1 #2
I turned to go before I started crying and embarrassed myself.
“Don’t forget your pages.”
I waited as she wrapped them and tied the string again. She smiled kindly as I left.
I didn’t want Jenny worrying about me, but my feelings were too strong; I couldn’t reassure her, couldn’t speak at all, without risking tears.
As I walked toward the butcher shop, I did my best to turn my thoughts toward my errand, but all I could think about was George Gainsford.
Perhaps the rumor wasn’t true. Perhaps he wasn’t the new rector and would not be returning to Glenby. Yes, that was what I would assume, until I knew with certainty. Otherwise, I’d only be fretting over something that might never happen.
That thought did little to raise my spirits, and I hurried down the road with my bundle under my arm and my purse dangling from my wrist.
If Jenny was right, and if there was a possibility that George Gainsford might still love me, I must be hopeful of him returning to Glenby, but I just couldn’t imagine it.
If he’d loved me at all, wouldn’t he be bitterly set against me, resentful, or even contemptuous, after I chose someone else? I felt sick just thinking about it.
Well, it hadn’t only been his wealth. Ezra Ashcombe had truly seemed to love me. He’d declared his love for me, and I’d believed him. I felt confident in his love and in my decision—even though I’d had an inkling, even then.
I’d been afraid to pray and ask God to lead me.
I thought if God wanted me to marry George Gainsford, I might be a curate’s wife, doing good works alongside my husband, but I’d always be poor.
With Ezra Ashcombe, I was sure to be wealthy and respected for the rest of my life.
And I could surely do more good if I also possessed a fortune.
Wealth and the respect it brought had not been enough to make up for being ignored and hated by the man who was supposed to love and cherish me. Not nearly enough.
He’d yelled at me and threatened me many times. But mostly he had ignored me. And that had been the worst of all—treated as if I were nothing, not even worthy of a greeting or a few words asking me if I was well. He showed me no concern, no compassion, no consideration.
No one I knew could ever understand how painful it was to be married to someone who hated them, and I could never tell them.
It was too humiliating to admit my husband hadn’t loved me.
And so I only hinted at the truth to a few of my friends.
Only my mother knew the worst of it, and sometimes I wasn’t even sure she believed me.
I noticed I had slowed my pace, due to the heavy, sinking feeling that always came with too many thoughts of Ezra Ashcombe.
It was a conundrum, what to call him, even in my mind. I’d begun to think it was better not to say or think his name at all, like a bad-tasting poison one needed to avoid to ensure one’s good health.
I nearly laughed. What would he do if he knew I thought of him that way? It was amusing, but also quickly led to imagining how he would punish me, ignore me for days or even weeks.
But he couldn’t do any of those things to me anymore, could he?
Now I was simply Mrs. Ashcombe. I’d moved out of Ashcombe Manor the day before the funeral, as the house would be owned by my brother-in-law, Mr. Eustace Ashcombe.
I had to live with my mother, as my husband had refused to provide for me and had left me nothing.
A man was coming down the road toward me, just as I felt a drop of rain, then another and another. I adjusted my bonnet and quickened my pace.
I didn’t recognize the man walking beside his horse, holding the reins in one hand while he put his hat on with the other. He walked with a slight limp, and he almost looked like George Gainsford.
My heart rose, in spite of myself. Could it be?
He glanced up. At the same moment his face registered recognition, I knew it was him.
My foot hesitated of its own accord, and I stumbled slightly. I looked down at the ground. “Oh, Father God,” I whispered under my breath, “help me. I can’t face him.”
But it seemed I would have no choice.
I smiled, or I tried to, as I met his gaze. He was even more handsome than I remembered. His face and chest were more filled out.
“Mrs. Ashcombe.” He took off his hat as he drew near.
“Mr. Gainsford.” My voice only shook a tiny bit. “I am pleased to see you again.”
“And I, you. I trust you are well.”
“Yes, very well, I thank you. You look very well.” Was that the wrong thing to say? My face was burning. Did he realize I was noticing how handsome he was? Could it be that he was taller? He certainly was broader and more muscular. I pictured him as a soldier in uniform, and my heart leapt.
His mouth turned down on one side to show disdain. Or maybe that was my imagination.
“I am sorry for the loss of your husband,” he said. “I heard of it from my friend Mr. Yancey.”
“You are very kind. And I heard that you will be our new rector.”
“Yes. I am just come today, on my way to the rectory now.”
“You must be eager to settle in. I don’t want to delay you.” We were standing in the rain, which was coming down steadily now. I wanted to say, I’m so sorry I refused you. I made a terrible mistake.
“Are you on your way home?”
“I must go to the butcher’s shop first.”
He looked as if he might argue with me, but then his expression changed, and he simply nodded. “I shall see you at church on Sunday.”
“Of course.”
He obviously cared nothing for me. But I pushed that thought away as I trudged down the road that was quickly becoming muddy and slippery.
I seemed to be the only person in town. I paid the butcher for the cut of meat my mother wanted and hurried out.
Tears ran down my face, making me thankful for the rain. By the time I was nearly home, my feet were sliding in the mud.
“There you are,” Mother said when I came in the door and stopped to take off my bonnet. She took the meat from me. “You have likely ruined your dress and your bonnet. Hurry and take them off and put that hem to soak. You know we can’t afford new dresses for you.”
I threw down the pages that I’d been hiding inside my spencer, hoping the oilcloth had protected them. She was watching me as I slipped off my encrusted shoes and left them by the door.
“So that’s why you were late and got yourself caught in the rain.
” Mother stared at the bundle that held my latest chapter.
She frowned and crossed her arms. “I suppose Jenny told you the news, that George Gainsford is the new rector, and he is unmarried still. I hate to say it, but he is not likely to marry you now, not after you rejected him. Men cannot bear to have their pride wounded. Still, it cannot hurt to try to secure another marriage proposal from him, but make your attempt as soon as possible, before someone else catches his eye. There are several young unmarried girls in Glenby, girls that were not married for four years without having a baby.” Mother sighed, shaking her head sadly.
“I need to go and take off my wet things.” I hurried toward the stairs.
In my room I was numb, but not just with the cold, as I stripped off my wet clothing.
But this was nothing to concern myself about.
George Gainsford had returned, but my life would not change.
I would continue to write my little stories, but in my heart I believed my novels would someday be published.
And if God so willed it, my books would sell enough copies and make enough money that I could support Mother and myself.
Then we would no longer be the genteel but poor widow and daughter of the former rector of Glenby.