“There, there now,” he told her, reaching over with his other hand to pat the top of her head as if she were a fretful child.
“I just hoped …”
“I know, Mrs. Hollis. So did I.”
They were quiet for a few moments, Julia continuing to hold his hand and stare at the frosted window glass with him. You’ve been so good to me, she prayed silently, Couldn’t You remove this affliction from Mr. Clay? I’m so afraid this will discourage him.
She felt another touch at the top of her head and looked back up at him. Mr. Clay gave her a weak little smile. “You mustn’t be discouraged, Mrs. Hollis.”
Julia gaped at him. “But aren’t you?”
After some hesitation he replied, “Disappointed, of course. Discouraged? Not at all. I’m sure you understand that God’s ways are not our ways.”
“Then, you don’t regret becoming a believer?”
“Regret? But of course not.” He seemed to search for words and then told her, “It’s different, this time.”
“Different?”
“I’ve a comfort inside of me, Mrs. Hollis, reminding me that I’m not alone. And assuring me that the joy will return. Haven’t you ever felt that comfort?”
“Many times,” she whispered, nodding. “It’s what has sustained me for almost a year now.”
The smile returned, a little stronger this time. “Then you understand.”
She had left the room some twenty minutes later and met Mrs. Kingston at the staircase landing. “I was just coming to see if Mr. Clay was up to a walk. The ice is melting in the lanes, and it should do him some good to get a little air. He looked rather peaked at breakfast.”
Julia nodded soberly. “He’s in a bad way again, Mrs. Kingston. One of his dark moods.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Kingston put a hand up to her wrinkled cheek. “Do you think I should disturb him?”
How can she be so concerned about Mr. Clay and not feel compassion for what Mrs. Hyatt’s going through? “I think he would enjoy your company. But he mentioned taking a nap as I was leaving—he had trouble sleeping last night. Perhaps the walk could wait until later?”
“But of course, dear. Should you send notice to the vicar to postpone his visit?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Julia admitted. She went back down to the kitchen, only to find that Karl Herrick had already left to post the letters. Julia was considering walking down to the vicarage herself when Georgette came into the kitchen and announced that Vicar Phelps was in the hall.
Chapter 38
“Mr. Clay and I discussed that this could conceivably happen,” Vicar Phelps said to Julia after expressing his regrets that the actor was abed with depression. He was seated opposite her on one of the horsehair sofas with a tray on the table in front of them. Perhaps sensing that the subject of their conversation would be Mr. Clay’s condition, Mrs. Dearing, Mrs. Hyatt, and Miss Rawlins had abandoned the hall for the upstairs sitting room after exchanging pleasantries with the vicar.
“That must be why he’s taking it so pragmatically,” Julia said after stirring milk into a cup of tea and handing it over to him.
“I hope so.” Vicar Phelps took a sip from the cup. “And we should remember that Mr. Clay studied more Scripture before his conversion than most people do afterward. God’s Word, hidden in the heart, is a powerful force.”
“But I still think it would do him good to visit with you. Would you mind …”
“Calling again later today? But of course, Mrs. Hollis. I already plan to do so.” After another sip of tea, he eased into a smile that made his hazel eyes seem even kinder. “If I may say so, you seem to feel somewhat protective of Mr. Clay.”
Julia returned his smile. “I don’t know, Vicar. Mrs. Kingston mothers him far more than I do. But I try to help him as much as I can.”
“That’s very kind of you. Especially considering that you’re going through a valley yourself.”
“A valley?” She had to think for a second before realizing he was referring to the fact that she was in mourning. A wave of guilt swept over her. If you only knew. Here she was, a tragic figure in black, bravely raising her children alone while accepting the unspoken pity of those around her. What kind of wife forgets her husband so soon after his death, no matter what he did? She didn’t even attempt to keep his memory alive to the children, unless one happened to say something about him to her. And in those instances she was usually as brief as possible.
I have no right to do that. They deserve to have some good memories to treasure about their father.
