A Day in the Life and Providence

I know, I know, I skipped last week - but it was a holiday and I spent last Sunday eating potato salad with my family, which was a lot of fun. And as much as I know you all love my bog, reading it on Easter Sunday is not a ten minute escape from the 9 to 5. However, because I deprived you of escapes during the week, this one deserves to be extra awesome.

The last week has been pretty busy - yesterday alone I went down to the harbor,

It was a blustery day...

Strolled through Art Walk in Little Italy,

Happy 30th Art Walk San Diego!

Sipped specialty cocktails with locals, (my sister and her fiance),

We got to keep the mason jars and yes, that's a crab leg reaching for a cherry.

All before dawning my orange,

To celebrate Koninsgrad with the Dutchies!

Myself, Lieke (the Dutchie), and Melody at King's Day Celebration.

For those of you who may be unaware of the Orange, Koninsgrad, or the Dutch, please click this post link, "The Dutch", so that you don't feel left out when everyone is talking about my post around the water cooler on Monday.

And now that I've told you about a day in the life of me, let's get to the real reason why you're here. (Stop reading now if you're not caught up with the last Providence posts and go catch up. Go on, quit reading this one and take care of this business, no one likes people who skip chapters to figure out what happens next.)

Last week, Ms. Grace's house collapsed! (See, if you didn't read last week's that would be a total shock to you, so stop fooling around and go back to catch up!!!)

Whatever will become of her now? Guess you'll just have to read to find out what happens to Ms. Grace on Christmas Eve...

Chapter 16 Continued, The Gifts of Christmas

It was very late in the night once Ms. Grace finally returned to nearly full cognition. She sat up in a bed that was not her own. To her chest, she clutched a lovely quilt that she did not recognize. Upon further examination of everything she was also wearing a nightgown she had never seen before in a room that was foreign to her eyes. ‘What a queer surprise,’ she thought. Even though Ms. Grace initially did not have the foggiest recollection of what brought her to this place she was somehow comfortable with everything. With only two candles softly aglow, the room she was in was warm and inviting, almost familiar. There was a window on the other side of the small, cozy bedroom. She removed herself from the warm daybed to look through the glass. It was already dark out. She wondered what time it could possibly be. Her rational mind brought her back to the side of the bed to think a moment before leaving the security of the room to explore her surroundings. She sat back down tenderly, for her calf and back hurt cruelly for some reason or the next. Ms. Grace pulled up her night gown to rub her leg, for she thought it was simply asleep, but instead she found a horrific sight. The candles on the nightstand cast light onto a rather nasty looking bruise upon her fair leg.

Then it hit her.

A wave of memories bombarded Ms. Grace. Her house was destroyed because the infrastructure could not handle her body being used as a battery ram to break the door down so that Mr. Higley could do his wicked deed. She then remembered the sounds, none distinct, of dozens of voices rattling off gifts and assurances to her as she was kindly taken away to where she could not exactly remember. The gap between walking down the snowy main road of Providence and being helped into this bed by Allison and her mother was blank and empty. It was all very puzzling.

But, her rational mind would not stand to remain in the dark. Her unfocused eyes did another quick scan of her surroundings to see a robe – also not hers – neatly lying on the foot of the bed. Ms. Grace did the simplest act of reaching for the robe, only to retract her arm immediately. Her shoulder hurt dreadfully. She quickly untied the string holding the nightgown onto her body to evaluate the damage done. She turned herself this way and that in attempt to see the wound or bruise or whatever it was on her back in the small oval mirror on the bedside table. However, the light was far too dim to do anything but cast shadows across her skin, thus surely playing tricks on her blurry eyes as to the extent of its severity.

Her rational mind quickly discerned that she needed help. Ms. Grace restored her night gown to propriety’s standards and she delicately maneuvered herself into the robe. Oh, it was so deliciously warm and comfortable! Ms. Grace looked into the small mirror from the provocation of the robe feeling so large. She laughed out loud at the sight. It was the robe of a gentleman, but at least it covered her.

With a quick inhale to strengthen her nerves, Ms. Grace pushed open the door.

A smile was the instantaneous result of the environment change. She would know the sight of that hall and the scent of this house anywhere. She was in the care of the beekeeper. She laughed to think of how inappropriate this arrangement had become, but it suited her perfectly. In fact, being with the reverend in any way at all was her wish for Christmas this year. Her advice earlier to the young Mr. Winford was apparently spot-on.

The room that she left was the space where many a boarder had slept when the prices of the inn had turned passers-through-Providence away. The door of the reverend’s home was always open to those who were in need. It seemed funny to Ms. Grace that only when she had become a vagabond that she managed to justify coming into his home as one in need as opposed to simply one wanting attention.

She walked down the hall to the living room. It was filled with a gentle glow of warmth and light. When she passed the opened door of Mr. Tamrin’s room she glanced in to see if the good man was in bed. She saw no body in the bed, so with her heart pounding she proceeded forward under the assumption that it logically must not be too late in the night. However, had Ms. Grace seen the time her pocket watch was ticking, she would have returned to bed that instant. But because she was innocently ignorant to the hour the lady continued forward. Her bare feet made not a sound upon the long wooden planks. She tread lightly, for she spotted her host on the couch – his body was not angled towards her, so she could not see if he was awake or asleep.

Mr. Tamrin was in an awake-like state, but his head made not a thought or his body a move. His handsome almond shaped eyes stared unfocused into the fire while the pocket watch lying on his stomach ticked the time away.

Ms. Grace loomed over the other side of the couch to admire the peace of the moment. She briefly imagined herself to be Mr. Tamrin’s wife emerging from the bedroom to coo her husband to bed for rest. She could see that by the fire there was a pan of chestnuts ready to be roasted; for a moment she imagined that he had put off making the delicious treat for their children to be awake for the process in the morning. It seemed so real a fantasy in her heart. Ms. Grace was then awfully grateful for her rational head, which reminded her that the score was only pretend.

With absolutely nothing else to do, Ms. Grace softly cleared her throat to announce herself.

The relatively hushed declaration of another soul’s presence roused the reverend from his daze. “Ms. Grace,” he said as though surprised to see her. He quickly removed his outstretched legs from the couch, grabbing the pocket watch from his chest, to stand like a good man of Providence for a lady.

“Please, there’s no need to stand,” Ms. Grace excused with a hand held up to yield the man’s act. She chuckled then added, “This is hardly a formal meeting.”

This was true.

Mr. Tamrin slowly lowered himself back to the couch’s embrace and invited Ms. Grace to join him, but he had to turn his face away for a moment. Leaning over the arm rest pretending that he thought he dropped something, the reverend was able to conceal his expression, which said how perfectly lovely Ms. Grace looked wearing his robe. As the gentlelady took her seat, clinging the neck of said robe tightly closed over her chest, Mr. Tamrin attempted to recover himself through a nervously stated explanation of the situation; “I know that you must be thinking how inappropriate this is for us to be, well, to be alone together, but everyone else’s homes were full because of the holiday and it was unanimously agreed that putting you in a room at the inn was unacceptable,” (Ms. Grace snorted, scoffed and rolled her eyes, for she did vaguely remember that part of the hulabaloo.) “And since I usually welcome boarders into my home, I-I merely mentioned that I had the spare room, Ms. Grace. It was actually Mrs. Huff who had the final say so and condoned your staying here.” He would never have admitted it, but for once Mr. Tamrin was happy to not have been considered an eligible bachelor.

The gentlelady sat quietly, staring contently at Mr. Tamrin. She leaned back against the soft embrace of the couch only to jolt forward. The poignant reminder that she was injured came with the slightest touch of the cushion. The reverend saw the queer motion and promptly inquired if she was alright. Ms. Grace only nodded. She did not yet wish to spoil the moment with a complaint that was surely nothing. She instead adapted to the discomfort, leaning the right side of her body against the couch’s cushions for comfort’s sake. “Oh, Mr. Tamrin,” she sighed, “What on earth could I have done to merit such misfortunes? My whole house fell to pieces and I lost everything of material value and now I am stuck here with you.” She sighed again though this time with a playful smile, “Surely it is some trick of fate.”

The reverend thought so too, but he did not say anything. He was blissfully content to have such a forbidden intimate moment with Ms. Grace. He too imagined in his most secret thoughts that they were married and enjoying nothing more than a quiet Christmas Eve together – it was his Christmas wish to spend this night with her.

The pair stayed in such a peaceful way for a long time. In their silence Ms. Grace listened to the snaps and crackles of the burning logs, the ticks of the watch clutched in the reverend’s hand, and she even heard the calm steady breaths of the gentleman. But the ticks brought back to her thoughts one of those questions which frequented her mind. “What time do you have?”

With a sigh the reverend looked to his watch. He was not surprised to see that the hour was so late. “It’s a couple of minutes ‘til midnight,” he answered.

“Gracious,” Ms. Grace replied. In the absence of conversation she had forgotten her pains and mistakenly leaned back into the couch. Yet again she had the same concerning reaction.

“Ms. Grace?” Mr. Tamrin scooted himself directly beside the lady so he could ascertain what was so physically viciously grievous. “You’re hurt.”

However reluctantly, Ms. Grace nodded. “I do not know the extent,” she informed. “It’s actually the main reason why I came out; I have a favor to ask of you, Mr. Tamrin.”

“Anything,” Mr. Tamrin assured, hoping that he would be able to help Ms. Grace in any way she asked. Ms. Grace felt very uncomfortable asking this of a reverend especially to one that she found herself irrevocably attracted, but she needed to know. Ms. Grace pushed herself to sit at the edge of the couch. She swallowed hard then softly said, “Mr. Tamrin – I think that my back may have some sort of damage to it, er, I did try to look in the mirror to see how badly, but I couldn’t.” Ms. Grace refrained from admitting to the reverend that it was because her eyes were blurry, which made her unable to see the damage – she did not want him to think her weak in any way. (Mr. Tamrin swallowed hard. The poor man was growing increasingly nervous on two accounts: the first was for Ms. Grace’s sake – he saw the amount of pain she was enduring from something as insignificant as a touch from a pillow; the second, he already knew what she was going to ask him.) “Mr. Tamrin,” she continued, she then decided that if she said it all quickly it would seem that less a chore for either of them. “If I slide down the back of my garments would you look at my back and tell me if I ought to, I don’t know, be put in the care of the doctor in Portland or something?” Ms. Grace did not know if anything could be done for her injuries, but she had to hope that the grievance was not to the extent of needing medical attention.

Mr. Tamrin gulped out a ‘yes’.

Ms. Grace turned her front side completely away from Mr. Tamrin. She hesitated. She could almost hear what scorn would come from someone like Mrs. Huff for such a vulgar and unlady like act, but after a moment of reflection Ms. Grace failed to care. The woman slid the top part of the robe down past her shoulder blades. She tucked the lose parts of the robe underneath her arms only to realize that more of the robe would have to be removed so the nightgown could be taken down as well. Sighing at her foolishness, she had hoped to do this quickly and coolly as though she was totally comfortable with the situation, but her nerves were obviously clouding her thoughts. Her hands were trembling.

The reverend was not watching Ms. Grace perform her part. He was too much of a gentleman. His gaze instead watched the flames in the hearth dance. He only returned his focus to Ms. Grace once he realized that she had stopped moving. It was obvious that she was uneasy. He was glad to know that he was not the only one nervous for something as innocent as checking a friend’s back for injuries.

“Ms. Grace,” he kindly cooed, hoping to reassure her heart and head. “I assure you, dear lady, that my intentions are honorable. I would never compromise you in any way.”

Ms. Grace’s heart beat again. She was able to undress herself to the extent that she had planned. She would later consider herself silly for ever doubting Mr. Tamrin otherwise, but her reason was still scrambled from her experience earlier that day. It was the residual shock. Truth be told, thanks to Mr. Higley’s act, it would be ages before Ms. Grace was ever completely comfortable with any man alone save for Mr. Tamrin.

The black robe and the white nightgown were now safely tucked beneath Ms. Grace’s arms. Her back was exposed down past her rib cage, but her hands firmly pressed her clothes over her chest. She was comfortable with the reverend, but she was puzzled. For what reason was he so silent?

“Oh, Ms. Grace,” the man was finally able to omit a sound, but it was hardly comforting.

Finding herself to feel mildly awkward, the woman made a light joke, “Have I developed a hump? Glaring wickedly at you, is it?” The reverend did not laugh. There was nothing funny about what he saw. “Mr. Tamrin?” Ms. Grace timidly called.

The reverend’s heart actually hurt from the sight. It looked as though the house had fallen on Ms. Grace. Mr. Tamrin swallowed hard then said, “Ms. Grace, my God, why didn’t you tell anyone that something fell on you? Or that you were in any pain at all?”

Ms. Grace bit her lower lip. She did not tell anyone that something had fallen on her because nothing had done said deed. She was numbed from the pain because of her shock of nearly having a series of unspeakable deeds happen to her along with witnessing her house’s demise. These were not things one recovered from easily. (Let us not forget that this was the second house Ms. Grace had watched fall to the ground in her life.) Ms. Grace tried to conjure something to say because she did not want to be lost in the grim memories of losing her parents and nor was she ready to tell the truth about what happened earlier today. “I guess whatever fell on me must have knocked my head too,” she lied. “It all happened so fast, Mr. Tamrin. I, I really cannot remember if anything fell on me or not.”

The lateness of the hour and the sight of Ms. Grace’s bruises were trying on the soft hearted reverend. The swollen and discolored skin made him a little queasy, but he managed to collect himself. “Ms. Grace, why don’t you go lie down. I’ll be in there in a minute. I’m going to make a cold compress for you,” he instructed and informed.

Ms. Grace nodded then she began to restore her clothes to their proper places. She arched her shoulders to scoot the clothes up, but the act was horribly uncomfortable. Her muscles were so sore. Mr. Tamrin saw the way the ache afflicted Ms. Grace. Without time wasted on thought or a request from Ms. Grace for help, the reverend came to the lady’s aid. The gentleman helped her maneuver her nightgown back up and the robe’s sleeve’s back onto her arms. He did try to keep his fingertips from making direct contact with her skin, but (he would later admit only to himself) it was difficult for him not to absorb a thrill from so intimate an act.

“Thank you,” Ms. Grace whispered over her shoulder for services rendered. She sighed and kept her blushing face away from the reverend’s sight as they went their separate ways. The two were parted for only a couple of minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Alone, the rooms they occupied were so cold.

“Here you are, Ms. Grace,” the reverend said as he entered her room. She was sitting in the center of the daybed. In his absence, Ms. Grace removed the robe and nestled herself within the coverlet.

Seeing Ms. Grace looking at him so expectantly with an aired bed as the background made the reverend chuckle as he said, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but down flat on your stomach, you.” He could repress a smile, but he could not keep his face from blaring red.

Ms. Grace laughed regardless of her pain. This night only increasingly became more and more inappropriate, but she guessed that no one in Providence would so much as think that anything would pass between these two aside from congenial and proper conversations. Chuckling, she asked, “How on earth could anyone misinterpret that request?” She lay down on her stomach and pulled her nightgown to her shoulder blades, once more revealing her gruesome bruise.

The reverend sat on the edge of the bed beside the school teacher. It was very hard for him to see Ms. Grace with such an abhorrent looking contusion on her skin. He knew that she had to be in a considerable amount of pain, but she was hardly one to complain. “It’s amazing to me, Ms. Grace, that you are even able to walk with that much bruising on your back. You are very lucky that your spine’s not damaged.” The gentleman shook his head then he softly pressed the partly frozen cheesecloth full of snow to her back.

Ms. Grace tensed from the touch. The cold and the weight on her aching skin were not a pleasant mix of sensations. Her hands tightened into fists and her face scrunched. It felt downright awful. “Ugh, I guess in that case I am lucky,” she agreed with her face partly buried in the pillow. And as the reverend pulled up the quilt to cover her as much as possible without interfering with the compress, Ms. Grace again fell so in love. He plainly cared for her so much. It was sickening when she thought of Mr. Higley who was the complete opposite. With Mr. Tamrin she was safe. If she married Mr. Higley, the guttersnipe (to use Mr. Winford’s word), he would have every legal right to neglect, abuse, and punish her for anything he pleased. But if she did not marry the blighter there would be nothing she could do for the sake for her school. Regardless of her decision earlier, the selfless woman was regrettably stubborn.

But so was Mr. Tamrin. He would not so easily let her go.

The reverend lifted his legs from the floor to rest them on the bed beside Ms. Grace. He was not about to leave her side tonight. He was not sure if he imagined it, but during the day he swore he saw something like fear streak across Ms. Grace’s complexion at the queerest things. He knew that the dear woman was and would be shaky for some time, but he was not aware entirely of why. So for the time being Mr. Tamrin decided that regardless of her reasons, Ms. Grace needed to feel protected and safe. The gentleman propped himself beside her on that wee bed to be her guardian for at least this night. He kept the compress in place on her back and he even used his handkerchief to wipe away the condensation as it dripped down her sides.

The pair was quiet for a long time until the reverend omitted a tangent chuckle. Ms. Grace lifted her face from the pillow to inquire the meaning of his sudden chortle to which the reverend smiled charmingly. “Merry Christmas, Ms. Grace,” he wished, realizing that surely today was now the twenty-fifth.

Ms. Grace too smiled. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Tamrin,” she gaily returned. The gentlelady bit her lower lip then bashfully added, “I must confess; we are only a couple of minutes into the date, but thus far this has already become the best Christmas of my life.” She did not wait to see the reverend’s reaction, instead nestling her face back into the pillow. (The man was glowing with his elation.) Ms. Grace too was inwardly overjoyed. Thanks to that sniveling twit Mr. Higley, Ms. Grace and Mr. Tamrin were able to receive the best Christmas gifts either could have then imagined: a night beside the one they loved. 

~*~*~

Things could not be going better for Mr. Tamrin and Ms. Grace! But, will things stay this way in Providence, or will matters slip away from paradise? Tune in next week to read what happens next!

I'm determined to finish writing a book today, so we'll see how that goes. In the mean time, nothing to do and all caught up with my posts, why not read my book The Feasts and Follies of the Animal Court, available on Amazon Kindle and Barnes & Noble Nook. Full star reviews have to mean something good :)

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Chapter 16: Providence

Happy Sunday afternoon everyone!

Last week, Reverend Tamrin was resolved to take the future into his own hands. Let us now see what that no-good Brian Higley has in store within his wicked plans...

Chapter 16: The Gifts of Christmas

The path of the man named Brian Higley was not as straight as it was determined. The man was on a mission. A mission believed by him and his cruel mother-dear that would save his manhood, but more to that blighter and his woes later.

On this day the house and business of Mr. Dawning was hardly quiet or still. No matter how much Mrs. Dawning protested, Mr. Dawning insisted that the shop door remain open on Christmas Eve lest someone forgot a vital element of their holiday. But Ms. Grace who stood looking out the window in the shop was in need of nothing well, nothing that the store carried. She was here because she thought she would enjoy the company of a friend today. Allison had decided to stay around until the holidays ended, much to the delight of her parents, the Dawnings.

“I could order a pair if you’d like, Ms. Grace,” Mr. Dawning offered his daughter’s dear friend as the three of them looked over a thin catalog. The catalog was produced by a business the size of Providence in a city in the east – they were the main suppliers of Mr. Dawning’s shop. However, the item of inquiry was far too expensive for Ms. Grace’s budget for the next year, so she certainly was not about to order something she knew she could not afford.

“No, no thank you, Mr. Dawning,” Ms. Grace said, kindly dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been this way for several years, so I can continue to do without.”

“But, Gracie,” Allison protested, “Sweetie, how are you ever going to teach again if you can barely read anymore? You need those spectacles. We’ll get them for you. Consider it a gift.”

The offer was made from a genuine heart and Mr. Dawning stood behind the offer, but Ms. Grace found a way to wriggle out of so great a gift. She laughed ironically at herself then said, “But what the devil would I need to read if I haven’t even a schoolhouse with pupils to teach?” The remark was cruel to herself, but she sparsely cared. Ms. Grace knew full well that her schoolhouse would resume once the checks from Mrs. Higley came through, but she had not told a soul beside the reverend of the deal struck.

Business continued as usual for Mr. Dawning while Allison and Ms. Grace remained in the front of the shop.

And then it seemed like pure happenstance that the young Mr. Winford would arrive shortly after Ms. Grace made her comment about the schoolhouse.

“Ms. Grace!” the boy shouted, announcing his presence more loudly than the bell ringing above the door. It had been a long time since the boy saw the beloved school teacher. He gave her a wonderful hug.

The action nearly broke Ms. Grace’s heart. She missed her students dreadfully. She held onto the boy for a long while until he pulled away to give her a proper-Providence style greeting. “Hallo, ma’am,” he said with a bow of his head.

“Hello, Mr. Winford,” Ms. Grace returned. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for service tonight?” she said the first thing that came to her mind to keep herself from losing her composure, for this was hardly the place to burst into tears.

Allison stood from behind the counter. She had been organizing the shelves that she deemed to be too messy for her fastidious toleration. The young Mr. Winford greeted her as well before he answered Ms. Grace, “Yes, ma’am, but my dad sent me here to buy candles and sweets. He said that I should buy sum for m’ self, but I know that he’ll take a few too.”

“He would,” Allison sprightly said as she hopped up onto the counter to use it as a seat.

Mr. Dawning reentered the shop from the door in the back that led to the storage room and the rest of his home. “Why, young Mr. Winford, what can I get for you today, sir?” Mr. Dawning dutifully inquired. He ignored the fact that his daughter was swinging her legs merrily from her seat on the counter, something he knew his wife would not condone. The gentleman took the boy’s order for the candles his father requested, which were stored in the back and he asked his daughter to dole out a Christmas-appropriate amount of sweets.

While Allison broke up a couple of generous sized pieces of peanut brittle, the young Mr. Winford had a couple of questions to keep Ms. Grace busy: “Ms Grace,” he asked, “D’ you think that you could teach in the church? I asked Reverend Tamrin today already and he said that if I’m good and if I wish hard enough today and tomorrow that school’ll open again. Is that true?”

The young imploring face of Mr. Winford officially broke her heart. Ms. Grace put the bit of rope that she was fiddling with on the counter on which Allison was breaking the candy. Ms. Grace leaned down to Mr. Winford’s eye level and she gave a delicate answer, “Mr. Winford, I would be more than happy to conduct class in the church, but I am afraid it is a little more complicated than that, love,” Ms. Grace sighed then continued, “But, um, I would believe in what the reverend says about wishes on Christmas. If you want something as pure and as true as that, hold it to your heart tightly and maybe it will be.” The boy smiled, which was good enough a reaction for Ms. Grace. She stood erect as Allison handed the rather weighty bag of sweets to Mr. Winford.

 The lad thanked Allison for the incredible amount of candy and Mr. Dawning for the candles. The man tallied up the toll for the boy, which turned out to be a couple of pennies more than expected and not because of the candy. The candles that were requested were on the expensive side, for they were scented with cinnamon (it was a very rare spice in these parts). The boy mournfully went to return the candy out of guilt even though Mr. Dawning persistently assured that the candy was free. However, Mr. Dawning had to be unbending on the candles, for they were a pricey item for him to order.

Ms. Grace felt bad enough for the boy that she could not let him fail his mission on Christmas Eve. In the small purse she kept in her pocket, Ms. Grace removed five pennies that would cover the sweets, so no one would lose anything today. “Here, Mr. Dawning,” Ms. Grace offered the difference.

“Don’t worry about it, Gracie,” Allison assured, knowing that Ms. Grace was in no financial position to be charitable. Every soul in the room knew that Mr. Winford senior could more than easily pay for these requests and that he undoubtedly only accidently gave the boy the wrong amount (which was true), but that did not matter to Ms. Grace. There was a principle that she was trying to teach the boy – even when you have little, there is always something to be shared. “Please, Mr. Dawning, it’s Christmas,” she sweetly reminded, hoping that the adults would understand. “Let this be my gift to the young Mr. Winford.”

The boy felt terrible for letting a lady pay for his treats, but he made a solemn vow to tell his dad that they now owed Ms. Grace for her unfaltering kindness.

Mr. Dawning was not comfortable taking Ms. Grace’s money when he knew that she presently had no income, but he did for the sake of not making her feel ashamed. The little boy thanked Ms. Grace almost excessively then ran home to tell his father of this gift. Once the door was shut, Ms. Grace turned to her friend and to Mr. Dawning. “I think that I am going to head home now,” she informed.

“Will you be alright, Gracie?” Allison asked her friend as she handed her father the box full of the remaining peanut brittle. Allison, Hewie, Mrs. Elderbe, and J.J. were all concerned for their friend. No one understood her reasons for deciding to marry Mr. Higley. Their perspectives altered against the union once they realized that Ms. Grace took their advice seriously. No one liked that she actually chose to listen to their suggestions about Mr. Higley, but no one could convince Gracie otherwise. They all knew her to be stubborn.

“Yes, I am fine,” Ms. Grace lied with a convincing smile. She walked to the door and bid the Dawnings ta for now, “I’ll see you at church later,” Ms. Grace assured, but she was not wholly certain that she would attend. Even though it was Christmas Eve she wanted to be alone.

However, with Mr. Higley on the prowl to complete his mission to vilify his manhood, how could such a wish come true?

The snow that fell a couple of days ago was already melting. Today was indeed much warmer than normally expected for this time of year. As she took the back route through town to get to her house to avoid any chance conversations, Ms. Grace dreaded the musty way her residence was sure to smell because of those pesky leaky boards. The melting snow would surely be penetrating the ceiling as she presently carefully walked on the compacted snow. She knew that she would have no other choice but to wait for spring for the boards to be fixed, ‘but oh, yes, that’s right,’ Ms. Grace chuckled ironically to herself. She carefully skipped over a particularly dark area of ice on the ground as she remembered, ‘What difference would it make? I’ll be living in Mr. Higley’s house before long.’

The very thought of the man seemed to be some sort of beacon. At the precise moment the words passed through Ms. Grace’s head, Mr. Higley appeared from around the bend.

Ms. Grace jumped from the start. “Mr. Higley, you startled me,” she scorned, clutching to her heart.

Frightening Ms. Grace from his sudden appearance was not a part of the blighter’s mission, but it did fit nicely with his plot. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Ms. Grace,” he dryly greeted. He did not await a response of any sort. The cheeky prat looped his arm through hers then he began to drag her toward the schoolhouse.

Although she was terribly offended by his conduct, Ms. Grace did not say anything. She decided it better to begin to allow herself to be jaded by Mr. Higley’s queer behavior now rather than later.

As the pair approached the schoolhouse with their marked haste, Mr. Higley quietly commenced phase two of his mission: “Ms. Grace, I have been thinking about our future together. As much as I do like your fiery passions, I do not think that sort of behavior is a good quality in a wife.”

Ms. Grace thought the words to sound slightly promising, but she did not dare to hold her breath.

The pair flew passed the steps of the schoolhouse and stopped at the base of her house’s stoop. Do not for a moment believe that Ms. Grace was naive. She knew full well that Mr. Higley did not walk her home simply out of the kindness of his heart.

For a moment Mr. Higley looked this way and that. It was vital for his mission that no one saw his next step. The man’s big, cunning eyes were squinting from the brightness of the snow which was trapped between the plain of Providence and the thin clouds above. Finding that there were no other souls, not even a wandering cow in the meadow to see him, Mr. Higley cleared his throat and turned Ms. Grace to face him directly. She stared at him indifferently to intentionally misrepresent how aware she was of his coming actions. Her focus was so ready that it took a minute or two for her to realize the pain growing in her upper arms from the clutch he held on her.

“Ms. Grace,” he started with his pretty teeth shimmering brightly behind his cunning smile. There was a shade of malicious intent across his face that diverted Ms. Grace’s firm concentration. “The only way that I can ensure that you will remain faithful to the deal struck and to make sure that you are a proper behaving wife is to do what I must do now.”

That statement did not sound particularly pleasant to Ms. Grace and indeed, it was not.

Mr. Higley tightened his grasp on Ms. Grace so to throw her up the stairs. In the action, Ms. Grace’s boot slipped on the steps. She went crashing down. Her calf hit hard and awkwardly against one of the steps’ lip. She did not want to relent to Mr. Higley’s present ambition, but he was already pulling her back to her feet before she could so much as make an attempt to squirm away.

Mr. Higley shoved her shoulders against the door, knocking the wind from her lungs to keep her from verbally protesting. Ms. Grace’s back stung sharply from the hard contact her body made with the green brass knocker on her door.

For the briefest of moments, Ms. Grace thought that her house actually moaned in pain for her, but there were more pressing matters for her at hand. However, the sound was a cry from the house as a warning to its occupant of what was soon to come.

With excessive force Mr. Higley squished her between himself and the door.

Her back and her leg hurt dreadfully and she could not seem to cough air back into her lungs, but she ignored the pains. She beat and struck at Mr. Higley’s shoulder and chest as best she could. The brat was able to dodge his face away from her pummeling fists, though she was trying to break or damage the man’s pretty face in any way she could. She was putting up a fairly good fight for a woman of her size. She did not want it to go this way and she was too stubborn to give it up without a fight.

But Mr. Higley was able to deter Ms. Grace’s strikes with one hand while with the other he fiddled with the door’s knob that would not turn. (Ms. Grace had taken to locking the door to keep any other teens from entering her house). Mr. Higley cursed loudly (oh! How the buildings of Providence shivered from the course word!) From his frustrations he commanded Ms. Grace to open the door.

Ms. Grace was hardly about to perform that command. She had no intention of obeying this man now or ever for that matter. As far as she was concerned, the deal was off. Nothing was worth the abuse.

The woman made to start screaming, for she had finally regained her breath, but Mr. Higley saw what she was about to do. He slapped his hand over her mouth. He muzzled her to keep her from screaming. Seeing that she was becoming too much to handle Mr. Higley did something unconceivable for a man of Providence. Without thought he slammed Ms. Grace against the door again to subdue his prey.

Again the brass knocker struck her in the same spot on her back as before. The pain was dizzying. The violent act certainly did subdue her to near complete complacency. The distraction from her eyes focusing in and out from the pain almost caused Ms. Grace to miss a cue that otherwise would have ended in complete disaster. She hardly heard the house moaning twice as loudly, before she was fully able to realize what was happening.

Running his hands wildly through her pockets to find a key, Mr. Higley was too focused on getting the partially limp body of Ms. Grace inside to have noticed what was happening.

While a tingling feeling returned life to Ms. Grace’s limbs, her eyes crawled up to look at the ledge above her. Even though the roof was slanted a good meter’s worth of melting snow lay atop. Those leaking boards in the ceiling were saturated and weak. The slow trickling drips coming off the gutter were hardly sufficient to alleviate or to help evade what was imminent.

The moaning turned progressively louder until it happened with a snap. The force of Ms. Grace being twice pounded against the edifice and the weight of the melting snow were the last abuses the house could stand.

With later reflection on the day, Ms. Grace would smile to think that her house saved her from something horrid, but at the moment, Ms. Grace could only hope to get away quick enough before the house did something horrid to her.

“BRIAN, MOVE!” Ms. Grace screamed as with one tremendous push she shoved the fool completely off her. The man lost his footing on the slippery steps and went tumbling back. The compacted snow caught him with a crunch.

Ms. Grace leapt off her stoop into a large mound of snow just in time.

With a roar like a bear the entire roof of Ms. Grace’s house caved in and came down.

Crawling and kicking herself back so that no stray wall would fall on her, Ms. Grace watched her entire home collapse for the second time in her life.

Coughing and struggling for air, Mr. Higley too crawled away as quickly as he could. He could care less about the house; he was only concerned about regaining his breath and staying away from that crumbling infrastructure.

A puff of white from the dust and from the snow gracefully lifted itself like a halo around the walls of Ms. Grace’s destroyed place of residence. She sat with eyes and mouth opened wide as she stared at the pitiable disaster. The teacher managed to mechanically scoot herself a leg’s distance more into the field as the front door fell down the stoop as if out of spite. In her shock, she chuckled at the thought, “There you are, Mr. Higley; the door shan’t be an issue for you anymore,” but that was all she would be able to clearly think for the rest of the day.

Mr. Higley’s thoughts were slow to develop. He was presently only able to realize how close he came to being at the bottom of those boards, bricks and snow, which might have served him right for what he was about to do to Ms. Grace. It was ironic that he was spared because of the presence of Ms. Grace. She certainly did not deserve to go out in so odd yet ordinary a fashion. No, her fate was destined to be far nobler than that.

In Ms. Grace’s and Mr. Higley’s incapacity to return to normalcy, the sound of the unforeseen destruction called many a member of Providence to come running out from their homes.

“What happened?!”

“What was that?!”

“Where did it come from?!”

The neighbors asked one another as they all popped out onto their porches, wrapping their coats around their bodies already dressed for church. It was not long at all before most of Providence was stationed on their porches to see what could possibly have happened to make such a ghastly noise. The people did not have to wonder long where the direction of the hullabaloo commenced, for the cloud of dust had now risen above the rooftops. Nearly everyone’s heart stopped when they realized from where the sound was produced.

Mrs. Huff was the first to step off her porch to say, “Oh, my God. Ms. Grace!”

Providence did not waste a breath – they all went tearing off to the school teacher’s rescue.

But Ms. Grace’s savior had already arrived at her side. He swept in like a wingèd guardian. Ms. Grace did not hear him approach, but she knew from the second he kneeled beside her to gently scoop her from the ground that her heart was here. She could hear its tick.

Mr. Tamrin wrapped his cloak around Ms. Grace’s shoulders. The poor dear was shaking uncontrollably from her shock. He asked her if she was injured, if she was alright, but his and everyone else’s voice was muzzled in her ears. It was the shock. From what the reverend could visibly discern Ms. Grace did seem to be all in one piece, but Mr. Higley on the other hand completely fell apart. The fool started screaming like an infant, but before he could be interrogated or even asked if he was alright, the boy went limping home to his mother. His mission had failed and his manhood hurt something terrible from when Ms. Grace kneed him to get him off her.

The next couple of hours Ms. Grace would later hardly remember. As the afternoon slipped away into twilight, Ms. Grace heard, but did not absorb any of the words from the people of Providence who were selflessly giving her generous gifts: she was to receive several dresses and trunks in which to store them; many quilts were coming her way from many different women; pens and parchment and loads of Christmas decorations were coming to her from the Winfords; a lifetime of tea was promised to her from her old ward Mrs. Huff; countless shoulders to cry on any time were also proclaimed and also came an incalculable slew of promises that everything would be alright.

Christmas Eve mass was postponed until tomorrow on Ms. Grace’s behalf. The story of the golden spiders could wait. Actually, after consideration the people of Providence unanimously decided to henceforth combine the Christmas Eve mass and the Christmas day mass to make things easier on everyone.

~*~*~

The tables are turning at last for Ms. Grace and Mr. Tamrin. Tune in next week to see what happens next!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Chapter 15 Providence

Good morning to you lot! Hope you're enjoying your Sundays - it's a bright, beautiful one here in SD.

Last time we left off in Providence, Mr. Tamrin was in despair for losing his chance at Ms. Grace. Let's see where fate is taking the Reverend and the School Teacher.

Chapter 15: The Golden Perspective of Spiders

Back in the shop of Mrs. Huff where little to nothing ever changed, the gossip continued as ever.

“What do you suppose Sunday’s sermon was about?” Mrs. Huff asked Mrs. Winford as she stared out the window distorted by fog.

The younger woman had not actually given Sunday’s sermon a second thought, so the question caught her rather off guard. “Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Huff?” Mrs. Winford asked with a mouth full of crumpet.

Mrs. Huff continued to hold her tea cup against her bulbous bosom as she stared pensively out the window. “I do not know myself, tell the truth,” she answered after while. “It just, it did not seem in place with the rest of the service, what the reverend said about ‘gifts’ and all, you know?”

“Honestly, I haven’t the foggiest,” Mrs. Winford felt a little sour that she could not contribute to the conversation, save for her small joke and allusion to the fog on the window. (There was a drop or two of whiskey added to this special holiday mix of tea they were now sipping.) Mrs. Winford’s cheeks were several shades pinker than normal and every now and then she would hiccup or giggle uncontrollably much to the distaste of the cats lurking about the teashop. Even though alcohol was viewed as the bane of Mrs. Huff’s existence, it still served its purpose to make a proper hot toddy.

Seeing that she would get no further with her present course to introduce a new conversation, Mrs. Huff greyly gave up and turned to something familiar: “Lord save us, can it really be Christmas Eve already! It seems like only yesterday that Ms. Grace made the announcement of her engagement to Mr. Higley.”

“I know, time is not with us, Mrs. Huff,” Mrs. Winford said ruefully as though it was a personal attack against them two personally. “At least this morning is warmer than it has been all week. Ugh, this snow is probably going to interfere with the attendance at church tonight. Oh, that reminds me, you are still coming to Mr. Winford’s and my dinner tonight and tomorrow, yes?”

“Of course, I’ll not miss it for the world,” Mrs. Huff confirmed with a stout nod. “Is your husband preparing the house as we speak?”

“Oh, he had better be doing what he was told,” Mrs. Winford angrily snapped. “If I find that he has not lifted a finger, I’ll take his pen and pipe away for good.”

And thus, another fit of girlish giggling annoyed the kittens of the Huff household.

~*~*~

Mr. Winford was not idly smoking with his friends as Mrs. Winford assumed. In fact, he had been working diligently all morning in his house by means of cleaning with his son. The boy was bored beyond capacity because his school was closed, so even dusting countless numbers of his mother’s knickknacks was an appealing way to occupy the time. The Winford men performed the work expected and as they were finishing the last aspects of their duties, an unexpected knock came to their door.

Mr. Winford answered the call only after he promptly removed the white-frilly apron he was wearing to keep his clothes from being dirtied by anything that so much as resembled dust. After throwing what was in fact his wife’s apron onto the coat-rack Mr. Winford opened the door. There standing on the stoop was Mr. Tamrin with something less than a smile on his face. He looked as though he was in some sort of need.

“Hello, Mr. Tamrin,” Mr. Winford warmly greeted. “Shouldn’t you be brushing up for service tonight?”

Mr. Tamrin sighed and replied, “I’ve given it a couple times before, I think I’m ready to step up to the pulpit at this minute if so asked.” The reverend cleared his throat then said far more seriously and softly, “Um, for the time being…Mr. Winford, I have a favor to ask of you. I, I don’t know to who else I should turn, but I have something on my mind. But before I take one step closer, I need your word…”

“Mr. Tamrin,” Mr. Winford kindly interrupted. He had a very good idea where this conversation was destined. “A while back I told you that my door would always be open. I give you my word as a man that I will not share your story to any other – and my wife is not here, so your timing is perfect, actually.”

A sigh of relief came from the reverend as he crossed the threshold. Mr. Tamrin stepped out of the cold world covered in white only to enter its polar opposite. The entirety of the Winford household was brightly decorated in everything from red and green streamers to silver bells. “So this is what they mean by a winter’s wonderland?” Mr. Tamrin jokingly asked. He briefly wondered if any of the men at the barbershop had ever been in Mr. Winford’s house during the Christmas season. However, on further thought the reverend decided that he was probably the first, for one look at a scene of this grandeur would produce jokes that would last for years.

Mr. Winford scoffed – his disgust with the obsessive amount of holiday decorations his wife possessed was obvious. “I just grit my teeth and pretend that it is all nothing more than a very bad dream,” Mr. Winford explained as he showed the reverend to the dining hall. This room too was strewn with every sort of Christmas themed decoration imaginable. The reverend uneasily took a seat at the table with a long red runner laying down its middle much like a tongue. No plates yet lined the table, but the reverend had a sneaky suspicion that the flatware would be lined with silver (a fine rarity in Providence). Mr. Winford did very well for himself as a journalist, but it was the dowry profits that allowed him and his wife the luxuries of such comforts or burdens, depending on one’s perspective. The reverend did not have any type of luxury or decorations in his home. The church was the place that he brought to life with light and the Christmas spirit. A person would never be able to tell that it was Christmas at all were they to enter his house at this time of year. He suddenly felt small for only having chestnuts to be enjoyed by himself tonight.

“Before we talk, Mr. Tamrin,” Mr. Winford quietly started as he leaned atop the dark wooden chair’s back. He rubbed his forefinger and thumb together a moment as he contemplated the best way of asking his question. Mr. Winford sighed then asked, “Am I right to assume that this conversation may concern Ms. Grace?” he whispered her name.

The reverend thought Mr. Winford’s behavior to be quite odd, but Mr. Tamrin pushed aside the mildly eccentric behavior of Mr. Winford and he answered the man with a sharp nod of his head.

Mr. Winford nodded as though they had reached some sort of unspoken understanding. The master of the house politely held a finger up to the reverend to excuse himself as he loudly called for his son.

The young Mr. Winford came thumping down the wooden stairs at a run. His bright cheery face came ‘round the corner with a smile the reverend had never seen before (the boy was rarely visibly happy, for the poor lad was almost always overridden with some type of unpleasantness or another from other than his mother.) The boy stepped up to his father’s side. The lad and his dad seemed to be the only things within this house not afflicted with decorative streamers or, God help them, mistletoe.

“Hallo, sir,” the lad kindly and respectfully greeted the reverend. With a smile as bright as the snow, the reverend returned the greeting. Before either of the adults were privileged the opportunity to speak, the boy instead asked, “Reverend Tamrin, sir, is the church going to take over our classes now that the school’s closed? Will Ms. Grace teach us with you there now that the schoolhouse is inop’rable, as it were?”

The question was innocently posed, but it cut the reverend deeply. The gentleman had made the very same proposal three weeks ago to the mayor that Ms. Grace ought to be allowed the church’s building as an impromptu schoolhouse, but the man would not absorb a word. The mayor was too personally involved with this mess to hear alternatives to the deal his sister struck.

The reverend briefly bit his thin and pink lower lip and he ran his hand over his face. “At the moment, young sir, I do not have an answer,” the reverend sighed and looked to Mr. Winford. The latter apologized for his son’s question, which he knew was not helping the reverend’s reason for being here today.

The look on the little boy’s face was beyond pitiable. School and class with Ms. Grace was his refuge from his mother’s silly chores and her painstaking, never-ending gossiping. The look of the child was even more devastating to the reverend than his own current problems. He knew that once Ms. Grace married that buffoon the schoolhouse would reopen, but he also knew that no one else was aware to the condition for why Ms. Grace would chose Mr. Higley. However, if he played his cards right, the reverend knew that he could more than less trick a little faith into the boy with this topic, which was terrible, but at least the boy would feel better. Mr. Tamrin leaned forward, bringing his eyes to level with the young Mr. Winford. He could not let the boy carry on the day with wounded hope. “I’ll tell you a secret, Mr. Winford,” Mr. Tamrin started, addressing the boy. “Because tomorrow is Christmas all wishes and all prayers carry a little extra weight. So, tonight and tomorrow if you behave as best you can and if you hold your wish for Ms. Grace’s classes to resume tightly within your heart – then indeed, lad, there is a very good chance that your wish will come true.”

Being a child the boy did have a list of other things he wanted for Christmas, but because Ms. Grace was an exceptionally nice and smart lady, the young Mr. Winford nodded resolutely. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“There’s a good lad,” the reverend said brightly. He sat properly in his chair once more and Mr. Winford Senior took the initiative to complete his original task.

Mr. Winford patted his son’s shoulders. “Right, um, why don’t you put on your coat and gloves, son, and run over to Mr. Dawning’s shop; see for me if he’s still open, and um, pick up those candles we were talking about earlier. And,” Mr. Winford reached into his pocket to pull out a couple of coins. “Here, why don’t you pick up yourself a couple of sweets if the store has any, alright?”

The boy gladly accepted the coins. (Sweets were a top priority on his list of Christmas wishes). With a shouted thank you, the young Mr. Winford ran off to do as told.

“Don’t forget your cap!” Mr. Winford called after the boy before he joined the reverend at the table.

The men sat in silence until the door closed behind Mr. Winford’s son. “Alright, my friend, I’m ready to listen,” the master of the house informed in a manner that made even his droll voice sound inviting.

Mr. Tamrin leaned his forearms onto the table even though he was hesitant to do so at first for fear of disturbing the decorations. The reverend sighed and uneasily began. “Even though everyone may not realize this, but since I arrived in Providence this town has changed so much – some for better, some for worst, but nothing thus far has been so tragic as what is being allowed to happen to Ms. Grace. My personal feelings for her aside, the fact that Providence is rolling over to allow her school to close is preposterous! Does anyone actually listen to me when I preach ‘help and love thy neighbor’ in church?”

“You know for certain that at least one person takes to heart what you say,” Mr. Winford suggested with a shrug. “Ms. Grace. She is undoubtedly the most pious and giving and selfless of us all. I cannot imagine her marrying the likes of Brian Higley, which was what I figured you were here to talk about. My wife used to ramble on and on about him – and I assure you that all stopped once she learned about their union. Even she is uncomfortable by it. I’ve never liked him, his mother, his father when he was alive – the whole family is ghastly. If it’s alright for me to say,” Mr. Winford quickly second guessed what he was saying, remembering that he was in the company of a reverend.

Mr. Tamrin leaned back lethargically in his chair. He waved his hand in the air and excused his friend, “Oh, say away. I’ll not cast you into a lake of fire for speaking your mind.” The man gave a weak smile, yet he still did not look an iota of his old cheery self. Mr. Tamrin added with a shrug to fortify his point, “I’ve done nothing but deprecate the man in my own thoughts these last few weeks, so really, feel free to say whatever you please. Your ill thoughts of him cannot compare to mine.”

Mr. Winford lightly tapped his finger tips to the table top and said without want of censure, “You know, Mr. Tamrin, I don’t think that anyone is genuinely pleased about their union. My wife admitted to me last night that even old Mrs. Huff has a lousy feeling about their upcoming wedding, which is funny if you really think about it; the hottest topic all summer was about trying to convince Ms. Grace to acknowledge Mr. Higley courting her, but I think that people are second guessing their ideas now that their hopes are coming true.

“God, when I heard about Ms. Grace’s announcement three weeks ago I was disgusted and appalled. My first thought was, ‘but why in God’s name would someone as intelligent as Ms. Grace marry a guttersnipe like Brian Higley?’ Especially when you two…I, know it’s presumptuous, but it was obvious to me and I thought for sure…” Mr. Winford licked his lips then continued less vigorously, “In all honesty, Mr. Tamrin, I do not understand how she got away from you. In the whole of two classes I attended with my wife following that weekend when I learned of your attractions for Ms. Grace, it was only too obvious to me her feelings for you. The admirance she had in her stare for you was, God, it was something that I have never seen before. If that wasn’t love?”

“Love was not the issue,” the reverend sourly said, inwardly cursing himself. He clutched to the watch in his pocket as he had grown so accustom to doing of late.

“Then for god’s sake man, what was the issue?” Mr. Winford blatantly asked. “Is it because of the church? Are you not permitted to marry? Oh, Lord, did you actually ask and she denied you?”

“No, to all,” the reverend growled. He looked offended so Mr. Winford decided to wait before saying anything else to allow the man a chance to answer. In that space of time the reverend stared at three faux-gold beaded spiders perched atop a mess of silver tensile on the far side of the room. The story of the three spiders briefly popped into the reverend’s head. He was very familiar with the tale of the arachnids being curious about a tree that came into their home. From their corner in the living room, they happily watched the family of the home adorn the tree with all sorts of sparkling decorations and candlesticks aglow. Once the family decided that their task had been one well done, the people left the living rooms to adjourn to their beds. The spiders took the opportunity to look at every limb and trinket upon the tree. They oohed at the golden beads. They awed at the knitted angels. But they were most struck and most impressed with the beautiful glass star that crowned the mighty tree. Quite simply, it was the most spectacular thing that the spiders had ever seen. Feeling satisfied by their explorations, the spiders lowered themselves to the ground, only to discover in great horror that they had unintentionally completely covered the entire tree with their webbing. The spiders began to wail and cry because they thought that they had ruined the magnificent efforts of the family with their mess of web. They wept from their despair. However, a shimmering light appeared and an angelic voice spoke to the three spiders and he said to them, ‘But, no, look again,’ and in an instant the grey web turned to silver tinsel and the tree spiders glittered like gold from their unintended gifts. The tree was not ruined, but changed into something even more great.

The reverend smiled to think of this story, which he told every year to the children of Providence on Christmas Eve with the intended message that no matter how messy or entangled life could sometimes become there was always a chance for a happy ending if one only looks at the situation another way. The changed perspectives of the spiders warmed the reverend's heart even though indeed his present situation still appeared to be trapped in cobwebs. He wondered if in his case with Ms. Grace the little spiders would hold out with their message.

The good man eventually sighed and added to his earlier succinct answer, “Reverends are not like priests; we are allowed to marry and, no, I never asked Ms. Grace to marry me – didn’t get the chance.” For a long while the reverend inwardly debated sharing with Mr. Winford the real reason why he did not ask Ms. Grace to marry him long before the wicked contract was struck between her and the Higleys. It was an extremely sensitive subject for the reverend. The topic struck him hard every week with the reminder he had when dining with the vampires. The mirror above their table always spoke the truth – they remained the same, but he grew greyer with every passing visit. The reverend knew that it was a vice to be jealous of anything, but in this one case he was green with envy of Mr. Higley’s youth. Mr. Tamrin removed the watch from his pocket. He set it on the table and then arranged the chain around the face, which told him it was less than a quarter ‘till five. The Christmas Eve mass would start in a little over an hour and there was still much to do at the church before service could commence. He could not now afford to waste time with hesitation. “I’m not young any more, Mr. Winford,” Mr. Tamrin bluntly confessed. “I’m forty-four, I know that you and I are about the same age and I mean no insult to you, but at least you have a well-established family. Mr. Winford, what do I have? A garden? A hive of bees? Those are hardly gifts enough to woo a young lady like her to an old man like me. Mr. Higley, on the other hand, is young and wealthy and time has not touched him yet.

“People would have the conversation with me that it is a shame that there are no ‘eligible’ bachelors in Providence aside from Mr. Higley for Ms. Grace. People here don’t even see me as a man viable for marriage. And why shouldn’t they? I’m old enough to be her father!” The reverend hated himself for actually admitting what he never even fully brought to thought, but it was the main reason why he was hesitant to pursue Ms. Grace. And, poor dear, when he finally mustered the courage to ask, he was already too late.

Mr. Winford felt awful. He was among those who had not considered Mr. Tamrin an eligible bachelor, but at least not because of his age. “Mr. Tamrin,” Mr. Winford pursed his lips a tick before he figured what was appropriate to say, “I never thought of you as eligible because I was ignorant enough to assume that reverends could not marry. The reverend we had before you was an ignominiously grim person, which was why he was a bachelor, now I understand, so that is my reason alone. But I don’t think that people would pass scorn toward you for loving her.”

“Come on,” Mr. Tamrin snappily asked, “Surely you don’t believe even our Providence would be happy to see an old man like me take a young bell like Ms. Grace as my bride.”

