The room was empty. The bed hadn’t been slept in. Propped against the pillows was an envelope inscribed with the initials “H.H.” His chest tightened as he picked it up and opened it. Inside was Susanna’s wedding band and a note:
Vicar,
I have acquired the money to return to the U.S. The timing is Providential, for the parish found out what I am.
They most likely believe I imposed on you, which is as good an explanation as any to tell your bishop.
Thank you for your assistance in Texas. It will never be forgotten. Please give my regards to Mrs. Fitzgerald. Her gowns are in the wardrobe.
S. G.
Hosea felt like collapsing and running out of the house and down the road to find her at the same time. He opened the wardrobe; Mrs. Fitzgerald’s old gowns hung there but Susanna’s were missing. Panicking, he pulled out the wardrobe’s drawers and looked under the bed for some sign she had been there but found nothing. He stumbled out of the room staring at the note, trying to draw her presence from her handwriting.
Mrs. Fitzgerald met him at the bottom of the stairs. “Mr. Honeywell,” her voice trembled, “I’ve heard some news.”
“Susanna?” he asked.
Mrs. Fitzgerald blinked back tears. “Sir Simon’s chaise was seen leaving the village a little after four o’clock this morning and,” she hesitated, “Miss Gomer was seen with him alone in the woods not two days ago.”
Hosea felt as if the wind was knocked out of him. “What are you saying? They left together? How can it be? She didn’t like him.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald saw the note in his hand. “What did she write?”
Hosea handed it to her. “She says the parish knows her secret but makes no mention of Sir Simon.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald read the note and then folded it as Hosea paced back and forth. “It cannot be. Dear God, what am I to do? How am I to get her back?”
“She left of her own accord. You can’t force her to come back,” said Mrs. Fitzgerald.
“No, I’d never do that.” Hosea ran his hands through his hair. “But if I catch up to her, we can go back to America together. I can find employment.”
“What are you saying?” asked Mrs. Fitzgerald. “You want to leave? What money do you have to start over in another country, let alone buy passage on a ship? How can you be sure of finding her? I’m sorry to say it, but if she obtained money, we must consider it came from Sir Simon. Who else would be willing to lend it to her?”
“I know her,” he insisted. “She wouldn’t accept money from him.” As he spoke, he remembered how Sir Simon acted when around her and her reluctance to tell Hosea what they talked about. Why was she so secretive?
Mrs. Fitzgerald bit her lip. “As fond as I am of Miss Gomer, I felt she was hiding something. In unguarded moments she seemed almost desperate, and desperate people make rash decisions. How I wish she trusted us more.”
A decision. It was Susanna’s decision to run away with a gentleman stranger rather than be sold into marriage that made his stomach turn sour. “She left with Sir Simon for his money,” he said. “They must have gone to London. Sir Simon keeps a house there. Maybe I can convince her to return. I must be off at once!” He bounded up the stairs to fetch his coat and hat.
“Mr. Honeywell, wait,” Mrs. Fitzgerald called after him. “Even if she did get the money from Sir Simon, we don’t know that she left with him, let alone if they went to London. Why should she go to London if she intends to return to America?”
“Are you saying it’s a coincidence they left on the same night?” he asked.
“No, but—” she wrung her hands, unwilling to admit the worst. “As I said, desperate people make rash decisions. To give up your position in the church in order to be with Miss Gomer is a noble thought, but don’t make a hasty decision you’ll regret.”
“Mrs. Fitzgerald, you said a church that doesn’t practice the grace and forgiveness it’s supposed to isn’t worth serving. Now you tell me to stay?” his voice rose. “Susanna was right. The parish doesn’t accept her. How can I live among people who reject the woman I love?”
“Do what you believe is right,” she urged. “But are you certain of her regard for you?”
He gripped the banister. “I don’t know. The only thing I am certain of is my feelings for her.” He sank to the top step. “Susanna could never be happy here. She wasn’t happy here.” He buried his face in his hands. “Lord, help me. God, forgive me. Show me what to do.” He prayed for a long time. When he raised his head, he still didn’t know.
