Providence and a Dose of Ridiculousness

How is it already Sunday?!?!? Time certainly flies when you're having fun.

I spent a good portion of Saturday with one of my sisters and while at her condo, one of her cats decided to interact with my purse. The cat's name is Spatz and he is the one cat that will not let me anywhere near him. He hisses and spits and growls at me, but today, he decided that regardless of his hatred, he could find peace with my purse.



On to Providence! When we left the town last week, Ms. Grace had been promised to Mr. Higley, the Davis and Thomas children had run for their protection, and the reverend was left disappointed with a ring in his pocket. Winter has now settled over Providence and there are just a few days left before Christmas...

Part 3: A Silver Winter’s Blessings

Chapter 14: Knowing

“It’s a wonder that so much rubbish has come upon our town since that awful day in October,” Mrs. Winford sighed. “What a dark winter this may become, Mrs. Huff.”

Mrs. Huff finished pouring a freshly brewed cup of tea for her company. The foul weather forced the pair of gossipers to do their town viewing from inside for the season. They had Mr. Winford, however reluctantly, move their wicker seats and table back into the shop. It took the women several minutes to achieve the proper angular positions of the chairs so that they could see out of the large window, while maintaining an agreeable distance from the glass so that no rogue draft would too quickly cool their tea.

Mrs. Huff sat beside her friend. They were wrapped in thick coats even though they were inside, for neither liked a thing about the cold. The six cats of Mrs. Huff’s teashop shared the sentiment and thus only too happily sprawled out in front of the fireplace to keep those pesky logs in check from extinguishing. Mrs. Huff thought her warming felines to be a sign of homey comfort. To Ms. Grace, were she to walk in at this moment, the scene would have looked like lumpy pelts being dried, but she did not much care for cats. Those pesky meowing balls of fluff were yet another reason why Ms. Grace avoided visiting her old ward as much as possible.

“Lord, I cannot stand a window full of white,” Mrs. Huff growled. Winter was never good for her mood. “How much longer until spring is here?”

“Months, I’m afraid, my dear Mrs. Huff,” Mrs. Winford unhappily answered. She hopped up to the window to use her forearm to wipe away the foggy glare. “I agree that this fog is a mess; it makes seeing who is walking by so much more difficult. Oh, oh, look there, look who we would have missed.” Mrs. Winford pointed through the droplets of condensation as she sat back in her seat. On the other side of the road slowly strode the reverend through the fallen snow alone. He still did not look like his lively old self.

“I wonder where he is off,” Mrs. Huff nosily pondered. Sighing, she added regrettably, “My, Mr. Tamrin has not been the same since October, has he? No one has been right since the despicable behavior of the Davis’ and the Thomas’, but, gracious! I’ll say they have certainly learned their lessons, haven’t they? There’s not so much of a peep from either of them since that day.”

“I know that the mayor is to blame for the entire mess,” Mrs. Winford accused. “It is his fault that no measures were taken prior to that day towards subduing the dairy families. I hold him entirely responsible for that mess starting right at his very feet.”

“And, not to mention the foreclosure of Ms. Grace’s school,” Mrs. Huff added. “If that was not a tragedy, I cannot say what is.” Both women sighed mournfully. Hardly a soul had seen Ms. Grace in these last three weeks after her class officially closed on the first of December. “Her entire life seems to have dissipated since that fateful day.”

“Yes, but at least she has some form of hope on the horizon,” Mrs. Winford reminded, but she did not sound convinced in her own words. She reached to the table beside her and picked up a cup of tea. While she put her six sugar cubes into the dark liquid she said sorrowfully, “You know…as much as we wanted her to marry and as highly regarded as Mr. Higley has always been, I am not so sure that being Mrs. Higley is the most appropriate course of action for Ms. Grace anymore.”

Mrs. Huff sighed. She felt the same way. “I said it from the start that their union was not appropriate. Ms. Grace is much too independent a thinker for Mr. Higley. No, he needs someone who is subversive and doting, and Ms. Grace is neither. How’s the tea? It’s from that Dalliard batch I bought back in August.”

“It’s fine,” Mrs. Winford confirmed upon completing her gulp. “But you know me; so long as it’s hot and sweet it’s good for me, as I always say.” Upon a brief reflection Mrs. Winford was able to discern why her marriage with Mr. Winford was less than heavenly. But let it be known that the droll man had been of lighter spirits toward his wife since the talk he had with Mr. Tamrin outside of the barbershop.

The women again sighed in unison.

It started snowing again.

~*~*~

Winters in Providence were hardly half as harsh as the banter between Mrs. Huff and Mrs. Winford. However, even if the little town had been enjoying summer temperatures, the weather still would not have eased the pain that grieved the reverend.

A sort of silence settled over the town from the unexpected barrage of snow, but it was as though an air tight bell-jar encased the home of the beekeeper. All that made noise was the occasional snaps from the fireplace that had nearly been spent.

The reverend’s handsome eyes stared unfocused between a pair of soot-covered bricks. The gentleman’s hands that rested on his chest slowly rose up and down with every steady breath. He had done it again. He had fallen asleep on the sofa before the fire last night. His legs felt numb from their lifted position on the armrest opposite the one where his head was propped. After a moment, the reverend stretched his feet to try to awaken his legs, but they seemed past the point of return. He sighed and continued to focus on the silence, trying his best to mute the ticking of the silver pocket watch wresting on his heart.

