The Vicar Takes a Wife

by Victoria Kovacs

  “We met by accident,” Hosea explained uneasily to Mr. Biddle.

  “We were always running into each other,” Susanna added.

  Mr. Biddle ignored her. “It was a short acquaintance?”

  “Yes,” said Hosea. “Though I assure you we had ample opportunity to observe each other’s character to determine our mutual suitability.”

  “Very suitable,” Susanna agreed.

  Mr. Biddle frowned. “Does the bishop know of your nuptials?”

  “I wrote him upon our return.”

  “And?”

  “And?” said Hosea nervously.

  Mr. Biddle grew agitated. “What was his reply?”

  “He sent his felicitations and expressed a wish to meet Mrs. Honeywell very soon,” said Hosea.

  Mr. Biddle squinted doubtfully. “Do your families approve of the hastiness of your marriage?”

  Hosea cleared his throat. “I have yet to hear from my sisters.” That was because he had yet to write them.

  “I have no family,” said Susanna.

  Mr. Biddle deigned to look at her. “No family? No connections?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said Susanna. “I’m connected with some of the most well-known families in the South, and a number of high-ranking politicians.”

  Hosea broke out in a cold sweat.

  “Were you gainfully employed when you met our vicar?”

  “Naturally,” said Susanna.

  “Doing what?” asked Mr. Biddle.

  “She plays piano, among other things,” Hosea boasted to Mrs. Sneed.

  “Many’s the hour I played while Mr. Honeywell sang,” Susanna sighed in exaggerated reverie. “His voice gathered quite a following.” She leaned over to Emma to whisper. “Mostly ladies. He broke several hearts. The town was on fire over him by the time we left.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Emma replied coolly.

  “It’s true. They couldn’t keep away from him,” said Susanna.

  “I mean I can’t imagine using something that gives me so much pleasure as a means of employment,” said Emma. “I should never touch the piano again.”

  Susanna snorted into her teacup.

  “Did you remake your hat?” asked Violet.

  “Of course,” Susanna replied. “It never pays to wear the same thing twice.”

  Violet’s eyes grew wide. “You’re ever so talented. What else can you do?”

  “You name it, I can do it,” said Susanna. “I believe in being versatile.”

  Hosea broke out in a sweat again.

  Violet’s esteem of Susanna rose higher. “What’s the cleverest thing you can do?”

  “I have chopped a log or two,” Susanna admitted.

  Mr. Cowdry slapped his thigh. “I knowed it. I says to Biddle when you first come to the village that I bet you could swing an ax. Vicar, you sure know how to pick a wife, but don’t let her be doing the chores. She’s too fine a lady for that.”

  Hosea smiled at her. “Indeed, she is.”

  “I bet you’re one of them suffragists as wants women to vote,” Mr. Cowdry observed.

  Susanna nodded. “I am.”

  “You are?” Hosea’s jaw dropped.

  “Why shouldn’t women be allowed to vote?” she asked.

  Mr. Cowdry tapped his head. “I knowed it.”

  This news threw Hosea into great consternation. “You don’t think it against the laws of God and Nature for women to vote? What if their opinions differ from their fathers or husbands?”

  “Laws of God and Nature?” Susanna said. “Who was it God thought equal to be a help meet for Adam?”

  “You’re treading dangerous ground, Vicar,” Mr. Cowdry warned.

  “Eve,” Hosea answered hesitantly.

  “What makes you think women aren’t equal to men when it comes to government?”

  Hosea removed his hat. It was not emboldening him as he imagined it would weeks ago when he first tried it on. “Male and female are equal in mind, but there are other differences that make them wholly unequal.”

  Mr. Cowdry shook his head. “You’ve stepped in it now, Vicar.”

  Susanna’s hands were on her hips. “Differences that make women unfit to vote? Such as?”

  “It’s a bit complicated to explain,” said Hosea, because at that moment his mind went completely blank.

  “You won’t attempt to explain it because I’m a woman and wouldn’t understand? Is that what you mean?” said Susanna.

  “By all means, no,” Hosea said.

