by Amy Cross
“I lost it,” I explain. “I wish I hadn't, but one day it was gone.”
“Really?”
Suddenly something falls in front of me, and I hear a faint bumping sound as I look down and see that the crucifix is now at my feet. Reaching down, I pick it up, convinced that it must turn out to be a facsimile. Somehow, as soon as I feel the crucifix in my hand I know that it is the same one that I lost all those years ago.
“You were careless and dropped it,” the voice says. “I saved it for when you would want to see it again.”
“And how did you feel when you learned of Violet's violent end?” she asks. “Be honest. How did you really feel?”
“Shocked,” I tell her. “Horrified.
“Don't lie.”
“I thought it was quite awful.”
“Don't lie, Judith.”
“I...
I pause for a moment.
“Happy,” I say finally, and then I close my eyes as I realize that I am still, after all these years, a terrible person. “I hated her. I judged her. She got in my way and I am still glad that she died. I hated her for -”
Suddenly I let out a gasp as I realize how awful I have become. Opening my eyes, I know now that the Lord must have known this about me all along. I am not, and can never be, a good person.
“I'm glad that you have finally stopped lying,” the voice says. “After all, I do not lie to you, so why should you lie to me? And what about yesterday? Are you happy that I intervened to show you what Elizabeth was really doing?”
“I had to stop her,” I reply, “but...”
I think back to the moment when I fell upon Elizabeth and screamed at her.
“I do not remember what happened,” I admit finally. “I was in the forest and then I was here in the church, and now Elizabeth looks at me as if I am some kind of monster.”
“You disciplined her.”
“How?”
“She will not see that man again.”
“But what did I say to her?” I ask. “What did I do?”
I wait for an answer.
“Were you there?” I add finally. “Do you know what happened?”
“I was there,” the voice replies. “I was so proud of you.”
“What did I do?” I shout.
“You are her mother, Judith. You set her back onto the straight path, and this time she will not stray again. In years to come, she will thank you for everything.”
“Why don't I remember?” I whisper, with tears in my eyes.
“You don't need to remember. The task is complete, and that is what matters. If you really must remember the afternoon in the forest, the answer can be found wrapped in linen in the bottom drawer of your chest. The one in your bedroom. You put this answer there yourself. But do not torment yourself, Judith. I think it would upset you to know the truth. Simply be glad that the girl has learned her lesson.”
“I don't want you going anywhere near my daughter,” I say firmly.
“You should be pleased with how things have developed,” she replies. “There is so much more that I can do. Why don't we have a little discussion about certain matters?”
“I'm not going to listen to this,” I reply, as I turn and start walking away. “I don't know what you are, but this is wrong and I refuse to -”
“Shaltak.”
I stop in my tracks, but I am too scared to turn around. I do not know why, but I am suddenly filled with the most terrible sense of dread. It is as if that name – which I have never heard before in my life – nevertheless flickers in my soul with some deep, long-lost meaning.
“My name,” she continues, “is Shaltak. Does that name fill you with horror, Judith Prendergast? I doubt very much that you have heard it before, but perhaps some echo lives on in all human minds. After all, I was once very famous, back in the very old days.”
“I don't know who you are,” I say through gritted teeth, although at the same time I have to wonder why the name Shaltak fills me with such dread.
“I think the name reverberates in your soul,” she says. “My name reverberates in all human souls. You have no idea how much pleasure this confirmation gives me. Now come and sit with me.”
“I would rather die,” I say, before making my way along the aisle.
“You'll change your mind,” her voice purrs. “You'll come crawling back to me, begging for my help.”
“I shall not,” I whisper under my breath as I head outside. “There is nothing you can offer me that would make me turn to you.”
Chapter Nine
“It was worth a try,” Father Perkins says the next day, as we sit sipping tea in his office, “but evidently Violet truly had no family at all. So the funeral will take place on Monday, and I suppose it shall be a rather forlorn affair.”
“Indeed,” I reply. “It is saddening to think that somebody could be all alone in the world like that.”
“It can be difficult to find one's way,” he says with a nod. “I myself sometimes find myself thinking that I should be out there fighting.”
“No!” I say firmly. “You are needed here in Briarwych!”
“There's a war raging, Judith,” he says with a sigh. “Yes, I am needed here, but perhaps I am needed more out there. Young men are getting wounded, and are seeing their friends dying. They're killing other young men. Sometimes I wonder whether the Lord would make better use of me in the theater of war. And if I believe in the cause, I mean if I truly believe in it, should I not fight? I'm too old to be called up, but they would take me if I forced the matter, I'm sure.”
“I rather think that you underestimate the importance of your role here,” I tell him. “The war won't last forever. It's important that those young men, when they eventually return, find that their home is waiting here for them. We have to keep England ticking over until then.”
I take a sip of tea, before glancing at Father Perkins and seeing that he is staring at me with a faint, quizzical smile on his face. He appears rather bemused.
