Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day!

With all of the picnics and gifts of bouquets that were exchanged today, I figured that most of my readers would not likely dedicate time to reading blogs this evening. Tomorrow I will publish our regularly scheduled continuation of Providence, but for today, allow me a moment to honor my mother.

For those of you who may recall, last year I wrote a post dedicated to my mom. For those of you who were not here last year, here is a link to the post - Special Edition Mother's Day

Today, my sisters and I treated our mother to a breakfast at Cody's in La Jolla where we enjoyed the morning with delicious challah french toast and a nice ocean breeze.

View from Cody's outdoor seating

Mom opening her gifts

Afterward, mom, dad and I went for a lovely stroll down at Sea Port Village.

My mother and me at Sea Port Village

We enjoyed coffees from my favorite coffee shop, The Upstart Crow. (There's honestly no telling as to how many hours, money and parking validation tickets that I have invested in that coffee house!)

To my mother and to all the mothers out there, happiest of mother's day to you!

See you tomorrow!
Your humble author,
S. Faxon

Wild Animals and Providence

Alas, there are no wild animals in Providence, unless you count the chickens, but there were wild animals in my life throughout the week.

In the beginning of the week, there was an epic battle between Bella Tuna Todd and myself to save the life of a lizard that she brought into my room and then released...

Which I toiled to trap into a mason jar, the same of which was featured in last week's blog with a crab leg sticking out of it.

A few days after, I took a lovely stroll through the Wild Animal Park (I refuse to call it the Safari Park), where I walked among lemurs, granted, they were sleeping (it was hot!),

Came within arm's reach of a kangaroo, named Ruby,

Stood on the lookout with the lions,

And had some snacks with baby giraffes and a silver back.

Currently my fluffy Bella Tuna is running around the house as if her tail is on fire, and with the speeds she's reaching, there certainly looks like smoke following her trails.

Now that the grey weather is settling in after a crazy hot week, it's time again to settle down for a good read. On to Providence!

Chapter 17: In the Beekeeper's Care 

In the wake of morning Ms. Grace rolled over only to nearly fall off the bed. Her upper body popped up, catching herself from said fate, which in turn caused her back to ache. She was equally as sore as yesterday, but that was not what moved her from dreams. Her skin was perturbed by the miniscule morning breeze slipping under the window, so the lady moved to cuddle closer to the man beside her, but alas, he was not there. Ms. Grace sighed. What could she have expected? Well, she knew what she hoped, but that may stay within her private thoughts alone. However, Mr. Tamrin did not leave her side easily or without a mark. On the bedside table Ms. Grace quickly found a little note with her name written on the face.

The lady smiled like a child finding her gifts on Christmas as she sat up properly to read the little folded bit of parchment. It took a few adjustments of the distance between the letter and her face before she could read:

My dear Ms. Grace – I hope you slept well and that your back is feeling much better. I am sorry to leave you so early, but I must help prepare the church for my sermon today, which will begin at its normal morning time, God willing. You do not have to come to church if you are not feeling well, I highly doubt that anyone would hold it against you, I mean, our Savior might, but no one of Providence would stoop so low.

After church I have a surprise in mind for you, but I cannot tell you or give you any hints because what fun would that be?

-T.

Ms. Grace’s heart could hardly stand how adorable this man was to her. Feeling well or not, the school teacher did not care. The woman leapt from bed and she immediately dug through the trunk, which was full of her new dresses. She was able to find long under-wear that she would discover upon putting it on was two sizes too big and one lovely dark green velvet overdress that was one size too small. In the room brightly lit from the sun peeking through the clouds, Ms. Grace could only stare at herself in the mirror with little enthusiasm. She could barely breathe because of the overdress’ tightness, but at least she did not have to wear a corset today, for the dress was tight enough. Finding that there would be little she could do to alter the dress at the present, Ms. Grace darted to the reverend’s washroom to clean her face and hands. While she was in the small room staring at her reflection ponderously, racking her brains to find a creative style in which to arrange her hair, the most beautiful sound penetrated the walls of the reverend’s home. ‘Twas the town’s musician tuning his violin for the morning service in the church.

