by Carole Gill
“It must be part of the evil that she mentioned.”
I did look at her face one more time, gazing upon the sweet face that was Kana, Kana who was no more.
*
There was so much sorrow. Much of it I did not understand but what I understood least of all had to do with the custom of burning Kana’s wagon and all of her belongings, every single item.
The only things that were not consumed in the great fire were the kittens but everything else—her trinkets and baskets, linen and crockery, was all put onto what to me seemed like a funeral pyre.
“All trace of her home and her things are gone. We will not speak her name now, for she is gone and must not return, for to do so, she would not be at rest.”
And so the elder Kana was buried after a little ceremony with only wild flowers to mark her grave.
Marta said they would all move on afterward. “Our mother is gone and her house, too. There is no reason for us to remain.”
“But when are you going?”
“We leave at the next sunrise and you, Rose, where will you go?”
We had spoken late into the night about it, with Marta offering me, pleading with me, to come along with her. But I could not and she knew it. “Are you going back to him?” she asked. Then she added, “I can understand though I do not agree, but perhaps you will find your truth, that is the truth of your destiny.”
“I am going to seek advice. There is a vicar I know in Egton. I shall talk things over with him.”
And so it was arranged for me to go with Marta and her brothers for they would pass near Egton.
If I wondered what Kana had tried to tell me. I would soon understand its terrible significance.
Chapter 35
Volka and Janos rode in their own wagon while Marta and I rode in hers. For much of the journey we were silent but not unfriendly; it was our thoughts that stilled our tongues.
I could not stop thinking of Kana or Marta’s words telling me of the moment of her death. “It is Rose! Tell her, please tell her! And you, Marta…”
Kana was trying to tell us something—to warn us perhaps of the evil she had spoken about, the evil she had seen which had a great power protecting it from, in her words, ‘searching eyes.’
I could think of little else on that journey to Egton. And I must have looked worried for Marta finally asked me what troubled me.
“I keep thinking about Kana’s last moments and what she was trying to say.”
“Ah yes, the warning,” Marta replied with a shrug.“I don’t know, Rose. I wish I did. Perhaps she was warning you about Louis and loving him.”
“Perhaps, but what about the evil she said she saw—the evil that was protected? And what of your warning, too?”
Marta shrugged. “Life is full of danger; we will have to be careful, for darkness may lie around any corner!”
Neither Marta nor I could know what Kana saw for we did not possess her gift. And so we sat silently and listened to the steady clip clop of the horses for they were slowing down. We had come into view of Egton, Egton with its hills and its winding streets.
She offered to drive me into the town but I declined for I knew gypsies preferred skirting the outskirts instead.
We parted as friends, Marta and I. “I wish you good fortune, Rose. I wish you what I wish for myself. You go to the vicar now? The one you told me about, that is good.”
We embraced then and I watched her and her brothers drive off.
I felt so many emotions as I walked along, so many things that ran through my mind. Kana and the evil she spoke of, as well as her mysterious warning—that I could not forget.
I thought also of Louis. Truly, I had to fight with myself not to turn around and go back to him.
But I could not, for I owed Kana much. She wished me to seek wise counsel and I would do this if for nothing else than to honor her.
It was a fine autumn day, that day I approached Egton. The sun was shining as it had the last time I was there with Dora, poor Dora.
I could see the steeple from far away. It was a comforting site, like a welcoming beacon.
I smoothed my skirts and began the climb up the hill that would lead me to the kindly Rev Hobbs.
The church looked welcoming and I smiled as I hurried toward the rectory. No sooner had I raised my arm to knock, the door opened and I once again beheld the gentle face of Vicar Hobbs. “Come in, child.” I must have looked shocked for he added, “I saw you walk up the hill. Have you journeyed far?”
“I have not come from the house, but from another place.”
I told him from where and he smiled. “Ah, the gypsies. Good people, if a bit exotic for my taste. Would you care for some food or drink?”
When he mentioned tea I shuddered, as I recalled the wolfbane tea. “Plain tea, sir.”
He smiled. “Plain, without milk you mean?”
“Without anything at all but the tea, sir.”
I followed him into the kitchen. “Sit by the fire I shan’t be a moment.”
I took my seat and watched as he pottered about. “There is some I just brewed. It is quite convenient that you came now.” He handed me my cup and sat down with his own.
It was obvious he wasn’t going to overwhelm me with questions. Instead he wanted me to feel I could speak to him as I liked and as much as I liked.
I thanked him and wondered how I would start.
He could see my hesitation and so he began himself. “Things are nearly the same since you were last here as life often is in a village like Egton. There have been two births and three deaths, not an exact balance but close. Also, the church organ is on its last legs. I thought—”
This was where I interrupted him with a sob I couldn’t hold back. I so wanted to talk, to tell him, but I found myself overwrought instead. I broke down, utterly, and felt so lost and vulnerable. He allowed me this moment, concern etching his face.
“Please, there is no need to rush into anything, do calm yourself.” I think he didn’t quite know what to do for me.
