The Widow of Larkspur Inn (63 page)

He gave her an enigmatic little smile. “Thank you, but that will not be necessary.”

When he had turned to leave, Julia went back into the kitchen to inform Mrs. Herrick that there would be one less person at supper and that it wasn’t her cooking that had driven Mr. Durwin from the table. “His brass band has had several practices lately.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” the cook declared, cutting dough into a lattice for apple pies.

Mildred came out of the scullery after having helped Gertie wash the breakfast dishes.

“It was dismal around the breakfast table this morning,” she told Julia while drying her hands upon her apron.

“Oh, dear. You mean Mrs. Hyatt and Mr. Durwin?”

Mildred shook her head and sent a glance up to the ceiling. “Mr. Clay. He ate barely enough to keep one of Buff’s kittens alive and went back upstairs with scarcely a ‘how do you do’ to anyone else.”

Julia’s heart sank. She’d had such hope, along with everyone else who knew him, that Mr. Clay’s despondency was a thing of the past. Knowing that it would be a waste of time to see if he were with the rest of the lodgers in the hall, she took the back staircase up to the chamber floor.

“Mr. Clay?” she said with a soft knock at his door.

There was no response, and she was wondering if she had knocked too softly when she heard, “Yes?” from the other side.

“It’s Mrs. Hollis, Mr. Clay.”

“Come in, please.”

He was seated in his chair by the window, as she expected. The haggard face he turned to her brought a lump to her throat.

“Oh, Mr. Clay!” Impulsively she crossed the room to kneel at the side of his chair. She pressed one of his hands between both of hers and looked up into his melancholy gray eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“There, there now,” he told her, reaching over with his other hand to pat the top of her head as if she were a fretful child.

“I just hoped …”

“I know, Mrs. Hollis. So did I.”

They were quiet for a few moments, Julia continuing to hold his hand and stare at the frosted window glass with him.
You’ve been so good to me,
she prayed silently,
Couldn’t You remove this affliction from Mr. Clay? I’m so afraid this will discourage him
.

She felt another touch at the top of her head and looked back up at him. Mr. Clay gave her a weak little smile. “You mustn’t be discouraged, Mrs. Hollis.”

Julia gaped at him. “But aren’t you?”

After some hesitation he replied, “Disappointed, of course. Discouraged? Not at all. I’m sure you understand that God’s ways are not our ways.”

“Then, you don’t regret becoming a believer?”

“Regret? But of course not.” He seemed to search for words and then told her, “It’s different, this time.”

“Different?”

“I’ve a comfort inside of me, Mrs. Hollis, reminding me that I’m not alone. And assuring me that the joy will return. Haven’t you ever felt that comfort?”

“Many times,” she whispered, nodding. “It’s what has sustained me for almost a year now.”

The smile returned, a little stronger this time. “Then you understand.”

She had left the room some twenty minutes later and met Mrs. Kingston at the staircase landing. “I was just coming to see if Mr. Clay was up to a walk. The ice is melting in the lanes, and it should do him some good to get a little air. He looked rather peaked at breakfast.”

Julia nodded soberly. “He’s in a bad way again, Mrs. Kingston. One of his dark moods.”

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Kingston put a hand up to her wrinkled cheek. “Do you think I should disturb him?”

How can she be so concerned about Mr. Clay and not feel compassion for what Mrs. Hyatt’s going through?
“I think he would enjoy your company. But he mentioned taking a nap as I was leaving—he had trouble sleeping last night. Perhaps the walk could wait until later?”

“But of course, dear. Should you send notice to the vicar to postpone his visit?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Julia admitted. She went back down to the kitchen, only to find that Karl Herrick had already left to post the letters. Julia was considering walking down to the vicarage herself when Georgette came into the kitchen and announced that Vicar Phelps was in the hall.

Chapter 38

“Mr. Clay and I discussed that this could conceivably happen,” Vicar Phelps said to Julia after expressing his regrets that the actor was abed with depression. He was seated opposite her on one of the horsehair sofas with a tray on the table in front of them. Perhaps sensing that the subject of their conversation would be Mr. Clay’s condition, Mrs. Dearing, Mrs. Hyatt, and Miss Rawlins had abandoned the hall for the upstairs sitting room after exchanging pleasantries with the vicar.

“That must be why he’s taking it so pragmatically,” Julia said after stirring milk into a cup of tea and handing it over to him.

“I hope so.” Vicar Phelps took a sip from the cup. “And we should remember that Mr. Clay studied more Scripture before his conversion than most people do afterward. God’s Word, hidden in the heart, is a powerful force.”

“But I still think it would do him good to visit with you. Would you mind …”

“Calling again later today? But of course, Mrs. Hollis. I already plan to do so.” After another sip of tea, he eased into a smile that made his hazel eyes seem even kinder. “If I may say so, you seem to feel somewhat protective of Mr. Clay.”

Julia returned his smile. “I don’t know, Vicar. Mrs. Kingston mothers him far more than I do. But I try to help him as much as I can.”