With difficulty she made a silent resolve to amend this situation. Her thoughts on the matter had only taken three or four seconds, but the pause was long enough to bring panic to Vicar Phelps’s hazel eyes.
“I—I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
“No, I just—”
“I find I am constantly making an idiot of myself in front of you, Mrs. Hollis,” he said, a slight flush appearing just above his blond beard. The misery in his expression reminded her so much of her son when she’d scolded him about the ghost caper that Julia couldn’t help but smile.
“Vicar, whatever are you talking about?”
“I’m referring to what a comic figure I must seem to you.”
“But that’s not true.”
“Why, then, are you smiling?”
Julia made a futile gesture while groping for words. It would mortify him to learn that he had briefly reminded her of a fourteen-year-old boy. But she could still be truthful in replying, “Because you make me smile, Vicar Phelps. I enjoy your company.”
He seemed much startled by this. “You do, Mrs. Hollis?”
“But of course,” she reassured him.
“Oh.” He opened his mouth to say something else, stared at her for a second, and then closed it again. Setting his empty cup on the tray, he said, “Well, thank you for saying that. I should make my other calls now. I’ll show myself to the door.”
“Very well, Vicar.” Julia said, offering her hand. When he was gone, Julia curled her legs up under her skirt and poured herself another cup of tea.
Mrs. Beemish came through the room some time later and stopped upon seeing Julia. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Hollis?”
Julia smiled up at her. “Yes, of course. I’m just woolgathering.”
“Why don’t I take that tray?”
“Thank you.” Julia handed over her empty cup and, with a glance toward the empty corridor doorway, lowered her voice and said, “Oh, Mrs. Beemish, Mr. Durwin is bringing his brass band here after supper. It’s to be a secret until then, but I believe the servants would enjoy the performance. After he arrives would you please quietly usher them into the hall?”
The housekeeper’s eyes sparkled with shared intrigue. “I will indeed, Mrs. Hollis—thank you. But I’ve already been spoken to about it. I’m to allow Mr. Durwin and his friends into the hall while everyone else is at supper, you see?”
“You are? Mr. Durwin didn’t mention …”
“Oh, it wasn’t Mr. Durwin who asked me to do it.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No, missus. It was Mrs. Kingston.”
Julia shook her head, uncomprehending. “But that would mean that Mrs. Kingston and Mr. Durwin are planning this together.”
“It does at that, missus. Mrs. Kingston is tryin’ to help Mr. Durwin win back Mrs. Hyatt.”
“Win her back? You mean, it was Mrs. Hyatt who stopped the courtship?”
Side curls quivered with the housekeeper’s nod. “Yes, missus.”
So I’ve misjudged Mrs. Kingston, she thought with a mixture of guilt and relief. “Well, it should be an interesting evening.”
“It should at that, missus.”
When the housekeeper was gone, Julia leaned her head against the back of the sofa and stared at the high ceiling. Is it possible that the vicar’s attracted to me? It would hardly seem so. Almost a year of clothing herself in
black had caused her to feel like a shadow who moved about in the background. Someone less than feminine and certainly not appealing to the opposite sex.
But why, then, was he often so self-conscious in her presence? Did men sometimes worry about the impressions they made, the way women did? The notion had never occurred to Julia—she supposed it was because Philip had accepted her adoration with aplomb in their courting days, as if it were his due.
She chewed the tip of a fingernail and hoped she was wrong about the vicar. The thought of such a kind, dear person having romantic feelings about her was a little sad, because she could not reciprocate them. He was her pastor, her friend, and almost a brother figure. True, she enjoyed his company immensely, but she could never think of him in a romantic way. Her heart did not race when he spoke to her, as it had with Philip, nor did she entertain fanciful daydreams about him.
Of course, her infatuation with Philip had led her to overlook his faults, so a woman would be foolish to judge the possibility of a courtship by feelings alone. But surely there had to be something beyond friendship, however comforting that friendship may be.
