Cast the First Stone (28 page)

‘Hey, shut up, you!' retorted Sandra. ‘I've not done any for ages. I did used to like singing though . . .' she added wistfully.

‘That's great,' said Fiona. ‘I wonder if you would like to join the church choir?'

‘Oh no, nothing like that,' Sandra replied hurriedly. ‘I don't sing anything churchy like. But I wouldn't mind singing at a concert, perhaps . . . sometime. Something a bit . . . well, you know . . . popular stuff.'

‘Wonderful!' said Fiona. ‘There hasn't been a church concert lately. I remember going to one soon after I met Simon, and it wasn't too churchy, as you put it.' She laughed. ‘I know just what you mean. I enjoy all sorts of music. I'll talk to Simon and see if we can arrange one before too long. I'm so pleased to have had a chat with you two. Excuse me now; I must go and have a word with some of the others.'

She was pleased at everyone's enthusiasm; they all promised to come again, next and every time.

Heather spoke for herself and her friend, Ruth. ‘Well done, Fiona. You've got us off to a flying start. It's just what we needed; something for us young – well, youngish – women. We've enjoyed it, haven't we, Ruth?'

Her friend replied quietly, ‘Yes; very much so.'

‘I'm really glad you've come,' said Fiona. ‘I know you're both very busy people with your teaching jobs and . . . everything. And I know that Simon appreciates your work with the church council, Ruth.'

‘I enjoy doing it,' said Ruth, a little curtly, Fiona felt. But then she smiled, albeit a trifle warily, at Fiona. ‘I'm glad I came. I'm very busy, as you say, but Heather persuaded me. And . . . I wish you and Simon every happiness,' she added.

‘Thank you,' said Fiona. She felt that Ruth's remark was sincere. ‘That's very kind of you. Yes, we are . . . very happy. I'm trying to be a good wife to him; a good rector's wife.'

Ruth nodded. ‘Yes . . . I'm sure you are.'

As Fiona moved away her sharp ears overheard Heather's remark. ‘There; that wasn't too bad, was it?'

And Ruth's reply. ‘No . . . She's very pleasant, isn't she?'

Fiona felt a little guilty. She knew she had been straining to hear what they said, and she was convinced now that Ruth must have had quite strong feelings for Simon, whether or not he had felt the same about her.

Most of the ladies were making moves to depart now as it was getting on for ten o'clock. Fiona knew that it was time for her to bring the meeting to a close. Simon had told her that it was customary to close all meetings with a prayer, and she felt nervous about something that she had never done before.

‘What shall I say?' she asked him. ‘It's alright praying on my own, or with you . . . , as we do sometimes. But with everyone else . . . I'm not used to it.'

‘You soon will be,' Simon assured her. ‘Just say the evening collect. You can't go wrong with that. And it will be easier the next time, I promise.'

She took a deep breath and said, ‘Shall we have a short prayer before we go home, ladies?' They all bowed their heads and Fiona began, ‘Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O Lord . . .' They all joined in with the familiar words that they recited at the Sunday evening service, and Fiona breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn't too bad, she thought, and she knew she would not feel nervous the next time.

Joan stayed behind when all the others had gone. ‘I'll give you a hand with the washing up,' she said. ‘Maybe that's something else we should have a rota for. It's not fair to leave it all to you.'

‘I don't mind,' replied Fiona. ‘I've never minded washing up. They've all got to get back to their homes and families. I'm really pleased it's gone so well.'

‘So you should be,' said Joan. ‘Well done. I think you did a wonderful job. You were really confident and in charge of things.'

‘I was nervous,' Fiona admitted, ‘but they all wanted to help, didn't they? And what a lot of different talents they have. Simon's always saying that we should make full use of our talents. I'm not really sure what mine are though,' she laughed. ‘I was so impressed at Gillian Heap making all those lovely clothes she wears.'

