Chapter 31
Heat rose fast and sharp beneath her skin, and Phoebe drew in a breath through her nose to keep from saying the first cutting thing that came to mind, but with each venomous word spewed at her, she found it more difficult to hold her tongue.
“We had a solution in place,” Samuel continued. “It wasn’t perfect, but we found a way around the laws. Yet it wasn’t enough for you, so you blundered in and badgered members of the vestry council without even consulting me.”
“You asked me to be involved. Demanded it, in fact!” she said, her fists trembling. “You stood there, calling me a useless wife—”
“I did not call you that.”
“It was clear in your tone and expression!”
Samuel’s shoulders sagged, the earlier fire giving way to something closer to despair. “Must we return to this argument again and again?”
“It is not the same argument,” she spat, pointing a finger at him. “Before, you were angry that I did nothing, and now you are angry that I have acted. Apparently, I can do no good in your eyes.”
Phoebe stood there, heart pounding, the room suddenly too small to contain everything she felt—fear for Mr. Colby, horror at what she’d unintentionally set in motion, and now this sharp, bewildering sense that the foundation beneath her marriage was crumbling without warning, that some ugly part of Samuel was rearing up, showing the true colors that lay beneath the kindly rector facade.
He wasn’t listening! Every word she said simply bounced away, useless, as he wriggled and writhed his way through the conversation.
Despite facing one another, it was as though her words flew past him, not even grazing his thoughts before he fired a volley back.
No longer tethered to the moment that had birthed it, the argument took on a life of its own, the air crackling like a meadow before a lightning storm.
And Phoebe became acutely aware of how small the room truly was. Just like this house. This village. This life.
Her thoughts skittered ahead of her tongue, grasping for sharper points and firmer footing. Each thing Samuel said left her scrambling to be heard—to make him see—as her pulse thudded in her ears, her hands clenching and unclenching as though the force of her will alone might win the day.
Yet every defense Phoebe mounted was batted away as yet another man exerted his control, ignoring her wishes and opinions in favor of his great and mighty wisdom.
For no one was as bright and brilliant as a man.
They knew all and expected their wives and daughters to simply curtsy and accept that which was heaped upon them.
To bear whatever trials and tests they saw fit to inflict.
Forcing her to prove her worth whilst doing nothing to prove his own.
The realization struck her with a cold, clarifying force. The room felt suddenly intolerable. Too close. Too loud with endless expectations she could not meet.
Samuel’s words washed over her without settling, sliding past as her thoughts fixed upon something else entirely.
Mr. Colby was already lost. That truth sat heavy and immovable in her chest, and no amount of anger or explanation would dislodge it.
She had failed him. However unintentionally, the outcome was the same.
But she would not fail again.
Phoebe turned away, her breath coming quick and shallow as she crossed to the sideboard. Her hand went to the tea caddy without hesitation, fingers closing around its familiar weight as though it were an anchor in the storm.
Ignoring her husband, Phoebe swept from the room without another word.
Samuel Godwin was a pig-headed fool like all the other men in the world, and she refused to seek permission to do the right and proper thing.
That conviction settled into her bones as she abandoned the wreckage in the parlor and fetched her cloak.
She wouldn’t allow another person to suffer when she had the power to save them.
***
Morning light crept up the horizon, and the village itself remained hushed—doors closed and windows dark—as though holding its breath at the edge of day.
Mrs. Broad stood close to Mr. Colby, her movements careful and deliberate as she fastened his coat, though her fingers were stiff with cold and age alike, and she murmured to him as she worked, her voice low and steady, as though calm alone might keep the morning at bay.
Phoebe stepped forward without thinking, her throat tight as she reached to help, and they used a scarf to fasten the hat upon his head, tucking the ends around his neck.
For all that she had insisted on being here, Phoebe could not look him in the eye.
Tears clawed at her self-control, and her hands shook as she smoothed his coat, drawing it tight against the chill, each careful movement an effort to prolong the moment.
Mrs. Broad’s cottage sat low and narrow against the lane, its thatch darkened by recent rain as smoke drifted from the chimney in a steady line.
A milk cart waited in front, plain but serviceable, ready to transport its goods to the next parish, and the horses shifted their weight, their tack jingling as they grew restless, though (bless him!) Mr. Masters did not call for them to hurry.
Shrugging off his coat, Samuel draped it around Mrs. Broad’s shoulders, for she insisted on remaining with the farewell party, though her shawl was too thin for the chill. However, Phoebe refused to acknowledge the gesture.
“Come now, Mrs. Godwin,” said Mr. Colby, chucking her chin with a trembling hand. “No watery farewells.”
