by Susanna Ives
Once she had climbed to the top of St. Paul’s cathedral and looked out upon London, where, below the thick haze of coal, were thousands and thousands of roofs, jutting at all angles and streaming smoke. People, bundled in their coats and hats, had moved through the streets like black ants. She remembered thinking that London was as ugly from above as it was below, so different from this breath-taking expanse of earth and sky stretching for miles.
“Please come down,” Megan called.
Helena stared a few seconds more, trying to etch the features of the landscape into her memory. “I don’t want to leave,” she whispered. The mountains made no judgments, spoke no words. They were rising to the heavens for hundreds of years before she was born and would remain long after she was gone. The land was wise and kinder than its inhabitants. Helena dreaded tomorrow. She didn’t want Emily to see the villagers’ faces or hear their spiteful words.
“Come down now,” Megan wailed. “You could fall!” Fear quivered in her voice.
Helena took a last look and climbed down to the ground.
“Don’t ever do that again!” Megan shouted, as Helena began to search the hay for her stockings and boots. “I told you not to go up there.”
“I wasn’t going to fall.”
“You don’t know. You could have slipped.” Tears spurted in Megan’s dark eyes. She spun away, turning her back on Helena.
“I won’t do it again,” Helena said quietly, resting her hand on Megan’s shoulder. The girl’s body quaked. “I promise.”
“Don’t leave,” Megan said quietly. “Don’t go to Theo’s parents. I’m scared for Mama. Betry is going to have a baby. I can’t do everything myself. I’ll think of something to make everything better. I will.”
Helena didn’t say anything, but drew the girl to her. “I truly wish you could.”
Twelve
The wind buffeted the carriage as they came down the mountain to church. The breeze whistled through the hedges, rattling the branches. Helena pressed her head against the side of the carriage, trying to ease the throbbing behind her temples. She hadn’t eaten, because her stomach was so tight. Emily was cheerful, unaware of the gathering storm. Sunday was her only day to leave the house and mingle with the villagers. Earlier that morning, she had kept looking out the windows of her home, saying, “Where is Theo?”
Helena had hoped he had the courage that she lacked to sensibly feign a chill and keep Emily at home.
Alas, Helena had spied his carriage roof above the hedge.
Now she sat beside Megan, squeezing her hand. Megan was silent, gazing ahead, her jaw set, her eyes fierce. Across the carriage, Emily clutched the bundle of white tulips Mr. Mallory had given her. She chatted with him about the gossip from last week’s church visit. Mr. Mallory was as playful as he was the evening they had read from Charles Dickens. Yet, his gaze would drift to Helena’s, and she could see the concern in his eyes and realized he was putting on a show. She wondered how much of the real Theo she had seen and how much was a façade.
“Doesn’t Helena look well?” Emily asked him, her eyes twinkling.
Helena wore her best mourning gown. By now she could be in half mourning, but everything she brought to Wales was black crêpe and she didn’t have the means to purchase anything else.
Mr. Mallory tapped the roof, and the carriage stopped by the path running by the river and the side of the church where he had held her several days ago. Helena watched from her window as the villagers streamed into the yard in clusters of three or four. The women wore bright shawls over their expansive gowns, and several donned quaint tall hats.
The villagers looked on as Mr. Mallory helped Helena’s cousin down from the carriage. The churchyard turned silent except for the twitter of birds. Helena watched as Emily’s warm smile wavered and fell.
“Come,” she heard Mr. Mallory softly say.
Helena turned her head to find him waiting before her, his hands out, ready to take hers.
The edges of his eyes were crinkled with tension. Helena paused a second more, not wanting to leave the safety of the carriage.
“Do you want me to take you home?” he asked.
“I told Emily I would attend,” she said.
Her muscles were quivering as she latched onto his hand. His fingers closed tightly around hers. He lifted her up and guided her down from the carriage. More people came around the side church to watch. Helena recognized the thick-bodied owner of the inn and the baker, breaking through the throng of villagers.
“I think everyone is curious to meet you,” Emily said. Helena could hear the uncertainty beneath the forced brightness. Helena closed her eyes, thinking she might retch.
