The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (24 page)

“Yes, sir.”

He felt compelled to go on to a more difficult subject. “And if you’re asked why you haven’t a mother, do you know what you should say?”

Thomas shook his head upon the pillow.

Swallowing around the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat, Seth said, “You should say the truth—that she passed away.”

“Passed away?”

“That means she died, Thomas. They told you that in the orphanage, didn’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” he murmured. “My father too.”

“Yes. He was a brave man and saved your life.” He meant those words. The anger he had felt upon first hearing that another man had married Elaine was gone, for how could he blame anyone for loving her? “But now I’m your father, Thomas. So if you tell people that your father died, they’ll be confused and start asking questions.”

“We don’t want people to ask questions?”

Seth blew out his cheeks.
Forgive me, Elaine, but I just want to protect him
. “We don’t, Thomas, or rather we don’t want them asking questions about how we came to be here together. When you’re a bit older, I’ll explain it all to you.”

“I think it’s rude, moving into a house so soon after someone has died,” Mercy said the next morning to Violet, one of Mrs. Brent’s cows.

The cattle were in the pasture, the morning milking having been finished, and Mercy wanted to escape the heat of the kitchen for a little while. Violet’s gentle brown eyes looked understandingly into hers for a few seconds, then the cow bent her head to pull up another mouthful of grass. Mercy sighed. The most sympathetic pair of ears on the whole farm happened to be bovine. Getting to her feet again, she brushed loose grass from her skirt and started back for the house.

Even though breakfast had only been finished two hours ago, it was time to begin preparations for lunch. Potato-and-leek soup, she decided, with sausages. She went to the pantry and opened the crock in which she stored dried apples from the six trees flanking Ward Creek, which ran behind their pasture and caught up with the Bryce to the east.
I should really use these up before the new ones are ripe
, she thought.
It would be nice to have cake after lunch
. Mrs. Brent had loved her apple cake, declaring it the best she had ever tasted.

She thought of the new neighbors again and could almost hear Mrs. Brent saying,
It’s not being disloyal to make them feel welcome, dear
. Actually, there were more than enough apples for two cakes. And as long as she had to heat the oven anyway …
I’ll bake them one
, she thought grudgingly. Whoever
they
were. It was the least she could do as a Christian. But she would have one of her brothers deliver it, as she wasn’t up to seeing someone else answer Mrs. Brent’s door just yet.

“Would you take this to the new family down the lane?” she asked Fernie later, indicating the basket in her hands as her father and brothers left the lunch table.

“Aw …” Fernie whined. “It’s too far.”

“It’s not. I used to walk there all the time. But take the wagon if you don’t feel up to walking.” She caught Oram by the arm as he attempted to pass. “You’ll need to go and hold it for him. It’ll be dashed to crumbs in the wagon bed.”

“I don’t want to,” Oram protested, shrugging his arm away. “I was gonter ask Papa if we could go bathing in the creek.”

Fernie’s mouth was opened to protest too, but then comprehension filled his green eyes. “Dashed to crumbs? You mean there’s another cake in there?”

“You had three slices at lunch. This one’s for the new family.”

“Why do you have to give away a whole …” Oram began, but Fernie silenced him with a punch to the arm.

“Stop yer blubberin’ and let’s get the wagon hitched. Like Mercy said, it won’t take long.”

Oram looked at his brother as if he’d lost his mind, but then some silent communication seemed to pass between them, and he nodded. It was the little lift to the corner of his mouth that made Mercy suspicious.

“Never mind,” she said, pulling the basket away from Fernie’s outstretched arms. “I’ll take it over there myself.”

“We weren’t gonter eat it!” Oram said in a panicked voice. “Was we, Fernie?”

“Shut up!” his brother whispered through clenched teeth, then he smiled at Mercy, as if to say,
Isn’t he just the silliest fellow?
Patting his stomach, he said, “I had so much after lunch I couldn’t eat another bite. That’s a nice thing to do, sendin’ a treat to the neighbors.”

The pleasantness of his voice was even more suspicious than Oram’s little smile had been. “Just go away,” she told them. She took off her apron and, taking no chances, brought the basket upstairs with her while she brushed her hair.

She could hear the sounds of hammering long before the Brent cottage was in sight. At least it seemed that whoever had moved there was taking some initiative about making repairs. She could tell as she opened the gate that the sounds were coming from the milking barn. But the woman of the house would likely be inside, so she went to the front door and knocked. When there was no answer, she waited a few more seconds and knocked again, just in case whoever was inside had been upstairs. Again, no answer.

I’ll just leave it on the table
, she thought, reaching for the doorknob. She could send one of her brothers for the basket in a few days, and she certainly wasn’t going to go trudging out to the barnyard. Movement attracted her attention at the corner of her eye. Mercy turned her head to see a small boy had rounded the corner of the cottage and was walking toward her. He was so slight that he almost looked fragile, and he wore a brown cap too big for his head.

“Hello, miss,” he said softly.

“Oh, hello.” Embarrassed that her hand was on the knob, Mercy allowed it to drop to her side. “I was just going to leave this inside. It’s an apple cake.”

He gave a timid smile. “Thank you, miss. Would you like to speak to my father?”

Mercy noticed a curious hesitation before the words “my father.” She glanced in the direction of the milking barn. “Why, no thank you. Isn’t your mother inside?”

“My mother passed away.”

