Chapter 6: Providence - The Tale of the Tamrins

Happy Monday everyone! Because I recognize that you are probably pretty busy preparing for Christmas, this week will only be a short chapter to keep your escape options open, but also so not to overwhelm you with too heavy a read.

Chapter 6: A Chance

“I am so sorry, Reverend, that you had to witness whatever that was between Mr. Higley and me,” Ms. Grace quickly apologized as she and Mr. Tamrin stood in the open doorway of the schoolhouse. She was simply damning Mr. Higley in her thoughts for possibly ruining her chances of being courted by and courting the reverend.

The reverend allowed a moment more of the crickets’ songs to pass before he swallowed heavily. “It’s alright, Ms. Grace,” he looked down shamefully at his ringless hand and he briefly imagined it remaining that way. “Even as a reverend I understand attraction and romance.”

“No, no, it was nothing like that at all!” Ms. Grace assured. Her eyes were filled with a genuine pleading to the man she admired most. “Mr. Higley cornered me. I want nothing to do with him. I think it was only by the grace of God that you walked in when you did. You saved me, actually. I swear on my life that I have no interest in him.”

The reverend’s heart lightened, but he did not give himself too much hope for this matter. He too had heard the rumors that Mr. Higley found interest in Ms. Grace. However, on second thought, he had never heard anything regarding her interest in the spoiled boy. “So you mean that you are not engaged romantically to Mr. Higley?”

The way the question was posed drew a slip of hesitation from Ms. Grace. The reverend sounded so hopeful. She bashfully turned her face away, hoping that the shade from the cooler outside air would mask her blushing cheeks. Ms. Grace softly answered, “No. There is no understanding between Mr. Higley and myself.” She looked back to the reverend – it was a shame that her eyes could not properly see that he was forcing his own expression from turning into a smile. “I was wondering the second before you came in as to how many Hail Marys I would have to say in order to redeem myself for somehow misleading Mr. Higley into the thought that I found him even in the slightest bit interesting.”

This was fabulous news to the reverend. His face erupted in a smile that he could not control. Her words were almost like a choir from Seraphim, for it meant that he stood a chance, a chance at last! Mr. Tamrin’s countenance simply glowed even in the shade from the night. He cleared his throat nervously then answered Ms. Grace’s question, “I think it’d be something around two-dozen Hail Marys, at least.”

The vampires who followed the reverend and who hid as shadows on the side of the schoolhouse could not have been more delighted for their dear reverend friend.

Ms. Grace returned her sight to the sweet reverend and they both shared the same expression: their faces were alight with utter hope, but only the vampires hiding around the corner of Ms. Grace's house could fully see it.

~*~*~

As a head's up, dear readers, I will not be posting a chapter next week. I will be in El Paso to celebrate the Christmas season with my family, so have a marvelous holiday and merry Christmas!

Your humble author,
S. Faxon

Chapter 5: The Tale of the Tamrins

The Christmas season is in full bloom! If you're a San Diego native, you're probably familiar with the OB Christmas tree, if not, every year, the Ocean Beach community puts up a Charlie Brown tree to mark the season. Below is an image of the OB Christmas tree:

I watched the OB Christmas Parade and I strolled the roads of Balboa Park's December Nights (also known as Christmas on the Prado). And now I'm ready to curl up with my cup of coco to read a lovely story.

Chapter 5: The Man Named Brian Higley

Whilst the reverend and the school teacher shared a humble meal the man named Brian Higley dressed for what he knew was sure to be a night of success. He slicked back his fluffy sand colored hair and straightened his white color. His large round blue eyes took their time to evaluate whether or not the white shirt looked well against his skin tanned by the frequent touches of the summer sun. With a nod of his head, the man named Brian Higley confirmed his own initial suspicion that his good looks and charming straight-toothed smile were sure to knock anyone dead.

Mr. Higley tended to be distracted, but tonight he made absolutely every precaution to ensure that he would be ready for his date. The fine young woman he had his shimmering eyes settled upon was sure to realize that she belonged with him the moment he stepped over her threshold tonight. She simply had to, he reasoned. She was an erudite – surely she would know a prince charming when he came to sweep her off her feet.

Stepping out onto the stoop of the only inn in town that his grandparents had built, Mr. Higley figured that he fancied himself a walk before he abated his lonely nights. Mr. Higley headed off on this refreshingly cool evening. His shined black shoes made their way casually down the main artery of Providence. The walk took him past the town hall where the town-accountant’s daughter did not fail to see the young man. Mr. Higley was too pompously high on his cloud of hope to have seen the wanting eyes of the girl as he passed and as she pressed her hands to the window for a better look at the lad. However, the girl was unfortunately too transparent with her heart, so Mr. Higley failed to see her or to care. Mr. Higley was the type who saw only those who averted their eyes from his brimming confidence and dashing good looks. It was the challenge to change this aversion which brought passion to his deeds. And it was for this reason that Mr. Higley found tonight to be the fortuitous date on which that dark haired vixen Ms. Grace would bow from her aversions to forever be his bride.

However, Ms. Grace’s current passions formed a bastion that left her blind to the intentions of any other men. In fact, if Mr. Higley had only seen the way she smiled and laughed with the town’s reverend he would surely have turned green with envy. Lord knows what his young, bellicose heart would have done. Whatever the consequences of that encounter would be the reverend and the school teacher were blissfully ignorant to the possibilities.

Ms. Grace shared with Mr. Tamrin the trials of her day, not excluding the impossible bickering between the Davis’ and the Thomas’ and her being completely covered in chalk. Mr. Tamrin listened intently with a softly delighted expression on his face. He loved to hear Ms. Grace speak. The stress and the anxiety he had remaining from the earlier chat with the vampires vanished because of the sudden and unexpected appearance of the earth-bound angel at his door.

“What would you do about this, Mr. Tamrin?” Ms. Grace asked in reference to the habitual issues of the dairy families that were hacked-out in her classroom. “I mean, what can I do? Should I even try?”

Mr. Tamrin sighed as he leaned back more comfortably in the soft padded backrest of his kitchen table’s bench. He shrugged then said, “I think that you did the best thing possible by threatening to bar the reentrance to your schoolhouse if they do not behave, but you will have to stand by that threat if they become rambunctious again.” Mr. Tamrin shifted again then added, “I’ll talk to their parents. And maybe I’ll promise to sick Mrs. Huff on them as a messenger from heaven if they dare to disobey you.”

“Oh lord, a fate worse than death, Reverend,” Ms. Grace retorted. Thanks to the alcohol her tongue was rolling smoothly, her cheeks felt warm and she could not be more comfortable speaking to the man she cared for very much. “Let’s refrain from unleashing the hounds until those families wage war in church or something like that...” she scoffed to think that Mrs. Huff could be referred to as something sent directly from heaven.

For the umpteenth time that evening the reverend and the school teacher exchanged a look of bashful admiring. Ms. Grace sighed reverentially and her eyes fell upon the empty plate of her company. The meal had been very good, humble, but filling and tasty. “Did you like it?” Ms. Grace asked Mr. Tamrin, “The dinner, I mean.”

“Yep, you are a very good cook, Ms. Grace. I especially liked those sweet potato muffins you made for last week’s gathering after church. I could have eaten the whole basket myself.” His complement made Ms. Grace blush – now that she knew this, she would certainly make more for him. Even though the meal left his stomach a tad on the hungry side, it had been very tasty. The meal was perfectly sized for the small body of Ms. Grace, but Mr. Tamrin was a very tall man and were he not a reverend sworn against gluttony he could easily have eaten another three or four of the pockets Ms. Grace brought. The reverend looked to the bowl of fruit on the window sill of the nook. “I bought a couple apples yesterday and I’m not sure that I can eat them all before they spoil. So if you’d like please, help yourself.” Truly though the reverend knew that he could easily eat the fruit before noon tomorrow. However, he was so nervous from Ms. Grace’s presence that he was having a bit of a difficult time speaking calmly or keeping himself from babbling. He already felt small for rambling on the queerest tangents tonight.

Ms. Grace stared at the beautiful, vibrant red skins of the apples– they were rather tempting. “Oh, why not?” she said with a smile, temporarily forgetting that very soon she would have a class to teach.

At that very schoolhouse where in no less than seven minutes, Ms. Grace would be expected to commence her class for the adults, the man named Brian Higley and a circle of others gathered. Beneath the glow of two hanging lanterns several members of Ms. Grace’s class chatted about the day, mostly about the potential expansions their class was rumored to take.

It was not at all like Ms. Grace to be late and nor was it like her to not be in her small home before class, so her tardiness and absence was rather unusual. The majority of the students waited patiently for Ms. Grace to return from wherever it was she was presently held, but the man named Brian Higley anxiously kept his eye on the light-less window of the teacher’s home, hoping that he would be the first to catch a glimpse of her shadow.

“My, aren’t you the snazzy walker tonight, Mr. Higley,” Mr. Dawning from the common store said as he came to Mr. Higley’s side.

Mr. Higley smiled, his perfectly straight teeth lit up the immediate area from their reflection in the lanterns. “Thank you, good sir,” Mr. Higley shook Mr. Dawning’s calloused hand. “Just thought I’d look sharp for such an evening.”

“Oh, aye, sir, indeed, it is fine out,” Mr. Dawning agreed with a look to the star filled sky above. “Such a relief from the day, eh? And those stars! That’s the brightest I’ve seen ‘em all summer.”

“Don’t be so sure, Mr. Dawning,” Mrs. Quintort said as she joined the men in their conversation. “August had some gorgeous nights.”

“Indeed, ma’am, that it did,” Mr. Higley agreed as he gave the woman a polite bow of his head. “But tonight seems to have a bit more magic to its glow.” The charmer gave the woman a wink of his eye which she received with a delighted chuckle.

