The Vicar Takes a Wife

by Victoria Kovacs

  “Option?”

  “We must marry.”

  Susanna took a swig from the bottle. “I thought you said you didn’t want me?”

  “It’s the only way we can live together and not give the appearance of sin,” he said.

  “No. I’ll take care of you, but I won’t marry you,” she argued.

  “If you won’t release yourself from your debt, we must marry,” he insisted.

  “That hole has affected your hearing. I said no,” she continued to clean.

  He caught her hand, a move that surprised her. “Miss Gomer, I don’t propose marriage with the expectation of you fulfilling any . . . marital obligation.” He suddenly felt shy. “I merely wish to be married in the eyes of the law. When my shoulder is well, we may have the marriage annulled with no true connection abolished. We shall remain as acquaintances.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Is this part of your dream?”

  “No, I woke up before this part.”

  “Thank God for that,” she said. “All right, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “Really?” he said. He had been sure she’d never agree and would eventually give up the idea of being his nurse. That she agreed so quickly made him question the wisdom of his proposal, yet there was no other choice. “I must do this properly,” he struggled to rise.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Hosea got on his knees. “I must propose.” The caboose was spinning again. He didn’t know whether it was due to his wound or the implication of what he was about to do.

  “You already made your proposal and I accepted,” Susanna steadied him as he swayed. “If you pass out, I swear I’ll leave you here.”

  Hosea took her hand. “Miss Gomer, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the floor.

  No man had ever done that when proposing. Susanna sighed and draped the remainder of the blanket over him.

  “Yes,” she accepted.

  The small Episcopal chapel was empty except for Hosea, Susanna, the priest, and two old ladies who had come to pray and were asked to stand witness to the wedding. Hosea wore a new suit and Susanna a new dress as they stood before the altar.

  “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it,” the priest recited. “For be ye well assured, that if any persons are joined together otherwise than as God’s Word doth allow, their marriage is not lawful.”

  Hosea paled; Susanna stood unblinking.

  The priest turned to Hosea. “Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I will,” he said louder than he had intended.

  The priest turned to Susanna. “Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  “I will,” Susanna answered. She was a professional. She had played many roles for many men. She could play the part of a wife. For now.

  It was time to recite their vows. Hosea’s mouth felt dry and he couldn’t look at Susanna. “I, Hosea James Honeywell, take thee, Susanna—” He stopped. He didn’t know her middle name. What would the priest think of a groom who didn’t even know the bride’s full name?

  “Maud,” she said.

  Hosea glanced up at her. She wore a sweet smile and he felt strangely encouraged. “Susanna Maud Gomer, to my wedded Wife.”

  Susanna suppressed a shudder. Knowing Hosea was in love with her made hearing those vows worse, even if they were said under pretense.

  After she recited her vows, Hosea slipped a slender, silver band on her finger. It did not call attention to itself. It was not meant to decorate her hand. It was plain and Susanna hated anything plain.

  “With this Ring I thee wed,” Hosea said shakily, “and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  After the Lord’s Prayer and a blessing, the priest continued. “Forasmuch as Hosea and Susanna have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth, each to the other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving a Ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they are Man and Wife, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  The final benediction and it was done. Susanna accepted the best wishes of the priest and two witnesses as if it were the happiest day of her life. Hosea felt caught up in their joy.

  “Such a beautiful bride,” one woman said to him. “I’m sure she’ll make a wonderful wife.”

  Hosea beamed. She was a beautiful bride. Even if it was a temporary arrangement and strictly on paper, he was proud to call her Mrs. Hosea Honeywell.

  “Congratulations,” Susanna said to him as they walked up the aisle past the empty pews. “You married your whore.”

  Hosea stumbled out of the chapel, his brief moment of matrimonial joy and pride quashed. Susanna was right: his vow was theoretically fulfilled, but the act brought no relief. On the contrary, he was terrified; for when his shoulder healed and she left him, he’d have to search for another prostitute to remain obedient to his Lord’s commands.

  Yet how was that possible when his heart was hers?

  Chapter 7: Land of Milk & Honey

  FOR newlyweds on their honeymoon, Reverend Mr. and Mrs. Honeywell had very little social intercourse. The pain in Hosea’s shoulder made it difficult to sleep at night, so he dozed more than he spoke during the day. Susanna seemed withdrawn, lost in thought, and when she spoke, it was only things such as, “Hold this end,” (when changing his bandage) and, “Next time, duck.”

  On the ship to England, they booked a suite with two bedrooms and a parlor, but Susanna spent most of the time strolling the deck alone. Hosea felt this avoidance keenly. Of course, she was only with him to nurse his wound. Why should she want to spend time with him when she so assiduously avoided him in Texas? He never had a high opinion of himself, and by mid-ocean he was convinced the real reason the Lord instructed him to marry a prostitute was because no other woman would have him.

