by Jenny Frame
“Wonderful. I’m always happy to see young people happy and in love. It must be your turn next, eh?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.”
Bridget kept a forced smile on her face but inside she felt a sadness that had been creeping up on her slowly since Harry had gotten married. Love was something she craved, but in a small village like Axedale it was hard to meet someone, let alone deal with all the problems her position as vicar would bring to any relationship.
“And your parish? Is Axedale still enjoying their modern woman vicar, in biker jacket and heels?” Gertie joked.
That was something Bridget could answer honestly and enthusiastically. “My parishioners are wonderful. I couldn’t have been luckier to have the pastoral care of such wonderful people. The village is going from strength to strength, now that Harry and Annie have rebuilt the estate to what it once was. There’s plenty of work for the locals and the tourists are flooding in. Mrs. Peters the postmistress says she’s never done as much trade in years. It’s wonderful to see.”
Gertie cleared her throat and asked, “And your new bishop?”
Bridget placed her tea down on the table and sighed, facing the difficult question. “Bishop Thomas Sprat. He certainly is a huge change since old Henry Lovejoy hung up his cloak—”
“And his heels!” Gertie interjected.
Bridget chuckled. “Quite so. Going from the world’s most gay-friendly bishop to the most antigay one I’ve ever met has not been easy. I got into a lot of hot water for giving Harry and Annie a blessing in church.”
Gertie shook her head. “Yes, I heard about that, but don’t take it personally. Sprat has been gunning for me for years too. He led the campaign against women bishops, if you remember.”
“Indeed I do. If you’re not a white middle to upper class male, he has a problem,” Bridget said.
Gertie took Bridget’s hand and squeezed. “Don’t let him distract you from your good work in Axedale. Carry on as you are, and remember—you’re a Claremont. We are not shrinking violets and we don’t run from the good fight.”
“I won’t, Aunt Gertie.”
“Excellent. Would you like to have dinner before you return to the country?” Gertie asked.
Bridget looked at her watch and scowled. “I’m sorry, Aunty, I’m going to have to get back to Axedale pretty sharpish. I promised to help set up for Harry and Annie’s surprise party.”
“Next time then,” Gertie said.
They exchanged kisses, and Bridget said goodbye to the other group members and headed out into the London streets in search of a taxi.
Bridget felt a sense of melancholy descend upon her as she walked down the street. Her aunt had verbalized something she had secretly been turning over in her mind. She was thirty-six years old and had no one to share her life with, and no prospect of such.
Being single hadn’t always bothered her. Before she took holy orders, her social life and her sex life had been more than healthy, but that part of herself had been locked down inside once she dedicated her life to the Church. She was so consumed with her vocation and looking after her parishioners that it didn’t seem that worrisome.
That all changed when Harry met Annie. Daily, she saw the joy and the happiness that love and the comfort of a partner brought to the once grumpy, career driven countess, and it made her heart ache for the same.
Bridge stuffed her hands in her leather jacket’s pockets and sent up a silent prayer to God.
God, if I am meant to walk through life alone, help my heart make peace with that, but if there is anyone out there for me, please guide them to me.
Her prayer was interrupted as she walked past a newspaper seller.
“Evening news! Famous mentalist and magician Finnian Kane does own disappearing act after sister’s death. Evening news!”
Bridget stopped and looked at the front page of the newspaper on display. It showed a picture of the famous magician in her steampunk gothic-inspired ringmaster’s outfit, complete with top hat and cane.
She had never seen one of her shows but did know that Finnian caused upset in the religious community for her evangelical atheism, debunking faith healers, psychics, and the like.
Bridget quickly hailed a taxi, and as she got in a bus passed displaying a full-length picture and advert for Finnian Kane’s stage show, Mysterium.
I pray you find peace, Bridget said from her heart and then got into the taxicab quickly.
“St. Pancras train station, driver.”
* * *
Harry and Annie held hands as they walked down to the village from Axedale Hall. Riley ran ahead, crossing the river and the bridge that led to the centre of the village.
Annie heard Harry sigh and said, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Remind me why we changed our anniversary plans. Riley was delighted to be having a sleepover with her friend Sophie, and we—” Harry stopped, pulled Annie close, and whispered in her wife’s ear, “And we were going to play master and slave in the Roman pool room. But instead the church council calls an emergency meeting about street lighting.”
Annie laughed and gave her a swat on the behind. “Behave, your ladyship. If it’s important to the village then it’s worth changing our plans. Besides”—Annie sneaked her fingers under Harry’s shirt and scratched her nails along her stomach, just the way Harry liked—“we’re leaving in the morning for a month in Rome, and I’m sure when your mother meets us there, she’ll be delighted to babysit Riley.”
Harry groaned as Annie continued to touch her. “Darling, you know what that does to me.”
“I do, just reminding you that I’m worth waiting for. Imagine—you, me, Rome, alone in the villa we’ve rented. What could be a better place to play master and slave, hmm?”
Annie painted quite the picture in her mind, and it was worth waiting for. “I’d wait forever for you.”
They shared a sweet kiss before Riley shouted at them to hurry up. Once they started walking again, Harry said, “Why did you insist we dress so formally for a council meeting anyway, although I’m not complaining about you in that dress?”
