Jewel of Gresham Green (8 page)

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Andrew said.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Grace echoed, smiling up at Thomas.

Thomas expressed the same intent to Grace, and then Andrew pronounced them husband and wife. “You may kiss your bride.”

After a short, sweet, and smiling kiss, they marched back down the aisle, hand-in-hand, to Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” Julia and her family followed, along with Seth and Mercy Langford and their daughter, twelve-year-old Amanda. In the vestibule, Philip was already embracing Grace, murmuring something to her, and then he shook hands with Thomas. He turned to Julia.

“Mother.”

A lump welled in Julia’s throat. But for the auburn hair, he could have been her first husband, staring at her through cobalt blue eyes. Yet he looked weary. Thinner. Older.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said.

She took him in her arms, kissed his cheek. “But you’re here now.”

“Forgive the stubble,” he said, rubbing his face. “I didn’t have time to shave.”

She smiled and looked past him. “Where is Loretta?”

He shook his head. By then, the vestibule was filled and Julia was swept up into post-ceremonial activities.

Thankfully, an obliging sun and benign white clouds allowed benches to be set up on the green outside the village hall. Inside, tables groaned with food prepared by the cooks at the Bow and Fiddle: cold chicken, small minced veal pies garnished with rolled bacon, curried rabbit, new potatoes, cucumber salad, and baked macaroni with cheese.

Julia and Andrew followed Seth and Mercy outside the door and arranged themselves with the married couple to greet guests. Parishioners and shopkeepers, servants and farmers, old friends and new filed by to clasp their hands.

“I only caught sight of Philip,” Andrew leaned close to say during a gap in handshakes and best wishes. “Did you speak with him?”

“Yes,” Julia replied. “He’s over there with the girls and Jonathan.”

“Sans Loretta,” he said.

“Yes.”

He touched her elbow, concern for her in his hazel eyes. “It’s still a lovely day.”

She smiled back at him. “A lovely day.”

“Hernia surgery with complications,” Philip explained to Elizabeth and Aleda. “My train arrived in Birmingham too late to catch the one to Shrewsbury yesterday evening.”

In his arms he held Samuel, whom he had not seen since Christmas, when he came up for the day to deliver gifts. Claire stayed close to her mother’s skirt but did peek out to give Philip a timid smile.

Elizabeth’s expression softened. “Did the patient come through all right?”

“He did.”

Aleda’s green eyes were still hard. “Did Loretta have to perform surgery, as well?”

“She would have liked to come,” Philip said, ignoring the hurtful barb. “But she woke with a severe headache.”

“Well, there you are!”

Philip felt a pounding on his back. Jonathan Raleigh grinned, eleven-year-old John at his side.

“How long has it been?” asked Jonathan.

Philip’s insides tightened.

“Five months,” Aleda said sharply. She turned and walked away.

“She misses you,” Elizabeth said softly, taking Samuel from his arms, setting the boy’s feet upon the ground. “We all do.”

“I’m sorry. I miss all of you, too.”

His stepsister smiled, but there was an aching doubt in her eyes. “We need to feed the children now.”

“Will you join us?” Jonathan asked.

Philip eyed his mother and Andrew, greeting guests at the door.

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

Of truth, he was ravenous. However, his reluctance to face his stepfather was stronger than his hunger.

“Hello, young man” came a familiar voice from behind.

Philip turned, smiled. “Doctor Rhodes. How good to see you.”

“And you’re a sight for sore eyes.” The stoop-shouldered old man rested a hand upon his back. “Might I have a word with you?”

After the feast, when guests began filtering away, Thomas turned to Julia and Andrew, and cleared his throat.

“I want you to know I shall always take good care of her.”

Julia embraced her new son-in-law. “Yes, Thomas, we know you will.”

The married couple was about to face their first separation. Thomas left with his parents and sister to change his clothes and finish packing. Grace and her family returned to the vicarage.

In Grace’s bedroom, Elizabeth began unfastening two dozen pearl buttons running up the back of the wedding gown while Aleda gathered last-minute items such as toothbrush and comb into a valise—the trunk was already loaded onto the coach Squire Bartley had lent for the journey to Shrewsbury Station.