It was Sunday, two days until Christmas. He would be due to give mass in a couple of hours. He knew that once he stepped out that door he would again be forced to resume his mask to greet the parishioners like the old reverend they once knew. Mr. Tamrin knew that it was wrong of him to wallow in his sorrow. He knew that Ms. Grace was undeniably stuck in her catastrophic situation with Mr. Higley. Mr. Tamrin knew that life would continue after she said ‘I do’ to another man. And yet, he did not know what next to do.

The public announcement of her engagement to that brute came to Mr. Tamrin from none other than Mr. Higley himself. The brat had the audacity to come to the reverend to ask if he would do the ceremony even though Ms. Grace had adamantly expressed otherwise. The reverend scowled as he recalled the grimace he accidently made upon Mr. Higley’s request; he thought that perhaps he covered his grim expression well enough to hide his true emotions from Mr. Higgley, but he was not sure. At the moment there was no point for knowing otherwise. It made Mr. Tamrin’s blood boil time-and-time again as he remembered the argument he saw between Mr. Higley and Ms. Grace after he spoke to the reverend. Mr. Tamrin could not hear the argument, but he saw the anger and the frustrations emanating from Ms. Grace as she expressed her points against being married by Mr. Tamrin without ever actually giving the real reason why.

The reverend’s eyes lined with tears as he was gripped with the image of Ms. Grace’s distress while that Higley character simply wove a dismissing hand at her qualms. The reverend knew it would always be like that between them. He knew that the lovely Ms. Grace would dawn a damn-good fight for as long as she could, but eventually from the weight of the abuse and the neglect she would break. Who wouldn’t under such grievous circumstances? And what, what could the reverend do to save her? He knew that Mr. Higley would refuse any interventions from the church and he knew that Ms. Grace’s pride would act as a shield to the outer world; she would never reach out for help nor would she accept any offerings.

With his fist the reverend wiped his eyes and snuffled hard. He swallowed with much difficulty. “What am I to do? What can I do?” the reverend asked the shadows on the wall. “How can I possibly bear to watch her serve as his most used commodity? She deserves a king, not a whimpering imp like Brian Higley!”

The reverend shut his eyes tight. He breathed deeply in attempt to clear his thoughts of the darkness, to replace the shadows with light. He woke up this morning, which alone was reason to leap up and give thanks. He had so much to be grateful for – he had his health, a sturdy roof over his head, he was a pillar of faith in his community, and, most importantly of all, he had his memories of her.  Sure, it may seem like a vice or a curse at first, but regardless, even a small thought of her cleared his thoughts of the cobwebs and of all the horrors he knew plagued the world. Just a whisper of her name drew the warmth of a smile across his cheery face. Even now a smile formed as his closed eyes looked upon a memory from several years ago. It was May and the flowers in his garden were all abloom. May-day service had ended. The fragrances of his blooming garden filled the warming air. He was shaking the hands of his parishioners when the moment came that changed his life forever.

He would never forget the initial whispers, “Oh, who on earth could that be?” “She certainly looks familiar” all proceeding the shouts of Ms. Joyce and the then Ms. Laura Hewlett as they alerted all to the identity of the supposed new comer that had strolled into town. “GRACIE!” they shouted as they sprinted to the young lady who had only managed step out from the cart that returned her from school in the east.

The reverend hung back a moment as the market-bound church crowd encircled Ms. Grace. At first the reverend did not know what to think. As he stood on the church’s short stoop he remembered all the madness that caused Ms. Grace to leave in the first place. He was surprised to see that she had returned at all. In a minute way he was appalled that the woman whose wings he had helped to spread rejected the freedom that she was fed to return here. He shook his head and began to turn back into the church.

However, the crowds parted and in an instant, Mr. Tamrin’s thoughts were entirely reversed. He was thanking God that Ms. Grace decided, “To hell with freedom, when I hail from a town named Providence.”

She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

The reverend laying on the couch clutched his hands tightly as he again experienced the ebb tide of emotions that overwhelmed him in that moment when he first saw Ms. Grace. She was not a child any more, not at all. She was a lady, more gorgeous and glowing more brightly than any he had ever before known. The smile on her face was like the first brilliant burst of sunlight after a month of winter’s encapsulating grey. In that moment, in that breath, there was no denying what the reverend knew.

He simply knew.

Tick, tick, tick, the little watch went.

The reverend opened his eyes to see the dying embers, shades dimmer than before. His chill-touched arms shook from his frustrations. He should have asked her to marry him in that intimate instant in the schoolhouse, but he had wanted to court her properly. He wanted the town to see him and her together as a budding couple and that, Mr. Tamrin realized, was his mistake. The vain idea of it sickened him; the fact that he a humble man of the church wanted the people to realize that he was a champion of a lady’s heart, particularly of Ms. Grace’s. That he was an eligible bachelor and not simply a contented reverend was what he wanted to prove and that was his perceived downfall. God had not wanted it that way. Mr. Tamrin recognized the importance of being ever-humble before God, but it was this one time that he wanted to prove himself as something different, as a romantic to not only the town, but to Ms. Grace as well. He wanted to leave presents for her and walk with her through the market with their arms looped together. He wanted to dote upon her and for her to be worshiped in the way that she deserved. But there was no use sulking over mistakes in the past and the way things could never be.

A nasty chill seeped in over the garden and past the threshold of the beekeeper’s home. He was cold, but the effort to stoke the fire seemed more trouble than it’s worth. He had to get ready for Sunday’s mass.