“Magic is a good word for it,” Mrs. Quintort agreed. She had always been impressed by Mr. Higley’s romanticism and darling face. However, the lad was about twelve years too young for her, but then of course there was also that husband-thing that bound her from indulging in his company. For her for now like so many others in this town the man named Brian Higley was a nice thing to look at, but nothing more. Mrs. Quintort cleared her throat to ask, “Where do you think Ms. Grace could be? Rather odd of her to not already be in there waiting for us, isn’t it?”

“Aye, she’s surely deliberately tyrin’ to mess with our minds before our exam,” Mr. Dawning postulated, rubbing his hands together to stay off the cool night air from his fingers. “It’s a wonder where she could be?”

Mr. Higley had forgotten all about the exam tonight. He failed to study the material from the past two weeks due to his business in other more pressing matters, such as finding excuses to not help his mum run the inn. He knew that he was doomed to fail this test tonight and that his mother would kill him because of so bad a grade, but with a second thought, Mr. Higley excused the worry. He rationalized that his good looks and charming countenance would undoubtedly win him over a good enough grade to satisfy the overbearing whims of his overly controlling mother.

At that precise moment Ms. Grace was finishing her last bites from the delectable apple while still sitting in the kitchen of the beekeeper.

“That was superb,” Ms. Grace announced, complimenting the reverend’s choice in fruits. “I cannot remember another summer that has consistently produced such marvelous fruits.”

Nodding to agree, the reverend confirmed, “Yes, it has been some time.”

“Time? Oh, my lord, time!” Ms. Grace panicked, popping up from the table as the singular word reminded her of her duties. “What time do you have?”

But Mr. Tamrin was not one to carry a pocket watch and nor was he a man who had a clock readily available in his home. The man felt awful for not being able to report to his company the information that she desired. However, Ms. Grace was so scattered that she had forgotten the pocket watch in her own pocket. Shaking her head at her own misguided thoughts, the school teacher removed the shining piece only to see that she was already a full six minutes past due in her class.

“Forgive me, reverend, that I must rush out like this, I am terribly late and I am never late, so I’m sure my students probably think I died or something,” Ms. Grace quickly muttered as she ran to the kitchen’s door.

“And we certainly can’t have that rumor out in the town by break of dawn tomorrow, can we?” Mr. Tamrin asked, his simple sentiment soothing Ms. Grace in an instant.

“No, we can’t,” Ms. Grace distantly replied, lost from a look to his eyes that she could only see as a handsome blur. 

The charming reverend walked to the side of Ms. Grace and he kindly pushed the door open for her. A minute more of maintaining the intimate stare passed before Mr. Tamrin nervously cleared his throat to say, “If it is alright with you, Ms. Grace, perhaps I could come by after your class so that we may actually discuss our plans, seeing as how we seemed to have skipped that tonight. I’ll also bring by a couple of books I have that you may enjoy for the purposes of this class.”

“That’s fine with me,” Ms. Grace replied. “I suppose I’ll see you then.” With a silent nod from the reverend, Ms. Grace partially floated through the garden and out onto the path. However, once she passed the sanctuary of the bees and once she was sure that the reverend could no longer see her, Ms. Grace took off running towards her schoolhouse.

The vampires still hiding in the garden exchanged a confused look, for neither could understand why their dear reverend took no effort to chase her. But then of course they also had no idea why she left, so they were entirely and literally in the dark.

Out of breath and exhausted from her run Ms. Grace arrived at her schoolhouse to be greeted with numerous questions from her worried students.

“I’m fine, really, I’m fine,” she persisted as she walked past Brian Higley without specifically noticing him. “I was at the reverend’s plotting the course that I am sure you all have heard of already. I simply lost track of time.” Something she had never done before.

Class then proceeded normally enough for everyone save for Ms. Grace and the man named Brian Higley. While her students diligently worked on their multi-subject quiz Ms. Grace stared absently over her class as in her mind she reenacted dinner with the reverend. While his classmates scratched the tips of their quills into their journals, scribbling out brief essays on history or science, Mr. Higley kept his eyes ever focused on the lovely teacher sitting behind her desk. Sure, he should have been jotting out answers to the questions written in chalk on the blackboard behind Ms. Grace, but no. He simply found her too interesting tonight. He was entrapped with the glow she wore so finely– he wrongly assumed that she could instinctively sense the fate-filled magic that soon would forever bind them as one. Oh, the very thought made his heart double its speed. Ms. Grace was such a good catch – she was of good breeding, intelligent, and though somewhat short, her dark eyes and dark hair simply captured Mr. Higley past conceivably normal levels of distraction. From his seat in the back Mr. Higley went so far with his distractions to trace his eyes past the point on Ms. Grace’s person where no true gentleman of Providence would dare look prior to wedlock. But how could he help himself? He was attracted to the delightful promise that Ms. Grace’s well shaped body provided. And that bun she always kept so tight at the back of her head! He wanted nothing more than to help let down her hair.
The time allotted for the quizzes ended. Ms. Grace’s students all turned in their booklets to the front of class. She thanked each one of her students as they did as told. Her sprightly mood at the moment and the “good behavior” of her students during class, warranted in her heart reason to excuse the class a whole ten minutes earlier than usual. Being simply thrilled from this expedited class meeting, the students all quickly filed out into the night.

Save one.

Ms. Grace was too busy erasing the blackboard of the questions for the quiz to have noticed that Mr. Higley remained. He watched the long sweeping strokes of her arm holding the chalk eraser and how her entire body moved with the sweeps. He watched her ever so greedily.

Finding her chores to be satisfactorily complete, Ms. Grace patted her hands clean of the chalk. She turned, subconsciously expecting to find no one in her classroom. To her start, there leaning on the front center desk was Mr. Higley looking as arrogant to her as ever. “Is there something I may help you with, Mr. Higley?” Ms. Grace asked. She absolutely did not want to have any involvement with this man. Clearing her throat Ms. Grace awkwardly continued in attempt to break Mr. Higley’s awkwardly intensive stare, “I could not help to notice that your journal’s section for tonight is entirely blank, Mr. Higley. Is there something that you wish to tell me?”

The man named Brian Higley smirked a smile that some would regard as charming, but Ms. Grace found it to be unnerving. She started to slip off her cloud that the reverend founded in her heart. Mr. Higley removed himself from his post and he approached Ms. Grace. The teacher felt mildly intimidated. She sat at her desk, hoping that the security of the table would serve as a bulwark for whatever Mr. Higley and his creepily large eyes had in store.

Mr. Higley partially sat on Ms. Grace’s desk, leaning his whole body so heavily on the table that he actually managed to push the desk slightly into the teacher’s stomach. Ms. Grace refrained from scooting her wooden chair back for comfort’s sake because she wanted to hold her ground.

“Ms. Grace,” Mr. Higley started, using what he believed to be his most suave tone. (However, Ms. Grace thought that it made him sound like a prat.) “Do you realize that there are only three and a half weeks until the Fall Festival?” he asked rhetorically. “How time flies. Anyway, you know how there is always the Apple March? Well, I could not help to think that it would be kind of nice if you and I were partners at the event.”

Ms. Grace stared with a critical indifference at Mr. Higley. Her memory was running back to last October's Fall Festival in order to recount the rules of the game he took such effort recount. From what she could recall the Apple March was an intimate sort of game that was usually done with the town’s newest couples as a bonding ceremony. “Isn’t that for couples?” Ms. Grace asked semi-naively, hoping that was not the arena to which she was being led.

Mr. Higley did not answer her question. He only gave Ms. Grace a devilish smile. The rather pompous prat twiddled his thumbs with annoyingly well-kept finger nails. “Ms. Grace, it’s been a while since I noticed the potentiality for something great between us. When we were kids, I always thought very highly of you.” (Ms. Grace doubted this; she could very distinctly remember Mr. Higley shoving her over a tree root when they were seven-years-old, only then for him to lie to the teacher about what happened when asked.) “And then when your parents died, I don’t know if you know this, but I asked my mother if she would take you into our home.” (Ms. Grace also doubted this because Mr. Higley had always been a very selfish, self-centered individual as long as she could remember and Mrs. Higley hated her very being. Ms. Grace also did not appreciate his bringing up the fact that her parents were gone, which still brought her great pain.) “I just thought that you would like to know that for many years I have had an eye for you.”

The school teacher continued to stare at this bloke, fearing that this would become a very long winded and rather useless speech.

Mr. Higley stood from the desk and he slowly began to pace the length of the front of the class. He held his hands behind him and he leaned slightly forward as though he was teaching a class. “Ms. Grace,” he eventually continued, though admittedly Ms. Grace was paying very little attention. “There comes a time in everyone’s life when they realize that what they have simply is not enough. Even kings, even our recently coroneted King Darneīl surely will someday come to the conclusion that something is missing in his life. Now, some men may look for years and years until they find what they are looking for and others, after their search, may decide that they are better off in wanting.” Mr. Higley stopped his pacing and returned to the desk. “Can you guess which one of these men I am?”

Ms. Grace could only hope that Mr. Higley was the former case, but she knew that under the present circumstance this probably would not be the appropriate fit. “The first?” she uneasily dared to answer.

Mr. Higley smiled as though he was withholding a great and ridiculous secret. “No, he answered, “I am neither.” (Ms. Grace began to wonder if she could sneak out without Mr. Higley noticing, but she doubted the abilities of her furtive prowess.) “I have only just realized what I am missing, but with my revelation the answer came like lightning to thunder.” (Ms. Grace could not understand the incorrect lightning-thunder simile, but she wasted no energy with any false attempts to rationalize his nonsense.) “I brought up that example because, Ms. Grace, you are the first model.”

“Oh, really?” Ms. Grace asked, quite surprised that Mr. Higley managed to turn this back to her. “I had no idea that I was ‘searching’ at all.” Truth be told, Ms. Grace had actually already found and had been found, she just did not know the full truth of the matter yet.

“Yes, that’s my point,” Mr. Higley continued. He removed himself from the desk, circling around it to corner Ms. Grace in her chair. Mr. Higley latched onto the arm rests of her seat and turned the chair so that she directly faced him. The school teacher was looking nervous. She shifted herself as far back in the seat as possible even with Mr. Higley narrowing downward for her. “Ms. Grace, you have been looking for a man to bring you out from your cave of lonely ignorance and into the bright world of knowing.”