‘Yes; she's very good at dressmaking. She knits as well; she comes in the shop for wool and patterns for jumpers that she makes for all the family. I'm glad you got her to come along. Don't say that you don't know what your talents are, Fiona. You've proved that you're good at welcoming people and making them feel at ease. Look at Gillian, and those two young women, Sandra and Karen; they just needed a bit of encouragement, and that's what you gave them. And you can sing, and bake; that cake and fruit loaf were delicious. You're turning into a first-class clergy wife, you know.'

‘Thank you,' said Fiona with a smile. ‘I'm glad you think so. I am trying . . .' She paused, looking round from the sink. ‘Can I ask you something, Joan?'

‘Yes, of course; what is it?'

‘Ruth Makepeace . . . Did she have . . . er . . . a fancy for Simon?'

Joan smiled. ‘Well, yes. To be truthful, she did. She wasn't the only one though. Just think about it. A young charismatic clergyman who's just lost his wife. Ripe for the picking, wasn't he?'

‘And what about Simon? Was he interested in Ruth?'

Joan hesitated. Then, ‘I don't think he ever was,' she said, ‘not in the way you mean. They worked together, of course, so I suppose it was inevitable that she should get fond – perhaps too fond – of him. But he never gave her any real reason to hope, I feel sure of that. And then you came along. It was love at first sight, wasn't it, for both of you?'

‘Almost,' said Fiona, ‘if you can believe in such a thing. I was attracted to him straightaway, and I could hardly believe it when I realized he felt the same way about me. I'd almost given up hope, you see, of finding somebody that I could really care about. I was thirty-one; most of the girls – well, women I should say – that I knew were married, and I felt that I was being left on the shelf, as they used to say.' She laughed. ‘So I was concentrating on my career; I'd just got the job as chief librarian, and I was saving up to buy a place of my own. Then Simon came along, and that was that!'

‘You're a beautiful girl, though, Fiona. Lovely looking, as I'm sure you must know, and so personable. You must have had lots of admirers. Sorry; I'm being nosy, aren't I?' said Joan. Fiona was looking a little fazed. ‘But I couldn't help wondering.'

‘Not all that many admirers!' smiled Fiona. ‘Let's say I was being extra cautious. I'd had one or two friendships that showed signs of developing, but nothing significant. I knew I had to be really sure.' She was tempted, for a moment, to confide in Joan about what had happened fourteen years ago, about Dave and the consequences . . . She had a strong feeling sometimes that she must confide in someone, but she hadn't plucked up the courage to tell her husband. And Simon would be appearing soon to see how she had gone on with the meeting.

He popped his head round the kitchen door at that moment. ‘Hello, love. Hello there, Joan. Well, how did it go?'

It was Joan who answered. ‘She did marvellously, Simon. You should be proud of her.'

‘As indeed I am,' agreed Simon. ‘I was coming to help with the washing up, and then the phone rang. It seems that I'm too late.'

‘That's a good excuse,' laughed Joan. ‘We've finished now. So I'll be on my way. It's been a lovely evening . . .'

‘Now, tell me all about it,' said Simon when they had said goodnight to Joan. ‘I always knew, though, that you'd make a go of it. I am very proud of you, my darling.'

Fiona felt a pang of conscience. She hoped her husband would never have a reason to feel disappointed in her.

The Young Wives and Friends' group proved to be a successful venture, and several new members joined during the autumn. By the early spring of 1966 the number would grow to sixteen, which was just about right for the size of the rectory lounge.

Elsewhere in the church community the organizations were continuing to thrive. It had been agreed by the church council that children should be admitted to the choir; not young ones, though; boys – and girls – over the age of eleven. Six youngsters had joined, three boys and three girls, and had proved to be an asset to the choir. And a guitar group for teenagers had been started. Graham Heap, the church treasurer had, it seemed, been hiding his light under a bushel. He was a competent guitarist and had agreed to take charge of the new group. There were six members, seven including Graham, two of them being his own children, Nigel and Jennifer, plus two more boys and two girls, all aged from fourteen to sixteen.

