The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter

by Lawana Blackwell

  “Thomas,” he replied, returning her smile.

  “I’m Mercy Sanders.” She reached out to shake his hand. “I live in the next house.” She started to mention that she had brothers he might like to play with sometime but sadly realized that this boy could not hold his own against even her youngest brothers’ aggressive natures. “Have you brothers or sisters?”

  “No, miss.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll be going now.”

  He thanked her again, and she marveled that someone his age could be so polite. On her way out of the kitchen she happened to glance at one of the cupboards. Two open shelves were filled with rows of tinned goods. No wonder he’s so thin, she thought, wishing she’d brought something more nourishing than cake.

  “Have you seen the apple trees in your back pasture?” she asked as they both walked toward the front door.

  “No, miss,” he said with an automatic glance in that direction, as if he could see through the cottage walls.

  “They grow along Ward Creek. We have some too. Someone planted them years and years ago. They’ll be ripe in another eight weeks or so.” She restrained herself from glancing again at his thin arms. “They’re very nourishing, you know.”

  “Thank you, miss. I like apples.”

  Now she had to restrain herself from patting him on the head, for she found his pleasant manner refreshing. But knowing that would only embarrass him, she just smiled and bade him good-day. On her way home she could still hear the ringing of a hammer against nails. It seemed a rather melancholy sound now.

  Chapter 15

  “Did you hear about the new people on Nettle Lane?” Iris Worthy asked Julia that same afternoon. The lace spinners had beckoned to her and Grace on their way back from Trumbles. Actually, Julia had heard about this Mr. Langford and son from the shopkeeper but knew that would not make a bit of difference to the Worthy sisters. So she smiled benignly and waited, and sure enough Jewel jumped into the pause.

  “Mr. Langford is his name, and he’s got a boy,” she said. “Real closemouthed about himself and as white as a haunt. We seen ’em both wandering about the lanes the day before yesterday.”

  Julia turned to Grace and handed her the small package in her hand. “Why don’t you bring this cinnamon to Mrs. Herrick?”

  “Yes, Mother,” her daughter replied. “What’s a haunt?”

  “A ghost,” Julia replied with a meaningful glance at Jewel. “And we know there is no such thing, don’t we?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” As Grace crossed the lane toward the carriage drive, Julia could hear the girl repeating “white as a haunt” over and over to herself. She turned back to the sisters.

  “There is no law against walking the lanes, you know,” she said gently, for Iris and Jewel had been good to her and meant well in spite of the outrageous things that sometimes came out of their mouths.

  “Oh, we know that, but Mrs. Pool says she wonders if the man’s been in prison,” Iris said in a hushed tone after glancing about her. “That would account for the paleness.”

  Julia sighed to herself and tried to be patient. “Mrs. Pool shouldn’t spread rumors like that. The man could have been ill.”

  “I’m wondering if that has anything to do wi’ his not having a wife,” Jewel said in an equally hushed tone.

  “His being pale?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide, though her fingers never stopped spinning. “He could ha’ murdered her and got sent to prison for it.”

  “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

  Even Iris obviously thought her sister-in-law had gone too far. “Yes, Jewel. Besides, they hang people for murdering their wives. It would more likely be for stealing. Didn’t Mrs. Pool say he had lots of money?”

  Julia had heard enough. With great affection, but just as much firmness, she said, “He’s likely someone who needs a fresh start, just as my family did when we settled here last year. If we all gossip about him, he’s not likely to have that opportunity, is he?”

  The sisters were sufficiently chagrined enough to bob their heads in agreement, but Julia knew as she crossed the lane to the Larkspur that the gossip would continue. From what she had heard, this Mr. Langford had moved to a remote farm at the end of Nettle Lane, so perhaps he would not be too affected by it. It was his son who could suffer, though, if he enrolled at the school. She would have to urge Grace and Aleda to be especially kind to him.