“Excuse me?” Ms. Grace sharply asked, for she was no longer entertained.

“You know what I mean, Ms. Grace,” Mr. Higley said suggestively, slowly lowering himself ever forward. “You’ve been waiting to take a mate because you’ve been waiting for the right man to come along.” He was a mere inches away from her face. The back rest of the seat would permit Ms. Grace to sink back no more. “You’ve come to that first incredible step, Ms. Grace,” he whispered, honing in on her lips. Mr. Higley was but a breath away. Ms. Grace could feel the heat of his face burning against hers. “And when you reach the next peak, what man’s name are you going to call?”

“THANE!” Ms. Grace shouted as she shoved Mr. Higley away the second she saw the reverend enter the classroom.

Though he did not show it the reverend was absolutely devastated, regardless that for the first time in his life, Ms. Grace had said his first name. “I-I can come back later,” Mr. Tamrin quickly stuttered hoping at least to have one moment to recover himself after so shocking a scene. He immediately began to leave.

“NO! No, no, that will not be necessary. Mr. Higley was just leaving,” Ms. Grace firmly commanded as she leapt from her chair to shove Mr. Higley out of her schoolhouse.

Mr. Higley was nearly literally carried out by Ms. Grace. The arrogant man gave the reverend a look so smug and so full of himself that Mr. Tamrin wished to throttle the fool. Mr. Higley did not notice the burning eyes of jealousy the reverend glared at him, for the thrill of almost claiming Ms. Grace was blindingly invigorating. Besides, Mr. Higley knew this town; with the reverend as his witness, surely by vespers tomorrow the whole town would be talking about what he perceived to be Ms. Grace’s agreement to his proposal.

~*~*~

Whatever will happen between Ms. Grace and Mr. Tamrin? Guess you'll have to tune in next week to see if anything comes of the plot by Mr. Higley!

Until then, your humble author,

S. Faxon

Chapter 4 of Providence: The Tale of the Tamrins

Have you yet consumed all of the turkey-leftovers? I hope that you and your loved ones had a marvelous Thanksgiving!

We've officially entered the holiday season! I'm wearing my Christmas vest and Bella has her lovely Mrs. Claws dress! (Thus so titled by my sister Tiff.)

Mrs. Claws and her tree!

Let's get on to the story!

Chapter 4: In the House of the Beekeeper

The rambling rumors from the town’s spy and the messy mire between the Davis’ and the Thomas’ could not enter the garden of the beekeeper. It was a sacred place. During the warm spring and summer months a persistent gentle hum lulled its way out from the manmade beehive that stood among the large drove of flowers. It could easily be argued that these bees lived within their very own Eden. This garden was their paradise. Every shade of flowers bloomed within the lining of the hip-high white picket fence. This garden that led to the entrance of a warm and welcoming home hosted verbenas, daffodils, lemongrass, daisies, rosemary, roses of several hues, the list went on and on. The scents were lively and refreshing to the humans who strolled past. To the bees, this garden was a delectable café. The honey the beekeeper graciously retrieved from their keep was sweet and thick, golden and appeasing. It was this honey alone that was sold in the local shops, for all of Providence was in agreement that these bees were the best. 

The lauded bees would, however, be naught without their blessed keeper who kept their paradise alive. This man tended to his garden with great care and reverence. For the most part his thoughts would clear as he shifted the moist soil between his fingers and as he listened to the soft humming of the bees. He would spend hours during the week pruning the bright yellow roses, watering the damask daisies, or turning the soil beneath the legumes while his bees merrily worked around him. In his lengthy career of rearing fauna and her helpers, he had never once been stung by his black and yellow comrades. They respected him because he respected them. There was an understanding between the bees and the beekeeper that most mortals and creatures in the world around them could not have established, but this man was different from most. He was an aritoire, a spirit with an inherent sense of nature and its whims. There were times when he could almost directly communicate with the trees in the forest and the birds above. Being an aritoire provide him no powers or prominence. Instead it gave him insight into the weight of a human’s soul and a deeper understanding of the earth’s countless beautiful details.

There were times when the beekeeper would catch himself humming along with the bees as his thoughts strayed absently to the one flower more beautiful than any of his own. It was during these moments when the beekeeper would catch himself, sigh, and remind his heart to let it be.

For the first time in many months, the eyes of the vampires saw the lovely, blooming garden of the beekeeper settled nearly at the end of the western side of town. Yet again the patron and the matron were taken aback by the beauty of the magnificent hues. In the length of their lives they had hardly ever seen so radiant a small field paired with so charming a house. The front of the house with its faded yellow panels and white trim was certainly the most humble and welcoming image coupled by the haunt of bees.

“The garden looks beautiful, Thane,” Lin complimented the reverend.

Reverend Tamrin smiled and blushed, beatified by such a compliment from such judges who had seen the whole world over more than once. “Thank you,” the beekeeper humbly said as he dismounted. “But its beauty is due mostly to the bees.” After a look to the small pink painted house beside his own, the reverend added, “And to Mrs. Keithly’s company, of course.” Mr. Tamrin added tipping the rim of his hat to greet Mrs. Keithly, the seemingly mute widow who sat on her wooden rocking chair all day. The sweet faced eldest member of town smiled merrily back at the reverend as she silently continued to watch the day pass-by from her front porch.

A gentle breeze blew through the garden as Thane and his company proceeded to enter his home. The reverend lingered at the door for a breath. One of his more favored flowers managed to sift its way through the swirl of other floral scents to touch his nose. The reverend deeply inhaled the scent of the tuberoses, the flowers that a dear friend had shared with him to plant in his garden. With one last look to the long, green shoots of the tuberoses planted at the heart of his garden, the beekeeper sighed reverentially before entering his home.

“Is there anyone who helps to look after your neighbor, Thane?” Lin asked as she took a seat on the soft padding of the couch across from the fireplace. “She is what, in her late eighties now?” Lin stopped for a moment to consider if her next comment would be appropriate or not, but what difference would it make if it was not? “I mean, of course, she’s still just a pup compared to us, but she is mortal.”

While Thane removed his light outer jacket to hang it on the stand by the front door, he answered, “Mrs. Keithly is still more than capable of looking after herself. She is deceptively feeble. There is still a heart of gold in her and it’s beating lively. I do keep an eye on her though, of course.” The reverend joined his friends near the fireplace. He took a seat in his own wooden rocking chair, so that he could look properly at both of his companions. “But admittedly more to keep her out of trouble than anything else,” he added with a wink. “I take her flowers, a vase full, every Wednesday morning and she gives me a plate of biscuits or some other baked goods that she bakes herself. I act’ally would not doubt it if she outlives us all.”

The vampires smiled warmly, but neither could hold their attentions on the present conversation while the issues they wished to address lay so heavily on their thoughts. Howard pursed his lips then looked solemnly to Lin. She too wore a similar expression of worry.

“So what is the matter, you two?” Thane asked, cutting to the issue at hand.

Howard answered as he played with the large, flat faced ring on his hand, “Thane, you know Damien, our third?

“Of course,” Thane answered with a shrug. Though it had been some time since he last saw Damien, how could he forget the tall, pale skinned and generally eerie presence of the first vampire he ever met? “What problems is he bringing now?”

The history of Damien, Howard, and Lin was well known by the reverend. The three vampires all came from different lands that stretched beyond all formed borders of the earth. Howard was originally from the isle nation Ruishland in the north, Lin from Tairwan in the east, and Damien was from the farthest habitable lands in the Southern Half. Their vampire parents, those who removed them from their mortal states, brought them to this land with the intention of building their very own vampire nation. However, the elders who brought this clan together held in their hearts wicked intentions to eventually dominate the world in darkness. This was a task that Howard and Lin could not tolerate. A battle of near Biblical proportions erupted among the vampires and somehow, the youth overcame the elders. Lin, Howard, and Damien’s forces vanquished for the good of the earth. Providence was built on the remnants of that ancient battlefield where wolf, vampires and demons hashed out their brutal war. Providence lies on a place where cärabadés, “victory for good,” was taken. However, in the course of time intentions change. The reverend knew that Damien had long since become much like an indolent, rebellious adolescent for Howard and Lin.

Lin sighed as she stared into the hearth where one log lay in wait for its fiery doom. “He took our youth out for a flight the other night, which became only a meter less than disastrous for our kind,” she answered quietly. “Had not the majority of them remembered their lessons from you, Thane, I shudder to guess the scope of what could have happened.”

“What did happen?” Thane inquired. It was not often that Howard and Lin were so somber or ambiguous with their words and demeanor, so surely some grave threat existed.

Howard leaned over the coffee table before the couch as he explained; “Damien flew the youths to Horoshone County in Viramont where he led a raid on a town there. Many were disturbed and or killed because of his actions.” Howard paused a moment to try to remember if Lin or himself ever explained the term “disturbed” to the reverend, which meant that an individual was raped or viciously consumed by a vampire. The deeply concerned expression on the reverend’s face told Howard that the reverend had at least a general understanding. “We know this happened because well, we have lived with Damien long enough to be able to detect his antics when they are coming, so we sent our guards of arms to keep watch and sure enough...”

“Damien was practically waging war on those mortals with our youth as his army, no less,” Lin further elaborated. “Had we not sent the Guards, I doubt that a single soul in that town would have been spared. The place they attacked was not that much different from your Providence, Thane.”

“Thank God it was not Providence,” Thane quietly said, yet his heart went out to those people in Viramont who did not deserve to die in such a way. “You know how touchy people around here can be if you are different.” He knew what evils the vampires were capable of performing, for they were not at all that much different from the wickedest crimes of man. The reverend ran his hand over his face before he asked, “Do you know what happened to the town? Surely the survivors will seek some sort of reprieve or revenge. What of Damien? Where is he? What happened to those who followed his pugnaciousness?”

