by Sheila Tibbs
“Don't worry, Sarah, it’s their loss, not yours. They who have known you for years should know who and what you are by now. If not, then they’re not your real friends, but I am.”
Sarah bent and kissed the young child on the cheek, “Thank you Isobel.”
Isobel smiled and ran to the main playground where the classes were lining up in front of their teacher, waiting to be quietly led to the classroom. Sarah watched her go with renewed fondness.
Isobel joined the back of the queue, and Sarah felt hurt when she saw all the other children in Isobel’s class move away from her. Isobel, not fazed by their actions one bit, looked at Sarah, grinned a broad grin and waved. Sarah waved back.
She stood there for what seemed like ages after the children had entered the school building, just watching the space were they had been. She was bought back to her senses when she overheard a close group of women talking in a hushed manner.
“Yes, poor Tina, do you know she is still being sick? I was talking to her neighbour this morning and the doctors are baffled as to what is wrong with her. They’re taking her to hospital this morning and she might have to stay. She was a waif of a child before this mystery illness, but by all accounts now, there’s nothing left of her. Her mother is so worried, it’s like she’s wasting away.”
There were murmurs and nodding of heads by the others in the group, when a second woman said, “Yes, but what about poor Francesca then? She has become so afraid since that lesson on Halloween, that she won’t leave her room. There can be nothing in there to create a shadow, that her room is practically bare now. She refuses to let her parents even watch the television, because she is convinced that whoever is showing, is a monster out to get her. The doctor thinks she’s suffering from some sort of schizophrenia.”
There were gasps from the other woman.
“Oh, and don’t forget about poor Mr. Peters,” a third woman said. “Apparently, he’s getting weaker by the day, they don’t hold out much hope for him.”
“And poor Mrs. Peters,” the first woman continued, “She lost her son in that accident, now her husband. Poor, poor woman.”
There was more nodding of heads. Then one glanced over at Sarah.
“To think she hasn’t even been to visit him, or so I’ve been told. Disgusting!”
They all looked at Sarah and nodded. Sarah could feel her face burning, and lowered her head and walked away.
'They’re right,' she thought. 'I have been so wrapped up in myself, that I haven’t given the Peters' another thought. No wonder they’re all giving me the cold shoulder, how awful of me. They obviously all think I don’t care. Oh God, what have I done?
How could I be so selfish? I know, I’ll go today, this morning.' She hurried off down the road towards home.
•
Sarah phoned the hospital the minute she walked through the door, to check on the visiting hours. The lady on the other end, who apparently was the ward sister, asked if Sarah was a relative.
“No. But Mr. Peters worked for me as he worked for my grandparents before me. He lives in a cottage on my property, so in that way, I feel we are related. I grew up playing with his son, Matthew.”
There was a long silent pause on the other end of the phone.
“Hello, are you still there?” Sarah asked.
“Yes I’m still here,” she answered. “Look, I don’t know if I should be telling you this, I doubt it very much, but as you knew him so well…” she cut off.
“What do you mean knew him so well?” Sarah almost shouted the words down the phone. 'No God, please no.'
She could feel the despair rising inside her like a wave. Nausea built up and she swallowed hard to keep it down.
“I’m sorry, love,” the voice said compassionately down the line.
“When?” Sarah cried.
“This morning, about half an hour ago. His wife was with him,” she said.
Sarah vaguely remembered thanking the lady before replacing the receiver.
She stood for ages, staring into space.
Soon after, the nausea swept through her like a tornado and she vomited. 'I’m too late again,' she sobbed.
The house felt too big and every sound seemed to echo around her. She was sure she could hear Mr. Peters out in the garden, but when she looked out of the window, it was empty. She had to get out of the house. Without a thought as to where she was going, Sarah grabbed her bag and coat, and then left the manor house.
The autumn had set in at last. The air had cooled considerably over the last week or so, and now felt chilly. She pulled her coat tighter around her tiny frame, feeling colder than it perhaps was and a chill had entered her bones and she couldn’t warm it off. Most of the trees in the lane were now bare, their leaves blanketing the ground, echoing every footstep. Their branches hung sadly, some looping together as if to keep warm now their covering was gone. How sad and frightened they look, Sarah thought to herself.
The sky above seemed to be darkening. 'It’s going to rain.' She tried to pull her coat tighter, but failed.
Soon, Sarah found herself at the church. She walked inside, thankful for the peace that bestowed the old building. She was alone. She thanked God that no one else was there to interfere with her thoughts, and knelt down to pray. She prayed like she had never prayed before, and asked for forgiveness and guidance.
A noise startled her and she spun round. Father Mather was standing there.
“Ahh, Sarah, I wondered when I would see you here.”
“Good morning, Father,” Sarah answered. “I hope you don’t mind me letting myself in.”
“Mind, my child? Is the house of the good Lord not for His humble servants to enter as they will? Tell me, Sarah, what troubles you so?”
His hands were gently locked together in front of him as he stood above Sarah, who was still kneeling. He looked like a tower standing there and he seemed to grow in height right in front of her eyes, until he appeared to reach the top of the church.
