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
S. Faxon
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