When I was able to I expressed all that was in my heart. I told him quickly, in a torrent of rushed words. Everything. All about Eco and the horror he brought with him, and the attacks on my person and Martha’s.
His face softened. “And you received medical attention?”
I explained that I had. He nodded and said he was pleased. “And the children are safe, as well as Mr. Darton, you say?”
I was so relieved he called them children.
“Yes, the children have gone to stay with friends of Mr. Darton’s and I was told Mr. Darton was alright. You see there was this gypsy…”
He smiled indulgently as though he put little stock in fortune tellers. “Yes, well we shall hope that is the case.” When he saw the look of fear on my face, he patted my hand. “I am sure the gypsy was correct. They are said to be accurate in their readings, I would not worry about it.”
I cried again then. I wept for some time.
“You’ve come to the right place. You may remain here as long as you like,” he said when the tears subsided.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “I am the shepherd who gathers the flock, not my own to be sure, but the one for the master.” Then, patting my hand once again, he smiled reassuringly. “You are welcome, daughter! The prodigal has returned home.”
The word, ‘daughter’ did it for I soon began to sputter, the words tumbling out fast and furiously as if I could not wait to tell him all of it. “You see my father…”
“First things first,” he said, motioning me to calm down. “You must start at the beginning.”
I realized that, but it was so difficult. Here he was, a man of God, and I was about to discuss the worst kind of sin imaginable. Depravity so unconscionable, I felt I could not continue. Yet he urged me on. His hand gently tapped my arm, coaxing, as he said gently. “You’ll feel better.”
He wanted me to confess, to truly purge the poison
from my mind and my soul where it had dwelled too long.
“In your opinion Rev. Hobbs, was my father evil or insane?” I asked with trepidation.
I had to know. I’ve always tried to answer that myself but now I was with a Vicar of Christ, not Dr. Bannion who had aligned himself with Hell. This was a man of God who I trusted.
He took a long time to answer, but when he did his tone was even and gentle, so much so I had to strain to hear. “I think both perhaps, evil and insane, not that one is dependent on the other.”
“He changed after he fell ill…”
So opened the veritable floodgates; all the filth I had buried for so long began to surface, and also things I had forgotten came tumbling free of their dark constraints. I even remembered the man in the shadows! The man who I now knew to be Dr. Bannion.
“Yes,” I said. “I am remembering.”
I thought back to all those countless times I would see my father in the doorway watching me sleep and sometimes, he’d walk slowly into the room and whisper my name. “My Rose, come Rose let me tell you a story…”
Story? Not a story as much as a testament of his own mad, sad, evil yearnings that he sought to satisfy with me, his own daughter!
“Yes, sit here and we shall play a game or two.”
“Mother!”
Had I called for her or had I only imagined it? This I asked the vicar.
“Can you not remember whether she appeared?”
“I am trying.”
I tried so hard. I did conjure up her face in my mind. Her face—not the hellish wraith that had so recently visited me—no, this was my mother’s face I did picture in my mind. Her pale, fragile face with its gentle features and her sad, haunted eyes…but perhaps there was more. Had she known Dr. Bannion was there? “I think she was nearly mad herself,” I admitted aloud.
His eyes darkened with pity. “She suffered as you all did.”
“Yes.”
“What was she always like, can you remember?”
“She was always sad and haunted looking, I suppose.”
He lit his pipe, slowly and carefully, as he pondered his answer. “Had they married for love, do you think?”
This quite shocked me, coming from a vicar. “I don’t know, I think perhaps—I don’t know.”
What did I think? Had I ever known or suspected that theirs hadn’t been a marriage based on love? “I was after all barely nineteen when—”
He interrupted me, gently but firmly. “Did your mother confide in you?”
I thought back and remembered she had rather begun to. “I do recall her telling me things when she thought me mature enough.”
“Personal things?”
Not too personal. Why was he asking me that? “I used to hear her crying sometimes and when I asked if I might help her because I wished so to help, she’d sigh and smile and say that I couldn’t help, that no one could and then she’d try to pass it all off so I wouldn’t worry.”
But something nagged at my brain, a distant memory. “Just now, I thought of something. You see, he began to stay out all night, he had women… coarse women my mother called them. She told him to his face and he beat her for it. And we all cried. That is, the little ones wept, for I had flung myself at him! He pulled me off and looked at me so strangely, I turned away. It was his eyes. I didn’t like the look I saw there…a look of desire!”
I thought I quite shocked him, for he had risen to his feet. I watched as he opened a cupboard. “I see no harm in you taking this.”
He was handing me spirits. Normally I rarely drank but I was happy to this time. “Thank you, sir.”
It was hot and burning but comforting, too. I felt myself begin to relax, and better able to speak. I think I sat there for hours, confiding in this man.
At last, after a modest meal of soup and dumplings, we were ready to adjourn. “I think that is quite enough for today, Rose. There’s all the time in the world to talk about whatever it is you wish, and remember my child. I am a man of God and shall be your greatest confidant and friend if you wish it for as long as you please.”
I thanked him, although for some reason, I began to feel deeply troubled and didn’t know why.