“Helena?” Theo squeezed her arm. She brushed a loose strand from her perspiring brow and forced herself to continue walking, keeping her gaze fixed in the soaring mountains overhead.
Emily spoke in Welsh to everyone, gesturing to her cousin, as if to introduce her. The villagers looked at each other, waiting to see what their neighbor would do. Theo pulled Helena closer against his arm. She could feel his rigid muscles. Below his beard, his jaw worked.
“This is my cousin, Miss Gillingham,” Emily switched to English. She linked her arm around Helena’s. “Wish her a good morning.”
An elderly woman in a faded checkered dress stepped forward. Her face was creased with deep wrinkles and her lids drooped low in her watery eyes.
“Bore da,” she said, with a hard nod of her head. She glanced over her shoulder at everyone. “Bore da,” she croaked louder.
Helena curtsied. “Thank you,” she said, not knowing what Bore da meant. Two other villagers came forward—a kind-looking young man with his infant daughter hoisted in his arms. “Can you say ‘Good morning?’” he asked his daughter.
The child opened and closed her hand. “Good Mor,” she said and smiled.
Helena fingered one of the girl’s ruffles. “Aren’t you a sweet one?” The child squealed and buried her head in her papa’s chest.
“She’s shy,” the man explained.
“Ah, she shouldn’t be,” Helena said. “Not when she possesses such a beautiful smile.” The girl peeked at Helena from the folds of her father’s coat.
More villagers came forward, offering their nervous, hasty greetings. Helena kept a smile on her face, forcing herself to take slow, even breaths. Mr. Mallory and Emily flanked her, their arms linked through hers, while Megan walked beside her mother. Despite the kindness of some villagers, the quiet yard was charged with hostility.
A man’s harsh voice rang out in Welsh. Theo stopped, his head jerked around, his nostrils flared with anger.
“Who said that?” Megan shouted.
“Don’t let them worry you,” Helena whispered, though she doubted Megan could hear. “We just need to get inside.” But as she approached the opened, arched church doors, two sandy-haired boys, about fifteen and seventeen, slid in front of her, blocking the entrance.
The inn owner stood behind them. He placed his reddened hand on the younger boy’s shoulder and nodded. “All due respect to you, Mrs. Pengwern. You know I think the world of you. Your husband and I were good mates, but Miss Gillingham won’t be entering the church my father built.”
A thread of nervous laughter ran through the crowd.
Helena saw Megan’s mouth moving, her words coming in waves as if from far away. “You let her in!”
“Go inside and fetch Reverend Jeffries,” Mr. Mallory told Megan. She spun and cut into the crowd. “Miss Gillingham wants to worship.” Theo spoke in a low, measured growl.
“Miss Gillingham worships the devil,” someone responded.
Emily swiveled around, scanning the crowd. “Who said that?! Who?”
“Quiet!” The inn owner shouted. “Sons, why don’t you kindly escort Mrs.Pengwern to her pew. Miss Gillingham can wait at the inn. We’ll take good care of her, make sure she is fed mutton and potatoes.”
“It is you who should wait in your inn, Mr. Sayer,
” Emily hissed. “After all the times you’ve dined at my table, I can’t believe you would do this to me… to the memory of my husband.”
Sayer switched his attention to Theo. “Her father stole from soldiers, too. You said in the tavern not two weeks ago that some of your own men were being saddled with his liabilities. Why are you standing up for her? You English have no loyalty.”
“It’s a church, man.” Mr. Mallory’s voice was a near whisper. “She’s not guilty of her father’s crimes.”
“She’s all sad-looking now in her buttoned up mourning weeds and long face,” Sayer said. “But while her father was alive, she paraded about in fast clothes, delighting in even faster conversation. Who financed her silk and jewelry, I ask you? Decent people who only wanted food on their tables. While your men suffered, some with their legs or arms shot off, she was dancing in indecent gowns, flaunting her dainty little ankles. She isn’t a proper lady, but a Jezebel!”
