He rolled his eyes. “We both know that is not true. It is not a sin to be confident, but modesty is a virtue, and there is no shame in seeking self-improvement.”
“I still think you did a fine job,” she said, holding her smile so that her father could see it. “I already look forward to the next one.”
That saw her father smile, which was a rare thing.
That wasn’t to say he was often angry or wicked. In truth, he was kind and gentle, even caring – one had to be, to be a vicar. However, not so long ago, and for reasons that Yvette did not like to think about, he had succumbed to the cruel lure of excessive drinking, letting its wicked touch taint him so that Yvette once feared he might never return to the man he once was.
He had since abstained from the drink, going five years sober, but the effects lingered, and he was always careful not to return to who he had been during those hard years.
Things were not perfect between Yvette and her father, and she was always careful not to step out of line or give her father a reason to falter. She watched over him like he watched over his congregation, and while he never said it out loud, she liked to think that he relied on her as they relied on him.
“That will be all,” he said as he bent his head back over his work.
“I will let you know if there is anything else I need, Father.” Yvette smiled one more time and turned to leave.
“Oh, and Yvette…”
She turned to find her father back at work. “Yes?”
“Thank you for your help today. Your mother…” The scratching of his quill, and she saw his hand shaking. “She would be proud.”
A single tear leaked from Yvette’s eye, and she offered him a final smile, seeing no need to say anything else. She watched him a moment longer, pride felt at how far he had come since he stopped drinking, and how dedicated he was once again to his work. Then she stepped outside his office and closed the door gently.
It is slow and steady, but he is getting there. Not quite the man I remember, but so very close…
Her interaction with her father was not a particularly warm one, but that wasn’t expected. Rather, that he had thought to thank her at all told Yvette that her help was noticed and appreciated, and that was all she ever wanted.
As such, a natural smile formed on her lips as she went back to her daily tasks, of which there were many.
It was earlier this morning that congregation was held, so Yvette’s first task was to clean the church from top to bottom. She spent an hour on this task, humming merrily as she swept and dusted and replaced any flowers that had started to wilt.
Yvette had grown up as the daughter of a vicar, so she knew no life outside of this one, and she aspired to nothing else but helping those who could not help themselves. After all, was that not her purpose? Was that not how she had been raised?
Nowhere was this creed more prevalent than in the feeding of homeless children.
It had been her father’s idea to start feeding the youths who lived on the estate. Some of them worked on the farms, others moved between them, and many were from London, which itself was only ten or so miles south. Twice a week, her father arranged through his congregation to have food delivered and served to these youths, and over the past years, the number of children had grown from less than five to nearly two dozen.
When her tasks were done, Yvette made her way to a shed located behind the church, where the food was set for the children to eat. By this time, she expected most of them to be gone, but there were always a handful that lingered because they had nowhere else to go and likely hoped that Yvette might bring them something else.
Today, there was just one youth remaining.
“Someone is moving a little slowly today,” Yvette joked as she walked into the shed and spied its single occupant.
He was huddled over the table, bowl in hand, which he scraped at and licked clean so ensure that nothing was missed or left behind. When he heard Yvette’s voice he jumped in the air, dropped the bowl, and looked ready to run away as if he was doing something wrong.
“Not that there is anything wrong with that,” Yvette made sure to add. “In fact…” She flashed her eyes at the youth. “I think you might see the benefit this one time.”
His name was Hugh and he was, by Yvette’s estimation, eight years old. He was short for his age, underfed and scrawny so that his bones could be seen through his collar. Hair as black as coal, eyes that were as blue as deep pools, and tanned skin from spending a life outdoors. Hugh was a street urchin to his core.
He was also one of the friendliest children Yvette had ever met. She saw dozens of children pass through here, and while many smiled at her, and some even greeted her, only Hugh ever spoke to her properly. Only Hugh ever tried to connect.
He is lonely, is why. How many times have I asked where he stays when he is not here? How many times have I tried to find out more? That he speaks to me at all is a miracle.
“Miss Norleigh!” Hugh yelped. “I – I – I did not hear you.” He spoke with a slight stutter, always more prevalent when he was nervous.
“Were you listening?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Or were you too busy feasting?” She eyed the bowl he had dropped at his feet.
He smiled sheepishly. “I was ru – running late. By the time I got here, most of it was gone. Figured I’d take advantage the best I could.”