Except for a brief visit to Eastleigh Hall, where the housekeeper confirmed Sir Simon had gone to London, Hosea spent the day in solitude. He combed the lanes he and Susanna had walked together. He sat in her place in the front pew at church. He stared at her empty chair in the parlor. Everywhere, everything had been touched by her; yet there were no signs she had been there, except for her wedding band. He felt empty and numb.
Mrs. Fitzgerald was crying when she brought him tea.
“Have you heard something about Susanna?” he asked anxiously.
She sniffled. “It’s that vile gossip running rampant in the village. You can’t take one step outside without hearing the most awful things being said about Miss Gomer. I dread going to church tomorrow.”
“I dread it, too,” said Hosea.
Sleep was a long time in visiting the vicar, but when it did, it brought another dream. It was night and he stood in the middle of a vast prairie that stretched to infinity. The wind blew softly and the sky was alive with the light of millions of stars.
“Hosea,” a Voice whispered.
He fell to his knees. “Lord, forgive me for disobeying you and running away. If I hadn’t, I never would have met Miss Gomer. She doesn’t love me, but, oh God, how can I marry another? Give me the grace to do your will.”
He bowed his head and waited for a rebuke and pronouncement of punishment. He deserved nothing less. He got himself into this predicament and it was time to pay the price.
He awoke astonished. “Go once more, and show love to this wife of yours who has been loved by her boyfriend, to this adulteress—just as ADONAI loves the people of Israel,” the words were still ringing in his ears.
He jumped out of bed and raced down the stairs to his study. Finding his Bible, he carried it to the window to read by the light of the almost full moon.
“And I will betroth thee unto me for ever,” he read aloud the verse following the one heard in his dream. “Yea, I will betroth thee unto me in righteousness, and in judgment, and in lovingkindness, and in mercies.”
Hosea distractedly went through the motions of the service the next morning. Not until the sermon did he stir from his thoughts.
“The scripture I shall expound on today comes from the Gospel of St. John, chapter eight, starting with the first verse,” he began. “It is the story of the woman who was brought to our Lord by the scribes and Pharisees. She was caught in the act of adultery, yet where was the man? If she was caught, he was also caught, yet they judged only her. Why?” he asked. “The religious leaders asked the Lord if she should be executed for her crime. He replied by writing on the ground. I don’t know what he wrote, but he said, ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’”
It was clear from their looks that everyone knew who he was really talking about. With few exceptions, their sanctimony outshone the bright stained-glass depiction of fallen women before them.
Hosea shook his head. “You are thinking to yourselves, ‘Poor Mr. Honeywell, his wife ran off with another man. Such a wicked woman. Thank God St. Mary’s is cleansed of that filth, but he really ought to have known better.’”
The congregation rustled. How dare the vicar say such things? It was highly improper. Their reaction reminded
Hosea of the Albright’s desire to do charitable work while at the same time expressing outrage at him for associating with those who needed charity. He realized then his flock only cared
about the outward appearance of religion. They didn’t love the Lord with all their being, and they certainly didn’t love their neighbor as themselves. Their hypocrisy was as disgusting to him as was his own.
“I must tell you the truth whether you can bear it or not, for I cannot bear a lie,” said Hosea, abandoning his sermon. “The Lord Almighty told me to marry a prostitute, but I was afraid of disgracing this parish, afraid of what you would think of me, and so I fled. I went to America to escape from God’s command, but you cannot escape from him. His will will be done whether you cooperate or not. I tried to distance myself from what I knew I had to do, but the Lord thwarted my plans and brought a prostitute to me. It was Susanna.”
People glanced at one another uncomfortably. The vicar was taking far too many liberties.
“I know not the full turmoil of her heart and mind, but I know enough and assure you that she and other women like her are not vile creatures enjoying a life of sin. They are trying to survive when no one else will help them. Those sweet ladies took me in when I needed a place to stay. They yearn for an education, to raise themselves to better circumstances, but the church people of the town want nothing to do with them. God forbid good Christian folk help them escape from slavery to a saloon owner! God forbid a prostitute pollute the Tea & Temperance Society! Isn’t ignoring the needs of those around you a greater sin than drunkenness? If your daughters were caught in the same circumstances, how would you feel if they were treated thusly?”