He reminded Sarah of the height and strength she had always pictured the good Lord to have himself, and felt then that her request for guidance had been answered, in Father Mather himself.
“Come, Sarah, join me for a cup of tea, the autumn weather has chilled me to the bone, and it is crying out to be warmed.”
He held out his hand and Sarah reached up to take it. Together they walked from the church to Father Mather's house, which was situated next to the churchyard. The sun was trying to break through the clouds, keeping the rain that had earlier been
threatened at bay.
“These old bones don’t like the cold much these days,” he said, looking up at the sky and closing his eyes. The weak rays of sun fell upon his face and he sighed, “Ahh, that’s better.”
•
David sat at his desk, smiling. 'How easy was that?' he thought. 'They were chomping at the bit for us to invest in this company. Fools! They didn’t realise that we wanted to all along. How I made them beg for our help. I did the bank proud today,' he praised himself. 'I didn’t look too eager and we got the business.
A big, big bonus will be on its way to me.'
He laughed. His eye caught the clock on the far wall of his office. 'Roll on tonight,' he thought. He sat behind his huge oak veneered desk like the king of the bank. His computer beeped and whined in front of him and his expert fingers teased the keys perfectly. His office was on the top floor of the vast building. One wall was totally windows and panes of glass; the wall opposite held the clock, a few exquisite pictures of old London, and the door to the main corridor.
His desk sat proudly in the centre of the room, with his high-backed chair facing the windows.
A tall filing cabinet, also in oak veneer, sat to his right, while a sofa and comfy chair, in cream leather, sat to his left. A drinks trolley sat in the far corner, to which David stood and poured himself a large scotch to celebrate his victory. The walls were painted warm terracotta, and the new wooden floor had recently bee
n laid and shone from the polish the cleaners used most nights.
The rug in front of the leather furniture complimented the walls perfectly. David looked around himself. Although he had been in this office now for three years, he still felt like he was the luckiest man alive. He felt like he was in Heaven itself.
•
Sarah sat in the parlour and took the cup handed to her with thanks. Father Mather sat opposite her in his favourite chair. It used to make Sarah laugh, his old chair, all tattered and worn, while a beautiful new suite sat there, almost untouched. Now though, she felt she had little to laugh about. The furniture was old in his parlour, but lovingly looked after by his cleaner. The wood shined and the glass sparkled. The décor was beige and the suite a cream and pink, country cottage style, with big, soft cushions that seemed to envelope you as you sat down, wrapping you in warmth and love. The small, leaded windows, faced the way the sun was fighting through the clouds, bringing in streams of light that bought to life all it touched. It was probably the most comfortable room Sarah had ever had the pleasure of entering, although the décor wasn’t what she herself would have chosen, yet it seemed to fit the room perfectly.
Stirring his hot tea, Father Mather spoke without looking up.
“Tell me, Sarah, what troubles you so much that you felt you needed to attend church on a Wednesday?”
Clearing her throat, she said, a little embarrassed, “Mr. Peters died this morning.”
“Yes, I know. I have already visited the hospital, and blessed him.”
“I never got to see him, Father. I was too wrapped up in my own problems, now it’s too late.” She started to cry. Father Mather placed his cup on the coffee table and handed Sarah a tissue. He sat quietly, saying nothing until Sarah’s tears had ceased to fall.
“Do not punish yourself, my dear. We can all look back in hindsight and regret the choices we have made, but where does that get us? I’ll tell you where, nowhere.”
Sarah looked up at him.
“But, Father, he worked for my family for years, as did his family before him. I was too late to save Matthew and now I’m too late to say goodbye.”
The tears were beginning to prick her eyes again and she swallowed hard.
“Who are you sorry for, Sarah? Matthew, Mr. Peters, Mrs. Peters who has been left all alone, or yourself?”
“That’s a cruel and wicked thing to say, Father.” She stared at him unable to believe he could be so uncaring.
“Nonsense. You say you were too wrapped up in your own problems to have found time to visit him, now you carry regret. Let it go, Sarah! Regret can eat away at your very soul. No you didn’t visit him, should you have done? Maybe, maybe not, but the truth is you didn’t. I’m sure the Peters’ understand. From what Mrs. Peters has said to me, they were aware of your problems. She holds no grudge against you for not visiting.”
They sat there in silence. Sarah taking in and digesting all that had been said.
Eventually she spoke. “There’s a lot going wrong at home, between David and myself, Isobel … everything actually”
“Mmm, so I believe. Be strong, Sarah, self-pity is a sign of weakness. It’s a lot easier to keep falling down the pit of despair and pity than it is to climb back up. I have seen many a good strong man fall, never to surface again.” He drank his tea before he spoke again.
“You do not have to tell me your problems, you do not have to tell anyone, but I am here if you wish to share the burden of your troubles.”
He smiled a warm, fatherly smile at Sarah and she found herself telling him everything. Everything that had happened since Isobel had arrived to stay with them; her dreams, fears, hopes, and every last detail. They sat there for most of the day, Sarah talking, Father Mather listening, nodding in the right places, sighing when needed, not once interrupting the flow of words that Sarah found so hard to stop.
