upon the dream. “But I don’t know why I have these dreams. I don’t want them. I’m nothing special. I have no great insight into the mysteries of heaven. I enjoy serving others, but I often wonder whether I would have been more successful at it by being a shopkeeper or joining the navy, as my brother did.”

  “The brother who drowned?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d cut a dashing figure as a naval lieutenant, I’m sure,” said the bishop. “Really, Honeywell, you’re too hard on yourself. It can’t be that bad what he’s asked you to do. He’s not told you to go naked and barefoot for three years, has he?”

  “No, thank God.”

  “Are you to command a three-year drought?”

  “No.”

  “Are you to challenge the prophets of Baal to a contest of fire?”

  “There are prophets of Baal in England?” Hosea gasped.

  “No, but they’re quite numerous in Scotland. Just teasing. Now, are you going to tell me what the Almighty said or did you make the journey here for nothing?”

  Hosea sighed. “He said the land commits great harlotry by forsaking him.”

  Bishop Pringle’s brow furrowed. “Did he not elaborate?”

  Hosea bowed his head. “He also instructed me to find a certain kind of wife and have children.”

  “What kind of certain kind?”

  “The unexpected kind.” Hosea feared to reveal what kind. The bishop would not approve. He would condemn him as a false prophet and libertine and oust him from the church. It was a scandalous idea and he regretted consulting the bishop. He couldn’t help him. No one could.

  Bishop Pringle laughed. “Find a wife and have children? Are you sure the dream was prophetic? Man is commanded to be fruitful and multiply. It seems you’re getting off easy. With God and Lady Godfrey on the same side, you’d better just do it and be done with it.”

  “I don’t know,” Hosea felt miserable. “I need time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “Time to fulfill the Lord’s command and adjust to the change of life that will result.”

  “Are you saying you need a sabbatical? Take all the time you need.”

  For the first time in days, Hosea felt a spark of hope. A sabbatical might be just the thing he needed to sort through this mess. What did the Lord mean by the land committing harlotry by forsaking him? Did that mean England or West Eastleigh? Why did he have to marry a prostitute because of it? Would good or ill come from the marriage? And they were to have children? Yes, a sabbatical was an excellent idea. During that time the Lord might change his mind. Maybe he was simply testing Hosea to see if he would obey at all costs like Abraham. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to go through with the wedding after all.

  “Six months? Am I asking too much?” Hosea asked.

  “Six months it is. Where shall you go?”

  Hosea took a deep breath. “I thought London might be the best place to look for, ahem, the fulfillment of the Lord’s will.”

  “London?” said Bishop Pringle. “I never thought you a city fellow. If that’s where you’ll go, enjoy yourself. See the sights and come back with a pretty wife and scintillating stories of your adventures.”

  Hosea grimaced. “I pray not.”

  Chapter 2: Bound for Tarshish

  THE streets of London were as busy at night as they were during the day. Hosea knew this because he walked around all day rehearsing his proposal to the future Mrs. Honeywell, but no words came to mind that seemed sufficient.

  “What can I say to a stranger to induce her to marry me?” he wondered. He paused from this conundrum for a quick supper at the inn where he lodged, but he was so distressed he could barely swallow a mouthful.

  Asking a few discrete questions, he was directed to an area of town where he would most likely find her. He navigated the streets in fear and trepidation, yet also with compassion on the misery he saw. Beggars, drunks, and no shortage of prostitutes—his heart broke with every step.

  “No wonder you ate with tax collectors and sinners, Lord,” Hosea whispered. “It is they who need you the most.”

  Hour after hour ticked by as Hosea prayed for the courage to do what he came to do, yet the longer he walked the streets, the more fearful he became. He hoped to find a woman who was less brazen and more clean-faced than the decrepit souls he’d encountered thus far, one who showed promise, under more wholesome influences, to make an adequate match. But his hope was failing. Most made no attempt to flirt or flatter; instead, they cajoled and clawed and made him quite shocking propositions.

  “They must be desperate to flee such degradation, for look at how they cling to me,” he said, adjusting his coat and hat from the last confrontation. “My home isn’t much to boast about, but better a cottage in West Eastleigh than a row house in Sodom and Gomorrah.” He gave no thought of himself being a desirable alternative to punters and pimps.