The carol service, held on the Sunday evening before Christmas in 1965, included several new items, appreciated by most, but not all, members of the congregation. One of the new choristers, a twelve-year-old boy called Kevin, was found to have quite an exceptional voice. It was decided that he should sing the first verse of ‘Once in Royal David's City' as the choir processed round the church, the choir joining in with the second verse, and the rest of the verses being sung by the congregation. It was the way it was done in all the big churches and cathedrals, and Fiona, herself a member of the choir, found she was moved almost to tears by the feeling of reverence and quiet joy engendered by this opening hymn.

Later in the service there was an anthem sung by the choir, ‘Tomorrow shall be my Dancing Day'.

‘It's rather challenging,' Henry Tweedale, the choir master had told them, ‘and no doubt there will be some who don't appreciate it. But we must try to stretch ourselves; we can't do the same old things year after year.'

There were a few puzzled faces in the congregation as the choir sang the unfamiliar words:

Going on then to sing of the virgin pure and the babe laid in a manger, ‘
betwixt an ox and a silly poor ass
'. Strange words, to be sure, dating from as early as the seventeenth century, Henry had told them, and based on the idea of associating religion with the dance of life.

Fiona had found it strange at first, but it had a haunting melody and the four-part harmony enhanced the music and made it a joy to sing. But maybe not to listen to, at least not to everyone, she pondered as she saw Mrs Bayliss, sitting near the front of the church, turn to her neighbour Mrs Fowler at the end of the song, clearly making what was a derogatory remark.

The congregation was all smiles later though as the six new young choristers sang ‘How far is it to Bethlehem?'. Some had objected to children joining the choir, but now Simon's and Henry's decision to allow this seemed to have been vindicated.

The item by the guitar group, however, a simple modern setting of the popular carol ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem', met with a mixed response. To use guitars in a church service was a very new idea, one that was not universally popular. This was made clear when the church members met together in the hall after the service for a cup of tea and a biscuit.

Ethel Bayliss very soon voiced her objections to Henry Tweedale. ‘We used to have a very good choir, Henry, when you sang things that we could understand. Mind you, I'm not saying anything about the quality of the singing. They still make a pleasant sound, and the children have fitted in quite well, though I must admit I had my doubts about them at the beginning.'

‘So what exactly are you objecting to, Mrs Bayliss?' asked Henry.

‘That silly anthem,' she replied. ‘What on earth has dancing got to do with baby Jesus and the Christmas story? Why can't you stick to nice carols that we know, like “The First Noel” and “Away in a Manger”? Never mind your newfangled nonsense. The traditional ones are the best, and I'm sure most people would agree with me.'

Henry smiled, a trifle pompously. ‘You couldn't get anything more traditional than “Dancing Day”. It dates from the seventeenth century and it's sung in all the cathedrals. You probably don't understand it, Mrs Bayliss, that's all.'

He could see the lady positively bristling. ‘Nor do I want to,' she replied. ‘And what about the guitars? It's coming to something when we've got a pop group performing in church!'

‘Then you'll have to take that up with Graham Heap,' Henry replied. ‘It's his project, not mine; but one that I approve of wholeheartedly. Surely if it will encourage more young people to join us it is all to the good, isn't it, Mrs Bayliss?'

The lady turned away with a derisory snort that sounded like a horse harrumphing. She did not find, though, that all her minions agreed with her.

‘This place is getting out of hand since she came on the scene,' Mrs Bayliss remarked to anyone who would listen; she was at the centre of a group of Mothers' Union stalwarts. ‘Guitar groups and silly anthems that no one can understand! Whatever next, I wonder?'

‘If by “she” you mean our rector's wife, then I'm sure it's none of her doing,' said Blanche Fowler, bravely. ‘You can't blame Fiona. She's not responsible for what the choir sings.'

‘She's in it though, isn't she?' retorted Ethel. ‘She probably had a lot to do with it.'

‘Actually, I quite liked that anthem,' said Blanche. ‘It was different, and a lovely tune. Personally, I think Fiona's doing very well. That new group she's formed is very popular with the younger women, and she's teaching in Sunday school. If you ask me she's working very hard.'

‘But nobody asked you, did they?' mumbled Ethel Bayliss, almost inaudibly. But Blanche overheard her, and so did Joan Tweedale who had listened to the whole of the interchange.