He continued, heedless of their indignation. “Susanna was so desperate to escape such degradation that she bet herself in a poker game. If she won, the winnings would pay off her contract with the saloon. If she lost, she’d become the property of the winner. She kept losing, which is why I joined the game. I know you blame me for partaking in a pastime that I would fervently admonish you against, but I have no regrets. By the grace of God, I won and gave the money to her, but she insisted on paying off the debt by caring for me, for I had been shot by the man who wanted to keep her as a prisoner to his greed.”
St. Mary’s held a riveted audience.
“We married, though we did not live as man and wife, so we would not sin by living in the same household. It was a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”
He took a deep breath. “But some of you who think you’re God’s children, you’re harlots just as much as Susanna ever was.”
The congregation gasped.
“You claim to follow the Good Book and to love your neighbor, but you don’t. You judge and condemn and your pride is a foul stench that has risen to heaven. Why did the Almighty tell me to marry a fallen woman? It is to show you how far you have fallen and how much the Lord still loves you despite your harlotry, for it’s not the Lord you hold in highest esteem in your hearts. It is yourselves!” he roared. “You cannot say you love God while you hate your neighbor. To love God is to love your neighbor, and to love your neighbor is to show you are God’s children, but you’re not. You’re children of harlotry, for in your pride and arrogance you idolize yourselves.”
Hosea’s shoulders slumped, his fire exhausted. “Now Susanna is gone.” He turned and addressed the cross hanging above the altar. “Yet even if she willingly left, I will take her back, for I love her.” When he turned back around, he discovered Mrs. Fitzgerald’s tearful face in the congregation. “And it’s high time I told her.”
Mr. Cowdry nudged Mr. Biddle. “The vicar’s finally found his passion.”
Hosea tore off his tippet and surplice as he descended from the pulpit and strode down the aisle. “The grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost be with us all evermore. Amen,” he dismissed them.
The church erupted. “What is the vicar doing?”
“Where is he going?”
“Did he really say he loves her?”
Hosea paused when he reached the door. “Does anyone have a horse I may borrow?”
“You can use mine,” Ethan Carson jumped up.
St. Mary’s emptied quickly. Friend or foe, everyone was eager to see the vicar ride away.
“Where are you going, Vicar?” Mr. Biddle demanded.
“To London to fetch my wife,” said Hosea.
“You can’t go riding off on yon nag,” said Mr. Cowdry. “She’ll drop dead afore you’re halfway there.”
Hosea looked at the horse. “You’re right. Do you mind if I borrow your hunter, Mr. Biddle?”
Mr. Biddle was too fat to ride a hunter, but he was not too vain to purchase one and hitch it to his carriage. “You want to what?”
“He means yes,” said Mr. Cowdry.
While Mr. Biddle protested, Hosea, Ethan, and Mr. Cowdry unhitched the hunter and saddled it.
“Where in London does Sir Simon live?” Hosea asked, mounting the tall, prancing bay. “No, wait. What’s the name of the club he belongs to?”
“You are not taking my horse to London,” Mr. Biddle huffed.
“You’ve had pint or two with Sir Simon at the pub,” said Mr. Cowdry. “Has the rascal not told you where he spends his mother’s money? You know how ill Lady Godfrey looks upon gambling. ’Twould be a shame if she knew you was cozying up to her son but wouldn’t help the vicar.”
“I do not cozy up,” Mr. Biddle said hotly, then noticed everyone was watching him. He cleared his throat nervously. “He may have mentioned Brewster’s Gentleman’s Club in St. James’s Street.”
The crowd buzzed. Brewster’s was a notorious gambling establishment. Mr. Cowdry shook his head. “I never liked Sir Simon, not since he were a lad. Something’s not right about him going off with your missus, Vicar. Her I like, but him I don’t trust, not farther than I can spit.”
