The Widow of Larkspur Inn

by Lawana Blackwell

  “I tell you, Mrs. Hollis, it just ain’t fair,” Mr. Trumble said to Julia while gathering merchandise to fill her order on the last day of June. “Those archaeology fellows bein’ allowed to dig up the ground up there. Why, my marble collection will be worthless!”

  “Perhaps Mr. Ellis and Mr. Pitney would be interested in seeing them,” Julia suggested. “Most of what they find will be displayed in the British Museum.”

  “Yes?” After considering that for a second or two, the shopkeeper smiled behind his long mustache. “I wouldn’t even mind given’ them to ’em if they would agree to put my name on a little card. Then my family could go and look at it sometimes. For posterior, you know.”

  Posterity, Julia corrected silently. “I don’t know why they should mind putting your name on a card, Mr. Trumble. I’ve seen donor cards in the museum.”

  The bell to the door tingled, and Philip, Jeremiah, and Ben walked through it. “Oh, hello, Mother,” Philip said. “Hello, Mr. Trumble.” His two companions gave greetings, as well.

  “Hello, boys,” Julia returned. “Did you catch any fish?”

  “We haven’t gone yet, Mrs. Hollis,” Ben replied. “We’ve been playing marbles.”

  “We decided to save the fishing for after lunch,” Philip added.

  “Ah … fishing,” Mr. Trumble said dreamily. He leaned his elbows on the counter. “You’d best not say that too loud. I can just see all the bream and perch in the Bryce quacking with fear.”

  Julia dared not meet Philip’s eyes, for she was having difficulty restraining her own smile over the idea of fish carrying on like ducks. Deciding a change of subject was in order, she said to the boys, “Mr. Trumble was just considering donating his collection of marbles to the British Museum.”

  “You mean you aren’t going to sell them?” Jeremiah asked, voicing the surprise written across all three young faces.

  “Not if they’ll allow my name on a card.”

  “Speaking of marbles …” Philip dug something from his trousers’ pocket. Opening his palm, he proudly displayed a large marble, called a taw, of polished white agate. “I won it off Nate Casper today.”

  Julia felt a sudden increase in the temperature inside the shop as a lump as big as the marble centered itself in her chest. “You … won it?”

  “Why, yes, Mother.” He seemed not to notice anything amiss in her expression. “It took some doing. Nate’s about the best, even if he’s only in fourth standard.”

  There was a chorus of agreement from Ben and Jeremiah, and words of congratulations from Mr. Trumble, but Julia paid them no mind. Watching her son standing there holding out a marble, she imagined a taller, older figure holding out a note-of-hand. And that was when the horror on her face must have shown, for the boys and Mr. Trumble became suddenly quiet.

  “Mother?” Philip said, his blue eyes uncertain.

  She forced calm into a voice that was on the verge of screeching like a fishwife. “I’m so disappointed in you, Philip. You will return it to Nate Casper today. And I never want to hear of your gambling again. Ever.”

  He blinked at her. “Gambling?”

  “You did not buy that marble, and the boy didn’t give it to you of his own free will.”

  “But everyone does it. And he could have won one from me just as—”

  “Right away, Philip!” she cut in, then turned on her heel and left them gaping behind her. I embarrassed him, she thought as she walked home, but that was the least of her worries. Maybe this was how his father got started. Marbles one day, money the next!

  As she neared the Larkspur, pulse still pounding in her throat, she was faced with two dilemmas. Mrs. Kingston was in the front garden, as usual. And at the back, there were the Worthy sisters to consider. Her heart sank. As dear as all three women were to her, she was in no mood to carry on polite conversation.

  And yet she felt a great need to talk over what had just happened with someone who would listen and could help her see what she should do next. Oh, Father … if only Fiona were here, she prayed silently. But it was not Fiona’s face that came into her mind next.

  Julia paused at the crossroads and looked off to the east, down Church Lane. I’ve practically ignored him lately. How can I go crying on his shoulder now? But she could think of no other person in Gresham who could provide the comfort she so desperately needed at the moment.