Annie giggled, held up her hand, and gazed at the anniversary present Harry gave her. “I couldn’t wear my beautiful eternity ring for the first time in jeans and a jumper, Harry, and I have a feeling we might want to be dressed a little nicer tonight.”
“How do you know?” Harry said with confusion.
“Just a feeling.”
When they got to the church gates Riley said, “Wait here a minute. I need to go in first.”
“Why?” Harry asked.
Riley hesitated, as she seemed to search for an excuse in her head, but Annie saved her. “It’s okay, sweetie. On you go.”
Harry really had no clue as to what was happening. “Annie? What is this? You know I don’t like surprises. Do you know anything?”
“Relax, sweetheart. I don’t know anything for sure, but I have an idea the village might be up to something.”
Riley came out with a huge smile on her face, and said, “You can come in now.”
Annie pulled Harry by the hand.
“I don’t like this.”
When they walked through the doors of the church hall, what looked to be every one of the villagers jumped out from behind the tables, and shouted, “Surprise!”
Harry instinctively tensed up. She did not like to be taken by surprise and not be in control of things, but then she looked down at Annie’s smiling, happy face, and all her tension left her.
* * *
The church hall was filled with music, laughter, and the sound of happy children running around. Bridget sat on the edge of one of the tables, with her glass of wine in hand, watching Harry and Annie dance closely on the dance floor. She sighed, but smiled at the sight. It was wonderful to see her best friend so happy, but that little niggling part of her wondered if she could ever find the same.
Harry and Annie looked like they were unaware that they were not a
lone. They were lost in each other, and the way they touched, Bridge half expected to see sparks of electricity fly from their fingers. She looked to the side and saw Quade, Harry’s assistant estate manager, talking with one of the other farmers.
“Quade?” Bridget pointed to the dance floor.
When Quade looked to where she was pointing, Bridge said, “I think we better cut in before they make Mrs. McCrae blush.”
Quade laughed and followed her over to their friends. Bridge tapped Harry on the shoulder, “May we cut in?”
Before Harry could start to complain, Quade had danced off with Annie.
“Bridge, did you really have to? I was enjoying dancing with my wife, and now she’s been stolen by a rugged farmer,” Harry said with mock anger.
Bridge smacked her on the shoulder. “Oh, shush and dance with me. You’ll have Annie for a whole month. I want to see you before you go.”
“Very well.” Harry slipped her arm around her waist, and they started to dance.
“So, have you had a fabulous anniversary, your ladyship?” Bridge asked.
Harry twirled her around and said, “It’s been wonderful, Bridge. We both really appreciate everything you’ve all done, and how much the whole village has taken Annie and Riley to their hearts.”
“It’s our pleasure, and we all wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for the village. There’s work for everyone, the tourists are bringing much needed income to the shops and tea rooms—”
“All because Annie whipped me into shape and changed me,” Harry finished for her.
“No,” Bridge replied. “All because you allowed love into your heart, and let go of your hurt. This Harry has always been inside you.”
“I’m very lucky. I just wish I could see you happy too, Bridge. You deserve it.”
Bridge tensed, and then laughed it off. “Please. Who wants a celibate vicar?”
The song finished and Harry gave her palm a kiss. “Perhaps it’s time to move on, Bridge?”
Bridge saw images of a nightclub, heard the thumping of music, and then someone call her name across the club…
“Bridge. Bridge?” Harry shook her from her thoughts.
“Sorry, I was miles away.” Bridge forced a smile.
Harry leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I know, but it’s been a long time.”
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about a rugged butch stealing your fair lady.” Bridget pointed over to Quade hugging Annie.
“I think I see a rent increase in Quade’s future,” Harry joked.
* * *
Bridge kicked off her heels, sat down putting her feet up on the chair in front of her, and yawned. It had been a busy, tiring day. After Harry and Annie headed home, the other partygoers started to disperse, well fed, watered, and happy. Bridge and Quade stayed behind to clear up.
She watched Quade busily sweeping up the hall floor and said, “Quade? Please take a pew and chillax for a minute. You’re making me feel more tired than I ought to be.”
Quade laughed and placed her brush against the wall. “Chillax? You’re so down with the kids, Vicar. It’s no wonder the village young people love you.”
“Oh, shush. Bring me a glass of wine on your way, and something for yourself. I think we deserve it.”
Quade went to the drinks table and poured out a glass of wine, then drew a pint from the barrel of home-brew beer that she had brought to the party.
Bridge accepted the glass from Quade and took a large glug. “Oh, I needed that.” Quade sat, and Bridge said with a smile, “Your Axedale Ale went down well with the locals. You’ll soon have to be selling by the barrel—I know Mr. Finch at the pub has said so.”
Home-brew real ale was somewhat of a hobby of Quade’s and was starting to become very popular with the Axedale locals.
“I don’t know about that, but everyone seems to enjoy it.”
Bridge chuckled to herself. That was Quade, modest and self-deprecating. The more she got to know Quade the more she liked her. They had always been friends, since Bridge came to the village, but they had gotten closer since Quade started managing the estate and often joined Harry, Annie, and her for a weekly meal.
