A Treacherous Affair #3

Chapter 1

At the croft cottage, it was their first week together.

No more did Oskar have to make the exhausting, near three-hundred-mile journey by train, coach, and foot every fortnight, returning to Glasgow after a mere few hours.

Now, he was all there through every evening and night, and they revelled in the fact that they could make love at their leisure, slowly, pleasurably, and delighted in the disbelief of waking together in the mornings, of their constant togetherness.

The following week, Rachel washed, dressed carefully, and walked the five miles into Invermory. “I’m going to the village,” she had told Oskar that morning.

“What?” he asked, surprised. “What on earth are you doing that for?”

“To speak to the minister. To tell him that we had planned to marry last month but, through no fault of our own, our plans have been stymied.”

“And why?” Oskar pressed.

“I think he needs to know that the decree absolute was due to come through in March, that we fully intended to wed as soon as it had, and I’m going to ask that we be redeemed in the eyes of God.”

“Well, I’ll come with you!” Oskar offered.

“No,” she said. “I want to do this alone.”

As usual, carts approaching from behind on their way to Invermory slowed upon spotting a lone woman on the road, preparing to give her a lift, but, on seeing who she was, the drivers clucked to their ponies and trotted smartly by.

She entered the village, her head high, her expression determined, ignoring disapproving stares and whispers behind hands as she passed through. The path to the manse wound past the kirk graveyard, its walls lichened and weathered, the bell silent above.

“Miss Torrance!” the minister exclaimed in surprise when he opened the door, hesitating for a moment before extending his hand. “How may I be of help?”

“Exactly that,” Rachel replied. “My title.”

Puzzled, he received her in his study, a narrow room lined with theological volumes. He invited her to sit, lowering himself into his chair.

“As you are well aware, Mister Bauer was served divorce papers in this very kirkyard,” Rachel began.

“And all along, as per the communication from his solicitor, the decree absolute should have been proclaimed four months from then,” she went on.

“However, Mister Bauer has just received the disturbing news that his wife has absconded, and therefore the entirety of the proceedings has ground to a halt. It seems he must remain married to her even although she is missing. Mister Bauer surmises that she has returned to her native Germany, perhaps for good.”

“I see,” the minister said. “Go on.”

“As we were fully intending to wed at the beginning of last month, and our marriage has now been thwarted, I’m wondering if you could find it within yourself to redeem us in the eyes of the Lord?”

A weighted silence gathered between them. “Perhaps,” the minister replied cautiously then.

“I’ve come to ask that you please announce our situation to the congregation on Sunday,” she went on. “Mister Bauer and I would attend the service.”

“That’s…an unusual request,” he replied, taken aback.

“So are the circumstances that Mister Bauer and I are now forced to endure, through no fault of his own. ‘Unusual’.”

The minister clasped his hands, nodding again. “Indeed. You understand, Miss Torrance, that many in this parish were - and still are - deeply troubled.”

“That was - and still is - made very clear to us.”

“You and Mister Bauer have placed yourselves beyond proprieties.”

“I do understand.”

“And there’s been scandal, which now, it appears, is ongoing.”

“As I’ve mentioned. I’m aware.” She did not lower her eyes. “We intend to remain here, in this parish.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “I see. But given the, em, unwavering sentiment of the parishioners over the past several months, do you not wish to begin afresh? Elsewhere?”

“No,” she replied, her tone determined. “We’ve stayed away from the village and your services as we no longer wished to be the targets of ignorance and slander. I - we - refuse to hide further.”

The minister leaned back in his chair. “You’re asking me to stand before those who have condemned you and declare that you intended to wed just as soon as the decree was finalised, and now cannot,” he said, as if to confirm her request.

“Yes. Exactly that. I’m asking you to declare the fact that, if not for his wife’s disappearance, Mister Bauer and myself would now be married, and are no longer deserving of such animosity towards us.”

“And if the declaration provokes further division?”

She inhaled sharply. “Then let it provoke it openly. At least you will have tried. And the last thing I want to say to you is this: the minute the decree absolute comes through, whenever that may be, we shall wed.”

“I see,” he said again, studying her. “And you say that you and Mister Bauer will attend the service?”

“Yes. We wish to be present.”

He exhaled slowly. “Very well,” he said. “I shall announce it.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she, too, gave a long exhale. “Thank you, Minister.”