  He was contemplating the numerous ways he was undesirable during an afternoon walk when he bumped into someone. “Excuse me,” he said, looking up to find Susanna. He braced for the inevitable scolding, but none was forthcoming. She stood at the railing, looking out across the waves. He felt it would be rude to keep walking—they were married, after all—so he stood beside her and watched the waves, too.

  “We really must stop running into each other,” she said.

  “As our first meeting was in a water trough, perhaps we shouldn’t be sailing together.” Hosea replied in earnest.

  The tiniest smile played on her lips before they split in laughter. “Vicar, you say the craziest things.”

  “I do?” Hosea asked. “Forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “Oh,” he said and nervously checked his pocket watch. “Tea will be soon.” He didn’t know why he said it. They had yet to dine together on board, taking their meals separately in their rooms.

  Susanna turned. “I’m going to finish my walk.”

  “May I join you?” he asked.

  “Fine by me,” she said. He couldn’t tell whether his request bothered her or not. He hoped it didn’t and scrambled to think of something to talk about. What wouldn’t annoy her? He had to say something. After all, he asked to join her. The reques
t implied he wanted to speak.

  Finally, it came to him. “Miss Gomer, I’ve been meaning to ask how you know so much about the Bible. I assume it has to do with your father being a minister?”

  She stared at him. “How do you know that?”

  “The other ladies mentioned it. I hope you don’t mind?” he asked, but she didn’t reply. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have repeated it. It’s none of my business.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she waved aside the thought, “but you’re right. It has everything to do with my father being a minister. He was an itinerate preacher. He and my mother and I traveled all over the South, holding revival meetings in churches, tents, outdoors—wherever he could stand on his box and shout the gospel. Mother played the organ or piano, if one was available. That’s how I learned to play. Only hymns, mind you. Anything else was the devil’s music. She also taught me to read from the Bible. It was the only book I was allowed to read. When I was little, I had to memorize a verse each week, and as I grew older, I had to memorize one every day. If I didn’t recite it perfectly, my father whipped me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” Hosea said. “It was unfair and cruel to subject you to such punishment.”

  “That wasn’t the real cruelty,” Susanna said. “We only ate cold food on Sundays because it was work to cook a meal and work was forbidden on the Sabbath. When we were invited to dine in people’s homes, Mother and I weren’t allowed to go, because Father feared we might do or say something that would make him look unspiritual. Of course, it was fine for him to go. He said snubbing the invitation would make a church less likely to invite him back to preach,” she said sourly.

  “We weren’t allowed to braid our hair and Mother didn’t wear a wedding ring because of First Peter, chapter three. I never had new clothes, only cast-offs. They were always too big or too small. Nothing ever seemed to fit right for long before I outgrew it.

  “Once, a church gave us a mission barrel full of clothes in repayment for a week of revival preaching. There were dresses and machine-knit stockings and bonnets and shoes and slippers. The lace,” she sighed. “I’d never seen such exquisite lace and needlework. I thought we were rich, now that we had nice things, and maybe we’d finally move into our own house and I could go to school and make friends. I was so happy. It was the first moment of real joy I ever had.”

  “It must have been like a second Christmas,” Hosea remarked.

  Susanna snorted. “Oh no, we never celebrated Christmas. It’s a pagan holiday established by the Whore of Babylon herself with the Christmas tree being nothing but an Ashtoreth pole,” she said with mock indignation. “But in a way, it was like Christmas in that Father made sure we were miserable. You see, while everyone else trimmed their trees and opened gifts, we fasted and prayed for their deliverance.”

  “How did he make you miserable with a mission barrel?” Hosea asked.

  “He sorted all the pretty things from the plain and worn ones and burned them in the campfire,” she said.

  Hosea was stunned. “To what purpose?”

  “Because he was miserable,” she said bitterly. “A minister’s wife and child needed to set an example of holiness and piety, and they couldn’t do that in bright colors and frills and flounces, so we only had plain, ugly clothes.

  “Mother was sad, but she didn’t dare argue with him. The look in her eyes when he tossed the clothes into the fire is what made me cry as much as seeing them destroyed. Because I cried, I was whipped for being covetous. Hypocrite that he was, he kept a fine suit for himself along with a pair of boots, claiming they lent credibility to his preaching.”

  Her face darkened. “He wasn’t credible, no matter what he wore. He’d take scripture verses on love and joy and twist them into wrath and condemnation. He couldn’t stand it if people were happy. If people were happy, it meant they were in sin. It’s one of the reasons we had no family. He was always telling them how awful they were for not being sober-minded enough. After a while they refused to speak to him. That was when I was little. I don’t know where they are now.”

  Hosea had never heard anything so depressing. “What happened to your parents?”

  “You mean how did a preacher’s daughter end up working in a saloon?”

  He looked abashed. “I do hope it wasn’t a tragedy that separated you.”

