The Vicar Takes a Wife

by Victoria Kovacs

  “Months?” Susanna wailed. “But everyone hates me.”

  “True,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. “I blame Mr. Honeywell.”

  “What?” Hosea said.

  “Why?” Susanna said.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald clicked her tongue. “Mr. Honeywell, you disrupt the parish by going away for three months and force them to put up with a substitute vicar they did not like. You return a married man and dash the hopes of every woman who dreamed of becoming your wife. They blame her for their discontent. They’re jealous of her.”

  “Women dreamed about that?” Hosea choked.

  “Of course they dislike you, Miss Gomer,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald. “You’re prettier, your clothes are more stylish, and you snapped up the most eligible bachelor between Guildford and Epsom.”

  “I am?” This was news to Hosea, but he was more fearful of losing Susanna than curious how he earned such a dubious accolade. “Not everyone hates her. Sir Simon called not an hour ago and was disappointed to find her gone. I’m sure he thinks quite highly of her.”

  “I can do without Sir Simon thinking of me at all,” said Susanna.

  “He is very solicitous to have you plan the ball,” Hosea said, hoping it would convince her to stay.

  “It will make people hate me even more.”

  “Why should you plan the ball??” asked Mrs. Fitzgerald.

  “Lady Godfrey won’t be back in time and Sir Simon asked Miss Gomer to assist him,” said Hosea. “Don’t you see? Your help is vital.”

  “So is Lady Godfrey’s help,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald.

  “What do you mean?” said Hosea.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald nodded. “Lady Godfrey is more liberal- minded than most people in the parish. She has long wanted you married. Now that you are in a way, it must be known that she approves of your wife. If she returns in time for the ball and sees what an excellent job Miss Gomer has done, then,” she took a deep breath, “along with Miss Gomer’s pleasing manners and her ‘meek and quiet spirit which is in the sight of God of great price,’ Lady Godfrey will publicly accept her and the village will have to follow suit.”

  “I’ll be forced to work with Sir Simon and I don’t like him,” Susanna argued.

  “Meek and quiet?” said Hosea. “How do we make Miss Gomer meek and quiet?”

  She glowered. “I can be meek and quiet, I’ll have you know.”

  “I don’t doubt your ability to act modestly,” said Hosea. “It’s only that you might have put a slightly greater effort in commending yourself to the parish when they greeted you on Sunday.”

  “Commend myself to those hypocrites?” Susanna seethed. “What about them making a slightly greater effort at commending themselves to me? If you’re going to condemn anyone for a lack of civility, start with your church.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t civil,” said Hosea.

  “Yes, you did. You condemn me, admit it!”

  “I don’t condemn you,” Hosea insisted.

  “My, my,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald. “You two are practiced at lovers’ quarrels.”

  Hosea suddenly became engrossed in the wallpaper, while Susanna stared at the pattern in the rug. “Is there no other way?” she asked quietly.

  “Not that I can think of,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said.

  Susanna crossed her arms. “I’ll make arrangements for the ball with Sir Simon as long as the vicar stays with me. I suppose it won’t take long.”

  “Oh, no. There’s more to this strategy than planning the ball,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald.

  “There is?” said Susanna.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald nodded. “We must change your clothes.”

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?” Susanna bristled.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald looked skeptical. “They’re a bit much for our village. People will be more receptive of you if you wear something more subdued.”

  Susanna’s face fell. “You mean something plain and ugly.”

  “It would match Mr. Honeywell better,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. “I have a few old dresses that no longer fit that you may have. And since the village will not pay its respects and call on you, you shall call on them and show them how ladylike and humble you are.”

  Susanna’s shoulders drooped. She would have to summon all her powers of performance to endure the prospect before her. She could mingle easily in high society. She could enter a ballroom and glory in being the center of attention, but the thought of carrying on polite conversation as a submissive minister’s wife made her ill. She envisioned her mother, eyes downcast, face grim, as her father worked into conversation all the ways the person he was conversing with was in sin. “I don’t know what to say that’s ladylike and humble to strangers who despise me,” she weakly protested.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald patted her hand. “You mustn’t fret. Mr. Honeywell will be with you. He knows what to say.”

