Chapter 13 #2
Why would he wish to marry and bring those troubles into his home? To add yet another person to the list of those whom he tended and watched over?
Samuel slowed as the path bent toward The Parsonage, his steps finally losing their urgency.
The house came into view, modest and unassuming against the clear blue sky.
His refuge. Or it had been. Mrs. Godwin would be inside, sitting with a book or writing a letter—doing anything to entertain herself and nothing more.
A weight settled beneath his ribs, dull and persistent.
He had chosen this. Chosen quickly, yes, but with intent.
He had believed that goodwill and patience would see them through the rest. Now, as he reached for the door, Samuel wondered whether that alone could mend a union in which one party labored ceaselessly to keep the peace, whilst the other fostered unrest.
The latch lifted beneath his hand, and for the first time since the wedding, Samuel hesitated before entering his own home.
Voices came from the parlor, and he couldn’t help pausing just outside the doorway.
Thank the heavens! Praise anything and everything that brought about this miracle!
Though the voices inside indicated that there was only a solitary visitor in residence, it was noteworthy, and with Mrs. Whitcombe encouraging the others to embrace Mrs. Godwin, perhaps more would soon follow.
The voices drifted toward him in a steady, unbroken stream of a conversation that had moved well past pleasantries.
Samuel identified Mrs. Kirk immediately; there was a fullness to her speech, a confident warmth that filled a room without effort, and no one held such passion for The Royal Humane Society.
“We aim to prevent the unnecessary loss of life,” she added with the gusto of one yearning to make a convert of her audience. “Intervention is a duty, and education is imperative.”
“Yes. That is a worthy aim,” replied Mrs. Godwin in a tone that was polite enough, though Samuel winced inwardly. Courteous. Correct. Yet entirely insufficient.
Mrs. Kirk pressed on, detailing the various efforts made by the society to better the world, and she spoke with the passion of one who had not merely donated but labored: writing letters, organizing collections, and coaxing subscriptions from reluctant pockets.
From the corridor, Samuel silently pleaded with his wife to engage with the lady.
Ask a question. Express an opinion. Do anything that signaled more than mild disinterest. Mrs. Kirk was a force within Kingsmere, whose charitable endeavors encouraged so many in the village.
To have her favor was no small thing. The lady did not require flattery, but she valued conviction, and allies were forged through shared purpose, not civility.
“With our efforts, we may improve lives all across England,” said Mrs. Kirk, and a rustle made Samuel think she was shifting in her seat, no doubt preening as she announced her latest coup.
“Our district raised the most money in all of Northamptonshire. We were featured in The Morning Chronicle and shall receive a commendation in the next Annual Report. But most importantly, those funds will go towards saving a good many lives.”
“From drowning,” said Mrs. Godwin, with the faintest hint of bemusement in her tone.
Samuel winced.
“It is a tragedy for anyone to lose their life in such a manner,” said Mrs. Kirk, her voice laden with sorrow. “There are hundreds lost each year in London alone.”
“That is distressing,” conceded Mrs. Godwin. “But is there cause for this charity in our village? I have been to the Mere, and it is not deep enough to be much of a danger to anyone.”
“We cannot be too careful,” said Mrs. Kirk, her voice firm with determination.
“I am hosting a lecture Thursday next in which we will learn resuscitation techniques. Though I hope never to need my skills, I find myself eager to put them to use: the Society awards medals to those who save another from a watery demise. To have something tangible that demonstrates the importance of this cause would make me burst with pride.”
Pausing, the lady added, “I do hope you will join us, Mrs. Godwin.”
Pulse quickening, the words settled in his chest like his bated breath.
Samuel knew that tone well enough: it was an invitation and a test. This was precisely the sort of opportunity that would be of great benefit to the rector’s wife.
Public and well attended, Mrs. Godwin could be seen to embrace Kingsmere and its odd ways.
Samuel’s heart filled with silent pleadings that she would accept, but silence followed. Surely it was nothing. A moment’s consideration. Yet Mrs. Godwin did not speak. It was naught but a second, perhaps two, but the time stretched thin as they waited.
“That is very kind of you,” said Mrs. Godwin. “But I fear I am otherwise occupied on that day.”
For all that the words were spoken politely, anyone with sense recognized the disinterest that fueled that excuse, which was naught but a euphemism to soften the truth of the matter, just as people claimed to “not be at home” when unwelcomed visitors paid a call.
Mrs. Kirk let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, I am certain you have a great many things to do, but if your diary alters, please send word. We would be delighted for you to join us.” A rustle announced that the lady had risen to her feet. “Do excuse me, but I have other business to see to.”
“Yes, of course,” said Mrs. Godwin, accepting that euphemism for what it was.
Ducking out of sight as the ladies emerged from the parlor, Samuel watched the pair give their farewells.
Despite the faint tension thrumming beneath the sudden departure, the ladies parted amicably enough, but as soon as the door shut on their departing visitor, something tight and bright flared behind Samuel’s eyes.
The corridor felt too small, the ceiling pressing lower than it had a moment before.
His breath caught halfway in, then released in a measured exhale.
Mrs. Godwin’s excuse lingered in his ears, smoothly spoken but devastating all the same, and Samuel stood rooted in place, tucked out of sight, as his wife returned to the parlor.
Heat spread from his chest to his limbs, and his jaw clenched, the muscles along his neck drawing taut as he silently followed.
Mrs. Godwin was gathering cups and saucers with careful hands and moved about the parlor as though nothing had shifted beneath her feet, as though no door had quietly closed that might not open again.
A creak of the floorboard had her glancing over her shoulder at him.
“I hadn’t realized you were home.” Motioning toward the tea caddy, Mrs. Godwin lifted it for his inspection. “I have put your mother’s gift to good use—”
“What possessed you to turn her away?” he demanded, the words forcing their way past his patience and bursting into the world like the blast from a cannon. “Mrs. Kirk invited you to join her Society. Why did you not accept?”