  “If I was you, Vicar, I’d get a running start,” Mr. Cowdry advised.

  “Do you mean because I’m a woman and not allowed to do the jobs that only men do, that I shouldn’t have a say in the government?”

  Hosea nervously crushed the brim of his hat. “You must see that men are often more suited to some jobs.”

  Susanna grabbed Mr. Cowdry’s ax. Moving to the chopping block, she placed a log on it, lifted the ax over her head, and brought it down with a thwack! Two halves fell cleanly apart. “If men allowed women to do jobs they are suited to, maybe there would be fewer—” Her mouth clamped shut. Hosea knew what she was going to say and dropped his eyes. She handed the ax to Mr. Cowdry and hurried away.

  Hosea placed his crumpled hat on his head. “Good afternoon, Mr. Cowdry.”

  Mr. Cowdry nodded. “I knowed she could swing an ax. She’s mighty handy at chopping wood, too.”

  The tension between Susanna and Hosea continued until suppertime. It broke when their hands touched as they reached for the same serving spoon.

  “Pardon me,” Hosea snatched his hand away.

  “Go ahead,” she handed him the spoon.

  He scooped up a heaping serving of potatoes. “Allow me?” He deposited the potatoes on her plate. “I’m sorry for what I said this afternoon. I didn’t see your side of the matter until you so clearly pointed it out.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” said Susanna. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of Mr. Cowdry. After dealing with the Sneeds and Mr. Biddle’s insinuations, I hadn’t a shred of patience left.”

  Hosea continued scooping. “I shouldn’t have insisted we visit so many people in one day. I had hoped for more of them to greet you at church so others would follow their example.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be going to church,” said Susanna.

  Hosea panicked. Was she leaving already? “You can’t give up. You mustn’t let them intimidate you. Nothing intimidates you. You’re the most fearless woman I know. Why will you not come?”

  A smile played at the corners of her lips. “Because if I eat all these potatoes, I won’t fit into my gowns.”

  Hosea saw the enormous pile of potatoes he had created on her plate and laughed. She laughed. It was sweet relief to be on speaking terms again. “The day wasn’t all bad,” he said. “I learned something new about you.”

  “That we shouldn’t discuss women’s suffrage?”

  “No, that you do swing an ax quite well.”

  Susanna rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Much better than I carry on meaningless chit-chat. I got the impression Mrs. Sneed didn’t want me in her house.”

  “She was very insistent about sitting in her garden.”

  “What about Emma?” Susanna’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh, to be young and innocent again, spouting silly opinions and trying to sound grown up.”

  “You’re still young, Miss Gomer,” said Hosea. “I think you aren’t much older than Miss Sneed.”

  “Believe me, I’m much older,” said Susanna.

  Hosea caught her meaning. “Old enough to dispense medical advice to the doctor’s wife,” he said in an attempt at levity.

  “She thought I was joking when I was serious,” Susanna said. “At least we don’t have to worry about her patronizing the pub.”

  Hosea blinked. “Dear me, what a sight that would be. Mr. Biddle goes there every afternoon. How would she explain herself?”

  “Easy
,” said Susanna. “She’d say, ‘The vicar’s wife told me to get a good, stiff drink’!”

  They burst into a fit of giggles. Behind the dining room door, Mrs. Fitzgerald smiled.

  Hosea awoke Sunday morning with a song of thankfulness in his heart. The week had been filled with more uncomfortable and awkward calls upon the people of West Eastleigh, but, prepared for the worst and armed with better senses of humor, he and Susanna made it through unscathed.

  He almost burst into song when Susanna appeared in her bedroom doorway in a pale green suit, another of Mrs. Fitzgerald’s. “You look lovely,” he said.

  Susanna surveyed her attire. “I wanted to cry when Mrs. Fitzgerald removed the lace. It was Limerick lace her grandmother crocheted.”

  “You’re still lovely,” said Hosea. “The green brings out the color of your eyes.”

  Susanna looked puzzled. “Vicar, my eyes are brown.”

  “Yes.”

