A Bride of Honor

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  She had so wanted to share her own news with him.

  She’d been wanting to for a few days—nay, weeks—but had kept waiting, first to be more sure, and then, to wait for just the right moment. She couldn’t help touching her abdomen lightly, thinking about the new life growing within her.

  She’d just missed her second cycle. Surely, she must be carrying Damien’s child! The thought filled her with such joy, she didn’t know how she could contain it another minute. She’d never been good at keeping something to herself. Always, at school, she’d shared her secrets with her friends.

  Now, she had no one. No one except the Lord. She glanced up at the pale blue sky before continuing through the kitchen garden and making her way toward the rear of the chapel. Perhaps Damien was there.

  Since meeting Damien, her relationship to God had grown deeper. Damien had taught her how to seek God’s counsel first. For weeks now, ever since she’d missed her first cycle, she’d been rejoicing in secret with the Lord, as each day brought more certainty that He had blessed her womb with a child. A child formed from her love for Damien, an affirmation that she’d been forgiven for her false accusation against her beloved.

  She entered the dim chapel. Disappointment filled her when it appeared empty. As soon as she entered into the sanctuary and looked toward the altar, she stopped. Damien was there, kneeling. The colorful late-afternoon sun through the stained-glass windows fell across his back. An air of stillness enveloped him and made her pause.

  She so wanted to talk to him, but he seemed deep in prayer. Would he be angry with her for interrupting him now? He was never angry with her. Removed at times, but never angry.

  Lord, she prayed, invoking one of her ongoing prayers, show me how to break down Damien’s wall of reserve and sadness. I’ve done all I know to do. Taking a deep breath, she made her way down the aisle.

  He must have heard her as she grew closer, for he looked over his shoulder. When he saw it was she, he slowly rose to his feet.

  “Were you looking for me?” he asked when she reached him.

  She nodded, reassured by his calm tone. “You were gone so long. I didn’t know where you might go after your meeting, so I thought I’d look here.”

  He smiled slightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was back.” His gaze shifted from her and he sighed.

  She reached out and touched him lightly on the arm. “Did everything go all right?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead he motioned to the pews. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “Very well.”

  He waited for her to sit before taking his place beside her. “It’s peaceful in here, is it not?” he said.

  She glanced at him, unable to read his mood. He seemed almost too calm. “Yes.”

  “I’ve always enjoyed being here when there’s no one else. Not that I don’t enjoy morning and evening prayer services.”

  His pensive gaze fixed on the altar. “This has been my church for so many years,” he said finally. “It’s been the only pulpit I’ve known.”

  Something in his tone gave her a queer feeling in her stomach.

  “Maybe someday you’ll have a bigger pulpit.”

  He smiled slightly but didn’t look at her.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  “I have resigned my curacy.”

  She almost smiled. Was he making a jest? Surely she hadn’t heard properly. When he turned to her at last, the look in his eyes was bleak and she began to feel dread. Never had she seen him look this way. He was the one who was tranquil in every storm.

  “Damien, what happened this afternoon?”

  “The bishop asked for my resignation.” He leaned his elbows on his knees and kneaded his forehead with his fingers.

  “Why would he do such a thing?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Actually he had a whole document describing my shortcomings.”

  “How can that be? Your congregation loves you.” Her voice rose in outrage.

  “Not all of them, apparently.” Was that a tinge of cynicism in his tone? It was so unlike him, she could only stare.

  With a sigh he sat back in the pew. “The main accusation is my aiding Jonah when he was a fugitive,” he said at last, no longer looking at her.

  “But that was ages ago! And didn’t the prince himself pardon Jonah? I don’t understand.”

  “It seems the bishop considers my role in hiding Jonah a bad example for the congregation.” He spoke slowly as if he had difficulty putting his thoughts together. “He spoke also of my sermons of late and their evangelical bent.”

  She shook her head, still in a muddle. Was she too ignorant of church affairs to understand? Finally she stood, too angry to sit still. “It’s not right. You are the finest, most godly man I know. How can they just dismiss you?”

  He smiled slightly. “Thank you for your kind words, but I’m not nearly as admirable as you think.” His fingers were digging into his kneecap, a gesture she’d come to recognize as the only thing that signaled any agitation in him. She quickly sat beside him again and covered his hand with her own.

  “You are the most godly man I know! Don’t let anything the bishop says make you doubt yourself. Your sermons are uplifting and—” she searched for the right word “—convicting at the same time. I’ve never had sermons which made me want to do better the way yours do. Your sermons challenge me to look into God’s word. How can the bishop think you are a bad influence on your congregation? It’s monstrous!” He said nothing. “Isn’t there someone you can appeal to?”

  He shook his head. “No, he has sole jurisdiction over those in his parish. Besides, the rector is in full agreement with him. He is my supervisor, who is most familiar with all that I do. If he disapproves of my work, well,” he said, and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, “there is nothing more to be said. I am nothing but a lowly curate.”

  She turned away, unable to comprehend it. She glanced up at the altar. Dear God, is this some kind of nightmare? Why is this happening to the dearest, most saintly man there is?