Getting up and getting going had become a strenuous task for Mr. Tamrin. His body felt so heavy. As a direct result of sleeping in the cold, his throat had become soar and dry, but the beekeeper was well learned in herbal medicines. He knew that swallowing a few slices of garlic with a gulp of wine would help to heal any signs of a cold – it was a quick enough fix. The reverend plodded through his home, half dressed for church as he cut up a clove of garlic. Even the simplest task of removing the knife from the drawer had become laborious. The cuts he made in the clove were final and hard, like he was cutting something far denser than that which he attacked. The reverend thought with a grimace on his face, “If this is the effort it takes me to take care of myself alone, how could I ever have hoped to support a wife as well? You’re a fool, Thane, for ever believing she could be with a feeble old man like you.”

~*~*~

Mr. Tamrin stood still in the small room where he prepared to raise the pulpit. He was staring himself critically in the small mirror. His face was dripping from the tepid water he splashed upon his face. He was trying to brace himself to address his congregation. Nerves were never prior an issue for Mr. Tamrin. However, today would be the first time he would see Ms. Grace since he saw the argument between her and Mr. Higley. He was not certain if he would even be able to look anywhere near her. Even though she had taken to sitting in the back pews of the church, she still always came. Always. Like the assurance of the sun’s rise in the morning, Ms. Grace’s attendance to his sermons was something the reverend could always depend upon. Mr. Tamrin hated himself for thinking it, but he almost wished that she would stop coming, stop torturing herself and him. However, like that brilliant star’s rise, it was not something that the reverend could ever stop.

The reverend could hear his congregation filling the pews and filling the house of God. In the reflection of the mirror Mr. Tamrin looked to the humble wooden cross that was on the wall behind him. He remembered the trials of the Lord and of the sufferings He endured for others.

“Forgive me,” Thane whispered for his perceived selfishness to the cross on the wall.

With a deep breath, Mr. Tamrin straightened his vestments and he dried his face.

The brass knob clicked and the door into the white-church opened. The reverend emerged looking like a completely different man. No one would ever have suspected. No one would ever have known that aside from his relationship with God, the reverend never before felt so alone.

Save one.

Ms. Grace stood with the rest of the congregation to welcome the reverend. The church’s walls echoed as a choir of voices sang a familiar hymn mostly in tune with the church’s small pipe organ. No one heard Ms. Grace’s voice falter in the song once her weak eyes found Mr. Tamrin through the gaps in the crowd. She shifted her eyes this way and that to see him through the gaps between the many heads of the people in the pews before her. Ms. Grace did not like sitting so far back. Her eyesight was already bad enough, but being so far away from Mr. Tamrin made him only slightly less than a blur to her. She could make out his general shape, but the details of his face were lost. However, from back here she could still see that he was smiling by the beaming white of his teeth. Her heart almost stopped as she nearly broke into tears. She could not permit herself to cry. Not again. Not here.

The hymn ended.

The congregation shuffled and the benches made little screeches as the parishioners took their seats. The reverend stood on his pillar above everyone, looked over the people who came to hear him speak. Their smiles and their eyes full of wonder helped to make him to find his strength.

“Good morning,” the reverend’s welcoming voice greeted.

A good number of responding greetings were returned to the reverend.

His smile was as wide and as deep as his pain, but absolutely no one would have known. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about all that I, that we as a community have to be grateful for. Our Providence has seen brighter winters and more prominent autumn seasons, but we’ve still candles to burn on our mantles to keep the light inside.

“There are tales in the Good Book where the Lord is speaking to hundreds of people who are hungry, but have no food and yet, He manages to provide food enough for everyone. He had nothing, and yet he managed to make from nothing a great gift. This makes me think of our dear Providence – we may not be the most elegant or prosperous town in these lands, but we make do with what we have and our doors are always open for our neighbors who may not be as fortunate as us. We share what we have, and though it is humble, our charity is by any other definition a bounty of riches.

“We are a communal family. We support each other and we give without being asked. As we approach Christmas this week, remember the gifts we already have.” Mr. Tamrin paused as his eyes fell squarely upon Ms. Grace. She could not see it directly, but she could feel his stare. She trembled against Mr. Higley who did not see the connection, but he certainly felt the reverberation of it through her.

The reverend sighed and continued while speaking directly to Ms. Grace, “Instead of simply dwelling on the gifts we merely cleave,” he swallowed hard then forced himself to look away. “We have our homes and sufficient goods to last us ‘till spring, and most importantly of all, we have each other. Let none forget the love our Lord shared to His disciples, to His neighbors, and even to strangers as we approach Christmas.” Again the reverend could not help himself but to look at Ms. Grace. “With such beautiful gifts, is there truly anyone among us who knows there is something more we need? We must love and cherish the gifts that we have, for you never know when they may be taken from us.”

The heaviness of the last sentence devastated Ms. Grace. Her jaw shook for half a moment as she realized the gravity of his words and that he was speaking about her.

Mr. Higley saw this time the words as they passed between the reverend and his prospecting bride.

The reverend nodded his head then returned to his seat.

The organ struck up a chorus and the sermon continued with the voices of Providence filling the church’s wings.

Neither Ms. Grace nor the reverend could convince their voices to come out and sing.

Neither Ms. Grace nor the reverend could have any way of knowing what next would come.

However, Mr. Higley was certain he detected more between the reverend and his future bride than either would admit.