“The town will be the easy part to sort out, comparatively,” Lin answered. “We’re already preparing a diplomatic mission of sorts to address the needs of the people, both financially and emotionally. Because Viramont is much friendlier to our sort, they’ll never know that our peacekeepers are of the same clan as our mischief makers.”

“Now, as for Damien,” Howard started coldly. The vampire matron and patron exchanged a look that was less than a comfort for the reverend. “It’s complicated,” Howard succinctly answered which also further verified to the reverend that something was not right. 

“And this is why we wanted your council, Thane,” Lin informed, the twinge of pleading fell heavily on her words and stared prominently from her shimmering blue and black eyes. “We have the most violent offenders, including Damien, in a chamber of our community that you have never before seen.”

“And nor will you ever, Reverend,” Howard sternly said because he saw the flare of curiosity bloom in the beekeeper’s light brown eyes. “It is not a place for souls as pure as yours. Even with everything you have seen with us, there are still matters that I beg you will never be ready enough to bear.”

“The dark side of damnation,” Lin said reverentially, lightly biting the knuckle of her index finger. “Do not desire to find it, Thane.”

“I do not understand,” the reverend asked. “What else lies down there? What could you possibly be hiding from me after everything that I have already seen?”

“Oh no, not hiding,” Lin quickly corrected, not wanting to offend. “Sweet, innocent reverend, you must understand – because of the evils our kind are inherently drawn to unleashing, Howard and I must govern our youth and family with laws not known to mortals. We must adhere to Vampire Codas if we are to maintain our aristocracy and our relative secrecy successfully.”

“Combat violence with violence in order to maintain our order and peace,” Howard ruefully added, his grumbling words did not sit well with the reverend.

Thane straightened himself in the rocking chair and as he nervously clung to the rails of the seat he asked, “What council then could you need from a mortal like me?” The reverend was used to the matron and the patron coming to him every six months or so with a disaster of epic proportions to discuss with him, but this event seemed dramatic even for them.

Howard sighed then answered, “We realize how terrible our laws are, Reverend, which is why we have come to you.”

“We need your approval, in a sense,” Lin continued. “Ere we pursue justice.”

“You have come to me for approval, but you leave me searching blindfolded for the unknown,” the reverend responded. He was visibly frustrated with the ambiguity. “I will pass no judgment upon such deeds that involve vampire law. That is not my place; I have no jurisdiction or authority over such things. You know this.” The reverend paused again. The room was becoming very warm. He loosened his collar to alleviate some stress from the summer heat. With a sigh the reverend continued calmly, “I cannot pass an interpretation of God’s will unless you tell me as to what it is I am meant to interpret or deny approval.”

Though the vampires wanted nothing more than to protect their Holy figure from as much of their evil as they could, even if it was from themselves, they independently and tacitly came to accept that they would have to utter what mortals were not meant to hear.

Howard stood from the couch to walk to the closest open window in the parlor. While he busied himself closing the windows and the curtains, Lin explained, “You must understand, Reverend, that we are telling you these things because you are our reverend. We would never have told you these things as your friend. We never intended you to know these portions of the Codas, which is why we never let you read any of our documents.”

The room darkened.

Howard had closed out the sun from the room, pulling all the windows shut and all the curtains over the glass. “You must never tell another living soul about the conversation that is to come,” Howard firmly instructed as he checked that the front door was locked, something that the front aperture had never before experienced.

The reverend was becoming rather unnerved, but his expression and demeanor hid his anxiety well. As a man of the church, his ears were used to being singed by the sins of others. Granted, in Providence there was little room for mischief among the gossip, but his demeanor was still well practiced at concealing his true feelings.

Lin waited to speak until the part of the house where they gathered was held in a muted light. The air in the living room already felt incredibly thick; the reverend wondered if the bees ever felt this way in their wooden keeps. This level of secrecy was not something unusual to the reverend with the vampires. There was many a whispered confession or revelation he had received in his years of knowing the Cärabadés. Some were monumental, others were more of light entertainment, but this one certainly seemed of the former category.

Once Howard resumed his seat on the couch, the dark conversation about how the deeds done in the lowest chamber of the Cärabadés commenced.

The quaint yellow house on the outskirts of town maintained its peaceful looking virtue on the outside as the bees continued their summer solstice. On the inside of the house, the reverend went pallid from the removal of his blindfold.

~*~*~

The art of baking helped to calm Ms. Grace’s temper. Good tasting food was an extremely important aspect in her life. She loved to cook. She loved to eat. The love of food came from her parents who were for many years the prominent bakers in town. Just like them, she could bake for hours with a smile ever on her face. Baking was the best remedy to relent her levels of frustration mostly owed to the feuding families in her schoolhouse. In her second class with the older students, the Thomas girl and the Davis lad engaged in an epic competition of out-reading each other as her class read aloud a revision of an ancient play from Baradesh. Primarily done for the sake of her own eyes, Ms. Grace thought it would be a grand idea to have the students act out the readings instead of her reading it to them. Granted, while the vehement reading of the Davis boy and Thomas girl did prove to make the tragedy more engaging for the rest of the students, Ms. Grace doubted that anything of the plot was absorbed.

The smells of the rising meat and vegetable filled pastry filled her small home. Her stomach growled from the provocation from the warm and comforting bouquet of rising flower and cooking pork. Though she knew that the recipe would be absolutely delicious as it had been on all the occasions when she baked it before, Ms. Grace had accidentally made an exceeding amount. She knew that she could never finish the four pockets she made by herself and she certainly could not stand to see the extras go to waste. She determined that they would have to be shared.

With her hands on her hips she stared at the golden, flaky rising crusts baking in the cast iron stove. Naturally, Ms. Grace knew who she wanted to share these pastries with because his name and face reared up in her thoughts daily, hourly even. The thought of sharing a private meal with him did make her smile. The heat from the oven and the September day intensified. Ms. Grace shook her head. She made several attempts to rationalize her sudden appearance at his door with supper in her arms. Ms. Grace tapped her finger to her chin as she continued to imagine the many ways he potentially could greet her – most being highly unlikely, but a heart does tend to glow for hope when it pines.

Spotting something shiny on her bookshelf, Ms. Grace found a way to make her decision. Rushing to the shelf to grab the coin Ms. Grace clutched the hope in her heart like a vice. She was limited on time, for her adult class would be starting in a short couple of hours. A decision would have to be made expediently. With a quick prayer and an assignment to the head and to the tail, Ms. Grace kissed the coin then flicked it up with a kick from her thumb into the hands of fate.

~*~*~

Most of the bees of Providence lingered in the reverend’s yard, yet Ms. Grace did not doubt that the bulk of the town’s butterflies were dancing in her stomach. In her life she had spoken to the reverend at least a thousand times. She never missed his sermons and she attended all of the church’s community activities. Meeting or speaking with him was no new event. She felt so silly walking (more like running) across town with a small basket of food and an imagination that could not be stopped. Her palms were sweaty and she felt on the weak side. Her stresses increased threefold as she passed Mrs. Huff’s house – she could hear the woman rambling madly through the opened windows to whatever guest about the town’s accountant’s daughter who was more than of marrying age at sixteen. Ms. Grace was too excited to ruefully recall her years of being Mrs. Huff’s ward - she was on a mission and she was determined to see it through.

The beekeeper’s garden was in sight. The house looked simply marvelous in the hues of twilight. She could smell the sweet scents singing out from the forest of flowers. It was almost as if the reverend had an inherent niche for nurturing. His sensitivity to the earth and his ever marked gentility made Ms. Grace’s gilded admiration for the man all the more powerful.

As she walked to the side door of the house (it was far too formal for the citizens of Providence to go to the front doors of their neighbors) Ms. Grace thought that she could hear voices coming out from the open windows of the house. Were there already guests? The reverend did keep borders in his spare room every now and then. Would she be intruding? Ms. Grace stopped her forward progression. She was scared, not in a terrified manner, but her nerves overwhelmed her. Should she continue or should she cut and run back to her schoolhouse with her tail between her legs?

A light breeze blew from the west. Ms. Grace felt the gentle, refreshing touch of the wind push against her back, gently swaying her toward the fading white door. Being a profound believer in signs and fate, Ms. Grace inhaled deeply then approached the closed aperture.

She knocked. Too late to run now.

Ms. Grace’s heart felt as though it was about to forcefully remove itself from her chest. She waited for a moment before she heard steps approach the other side of the door. The handle turned and the aperture opened.

The reverend stood rigid. The least likely person he expected stood at the door before him, looking as bright and as radiant as ever regardless of the ware from the heat.

Ms. Grace’s mind went blank. The reverend was not in the jacket vest she had grown so accustom to see him wearing. The white shirt he wore had its long sleeves rolled up to his elbows and its top two buttons were undone. It clung to his body loosely. Even to her blurry eyes he was incredibly attractive.

She could not think.

He too could not string together a single thought.

“Er, hello, Reverend, I, I…” Ms. Grace started awkwardly, “I was cooking and I mistakenly made too much, so I was wondering, sir, if you would want to…share dinner with me?” she felt so stupid rambling like that, but at least her query was out there.

The reverend smiled warmly. Ms. Grace wanted to share a meal with him and she came all of this way to do so. Whether she had come out of the interest of wanting company or something else, the reverend did not care. It was good enough that she was here with him. He had no idea of the nervousness and the happiness swelling within her heart, for he was far too distracted with that of his own.

“We-we could also discuss our class that Mrs. Winford has conscripted us to completing together,” Ms. Grace added as she waited for his answer.

The reverend chuckled, “I suppose we have been compelled to doing that earlier than we intended,” he said with a smile. “Why should we not then do it over dinner?” Mr. Tamrin stepped back to open his home to Ms. Grace.

Ms. Grace was not sure that she could enter because she felt so weak and shaky. However, after a second of thought and a boost of internal drive, Ms. Grace convinced herself forward. On only a couple of occasions prior Ms. Grace had entered the reverend’s house, but never before alone. When her eyes left the scope of her immediate surroundings she realized that they were not alone. Standing in the hallway were two familiar souls.

