The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (27 page)

Andrew looked about him at the shambles that had probably once been a decent building. The hay barn seemed in the same shape. He knew next to nothing about carpentry, but it seemed that it would take one man weeks to render both buildings serviceable again. He was about to offer his apologies for the intrusion and leave, when Mr. Langford tossed the hoe clear to the side and eased himself down from the window. The blisters on the hand he offered to Andrew and the sunburn across his face indicated a man who was unused to heavy outdoor labor despite his muscular build.

“I say, you’ve taken on quite a job for yourself,” Andrew said.

Mr. Langford pushed back the brim of his cap and wiped his flushed brow with a sleeve. “Aye.”

“I hear you’re planning to raise horses?”

“When the buildings and pastures are ready.”

“I wish you well.” Andrew looked around. “We’ve some fine carpenters in Gresham. Forgive me for prying, but wouldn’t hiring a couple help?” And according to Mr. Pool, who had offered this bit of unsolicited information, the man had enough money for such doings.

Mr. Langford seemed to consider that for a moment, but then turned to the boy, who was now standing at his side. “Would you fetch us some water?” He gave Andrew a questioning look, to which Andrew replied that he would indeed like some water.

When Thomas was out of earshot, Mr. Langford wiped his brow again. “I appreciate you coming by, Vicar …” In the pause he appeared to be searching his memory for the name.

“Phelps,” Andrew supplied with an understanding smile.

“Thank you. I hope you can understand that we chose this place for the privacy. I wouldn’t care to have carpenters here every day.”

“I see.” Feeling a little awkward, Andrew took a step backward. “Then perhaps I should take my leave now.”

“Wait.” Now it was Mr. Langford who seemed to feel awkward. “I wasn’t suggesting that you do that, Vicar Phelps.”

“Oh.” Andrew glanced at the hoe lying amongst a heap of broken slate shingles. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No, thank you.” But then he followed that with, “Actually, there is.”

Thomas returned carrying a pail half filled with water. Judging from the wetness of his trouser legs, Andrew imagined that it had been full when he left the pump. Mr. Langford insisted that Andrew take the first dipperful.

“Thank you,” Andrew said afterward to the boy.

“You’re welcome, sir,” he replied.

He in no way resembled his father, but Andrew gathered no implications from this—he had lived long enough to know that sometimes that happened.
Thank God my girls look more like their mother
had come to his mind more than once over the years.

It took three dippers of water to quench Mr. Langford’s thirst, and when he had finished, he wiped his sleeve again and absently put a hand on the boy’s head. Thomas looked up at him with something close to awe across his young face. “Why don’t you set that in the shade?” Mr. Langford told the boy. “We’ll likely want some later.”

Thomas obeyed immediately, looking back for approval when he had found a relatively clear spot beside an outer wall.

“That’s fine,” Mr. Langford said, then turned to Andrew again.

“I’m having some lumber and shingles delivered tomorrow,” he said, then gave a sheepish little shrug. “And a ladder.”

“Fine enough. Now, how may I help you, Mr. Langford?”

The man glanced again at his son, who had returned to digging at the nail with the hammer. “I noticed there was a school in Gresham, but I was too concerned about acquiring this place to make inquiries. Is it possible for Thomas to attend?”

Andrew smiled. “That’s actually the second reason I came here. The first being to snare you for my congregation, of course.”

For the first time, Mr. Langford’s face eased into a smile. “I’m sorry about that, Vicar.”

Waving a hand, Andrew said, “We’ve some fine Wesleyans in Gresham. As to the school, Thomas is more than welcome to attend. In fact, a member of the school board asked me to speak with you about it.”

“That’s good—thank you.” And then the man’s face took on a thoughtful cast. “I suppose there are supplies he’ll need? And lunch … should he bring one, or am I supposed to fetch him at noon? I’ve horses. …”

He spoke like someone with no experience with the schooling of his child, and yet the boy looked old enough to have had at least a year or two behind him.
Perhaps the boy’s mother tended to all of that in the past
, Andrew thought. Obviously Mr. Langford was a widower, and perhaps a recent one. Andrew’s heart went out to the man.

“Thomas’s teacher will tell him if there are any supplies required. And yes, most of the students bring their lunches. Fact is, one of my daughters will be attending boarding school this fall, and I’m sure her lunch pail has been consigned to the cellar by now. Why don’t I bring it to you one day when I’m out making calls?”

It seemed almost as if a curtain was drawn across Mr. Langford’s expression. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but that won’t be necessary.” He sent a glance toward the roof of the milking barn, a signal that was not lost on Andrew.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” Andrew said, stretching out his hand again.

Mr. Langford seemed almost apologetic as they shook hands. “I do appreciate you seeing about us. …”

He did not finish his sentence, but Andrew supplied the rest silently as he sent a farewell wave to the boy. …
but please don’t come around again
.

He could not blame Mr. Langford for not displaying the warmest of hospitality. He could recall the days immediately following Kathleen’s death, when he would have gladly consigned himself to the confines of his house. However, duties to his parishioners, and particularly to his daughters, had forbidden such self-indulgence.