With every word, she felt the weight on her chest getting lighter. Eventually, she seemed to run out of steam, and felt quite childish over some of the feelings she had expressed.
“Forgive me, Father, if I seem selfish or jealous, it must all sound very silly to you.”
“Not at all, Sarah, I feel a fresh pot of tea is called for, then it’s my turn to talk, well, ask a few questions at least.”
His smile was still soft and warm and Sarah felt glad to be there ... and she felt safe.
Handing Sarah a fresh cup, he sat back down and sighed.
“What do we actually know about young Isobel, I mean before she came to you?”
“Not much at all really. We know her mother was taken to a Mental Institute, although which one I don’t know. Oh, and Isobel was born one of identical twins but her sister, unfortunately, didn’t survive, and I believe that’s why her mother is where she is.”
“And what of her father?”
Sarah physically shuddered at the mention of him.
“Nothing,” she said, then taking a deep breath, she continued, “I have seen a picture of him, Isobel carries it with her. I have also dreamt of him on two occasions.”
“Tell me of these dreams.” He sat forward in his chair, his hands locked together and resting between his knees. A new look had entered his eyes, a hungry look. Sarah recounted her dreams, feeling embarrassed talking of sexual encounters with the priest, but he sat there enthralled with everything she said, drinking in her words with a thirst he hadn’t felt for many years.
When she had finished, he found it hard to keep himself from smiling.
“I think it’s time I met this young lady,” he said.
“But she won’t come to church.”
“Then you must bring her here, for tea, tomorrow after school. If my suspicions are correct, then we will know more.”
Puzzled by what he meant, Sarah bade her thanks and left.
•
It was time to collect Isobel from school. Sarah had been with Father Mather all day.
As she walked away from the cottage, Father Mather called after her.
“Remember, Sarah, be strong, don’t show signs of weakness, and you shall grow.”
She smiled a weak smile and walked slowly to the school.
“What does he mean?” she asked herself. Her head was beginning to ache trying to remember all that had been said. Isobel came running out to greet her at the gate.
“Hi, Sarah,” she beamed.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she answered, trying to put the day’s conversation out of her mind.
“Have you had a nice day? Is that picture for me?” She smiled and took the picture from Isobel’s outstretched hands.
“I drew it especially for you,” she said.
Sarah looked at the picture and frowned. It was a sinister looking picture, lots of people milling around and a woman who was hovering above them all, looking down. Her face seemed to be distorted by the paint that had run across her before it had dried. The sky was a black-grey.
Smiling weakly, Sarah said. “It’s lovely, darling, thank you.”
•
Back home, Isobel drank her milk and ate her cookie, while Sarah carefully told her of her day; Mr. Peters' passing and her visit with Father Mather.
Isobel could feel her face darken, so made her excuses and went to her room.
Sitting in front of her mirror, she said, angrily, “Why does she keep going to that man for guidance?”
“She will be harder to break than we first thought. Her faith is strong, but we shall prosper,” her reflection said.
Together they smiled.
Downstairs, Sarah could hear the faint sound of Isobel’s music box as it played.
Chapter fourteen.
Sarah lay in bed, thinking over and over about her conversation with Father Mather. How she missed David. She and David had always discussed everything together. Solving the world’s mysteries had been their goal when they had first met. No secrets had been their motto, yet now she was alone.
She turned to look at the space left vacant next
to her. She remembered what it was like to see David laying there beside her. It seemed a life time ago, although it was just three weeks since he had last lay beside her, touched her, and loved her.
She had heard his groans in the night, and had thought to go to him, to comfort him, tell him that she still loved him, but something had stopped her. Was it pride? Had she so wronged him that she was the one who needed to apologise?
She no longer seemed to know the answers. The gulf between them had started small, but when? She couldn’t quite remember, but now it grew with each breath they seemed to take. Could that gulf ever be mended?
Her heart tightened in her chest, her body ached for his, her soul cried out in pain. Her hand rested on his pillow, clutching at the memories of the fun they had shared. She pulled his jumper closer to her, his scent was still present and she drank it in.
Pulling her legs up into the foetal position, the same act as she had done night after night when her parents had perished in the accident that left her an orphan, she eventually slept.
The dream at first was lovely. It was her wedding day. Her grandfather looked so proud as he walked her down the aisle to where David stood waiting. Love shone from his eyes, she felt like the fairy princess, so happy. The rest of her life she would thank God for the blessing he had given her. Then, her dream seemed to change, she was transported back in time, to when she didn’t know. The house was hers, but somehow different, she knew it to be the Manor though. She was there, somehow floating above the scene. She could smell the awful stench that was in the heavens, and hear the footsteps and the voices of the villagers.
A young woman was being dragged from the house ... there were people everywhere, chanting, shouting, spitting. She could feel herself smile. Someone called out in the darkness because the flaming torches below were hardly lighting the lane. She then realised that the powerful looking man leading the villagers was the Magistrate, her ancestor, who had built the house.
The girl was taken to the crossroads and tied to a stake, then straw and twigs were built high at its base.