For Julia’s part, she simply propped weary feet upon a footstool and watched her daughters interact.

“You’re not . . . afraid, are you?” Elizabeth asked.

“Of Scotland?” Grace asked with a little glint in her emerald eyes.

Julia smiled to herself.

“No, of—” Elizabeth glanced sideways at Aleda. “Would you mind stepping outside for a minute?”

“Heavens, Beth,” Aleda said. “I haven’t lived in a cave for twenty-six years.”

“You would like to have,” Elizabeth said with a little laugh.

“Now, there’s a happy thought,” Aleda replied. “Mother explained all that business to me when I was fourteen. But you’re embarrassing Grace.”

Grace shook her head. “I’m not embarrassed. As Mother said, all God’s gifts are good. My only fear is of missing the train.”

Elizabeth resumed unfastening buttons, and Aleda went over to the bed and picked up Grace’s going-away gown, of yellow cambric with narrow white stripes and knife-pleated trim at the bottom of the skirt. She and Elizabeth helped Grace slip it over her head.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, a knock, and then Philip’s voice. “Please inform Cinderella her coach awaits.”

“Almost ready!” Elizabeth called, combing Grace’s mussed curls while Aleda fastened buttons.

Philip’s voice came again after a pause. “May I come in?”

“No!” Aleda replied.

“Yes!” Grace called.

The door opened. He entered, smiled at his youngest sister. “I hope Thomas tells you every day how beautiful you are.”

“He already does,” Grace said, and opened her slender arms and took a step toward him.

Philip made the rest of the distance, gave her a quick squeeze and peck on the lips. “Don’t want to detain you. I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to get a gift.”

Aleda frowned and opened her mouth. Julia sought in vain to catch her eye. But before whatever recrimination could be let out into the room to spoil this bit of family harmony, Philip withdrew an envelope from his pocket and pressed it into Grace’s hand.

“Please buy something . . .” His voice broke, and he looked away for a second.

“Thank you, Philip,” she said softly.

He smiled at her again. “. . . something nice for yourselves on your trip.”

The family stood outside the gate to wave the couple down Vicarage Lane—even Dora, Wanetta, and Luke, though they had been given the remainder of the weekend off. When they were out of sight, the men and John started setting up the badminton net. Aleda announced she would return to her cottage.

“You’re leaving?” Elizabeth said.

“I’ve a story to finish.”

“I’d like to speak with you,” Julia said, and turned for the vicarage, trusting she would follow. As they stood in the vestibule, she took her daughter’s hand and said gently, “We can’t have hard feelings at him for not visiting, but then treat him harshly when he does.”

“He could have made her come with him.”

“How? Bound her in chains? This isn’t the sixth century. And she had a headache.”

Aleda let out a bitter laugh. “That’s up for debate. How long will we allow her to spit upon our family, Mother?”

“We won’t allow that. But she has not crossed that line so far. Please bear in mind Philip’s caught in the middle. Have some pity for him.”

“He put himself in that position.”

“Then have some pity for me,” Julia said, touching her arm softly. Tears pricked her eyes, born of all the emotions of the day. “I’m caught between two children I love more than life itself.”

Aleda’s frown wavered. Her expression softened. “I never thought of it that way.”

“I understand that.”

“But I’m still going home.”

Julia closed her eyes, felt the tears course down her cheeks. Then Aleda’s fingers brushing them away.

“To change my clothes, Mum. I can’t play badminton in this.”

Julia laughed. “You’re a good daughter.”

“I have my moments,” Aleda said, heading for the door. Over her shoulder she said, “Anyway, I’m rather glad the prima donna’s not here. I just didn’t want you to be hurt.”

Julia shook her head as the door closed. But how could she have chided Aleda anyway, when she herself was glad they had Philip all to themselves?

She wondered much later, when the game was over and Philip and Jonathan raced around the net with Samuel and Claire up on their shoulders, if Loretta’s presence would have put a damper on the fun.

But Philip would have been happier, she thought.

Would he? He seemed very much at ease now.

Until Andrew spoke his mind in the parlor that evening as he, Philip, and Julia sat with dishes of leftover wedding cake.

“Have we done something to offend Loretta?”

“Of course not,” Philip replied. “She loves all of you.”