  “I do?” he said. He had been lost in thought. He didn’t mind giving up the purchase of new books in order to help Susanna, but despaired at the thought of her leaving. He would give up reading altogether if she would stay. Yet if he really loved her, he would help her leave. As a minister, as a man, as her husband, it was his duty to help her.

  “There is nothing to worry about,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald. “It will all turn out well.”

  Chapter 9: Into the Wilderness

  SUNDAY morning found the village a hotbed of emotions. The congregation’s antagonism hadn’t abated; neither had Susanna’s dread at seeing Sir Simon again and what he might do to her; and Hosea wasn’t entirely convinced an angel wouldn’t appear and strike him down.

  Dinner was followed by a long afternoon of anxiety for Susanna at the prospect of having supper at Eastleigh Hall. The hours were also ones of bitterness and vexation as she and Mrs. Fitzgerald let down the hems of the housekeeper’s old dresses (Susanna was two inches taller) and subdued both of her own dresses by removing the ruffles and trim to make them less extravagant.

  “Much better,” Mrs. Fitzgerald held up the plaid walking skirt shorn of it finery. “There’s naught to be done about the print, but it will suffice. Cheer up, Miss Gomer. Your gowns are still suitable for visiting Eastleigh Hall.”

  “I’d rather not go at all,” Susanna said.

  “No one expects you to dress fancy,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald, misinterpreting her reluctance.

  Susanna wore one of Mrs. Fitzgerald’s dresses and pulled back her hair into a severe knot. It was the only time she ever wanted to look plain as she sat at Sir Simon’s right in the place of honor at the table.

  “I should dearly love to hear how you two met,” said Sir Simon.

  Susanna kept her eyes on her plate. In the rush to fix her wardrobe, they forgot to fix on a story of how they met.

  “It’s rather uninteresting. We wouldn’t wish to bore you,” Hosea replied.

  “Don’t be shy. I am curious to know how you won the heart of this ravishing angel, if I may be so bold as to compliment your wife, Vicar?”

  Sir Simon’s compliment went unappreciated as Hosea struggled to come up with an explanation that was truthful yet concealed the truth. Susanna struggled to keep from stabbing Sir Simon with her knife. “I really couldn’t say,” Hosea hesitated.

  Sir Simon waited for Hosea to continue but he did not, being suddenly occupied with chasing vegetables around his plate with his fork. “I believe you said you met in Texas?” he prodded.

  “Yes, Black Creek. It’s a small town of no consequence.”

  Sir Simon glanced from him to Susanna. “Where exactly did you meet?”

  Susanna gripped her knife; Hosea pursued his vegetables with vigor. “We accidentally encountered one another in the street.”

  Sir Simon set down his wine glass. “Come, come, now. If I had encountered a woman as stunning as Mrs. Honeywell, I would have written pages of poetry commemorating the occasion. The look in her eyes, the glow of sunlight on her hair,” he leaned on his elbow toward Susanna. “The sweetness of her angelic voice that stirs the
blood.”

  Susanna stabbed a parsnip. “Mr. Honeywell saved me from a fall. We married and came here. There’s not much more to the story than that.”

  “A fall?” said Sir Simon. “From a horse? A balcony? Not from grace, of course. Where were you employed when you met Mr. Honeywell?”

  Hosea choked. Susanna picked up her wine glass, ready to dash it in Sir Simon’s face. “I taught piano lessons.”

  Sir Simon nodded. “There, you see? You are musical and eminently qualified to help me plan the ball. I have had a letter from Mama saying she and Nicolette may return only a day or two before it. I must have your help. You’re the perfect hostess. Honeywell, may I borrow your wife for the occasion? Surely you cannot object to me borrowing your wife?”

  Hosea choked again. “Excuse me,” he wheezed and stepped out of the room to clear his throat.

  Sir Simon tutted, leaning back in his chair. “The good vicar solicits the company of a lady of the evening. Who would have thought it?”

  “He didn’t solicit my company. He’s not that sort of man,” Susanna said hotly.