“What's wrong?” I ask, worried that perhaps I have spilled or committed some kind of faux pas.
“Nothing,” he says, “just...”
His voice trails off for a moment.
“You look different today, Judith,” he adds finally. “More... I don't know the exact word, but you look more alive. More radiant, I suppose. You're almost glowing.”
“I don't see why that should be,” I tell him. “I am simply myself.”
“It's quite remarkable,” he replies.
“I'm sorry.”
“No, don't be.” He stares at me for a few more seconds. “Have you done your hair differently?”
“I have not.”
“Your make-up, then?”
“I wear none.”
“Your clothes, then.” Suddenly he gets to his feet and takes a few steps toward me. “Stand up, Judith. Please.”
I hesitate, and then I get to my feet.
“There is something different about you,” he continues. “I know I am hardly the most observant man in the world, but I am absolutely certain that there has been some great change in your countenance. Whatever might it be, Judith?”
“I do not know,” I say, as I set my cup down and take a step back, “but I'm afraid I must attend to some matters in the -”
“No, stay!” he blurts out. “Please. At least for one more cup of tea.”
I open my mouth to decline the offer, but then I realize that this might be the first time Father Perkins has ever been so keen for my company. I should go back to my duties, yet somehow I feel that I cannot.
“One more,” I say, and he is already taking my cup back over to get a refill. “But then I really must do some work. One cannot sit and drink tea all day long.”
“How is Elizabeth doing?” he asks.
“She is fine,” I reply, bristling slightly. “Why do you ask?”
“Just making conversation,” he says. “She's such a lovely girl. She's a real testament to you, y
ou know. You should be proud.”
“That's very kind of you.”
“I know it can't have been easy, raising her alone.” He brings my cup over and sets it next to me. “I want you to know, Judith, that I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. I understand the circumstances around Elizabeth's arrival were somewhat trying, and that perhaps you have attracted some opprobrium on account of the fact that you were not married. I just want you to know that I have always considered you to be above reproach, Judith. In fact, in some ways I have admired you a great deal.”
“I don't know what to say,” I reply, as I feel myself starting to blush. “I have always done my best, but that hardly marks me out as anything special.”
“It does, Judith,” he replies, and then he stares at me for a moment. “Any man would be lucky to have you as his wife.”
We stand in silence for a few seconds. I most certainly do not know how to respond to everything Father Perkins has just said, and I most certainly believe that he is being over-generous. As the seconds drag on, however, I begin to wonder whether it would be wise for me to make an excuse and leave.
“I really should get back to work,” I tell him finally.
“Of course,” he replies, “but promise me that we shall talk again soon. Like this.”
“I should be honored,” I say, before turning and heading out of the room, leaving my second cup of tea untouched. Glancing back, I see that Father Perkins is watching me leave, and I smile briefly at him before making my way along the corridor.
By the time I get to the front door, I am trembling with nerves. If I did not know better, I would be tempted to believe that Father Perkins intends to propose to me.
***
Stepping out of the church, I make my way around the side of the building, hoping to find a quiet spot where I can regain my composure. Since leaving Father Perkins' office I have been replaying his words over and over again, and it is quite clear that his attitude to me has changed drastically.
I have long hoped that he would see me as a potential wife, but I had perhaps grown accustomed to the thought that this would never happen. Now he seems rather keen, and I cannot help but think that he would make a wonderful, respectable husband. He would surely be a fine step-father for Elizabeth too. And since I have never actually been married, there would seem to be no stumbling blocks other than the disapproval of a few local figures.
My heart is racing as I lean back against the wall and take a deep breath.
The voice has been silent today, which I take as a sign that it was perhaps never real in the first place. How it made such accurate prediction, I shall never know, but perhaps it was merely saying things that I knew deep down to be true. I had a moment of madness, but that moment has now passed and calm has returned to my life. I was going to ask Father Perkins about the voice again, although now I fear that course of action might only make matters worse. So long as I do not hear the voice again, everything will be fine.
Suddenly spotting movement in the distance, I turn and look over toward the gate, and I am surprised to see that Elizabeth is halfway along the path. She is looking toward the church's main door, and she seems not to have noticed me at all. Instead, she looks rather nervous, as if she wants to go into the church but is too afraid. A moment later she takes a step forward, then she stops again, and then she half-turns as if she is too scared to go any further. Finally, she turns and starts to walk away, still limping slightly.
“Elizabeth!” I call out.
She stops and turns to me.
“Is anything the matter?” I ask as I head over to her. I am making a very special effort to smile, to put her at ease. I want to get rid of the fear that's in her eyes.
She hesitates, and for a moment I worry that she might be about to turn and run. Then, as if she has summoned some extra courage, she waits for me to get closer.
“I have been speaking to Father Perkins,” I explain. “He's really a very nice gentleman, Elizabeth. Perhaps you would like to get to know him a little better? If you have any worries, he is always available for a discrete word or two.”
“It's fine,” she replies, barely able to meet my gaze. “I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, it's just...”