He was too adamant on this point, almost as if trying to convince himself, as well.

“She barely knows us,” Andrew said.

Stop, Andrew,
Julia urged with her eyes. Yet how could he, when she had poured out her heart to him over this matter so many times? Like Aleda, he wished to protect her.

“She didn’t plan on a headache.” Philip set his dish of half-eaten cake upon an occasional table with a sharp
click
. “You know, you could visit us once in a while.”

They had, less than a year after the wedding. Never had Julia felt so unwelcome in a house. Philip had been gracious, but fair or not, it was the woman who set the tone of a house. The few times Loretta had consented to occupy the same space with them, it was as if she had sent her body in for duty’s sake but left her mind in another room. Questions put to draw her out had been answered in monosyllables, unless she was boasting about her parents’ social status and wealth.

Yet how could Julia confess what was in her heart, and possibly damage Philip’s marriage? He obviously loved Loretta.

And he obviously had thought back to that visit, for he said, softly, “We were practically newlyweds. Loretta was anxious over making a good impression.”

“Of course,” Julia said, so willing to forgive.

“It’ll be different when you visit again. You’ll see. And Loretta and I . . . we shall be more faithful about visiting and writing.”

“That would be very nice, Philip,” Andrew said, and smiled.

They spent the remainder of the evening catching him up on village news, even some that Julia had already written about in letters. Aleda’s cottage. Gresham’s placing second in the archery tournament. John’s violin lessons. Squire Bartley’s finally welcoming their visits, and his declining health. The Perkinses opening up Gresham’s first millinery shop and staffing it with their daughter, Priscilla.

Philip spoke animatedly of his surgeries and responsibilities at Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital, sparing them any unpalatable details. He did not speak again of his wife.

Nor did he speak of Doctor Rhodes having approached him. Though she had tried not to get her hopes raised, Julia felt keen disappointment.

Chapter 7

Rainstorms drenched Gresham almost daily the final week of May, but spirits were not dampened, partly due to Parliament’s passing of the Third Reform Act. For the first time, men living in rural areas of England would have the same voting rights as those in towns.

It took four days for the ground to dry. After breakfast on the third of June, Julia pulled a smock over a house dress and began thinning onions and carrots in the kitchen garden, while Luke planted a row of long pod beans.

“I said to Wanetta that we must take the newspaper now,” the gardener said. “A voting man should keep hisself informed.”

A gap between his teeth caused a whistle to accompany the words
said, must, newspaper,
and particularly
hisself
.

Twelve years ago he had finally asked for the vicarage housemaid’s hand. He and Wanetta and ten-year-old Lucas lived a stone’s throw away, in the cottage they rented from Squire Bartley.

“That would be a good idea,” Julia replied. “Good for Lucas, too.”

“Is that so?”

“My father read the newspaper to me. Not front to back, mind. But interesting bits. It’s a memory I cherish.”

“I should have been doing that long ago,” Luke said with forlorn voice.

“You’re a good father, Luke.”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Phelps,” he replied, and though his back was to her, she could hear the blush in his voice. Along with the whistle.

As usual, she had had to bully herself past Luke’s reluctance for anyone to share his chores. But there was still plenty for him to do. Not only was he gardener and groomsman, but he also kept the vicarage in good repair.

The sound of hoofbeats did not cause her to cease pulling plants. She had no vanity about being seen with dirt-stained smock and fingernails. Anyway, most callers were for Andrew. Wanetta would see whoever was there to the study. Andrew planned for interruptions, the reason why he began writing his sermons on Mondays.

Carrots and onions thinned, she moved on to the parsnips. She understood the proverb
A garden is the poor man’s apothecary
. At the end of the row she straightened slowly, pressed both fists behind her hips to quell the dull ache.
But it’s not
kind to a woman’s back
.

Luke straightened just as slowly and began carrying his shovel over to the potting hut. “Fine work, Mrs. Phelps.”

“Thank you, Luke.” She looked up at the sound of the kitchen door. Andrew was descending the stone steps.

“Hallo, beautiful!” he called.

“Aw, Vicar . . . most kind of you,” Luke said from the shadow of the hut. “But I fear my nose is too big.”