  “Yet you’re that sort of woman,” Sir Simon looked amused. “How did you trick him into marrying you?”

  “It wasn’t a trick,” Susanna said.

  “What are the odds a vicar willingly marries a prostitute? Does he know what you are?”

  “He knows what I was.”

  “Have you told him about New Orleans?” he asked darkly.

  “No, and I’m not going to and neither are you. It’s none of his business.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “Maybe I need to make it his business. This is my village; is it not my obligation to attend to its welfare, especially when the vicar is living with a woman who tried to kill me?”

  “You’re one to talk of welfare,” she hissed. “As I recall, you were trying to kill me. Let me go.”

  His gaze traced the curves and lines of her face. “You were compensated for the job you were hired to do—quite handsomely, considering my empty wallet and more than what I got in the bargain. You are indebted to me. If you had married me when I asked, Ruby, you’d be mistress of this house. You know how much I love you.”

  “If I had married you, I’d be dead from the way you show your love. I said let me go.”

  Sir Simon pulled her close. “You owe me for that bullet.”

  Her hand curled into a fist. “I don’t owe you anything.”

  The sound of the door opening made him release her. “You do if you want to buy my silence.”

  Hosea appeared. “I beg your pardon. Something was caught in my throat.”

  “Allow me to refresh your glass,” said Sir Simon, reaching for the wine decanter. “Mrs. Honeywell and I were just speaking of the value of silence. ‘Silence is golden’—isn’t that somewhere in the Bible?”

  “No,” said Hosea. “Though it’s a very useful maxim, its entirety being, ‘Speech is silver, silence is golden.’”

  “There you have it,” Sir Simon concluded. “Silence is preferable to speech, for it is more valuable. Within the confines of silence we are kept safe.”

  “I didn’t realize you were a philosopher,” said Hosea, surprised by what he was hearing in comparison to Lady Godfrey’s complaints about her son.

  Sir Simon laughed. “We all have our hobbies. Mine are gambling and philosophizing. Not a typical match, but people often are made up of contradictory quirks. Do you not find human nature to be thus, Vicar? As a minister, you must have the most amusing tales of people. Do delight us with one.”

  Hosea picked up his knife and fork. “I apologize, Sir Simon, I don’t have any stories to tell. I don’t view a person’s quirks as a source of amusement. Often what we deem a quirk is an indicator of a need and serves as a guide to praying for them.”

  “Pshaw!” said Sir Simon. “What about you and Mrs. Honeywell? Why, you two are as opposite as night and day. There must be more to the story of what brought you together.”

  Hosea was unaware of the game Sir Simon was playing. What should he say that would not give away their secret? The truth, of course. He always told the truth and he would do so now, even if it was irksome to Susanna. He took a deep breath and rallied his courage for his confession.

  “Love,” Susanna replied unexpectedly. “We fell in love. Each of us has strengths and qualities the other hasn’t, and we couldn’t live without them.” She coquettishly batted her eyes at Hosea. “Who knows, Sir Simon? One day you may fall in love with your opposite, some sweet, humble girl who will bring honor to your family.”

  Sir Simon picked up his glass. “To love and opposites,” he acquiesced smoothly, though his mind was in turmoil. Did she love Honeywell? She was such a good actress, he couldn’t tell an act from the truth.

  Hosea felt a warm glow at the phrase We fell in love. If only it were true! Watching her across the table, he could almost dare to hope she might change her mind about him.

  He raised his glass. “To love and opposites.”

  Hosea and Susanna stepped out of the vicarage early Monday afternoon. He wore his Texas hat and imagined he cut a dashing figure. Not that he cared to impress the neighborhood; he only wished to impress Susanna. He didn’t wear his sling, since Dr. Smith encouraged him to move his shoulder more lest he lose any range of motion.

  Susanna wore a gray dotted dress formerly of Mrs. Fitzgerald’s wardrobe and imagined she looked as wretched as her mother ever did. She was too wrapped up in feeling sorry for herself to notice Hosea’s hat. “Where to first?” she asked.

  “We shall call upon Dr. and Mrs. Smith to get our visitation off to a good start.”