  She was barely able to keep her voice from shaking as she greeted the Burrell children coming from the opposite direction, the two oldest carrying little Molly and David on their shoulders. Will some of them turn out like their father? she wondered sadly. Is weakness of character an inherited trait? And has Philip passed down the same to his son?

  Dora answered the vicarage door. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the vicar ain’t back just yet. Would you care to come inside?”

  “Yes … no.” Julia blew out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Dora. May I wait in the garden?”

  “Why, of course, Mrs. Hollis.”

  She had just settled herself in one of the wicker chairs when Elizabeth came rushing out of the house. “Mrs. Hollis, what’s wrong?”

  The concern in her young face was almost enough to cause Julia to lose the rest of her composure. Still, she managed a weak smile. “I just need to speak with your father.”

  “Certainly. But I don’t think you want to sit out here alone.” Before Julia could protest, Elizabeth seated herself in another chair. Thankfully, she seemed to understand that Julia was in no mood for small talk. Laurel stuck her head out of the door just long enough to receive a shake of the head from her sister. Dora brought tea soon after that and then left them alone.

  Presently the gate squeaked and there was the vicar. The tea and Elizabeth’s company had calmed Julia down enough to exchange greetings. If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t show it, but his brow furrowed thoughtfully when his daughter excused herself right away and went into the house.

  “Mrs. Hollis?” His hazel eyes studied her face as he took her hand. “I gather this isn’t a social call.”

  Julia shook her head. “I’m in need of some counsel, Vicar. Have you time?”

  “But of course. Why don’t we go to my study?”

  She looked around and saw Luke Smith unharnessing the trap from the horse, Mr. Sykes picking up fallen limbs in the churchyard, and to the north, Mr. Durwin and Mrs. Hyatt ambling along the riverbank. Sitting out in a front garden was an open invitation for interruptions, and besides, she didn’t think she could speak of the things that were burdening her in so public a place. “Yes, please.”

  The study Vicar Phelps led her to seemed to fit his personality exactly, from the shelves filled with books to the rowing paddle attached to a wall. He took the chair from behind his desk and put it near the one in which she was seated. “Now,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile as he took his seat. “Why don’t you tell me how I can help you?”

  She sighed. “It’s Philip. He won a marble during a match with another boy, and it appears that this wasn’t the first time.”

  “Yes?” The vicar nodded thoughtfully. “Did you speak with him about it?”

  The scene at Trumbles restaged itself in her mind. “I’m afraid I humiliated him in front of his friends. But I was so frightened and angry that I just didn’t think. And I ordered him to return the marble—I suppose he’s done that by now.”

  “I’m sure he has. He’s a fine lad, you know.”

  “Yes, he is,” Julia agreed, grateful to him for reminding her. “And so protective of his sisters and me. I accused him of gambling, but now that I’ve had time to think about it, I doubt if he realized that’s what he was doing.”

  “That’s very likely the case. You know, I played marbles for keeps when I was his age as well.”

  “You did? You mean, you don’t believe it’s wrong?”

  Now a smile curved under his hazel eyes. “Ministers are accused of believing everything is sinful. Everything enjoyable, that is. But actually, I do
n’t approve of it, because it’s still a simple form of gambling. And if a child becomes accustomed to winning something for nothing, it could lead to gambling with money when he’s older.”

  Now the tears that Julia had held in rein for the past hour clouded her eyes, causing Vicar Phelps to get to his feet and begin a panicked search through his pockets for a handkerchief. He finally located one in his coat. “Now, now,” he said, awkwardly patting her shoulder as he stood beside her. “It seems to me that if you’ll just apologize for embarrassing him in front of his friends, and tell him not to play for keeps anymore—”

  “Oh, Vicar,” she sniffed into the handkerchief. “There’s so much more to it than that!”

  “There is?” He allowed her to weep for several minutes, still patting her shoulder. When she had finally regained her composure, she wiped her eyes again and looked up at him.

  “I’m all right now.”

