Robert pulled her closer to him on the bench seat. Waves of emotion crashed over him, and none classified Madeline as silly. “You are a caring person. More kind than anyone I have ever met. The Murphys’ deaths bother you because you realize how senseless it was. It concerns me as well. You mentioned the name Ruth…”
“Ruth Hoffman and her child stopped by the kitchen begging for food. They were also turned away from the local parish. Her husband died when he fell off a roof he was trying to repair.”
“We will find her, I promise.’
“You could offer her a job in the kitchen,” Madeline said, brightening.
“A wonderful idea. All this could have been prevented. The blame does not fall on my father alone for casting the Murphys out of our home and denying them any employment or support when they grew too old to work. I said nothing.” His voice caught. “How many others will face the same fate as the Murphys or possibly Ruth?”
Madeline slipped her arm through Robert’s and leaned her head against his shoulder, in the way she had when she had fallen asleep. “We can mourn them and then try to prevent something like this happening again. We won’t be able to help everyone.”
Robert fought the impulse to give in and kiss her. It would be beyond inappropriate. “Thank you,” he said instead.
She gazed up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “I do not understand. Why did you thank me?”
“For not judging me. I told you everyone in the village was well cared for. You could have said, ‘I told you so.’”
“My mother believes those words are mean and spiteful and not in the least helpful.”
“I am grateful for your mother, then.”
She snuggled closer to him. “As I remember, I yelled at you.”
“You did not yell. You were forceful. I am glad I came with you.”
“Me too.”
He drove in silence into the village, heading in the direction of the parsonage. The village reminded him of his impression of the road leading to Conclarton Castle. Neglect hung over the village like a shroud as villagers wandered through the shops. He had the impression that the villagers were doing more looking than buying. Millinery and dressmakers’ shops flanked one side, and a general store the other. There was a mill and bakery by the river that bordered the village and a one-room schoolhouse near the church in the center of town.
But in between were stores with boarded-up windows where Robert had remembered had once been a bookstore, and a bootmaker’s shop. The establishment with the most activity was the Stuffed Pig Tavern. By the number of men dressed in the British redcoat uniform, it must be a popular military meeting place.
He reached the United Methodist Church as the service ended and parishioners were leaving. Theclergyman, dressed somberly in a black cassock, noticed Robert and hurried to greet him.
“Your Grace,” the man said, bowing toward Robert. “We are most grateful for your generosity. My name is Mr. Neverberry. My wife heard of your generosity last evening. Our little parish has struggled mightily in these challenging times.” A woman dressed in a plain navy wool dress and matching bonnet joined the pastor, who introduced her as his wife.
“We are glad to help, but how did you hear about us so quickly?” Robert said.
“Mary sent her son to tell us the good news last night.” She turned her smile in Madeline’s direction. “You must be Miss Mercer. Mary spoke of you as well, in glowing words.”
“We stopped by to see the Murphys,” Madeline said.
“A tragedy,” Mr. Neverberry said. “Very unfortunate. They were not part of our parish, and we had no recourse but to turn them away.”
Robert felt his temper rise. “What are you…”
Madeline pressed her hand on his arms and interrupted. “We understand, and that is one of the topics we wish to discuss with you. Is that not correct, Your Grace?”
Her expression implored him to use reason and calm. He knew she was as angry as he was that the Murphys had been turned away for the simple reason that they were not members of this parish. It struck him that in such a short time she could discern his thoughts, and even more astounding, that she knew her touch would calm him.
She was correct in assuming that confronting Mr. Neverberry would accomplish nothing. He was a man who followed orders, not a man capable of independent thought.
Robert rested his hand over Madeline’s, feeling the warmth of it penetrate through him. “Miss Mercer is correct. There are matters we wish to discuss. But first, could you direct us to where you would like the goods we are donating to the parish?”
“I will direct a servant at once.”
Mrs. Neverberry tugged on her husband’s arm. “Dear, we are forsaking our manners. Please invite His Grace and Miss Mercer in for tea. They must be chilled to the bone.”
“My wife, as always, is wise beyond her gender. Would you like to join us for tea in the parsonage? Our cook has prepared a lovely lemon sponge cake.”