“Oh excuse me,” Ms. Grace quickly apologized. “I did not realize that you had guests. Perhaps it would be best if I returned at another time?”

That, the reverend could not have, but before he could protest, Lin congenially said, “How do you do, Ms. Grace? It has been some time, yes?”

“Indeed, it has. I am very fine thank you, and how do you and your husband fair?” Ms. Grace sweetly asked. Ms. Grace was one of the only people in Providence to whom the vampire matron and patron were conversationally friendly. The two had long ago been very helpful toward Ms. Grace, which was something that she had never forgotten.

Howard was the one to answer, “We are very well, thank you, Ms. Grace,” but his voice trailed off as he saw Thane who had strategically moved himself behind Ms. Grace. The reverend was mouthing to Howard “STOP-LEAVE-GO” accompanied with a series of hand expressions depicting the same message. Even though indeed his soul was too old to keep track of the year of his birth, Howard could not understand why the reverend was ousting them so soon. However, lucky for the reverend, Lin was there to save the day.

The matron smiled sweetly then said, “There is no need to fuss over us, Ms. Grace, we were actually just leaving.” Lin tugged on Howard’s arm to further the hint.

“To Viramont? So late?” Ms. Grace asked automatically, but in an instant she remembered her private postulations about these two. She and a sparse couple of other Providence townies doubted the legitimacy to the claim that Lin and Howard were of any relation to the reverend.

“We’re not afraid of the dark,” Howard said with a smug smile to the reverend. Of course the patron was offended by being ousted because he wanted to stay and relax. But in his heart he knew that the reverend had a life outside of the Cärabadés and that the latter presently needed him. “We had best be going indeed,” Howard agreed loathly.

The reverend quickly scooted himself around Ms. Grace to see his friends out. Mr. Tamrin whispered to Ms. Grace that he would be right back as he quite literally pushed his friends out from the kitchen, down the hall and out the front door. The three of them heard Ms. Grace politely shout, “It was nice seeing you!”

Lin stopped on the stoop to yell back, “It was lovely seeing you too, dear.”

It was then when Lin and Howard gave their reverend friend teasing impish faces. They both fully understood why the reverend ejected them so early. It was all very obvious to them.

“Get going, the both of you,” the reverend demanded, pointing them down the road. His cheeks were simply burning red. He lingered on the porch for a moment withstanding the ridicule from his friends’ muffled chuckling, so that he would have a moment to collect himself. The reverend inhaled deeply then nervously reentered his home to go to the kitchen. When he entered the brightly painted kitchen there stood Ms. Grace. Her dark hair, blue dress (chalk-free), and radiance suited as a perfect contrast to the light of the room. Simply put, she looked beautiful. “T-um, w-won’t you sit down?” the reverend shakily invited his guest. As Ms. Grace lowered herself awkwardly onto the bench, (internally she was having a quiet nervous breakdown), the reverend realized to his horror that he probably looked awful. “Will you excuse me for a moment more, Ms. Grace?”

“Of course,” she said sweetly, for this would give her a moment to collect herself as well. “It is your home afterall.”

            The reverend quickly muttered that he would be right back as he calmly left the kitchen only to dart to his washroom down the hall. He quietly lit the candle with a shaky hand so that he could properly see himself in the oval mirror. The shadows cast about the small room did little to hide the stubble growing on his chin and cheek, stubble he knew that he would not have time to shave. He shamefully ran his hands over his face that did not presently meet the highbrow standards of Providence, but it would have to do. He dunked his hands into a bowl of clean water to wash the sweat from his neck and face. He was sure that Ms. Grace could hear him fussing in here, but he was in a rush – he did not want to keep her waiting long. Mr. Tamrin sloshed a white towel over his face several times before throwing it to the ground to rush back to the kitchen. Mr. Tamrin popped back into the kitchen looking calm and refreshed.

            “I am sorry to keep you waiting,” Mr. Tamrin apologized. As he came forward he saw that the table was set. Ms. Grace had taken the initiative and the liberty to remove plates from the tray on the nook’s-sill so to serve the food. “Can I offer you something to drink?” Mr. Tamrin asked Ms. Grace, approaching the loosely stocked liquor cabinet, “I’m afraid that all I have is wine and bourbon.”

            Ms. Grace chuckled at the selection of liquor from a reverend’s cabinet. “What? No meade or moonshine? Reverend, I am ashamed,” she scorned with a laugh. “What will you be having?” she asked finding herself to be much more relaxed now that she was settled in his presence…in his home…alone…

Her heart resumed its racing.

The reverend chuckled as well. After the conversation he had earlier with the vampires a bit of bourbon did not sound bad at all, but what sort of impression would it have on Ms. Grace? “I think I’ll have the harder of the two,” he said as though himself not convinced.

Ms. Grace tapped her finger tips on the table top before deciding, “I probably should not because I have to teach class in an hour and a half, but since I will be eating; why not just a small glass of bourbon, if it’s not too much trouble?”

The reverend was actually impressed. “So you really are not at all like Mrs. Huff?” he playfully asked over his shoulder as he went to the cabinet for the glasses. “I mean, she did not influence you too seriously away from ‘the drink that killed her husband and her brother’?” he did his best imitation of Mrs. Huff’s high-pitched and haughty voice, which made Ms. Grace laugh, much to his delight.

In her years with Mrs. Huff she must have heard that line a thousand times over. There had been not a drop of anything stronger than tea in the Huff residence since the death of Mr. Huff sixteen years ago. “You know, my heart really goes out to her brother.” Ms. Grace added. “Poor Aberson, I mean he only lives down the block from her and she treats him like he’s dead. He needs his sister now especially that he is to lose his granddaughter to a gentleman in Portland.” Ms. Grace sighed reverentially because she would also deeply miss her good friend Julia Joyce once the girl officially moved away.

“You look lost, Ms. Grace,” the reverend said as he joined her at the table. “Is there any way that I could bring you home?” the dear man placed Ms. Grace’s glass before her which she gladly accepted.

For a moment, Ms. Grace already felt like she had found her way back because of the cooing sweetness of his voice. “It seems like everyone I know is either married or engaged to be married,” she answered after a moment of running her fingers down the sides of the cup. “I don’t know. It’s strange because I was not here to witness most of the unions of the people in my age group. When I came back three and a half years ago everything had changed.” She continued with more and more strength in her voice as she became increasingly comfortable with the reverend. “Nothing, absolutely nothing changed in Providence for ages, but the day I leave you all, I don’t know, went topsy-turby on me.”

“But of course,” the reverend bantered, “Didn’t you know that the town has been conspiring against you from the very beginning?”

Chuckling, Ms. Grace responded, “Drat, that explains a lot. I should have realized before.”

The pair exchanged a sweet, shy, and bashful expression before the reverend awkwardly cleared his throat to bless the meal before them. Unbeknownst to the reverend and the teacher, the matron and patron lingered in the garden of the beekeeper. They happily listened in on what for sure sounded like the dawning of something wonderful.

~*~*~

See you next week!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Chapter 3 of Providence: The Tale of the Tamrins

Dear Readers,

Are you getting your table ready for turkey day? 

Let's just jump into it - welcome to Chapter 3! (For new readers, please see Chapter 1, posted two weeks ago.)

Chapter 3: Mornings in Providence

The night full of perfectly splendid dreams was ended for Ms. Grace by the local roosters’ cries. The bird belonging to the Thomas family and the other cock belonging to the Davis family were as competitive with each other as their masters. It was not unusual for a town of this size to have its bickering surnames, but the drama bantering between these two families was enough to occupy the space of a city five times the size of Providence. One would think that such bitterly drawn lines between the western settled Davis’ and the Thomas’ on the eastern side of town would be an indelible act, but no. It was now a mystery as to exactly why or when the territorial line etched straight through the middle of town was drawn. No one could now remember why or what infernal event happened to provoke the cruel and terrible division between the two dairy farms in so small a town. It was rumored that there was a woman involved in the initial ceremony of hate. Other rumors claimed that it was the fierce competition for business between the families that drew the lines. Whatever it had been it left a very nasty mess to date. If ever the families would meet in town (which happened on a daily basis) an argument would start, then harsher verbal exchanges would be carelessly thrown about, and then all manners of neighborly propriety would be disregarded and the families’ angers would explode into an unscrupulous fist fight. Since Providence was so small there was no sheriff on hand to save the day, so citizens’ arrests were all that could occur. The offenders would be taken back home or dragged to Mrs. Huff’s front door to receive the scolding of their lives. The offenders taken to Mrs. Huff typically only rarely needed second reminding from her of the consequences of their naughtiness, but the others would continue this circuitous cycle of madness while their comrades took one for the team.

Ms. Grace was forced to endure her own private productions of the fights between the families in her classroom. Her morning class with the younger students, the five to eleven year olds, had one boy from each family enrolled and her later class had one girl and one lad represented in the twelve to eighteen age group. These children all deeply loathed each other’s very beings, but that went without saying. It was awful for Ms. Grace. The feuds had been around all of her life, but she had hoped that in her absence at school some sort of armistice would be signed between the Thomas’ and the Davis’, but no such peace had yet been established. Ms. Grace did her best to at least keep the tempers cooled within the sanctity of her school house. However, try as she could to separate the two families in her class, making daily attempts at peace negotiations, every attempt was made in vain. Ms. Grace wished that there was something that the two families had in common aside from cows that could serve as a calming medium, but, if there was none that the reverend could find even after his attempts at arbitration, what luck would be granted to her?