“Oh!” Guilt came over her, replacing her earlier bitterness toward these people twofold. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” While his little face was somber, he didn’t look stricken, as if the death had occurred recently. “Would you want to put that inside?”

Mercy glanced down at the basket in her hand. “All right. Then I could take my basket back home and not trouble you about it later.”

He opened the door and then led her through the front parlor to the kitchen, as if she hadn’t been in the cottage a hundred times already. She took the cake out of the basket and put it in the pie safe. “There’s no hurry for the plate,” she told the boy. “What is your name?”

“Thomas,” he replied, returning her smile.

“I’m Mercy Sanders.” She reached out to shake his hand. “I live in the next house.” She started to mention that she had brothers he might like to play with sometime but sadly realized that this boy could not hold his own against even her youngest brothers’ aggressive natures. “Have you brothers or sisters?”

“No, miss.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll be going now.”

He thanked her again, and she marveled that someone his age could be so polite. On her way out of the kitchen she happened to glance at one of the cupboards. Two open shelves were filled with rows of tinned goods.
No wonder he’s so thin
, she thought, wishing she’d brought something more nourishing than cake.

“Have you seen the apple trees in your back pasture?” she asked as they both walked toward the front door.

“No, miss,” he said with an automatic glance in that direction, as if he could see through the cottage walls.

“They grow along Ward Creek. We have some too. Someone planted them years and years ago. They’ll be ripe in another eight weeks or so.” She restrained herself from glancing again at his thin arms. “They’re very nourishing, you know.”

“Thank you, miss. I like apples.”

Now she had to restrain herself from patting him on the head, for she found his pleasant manner refreshing. But knowing that would only embarrass him, she just smiled and bade him good-day. On her way home she could still hear the ringing of a hammer against nails. It seemed a rather melancholy sound now.

Chapter 15

“Did you hear about the new people on Nettle Lane?” Iris Worthy asked Julia that same afternoon. The lace spinners had beckoned to her and Grace on their way back from
Trumbles
. Actually, Julia had heard about this Mr. Langford and son from the shopkeeper but knew that would not make a bit of difference to the Worthy sisters. So she smiled benignly and waited, and sure enough Jewel jumped into the pause.

“Mr. Langford is his name, and he’s got a boy,” she said. “Real closemouthed about himself and as white as a haunt. We seen ’em both wandering about the lanes the day before yesterday.”

Julia turned to Grace and handed her the small package in her hand. “Why don’t you bring this cinnamon to Mrs. Herrick?”

“Yes, Mother,” her daughter replied. “What’s a haunt?”

“A ghost,” Julia replied with a meaningful glance at Jewel. “And we know there is no such thing, don’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am.” As Grace crossed the lane toward the carriage drive, Julia could hear the girl repeating “white as a haunt” over and over to herself. She turned back to the sisters.

“There is no law against walking the lanes, you know,” she said gently, for Iris and Jewel had been good to her and meant well in spite of the outrageous things that sometimes came out of their mouths.

“Oh, we know that, but Mrs. Pool says she wonders if the man’s been in prison,” Iris said in a hushed tone after glancing about her. “That would account for the paleness.”

Julia sighed to herself and tried to be patient. “Mrs. Pool shouldn’t spread rumors like that. The man could have been ill.”

“I’m wondering if that has anything to do wi’ his not having a wife,” Jewel said in an equally hushed tone.

“His being pale?”

She nodded, her eyes wide, though her fingers never stopped spinning. “He could ha’ murdered her and got sent to prison for it.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

Even Iris obviously thought her sister-in-law had gone too far. “Yes, Jewel. Besides, they hang people for murdering their wives. It would more likely be for stealing. Didn’t Mrs. Pool say he had lots of money?”

Julia had heard enough. With great affection, but just as much firmness, she said, “He’s likely someone who needs a fresh start, just as my family did when we settled here last year. If we all gossip about him, he’s not likely to have that opportunity, is he?”

The sisters were sufficiently chagrined enough to bob their heads in agreement, but Julia knew as she crossed the lane to the
Larkspur
that the gossip would continue. From what she had heard, this Mr. Langford had moved to a remote farm at the end of Nettle Lane, so perhaps he would not be too affected by it. It was his son who could suffer, though, if he enrolled at the school. She would have to urge Grace and Aleda to be especially kind to him.

She slowed her steps halfway across the courtyard.
The man in the cheese wagon and the Lion Hotel
. He had been unusually pale and had a boy with him too. She had failed to connect the faces with Mr. Trumble’s account of newcomers to Gresham, but of course they were most likely the same people. Which meant very little to her, because where anyone chose to settle was none of her business.

The courtyard door opened, and Georgette stuck her bespectacled face out. “Oh, missus. Miss Phelps is in the hall to see you.”

“Thank you, Georgette,” Julia replied. “Would you see if Mrs. Herrick has some lemonade to bring to my room in a little while? Tea will be fine if she hasn’t.”

“Yer room, missus?” the maid asked, holding the door open for her.

“Please.” Andrew had told her this morning that Elizabeth had been gloomy ever since the Burrell children left, so she was not surprised at this visit. She had entertained the notion of calling upon the girl herself but could ill afford to pop over to the vicarage too often, even if Andrew was not home. As was demonstrated by the Worthy sisters only minutes ago, the villagers loved to talk and weren’t always accurate with the details. Propriety was a rigid master, but one that must be obeyed if one wanted to keep a sterling reputation.