Please help him to get over this, if indeed it’s true, she prayed. As an afterthought, she added, And please help him find a woman who can give him the love he deserves. She felt some confidence that her prayer would be answered. After all, Vicar Phelps was a man who’d dedicated his life to serving God. And God would want only what was best for him.
“But I’ve still some studying to do,” Philip protested to Julia after supper as she guided her children out of the dining room.
“This should only take a few minutes.”
“What should?” Grace asked from her other side.
“Sh-h-h!” Julia looked ahead at Mrs. Hyatt, walking arm in arm with Mrs. Kingston down the corridor toward the hall. “I can’t tell you right now, Gracie. Just wait and see.”
“I’ll wager this has something to do with Mr. Durwin,” Aleda whispered from behind. Julia turned to gape at her.
“We don’t wager, Aleda.”
“But it’s just a saying, Mother. Everyone says it.”
“Well, I don’t want to hear it in this house again. Do you understand?”
Aleda lowered her green eyes, so like her own. “Yes, Mother.”
You’re overreacting! She isn’t going to turn out like her father just because she said wager. Julia turned around to wrap an arm around the girl’s shoulder. “I can tell you this,” she whispered in her ear. “I’m not completely sure of everything that is to happen, but you’re absolutely right about this having to do with Mr. Durwin.”
“I knew it!” she whispered back, her face brightening. Julia squeezed her hand, and when she turned around again, Mrs. Kingston and Mrs. Hyatt were standing framed by the hall doorway, peering off to their right. Mrs. Kingston’s face wore a delighted smile, while Mrs. Hyatt looked to be in shock with her mouth partly open.
“Come now, Mrs. Hyatt. We must allow the others in,” Mrs. Kingston was urging when Julia and her children had caught up with them.
“But I don’t think—”
“It’s only Mr. Durwin’s little orchestra. Perhaps they came here to practice.”
“It’s Mr. Durwin’s band!” Grace exclaimed when the two women had moved from the doorway. Julia looked over at the west wall, where Mr. Durwin stood wearing a black suit and clutching a shiny baritone. With him, and looking just a bit sheepish, were Mr. Clark from the iron foundry with a trombone, Captain Powell with his cornet in hand, Mr. Sway the greengrocer holding a flugelhorn, and Mr. Putnam and Mr. Jones, both with horns. Mr. Summers, a cartier, and the only member without a wind instrument, had a large bass drum suspended from his shoulders. Mrs. Kingston was leading a befuddled Mrs. Hyatt to the sofa while Mrs. Beemish stood by with flushed excitement on her face.
“What have we here?” asked Mrs. Dearing with genuine surprise when she, Miss Rawlins, and Mr. Clay had entered the room. “Are you going to play for us, Mr. Durwin?”
With an exaggerated tilt of the chin, Mr. Durwin appeared to think this over, as if the seven musicians had just happened to be standing against the west wall for some other reason. His eyes seemed to be working hard to keep from straying over in Mrs. Hyatt’s direction. “Why, we would consider it an honor,” he finally replied.
“What are they going to play?” Philip whispered.
“I don’t know,” Julia whispered back.
Mrs. Beemish left the room as the men spent three or four minutes tuning their instruments. She returned shortly with the other servants in tow.
“Everyone, have a seat,” Mrs. Kingston commanded over the inharmonious sounds of the instruments from her place next to Mrs. Hyatt. The knowing authority in her voice caused Mrs. Hyatt to peer at her curiously, but Mrs. Kingston simply smiled and patted her hand. “After all, since we’re all here, we might as well be comfortable.”
When everyone had settled into seats and the hall was quiet, Mr. Durwin lifted his baritone to his mouth again. As one, the musicians blew into their mouthpieces. Mr. Summers kept time with subdued blows on his drum. The melody that issued forth was a bit on the bleating side, and an occasional sour note made itself known, but it wasn’t every day that one had the opportunity to listen to a brass band, so there were smiles coming from all directions of the room. After three or four measures, Julia recognized the familiar strains of Now Thank We All Our God.