  She suddenly felt self-conscious. “Thank you,” she said and hurried down the stairs.

  After breakfast they walked to the church. Susanna was helping Hosea into his vestments (his shoulder still gave him trouble) when a small boy entered the sacristy. “Hello, William. You’re here early,” Hosea said.

  William shuffled from one foot to the other. “I’ve come with a message from Grandfather. He’s ailing this morning and can’t play the organ.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” said Hosea. “He seemed well on Friday. We shall have to make do without him.”

  “I can play,” said Susanna.

  “I don’t wish to trouble you,” Hosea said. “You’ve worked so much this past week.”

  “You call that work? It’s no trouble,” she said.

  “If that’s your wish,” he conceded.

  She felt self-conscious again. No, she felt guilty. She’d done nothing but drink tea all week and he called it work. “See you in church,” she said and hurried from the room.

  “Tell your grandfather we shall pray for his speedy recovery,” Hosea told William. “Do you know, this is the first time he’s ever missed a service.”

  “I’ll tell him, sir,” said William. “I’m going to meet him at the river right now.”

  “What’s he doing at the river?”

  “He’s taking me fishing. Good day, sir.” William bounded out of the room.

  Hosea was puzzled by this turn of events but forgot about it when he saw Susanna playing the organ. He thought everyone must be as delighted as he was. Yet when he turned to face the congregation, he saw he was mistaken. With few exceptions, their hostile expressions made it clear how they felt about her playing their organ. Mr. Biddle whispered loudly to his wife, “I shall write the bishop!”

  Hosea pretended he didn’t hear but shook with anger. He never before conducted a service with such ill feeling.

  Susanna looked out across the congregation as if indifferent. From his family’s pew, Sir Simon caught her eye and winked. She flushed, hoped no one noticed, and kept her eyes fixed on Hosea for the rest of the service.

  It was a terrible morning and no one could remember what the sermon was about. Susanna fled to the vicarage afterward, leaving Hosea to face cold greetings, except from Mr. Cowdry, the Smiths, and a few others. Sir Simon insisted they come to dinner.

  Hosea found Susanna sitting in the garden, lost in thought. He sat next to her on the bench. “I know it isn’t my place to apologize for others, but I am sorry,” he said. There was no need to elaborate.

  “Apology accepted,” Susanna said, “and appreciated.” She gave a little laugh. “You’d think I’d be used to such treatment by now, but I’m not.”

  Hosea’s brow furrowed. “You mean from the parish?”

  “The parish, people back home, clients,” she said. “As a preacher’s daughter, people assumed I was more spiritual than they were and so they avoided talking to me. Others acted holier-than-thou to try to put me in my place. After I started working for Judson, the world seemed to feel obligated to treat me like dirt, while clients usually did as—” She caught the look of alarm on Hosea’s face. “Never mind.”

  Hosea sighed. “These things take time. We’ll continue to make calls. The parish will soon come to know the real you.”

  “Lord, I hope not,” Susanna said, alarmed.

  “I don’t mean your former profession,” Hosea said quickly. “I mean that you’re no different from them.”

  “Ah. Are you going to quote Galatians three, verse twenty-eight now?” she asked wryly.

  “I was thinking of another verse,” Hosea said softly. “He hath made every thing beautiful in his time. Or her time.”

  Susanna blushed.

  Hosea spent the rest of the afternoon in prayer. “I don’t understand, Lord. Susanna has done nothing to deserve such treatment. What are we to do? Is this a sign she should leave to make way for my real wife?”

  He was no closer to understanding when he and Susanna entered the drawing room at Eastleigh Hall to find Sir Simon with a companion.

  “Allow me to introduce my good friend from London, Charles Henry,” said Sir Simon. “I wrote to Henry straightaway and said he must come down to see our vicar’s new wife.”

  Mr. Henry, a white-haired gentleman with a walrus mustache, bowed as he took Susanna’s hand. “Godfrey did not exaggerate your charms in the least, Mrs. Honeywell. You are a welcome treat.”