But that only made the breath in her lungs shudder, and Phoebe fought to clear her eyes as the world blurred.
Despite defending herself from her husband’s aspersions, she wasn’t a simpleton.
There was no mistaking the correlation between her actions and the consequences standing before her.
Whether intentional or not, this was her doing.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, though the words were too small.
Mr. Colby chuffed and shook his head. “The world would be much simpler if blame were so easy to lay. Do not fret, my dear. My actions brought me to this moment far more than yours.”
Heaving a sigh that puffed and billowed around her, Phoebe looked away.
“‘Tis the truth, Mrs. Godwin,” he said as a heaviness entered his tone.
“I always knew remaining was a gamble, and I ought to have made the journey long before this. Or set aside funds for my dotage, rather than drink it all away. Or chosen to remain home and become the mason my father wanted me to be, rather than join the Navy. A good many decisions led to this moment, and only one of them was yours.”
Reaching for the basket at her feet, Phoebe handed it to him. “I have packed you some of that lemon cake you like so much and some bread and cheese for the journey.”
“Ah, you are a dear,” he said, giving it a good sniff. “This will do me a world of good. You’ll see.”
“Be safe,” she whispered.
“Don’t you worry about me, madam. I shall be right as rain, one way or another.” But that statement was punctuated by a wracking cough that did little to soothe her feelings.
Samuel moved closer, but Phoebe stepped away when he placed a hand on her back.
“Take good care of your wife, sir,” said the old man, shaking the rector’s hand. “A good marriage is the greatest source of happiness, and your Mrs. Godwin is an excellent woman.”
Not willing to explore the meaning or motivations behind that warning, Phoebe shifted to stand beside Mrs. Broad, slipping her arm through the lady’s; despite the thick coat, Mrs. Broad was already shivering, and Phoebe wanted to get her back beside the fire as soon as possible.
The Constable and Samuel helped Mr. Colby up next to Mr. Masters before the former took a place in the back of the cart.
Tipping his hat, the escort said, “Do not fret, ladies. I will have him delivered to the next parish safe and sound. It may take a few days to relay him between the parishes, but he’ll be home before he knows it.”
Except the only home he had was the one at her back.
With a flick of the reins, the milkman set the cart rumbling down the lane, the jugs rattling with every bump.
“He shan’t make it to his parish,” whispered Mrs. Broad, though she raised a handkerchief and waved it vigorously as the cart disappeared around a bend.
“We will simply have to pray for a miracle,” said Phoebe, though her heart wasn’t in it. Guiding Mrs. Broad toward the house, she added, “Now, let’s get you warm lest you take ill.”
But before they did, Mrs. Broad paused and shrugged off the borrowed coat. “My thanks, Mr. Godwin. You are a kind lad.”
That “kind lad” retrieved it without looking at Phoebe, though he managed a polite nod to Mrs. Broad before shrugging it on and marching off down the lane.
Silence was generally a comfortable thing for them. Or had been when they were content to live those parallel lives. They hadn’t felt the need or desire to speak, and though those moments had been steeped in apathy, matters had been mostly peaceful.
Now, the silence felt weighted and deliberate, and a night’s sleep had simply placed more distance between the pair—one that neither was willing to breach and left Phoebe feeling all the more alone in the world.
“That man takes too much responsibility on his shoulders,” sighed Mrs. Broad. “I don’t know another rector who would bother to rise early to see off a removal. My Mr. Broad was an angel of a man, but I doubt he would’ve thought to rouse himself from a warm bed for such a small matter.”
“It isn’t small to Mr. Colby,” replied Phoebe, leading her along.
“Nor is it for your husband.”
Those words hovered between them, too near the mark to be met head-on, but Phoebe did not want to think of Samuel. The ache in her heart was too great for her to contain if she gave it free rein, and she did not want to weep.
So, Phoebe fixed her attention on guiding Mrs. Broad along the path with a measured pace, welcoming the distraction of seeing the older woman safely inside.
Small though it may be, the task was something concrete to do.
Something that did not require her to give shape to the feelings she couldn’t bear to examine.
Mrs. Broad’s cottage received them with a familiar warmth that carried the faint scent of herbs, though it was noticeably emptier without Mr. Colby seated in his place by the fire. Phoebe helped the lady settle, smoothed the shawl about her shoulders, and saw her tucked in with quiet efficiency.
And when she stepped back outside, Phoebe did not hesitate before turning in the opposite direction that Samuel had taken, setting a brisk pace that warmed her toes and filled her lungs. But the silence followed her still, heavy and unresolved.