“I’ve heard enough of your vile rubbish.” Emily yanked Helena toward the door. One of Sayer’s boys stepped forward, shoving Helena back with his chest, causing her to collide against Emily. Emily stumbled sideways. Helena seized her cousin’s arm, catching her fall, but Emily’s tulips fell to the ground.
Mr. Mallory grabbed the boy by his necktie and flung him onto the ground. The boy crossed his arms over his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt Mrs. Pengwern,” he cried. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Theo’s eyes were flat and cold as a lizard’s. He cocked the edge of his lip, forming a sinister smile as he drew back his fist, ready to strike the youth.
“Stop!” Helena seized Mr. Mallory’s arm.
His head jerked. He looked at her, his pupils dilated. He didn’t seem to recognize her. Then a light pierced through the emptiness in his eyes. He leaped from the boy. His chest palpitated with his rapid heartbeat as he clenched and unclenched his fingers.
“What is happening?” A man’s voice thundered through the yard. The villagers by the church doors parted, letting the heavy reverend pass. Megan trailed in his wake, tears streaking her face. The crowd turned silent as Reverend Jeffries took in the scene. “Megan, take your mother and Miss Gillingham inside,” he said in a controlled, calm voice, beckoning to them.
Helena’s fingers shook as she clasped Emily’s arm and led her toward the church entrance. She turned as she passed under the threshold, trying to catch of glimpse of Mr. Mallory, but he was hidden behind the bulk of the reverend.
A trim gentleman with gray whiskers hanging low over his lips and the corners of his mouth hurried down the center aisle. A tall, slender woman followed behind him, her expansive green skirts bouncing off the pews.
“Shame on those men,” the woman snapped to Emily. Faint freckles sprayed the woman’s pale, dry face. Her honey-colored hair was curled over puffs and held in place with a carved ivory comb.
The gentleman gripped Emily’s free elbow. “We would be delighted if you and Miss Gillingham would desire to sit with us.”
“Bless you, Mr. Rees,” Emily said, her voice brittle. Helena thought her cousin might cry, but her eyes were hard and shiny as dark amber. “I always knew you were an honorable gentleman.”
“You must be Miss Helena Gillingham.” The woman linked her arm through Helena’s and kissed her cheek. “You are as beautiful as everyone says.”
“T-thank you,” Helena stammered.
“Oh, I’m Mrs. Rees.” She pressed her hand to her chest. Then she gestured to the front pew where two pretty young ladies, versions of their mother and a little younger than Helena, sat, their necks twisted to look at her. “There are my daughters, Caroline and Sophie. My girls have been on pins to meet you. Megan, Miss Gillingham can sit with me. Why don’t you run along to your mama?”
There wasn’t enough room for Mrs. Rees’ dress and Helena, so Helena trailed behind the woman.
The gray sanctuary was dim, despite a giant circular iron chandelier and the sconces spaced along the stone walls. The domed ceiling, crisscrossed with arching wooden rafters, captured and reverberated the murmur of the conversation below. At the back of the nave rose three massive stained-glass windows of Biblical scenes. Their vivid color contrasted with the stark plainness of the church.
Mrs. Rees rattled on, making polite conversation about being almost blown away by the wind on the way to church. Helena’s head throbbed. In her periphery, she could see people staring.
She gazed across the wooden pews to where Emily was being helped into her seat by Mr. Rees and Megan. Tears glistened in Megan’s eyes as she clutched her mama.
This is my fault, Helena admonished herself. It had to be apparent to Emily, Megan, and everyone why she had to leave. She was causing an ugly rift in this tiny, close-knit village, forcing Emily to choose allies among her old neighbors.
She glanced back at the great doors opening into the church. Over the heads of villagers, she could glimpse the silent gray peaks of Snowdonia. She wished she could run and hide in their silent snowy crags.
∞∞∞
Theo removed his hat, brushed his hair from his forehead, and stepped into the sanctuary. With the young man’s head against the stone paver, Theo could have fractured his skull and killed him if Helena hadn’t stopped him. He wasn’t in control of himself, but felt as if he were watching the skirmish from a cool distance, his awareness separated from his body.