“Neither do I,” said Hosea. “I shall take good care of your horse, Mr. Biddle. I must fly!”
“Wait,” Mrs. Sneed said, pushing through the crowd with Emma and Violet behind her. “Mr. Honeywell, I have been remiss in welcoming Mrs. Honeywell to the parish. Please let her know I shall call on her Tuesday morning if she is not otherwise engaged.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sneed,” Hosea said. “I hope she is not.” He kicked the horse and galloped away.
“Mama, how could you?” Emma sniveled. “She bewitched the vicar!”
Violet put her arm around her. “Don’t worry, Emma; you don’t have to call on her. You can stay home and practice your piano. Maybe you’ll impress the next vicar.”
“This is an outrage,” Mr. Biddle stamped his foot. “The vicar and that woman have disgraced St. Mary’s. I won’t stand for it.”
Mr. Cowdry patted him on the back. “Aye, well, be off with you and write the bishop.”
It was a long sixteen miles to London due to the muddy roads, and then it felt like an eternity navigating the city’s maze of buildings and streets. By the time Hosea arrived at Brewster’s his shoulder was on fire.
“I must speak with Sir Simon Godfrey on a matter of urgent business,” he informed the clerk at the front desk.
The clerk sniffed at his mud-splattered appearance. “Sir Simon is with a private party. You may leave a message.”
Hosea grabbed him by the lapels and lifted him across the counter. “You will show me to him now.”
The clerk gulped. “This way, sir.” He led Hosea to a set of double doors on the first floor. “Wait here and I shall announce you.”
“I’ll announce myself,” said Hosea and burst in. Sir
Simon, Charles Henry, and two other gentlemen were startled by the intrusion on their card game. “I’ve come for my wife. Where is she?” Hosea demanded.
“Vicar, how are you?” Sir Simon said.
“I am jealous for my wife. Where is Susanna?”
Sir Simon leaned back in his chair. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Hosea lunged. “Where are you keeping my wife?” he shouted.
The other men restrained Hosea. “Steady on, man,” said Mr. Henry. “Would you assault a baronet?”
&n
bsp; “When he takes my wife, yes,” Hosea seethed.
Sir Simon affected amusement. “Your wife? Why would I want your wife?”
Hosea struggled against the others. “You lied to her. You made her go with you. Where is she?”
“Careful, now. Slander can be costly,” Sir Simon warned. “I have no idea where Mrs. Honeywell is. In fact, I don’t know who she is. I don’t aspire to consort with vicar’s wives. My tastes run in a less holy direction.” He smirked. “You know what I mean, don’t you, Vicar?”
“Susanna gave up that life,” Hosea said.
“You mean Ruby Hardcastle gave up that life and is on the run for attempted murder?”
“What are you talking about?” Hosea said.
“Didn’t she tell you about that little incident?” said Sir Simon. “In New Orleans, Susanna is known as Ruby and she’s wanted for shooting a man in cold blood. She needed the alias of being your wife to flee here where she’d be safe from the American authorities. She used you to get what she wanted. She told me so herself.”
“You lie,” said Hosea.
“Do you know anything about her life before you met her?”
“I know enough,” said Hosea, shrugging off the others. “It doesn’t matter to me what she was or did.”
“It doesn’t matter I know Ruby intimately?” said Sir Simon. “That I have letters stating her devotion to me?”
Hosea felt sick. What if Sir Simon spoke the truth? Susanna told him nothing of her life between the times she left her parents until she arrived at the Golden Spoke. Was she hiding something as heinous as murder? “I don’t believe you,” said Hosea. “She made it clear how she feels about you.”
Sir Simon laughed. “She’s a good actress. Lord knows she’s paid enough. She’s very expensive to maintain, I’m sure you know.” He picked up his glass of brandy and swirled it. “Why don’t you go back to West Eastleigh where any number of ripe young ladies will gladly take her place at the vicarage? Really, Honeywell, if she cared for you, why would she leave? What can you give her?”
The Vicar Takes a Wife Page 18