 “Oh, how marvelous!” Ms. Grace thought out loud as she twisted her hair into a humble crown framing her face. “Now it is Christmas,” she whispered to her reflection.

Ms. Grace ran out of the beekeeper’s home in time to join the herd of people walking towards church. The second she stepped out the door until the moment the service started, Ms. Grace was bombarded with questions about yesterday. The school teacher would have been overwhelmed by the excitement caused her house’s demise, save for the wave of thrill she was riding after having spent the night curled beside her amore.

Christmas service was packed. Not a pew had any room for an exceptionally late body to wriggle within. Due to her lateness, Ms. Grace took a seat in the row of pews farthest away from the raised pulpit. This grieved her greatly, but at least back here she would be able to smile and glow without too many people staring at her. She listened intently to the reverend’s words, which flowed to her over the heads of nearly every citizen of Providence. As intent as she was to keep her head focused on the birth of the Savior and the story of the spiders, Ms. Grace could not help to remember when she briefly woke near dawn to find the reverend and her so inappropriately wrapped around each other as though they were married. He was so handsome and so at peace by her side. She blushed to think that she was lying half naked in a bed with a man to whom she was not legally or religiously approved to lay beside. However, she knew that the reverend was an honorable man, which was undoubtedly why she woke with all the blankets pulled all the way to the nave of her neck this morning.

From the pulpit, the reverend spoke beautifully. Mr. Tamrin was a remarkable public speaker. He was able to speak directly to every one of his listeners. His eyes would glisten and his face held so soft an expression that the man almost appeared to be on a completely different plain of happiness than everyone else. And yet the plain seemed to open to all who heard his words. Today he was beaming like the old reverend again. There was much reason for him to be rejoicing. He opened with his traditional story of the golden spiders, which led into the homily:

“My friends, like those three spiders who’s perspectives were turned to see the light in the darkness, and like the shepherds and the three wise men who bestowed gifts upon an infant at the beckoning of a star, we all were able to open our eyes and our hearts to give without thought or want of thanks, whatever we could give to our neighbor who was in need.”

Everyone knew that Mr. Tamrin was talking about Ms. Grace and none of them until that moment even so much as realized that what they did to help her yesterday actually was noble and very easy. (Ms. Grace did not know how she felt about being an analogy to the Savior when she was daring to think about scandalous things in church.)

And so the service carried on with the reverend convincing everyone what he thought only yesterday people were ignoring: “Love and cherish every gift and every passing smile, for it is the little things that make life worth the troubles and the messes we weave, but all that matters is what we learn from our giving, instead of what we gain. And here in our own Providence we are truly blessed to be one family through our community. We are never alone, for we are always among loved ones. That,” Mr. Tamrin concluded, “Is the true joy of our Christmas day.”

The Christmas mass ended shortly after eleven thirty that morning. The children all went running out the front doors of the building to declare their independence and to rush home to play with their goodies. An hour and a half really was an awfully long time for the little ones to keep still, but bless them for the entire youth-population that attended behaved remarkably well in mass today. The adults migrated to the back room of the church for a small and informal Christmas gathering. Tea from Ms. Huff’s shop was served along with biscuits from the bakery.

The small hall in which the adults crammed was loud and warm from their talking and their body heat. The women and the men alike were wishing each other happy Christmas’ and they were discussing the night before and the joys of the morning.

Ms. Grace stood by the window to keep the skin of her back cool as she too chatted merrily with her old circle of friends. Ms. Grace was her cheery self again. The women could not believe all that had happened, but they certainly loved to hear about her evening with the reverend. Of course, she edited out the part that he looked at her back and that they spent the night beside each other, but she did say that the man was the best host in Providence. And while the women joked that they were all proud of Ms. Grace for not waking up beside him (as none would have ever believed otherwise), the reverend watched from afar.