She pauses again.
“It's just what, darling?”
“There's a lady here to see you,” she continues. “She's at home. I didn't know how long you'd be, so I told her I'd come and see if you're free.”
“A lady?” I try to think who this could be. Everybody knows that I spend my days at the church, so an inhabitant of the village would simply come here if they needed something. And I do not know many people from beyond Briarwych. “What is her name?”
“I didn't catch a name,” she says, “but she asked for you specifically. I think it's quite urgent.”
“This is a rather inconvenient time, Elizabeth. Can't you ask her to come back later?”
“I did suggest that, but she was most insistent.”
“Fine,” I mutter, even though I would much rather get on with my work. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes to pop home and see what this is all about.”
I step past Elizabeth but then, realizing that she doesn't seem to be coming with me, I glance back toward her.
“Are you coming?”
“Of course,” she says, and then she starts obediently coming this way.
Supposing that she is still in a strange mood after whatever happened in the forest, I start walking out of the cemetery. I desperately want to talk some more to Elizabeth, to ask what she's thinking, but I'm wary of pushing too much. She will talk to me when she's ready, and I'm sure she's just feeling embarrassed about the fact that I caught her lying yesterday. She'll come around soon enough.
Reaching the cottage, I stop for a moment and check that I am presentable, and then I turn to see that Elizabeth is dawdling quite a way behind me. It's almost as if she is scared of getting too close.
“Are you coming in?” I ask her.
“You wanted me to fetch some things from the shop,” she replies cautiously.
“Then don't take too long,” I continue. “You might be away from school today, but you are most certainly not a lady of leisure.”
I smile, but she does not reciprocate. Instead, she hesitates for a moment before turning and hurrying back along the lane. I swear, that girl seems to be in a terrible state at the moment. Sighing, I open the cottage's front door and make my way through to the living room, where I find that here is a lady waiting for me.
“Good morning,” I say, as the lady sets down her cup of tea and turns to me, “I'm sorry for -”
Stopping suddenly, I see the lady's face and feel a shudder of recognition.
“Judith, how are you?” Prudence Williams says as she gets to her feet. “I wonder, do you remember me?”
Chapter Ten
“I've been all over the place, really,” Prue explains as we sit with fresh cups of tea. “After my parents left Briarwych, I ended up in Macclesfield for a while, then Congleton. The war rather put the kibosh on Daddy's plans and, well, we've been rather rootless. And then, not too long ago, I started thinking about lovely little Briarwych, and I decided to come back for a visit.”
“How pleasant,” I say, trying to pretend that I am pleased to see her.
“Not much has changed, has it?” she adds. “Sometimes I think sweet little Briarwych will just sit here forever, ignoring the forces of the outside world. Why, if you told me that fifty or a hundred years from now the place would be much the same, I'd have no trouble whatsoever believing you. Now London, that's a place that keeps leaping on all the time, even with all this wretched misery going on at the moment. I say, Judith, do you think there might be a -”
“Is there something in particular that you wanted?” I ask, cutting her off. I immediately realize that I have perhaps been a little short with her, so I take a deep breath and try to recover my composure. “I'm sorry,” I continue, “it's just that I have ma
ny duties to consider at the church. I'm sure you'll understand.”
“Conscientious as ever, eh?”
“One does one's best.”
She pauses, eyeing me with a hint of concern.
“Actually, it wasn't just Briarwych that popped back into my mind,” she continues. “I've been thinking a lot about you too, Judith.”
“Me?” I force a smile. “I can't imagine why.”
“Well, we were friends. That's one reason.”
I look over at the window for a moment. I don't know why, but Prue's sudden reappearance after all these years has left me feeling distinctly uncomfortable. We weren't exactly good friends, we were merely girls of roughly the same age who naturally spent some time together. When she and her family left Briarwych, I wasn't even particularly troubled, and I certainly never expected to see her again. I should not really care too much one way or the other, but I rather feel as if my skin is beginning to crawl.
“Do you remember that very hot day?” she asks suddenly.
I turn to her again.
“You and I went for a walk,” she continues, “and we ended up in one of the fields out of town. The whole day was hot, but for a few minutes the heat just seemed to become absolutely unbearable. It was as if the fires of Hell briefly reached up and tried to cook us alive. Oh do tell me that you remember, Judith.”
“I think so,” I reply, slightly surprised that she's bringing that day up so quickly. After all, I was reminded of it by that awful voice just a short while ago. “Why do you ask?”
“I don't know, really,” she says, “but it's been on my mind of late. I know this is going to sound awfully strange, Judith, but I feel as if something changed on that day. It was just a day or two later that Mummy and Daddy told me that we were to move away, and I suppose that's when I began to feel less like a little girl and more like a grown woman. Everyone probably has a story like that, but... Well, I've been thinking about it a lot lately.”
She pauses, as if she expects me to say something, but I honestly don't know what she really wants.
“I haven't felt the same since that day,” she adds. “Have you, Judith?”