The eight o’clock bell that tolled from the top of the town hall reverberated throughout the cottages, businesses and farms, alerting the children and their parents that it was nearly time for school. The clock roused the businessmen to look sharp and to start opening shop. The milk and dairy products had already long ago been delivered. The two dairy families were so competitive with the other that it drove them both to make their deliveries earlier and earlier. The boys of these families enrolled in Ms. Grace’s school kept falling asleep in her class because of those early deliveries. Upon seeing the lad’s head droop lower and closer to the top of his desk, depending on her mood, Ms. Grace would either slap the ruler on their desks or kindly shake the boy’s shoulder to rouse him back into her lesson. However, her concern for the boys involved in the situation had been waning for some time. Ms. Grace’s milk arrived at her doorstep sometime around three in the morning with a noisy thud. Being stirred in the middle of the night in such a manner was hardly something welcomed by customers receiving a product. At any rate, as far as Ms. Grace knew, the milk from both farms tasted the same.

Without fail, at 8.15, Ms. Grace was in her schoolhouse preparing the classroom for the day. Today, the wee ones were to learn about the transitions for which the world embarked during the metamorphosis from summer to fall. Holding a ledger with a dried leaf from last year pressed into its pages, Ms. Grace traced a large image of the piece onto the blackboard with her chalk. The teacher was glad that her students were not yet in class, for they always poked fun at the way she would shift the length of her arm back and forth with her ledger as her eyes did their best to focus. It was so embarrassing for her. This was why she prepared most of the lesson prior to class, simply to spare herself the humiliation. She did not like people to know that her eyes had difficult times focusing on any object more than an arm’s distance away from her. Seeing details afar was a pain. This was one of the reasons why her students had assigned seats – this way she had an easier time telling which was which from the front of class. Luckily, the students had yet to catch on to her clever tactic. She dreaded the day when surely they would.

More and more sunlight burst into the schoolhouse, warming the delightful place, until finally at 8.25 precisely, the first of the students entered. The first one through the door, as always, was little Jonas MacAbee. The eight-year-old was terribly in love with Ms. Grace. Every day he was the first student to enter, the last one to leave, the first to raise his hand, and so on.

The rest of the schoolhouse quickly filled and at 8.30 on the dot class for the youngens began.

North of Ms. Grace’s schoolhouse, in the very heart of town, old Mrs. Huff and the one who many of the villagers came to refer to simply as “the spy”, but more formally known as Mrs. Winford, gathered. Many of the townies thought the placing of Mrs. Huff’s house beside the town hall to be a on the strategic side, for here in the center of town she could hear and see practically every part of Providence’s happenings. Mrs. Huff and Mrs. Winford kept their eyes up as they held their steaming teacups at the ready. Like crows watching over a field, these women kept their attentions on high even while their mouths cawed endlessly. In a town as small as Providence, something tasty to talk about was diurnally expected between these two women. However, were the talks to ever run a bit slow, fear not dear gossipers, for Mrs. Winford would seek some new stain out with the impeccable precision of her husband’s hounds. And if nothing could be found they would be satisfied with fibs of their design.

“I heard that Cheryll Store and Marshall Freightengott are to be engaged before Michaelmas,” the plump and overly dressed Mrs. Huff announced under her breath to intensify the moment. The rumor she supposedly heard was one of those entirely created on a whim of her own intuition.

“Oh? I do say,” Mrs. Winford started, taking a sip of her heavily sweetened tea. “They certainly would make a lovely match. After he lost his wife I really doubted he would wed again, but I must say that those two have been together an exceptional amount of time lately, have they not?”

“Yes, yes, very much indeed,” Mrs. Huff affirmed. She looked back into the windows of the tea shop she and her husband founded ages ago to ensure that none of the cats had yet to leap up on any of the counters where the milk and cream were kept. “Mmm, speaking of matches,” Mrs. Huff continued, turning back to the main view of the street. “What on earth is to be done with my former-ward, Ms. Grace?”

“Well, it is very well known that Moira Higley’s son Brian has a fancy for her,” Mrs. Winford suggested, looking to her own golden wedding ring that was due for cleaning. “They would make a handsome pair, for their heights are about equivalent to the other and they both have fair faces. I’d wager that they would be the finest coupling in town.”

This was true. Mr. Higley was of a decent height for a man, being neither too tall nor too short. He was well built and handsome, complete even with a dimple in his well sculpted chin. His eyes shimmered an enchanting blue while his voice hummed sweetly and almost seductively to anyone who would listen. In a great many ways, Mr. Higley would have seemed a perfect mate for Ms. Grace who was fair and on the short side, so he would not tower over her too dramatically. Her dark features would be well balanced with the lighter ones of Mr. Higley, and they would make absolutely perfect offspring. However, busybody as she was, Mrs. Huff knew that even the term “perfect” came with its own set of faults. The elder Mrs. Huff sighed heavily. There was something about the union between Mr. Higley and Ms. Grace that did not settle well in her bones. With another sip of tea and with another look back into the shop to check the status-quo between the cats and the cream, Mrs. Huff eventually came to say, “Yes, well, there is one that we will keep an eye out to see if it blooms or if it wilts.”

“Wilts?” Mrs. Winford quickly, sharply inquired. She shifted her own thick body to lean closer to Mrs. Huff. She did not wish the scattered passersby to overhear. “My dear Mrs. Huff, I do not mean to sound presumptuous, but your former ward is not young anymore,” Mrs. Winford whispered as they watched a member of the Davis family enter the hat shop across the street from them. “And you know how people in Providence and its neighboring towns talk. Mr. Winford and I married in our mid-twenties and Lord how people spoke then! And I was not even half the beauty of Ms. Grace…well, maybe half.” Mrs. Winford paused to take another sip from her tea. “She’s such a soft elegance about her, you know? It is such a shame that there are hardly enough young bachelors in town that could be worthy suitors for her. I mean, we certainly cannot let her leave our Providence for a husband like your grandniece is going to do.”

“No, certainly not,” Mrs. Huff agreed with a firm nod of her bonneted head. “No, Ms. Grace is a spirit of Providence, Nuir Nosnobles’ finest town. She was born here, raised here, and Lord give her long life, she will undoubtedly die here just like the rest of us. We all natives ‘ave a spot in the church’s plot, I’d say.”

“Lord willing, yes,” Mrs. Winford agreed with a curt nod. “Save for our reverend, but he’s welcome to the church’s plot. I mean that he’s not a native; after all, he came to us, bless him.”

“Yes, but he is a man of Providence, he just wasn’t born here. Oh, and that reminds me,” Mrs. Huff leaned over the side of her wicker rocking chair, which creaked in pain from the shifting of her weight. Mrs. Huff then said to her friend with arduous excitement, “I nearly forgot to tell you; I ran into Mrs. Jolty yester-afternoon who earlier had spoken to Mrs. Witten, who’s carrying on the business exquisitely for a woman, I must say.”

“Oh yes, poor dear,” Mrs. Witten quickly stated.

“I know, bless her,” Mrs. Huff just as quickly said, “But anywho, apparently Mrs. Witten heard or inspired, which I am not exactly sure, the charming reverend and our Ms. Grace are to join forces to teach a Bible school, or something of the sort, to the Continuing Education class as some type of reading course.”

“You are joking!” Mrs. Winford stated, unable to believe what indeed held wonderful prospects for their town. She was surprised that she had overseen such an update in town for so long.

Mrs. Huff shook her head, “The pair have formed an alliance and they are to converse on the morrow to make their plans concretely absolute.”

In her excitement, Mrs. Winford waved her hands up and down as though hoping to take flight. She mocked hyperventilating as well. “Oh do tell, Mrs. Huff! I shall have to enroll Mr. Winford and myself in her class the instant I know this to be true! You know how I love to read and how my droll Mr. Winford reads as well!”

“Dear me, quite,” Mrs. Huff affirmed with the last sip of her tea. “Mrs. Winford, let us see if we cannot affirm this inquiry ourselves. Run-on and, well, you know what to do.”

Like a good soldier obeying orders, Mrs. Winford gave a stout nod of her bonneted head before she set down her tea and was off. Mrs. Huff relied heavily on her spy, half her own age and thus much more capable of doing the deeds her body would no longer permit her to perform. As Mrs. Huff sat pensively she smiled to think of how grateful her formal ward would be to know that with all the hype and expectation surrounding the course, she would now have no other option but to teach the class.

Mrs. Winford bobbled up and down in what she perceived to be a gentlelady run even though it was well known that proper gentlewomen never ran. She was on a mission: the purpose Mrs. Huff granted her to perform had to be done expediently and it could only be done by Mrs. Winford. At least, this is what she told herself. The first step on her new platform for the day was to stop at the Elderbes’ hat shop across the way from Mrs. Huff’s residence.

The silver bells above many a door rang as Mrs. Winford entered building after building. She babbled at top speed the latest, hottest news in Providence to practically all of the principle players on the main street. To the mayor, the butcher, the market keeper, the blacksmith’s wife, she repeated the story over and over until she knew that by afternoon tea the whole town would be talking. Never missing a beat, Mrs. Winford was able to proclaim the joyous and destined to be a successful joining of arms to at least forty people before noon. There was only one more stop she had to make before she could return to her post at the teashop.

“Mr. Winford!” she greeted authoritatively as she entered the barbershop beside her husband’s gazette business.

The gentleman who towered over his wife, unhappiness immediately consuming his entire being, turned to the pink and white laced women. She was violating the one place where he found peace. He did not bother to ask why she had burst into his best mate’s shop, for he had given up years ago on carrying on a normal conversation with the woman he married.

Mrs. Winford rushed to the back of the shop where her husband sat in a chair, a smoking pipe settled between his lips. The other two customers with foamy cream on their cheeks and the two business owners watched this woman enter, yet again violating her husband’s sanctuary. “Mr. Winford,” she started with her hands planted on her hips. She nearly stepped on the poor old hound at Mr. Winford’s feet, but the dog was so jaded to this woman that he only stared at her indifferently like his master. “I will not for the whole day ignore the fact that you are not attending to your own business to waste the day in here, but for this moment alone I will.” Mr. Winford’s big brown eyes stared blankly at his wife as she rambled. (Business in the shop did continue, but the men temporarily halted their conversation to hear what Mrs. Winford had to share today.) With a deep breath Mrs. Winford repeated once again the story she had told today three dozen times: “Mr. Winford, I heard this very morning that our Reverend Tamrin and our darling Ms. Grace are to teach together a class for adults to hone our skills of analytically reading Bible-based books. How delightful, no? I will sign the both of us up for this class the moment I know its truth.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Mr. Winford dryly corrected. He sucked on the end of his tobacco pipe and turned his gaze back to the journal on his lap. A fatal mistake.