Simply put, he knew.

~*~*~

What will happen next week? You'll just have to tune back in to find out! 

Until then,

Your humble author,
S. Faxon

Chapter 14: The Tale of the Tamrins

Your moment of Ridiculousness - pay attention to the two following things: the sloth's defense mechanism and the helpfulness of the tourists.





And on to Providence! (If the spacing is a little funny when you read the following, I apologize - I couldn't figure out how to reformat the text.)

Chapter
14: Being Mrs. Higley

As dark and as dreary as winter could turn, nothing was more daunting to Ms. Grace than becoming Mrs. Brian Higley. The days until the first of the year melted far too quickly and
yet somehow they dragged along. Ms. Grace wanted to get the ceremony over with and yet she wanted to enjoy her last few days of not being a slave for as long as possible.

In the isolation of her bedroom there was little for Ms. Grace to do but dread the future and remember the sweet little things from the past. Not being in her classroom over the last three weeks was driving her mad with boredom. She spent most of her days in solitude lying on her bed unable to rest. The torturous misery of being denied the opportunity to be with the man that she loved was enhanced by the silence of her schoolhouse.

The boredom was expected and it had been the least of her worries once the school was forced to close. It had been imminent the moment the fight of the Thomas’ and the Davis’ scared all of the festival attendees home. It was a second year of loss for the poor people of Providence. But all did not end well for the perpetrators that caused the foreclosure of the festival. The Davis’ and the Thomas’ were severely punished. The families had to pay for all that was damaged and lost, but far more pressingly, both families lost a child; the young Mr. Davis and Miss Thomas made it to the safety of Viramont with the secret help of the reverend’s cousins. Their aid with the mortals had been approved by the clan with much deliberation and voting, so with a small grant from the Cärabadés, the children were far away from the hate and pain of their families. The children were happy, a little scared with the uncertainty of the future, but genuinely happy. Their
families on the other hand had to go on day by day with the knowledge that they would potentially never see their children or their grandchild. Yes, the girl conceived, for such is life.

The Davis’ and the Thomas’ were not the only members of town who felt some form of grief as fall carried out its course. The weeks following the Fall Festival were very grey for Providence. All its members learned that day that life is not always easy, but none so much as Ms. Grace. Ms. Grace’s sadness only began on the first day of the festival, when for once everything was looking bright. She attended her dear friend J.J.’s wedding on that beautiful October Friday, which was lovely, yet much more quiet than originally planned. Ms. Grace did her absolute best to smile and laugh with and for her dear friend who simply glowed with happiness. In her heart, Ms. Grace deeply envied the new Mrs. Vega, for she was able to marry a man she loved.

Ms. Grace felt sick throughout the wedding ceremony following the disastrous opening day of the Fall Festival. Thursday had been chaotic – there had been no time to talk to anyone as everyone was either injured or helping to clear the town of its broken windows, smashed patios, and ruined carts. School was canceled and Ms. Grace spent much of that afternoon hiding in her home. She knew that she would have to tell the man that she loved that Mr. Higley already asked for her hand. The very thought made her ill – she did not want to tell Mr. Tamrin, but nor did she want him to be told by someone else. No, the words would have to come from her. Ms. Grace did not know what she would say. However, she did know that she did not want Mr. Tamrin to be the presiding reverend at the event. She could not do that to him or to herself.

As she sat in the church watching her friend say her vows, Ms. Grace could not help to cry more for her own sorrow than for her friend. This only made her cry more because she felt selfish. Throughout the ceremony Ms. Grace clutched tightly to her father’s silver pocket watch. It was the only thing that could keep her from completely falling apart. She felt so small being such a wreck while the reverend looked absolutely dashing and so very happy.

The reverend was on a polar spectrum from Ms. Grace. The wedding between Ms. Joyce and Mr. Vega was all he had been looking forward to all week. He was of course excited for the new
couple, but he was primarily anticipating the ceremony he had planned for after the wedding. The catastrophe on Wednesday only further embellished his anticipation for this night. Mr. Tamrin knew that it was wrong of him to do so, but in the back of his head all morning prior to the event he imagined that it was for his own wedding that he was preparing. He could only hope that the ring he chose would fit his girl right.

The reverend was beaming as he read the rite of marriage to Ms. Joyce and Mr. Vega. He could see Ms. Grace’s tear filled eyes in the pews behind her friend’s family and he assumed her to be emotional at weddings. He never would have guessed her emotion to have been one of sadness.

The small party after the wedding was hosted in J.J.’s family’s home. No one was quite sure how the Joyce’s allowed it in their house, but Mr. Callaghan managed to sneak many a spirits inside. He figured that the people here could use an evening of boisterous conversation after this past week. There was much laughter and many smiling faces after only an hour of being in the Joyces’ home. It was a good party. Mostly everyone was happy and having a splendid time talking it up with good friends and chatty neighbors.

But Ms. Grace did her best to avoid practically everyone in the house. She was glad Hewie’s husband brought liquor, so that her friends would be so distracted that they would not notice her tepid behavior. She did especially well in avoiding Mr. Tamrin. She did not want this imminent talk to come a moment too soon.

The reverend did his best to find Ms. Grace, but she kept slipping away. He could hardly wait a moment longer.

Ms. Grace was quiet.

Mr. Tamrin was laughing and having an excellent time.

Ms. Grace did not drink. She did not want the influence to say the wrong things and she felt sick enough already.