“That’s very kind of you. Especially considering that you’re going through a valley yourself.”

“A valley?” She had to think for a second before realizing he was referring to the fact that she was in mourning. A wave of guilt swept over her.
If you only knew.
Here she was, a tragic figure in black, bravely raising her children alone while accepting the unspoken pity of those around her.
What kind of wife forgets her husband so soon after his death, no matter what he did?
She didn’t even attempt to keep his memory alive to the children, unless one happened to say something about him to her. And in those instances she was usually as brief as possible.

I have no right to do that. They deserve to have some good memories to treasure about their father.

With difficulty she made a silent resolve to amend this situation. Her thoughts on the matter had only taken three or four seconds, but the pause was long enough to bring panic to Vicar Phelps’s hazel eyes.

“I—I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No, I just—”

“I find I am constantly making an idiot of myself in front of you, Mrs. Hollis,” he said, a slight flush appearing just above his blond beard. The misery in his expression reminded her so much of her son when she’d scolded him about the ghost caper that Julia couldn’t help but smile.

“Vicar, whatever are you talking about?”

“I’m referring to what a comic figure I must seem to you.”

“But that’s not true.”

“Why, then, are you smiling?”

Julia made a futile gesture while groping for words. It would mortify him to learn that he had briefly reminded her of a fourteen-year-old boy. But she could still be truthful in replying, “Because you make me smile, Vicar Phelps. I enjoy your company.”

He seemed much startled by this. “You do, Mrs. Hollis?”

“But of course,” she reassured him.

“Oh.” He opened his mouth to say something else, stared at her for a second, and then closed it again. Setting his empty cup on the tray, he said, “Well, thank you for saying that. I should make my other calls now. I’ll show myself to the door.”

“Very well, Vicar.” Julia said, offering her hand. When he was gone, Julia curled her legs up under her skirt and poured herself another cup of tea.

Mrs. Beemish came through the room some time later and stopped upon seeing Julia. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Hollis?”

Julia smiled up at her. “Yes, of course. I’m just woolgathering.”

“Why don’t I take that tray?”

“Thank you.” Julia handed over her empty cup and, with a glance toward the empty corridor doorway, lowered her voice and said, “Oh, Mrs. Beemish, Mr. Durwin is bringing his brass band here after supper. It’s to be a secret until then, but I believe the servants would enjoy the performance. After he arrives would you please quietly usher them into the hall?”

The housekeeper’s eyes sparkled with shared intrigue. “I will indeed, Mrs. Hollis—thank you. But I’ve already been spoken to about it. I’m to allow Mr. Durwin and his friends into the hall while everyone else is at supper, you see?”

“You are? Mr. Durwin didn’t mention …”

“Oh, it wasn’t Mr. Durwin who asked me to do it.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, missus. It was Mrs. Kingston.”

Julia shook her head, uncomprehending. “But that would mean that Mrs. Kingston and Mr. Durwin are planning this together.”

“It does at that, missus. Mrs. Kingston is tryin’ to help Mr. Durwin win back Mrs. Hyatt.”

“Win her back? You mean, it was Mrs. Hyatt who stopped the courtship?”

Side curls quivered with the housekeeper’s nod. “Yes, missus.”

So I’ve misjudged Mrs. Kingston,
she thought with a mixture of guilt and relief. “Well, it should be an interesting evening.”

“It should at that, missus.”

When the housekeeper was gone, Julia leaned her head against the back of the sofa and stared at the high ceiling.
Is it possible that the vicar’s attracted to me?
It would hardly seem so. Almost a year of clothing herself in black had caused her to feel like a shadow who moved about in the background. Someone less than feminine and certainly not appealing to the opposite sex.

But why, then, was he often so self-conscious in her presence? Did men sometimes worry about the impressions they made, the way women did? The notion had never occurred to Julia—she supposed it was because Philip had accepted her adoration with aplomb in their courting days, as if it were his due.

She chewed the tip of a fingernail and hoped she was wrong about the vicar. The thought of such a kind, dear person having romantic feelings about her was a little sad, because she could not reciprocate them. He was her pastor, her friend, and almost a brother figure. True, she enjoyed his company immensely, but she could never think of him in a romantic way. Her heart did not race when he spoke to her, as it had with Philip, nor did she entertain fanciful daydreams about him.

Of course, her infatuation with Philip had led her to overlook his faults, so a woman would be foolish to judge the possibility of a courtship by feelings alone. But surely there had to be something beyond friendship, however comforting that friendship may be.

Please help him to get over this, if indeed it’s true,
she prayed. As an afterthought, she added,
And please help him find a woman who can give him the love he deserves.
She felt some confidence that her prayer would be answered. After all, Vicar Phelps was a man who’d dedicated his life to serving God. And God would want only what was best for him.

“But I’ve still some studying to do,” Philip protested to Julia after supper as she guided her children out of the dining room.