  “Thank you,” Susanna said shortly, knowing he knew what sort of treat she was.

  Dinner was announced and Sir Simon swooped in to escort Susanna into the dining room. “Mrs. Honeywell, have you any friends in America who plan to visit? That would be something, the village full of American beauties, making our English roses wilt with envy. You must persuade your friends to join us.”

  Susanna tried to withdraw her hand from his arm, but he held her fast. “My friends have no plans for visiting.”

  Henry guffawed. “English roses? English cabbages is more like it. What flower are women compared to in America?”

  “Women in America prefer to receive flowers instead of being compared to them,” she said coldly. “It shows us the respect we deserve.”

  Despite Sir Simon’s attempts to engage her in conversation, she remained quiet throughout dinner. He gave up halfway through and spent the rest of the meal insulting Hosea. Hosea didn’t catch the insults, though Susanna and Henry did, much to her indignation and Henry’s amusement.

  “Here we are wasting time when we should be planning the ball,” said Sir Simon when they retired to the drawing room. “Vicar, Henry, you don’t mind playing cards while we make preparations?”

  “Do you play cards, Vicar?” asked Henry.

  “On occasion,” said Hosea, avoiding Susanna’s scrutiny.

  Sir Simon led Susanna across the room to a desk in the corner while Hosea and Henry seated themselves at the card table.

  “I ought to slap that smile off your face,” Susanna hissed as she sat down hard, heedless of her hoop and petticoats.

  Sir Simon laughed loudly, drawing the curious glances of the other men. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “You brought your gambling buddy down here to gloat. If you’re half the gentleman you pretend to be, you’ll keep your mouth shut and not invite anyone else.”

  Sir Simon took paper, pen, and inkwell from the desk drawer. “I do keep my mouth shut, sweetheart,” he crooned. “There is so much I could say.” He dipped the pen into the ink. “What shall we serve? It must be something French in honor of New Orleans. A French champagne?”

  “Stop it,” Susanna warned.

  “Why? I’m enjoying myself and so should you. The vicarage must be cold and lonely at night. Don’t keep me in suspense any longer, Ruby. Why did you take up with Honeywell? What does he have that you want?”

  Hosea glanced at them.

  “I’m quite happy at the vicarage,” she said, catching his glance.

  Sir Simon chuckled. “An improvement over your last home,
to be sure. Why would you remove from New Orleans to the wilds of Texas? That’s right, you were running from something. Now what was it?”

  “Anywhere is an improvement over being with you.”

  Sir Simon laughed loudly again. Hosea wondered what was so funny, as Susanna rarely said anything to him that occasioned boisterous laughter. Of course, he wasn’t prone to boisterous laughter, and they were only beginning to converse without arguing. In time, she might say more humorous things and he might respond with greater enthusiasm, yet it did not explain why Sir Simon laughed so readily on so short an acquaintance. Perhaps he was trying to set her at ease.

  “That’s not what you told me before,” Sir Simon purred. “I could swear you once said you liked me. Come to think of it, I have letters from you declaring your affection.”

  “I was paid to say things to please you.”

  He stroked her hand with the tip of the pen. “I could pay you again and you may say anything you choose.”

  “I can say anything I choose for free.” She snatched the pen from him and tossed it away.

  He moved closer. “It’s so lonely here at Eastleigh Hall with Mama and Nicolette gone. You could keep me company, just as soon as I lock up the guns. It’s a much more comfortable alternative to the vicarage or prison.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, looking away.

  “That’s right. Admit nothing. Is that your game?”

  “I’m not playing games.”

  “Walking the straight and narrow are we, Mrs. Vicar? Sounds very dull. Don’t you wish to spice things up? Like the rice dish we used to eat or the red silk gown you’re having made.” He put his hand on her knee.

  “You’re going too far,” her voice shook.

  “Not far enough,” he breathed.

  She grabbed the inkwell and dumped it in his lap, causing him to jump to his feet. “If you’re this clumsy with pen and ink, Sir Simon, I can only imagine what your dancing skills are like,” she loudly tittered so the others could hear.