The reverend’s face was a little pinker than usual; he needed the extra boost for his nerves.

The heat inside the house became too much. Ms. Grace stepped outside. The October night air was cool, but it did little in the means of reprieve or relief. Her heart was pounding as she stood in the dark. Like her own home, the Joyce’s backyard was the large field south of Providence. It was a nice, quiet place where one could easily become lost in reverie. In the warmer months, it was not a rare thing to see in this twilight hour a maverick cow making her attempt to find freedom across that meadow from either of the mad dairy families. However, Ms. Grace was not fortunate enough for such entertainment. The cows were not so much as mooing tonight. Her only company that she could see was a deer grazing on the far side of the meadow by the line of trees.

Yet even the deer was enveloped in the settling blanket of darkness, so Ms. Grace’s eyes made way to look at the heavens. The dark violet sky was patched with thick scattered clouds. Their presence alone threatened these lands with the rains everyone knew were soon to come. Fall was always very wet, which almost overnight would switch to the beginning of the snow season. Ms. Grace thought of the cold to come as her eyes danced with the twinkling stars, but they were all blurry. She did her best to distract herself with anything that came to mind. As pathetic as it sounds, she even wished that there was a cow out there wandering so she could at least help the poor heifer to make her break. Again, anything to distract her from thinking about becoming Mrs. Higley.

The hum from the party in the house was no longer inviting. Ms. Grace wanted to be alone. She began to consider leaving without delivering the message, but as her weakening knees started
to bend to leave, the back porch door opened. At first Ms. Grace assumed that it was probably the happy couple sneaking out the back so that they scurry away to get some sort of privacy, but alas she was wrong. 

The reverend emerged. He knew he would find her. The gentleman’s face erupted in a smile, for at last he had found his lady and conveniently enough they would be alone – he would not be so embarrassed this way. 

“Good evening, Ms. Grace,” he cheerfully greeted as he slowly came to her side.

The teacher sniffled heavily and quickly dried her eyes – she did not realize that she was crying
until the reverend came outside.

The reverend, even with more than a stein in his stomach was only slightly pinker faced than normal. His perception and awareness were at ninety percent; he did not miss the way Ms.
Grace attempted to hide her tears and at first he thought her sadness to be something easily cured. Mr. Tamrin approached Ms. Grace’s side. With his hands in his pockets he held his head almost cockily to the side. He looked so handsome to Ms. Grace. “It’s a beautiful night,” he started while his hands shook a little from nerves. “I am glad that at least one element of this week went smoothly.”

Ms. Grace chuckled, “Yes, our plan to give Miss Thomas and Mr. Davis peaceful welcomes certainly leapt out of hand.” She snuffled again then said, “At least they are safe, yes?”

The reverend nodded. Crossing his arms, he leaned his side against the wall Ms. Grace’s back was against. “Yes, Howard and Lin were able to get them to Viramont alright. They will be able to lead normal lives now.”

The gentle songs of the crickets chirping in the distance filled the brief silence between the mortals.

Ms. Grace sighed. “Mr. Tamrin,” she started, she figured now or never. Awkward silence was something she could not stand even though this was going to be the hardest thing she had ever done. “There’s something, um, something I need to discuss with you.”

“You know that you can speak with me about anything, Ms. Grace.” The reverend swallowed hard and decided to be bold like he was the other day in the classroom. He gently reached to Ms. Grace’s face and pushed behind her ear that one lock of her hair that always seemed to escape. 

Ms. Grace trembled from the touch. She loved it when he touched her (although mostly every time before was accidental or entirely innocent).

“Reverend,” she called. Her voice was quivering and thick with sorrow. “I’ll ask that you refrain from, um, from interrupting or anything like that, even though I don’t want to hear it myself.” The entire composure of Ms. Grace was so strange to Mr. Tamrin. She would not look at him. She kept her eyes on the horizon and she seemed to be subconsciously attempting to become a part of the paneled wall.

“Is everything alright, Ms. Grace?” the reverend asked, instantly sobered by her seriousness.

Ms. Grace wanted to scream “no,” fall into the reverend’s arms and then run away with him in the night, but her rational mind interfered. Swallowing hard, she dictated the most difficult words she had ever strung together: “Mr. Tamrin, sweet man, I know that these past weeks with you have been the best of my life and I will treasure them forever. I am so grateful to God that I was able to teach by your side.” Her voice cracked as she looked to him. He already looked so lost from confusion and concern. “We make such a good team.” She smiled meekly. “And after our moment alone together in the classroom…I’ll bet anything I’ve ever thought dear to me that we would have made the best partners in life. But, I have recently learned that my school will soon be forced to close due to budget restrictions. It is a resolute decision of the mayor’s. If everything that I have planned figures correctly, my school will be able to stay open until December. If I close the adult class and focus materials on the children that should be able to happen. The children need the schooling more. So, I am very sorry to say, Mr. Tamrin, but we will no longer be able to, er, to instruct together.” She figured as well that this would be the best foundation for separation between them, so the reminder of their superior partnership would not be so strong.

The reverend’s heart beat a little more lightly. He assumed that this surely was the end of the conflict riddling Ms. Grace. He smiled gently and said softly, “I am sure the adults will understand, but is there any way that we could do a fundraiser to get the schoolhouse back up on its feet? I can hardly imagine Providence without an active student population. Huh, just think of all the trouble the youngin’s ‘ill get themselves into with all that time on their hands.” He ended with an incredibly charming wink.