  “Unless she has another headache,” Susanna said dryly. “You’d think with a doctor for a husband, she’d get that taken care of.”

  “Miss Gomer, that is uncharitable to say,” Hosea said.

  “How so?” asked Susanna. “A headache is a good excuse for avoiding me.”

  “Do you accuse her of feigning a headache to avoid you?” Hosea asked.

  “Is that so unreasonable?”

  Hosea could not reply for half a minute. “You assume people think ill of you.”

  Susanna laughed. “I’m not assuming; I’m pointing out the truth. Is that a sin?”

  “No,” said Hosea, “but I believe you are wrong about

  Mrs. Smith.”

  “Care to make a wager?” Susanna said.

  “Indeed, no. I don’t gamble. I mean, unless there is a great need.”

  She laughed louder. “Or when the jackpot includes a bawd. Now there’s a great need.”

  “Placing yourself in the jackpot was no laughing matter,” Hosea shuddered at the memory.

  She nudged him. “Don’t be so serious. It turned out well, didn’t it? You won the money you needed to return home and got yourself a wife.”

  Hosea’s collar suddenly felt tight. “The circumstances aren’t entirely disagreeable, but there is the matter of being shot and jumping onto a moving train. That was no laughing matter.”

  “How did you feel after you jumped?” she asked.

  When the answer hit him, Hosea stopped in his tracks. “I never felt more alive in all my life,” he laughed.

  Susanna’s eyes twinkled. “Vicar, it’s no laughing matter.”

  “Proverbs says, ‘A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.’ I believe I needed a dose.” He smiled at her. “Thank you.”

  He said it with such warmth and sincerity that, to her surprise, she blushed. “If there was one verse my father twisted, it was that one. We weren’t allowed to laugh,” she said to cover her discomfiture.

  Hosea sobered. “Why?”

  “He said a merry heart was a sign you were right with God, and if you were right with God it was because you had the fear of the Lord, and that meant you’d be sober-minded.” She rolled her eyes. “I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s what he forced on us. No laughing, no joy, no jokes. That’s why every day after I ran away, I made myself laugh. When you se
ll your body, laughter doesn’t seem like much of a sin in comparison.”

  “Miss Gomer,” Hosea said. “I wish you could believe that not all ministers are like your father.”

  “I know that,” she said. “But most ministers aren’t like you. And I’ll still wager Mrs. Smith faked her headaches to avoid me. If I’m wrong, I’ll work for you one extra day.”

  “And if you’re right?” Hosea asked, wondering what she meant by most ministers aren’t like you.

  “The satisfaction of being right is reward enough.”

  Susanna had no such satisfaction when Mrs. Smith grasped her hand and drew her into the parlor. “It’s so good of you to call. I’ve been abed most of the week with such a terrible headache. I recovered only yesterday afternoon.”

  Susanna refrained from kicking Hosea, who could barely suppress his smile. She didn’t like losing a wager, especially to him. “Dr. Smith has no remedies?” she asked as they sat down on the settee.

  “No, and I cannot tell you how it distresses him,” Mrs.

  Smith replied. “He says the constant use of laudanum is not safe. Is there a cure from America he has not heard of? Can you recommend anything for a headache?” She looked upon Susanna as if certain she had the answer.

  Susanna was distracted by Hosea’s silent gloating. “A good stiff drink does the trick every time for me,” she blurted.

  Hosea’s smile froze. He braced for Mrs. Smith’s reaction. He was sure she would turn them out of the house. Next to Lady Godfrey and her daughter and Susanna, Mrs. Smith was the highest-ranking woman in the village. The goal of obtaining the goodwill of the parish was irreparably damaged.

  He was composing his letter of resignation to the bishop in his head when Mrs. Smith laughed. “Mrs. Honeywell, you are too comical. I haven’t heard such a good joke in a long while. A good stiff drink!”

  Susanna smiled. “As Proverbs says, ‘A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.’”

  Mrs. Smith laughed until tears squeezed from her eyes. “Mr. Honeywell, your new bride shall laugh away my headaches. Do tell me how you met.”