Chapter 22
Mrs. Godwin’s voice faded gently, rather than stopping outright, as she marked their place and set the book aside, and Mr. Colby let out a contented breath as though roused from a pleasant reverie.
Pressing his palms on the arms of his chair, the gentleman moved to stand, and Samuel hurried to his feet, reaching over to help him.
Mr. Colby’s balance wavered, his feet uncertain upon the worn floorboards, but Samuel kept close, ready to steady him at the slightest sway.
“Don’t fuss, lad,” Mr. Colby muttered, even as he accepted the offered arm. “I am not made of glass.”
Mrs. Godwin smiled. “Of course not. But I shall come again tomorrow to see what happens next in that ‘Gothic drivel.’”
That earned her a mocking scowl, but gratitude shone plainly in his eyes, warm and unguarded, and when he thanked her, Mr. Colby’s voice carried more feeling than words alone could express.
And with shuffling steps, he showed them out (though Mrs. Godwin insisted he return to his seat), but once outside, Samuel lingered just long enough to hear Mr. Colby’s careful retreat before turning back to the lane.
Mrs. Godwin adjusted her shawl against the cool air, her expression composed, and they meandered along, side by side, as their feet found the path back to The Parsonage.
“I worry about Mr. Colby,” she whispered, though there was no one around to overhear. “May I ask…”
Her voice drifted off, and Samuel had to prod her before she finished the thought.
“He isn’t receiving as much aid as he requires,” she said, frowning. “I do not mean to criticize, but the parish offers him so little.”
Shoulders falling, Samuel nodded. “That is the unfortunate truth. Most aid is rendered to women and children—as it should be—and unfortunately, the stigmas against helping the menfolk remain even when he is unable to provide for himself. With the added difficulty of Mr. Colby belonging to another parish—”
“He belongs to us,” said Mrs. Godwin, her gaze jerking to him. “He has lived here for years.”
Samuel tucked his hands behind him with a sigh.
“According to the law and the church, a person is the financial responsibility of the parish in which they were born, and though that obligation shifts to a new parish under certain circumstances, Mr. Colby does not meet those requirements. Legally, he is free to live here, but he cannot draw upon our parish funds.”
“Would it be better for him to return to his parish?” asked Mrs. Godwin, though her tone suggested she hoped otherwise.
“Assuming he could make the journey, he has no connections or family left there. Kingsmere is the closest thing he has to a home.” Samuel’s heart squeezed as he considered just how difficult it would be for the poor man.
“I wrote to his parish, and as it is more economical for him to remain where he is, they send funds for his upkeep. But that is the extent of what I can do for him.”
“There must be something more,” she said, determination lacing her voice.
They walked on at a leisurely pace, the matter unfolding between them without the sharp edges that had marred so many of their other conversations.
Mrs. Godwin asked questions, testing the shape of the problem rather than pressing for an immediate solution, and though she did not grasp the full breadth of custom and law that governed parish aid, she listened and weighed what he said before offering opinions and insights on how they might continue forward.
Samuel found himself explaining more than he usually did.
Not merely the rules themselves, but the vestry council and their accounting, and rather than bristling at the constraints, Mrs. Godwin accepted and altered course, and Samuel found himself more and more engaged with the exchange.
This was not the strained negotiation of earlier weeks, nor the careful silence he so often employed. It was a proper conversation.
By the time they reached the end of the lane, they hadn’t settled on any course of action, but then, most troubles had no clear, concise solution, so Samuel did not expect some grand revelation that resolved everything perfectly.
He said nothing of what he felt, but as they turned toward home, he recognized it all the same: it was good, unexpectedly good, to think alongside her.
“Do you ever feel a touch…” Mrs. Godwin’s voice faltered, but like so many times before, the words came forth when she was good and ready to share them. “Do you ever feel guilty that we are discussing his very survival when we have so much?”
“Yes. Often. But I fear I have no answers. How much is too much to give? Ought we to hold our heads in shame that we have a home whilst others live in hovels?” Samuel’s words drifted off as all those thoughts surged anew in his mind, poking and prodding his conscience.
“If you discover an answer to that conundrum, I beg you to share it with me, for it has kept me up many a night.”
“Perhaps not having a definitive answer is for the best,” she said, her tone considering.
“Though there is much wickedness in the world, few people knowingly seek it out. They simply convince themselves that their actions are good, and thus do it with a clear conscience. The difficult part of life is sorting out that which is truly good from that which we justify as being good, so it is probably better to constantly evaluate our choices and actions than rely on rote answers.”
Samuel’s rose brows as he considered the lady beside him. “I haven’t thought of it that way before.”
They slowed without quite meaning to, their thoughts drawing them inward as the road stretched ahead.
Mrs. Godwin gave a considering hum. “Surely, I can do more than simply pass out baskets of food and christening boxes with a few scraps of linen inside. It feels so… insignificant.”
“But it isn’t insignificant to them,” he replied. “Even a few days’ worth of food is a boon, and the cloth in those boxes is worth more than they can afford. If they were required to supply their babes with the necessary napkins and gowns, they would be beggared in a trice.”
Brows raised, her gaze darted to his. “Most of it is the poorest quality linen I have ever seen. It’s hardly worth making into rags.”
Samuel considered how to explain it to someone who’d never needed to ask the price of muslin, but before he grasped the words, Mrs. Godwin did so for him.
“Clearly, I haven’t the foggiest notion of household costs,” she sighed. “I must sound like an utter dunce.”
“You are learning, Mrs. Godwin. That is all,” he said. “Until I began my profession, I never thought about the price of bread or linen, so it is little wonder that the sums mean nothing to you.”