  She slowed her steps halfway across the courtyard. The man in the cheese wagon and the Lion Hotel. He had been unusually pale and had a boy with him too. She had failed to connect the faces with Mr. Trumble’s account of newcomers to Gresham, but of course they were most likely the same people. Which meant very little to her, because where anyone chose to settle was none of her business.

  The courtyard door opened, and Georgette stuck her bespectacled face out. “Oh, missus. Miss Phelps is in the hall to see you.”

  “Thank you, Georgette,” Julia replied. “Would you see if Mrs. Herrick has some lemonade to bring to my room in a little while? Tea will be fine if she hasn’t.”

  “Yer room, missus?” the maid asked, holding the door open for her.

  “Please.” Andrew had told her this morning that Elizabeth had been gloomy ever since the Burrell children left, so she was not surprised at this visit. She had entertained the notion of calling upon the girl herself but could ill afford to pop over to the vicarage too often, even if Andrew was not home. As was demonstrated by the Worthy sisters only minutes ago, the villagers loved to talk and weren’t always accurate with the details. Propriety was a rigid master, but one that must be obeyed if one wanted to keep a sterling reputation.

  She knew having a serious conversation in the hall would prove to be impossible, for Mrs. Kingston liked to pop in from her garden whenever company arrived, and usually one or two other lodgers would be in there reading or busy with needlework. Or practicing the piano, she thought as her ears picked up the halting notes of “Beautiful Dreamer.”

  She found Elizabeth standing at Mrs. Dearing’s shoulder at the piano. The girl looked deceptively cheerful in a sunny yellow gown and ribboned silk cap from which ringlets of her blond hair flowed in back. But as they traded greetings, Julia could clearly see loss in the brown depths of Elizabeth’s eyes.

  Sure enough, Mrs. Kingston had come inside and sat in the sofa across from the one where Mrs. Hyatt and Mr. Durwin were seated. It would have been rude not to chat for a while. Julia knew that Elizabeth, being a vicar’s daughter, understood this, so when Mrs. Dearing finished her song, she and the girl took places on either side of Mrs. Kingston while Mrs. Dearing sat next to Mrs. Hyatt.

  The chatter ranged from Mr. Durwin’s and Mrs. Hyatt’s family members who would be filling the Bow and Fiddle next month for their wedding, to Mrs. Dearing’s piano lessons, and then to Mrs. Kingston’s account of a garden she had seen once in Bath that contained a large goldfish pond surrounded by calliopsis the same color as the fish. Thankfully the newcomers to Gresham were not mentioned, and when Julia deemed enough time had passed, she excused Elizabeth and herself and they walked up the corridor to her room.

  “Here, you take the chair,” Julia told the girl, then pulled out the bench from her dressing table for herself. Georgette, who must have waited outside the hall to see when they left, arrived at that moment with tumblers of lemonade.

  “Thank you for seeing me privately,” Elizabeth said when the maid had left. “It’s so good having an older woman to confide in.” A hand went up to her chest. “I don’t mean that you’re old.…”

  Julia laughed. “I know what you meant, and I’m flattered that you want to confide in me.”

  Giving her an appreciative smile, the girl continued, “Grandmother was always too busy to listen to us. I’m going to love having a mother again.”

  “Truly? You don’t mind?” It was a question Julia had never gathered up the nerve to ask, though Andrew had assured her many times that his daughters were happy about the upc
oming nuptials.

  “Oh, I think it’s wonderful. Laurel too.”

  “That’s most reassuring to me, Elizabeth.” Julia allowed a moment’s silence while they both sipped from their lemonades, then said, “Now tell me how you’re faring.”

  Pain washed across the girl’s face. “Did Papa tell you about Molly and David?”

  “He did. You must miss them terribly.”

  “Oh, well.” She looked away for a second. “We want what’s best for the family, don’t we?”

  “Yes, of course. But I hate seeing you hurt.”

  “I’m getting used to it, I think. It seems that every time I love someone, this happens.”

  “I’m sorry.” Julia felt so inadequate, attempting to give advice to a practically grown young woman. “But think of the people you love who are still in your life.”