Mrs. Winford ripped the tobacco pipe from her husband’s lips. Her small blue eyes were burning madly as she angrily said, “Why do you never listen to me?! We are joining this class!”

“You do not even know if it is real,” Mr. Winford as dryly as before replied, turning again to his journal. “It’s probably just snipe Mrs. Huff fed to you.”

Mrs. Winford sighed admittedly as she carelessly tossed Mr. Winford’s pipe onto his journal. Loose tobacco spilled out onto the leaves making a bit of a mess. At least the smoke and heat from the pipe had extinguished. Mr. Winford nonchalantly swept the tobacco bits off his journal and onto the floor which he knew would soon be swept anyway. Mrs. Winford returned her knuckles to her hips and said, “Yes, well I willn’t know until half past noon and we never know when Reverend Tamrin will return on Mondays.”

The husband who ought to have been aggrandized for his amount of patience for a wife like his looked away from said lady to return his gaze to the journal. With a quick glance at the window, just as indifferently as before, Mr. Winford sighed and said dryly to his wife, “Why not turn around and ask the man himself?”

The wife whipped her gaze away from her husband to the large barbershop windows. There passing by the shop was the reverend accompanied by two other souls.

“Oh! There he is indeed, Mr. Winford!” Mrs. Winford happily announced, “And with his cousins as well, how lovely! I shall have to speak with him at once.”

The pink-dressed pudgy body of Mrs. Winford ran out of the shop as quickly as she had entered. Mr. Winford did not even bother to watch her leave. His relaxation business in the barbershop could continue once more.

“At least her gossip brings your columns to life, eh, Mr. Winford?” the barber kindly reminded as mirth formed on Mr. Winford’s smile – his peace had been returned.

The reverend and his “cousins” slowly made their way back to the good gentleman’s home with nary an interruption. The exception being when they passed the red and white striped poles of the barber shop.

“Mr. Tamrin!” the high pitched voice of Mrs. Winford cried out as she passed through a herd of the chickens that roamed the town. The clucky hens with different colored ribbons around their necks to plainly distinguish their masters, flapped-off in every direction as the seemingly wild woman cut through their walk. “Reverend Tamrin!” she hollered once more.

“Good heavens, Mrs. Winford, what’s troubling you?” the reverend asked kindly even though he knew that this interruption was probably the hunt for a bit of gossip. Being a reverend did not forbid the man from having negative thoughts – it simply prevented him from sharing them with anyone.

Mrs. Winford quickly curtsied to the reverend’s cousins. The well-aged matron and patron too bowed their heads respectfully a breath before Mrs. Winford caught her own to inquire about the rumor she had been spreading all morning. “Good reverend, Mrs. Huff nor I will be able to rest until you settle this for us; is it true about the union between yourself and Ms. Grace?”

The arduous question struck the reverend. The term “union” sat awkwardly in his thoughts. The vampires looked to their friend with great curiosity, for they had always considered him to simply be a man marked with decorum and rectitude aimed solely at the church. Even in their wisdom and years of experience, they could not have even conceived the thought of the reverend joined with a lady. However, the prospect did seem rather nice for their reverend to have a mate. He was of the gentlest and most deserving of souls. And such a union with Ms. Grace would only make all the sense in the world.

The reverend galvanized himself back into the conversation with a cough, “What do you mean, Mrs. Winford? Do you mean the class?”

“Well yes, of course,” Mrs. Winford said with a chuckle and a shrug. She too had never envisaged the sweet reverend as anything other than just the reverend.

Mr. Tamrin knew that word on the grapevine was naught to be raced, but this new level of expediency was something to be documented in history. Reverend Tamrin repositioned himself in his saddle. “I had not apperceived that anyone but Ms. Grace, Mrs. Witten, and myself knew about the class, but yes, yes Mrs. Winford it is true. Ms. Grace and I will together teach a class, but that is all that I even know. Ms. Grace and I have yet to speak of this together.” With a smile to the glowing joy radiating from Mrs. Winford, the reverend added, “Perhaps you could muzzle out some more information for me?” He said this primarily to abate Mrs. Winford from questioning his “cousins,” which worked magnificently. Although, he would later be guilt ridden from turning this hound on to Ms. Grace’s trail.

“Oh, I shall at once, sir!” the dutiful Mrs. Winford quickly curtsied again. In a blink, she was off running through those poor chickens again, heading off toward Ms. Grace herself. The reverend was already beginning to feel guilty for turning Mrs. Winford on Ms. Grace like that, but it could prove to give them something to talk about later.

“I thought she meant sommat along the lines of marriage,” Howard quietly said to his friend as they lingered back for a moment, awed by the small cloud of dust trailing behind Mrs. Winford.

“So did I,” the reverend very quietly said.

Way far down to the southern end of town where the buildings were few and widely dispersed, the bustling town spy travelled. ‘Twas there where the schoolhouse and the lovely Ms. Grace were settled. ‘Twas there where Mrs. Winford thought she would finally find the closing piece of her morning’s quest.

Inside of her brightly painted schoolhouse, Ms. Grace always started to wonder around noon if she should capitulate to the demands of her pupils and let them out earlier than scheduled. This thought crossed her mind diurnally only because of the difficulties she encountered between the young Mr. Davis and the young Mr. Thomas. By now they had already made several attempts to: organize miniature riots on either side of the class; start verbal and physical fights; and to somehow redirect a lesson’s purpose to gild the names of their families over the other. Ms. Grace could not understand how children so young could already be so corrupted by the silly injunctions of their families. No matter her efforts to asunder these two boys, polar opposites always found each other.

The morning had grown very warm. The heated bodies of the excited children did not help the situation. As Ms. Grace directed her students to do their end of the day chores, she walked to one of the windows that lined the schoolhouse’s walls to let a breeze into the room. Mistakenly keeping her gaze locked on Mr. Davis and Mr. Thomas to ensure their separation and tranquility, Ms. Grace parted the cream colored curtains to open the glass. When she turned to look out the window, Ms. Grace nearly had a heart attack from fright. The teacher yelped and grasped at her chest. The absolute last thing she had expected to see was the round, freckled face of Mrs. Winford staring back at her.

Mrs. Winford’s smile only widened as she greenly waved at the young teacher, alerting Ms. Grace that she wanted to talk after class. For the longest time all that Ms. Grace could do was stare at the town’s busybody who had, for whatever reason, decided to stake out at her school’s window for however long a time.

“Ms. Grace!” little Jonas Macabee shouted, stealing back the teacher’s attention.

The teacher turned back to see the chaos that had erupted in the front of her classroom in the moment that she had looked away. Mr. Thomas was covered in black ink and was now atop of Mr. Davis thwacking him with a chalk eraser. The school teacher jolted herself into intervention mode.

A white cloud danced among the evanescence of the room as Ms. Grace attempted to pull Mr. Thomas from Mr. Davis. The two boys continued their violent actions to the encouraging shouts from the rest of her classroom that had initially thought the conduct of their fellows to be rather upsetting. Ms. Grace could not believe that her entire class would join this madness. In later retrospection she would attribute the mob mentality to the heat. In the last fifteen minutes of class, Ms. Grace did her best to calm all of the children and to restore order to her class, but the feverous hatred between the dairy farm sons had become infectious.

For the first time in her career of four years as a teacher Ms. Grace lost all control of her students. However, the madness did not ossify her from action. Ms. Grace plucked up a ruler and did something that she had never had to do before. With a brief shout and a loud crack the ruler snapped in half against the teacher’s desk.

The classroom silenced.

A drove of shocked expressions met the teacher’s command. Ms. Grace had never before had to raise her voice to further emphasize her authority. The frightened and surprised expressions of her students made her doubt that much more would ever be needed again. Ms. Grace straightened her dress, cleared her throat then said calmly, “To your desks, all of you.”

The children immediately obeyed. Save for the scuffling noises of their scurrying feet, the whole class hardly made a sound. Ms. Grace was highly impressed with the remarkably efficient way her students were doing as told, but she did not physically express this pride. Instead, the teacher strode at a firm pace down the center aisle of the schoolhouse once all of her pupils were once again properly settled. They watched her attentively pass by slowly with purpose. They knew that she was evaluating the scope of their wicked deeds in those few moments when they ran wild. By the looks of things, the consequences would not belie a soul. Even Ms. Grace had chalk dust all over her body and face after having wrestled the eraser out from Mr. Davis’ hands. The children did not giggle from the sight. They were too scared to dare crack a smile.

When the teacher reached the back of her school house, the children sat still watching her. She seemed to be blocking their only reasonable manner of escape with her chalk-blotted body. Ms. Grace sighed then said, “Eyes forward.” The children whipped their heads back to the direction of the blackboard. They could still see a cloud of chalk looming before them. The only sound made was that of the teacher’s boots slowly returning their person to the front of class. As she wiped chalk from her face with the back of her hand, proving only to smear it more, Ms. Grace let the wave of her disappointment show in her demeanor.

The room was a deplorable mess.

Miss Grace reached the front of class where ground-zero lay. She looked every one of her students in the eye as she leaned her body against the blackboard. For a moment she stood in silence until she calmly asked, “Does anyone know the time?” The children were too anxious until Ms. Grace re-asked, “Can anyone please tell me the time?”

A little blond girl raised her hand and answered, looking to the grandfather clock against the front of the wall, “It is twelve-thirty-four, Ms. Grace.”

The teacher folded her arms over her chest before continuing, “And what time is it when you usually leave to meet your parents?”

“Twelve-thirty,” Jonas Macabee answered shamefully.