As his trap began to move back up Nettle Lane, Andrew thought it good that at least young Thomas would have the companionship of other children when school began. Which would leave Mr. Langford with even more hours of isolation. It was none of Andrew’s business, and if solitude was what he wanted, then there was no one to say he shouldn’t have it. But Andrew knew that God wasn’t only referring to Adam when He said,
“It is not good for man to be alone.”

From his perch on the windowsill, Seth ventured a look at the cloud of dust raised by the retreating trap. No doubt the vicar had thought him ill-disposed, as likely did the whole of Gresham by now. He sincerely regretted that, but better to be considered unsociable than to have Thomas suffer once the truth were to be known.

“Sir?” the boy called from below. He had finished pulling the nail from the board and had now taken it upon himself to collect the loose shingles that lay on the ground.

Seth looked down at him. “Be careful not to get in the way,” he warned.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, what did you want?”

“What’s a vicar?”

“A minister, Thomas.” Seth stretched out the hoe to rake another shingle. “From that big church we saw Wednesday.”

“Will he come visit again? Or the lady?”

“What lady?”

“The cake lady.”

A smile came to Seth’s lips at the boy’s wording. How could he have forgotten? The apple cake had saved them from a breakfast of tinned meat—which he was already beginning to think of with faint revulsion—and enough cake still remained to last a few more days. “I don’t think so, Thomas,” he replied. “But we’ll need to return the plate when the cake is gone, so perhaps you’ll see her again.”

Chapter 17

“That new schoolmistress is here,” Iris Worthy said to Julia as the sisters spun their laces on Saturday morning. “Miss Clark is her name, but of course we knew her as ‘Lydia’ when she was a girl. She must be going on thirty-two by now.”

“Real daydreamer she were back then,” Jewel said, her face crinkling pleasurably with the memory. “Always a book in her hand. Why, just like your Aleda.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” Julia told the two.

“Well, you can do that this very morning,” Iris said. “She passed by here not more than an hour ago on her way to the schoolhouse.”

Pointing with her chin over her left shoulder as her fingers continued to spin, Jewel said, “Lives back on Walnut Lane with her folks again. Her brother Noah married in the spring of ’61.”

“Spring of ’62,” Iris gently corrected, but Jewel would have none of it.

“It were ’61, because that were the year Abram Summers’ roof burned.”

Iris, usually the milder of the two, set her jaw adamantly. “His roof burned in ’62, Jewel. I remember Mr. Derby saying he felt wretched, because his broken arm prevented him from joining the bucket brigade.” She looked up at Julia. “I’m sure you know that they’ve been friends since boyhood, Mr. Derby and Mr. Summers, so naturally Mr. Derby would have wished to help.”

“But he did take the Summerses into his home until the roof could be rebuilt,” Jewel said, then, in a tone as adamant as the thrust of her sister’s jaw, added, “in ’61.”

“No, Jewel. You’re remembering ’61 because that was when Mrs. Perkins’ cat fell in her well. Mr. Derby helped get her out, and how could he do that with a broken arm?” To Julia she said, “Whiteface was her name—the cat, not Mrs. Perkins. She was so named because she was completely gray except for her face.”

Jewel was working her mouth into a rebuttal when Julia stepped in. “Both years sound perfectly dreadful, if you ask me,” she quipped, smiling to show she meant no offense. “You say Miss Clark is at the schoolhouse?”

Both heads nodded, and she took her leave. She had not gone more than ten feet when she heard Jewel say grudgingly to her sister, “Well, maybe it were ’62. But everybody knows that little Horace threw his mother’s cat down that well.”

As expected, the schoolmistress was in the main classroom, bent over some papers on her desk, when Julia paused in the doorway. “Miss Clark?” she said softly.

Miss Clark looked up, a pen poised in her fingers. “Yes?”

“I’m Julia Hollis. You’ll be teaching my two daughters this year.”

“Indeed?” With a welcoming smile she rose from her chair. “Please, do come in.”

Julia could see that she favored her father physically, for she had to be almost six feet tall. Light brown hair was drawn back severely into a knot, revealing ears that stuck out just a bit. Her face wore a welcoming, pleasant expression. “I won’t stay long and keep you from your work,” Julia said on her way to the front of the classroom.

“I would enjoy the company, Mrs. Hollis.” They shook hands over the desk. “Let’s see … your daughters are Aleda and Grace?”

“I’m impressed. You’ve learned your students’ names already?”

“Don’t forget, I was raised here, so most of the last names are already familiar to me. It’s only a matter of learning the given names and a few new ones.” She then nodded toward the door. “Would you mind if we sat out on the steps? Saint Margaret’s was like a mausoleum—damp and cold, even in the summer. Between my teaching and housemother duties, I had very little time to enjoy the outdoors. I’m charmed with the idea of having a school yard.”

“Is that why you left Saint Margaret’s?” Julia asked when they had settled on the steps and arranged their skirts to cover their ankles.

“Not exactly. I was content there, in spite of the overwhelmingly Gothic atmosphere. But my parents are growing old, and it struck me once during my morning prayers that I couldn’t take for granted they would always be here. Then later that same day I received two things—a letter from my mother expressing the desire that I would come back home, and a wire from Mr. Sykes concerning the position here. That night I asked God for direction as I was opening my Bible for my nightly reading. I looked down to see the passage where Jesus looked down from the cross and asked Saint John to care for his mother. I just can’t believe that was all coincidence.”