Ms. Grace bit her lower lip and she shook her head. She could not gather herself to answer or to elaborate at the moment.

Seeing her queer reaction, the reverend then began to think that maybe Ms. Grace was so emotional tonight because she was afraid that her school would never open again. The reverend took a step closer to Ms. Grace. He had the intent to place an assuring hand on her shoulder, but she did something that made him second guess his action; she took a step away.

“Ms. Grace?” he asked, feeling mildly hurt.

The school teacher buried her face in her hands. She was too deep to turn back.

The reverend was becoming unnerved. He was running through every memory to attempt to guess where something went wrong.

“Mr. Tamrin,” she again commenced. The night air had now thoroughly chilled her bones. “I  want you to know that what I am about to tell you has nothing to do with anything you have done. You are in no way responsible for anything that comes with my decision. You are a,” Ms. Grace had to stop, she could hardly speak. “You are a wonderful man and I hate myself for my decision, but for the greater good.” She could not look at him. “Mrs. Higley has promised to fund the schoolhouse next year if and only if I…if I marry her son. If I do not, the mayor, her bloody brother, will continue to drive funding away from the school and Providence’s children will not be allowed to learn. I can’t let that happen to them. I can’t let go of teaching, it’s a part of me.”

The reverend could not believe what he was hearing. The one soul he had ever fallen for was being blackmailed into marrying another. He leaned more heavily on the wall. “Is there, is there any way we could fight this?” he asked, “This has to be illegal.”

“I am sure that it is, but who would listen to our complaints? The county magistrate?” Ms. Grace asked knowing the answer already. “The magistrate is married to the other sibling of the mayor and Mrs. Higley! There is no one we could…there’s nothing that can be done.”

“You’re not going to marry that pig of a man for money, are you, Ms. Grace?” it was the first time in his life that the reverend had ever spoken blatantly ill of another soul. 

“What other choice do I have, Mr. Tamrin?” she shouted. “What else can I do? I did not come to this decision lightly, you know. Mr. Higley is the last man on earth that I want to spend my life bound to as wife, but I didn’t have a choice. Being Mrs. Higley is not something that I have ever

wanted even though it is a fate the whole bloody town has expected of me. You of all people should know how much I hate to prove their gossip right.”

The reverend was speechless. He ran his hand over his face and in a wave of his disordered
thoughts he could not even keep his focus straight. How could this be happening? Why was this happening? How could so pure a soul be bound to the scum of their town? And then it hit him – he would have to perform the ceremony.

In their silence Ms. Grace managed to feel even worse for yelling at Mr. Tamrin. “Forgive me for shouting, Mr. Tamrin,” Ms. Grace apologized. “You have done nothing wrong.”

But before she could continue to say what she had planned, Mr. Tamrin was able to pull himself
together: “Ms. Grace, think what you will of me, but as your…as your friend and as your reverend I will not consent to perform your marriage to that man!” This was the first time in his life that the reverend ever felt true anger toward another man’s soul. He felt that if Mr. Higley were to come across his path that perhaps too his first physical outburst would escape. “I know that what I am about to tell you may be of little significance, but hear me through: I am an aritoire, Ms. Grace. That means that my instincts and my awareness of the world around me are more honed and intense than the average person. With this gift I am also more keen to human character and I’ve almost a sixth sense about these things, Ms. Grace, so I beg of you to listen to me: I can detect no good from any involvement between you and Mr. Higley! There is something about that man that does not seem right.” The reverend took a step away from Ms. Grace and he again ran his hand over his face. His cheeks felt so warm. He was not wholly sure if it was his instinct as an aritoire or if it was his own personal feelings for Ms. Grace dictating his speech, but as long as it sounded convincing maybe she would take his words to heart. Mr. Tamrin turned back to his company, but the dark hid her expression, which was deeply hurt. She already knew that no good would come of this union. 

“Please, Ms. Grace,” the reverend pleaded. “I beg of you, reconsider. Don’t give up your life when there’s someone right in front of you who will love and cherish you until the end.”

Ms. Grace snuffled hard. “I would never ask you to marry me to another man, Mr. Tamrin,” she softly assured. Her jaw quivered, but she had to finish what she needed to say. She could not run now. Ms. Grace pulled from her pocket the silver watch of her father’s. She held it between herself and Mr. Tamrin. “I am not so cruel, Mr. Tamrin. I will probably do a private ceremony
in Dansend or in Sets to spare you. I care for you so much.” She sobbed then continued. “I understand that you are, that you are speaking from your heart, sir, for my protection, but this is
something that I have to do, that I must do.” She looked into Mr. Tamrin’s eyes for the first time during this conversation. From their weakness her eyes tended to play tricks on her, but they
were standing close enough now that she was able to see the uselessness he felt for the situation. She only hoped that he saw the love she had for him through her own expression. Ms. Grace swallowed hard and hiccupped from her tears as she said, “D’ you see this pocket watch? It is all that I have of my parents’ belongings. It is a very large piece of my heart, a large piece of me.” She held it closer to Mr. Tamrin. “I want you to have it.” Mr. Tamrin shook his head, for he could not so easily take something like that from her. He had yet to discern her true meaning. “No, please, Mr. Tamrin, take it,” she persisted. “It is my heart. Take this so that you will know that it is yours. So it will always belong to you…even if I cannot.”