Ms. Grace nodded her head. “Now, can anyone guess why you are not at this moment heading home?” The dropping of several heads from the weight of shame answered her inquiry. “You are not being released because only my students are released at 12.30 and at that moment not a single one of you resembled anything like my students.” Ms. Grace paused a moment to give a subtle nod to one of the parents waiting outside the door. Ms. Grace licked her lips (the taste of chalk met her tongue) then continued, “Due to your actions our humble classroom has become nothing short of a pig sty, so you shall remain to see through the consequences of your deeds. Hopefully, a bit of earnest, quiet, and peaceful cleaning will transform you back to my students. Please clean the immediate areas around your desks whether you made it or not, while I go talk to your parents.” That last bit was the worst harbinger for pain – it was the repercussions from their parents that unnerved the students most. “You two,” Ms. Grace singled out Mr. Davis and Mr. Thomas, “I want you two to stay after the cleaning. I need to speak with you both.”

The two boys from opposing families sank lower into their shoes than the rest. They knew that this was their fault, but neither would verbally admit this malefaction.

Ms. Grace tried not to storm out of the classroom, but her steps certainly did fall harder on the wooden floor than usual. She absolutely dreaded having to speak to adults she knew well with chalk all over her body. With a deep breath, the teacher stepped out of the red schoolhouse into the warm September day. There was now a significant group of parents ready and impatiently waiting for their children. They all stared at the chalk all over Ms. Grace – they wondered what on earth could have been happening in this classroom.

A good many of them had already heard Ms. Winford’s wheel of rumors for the day and none were anxious to hear any more. Mrs. Winford hopped to and made an attempt to start speaking to Ms. Grace, but the latter held her hand up politely to stay the woman’s words for now.

“Good afternoon,” Ms. Grace started uneasily. She did not have problems lecturing in her class, but speaking outside of her comfort zone was difficult for her, especially now that she was a mess. She cleared her throat then said, “I apologize that your children have not yet been excused, but there was a bit of a lapse in behavior towards the end of class, so my students are reversing the shows of their actions. They should only be another few moments and then I will excuse them. Again, I am sorry if this disrupts your routines.” Prior to returning to her classroom, Ms. Grace scanned nearly a dozen faces of parents in attempt to find a Davis or a Thomas, but as usual none were present. Clicking the back of her tongue from disappointment, Ms. Grace reentered her schoolhouse.

The students made haste to correct their actions in the class. They worked in silence and were very near finishing by the time Ms. Grace reached the front of the room. She slowly strolled past every row of desks to evaluate the work being done. Once she determined that their progress was satisfactory, she asked the students to sit.

“Right. Now, for your homework tonight,” she started to instruct (most of the students slumped in their desk because they already had assignments for home). “I want you, every one of you, to write apologies to the classroom for what abuses you bestowed to its hall. Start your letter,” Ms. Grace took a bit of chalk from her desk then recited what she wrote, “‘Dear Schoolhouse, I am sorry that I…’ then fill in what you did and what happened today. End your letter with,” again she wrote on the board as she said, “‘Please forgive me, it will not happen again.’ Then sign your names. I expect these letters back first thing Wednesday morning. If you need help with your letters please come to me today or tomorrow and I will be happy to help my students who wish to learn. Am I clear?” Most of the students nodded. “Good, with the exception of Mr. Davis and Mr. Thomas, the rest of you are excused.”

The students hurriedly shuffled out from the class and ran to their parents. Even though town was small, it would be a long walk back to their homes today.

Mrs. Winford immediately entered the room. Her fingers were clutching onto the shoulders of her young son who wanted nothing more than to be with his dad away from the schoolhouse. “Do you still need a minute, Ms. Grace?” Mrs. Winford asked much to the distaste of her freckled face son.

The school teacher attempted very hard to deny a frustrated sigh. It was only almost one in the afternoon and it had already been a very rough day. “Please? I need to have a private chat with these two gentlemen first, Mrs. Winford.”

The town’s bustling woman led her poor son back out of the class.

The teacher waited for the door to shut before she commenced very quietly from behind her desk. “Come here, gentlemen,” Ms. Grace directed the boys to stand in front of her desk so that she could sit at eye level with them. The boys reluctantly stood beside each other. Their heated disposition was timorously felt by Ms. Grace. This sort of unwarranted behavior drove Ms. Grace mad. “Mr. Davis,” she started as she pulled a handkerchief out from her drawer. The blond boy looked to her. “Mr. Thomas,” the other blond boy also turned his eyes to his teacher. The handkerchief was to wipe her face of the itchy chalk, but she decided to hold off to give these boys her full attention. Besides, making them stare at the mess they made on her may help to make her point. “In the morning because my house falls on the divide of the town’s line I receive my butter from your family, Mr. Davis, and my milk from yours, Mr. Thomas, as part of the agreement the reverend came to make between your families. Both of the products that I receive are of excellent quality and were I to be blindfolded I would never be able to tell the milk on my doorstep from that which is left on my good friend Ms. Joyce’s doorstep from the western side of town; she thus receives milk from the Davis’.” Ms. Grace inhaled deeply. She could see that what she was saying was not making much sense to either of the boys, so she decided to take a different direction with her arbitration. “Look at yourselves, lads. You look so alike. A stranger to our town would think you cousins at the farthest relation.” The boys looked traumatized at such a sacrilegious suggestion. Her words were proving nothing to them. The teacher sighed then said, “Tomorrow is a new day and tomorrow you will not act out against each other in my class or out there. You will not disrupt my classroom again. Do you both understand?”

The boy covered in chalk and the boy bathed in black ink nodded.

“Good,” Ms. Grace said even though she was not convinced. “Now, I am sorry, gentlemen, but if an outburst of your rivalries happens again I will be forced to excuse you from my class indefinitely.” Both of the boys looked absolutely distraught, for school was the one place where they actually were not forced to endure listening to naught but propaganda against another family. “My schoolhouse is not a coop for violence and chaos is not allowed to run rampant here. This is a place for learning where only students who wish to learn may enter. So if you cannot behave yourselves then clearly you do not wish to learn and thus you will not be welcome here until you come ready to be educated like mature students. Am I clear?”

Both boys answered ‘yes’ meekly.

Though extreme shame did line the faces of the youth, Ms. Grace knew in her heart that no matter what she said, it would all be for naught. With one last sigh, she excused the children.

The boys left the class quietly enough. However, the moment they were beyond the eyes of the schoolhouse, Mr. Davis tripped Mr. Thomas. Mr. Thomas then hurled a pebble at Mr. Davis’ back as the boy ran away.

Ms. Grace dropped her forehead onto the desk, but she did not receive a moment’s peace. In popped Mrs. Winford. The clomping of the woman’s heals on the schoolhouse’s floor forced Ms. Grace to whip her head up to see the beaming expression of the town’s spy bearing down on her.

“Oh, I’ll only take a minute of your time, Ms. Grace,” Mrs. Winford assured as she rushed to the front of class, dragging her son behind by the wrist.

The teacher looked at the locked grip Mrs. Winford held on her son. It made Ms. Grace think of a vice or of the cuffs officers in larger cities would force the incarcerated to wear.

“How may I help you, Mrs. Winford?” Ms. Grace kindly, but reluctantly asked. She grabbed the handkerchief from the desk and immediately started to wipe her face of the mess. Cleaning her plain dark blue dress would have to wait until later.

With the hand not holding onto her son, Mrs. Winford touched her fingertips to Ms. Grace’s desk as she excitedly started, “I spoke to Reverend Tamrin earlier and he told me all about your class that the two of you are to teach!” (Ms. Grace’s expression was that of a smile, but her insides were turning. How could this possibly be happening already? She knew very well that the Reverend probably hardly even mentioned the class to Mrs. Winford. However, the fact that she was here talking about the subject meant that by now most of the town was talking about it too.) Mrs. Winford continued, “I just came to ask of the specifics that Mr. Tamrin said you would know.”

Like the child who looked to her pleadingly to speak fast, Ms. Grace wanted nothing more than to run. The teacher sat up as straight as she could as she answered, “My dear Mrs. Winford, I am not exactly sure of the details myself. The reverend and I have not yet met to discuss the odds and ends.” Though there was little else to be said, Mrs. Winford continued to stare expectantly at Ms. Grace. The latter woman knew that the former would never leave if she did not at least give an iota of something, anything for the spy to regurgitate and embellish back to Mrs. Huff, so she added, “We intend to meet tomorrow for talks. We will probably have the class organized and approved budget-wise by the mayor and his staff before Sunday.”

Again, Mrs. Winford started to hyperventilate from the wave of her excitement. It was the little things that kept her afloat in this small town. Her son rolled his eyes for he was not entertained and his wrist was starting to hurt.

“I take it that you may be interested in enrolling, Mrs. Winford?” Ms. Grace asked in hope to stall the spy from passing out from lack of proper oxygen.

“YES!” the woman affirmed, hardly able to control herself. “Mr. Winford and I both will be your first enrolled pupils! To think, the reverend and you, Ms. Grace, beside each other as joined professors. United to bring enlightenment to our Providence! Oh! I can hardly wait!”

Ms. Grace was amazed that Mrs. Winford was already holding up the quill to enlist in a class that no one yet understood. For all she knew, the group could convert to paganism and analyze the worship of twig and rock deities. The possibilities at the moment were endless, but Ms. Grace’s half hour lunch break was not. “If you do not mind, Mrs. Winford, I’ve only a couple of minutes to eat before my next class, so if you would be so kind…”

“But of course,” Mrs. Winford bowed her head and started to back out of the schoolhouse. “Worry not about advertising the class, Ms. Grace,” Mrs. Winford added as she neared the door. “I’m sure that in no time at all the whole county will be talking about it.”

With a sigh, Ms. Grace reverentially thought, ‘Thanks to you, Mrs. Winford, I would be damned if they aren’t already.’

~*~*~

Have a happy Thanksgiving! Gobble-gobble!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon