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?”
~*~*~
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
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