Mr. Tamrin looked sharply from the pocket watch to Ms. Grace. Now he understood. The silver chain and clock in her clutch slipped into Mr. Tamrin’s hands. He held it delicately, as one would a new born. This was just as precious.

Ms. Grace smiled humbly. She snuffled again then said, “And now you know.” With one last look at the man she knew she would love for all eternity, the school teacher turned away. With her arms crossed over her chest, she quickly disappeared into the darkness of the field.

The reverend did not see her sprint home with all her might. Nor did he see collapse onto her bed to weep into the pillows throughout the night. For a long while he simply sat with his back planted against the Joyce’s house. The cold, moist ground did not affect him. He was too busy holding the golden band he meant to give to Ms. Grace in one palm while his other hand held her heart. He watched with tear filled eyes the seconds, the minutes, the hours tick away into nothing, the time he had so recently assumed he would have and should have spent with her.

~*~*~

Tune in next week for Part 3 of The Tale of the Tamrins!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

St. Patty's Day Edition

Happy Sunday night everyone! Hopefully the festivities of the weekend will not leave you too foggy for tomorrow's morning at work, but just in case your brain needs a bit of a break, here's a baking blog for your ten minute escape. (Wednesday will return to our regular schedule of Providence: The Tale of the Tamrins)

The first time that I baked Irish Bread, it was great. The second time, not so much. Here's to hope that the third time will be great, gluten-free tricks and all. 

With the original Star Trek on in the background, I've set out on my own mission of sticking to as traditional an Irish Soda bread recipe as possible: no raisins, (think about it - where would grapes grow in Ireland and be readily available), no seasonings (nutmeg and cinnamon were expensive imports), and NO GREEN DYE (need I say why?). However, as I was rummaging through my refrigerator, much to my chagrin, I had neither buttermilk nor lemons to help me make my own. After a quick google search, I found that yogurt can be modified to make an excellent substitute. Gluten free flower and Greek yogurt aside, it'll be close to traditional...at the very least, the thought is there. 

The Ingredients

 

Pre-organized, this is my gluten-free baking goods gallery, if you will. I like to store all of my g-free flours and sugars away from the gluten products in the pantry. These are essentially all of the goods that will help us to bake! Note that there are no eggs in this recipe. Making this bread frequently may result with happier chickens...(no solid evidence to support that claim.)

From left to right, it was 2.5 cups of g-free flour, one half cup of potato starch, one half a cup of tapioca flour and two tablespoons of Baking Soda. The Irish Soda bread that we know & love today is a relatively recent invention - Baking Soda wasn't around until the mid-19th century and it is the integral leavening agent in the dough that makes the bread rise. (Think on the name a minute to stress the importance of baking soda). There is no yeast in Soda bread, so it needs something else to give it lift. The chemical reaction of the baking soda expanding upon meeting the wetness of the buttermilk is what will cause the bread to rise. That's the power of science, my friends.

The solution to not having buttermilk was to make my own, using Greek Yogurt (yes, it is Chobani - no, turning the yogurt tub was not intentional) and water. Equal parts of Greek Yogurt to water make a great substitute for buttermilk. I did end up adding a bit more yogurt because I'm familiar with the consistency of buttermilk, but if you decide to follow this quasi recipe, please feel free to write me for exact measurements as I wouldn't want anyone to have any Irish Soda Bread catastrophes due to my poor late-night instructions.

After mixing the ingredients and kneading the dough to press out any air bubbles, I slit the crosses into the mini-loaves. There are two stories that I've heard to explain why we make dividends in the bread: the first, by making a cross in the bread that one intends to consume, a family is forbidding the devil from entering the household and welcoming the Holy into their homes. The second - by making these cuts, it provides fairies an escape hatch so that they don't burn up in the oven. It would appear as though fairies have a tendency of dancing in dough.

Into the oven these fairy-free treats proceeded, ready to tan at 350*!

Almost one full Star Trek episode later, the mini-breads came out of the oven. Normally, the bread is supposed to be darker than this, but after baking for 40 minutes, I was becoming a bit nervous, so I removed them. However, after tasting one with a delicious jam spread, I'm likely to pop them in the oven tomorrow morning for another 5-10 minutes before taking them to be shared at the office. 

The moral of this late night blog (if there is any) is to work with me and you'll randomly and frequently receive delicious gluten free baked goods. 

Until Wednesday my dear readers,

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

PS - Happy St. Patrick's Day! Eat your soda bread and get your Guinness!

Tale of the Tamrins

Your moment of ridiculousness - to set the mood of battle that is about to overtake our darling Providence:


(Not sure what this video says about my humor, but Remi Gaillard is absolutely hilarious.)

Chapter 13: One Hell of A Woman

The explosions of lights, colors, and sounds was nothing when compared to the calamity Lin and Ms. Grace discovered upon reentering Providence.

During Ms. Grace’s run into Homewood, a Thomas discovered the Davis boys with ash stricken faces and hair spiked straight up from the blasts they started. The boys at that moment were relatively unscathed when weighed against the possibilities of what could have happened. However, the Thomas brought more damage to the boys than the sparklers and the flares – the boys had been dragged by their ears to the center of town to be publically punished for the fright they stirred in town. The Thomas man threw the Davis boys in front of the mayor. The children were visibly scared of what would happen to them. They were already alarmed enough as it was after what they went through; they could barely hear anything around them due to the awful ringing in their ears.

The parents of the boys rushed over to see if their kin were injured, but their tempers were only inflamed upon seeing that it was a Thomas attempting to bring their boys to justice. The verbal exchange between four Davis’ and one Thomas devolved to disaster as the numbers of representatives for both families increased.

The mayor and the reverend were the first to attempt an armistice, but their efforts were in vain. No one quite saw who threw the first fist of fruits at the other, but it was the act which started the catastrophe. The feud between the Thomas’ and the Davis’ erupted like nothing anything of these mortals had ever before seen.

When Howard arrived at the scene he thought for a moment that he had walked back through time to the days when the moon was stained with the blood of his enemies and his kin. It took him a long while to realize that this was a battle of mortals waged between two families for reasons unknown. As Howard walked towards the fight in the center of Providence with hoards of out-of-towners running as though for their lives, the patron thought, “What fools these mortals be, fighting for nothing. What happened to the days in which men fought for a cause, fought for their lives? These men and these women fight for nothing, they live for nothing, and now perchance for nothing they will die.”

Howard made it to ground zero to help the reverend, the mayor, and the other dozen men and women of Providence attempting to halt this violent brawl.

The scene was something like a dream. Ms. Grace and Lin stood on the outskirts of the commotion. The actions seemed to play in slow motion to the matron and to the school teacher. The same visions of old that Howard saw afflicted Lin. However, it took the matron only a moment ere she ran into the heap of flailing arms and inflated tempers to try to bring order again to Providence.

Ms. Grace stood rigid as she watched what she guessed to be a trifle started over absolute folly. She could not believe what she was witnessing. Her eyes saw Allison’s puff of blond curls waving madly about as she wrestled a chair out of another lady’s grasp with the aid of Mr. Dawning. Not too far from them Ms. Joyce was using her own body as a shield to protect and to herd a couple of children into Mrs. Huff’s teashop. Mrs. Huff and Mrs. Winford stood beside each other on the porch, a front row viewing pad. Their mouths were silent and agape. For once neither had a single word to say.

The thin cloud of dust that rose from the road cleared to bring Ms. Grace’s heart to stop. She found her reverend. Mr. Tamrin was beside the hat shop, his nose was bleeding. He had not made a single act of violence toward a single body, but his face was clipped by an elbow of a man struggling to free himself from another’s grasp. Ms. Grace wanted to run to Mr. Tamrin’s side, but she refrained. She saw that he was not alone. Mr. Tamrin was pushing two petrified teens into Howard’s protective arms. Ms. Grace did not hear what he said to his cousin, but she instinctively knew that he was saying: “These are the children I told you about; get them as far away from here as possible.”

The hope for peace between the two families was lost among the shouts and the rising dust.

Right after the children disappeared down a side street with Howard and Lin close behind, the unimaginable happened; the reverend turned around to rejoin the cause for peace when a woman threw her fist into his face.

Ms. Grace saw red.

Whether or not the punch was intended for the reverend, Ms. Grace was not about to waste time in asking. She began to rush forward, but her motion was almost immediately halted by a pair of arms that entrapped her. Ms. Grace squirmed and kicked as hard as she could, but for the second time that day a hand was slapped across her face. Yes, of course it was Mrs. Higley’s again, except this time her son had the nerve to accompany his mommy for whatever it was they had in mind for Ms. Grace.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Ms. Grace screamed once Mr. Higley released her from his clutches in the alley where he had dragged her. The weight of the day had enraged Ms. Grace to the point that for the first time in her life she was ready to pick a fight.

“Watch your tongue, you insolent child!” Mrs. Higley scorned. “Brian, for the life of me I cannot understand why you desire this parentless filth as your bride.”

Mr. Higley liked the current fire in Ms. Grace. He had never seen her angry before.

“Ugh,” Ms. Grace screamed, she did not have time for these people and their stupidity. “I am so frustrated with the pair of you and if I had any sense I would not agree to be any part of your sick game, but I will. I am not doing this for personal gain or for any want to be your bride, Mr. Higley – I am disgusted by the very thought of you. I am doing this for the sake of Providence, which is in obvious need of help at the present. Now,” Ms. Grace pointed her finger at Mrs. Higley and her son and for once both looked mildly intimidated, or at least they were offended. “I will only agree to this union under two conditions: one,” Ms. Grace looked directly at Mrs. Higley, “I need you to swear on your life that you will uphold your end of the bargain; and two, that you both swear on everything and anything you hold dear that you will not tell a soul of this engagement. I will tell people however and whenever I bloody choose.” Ms. Grace exhaled angrily and pulled her bodice down to where it belonged. She was all misarranged after being dragged into the alley. After straightening out her clothes, Ms. Grace began to storm out of the alley. However, she quickly turned back to say, “One last thing, Mr. Higley. You had better prepare yourself for me, laddie; I am one hell of a woman and I will not stand to be complacent or controlled.”

Ms. Grace left Mrs. and Mr. Higley in the alley to think on what she had said. They thought on the contract that they formed for a moment before both ran out to the street in time to see Ms. Grace knock out a woman with one brute punch of her fist in the middle of the mess of everything.

Ms. Grace’s knuckles were not made sore for nothing. The woman she knocked down with one swing had infuriated her on two accounts: firstly, the woman had never once came to pick up her young son Mr. Thomas after school, and secondly this woman dared to take a swing at her dear Mr. Tamrin.

Ruefully, Ms. Grace had to admit that in this case alone her little vendetta actually did taste sweet.

~*~*~

Gotta run!
See ya next week!

Your humble author,
S. Faxon