Mr. Winford inhaled deeply then to emphasize his coming point, the man hit his fist to the table’s top. All the little decorative things on the table sounded a quick ring from their shock of the sudden strike. “Dash it all, Mr. Tamrin, damn what people say! Who cares? It is your life. You are the single most respected person in Providence. If you had asked Ms. Grace to be your wife, no one would have given it a second thought, save for, ‘oh, yes, why didn’t we realize how marvelous a couple you two would be?’” Mr. Winford on that last note mocked the tone of his wife’s voice, which actually was a good impression. “Go to her now, sir! Go to her and prove to her your love. Take her hand back from Mr. Higley! Don’t sit idly by wallowing in self-pity while that infernal little prat who had the world handed to him on a silver platter steals your girl, mate!”

“It’s not that simple!” the reverend barked. His evident anger was something Mr. Winford had never before seen in the reverend, so he gave the man more attention than he had ever done for another soul. Mr. Tamrin’s eyes searched the table top as though what needed to be said was hidden somewhere among the silver candlesticks and the pepper shaker. “There is another piece to this mess, which I cannot divulge for Ms. Grace’s sake. It is a disaster owed to the Higleys that binds her to their servitude like a slave. Try as I have, I cannot find a clause to get her out of their exploitative contract.” The reverend sighed heavily from his defeat. As it was, in the past week the reverend had risked everything to talk the mayor out of what he was allowing to happen to Ms. Grace. Mr. Tamrin was no longer even on speaking terms with the mayor.

The reverend sunk down in his seat as he said mournfully, “I believe I have now outstayed my welcome in Providence.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Mr. Tamrin,” Mr. Winford said, thinking that the reverend was making a light joke, but unfortunately Mr. Tamrin was not.

Shaking his head from his shame, the reverend admitted what happened between himself and the mayor: “I have made my case so loud to the mayor to reinstate funding to the schoolhouse that the man now not only turns his ear away from me, but he turns from me as well. Mr. Winford, the mayor told me that if I say one more word to him about the schoolhouse or of Ms. Grace that he will have me thrown from town.”

“That’s abominable!” Mr. Winford shouted. “That’s a crime against Providence! The mayor could be expelled by us for even speaking of such an atrocity.”

Again Mr. Tamrin shook his head. “It is actually a duty inscribed in his mayoral powers to be able to exile whom he pleases if he believes it is in the interest of protecting the town – which I am sure he would make a viable case before the magistrate to prove. And even if all of Providence went before the local magistrate with a choir of angels and tears in their eyes, it wouldn’t make any difference in the world.”

“Damn, I forgot. The magistrate is the mayor’s brother in law, isn’t he?” Mr. Winford asked to verify his recollection.

The reverend nodded. “What a fine and entangled web we mortals weave,” he gloomily said with an ironic look to those golden spiders. “I think that, actually, for Ms. Grace’s sake and for my own, which I do have to take into consideration, I ought to return myself to Southern Viramont from where I came…I should leave Providence for a while.”

“But, good Lord, man, wherever would you go? And why, unless you are thrown out? We need you. I cannot imagine this town without you, we’d all fall to pieces,” Mr. Winford immediately thought of his sanctuary; who would correct the men in the barbershop when their morals went astray if not Mr. Tamrin? Who would make them feel guilty for gossiping and complaining like their wives whom they were complaining about in the first place? No, Providence without the reverend was an abhorrent thought, no, it was even worse than that, the journalist figured. It was downright sacrilegious. “I won’t let you go, mate,” Mr. Winford informed. “None of us will.”

Mr. Tamrin thought of Ms. Grace and the position she was putting herself in to save the children. He could not help to feel similar to her in this sense that Mr. Winford was begging him to stay for the town’s salvation even with full knowledge that the reverend would be plagued with the pain of watching Ms. Grace deteriorate day-by-day from being Mrs. Higley.

They would be mated in their misery.

The reverend sighed and reached in his pocket to remove and expose the reason why he felt compelled to leave. It was rather small and cool to the touch. It was simple, but it had a resonating charm about its golden face. Mr. Tamrin placed a ring beside the silver pocket watch on the table. He stared at it a second then said, “I’m considering leaving because I am not as strong as Ms. Grace. I do not know if I could stand to live here while watching that punk-kid take on the life that I had imagined for myself. I could not sit by idly and watch him ruin her.

“Ms. Grace specifically asked me not to marry them, but then what? Am I to give Mr. Higley communion and baptize his children while I watch her crumble from the strong woman she is today into a woman who does nothing but obeys? That will be what hurts the most – watching the metamorphosis of the warm glow grow grey and dull from her beautiful eyes.

“I fall in love with her every time I see her, Mr. Winford. That won’t stop just because another man marries her. Even as much as I do not approve of their wedding, I still view the bond of marriage as the most sacred gift we mortals may possess. I am afraid of the potential consequences of what could happen if I stay.” The reverend looked to the window full of white at the other end of the dining hall only to see the blackguard himself walking past. “There he goes now,” thoroughly disgusted, Mr. Tamrin scoffed and pointed to the window.

Mr. Winford turned around to see Mr. Higley. He rhetorically muttered, “He certainly looks determined, the brute. Wonder where he’s of t’? I wonder, if we threw a well-aimed rock at him from the roof, would anyone suspect it of either of us?” Mr. Winford moved himself to face the table and his company once more. The last light words were clearly not taken as a joke. It pained Mr. Winford to see the spiritual leader of the town looking so lost, but he was glad that he could at least be here for the reverend’s sake. “What do you think you’ll do with the ring?”

The reverend pensively touched a loving finger to the band as he said, “I honestly do not know.” He chuckled then added, “Maybe I could donate it to the schoolhouse to give it at least a couple of days’ worth of supplies.” The ring had been pricey, but the reverend was then willing to give up anything if it was to be an appropriate life partner for Ms. Grace’s hand.

An idea then so queer yet very clever hit Mr. Winford. “You should give it to her,” he succinctly and excitedly suggested.

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Tamrin could hardly believe that he heard correct.

“No, really,” Mr. Winford insisted as he began the most passionate speech of his life. It made perfect sense to him. “Think about it a moment and then I’ll let you go because I realize that it is getting late. If you give Ms. Grace the ring as an innocent present between friends, granted a markedly personal and mildly suggestive present (I will not be held responsible for any consequence of this exchange), she will always have a sort of everyday reminder that no matter how terrible a man she marries, somewhere there is a man who regards her more highly than any gift in life. It would be one of those comfort things that women seem to be so keen to receiving, you know? At the end of the day it will be that one thing that makes wherever she is her home because it is her reminder that she is loved. And isn’t that really all that matters? Knowing that one is loved?” Mr. Winford asked with a shrug. He stood which the reverend did as well. “In all seriousness, my friend, it is the most you could do for her and yourself as a means for closure.” He patted the reverend’s shoulder then jokingly added, “Besides, what the hell else could you do with it besides wallow over how much money you spent for nothing?”

The reverend rolled his eyes. As silly as the last comment was the overall point did have a convincingly resonating tone, but that was not the reason why the reverend did eventually choose to seek out Ms. Grace. A single look to the pocket watch fully convinced the reverend. He did hold her heart, so why should she not have his?

~*~*~
For my readers who have been with me a while, you may recognize the story about the spiders. This is the book that I referenced in that post many moons ago in this post "Golden Spiders": http://thereadingescape.blogspot.com/2013/01/golden-spiders.html 

Alrighty all, tune in next week for, well, you know. 

Your humble author,
S. Faxon