  “Oi! Watch where you’re going,” a voice growled under Hosea’s feet.

  “I’m terribly sorry. My mind was elsewhere. Do excuse me,” Hosea jumped away. What he thought was a pile of rubbish at the entrance to an alley was a beggar.

  The beggar cackled. “Aye, I know where. Only one thing a young gent be thinking about on the streets at night.”

  “You don’t say?”

  The beggar winked. “Women.”

  “Do you know where I may find one? A good, clean, pleasant one?”

  The beggar guffawed. “Buckingham Palace, that’s where! Not much good and clean around here. I reckon you can find a pleasant one, but she’ll cost more.”

  “I see,” Hosea’s brow furrowed.

  “There’s some new girls down at the house on the corner,” the beggar pointed. “Try there.”

  “Thank you, I shall,” said Hosea.

  The beggar took off his cap and held it out. “A copper or two wouldn’t go amiss.”

  Hosea dug in his pocket for change and dropped it in the cap before heading for the house. A red light glowed in a ground floor window. “Guide me, O Lord,” Hosea prayed,

  “because I don’t know what I’m doing.” He took a deep breath and laid his hand on the railing to climb the steps when a man sauntered up.

  “Evening,” he nodded to Hosea and marched up the steps and rapped on the door. It was opened almost immediately by not one but two employees wearing too little clothing and too much rouge. One drew him in, but the other stayed at the door, waiting for Hosea. He shrank from her sunken cheeks and lifeless eyes, reminded of the dying people whose hands he held as they passed from suffering to peace. This girl was dead already, yet still suffered.

  Without knowing it, Hosea looked upon the face of opium addiction and made a conscious decision to disobey his Lord.

  “I can’t do this. What will my family and parish think of me? How shall I face them? It would shame them. I have shamed them already. I must leave England. Forgive me!” Whether he was asking forgiveness from the girl, God, his family, or his parishioners, he hardly knew. What he did know was that he had to get as far away from there as possible.

  He entered London as the obedient servant of the Lord. He left as a fugitive from his own faith.

  “What am I to do?” Hosea wondered aloud. Four weeks later he could go no farther. Under normal circumstances he would pray, but as he was in rebellion against the Lord, he felt it hypocritical to pray for guidance. He had stopped praying altogether after he fled London and boarded a steamship in Southampton bound for New York City and felt very nervous without this source of comfort. With the story of Jonah at the forefront of his mind, he anxiously awaited the storm that would force the captain to toss him overboard, but being an honest fellow, he decided he wou
ld jump voluntarily at the first sign of rough weather. As it happened, the captain declared it the calmest crossing he’d ever piloted.

  Yet when Hosea first saw the shores of North America, his heart felt lighter, the curiosity of a new continent serving as a temporary reprieve from his conscience. He wandered around New York City for a day, his favorite sights being the hand and torch of the unassembled Statue of Liberty in Madison Square Park and the unfinished Brooklyn Bridge. But all too soon his curiosity vanished at a smaller, though no less monumental sight: a brothel.

  He hastened to the train station and began to drift westward toward St. Louis, and from there southwest until he reached Texas. According to his calculations, Denison was the farthest he could travel and still have enough funds, with a bit left over for unexpected delays, to return to England because, however mortifying, he hadn’t completely given up the idea.

  The closer the train got to Denison, the more nervous Hosea grew. He could no longer put off the decision: should he return home or make a new start here? He was engrossed in his thoughts when he stepped onto the wooden railway platform. It looked much the same as the dozens of other depots he’d passed through. Like those others, there was no one to greet him. No one knew him and no one cared.

  He was still thinking when the whistle blew and the train chugged away. “Well,” he said, “before I decide, a bath and meal are in order.” He bent down to pick up his satchel—“My satchel!” He’d been so preoccupied, he had left his satchel on the train. Now he was stranded without a change of clothing.

  “No other trains are due today,” the stationmaster informed him. “I can telegraph the Black Creek depot and have them leave your satchel there or send it back on the next train coming up from Fort Worth in three days.”

  “At least I have my wallet,” Hosea thought as he stepped out of the station into the road, debating whether to wait in Denison for his satchel’s return or retrieve it himself on foot.