“I’d planned to deliver a sermon on forgiveness,” he said then. “Given what you’re asking, it would seem that the topic would be right on the mark.”

Sunday came warm and fragrant with the scents of the fresh growth of spring, a typical May morning.

The kirk bell pealed out clearly across Invermory, calling the parishioners to worship.

Together, hand in hand, Rachel and Oskar walked up the path; conversation outside the kirk doors faltered as they approached.

Men stepped aside, and women drew their shawls closer, but no one barred their entry.

Inside, the pews filled as usual – with farmers in their Sunday coats, women in their best bonnets, the older children scrubbed and solemn.

The couple did not take a seat at the back, but walked to the pew they had always occupied before the scandal, and sat.

A murmur rippled, then silence fell as the minister emerged from a door by the apse and mounted the pulpit.

He opened the Scriptures and began as always - a psalm sung, a prayer offered, his voice strong and steady.

After the reading, he closed the Bible and rested his hands on it.

“There is a matter of parish concern that I must address,” he announced then.

A curious stillness spread through the congregation, and he waited until it had settled completely.

“Many among you are aware of events these past months which have caused distress and division.”

A rustle of acknowledgement arose in the pews, and he did not look at Rachel and Oskar immediately.

“It is my duty to inform you that Mister Oskar Bauer and Miss Rachel Torrance, who sit among us here today, should now be lawfully married,” he continued, his words falling on the congregation like a stone.

“I say ‘should’,” he went on, “because they had every intention to wed last month, but circumstances beyond their control have since arisen to prevent their union.”

“God’s will,” someone in the pew behind the couple muttered.

“Aye, God knows best,” somebody else agreed.

“Those two were never meant tae wed,” a third voice stated.

The minister lifted his eyes then, which travelled across the assembly.

“We are commanded,” he went on, ignoring the mutterings, “to remember that we all have sinned and fallen short. As Jesus said, ‘let him who is without sin among you, cast the first stone.’ There has been wrongdoing, there has been error, but there has also been repentance.”

A stunned silence ensued. Rachel’s fingers tightened in Oskar’s hand.

“The Lord does not withhold mercy from those who seek it. Nor are we permitted to do so,” the minister continued.

“Our calling is not to cast stones indefinitely, but to restore fellowship where it may be restored.” He leaned forward.

“If we deny forgiveness to others, we deny the very grace upon which we ourselves depend. Therefore, I ask you to consider your own hearts. The matter of former conduct lies before God. The matter of present conduct lies before you. Let us pray.”

Heads bowed, some reluctantly, others reflexively.

Rachel, aware of her husband sitting very straight beside her, felt heat rise behind her eyes, but she did not cry.

When the final hymn began, the chorus of voices was uneven, some robust, others barely at all.

As the congregation filed out afterwards, an elderly man shook his head at Rachel, and a young mother turned her children pointedly away.

Mrs. Bain passed the couple without acknowledgment, but she did not cross to the other side of the path. Outside the kirk gate, small groups formed, their voices low and sharp-edged.

“They expect us tae forget?”

“It’s no forgettin’. It’s the law.”

“Law isnae decency.”

“Let’s go,” Oskar said, pulling Rachel away by the hand.

“No, let’s wait,” she said, pulling back. “We’ll go in a moment.”

The minister emerged last. He met their eyes and nodded to them. “It’s done,” he said quietly when he reached them.

“Yes,” Rachel replied. “Thank you.”

As they walked back towards their croft, Invermory did not part as dramatically as before, but it did not embrace them either.

Curtains still moved, voices continued in lowered tones, and they were not offered a lift home.

Their relationship now stood in the open air, but forgiveness had not bloomed.

The village, having heard it named from the pulpit, had just had it confirmed that the couple who had scandalised them were still living in sin.

What the parish chose to do with that fact would unfold slowly.

In the weeks that followed, the villagers acquiesced grudgingly.

The couple was served at shop counters – albeit in silence – but at least they were served.

They were passed on the street without greeting or even nods, but no longer did parishioners cross the road to avoid them.

Adolescents no longer jeered and children stopped hurling obscenities, yet whispers about Rachel among the villagers never abated.

“You have it worse, much worse, as the woman always does,” Oskar said to her one evening. “I’m so sorry, my darling.”

Rachel shrugged. “It’s how it is. I can take it,” she replied with a weak smile.