  “Are you quite sure?” He nodded toward the door. “Shall I get another handkerchief?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Would you care to tell me the rest, Mrs. Hollis?” he asked gently, taking his chair again.

  Julia needed no further prompting. She had admitted her husband’s underhanded behavior to only one other person, Fiona, over a year ago. But as she poured out her heart to the vicar, the humiliation of having to reveal this dark family secret gave way to relief, the relief of allowing someone who obviously cared about her to help shoulder the burden. When she was finished, Vicar Phelps immediately nodded understanding.

  “You’re afraid Philip will follow in his father’s footsteps?”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

  There was a long silence, and when Julia opened her eyes again he was studying the fingers he had steepled over his crossed knee. She appreciated that he had not jumped in with an answer right away. When he raised his eyes and saw that she was looking at him, he smiled. “He passed away when my husband was an infant. But no, from what his uncle George said from time to time, Mr. Hollis was a decent man.” “Tell me … was your late husband’s father a gambler, Mrs. Hollis?”

  “What about his grandfather?”

  “No.”

  “I see.” He was quiet again for several seconds. “And are your children aware that their father gambled?”

  “Not at all. I wasn’t even aware of it until three weeks after his death.”

  Vicar Phelps leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m not a prophet, Mrs. Hollis. But I don’t believe you have to worry about Philip. He strikes me as having a strong conscience.”

  She recalled how grieved he’d felt after opening Fiona’s letter, and even the relief he’d displayed when finally confronted about his part in the ghost prank. And then his being so solicitous of Laurel Phelps after she broke her leg. “He has a good heart, Vicar. He forgets it sometimes.”

  “They all forget sometimes. Even we do. But as we discussed a minute ago, this wasn’t an act of willful disobedience on his part. Don’t you think he would obey you if you forbade his playing for keeps from now on? Explaining the reason why, of course.”

  “I believe he would.” Anxiety quickened Julia’s heartbeat. “You aren’t advising that I tell him the truth about his father, are you?”

  “Why, not at all, Mrs. Hollis,” he replied right away, then shook his head for emphasis. “Perhaps you’ll have to do so one day when he’s grown, but for now, allow the boy to keep his illusions.”

  “I’m afraid the illusions are few, Vicar. My husband had little time for his children.”

  “Then it’s all the more important that they aren’t destroyed,” he said gently.

  “Yes.” They sat wrapped in silence for a while longer, and then Julia became conscious of the time. Ten past five, according to the clock on the wall. She rose to her feet, and he did the same. “They’ll wonder where I am.”

  “Won’t you stay for supper? I could ask Luke to deliver a note to the Larkspur.”

  “Thank you, but I should go speak with Philip now.”

  “Yes, of course,” he nodded, then offered his elbow. “But I do insist upon driving you home, Mrs. Hollis.”

  “Thank you.” Finally Julia could muster a genuine smile. “For everything, Vicar. You’re a good friend.”

  His kind eyes crinkled at the corners. “And so are you, Mrs. Hollis.”

  Philip was in his room when Julia arrived back at the Larkspur. He sat at his study table, idly moving a knight from square to square on his chessboard, and looked up at her with a masked expression. It was the trembling of his bottom lip that gave him away. She went over to him, leaned down, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Philip. It was wrong of me to humiliate you that way. Please let me tell you how proud I am that you’re my son.”

  Much later, after she had said her personal prayers and had turned in for the night, she thought about how sweet was the restored fellowship with her son. While she was at the vicar’s, he had not only returned the taw to the Casper boy, but returned to another boy marbles he’d won from him. Just like Zaccheus, she thought, smiling to herself in the darkness. Thank you, Father, she prayed again. And thank you for Vicar Phelps’s wise counsel.

  “He is such a dear man,” she said aloud. Did I remember to thank him?

  And then a question cropped up into her mind from seemingly nowhere. Was love something that suddenly swooped down upon a person, like a cold? She mulled that over for a moment. It did in my case with Philip. But I know now that was only infatuation.