Now cold sweat drenched his armpits and the back of his shirt. He shouldn’t go in the church. There was too much darkness and anger inside him. But he had to take care of Emily and Helena.
He spied them sitting in the Rees’ pew and released a relieved breath. The Rees were the richest family in the county, owing to slate mining. Theo sank into the empty bench behind them. Caroline, the eldest Rees daughter, flashed him a kind, worried smile over her shoulder.
“Good morning,” he nodded to her. He inched further down to Emily. He lightly touched her shoulder. “Are you well?”
“My husband’s father built this church, too,” she spat under her breath. “How dare they? How dare they?”
“Don’t worry yourself. I’ll take care of everything.”
“No, I’ll take care of everything,” Emily retorted, and then her features softened. “Poor Helena. My heart aches for her.”
Theo rubbed his temples. Helena sat near the aisle sandwiched between Mrs. Rees and her younger daughter, Sophie, who shared her prayer book. Helena kept her spine erect, not touching the pew. Her bonnet was slightly tilted as she gazed up at the stained glass window. Theo slid down and leaned in close to her ear. She didn’t notice him, but continued staring ahead. In her lap, her fingers worked, crushing the edges of her sleeves.
“I’m sorry,” Theo whispered.
She turned. “You win,” she said. “I’ll leave.”
“What?” he cried, sharper than he intended. “I wasn’t trying to win. I was—” He quieted as Caroline Rees shot a curious look at them.
Reverend Jeffries lumbered onto the pulpit. There, the man swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet. He smoothed the edge of his sermon pages, peered at Helena, and then back at the pages. At length, he began the service.
Theo knelt down on the board. He blocked out Reverend Jeffries’ voice and instinctively whispered the prayer he spoke at the early months of the war as he gripped his rifle and waited to give the call to advance: God help us. After the war had ground on for a year, he stopped praying altogether.
Helena believed he was the winner in some kind of contest of wills. The prospect of her departure was no victory for him, but she would never understand.
The sun shifted behind the stained glass and, for a moment, the Russian soldier who pleaded for Theo to shoot him huddled in the window. Theo bowed his head, pressing the ball of his palms into his hot eye sockets.
∞∞∞
The Rees daughter by Helena’s side kindly shared her worship book. It was leather bound, beautifully illustrated, and written entirely i
n Welsh. Helena rose when the congregation rose, and knelt when they knelt. But in her mind, she walked along the paths of Mr. Mallory’s tulip labyrinth, remembering the cool, waxy tulip tips, the curve of the pebbled path, the crunch of her heels. She just had to manage to survive the morning without breaking down.
“Miss Gillingham, the service is over,” she heard Mr. Mallory say. He rested his strong hand on her shoulder.
Helena blinked as she surfaced from her induced, flower-strewn trance.
The villagers edged toward the aisles, their chatter echoing in the rafters. Reverend Jeffries stepped around his pulpit, making a beeline for Helena and Emily.
A hot rush of pain coursed through her head.
“Mrs. Pengwern, I would very much be honored if you allowed me to introduce your cousin to her neighbors,” Reverend Jeffries said.
“Yes, please,” responded Emily. Helena could hear the anger beneath her cousin’s politeness.
Mr. Mallory squeezed Helena’s arm. “I don’t believe Miss Gillingham is well.”
“Is that so?” The reverend narrowed his eyes and examined her face.
Helena fiddled with her sleeves where she had torn the fabric from the cuff. She wanted to run out the door, climb into the silent mountains, and disappear. But she must try to make peace with the villagers for Emily’s and Megan’s sake, so that when she left, whatever damage her presence may have caused them might easily heal.
“I am well,” she whispered. “How—how do you say ‘Pleased to meet you’ in Welsh?” she asked Reverend Jeffries.
But it was Mr. Mallory who responded, “Braf eich cyfarfod chi.”
The reverend escorted her to the churchyard where the villagers had gathered under the oaks and around church gate. Some eyed her with nervous curiosity, others with blazing hatred.
A handful of villagers shuffled forward for introductions. She stammered Braf eich cyfarfod chi and praised their person, dress, manners, anything about them she could latch onto.