“Now Thank We All Our God,” Grace whispered into her ear.
“Yes, it is,” Julia whispered back. And one look at Mrs. Hyatt gave her a clue as to why that particular song had been chosen. The elderly woman sat there with her hand up to her heart, her face filled with some undefinable emotion.
“Do you think we could sing along?”
It was Grace again, and Julia whispered back, “Perhaps we shouldn’t.” But when the first stanza and chorus were finished, Mr. Durwin raised a hand to silence the scattered applause that had just begun. His cheeks were flushed, and now he looked over at Mrs. Hyatt as he took a step forward.
“We’ve chosen this particular hymn to play because it is the favorite of a person very dear to us all. Now would you be so kind as to accompany us with your voices?”
There were awkward clearings of throats and exchanges of selfconscious looks as the musicians lifted their instruments again, but every voice joined in, from Grace’s soft trill to Karl Herrick’s rich accented baritone.
Now thank we all our God, with heart and hands and voices,
Who wondrous things hath done, in whom His world rejoices;
Every voice except for Mr. Clay’s, Julia then noticed with a curious glance at a chair to her left, for she was aware that he knew no hymns. He didn’t seem uncomfortable but simply sat with closed eyes and a little smile.
Who, from our mother’s arms, hath blest us on our way With countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.
As she continued singing into the second verse, Julia found herself unable to resist a covert glance at Mrs. Hyatt again. She need not have been so careful. Mrs. Hyatt’s shining gray eyes were beaming across the room at Mr. Durwin.
There was a hushed silence after the third and final stanza had trailed off to a close, then enthusiastic applause broke out. “Again, please?” Karl Herrick called out. But clearly, the musicians were worn out from the effort.
“Thank you, but some other time,” replied Mr. Durwin with a smile after the musicians had given bows over their instruments. “We appreciate your kind attention and participation and now must bid you good evening.”
But why is he leaving? Julia wondered as Sarah and Georgette brought the men their wraps. The romantic side of her that she’d forgotten even existed had hoped that Mr. Durwin would fall on his knees at Mrs. Hyatt’s feet when the song was finished and plead her hand in marriage. Just the mental picture the scene evoked was enough to make Julia remember that the couple were of another generation. He would not care to make a spectacle of himself, nor would Mrs. H
yatt appreciate being included in such a show.
But still, Mr. Durwin lived at the Larkspur. Where was there to go at this hour?
This hour, Julia thought. As chatting servants left the room to clean the supper dishes, she put her left hand on Philip’s shoulder. “Bedtime soon. Why don’t you see to—”
“My studying,” he finished for her and was gone. Grace and Aleda, who had finished their homework, went to their room to see if the glue on their latest batch of valentines was dry. With just over two weeks remaining until Valentine’s day, the girls had an ambitious plan to hand out valentines to every person at school as well as every person with whom they were even remotely acquainted. When they were gone, Julia looked across at Mrs. Hyatt again.
“But I don’t feel overtired,” Mrs. Hyatt was telling Mrs. Kingston. “And how did Mr. Durwin know that my favorite song was—” She became silent then, apparently aware that all eyes remaining in the room were focused on her.
But Mrs. Kingston sent a forgiving smile around the room. “I was just telling Mrs. Hyatt that she could stand some rest after all the excitement. Wouldn’t you agree?”
There was more command than question in her voice, and Julia found that her head was nodding in unison with all of the others. She probably wouldn’t have noticed without it being pointed out, but Mrs. Hyatt did look somewhat peaked.
“But—”
“Just a quarter of an hour or so with your eyes closed and feet propped up … you’ll see, dear. It’ll feel like a tonic.”
When they were gone from the room, Julia studied the door for three or four minutes. There was something not quite right here. If Mrs. Kingston had kindly helped arrange the concert, why was she then ordering Mrs. Hyatt to her room? “I should see if she needs anything,” she finally said, standing.
The Widow of Larkspur Inn Page 43