  What if love wasn’t a mysterious “thing” that capriciously attached itself to whomever it willed? Could it be instead a deliberate choice of action? Jesus had commanded His followers to “love one another.” Would He give such a commandment if people had no control over their ability to love?

  And does that mean that romantic love between a man and woman can be cultivated, just as Mrs. Kingston cultivates her roses?

  She recalled standing at a window facing the Anwyl and determining that, like Saint Paul, she would learn contentment. If contentment could be achieved through an act of will, then why couldn’t love? And it would seem that a love purposely cultivated for a man because of his kind nature and comforting ways would eventually grow stronger and deeper than one based on mere physical attraction.

  Julia pondered those questions and notions deep into the night. When she awoke the next morning, she expected her mind to be muddled from lack of sleep. Instead, she found that a strange clarity had sharpened her thoughts. She felt like a schoolgirl—one who has finally comprehended long division. Her steps were light all the way down the hall toward the kitchen as a joyful giddiness, a feeling she’d been convinced would never be felt again, surged through her.

  Vicar Phelps called that afternoon just after lunch, when Philip and his friends were off accompanying Mr. Ellis on a look-see atop the Anwyl, and Aleda and Grace played in the stables with Buff’s now grown kittens. Julia had somehow known since waking that the vicar would come sometime today. That was not the reason, she told herself as she walked up the corridor to greet him in the hall, that she was wearing her most flattering gown, a sea green silk with a ruffled bodice. Nor was it why she styled her hair in the latest American fashion that had looked so becoming on Elizabeth, clasping the sides at the crown of her head with a comb while the rest hung behind her back.

  And the knowing smiles of Mrs. Beemish, Mrs. Dearing, and Miss Rawlins had nothing to do with his asking to speak with her privately after he had exchanged pleasantries with the three. Still, Julia avoided their eyes as she turned to lead him to the library.

  When the door closed behind them and they had seated themselves in adjacent chairs, he spoke as she knew he would. While his face seemed tranquil enough, there was unmistakable tension in his voice. “How is Philip?” he asked first.

  “Fine,” she replied. “I do so appreciate your counsel. We had a long talk last night.”

  “I’m so glad.” />
  Julia noticed then that he was knotting his fingers together, as Elizabeth was prone to do when nervous. After all he’s done for you, at least you could put him at ease, she told herself. “Vicar?”

  “Yes?” he said, straightening in his chair.

  She smiled. “I shan’t bite, you know.”

  The same stunned look he’d worn the time she told him to hush flashed across his face, followed by a smile and the easing of his posture.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hollis.”

  “You’re welcome, Vicar.”

  “I wonder if I might speak with you of a personal matter?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She could hear him draw in a long breath. “I believe you’re aware of the deep affection I have for you, Mrs. Hollis.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “If I may be so bold to ask … how do you feel about me?”

  Measuring her words with care, Julia replied, “Next to my children, you’re the dearest person in Gresham to me.”

  “I am?” There was an incongruous mixture of disappointment and hope across his kind face as he took another breath. “Mrs. Hollis … I’m well aware that I’m not every woman’s idea of a perfect man. But do you think you might possibly learn to love me one day?”

  “I have already begun to love you,” she said quietly, firmly. She could not have imagined, even yesterday, that her feelings for him could deepen in so short an amount of time, but she was learning that once a decision is planted firmly in the mind, all the steps fall into place quite rapidly.

  He stared at her, seemingly unable to believe his ears. “Does that mean—”he cleared his throat and shifted in his chair—“that you would consider being my wife, Mrs. Hollis?”

  “I have already considered it, Vicar. In fact, I thought of little else last night.”

  The astonishment in his expression deepened. “Truly?”

  “I would be honored to be your wife.”

  “Why, yes, that’s …” Suddenly a smile spread across his bearded face. “You cannot imagine how amazed I am. And how delighted.” Leaning forward, he took one of her hands gently in his own. “I will treat your children as my own, Mrs. Hollis, just as I know you will mother my daughters. And you … I will cherish. And I’ll never allow a day to pass without thanking God for you.”