  All thoughts of sharing her own secret evaporated, her joy crushed. As she watched Damien’s profile, a weight, darker than any she’d ever known, settled over her heart. Damien felt so guilty about her, responsible for her fate. Once he knew she carried their child, a being which bonded her to him for the rest of their lives, how would he react?

  Lindsay wiped the perspiration from her brow and straightened. Her back and shoulders ached from all the cleaning and packing, but she couldn’t allow herself more than a few minutes respite. There was simply too much to be done.

  Kneeling on the floor in front of a box, she surveyed the emptiness of the room that used to be their cozy drawing room. Carpets were rolled up. Sheets covered all the furniture. Books were packed away along with vases and a few other decorative items that didn’t belong to the parsonage.

  She eased up off the floor. Every day now she felt nausea that only went away momentarily when she ate a little something. Thankfully, she didn’t feel sick enough that anyone would notice, but she had to force herself to go about her tasks.

  It was a mercy everyone’s attention was on Florence and her condition. She now seemed to be full of energy, and Lindsay was hard-pressed not to appear a laggard.

  Lindsay walked over to an upturned crate and poured herself a glass of barley water from a pitcher. Most of the furniture would remain in the parsonage, as it belonged to the church. Damien had found them some rooms to rent in a house not too far away in Marylebone. It was a pity they would be farther than ever from Florence and Jonah, too distant to see them on a daily basis.

  “Anything more to take down?”

  Jonah’s cheerful voice startled her. She turned to him, making an effort to smile. “Yes, those three over there are ready.”

  He went to the crates she indicated and proceeded to nail them up. Jonah and Florence were carting most of their things to the farmhouse, since they’d be able to fit very litt
le into their new lodgings.

  She still had hardly had a chance to adjust to the notion of Damien not being the curate of St. George’s. In less than a week, they’d had to pack and vacate the parsonage.

  “You look a mite pale,” Jonah said. “Why don’t you go down and Elizabeth will fix you a cup of tea and a bit of food?”

  “I’m all right. There’s still so much to be done before tomorrow.”

  “Florence and I will stay until everything’s finished.”

  “Don’t let Florence overdo.”

  Jonah chuckled as he went to the next crate. “She thinks she has the capacity of a half-dozen women right now. Don’t you worry, I’ll make her lie down soon.”

  Damien came in then. He nodded to Jonah, then came to her. His blue eyes peered closely at her a few seconds and she strove to appear normal. Many times, she’d wanted to blurt out her news but she held back. Though he hadn’t expressed any regret at losing his curacy, he’d grown more quiet and thoughtful. That alone showed her the hurt he must be suffering.

  The betrayal of his oldest friend and mentor, Reverend Doyle, was the worst part. It made her question her role in her husband’s life more relentlessly. If he weren’t burdened with her, might not he be better off now?

  “How is everything?” he asked with a look around the room.

  She injected cheerfulness into her voice. “We are almost finished.”

  He smiled. “Good. I’ll make another run with Jonah to our new place with the last boxes.”

  “Will we be ready to move in by this evening?”

  “Yes.” A shuttered expression appeared on his face. “I’ve told the rector I would turn in our key to the church warden on Sunday.”

  She nodded, not knowing what else to say. For her, this had been home for only a short time. For Damien, it had been several years.

  She longed to reassure him that she would strive with all her ability to make his new home as agreeable as his last, no matter how few material possessions they had. But for the moment, it seemed better to remain silent.

  On Sunday morning he preached his last sermon. Lindsay was shocked to see that half the church was absent. Had so many parishioners turned against Damien?

  She surveyed those sitting in the pews. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper were not present, nor was their daughter, Charlotte. They’d been the most determinedly cool toward Lindsay since her marriage to Damien.

  There was Mrs. Moore. Lindsay felt a surge of relief at the older lady’s smile and returned it. Mrs. Oliver also nodded at her as their glances met. How nice of her friend to come and show her support.

  When Damien began to read the morning prayers, Lindsay settled back, always enjoying the way he read the scriptures.

  When it was time for the sermon, he walked slowly into the pulpit, looking regal in his white surplice and green stole. Her heart went out to him in that moment as he stood alone. The words of Christ came to her about counting the cost. Was this part of the cost Damien must pay for following his Savior? To be willing to stand when the world judged him?

  She sat straighter, her hands folded in her lap, hoping to show by her demeanor how proud she was of her husband. As if he felt her encouragement, his gaze met hers. She smiled and gave him a small nod, and a light seemed to shine in his eyes.

  He cleared his throat, looking out at the church. “Dear brothers and sisters, today, I come to you with a heavy heart. You see, it is to be the last time I address you, beloved congregation. I want to thank you for the years of patient endurance as you received a green preacher, fresh from his studies at Oxford, and bore with me as the Lord worked in my life to be able to feed you His word….”

  By the time he finished his message, Lindsay couldn’t keep the tears from running down her cheeks. What was he to do now? He was a born preacher. She couldn’t imagine that the Lord had something else for him to do. As she peeked at the faces nearest her, she saw she was not the only one affected.