  “Tragedy,” she echoed. “The tragedy was my father’s constant chastisement. He never complimented us. There was only criticism, never love, never a smile, never an embrace. He made sure to tell me every day I was ugly because I wasn’t humble enough or didn’t work hard enough or memorize enough verses.

  “The other tragedy was I believed him. I thought I was the ugliest creature in all creation and the worst sinner. It got worse when I turned thirteen because I’d catch people staring at me. First boys, then men. I thought their stares confirmed that I was grotesque, made so by my wickedness. If Father hadn’t taught suicide was a ticket straight to damnation, I would have killed myself for the shame.”

  “I am grieved beyond expression,” said Hosea, “yet I rejoice you didn’t do yourself harm. How did you endure it?”

  He was surprised to see her smile. “I didn’t. Well, not for much longer. You see, after a while, all those boys and men started coming up to me in the streets or after a service and would ask me my name and tell me I was pretty. At first I thought they were teasing me. Then I decided God was punishing me. ‘Surely he scorneth the scorners,’ so I figured I was getting what I deserved.

  “Then one night after a camp meeting, when Father and Mother were busy wrestling for people’s souls at the altar, a handsome young man gave me a bouquet of wildflowers. His name was Elmer and he said I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and quick as a wink, he kissed me. He told me to pay the other girls no mind, that they were just jealous. I didn’t understand what he was talking about until I saw a group of girls about my age looking daggers at me. That’s when I realized no one had been teasing me.”

  Her eyes danced at the memory. “We talked for a few minutes, and the whole time I felt this glow in my heart: I wasn’t ugly! And if I wasn’t ugly, maybe I wasn’t such a wicked sinner.” She fixed Hosea with an arched look. “I know that’s not good theology, but it’s what I thought at the time. Of course, I threw away the bouquet before my father saw it because he’d never tolerate me having something as frivolous as flowers, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him taking something pretty that was mine and destroying it.”

  Hosea felt a twinge of jealousy at Elmer’s impudence. Kissing a thirteen-year-old girl, especially one who grew into the woman he loved! He had never committed such a rash act or entertained thoughts of doing so. “What happened afterwards?” he was almost afraid to ask.

  She stuck out her chin. “For the first time in my life, I felt special, and I realized all the disparagement my father had spoken to me were lies. He knew I was pretty and he couldn’t stand it. In his mind, beauty was the opposite of holiness, and he couldn’t hide my face. It went against everything he preached about.”

  Hosea shook his head. “How did he come to such a conclusion? What of Mount Zion, the perfection of beauty? What of Rachel? What of Job’s daughters? Were they not a part of Job being more blessed in the latter part of his life? How can he have been so deceived?”

  Susanna shrugged. “As I said, he was miserable, more so when he took notice of my growing line of admirers. That's when he started beating me for being a whore. One time he beat me unconscious. When I woke up he was still beating me and Mother was begging him to stop. He was so angry at her for interfering that he broke her nose. It wasn’t set properly and was crooked afterward. He said she deserved it for not submitting to him.”

  “Merciful Lord,” Hosea said. “No wonder you—” he stopped himself.

  “No wonder I what?” she asked.

  “No wonder you were willing to risk your life to save Claudine.”

  They held each other’s gaze, reliving that a
wful night. Susanna finally looked away, blinking back tears. “Anyway, when I was sixteen, we were on our way to Arkansas when one of our wagon wheels busted and thieves stole our horses. We were sitting on the side of the road without a penny to our names, praying for deliverance, when a trapper came by. He was filthy and stank from all the fresh pelts he carried on his mule,” she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  “He looked me up and down, not even trying to disguise his lust, which is why Mother and I were surprised when Father ordered us to take his mule down to the creek for a drink while they went into the woods for a talk. Mother told me to stay with the wagon, but I snuck into the woods to find out what they were being so secretive about. That’s when I overheard Father selling me.”

  “Selling you?” Hosea exclaimed, causing a couple of nearby passengers to glance at them curiously.

  “Yes,” she said, lowering her voice. “He said it was only a matter of time before I got with child and he didn’t want a whore for a daughter. He also thought I was vain and figured it was time I got married and learned real submission to keep my vanity in check. They haggled over my selling price until Father got enough money to buy a new wheel and a cheap horse, with a little left over.”

  Hosea felt sick. “What did you do?”

  “I ran back to the wagon. I knew Mother wouldn’t agree to sell me, but what could she do? So, I decided to run away. I didn’t expect to get far, but I couldn’t not try. I grabbed my shoes—I was only allowed to wear them in church so they’d last longer—when along comes this fine gentleman on a bay horse. He tipped his hat and greeted me as if I were the queen of Sheba.

  “I declare, I have never before laid eyes on a woman as lovely as yourself,” Susanna mimicked his drawl. “Are you a wood nymph or an angel? One is clothed in nature’s splendor and the other in heaven’s glory, and you, my dear, are sadly deprived of both.