  “I know,” the girl sighed apologetically. “I have a tendency toward theatrics, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I think you’re just perfect.”

  A faint smile caused Elizabeth’s dimples to appear. “You always know just the right thing to say, don’t you?”

  “Goodness, if you only knew,” Julia responded, waving a hand. “I suffer through self-doubts often.”

  “That’s disappointing. You mean I won’t know all the answers when I’m older?”

  “I’m afraid not, dear. But you’ll have experience and maturity to help you. Thankfully, when we allow God to lead, He keeps us from making too many blunders.” Returning to the girl’s immediate situation, she said, “Perhaps you should find something with which to keep yourself busy so you won’t miss the children so much. This is just a suggestion, but there is a teacher’s college in Shrewsbury, and you’re so good with children. Would becoming a schoolmistress interest you?”

  Elizabeth gave an adamant shake of her head. “I know it disappoints Papa that I have no interest in continuing my schooling. I’ve never been an enthusiastic scholar. It was only to make Papa proud of me that I did so well at Brunswick. I’ve wanted to be a wife and mother ever since I held my first doll.”

  “I don’t believe your father would ever be disappointed at your becoming a wife and mother, Elizabeth. I think he just wants you to be positively certain that’s what you want before you take any irrevocable steps.”

  “Meaning marrying Paul.”

  “Marrying anyone, Elizabeth, just for the sake of being married.”

  “Is that what he thinks?”

  Julia sighed inwardly and thought it was a shame that so much confusion was almost invariably tied up with romance. “You keep asking me what your father thinks. You live under the same roof, Elizabeth. Have you asked him?”

  “We had a discussion the night you came for supper with the Clays. He says he approves of Paul.”

  “Then what is wrong, Elizabeth?” Setting her empty tumbler on the scarf of her dressing table, Julia asked, “Is it that he approves of Mr. Treves that’s troubling you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when you thought your father didn’t approve, that was a barrier between you and any future plans of marriage with Mr. Treves. Now that it’s been lifted, I wonder if that frightens you a little.”

  Elizabeth blinked. “Why would that frighten me?”

  “Because the only barrier left would be one in your own mind.”

  “There is no barrier. Paul will make a wonderful husband.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Julia said. “But tell me about the present, Elizabeth. Is he a friend?”

  “I don’t understand. Are you asking if I love him?”

  “No. I’m asking if you and Mr. Treves have the foundation for a true and lasting love—which is friendship. Is he your best friend, Elizabeth?”

  “Of course,” Elizabeth replied at once, but after a long silence, she lowered her chin to stare at her hands. “I don’t know. Sometimes …”

  Julia allowed her to collect her thoughts for several seconds, then persisted gently, “Sometimes what, Elizabeth?”

  “Well, I’m proud of him for giving his life to God, but he can have such hard opinions of people. I wonder sometimes if he thinks I’m frivolous because I occasionally like to talk about things other than the Bible.”

  “Have you mentioned this to him?”

  “Not exactly.” She shrugged. “I’m probably just being oversensitive.”

  “I don’t think you’re too sensitive, Elizabeth,” Julia told her. “But don’t you see? If you and Mr. Treves were friends, you would be able to discuss those concerns freely with him—just as you could with a girlfriend. Haven’t you ever had a friend you could confide in without having to worry about her forming a lesser opinion of you?”

  Again a small silence, and then Elizabeth nodded. “They’re all married now, Mrs. Hollis. But I feel that I can tell you anything. You don’t mind that I consider you a friend as well as a future stepmother, do you?”

  Julia smiled and appreciated Andrew all the more for having such nice daughters. “Mind? Why, you’ve given me a compliment I will treasure always, and I’ll pray that if marriage to Mr. Treves is God’s will for you, He will show it to you clearly.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hollis.” She rose from her seat and embraced Julia, promising to think over the things they had discussed. As they walked up the corridor, Julia spotted Aleda through the open doorway of the library. Her daughter sat sideways in a chair with her head resting on one arm and her knees draped over the other, a book held out in front of her. Minutes later, when Elizabeth had left, Julia returned to the library and stood in the doorway and watched her read.