Mr. Tamrin was doing his reverendly rounds after church, walking from group to group. He happily wished every person he passed a happy Christmas, shaking their hands or bowing his head. He was his old cheery self again. His words and his expressions were light, almost triumphant. No one knew why exactly, but a scene secretly kept playing in his head over and over again: waking in Ms. Grace’s embrace; reluctantly yet delicately slipping out from her arms; covering her like a good gentleman with the blankets to fortify her virtue; and finally stealing a soft kiss to her temple to secretly bid her good morning ere he left for church. It was exactly as he had imagined what his married life with her would be like. The thought alone made his cheeks a little pinker.

In the packed hall with his wife and Mrs. Huff, Mr. Winford looked as though he had a sweet little secret in his heart. He saw how the reverend and the teacher glowed - and he could not be happier for them.

Another hour passed before every last person save for Ms. Grace and Mr. Tamrin were left in the church’s backroom. They stood on opposite ends of the building from one another. Ms. Grace finished helping to clean the last of the teapots for Mrs. Huff who left to check on the cats. Mr. Tamrin was locking the doors to the storage room where the church’s few relics were kept. The pair tacitly walked into the main hall of the church together as they prepared to leave.

“Are you ready to go now, Ms. Grace?” Mr. Tamrin asked. He pretended to be ensuring that all of the church’s windows were closed from his post in the aisle when in fact he was silently admiring how elegant Ms. Grace looked in green.

Wiping her hands on a damp white cloth Ms. Grace gave the reverend a curt nod. “Yes, dear sir,” she said as she came beside him in the aisle. “Quite.” She wanted nothing more than to relax with him in the comfort of his home. Her back had a constant throbbing pain, which was more pressingly noticed by her senses than before.

The gentleman offered his arm to Ms. Grace and the pair walked up the aisle together out of the church. At about five steps down said aisle the pair looked at each other and sheepishly darted their eyes back to the church’s doors. They both felt rather silly, but it was a good feeling to be walking up the aisle together.

During the short walk to the reverend’s house, Mr. Tamrin asked Ms. Grace if she slept well and if her back was feeling at all better.

“I’m afraid not,” she shamefully answered. She originally answered affirmatively to both questions, but the gentleman knew better than to trust Ms. Grace on this subject. Her stubbornness and her incredibly high tolerance for pain naturally made the reverend suspicious when she said that she was feeling “right as rain.”

The reverend felt resolute in his idea for the surprise to which he alluded in his note. He knew what had to be done, but there was a certain manner in which it had to be performed if his company were to be accepted. When the pair made it inside the reverend’s house, the gentleman immediately asked, “Do you think that you are well enough to ride?”

Ms. Grace thought the question to be rather odd. People in Providence usually did so little travelling outside of the town that hardly anyone owned a horse. There was no need to travel by horse; everything anyone could need was readily at hand, so the question of being fair enough to ride was rightfully puzzling. As she untied the rope holding up her new black overcoat Ms. Grace wearily answered, “I suppose? Are we going somewhere outside of town? Is that the surprise?”

The reverend had already begun to head to his room to change out from his Christmas chasuble and tab collared shirt, but he sharply turned back to peak his head into the kitchen where Ms. Grace was located, “What sort of secret leaves you with any clues?”

“You’re maddening, do you know that?” Ms. Grace shouted after the man as again he disappeared down the hall.

It was his point to be maddening. Throughout the night and the morning as he prepared for church, he could do nothing but think of his conversation with Mr. Winford yesterday. Mr. Tamrin had made up his mind. Today was his last chance to do everything in his power to convince Ms. Grace that she was so in love with him and that he was so in love with her that surely they would be able to find some way to solve the school’s financial problems together without the blasted Higleys. Her house falling apart, however great a tragedy, happened for a reason. Mr. Tamrin was convinced that she was meant to stay with him so that he could win back her heart. By hook or by crook, Mr. Tamrin was not about to sit by and watch a brat like Brian Higley take his lady. The reverend’s heart was galvanized to action at last.