  After the service, she waited for Damien to change out of his vestments. A couple she knew only slightly approached her. She smiled, expecting expressions of sympathy as some of the other parishioners had offered, but they didn’t return her smile.

  “I hope you’re satisfied with yourself now.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You tricked our poor reverend into marrying you. Now, he’s in disgrace with the church and has lost his curacy. How can you live with yourself?”

  She was too shocked to do anything but stare mutely.

  “Reverend Hathaway is such a good man. There’s not an evil bone in his body. It’s a tragedy that he succumbed to the lures of an unscrupulous young lady when there were so many worthy young women in his own congregation.”

  “What are you talking about? Reverend Hathaway was dismissed because of helping Jonah Quinn hide here.” Her voice died away at the look of contempt in their eyes.

  “Is that what he told you?” the husband said. “You’d best examine your own conscience, my lady. When a woman lays a trap for a man, accusing him of stealing her virtue…”

  Fear and doubt strangled her. Was she the reason Damien had had to resign? He had said nothing! She turned away, clutching the back of a pew. And here she’d believed she’d come to know him. How foolishly naive she’d been.

  Before she could do anything, Damien entered from the vestry. “There you are. Shall we greet the remaining parishioners?”

  His tone was light. How could he treat her this thoughtfully when she was the cause of his disaster? Silently, she followed him to the entry of the chapel, her mind awhirl. They remained standing there quite a long while replying to well-wishers. Damien had already spoken to many privately over the past few days, but now everyone felt the sadness of leave-taking.

  “You must let us know if you have a church again,” one man said.

  “I will, thank you.” Damien bowed his head politely and turned to another parishioner.

  Mrs. Moore shook his hand. “I feel in my heart this is not the end of the road for you, young man, but only the beginning.”

  “Thank you, dear lady.”

  With some final farewells, they left the church. They were silent walking back to the parsonage. Lindsay glanced several times at Damien, wanting to question him immediately but hesitant to confront him when he must be devastated.

  She was feeling none too well herself, and when they arrived at the parsonage, she excused herself after removing her bonnet.

  “Are you all right?” His tone, as always, expressed immediate concern. She wanted to weep. He was always sensitive to her needs, when all she’d done was bring ruin to him.

  “Just a bit tired is all.”

  “I’ll have Mrs. Nichols send you up some lunch if you’d like.”

  “That’s all right. I…I’m not feeling too hungry.” She would probably lose anything she put in her stomach right now.

  “Well, at least a cup of tea and some biscuits.” He paused. “I know it was a difficult morning for you.”

  She stared into his eyes. Would he never confide the truth to her? “More so for you.”

  “The Lord is gracious.”

  She turned away from him slowly, wanting to weep from sadness and remorse.

  Damien stood at the foot of the front stairs listening to Lindsay’s slow tread until it faded. He hoped this move wasn’t too much for her. She was looking decidedly pale, and her appetite hadn’t been good in the few rushed meals they’d been able to share.

  Hopefully, she’d be able to settle down once they were in their new rooms. A wave of despair swept over him at the thought of the two dingy rooms they would now call home. It was in a seedy neighborhood at the edge of Marylebone, too close to where they’d been attacked.

  He’d debated with himself a dozen times about approaching her father to confide the situation to him and ask him to take his daughter back.

  But the knowledge of how he’d stolen her virtue stopped him. How could she return home now?

/>   He saw no answer. With a sigh, he headed for his study, a room bare of all but the original furniture. It mocked him. He’d never been anything but a pilgrim within the walls of this parsonage he’d called home.

  It wasn’t until late that evening that Lindsay finally found herself alone with Damien in their new home. All week, Jonah and Florence had been with them, finally helping them to unpack and put their few belongings in order. The rooms were furnished, although the tables and chairs had clearly seen better days. Florence had said that between the two of them they’d quickly sew some new curtains and spruce the place up.

  Lindsay could hardly bear the solicitude. She wanted to cry out that she didn’t deserve any of it.

  Now, in the silence of the small parlor, her anguish grew. It was clear Damien would tell her nothing. She rose and said to him, “I think I shall retire.”

  Damien looked up from the Bible. “You must be tired.”

  She simply nodded. “Good night.”

  In the twilight shadows of the cramped room she undressed and lay down on the lumpy bed, staring up at the stained canopy, dry-eyed. What was she to do? She had ruined Damien’s life, and now likely carried his child in her womb. Her hand rested atop her abdomen, as it did of late. The thought of a growing life within brought both joy and fear.

  If only she could share this news with Damien. Would he be pleased or would it only add to his worries? She turned on her side, allowing herself to dream of a life with Damien and their child…their children. She dreamed of hearing him preach from the pulpit, and of teaching their children the right way to go. She pictured her role next to him, bringing the gospel to the needy. Were all those dreams turned to ashes now?

  What did this new neighborhood hold for them? It was not far from where they had been attacked by the gang of boys. As she usually did when she thought of that afternoon, she began praying for them. As she prayed, the image came to her of Damien preaching to them. Did the Lord want him to minister to those in this neighborhood?