It was just typical, thought Bridge. The one other lesbian in their village, and the only chemistry they had was as friends.
“It was a great party, wasn’t it?” Quade said. “Everyone seemed to enjoy it.”
Bridge took a sip of her wine and smiled. “I loved the look on Harry’s face when she walked in. She doesn’t like surprises. They make her feel out of control, and there was a split second of the old grumpy Harry ready to come out, but Annie squeezed her hand and smiled, and Harry immediately relaxed and beamed back at her with happiness. It’s amazing what love has done for her. They have an intense chemistry. When you watch them gazing at each other, you’re surprised they don’t tear each other’s clothes off right there and then. It must be wonderful to have that feeling with someone you love.”
Bridge was no stranger to sex. She had always been a very sexual creature, which might have been God’s sense of irony given her current occupation, but when God called her to his service she felt she had to choose, and her love for God won.
Her position meant she had to toe the party line, follow Church rules, and remain celibate, until such a time as she and her LGBT colleagues received marriage equality within the Church. Some queer vicars, she knew, flouted that rule in the privacy of their bedrooms, but they took the chance of losing their position. Bridge was not willing to lose this life she had built for herself. It meant everything to her.
Quade looked down and swirled her beer around her glass. “Yeah, it’s an amazing thing, love. Harry’s lucky to have Annie just walk into her life. Have you ever been in love, Bridge?”
Bridge took another large gulp of wine. “No, I wasn’t lucky enough to have somebody love me, but I did a lot of looking, if you know what I mean.”
Quade gave an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a bad day when your vicar has more experience with women than you do.”
“Oh, come now, Quade. A strapping butch like yourself must have ladies banging your door down.”
“Not even a knock. I’ve lived in this village practically all my life, and in that time, there have only been three other lesbians here—Harry, Annie, and you, Vicar. Harry and me? Just…no. Annie was perfect but she had eyes for someone else and—”
“There’s me. Clearly not compatible, although you are extremely handsome,” Bridge said with a wink.
“You have way more experience than me, Vicar. Tell me, why aren’t we compatible?” Quade said with a mischievous question in her voice.
Bridge smiled as she thought back to her pre-church days when celibacy was not part of her make-up and the things she got up to would have frightened the life out of poor Quade. “Our energies are too similar, let’s just say.”
“Oh? How?”
She leaned forward into Quade’s personal space and said in a very seductive voice, “Well, you might like my short skirts, stockings, and heels, but you wouldn’t like those heels walking up and down your back.”
Quade’s eyes went wide with shock, and then she started to laugh. “You’re right. I like my women a bit softer than that, Vicar.”
Underneath their jovial conversation, Bridge felt a melancholy creeping up on her. “I wish I could meet someone to love me, Quade. I wouldn’t like to think that I’ll grow old alone, and I have to have faith that God has a plan for us both and will guide the right people to us at the right time.”
Quade held up her pint and said, “From your lips to God’s ears. Let’s make a pact. If neither of us is married by the time we’re forty-five, we get hitched. What do you say?”
Bridge smiled. “Is that a proposal, Sam McQuade?”
“Of sorts.”
Bridge got up and walked around to the back of Quade’s chair. She leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Can I bring my whip?”
Quade jumped and turned to lo
ok at her friend with horror, “Christ, no. I just proposed to a vicar who has her own whip? I think we need to check with your bishop that you really are a vicar.”
Bridge picked up a rubbish bag and snorted. “He would tell you I’m the devil incarnate. Let’s get this place cleaned and locked up.”
Quade shook her head in amusement and grabbed her broom. “Is it wrong to say I hope you and your whip find that person to love before the task falls on me?”
Bridge’s designer heels clicked on the floor and echoed around the room as she walked over to Quade. She gave her a peck on the cheek and said, “You’re a good friend, Quade.”
Chapter Two
On Sunday morning, Bridge shook hands with her parishioners as they filed out of church. It had been strange without Harry, Annie, and Riley in the front pew. They were such an integral part of the community now, and the church and the village seemed empty when they were gone. Normally Bridge and Mrs. Castle, and sometimes Quade, would go to Axedale for lunch after church for one of Annie’s famous roast dinners, but today would be a much longer, lonelier day.
“Lovely sermon, Vicar,” Mr. Finch from the pub said. “But here’s hoping no mere mortals can turn water into wine, or I might go out of business,” he joked.
“Fear not, Mr. Finch—” Bridget’s witty retort was interrupted by the roar of a motorcycle engine. The sound was out of place in the quiet village.
Everyone looked around and gazed at the bike which slowed down just across the road from the church. It pulled up next to Mr. Butterstone, who had just left the church, and then he started directing the rider with some animated hand gestures. Although she couldn’t see the rider’s face, Bridge admired their leather jacket, biker boots, and jeans. She had always had a thing for leather and motorbikes, and wasn’t an expert, but it looked like the bike was a classic Harley-Davidson.
The rider then nodded and zoomed off towards the other end of the village, and Mr. Butterstone hurried back over to the church. In this insular village, newcomers were big news and those still at the front of the church gathered around to hear his report.