The reverend quickly changed into clothes suitable for travel on a cool day. True, today was much warmer than yesterday, but the sky was threatening rain. Mr. Tamrin dug through his one set of drawers in attempt to find a scarf to offer Ms. Grace in case it became much colder. He did not want the poor girl to come down with a cold on top of everything else. Throwing the somewhat old woolen scarf in the bend of his arm, the reverend scurried back into the hall, but his altruistic heart was distracted by a jolting thought. There was one last thing he absolutely could not forget. Mr. Tamrin went running to the thin wardrobe in the room. He swung open the oak doors and dug through the jacket’s pockets that he wore yesterday. The small gift he removed glimmered in the palm of his hand scornfully. It was offended for almost being left behind. He kissed the ring (more for luck than as an apology). He had nothing to lose and absolutely everything to gain.

The gentleman went running out to the kitchen to find Ms. Grace sitting in the booth waiting for him.

“All set to go wherever we are going?” she sweetly asked as she stood.

“Yes,” the reverend succinctly replied, “but here, I want you to drink this first.” In his whirlwind of scurrying around this morning, he had made a drink from honey and stored herbs that would help to ease the ferocity of her pain. He handed to her a glass filled with a thick and vile looking liquid.

“What is it?” she asked with a grimace.

He merely chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, it’s uglier than it tastes. It’ll help make you more comfortable – it’ll take the swelling down.”

Ms. Grace was uncertain that the squished-grass colored mud would taste like anything normal, but she was terribly uncomfortable. With her lip curled she raised the glass. “Cheers,” she dryly toasted. The reverend watched with a smile, for he knew that she would be extremely surprised. She closed her eyes and held the bottom of the glass high as the dreadful looking liquid slowly slid down the glass to her tongue. The medicine fell into her mouth like a thick mud would fall from a shovel. However, her body did not writhe or convulse from disgust. On the contrary – the drink was cool, refreshing, and it taste of nothing but rich honey.

“Did the bees share this recipe with you?” she asked as she gulped down the rest.

Mr. Tamrin only smiled and after she finished drinking the medicine, he was quick to help drape her cloak back over her shoulders. He handed her the scarf, which she lazily threw over the back of her neck as the reverend more than less scooted her out the door.

“Are we in some sort of rush?” Ms. Grace asked, finding Mr. Tamrin’s scattered behavior to be curious.

Mr. Tamrin was already saddling his horse by the time Ms. Grace posed her inquiry. The gentleman briefly explained that he did not want to be caught in the rain. This was true of course, but it was not his real reason for making such haste. He was anxious as to what exactly would happen when they arrived where they were going, but he would not yet share their intended destination with Ms Grace.

The old horse was saddled and ready for the road. Ms. Grace doubted that she would be able to get up onto the horse’s back with her own feeling so wretched, but Mr. Tamrin was one step ahead of trying for that fact. The gentleman placed his hand on the horse’s snout and something remarkable happened. Without any obvious command, the horse kneeled down for her.

“That was extraordinary,” the lady said as she sat side saddled on the horse. She had little experience with riding horses, but Mrs. Huff was sure that all of the girls in town knew never to straddle, for that was the farthest thing from being lady-like imaginable. “However did you train your horse to do that with just a touch?”

The reverend dismissed the compliment with an airy comment as he again gave the horse a command with a touch. Ms. Grace was flabbergasted by this but if the reverend was so humble about his gift of being honed into nature through his birthright as an aritoir that he it did not deserve a second’s thought. He was used to the horse doing what he thought without verbal commands, for it was one of the gifts Mr. Tamrin had as an aritoire.

As the reverend began to lead his horse down the western road out of Providence, Ms. Grace asked again simply to annoy. “So where are we going?”

~*~*~

 Where on earth will Mr. Tamrin take Ms. Grace? Tune in next week to see!

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Your humble author,
S. Faxon

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