  Thank God she’s still got some years to go before we have to start thinking about marriage. But then she wondered if perhaps the time to instill in a girl what qualities to look for in a mate should be before the first flutterings of romance affected her judgment. Julia also wondered if she would have chosen her first husband differently had she any idea of the gravity of committing to marriage. At seventeen she had barely known enough about herself, much less another person. What if her own mother had better prepared her for the second most important decision a woman can make?

  There was a rustle of the turning of a page, then as if sensing her presence, Aleda turned her head. “Mother? What are you doing?”

  “Just watching you.” Julia stepped into the room. “What is that you’re reading?”

  The girl held up the cover for her to see. “Little Women. Helen’s aunt sent it from Boston for her birthday.”

  “Is it good?” Julia asked, sitting in a nearby chair.

  “It’s wonderful.” Aleda turned herself around to sit properly, holding her place in the book with her hand. “But I’m afraid Beth is going to die. Helen wouldn’t tell me, and I’m trying not to peek ahead. I hope she doesn’t.”

  “I hope so, too, dear.”

  “Did I hear Elizabeth a little while ago?”

  Glancing automatically at the door, Julia replied, “She just left.”

  “She must have wanted to talk about Mr. Treves. I hope you told her not to marry him.”

  “Aleda …”

  “Well, Laurel says he’s too stuffy. And I’ve never seen him laugh even once.”

  Julia couldn’t help but smile. “So you and Laurel have him all figured out?”

  “Well, I don’t think someone who likes to laugh should marry someone who doesn’t,” she said earnestly. “Do you?”

  “No, I don’t. But that’s a decision Elizabeth will have to make. And since she sought my advice privately, it would hurt her if she knew we were discussing the situation. So please keep this to yourself.”

  “I will, Mother.”

  Changing the subject abruptly, Julia said, “Would you like to take a walk?”

  Aleda shifted in her chair. “Just you and me?”

  “If you don’t mind leaving your story for a little while.”

  Obeying, the girl marked her place with a square of paper and closed the book. She eyed J
ulia cautiously as she got to her feet. “Am I in trouble?”

  Julia laughed. “Of course not. It’s just I want to spend some time with you before I wake up one morning to find you all grown up.”

  Chapter 16

  Fridays were when Mercy made her weekly shopping trip for supplies. The arguing among her brothers over who would drive the wagon usually began on Thursday afternoons, if not earlier, for opportunities to escape the morning chores were highly coveted. This morning it was Dale, second to the oldest, who had won the privilege. He had just reined Dan and Bob to turn left onto the northern part of Market Lane when Mercy spotted Mrs. Kingston coming up the lane in their direction, walking stick in hand.

  “Please stop, Dale,” she said, putting a hand upon his arm. She hopped down from the wagon seat. “Good morning, Mrs. Kingston.”

  “And good morning to you!” Mrs. Kingston returned, smiling. She wore a calico dress with tiny rosebuds that became her, and her cheeks seemed to have a glow that Mercy hadn’t noticed last Tuesday. “Shopping day, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mercy replied. “May we offer you a ride?”

  “Oh, no thank you, dear.” The elderly woman sent a wave up to Dale, who responded with an unenthusiastic lift of the hand. “I’m out for my usual stroll.”

  “I’ve never seen you walk this far north.”

  “Yes, well …” Mrs. Kingston glanced over her shoulder. “Circumstances forced me to plan a completely different route and leave an hour earlier.”

  Mercy had no idea how to respond. Was this good news or bad? She decided upon a safe, noncommittal, “I see.”

  “It’s such a bother! I despise having to hurry through breakfast, and I’m used to varying my routine, you see. One doesn’t get bored that way. But there are only so many roads in Gresham, so I imagine I shall be taking this route every day until I get caught.”