“Oh dear,” Ethel whispered, leaning closer to Walter. “I hope Reverend Eberhard didn’t misunderstand the calling he heard today, because it’s one thing to lecture the gentlemen in the congregation about giving to the poor, but it’s another matter altogether to go after the ladies. Mothers will not take kindly to him questioning the behavior of their daughters.”
“I’m sure he understood exactly what God wanted him to impart today,” Gwendolyn whispered back. “And while I’m sure you’re correct about the ladies being annoyed at being taken to task, it’s a message many in attendance needed to hear. And who better to deliver a message about questionable behavior than a servant of the Lord?”
“If I may have everyone’s attention again?” Reverend Eberhard said, raising his voice to be heard over all the murmuring and rapid waving of fans by ladies who, as Ethel had mentioned, were not taking kindly to the reverend’s words.
As the church grew quiet, Reverend Eberhard paced around the pulpit. “To those of you who have participated in unbecoming antics, I say this—you must go forward with grace and love, refusing to give in to the temptation to set yourself apart from the crowd by disparaging anyone. Everyone is considered your neighbor, and God, again, expects you to love them.”
As Reverend Eberhard returned to his notes, silence settled over the church until Samuel suddenly jumped to his feet as the bag he’d insisted on bringing with him began to move, rightbefore a gray face complete with whiskers and a black nose appeared—a nose that unfortunately belonged to...
Before Walter could finish the thought, Rat, Samuel’s oddly named guinea pig, scrambled from its hiding place, clawed its way up the skirt of Ethel’s gown, landed on her shoulder, and sat there trembling for the briefest of seconds—until Ethel released a shriek right as Samuel tried to grab him.
It quickly became evident that Rat didn’t want to be caught, because he launched himself into the air, landing on Matilda’s hat. She immediately began shrieking as well while trying to knock the guinea pig from her hat with her hymnal.
“Don’t hurt him,” Samuel yelled, lunging for Rat but missing when the guinea pig scurried down Matilda’s back, eliciting renewed shrieking from Matilda. Rat then jumped onto the railing of the pew and took off as fast as his little guinea pig legs could carry him.
“Rat!” Samuel yelled as he leapt over the short wall of the pew and began chasing after his runaway pet. “Rat!” he called again as Priscilla, followed by Gwendolyn, dashed out of the pew, running pell-mell after Samuel.
As Walter raced to catch up with them, he soon discovered Samuel’s continuous yells of “Rat” were not the shrewdest thing for his son to yell in a room filled with sensitive ladies, because a chorus of shrill squeals began echoing around Trinity Church.
Pandemonium was swift as some ladies jumped up on the benches while others made a beeline for the door.
Unfortunately, with the aisle now crowded with ladies attempting to flee, Walter’s forward progress turned into a crawl. Craning his neck, he wasn’t surprised to see Samuel, upon finding the steps leading from the balcony blocked by ladies, squeeze his way to the railing, hoist his leg over it, and begin sliding his way to the first floor, Priscilla following suit a second later.
“Priscilla, no!” he called, his heart skipping a beat as his daughter flung herself over the railing.
“Stop right there, young lady,” he heard Gwendolyn shout. But Priscilla either didn’t hear her or was intentionally ignoring her, because a blink of an eye later, she was zooming down the railing on her stomach, squealing all the way to the bottom.
To Walter’s astonishment, instead of fighting her way through the crowd, Gwendolyn hopped on the railing as well and slid—sitting straight up, with perfect posture to boot—to the bottom, leaping gracefully to the ground before she charged after Priscilla and Samuel.
As he edged his way through ladies still attempting to flee the building, although why they were continuing to do so was beyond him since Samuel was no longer yelling “Rat” every other second, probably because Rat had left the building and was surely on his way to find guinea pig freedom, Walter forced himself to begin composing a suitable response to deal with what was assuredly going to be the loss of Samuel’s pet.
Pressing past five ladies blocking the door, he, along with Cordelia, who’d been dogging his heels, finally broke free of the crowd, Walter hesitating beside the graveyard as he looked around for his children.
“Priscilla’s over by that tall tombstone,” he told Cordelia, nodding to where his daughter was peering around a headstone. “You get her. I’ll go after Samuel.”
Running toward where the carriages were lined up, Walter rounded the corner of the church and stopped in his tracks when he saw a footman striding down the cobblestone walkway, wielding a broom, his sights on a small bundle of fur that seemed to be frozen in place, a guinea pig that, if it survived this ordeal, might need a name change.
“Put that broom away,” Gwendolyn yelled right as Rat began moving again—unfortunately in the direction of the footman still clutching his broom.
Disaster was imminent when the footman apparently didn’t hear Gwendolyn and drew the broom back, clearly intent ontaking care of what he believed to be a rat once and for all. Before he could let the broom fly though, Gwendolyn rushed toward him, snatched the broom from his hands, tossed it aside, and then set her attention on Rat, who was now scrambling up the drive, his sights on a green pasture that bordered the church. Without a second’s hesitation, she broke into a run, made a flying leap a moment later, and landed facedown in what looked to be a large mud puddle.
“Is he dead?” Samuel demanded, traipsing into the puddle and stopping beside Gwendolyn, who took that moment to roll over, get to her feet, and brandish what turned out to be Rat, looking the worse for wear—although he might not have been as mud drenched as Gwendolyn.
“He’s fine, Samuel, but what say you let me hold him until we get the little darling home and returned to his cage?”
While Samuel beamed a gap-toothed smile at Gwendolyn, Ethel materialized by Walter’s side. “I’ll deny this if you tell Miss Brinley, but she certainly is uncommonly competent. I would have never imagined any lady had the ability to catch a rapidly retreating rodent with her bare hands, or that she would do so while under threat of being walloped with a broom.”
“She does seem to be a remarkably capable woman,” Walter agreed. “But since Rat has been thwarted from his bid for freedom, I should check on Miss Lowe. She was going after Priscilla in the graveyard.”
Ethel peered over Walter’s shoulder. “I believe she found her and... oh dear.” She winced. “This isn’t going to be good.”
Refusing a sigh, Walter directed his attention to where his mother was gazing, finding Cordelia standing two feet away from Priscilla, holding what appeared to be the arm of Priscilla’s rag doll in her hand. Given the outrage stamped on his daughter’s face, it wasn’t a stretch to assume Cordelia had tried to catch Priscilla by grabbing hold of her doll, parting his daughter’s doll from her arm.
Striding into motion, Walter shuddered when Priscilla took a step backward, a telling sign if there ever was one—and something that usually preceded an attack of the kicking or biting sort.
Just as Priscilla lowered her head, a brilliant flash of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a loud burst of thunder that had the ground trembling. A mere second later, Priscilla was in motion, flying his way as fast as her short legs could carry her. He barely had a second to open his arms to scoop her up, and then she was burrowing her head in the crook of his neck right as the heavens opened up.
A rusty-sounding laugh escaped him as Priscilla arched away from him and caught his eye, her eyes wide even as she blinked rain out of them.