Chapter 36
Odd how something might be troubling yet at the same time there are doubts about just how troubling it is.
In my case, it began with a thought, or perhaps an emotion. It related to how I was beginning to feel about the vicar.
Of course, telling him about my past was difficult as I knew it would be, yet there was something else that bothered me.
I bade him goodnight and took a candle with me. He had given me the attic room, explaining he hadn’t another to spare unless I preferred the parlor.
“You’ll be cozy up there. It’s quiet too and you won’t hear an old man pacing at night because he cannot sleep!”
He had shown me the room earlier. It was small. Just a tiny little space no larger than a cupboard, but I was grateful—I don’t mean to sound as if I wasn’t.
In a way it was cozy. It certainly was clean and not damp, although a mite stuffy, so I opened the window.
The room faced the front of the church yard. It pleased me to see the ancient gravestones which looked eerie in the moonlight.
Those who slept underneath those grim stones no longer struggled. Their trials were ended whereas mine had barely begun.
My life had nearly ended, yet I felt somehow there was a purpose to it, that it was fate’s firm declaration that I should survive.
I felt thoughtful and dreamy and I think I must have stood at that window for quite some time. I was at last ready to blow out my candle when I heard a door open. I looked down to see light upon the walkway.
For some reason I blew out the candle for I wished to have anonymity.
I have no idea what I expected to see; all I knew was that I wanted to continue looking.
It was then that I heard the vicar’s voice. “Yes, of course. It is up to the master.”
The master. I thought that sounded odd.
I wanted to see who was there. I didn’t have to wait long for suddenly a man and a woman appeared, but I could not tell what they really looked like as I looked straight down at them from my high window.
But as they moved down the path toward the road, I was better able to see. I judged them to be middle aged.
A carriage pulled up then and they stepped inside but not before turning to look at the church.
When they both glanced up toward the roof, my heart nearly stopped. I pulled back, shaking, for I had the impression they had seen or known they were being watched.
A sick feeling came over me. I felt so ill and nervous that I was up to see the dawn.
*
I found him in the kitchen, sitting by the fire, writing. When he noticed me, he stopped. “There is fresh tea in the pot. Pour yourself some. You will forgive me whilst I do this paper work. Just something I need to catch up on.”
I assured him I would and sat down. Truly, I wanted to ask him who those people were but as it was not my business, I did not.
He stopped writing at last. “I hope my company did not disturb you, Miss Baines—they left rather late.” I watched him carefully fold and put the paper in between the pages of a book he placed on the mantelpiece. “Sometimes I grant people late appointments if the matter they wish to discuss is of importance. I felt theirs was.
“No, sir. They didn’t disturb me.”
“I was wondering because I noticed they glanced up toward your room when they were leaving.”
Why were his eyes searching mine like that, as if he knew my thoughts? It was so disconcerting I inwardly shuddered.
“Yes,” he went on. “Mr. and Mrs. Kean run the village school. She is the teacher there and Mr. Kean is the Headmaster. Mrs. Kean is such a dear, she often cooks for me. I depend on her a great deal. Perhaps you’d enjoy meeting them.”
I answered as was expected, but I couldn’t help thinking—w
hy would people like that need to see the vicar at such an odd time?
“Yes, I’m afraid people come to me when they need to. I am, after all, a Vicar of Christ.”
I took this as an invitation to unburden myself even more. “Yes, of course.” I answered. “I thank you for listening to me.”
Then, as if to encourage more confessing, he replied. “I am always ready to listen and give advice. Just remember that.”
Suddenly there was a knock on the door and he excused himself, saying it was probably the organist about some matter. I couldn’t help but estimate how long he might be, hoping I might have enough time to dash over to the mantelpiece to look at his writing.
It wasn’t that I wanted to catch him at anything. It was more to reassure myself that there wasn’t anything wrong. You see, I wanted to dispel the wave of suspicion that had begun to fester within me about him.
When I at last heard his voice in greeting, I stood. The paper was in my hands in a second and I began to read.
“….all of us are bound. We know this and have pledged ourselves. Of course, there is an impediment. So unexpected was this, I had to consult with the others.
They agreed with me to call a meeting at once, not at Evensong, for that would be sacrilegious. Old habits die hard, I think…”
I wanted to read more but there was no time, for I heard the door and the vicar’s voice calling out, “Miss Baines, come here. I should like you to meet someone!”
I put the paper back where he’d put it and hurried out.
A shy looking man stood by the vicar.
“This is Mr. Henry Wardlaw, our organist.” The vicar looked proud to introduce him.
“Mr. Wardlaw is new to the parish. We were lucky to engage him.”
I smiled, though I wished really to go. I felt shy and uncomfortable. Apparently my old self was re-surfacing.
“I was just telling Mr. Wardlaw about my guest.”
Vicar Hobbs proceeded to introduce us. Then he smiled and suggested that perhaps I might enjoy the special Bible study he was planning. “I really don’t want to take a no on this, as I think you would benefit greatly from it. Mr. Wardlaw will be there as well as my friends, the Keans.”