Turning a puzzled look at him, she asked, “What of Mrs. Johns and Molly? Whatever we spend on the servants could be allocated to Mr. Colby. Thea is learning to cook and clean for herself, surely I can as well—”
“And leave our cook and maid without an income?” asked Samuel.
“Their families depend on it, and there are few positions in town that pay as well as we do. And though I do not doubt your ability to manage their chores, it would occupy all your time, leaving you unable to help me see to the parish’s needs. ”
“You have managed well on your own until now.”
“I am not so certain of that,” murmured Samuel. “You see things in a different light, and I believe we would all benefit from your insight.”
Mrs. Godwin glanced at him with a quizzical frown as though uncertain if it were a jest or spoken in earnest.
“Sacking our servants is not the solution,” he emphasized, and she accepted that with a nod.
“I could sell my tea and give Mr. Colby the funds,” she offered. “It is selfish of me to be spending so much on luxuries when he is in need.”
Samuel reached out and took hold of her arm, pulling her to a stop. “I beg you not to.”
“It is a little thing—”
Holding up a staying hand, Samuel tried to gather his thoughts. Though he did not comprehend why, the tea caddy was dear to her, and giving it up was no small sacrifice for his wife. However, using that as an argument would not convince her to change course.
“Though I do not know what the balance is between giving and seeing to one’s own comforts, I do know that we must exercise caution,” he said, feeling his way to the answer.
“Every time I visit people in need, I want to hand them every last coin in my pocket, but the solution to their troubles is usually far more complicated than tossing money at them. Frankly, handing them a purse can make matters worse.”
Straightening, Mrs. Godwin’s brows rose. “How so? What harm can it do?”
“In our rush to uplift and aid, we can leave them dependent on our charity.” Tucking his hands behind him, Samuel’s eyes drifted down the road.
“I made that mistake when I was serving as the curate in my previous parish. When hardships come from poor decisions, handing them funds only encourages them to continue the behavior. Each time we give, we mire them deeper and deeper in their mistakes.”
Samuel would not allow himself to drift into memories that were best left undisturbed at present. He’d been young and inexperienced, and he would not continue to flog himself for those mistakes.
“In truth,” he continued, “I find that giving material aid, whether money, food, or clothing, is only beneficial for those laid low by the unforeseen misfortunes of life. And even then, it is better to do what you can to help them pull themselves free than do it on their behalf.”
As she looked no more convinced than before, Samuel continued, “If your brother were offered funds, he would use them wisely. He is determined to build himself a new life one way or another, and any assistance would simply help him do so faster.”
Mrs. Godwin nodded at that assessment.
“And what if the money were given to your father?” asked Samuel, with raised brows, fully knowing what the answer would be. “His poor choices landed him in that mess to begin with. Do you think he would suddenly change and do better?”
Shoulders dropping, Mrs. Godwin shook her head.
“During my curacy,” he added, “I chose to live as meanly as possible, giving away as much as I could—until I realized how often the same people who fret about feeding their children spent every evening drinking away their income at the public house. And I saw far too many grow accustomed to the aid and assistance the church offered, weakening them until they were utterly dependent on others. Money is rarely an impetus for change.”
Drawing in a breath, his shoulders fell.
“My income is generous now, but we are not wealthy. When I pass, you and our children will be without a home, and all you will have to live on is the money I put aside now. I hope and pray it will be decades from now, but I cannot know for certain and must do my best to prepare for that day now.”
Mrs. Godwin’s breath caught, her eyes widening as though she hadn’t considered that before, but then, few expected trouble to knock upon their door.
“I want to be generous, but being overeager will bankrupt us,” he added. “Giving from our own coffers must be done with prudence and an eye for our future as well, lest we end up as dependent as those we are trying to help. We must be wise.”
“We?” asked Mrs. Godwin, a bright note of hope in her voice. Not exuberant, not demanding, but present all the same.
The word lingered between them, bright and unguarded, and Samuel felt its weight settle in his chest. We.
He had said it without ceremony, without forethought, and only now did he grasp what he had offered—and how rarely he had done so before.
Decisions made on his own. Burdens assumed without consultation.
He’d been so intent on carrying everything himself that he had left her standing at the threshold of their marriage, uncertain where she was permitted to step, and the eagerness in her voice made that omission plain.
A knife twisted deep into his heart. How many times had he misjudged her just as she had misjudged him?
Clearing his throat, Samuel tugged at his cuffs, “I was asked to organize a bazaar or concert to raise funds for the coming winter. Would you help me?”
Mrs. Godwin stared at him for a long moment, and Samuel shifted in place.
“I understand if that is an imposition or if you do not wish to,” he hurried to add.
“I simply thought you might enjoy the opportunity.” Samuel cleared his throat again.
“And I do not believe I have told you how grateful I am, have I? For this afternoon. And everything else. You have done so much in a small amount of time, and I am proud of you.”
Samuel frowned to himself. “I do not mean to sound condescending. I am not your father giving you a pat on the head.”
“It would be condescending if you were to say that in your usual tone of voice,” she said with a half-smile. Then mimicking it, she added, “Mr. Godwin.”
Though it didn’t quite catch the simpering quality, she did a fair job, and Samuel held onto a blank expression and asked in all his Mr. Godwin glory, “What say you, Mrs. Godwin?”
Canting her head to the side, she studied him as though searching for deeper meaning. Or perhaps the lady still struggled to see the humor slathered on his words.
“I would be honored, Mr. Godwin.” Though she paused before adding, “As we seem to be on the verge of striking up a proper friendship, I think it is time you call me Phoebe.”
Offering up his arm with a nod, Samuel pointed them toward home, and feeling that they ought to start this new venture on the proper footing, he repeated his previous invitation with that suggested revision.
“Then will you assist me with my event, Phoebe?”
The lady settled in beside him with a smile, her pace matching his. “I would be honored, Samuel.”