Beyond that lay the quieter burdens. The expectation that he be present at every gathering, every crisis, and every moment in the parish. And even here, in the dark, The Parsonage pressed itself upon his thoughts. Repairs that must be postponed. Accounts that required careful keeping—
“I apologize, Mr. Godwin.”
The words were so quiet that Samuel almost missed them. He shifted so that he could turn his head to peer at his wife, but the darkness swallowed her.
“Since our… discussion, I have given your words much thought,” she added, her voice hesitant. “I have been difficult. Ididn’t mean to, but I have added to your troubles, and it fills me with shame.”
Sighing, Samuel settled into the pillow and considered the ceiling of black above him.
“What can I do to help you?” she asked.
“Do not antagonize Mrs. Whitcombe,” came the quick reply. There was a heavy pause at that, and Samuel could well imagine the manner in which her lips tightened in begrudging agreement.
“And do something for the parish,” he added. “It doesn’t matter what—as long as it is useful.”
Chapter 15
“You must not desist,” Mrs. Kirk’s voice rang with conviction as she motioned to the woman playing the part of a drowning victim. “Perseverance is often the difference between a life lost and a life restored.”
Phoebe sat with her hands folded in her lap, her features carefully arranged to express an attentiveness she did not feel, and tried not to count the minutes until she would be free to escape. Pews creaked as ladies shifted in their seats, the sounds echoing throughout the nave, but Mrs. Kirk paid it no mind, her speech continuing, steady and assured.
In truth, the lady’s passion made the lecture bearable, but Phoebe couldn’t help wondering what good this would do. Supposing there was an accident on The Mere where these skills were required, few could swim out to fetch the poor soul. In fact, would it not be more effective to teach prevention? A good many losses could be avoided by teaching that skill.
With unflagging energy, Mrs. Kirk demonstrated again and again how to rub and stimulate the patient’s limbs whilst poor Mrs. Chaffin tried her best to feign insensibility despite the instructor’s vigorous touches, though she was quite unable to keep herself from reacting when a feather was inserted into her mouth to tickle her throat.
Which was how Mrs. Kirk found herself without a volunteer when it came time to demonstrate the proper technique for manually inflating the lungs with a bellows. But the lady’s enthusiasm lagged not one bit, and the audience nodded at appropriate intervals. A murmur of approval followed each solemn reminder of lives saved and futures restored, and with a final word of thanks, Mrs. Kirk motioned them toward the refreshments.
“Wasn’t that so informative?” asked Mrs. Rowley, her eyes alight as she considered the pamphlet in her hand.
“Quite,” said Phoebe, summoning a note of excitement in her voice. “Though I do find myself wondering if there aren’t more pressing concerns in the parish.”
“What is more pressing than saving a life?” asked Mrs. Rowley with raised brows.
“From all accounts, the harvest will be poor this year, and I am certain a good many people will require assistance,” said Phoebe, and though the lady nodded, she raised her hand as if greeting someone from across the way and took her leave.
Moving slowly through the various knots of conversation, Phoebe meandered about the nave. The church no longer felt cavernous now that the lecture had ended. Conversation softened the space, drawing it inward, filling the aisles and side chapels with low voices and the rustle of skirts. Phoebe navigated it with deliberate ease, pausing when someone turned toward her, matching expressions as best she could, shaping herself into what the moment required without fully yielding to it.
This was for her husband. And it was the proper thing to do.
Having never had to find her way in a new neighborhood before, Phoebe wasn’t entirely certain how to go about it, but she found herself modeling Mr. Godwin’s behavior. Not the bowingand scraping—never that—but being a bit more ingratiating wouldn’t go amiss.
Phoebe listened more than she spoke, nodding at proper intervals and allowing others to take the lead. Where praise for Mrs. Kirk’s efforts surfaced, she acknowledged it with quiet approval; the lady’s efforts weren’t meeting more pressing needs in Kingsmere, but they still deserved praise. Heaven knew Mrs. Kirk did more for her fellow man than most.
The pleasant arrangement of her features grew fixed, the muscles at her jaw tightening as she lingered, but Phoebe kept moving, never settling, never allowing herself to be claimed for too long. Stopping invited scrutiny. Motion, at least, suggested purpose.
“I do hope you will offer our greatest of thanks to your husband,” said Mrs. Kirk once Phoebe felt free to take her leave. “We are so very grateful that he allowed us to host the event here.”
“Being of use to you is his greatest wish,” said Phoebe without even a hint of falsehood. Whatever his faults, Mr. Godwin cared deeply about the people in his parish.
“I do hope you will join us again in the future,” added Mrs. Kirk.
Phoebe’s smile strained at the edges, but she forced herself to say, “Of course.”
It was a little thing, after all. A few hours from time to time to please another was hardly a sacrifice. Boredom was not such a great price to pay when it pleased another so much.
Another lady approached with a look of purpose, her cheeks flushed and her bonnet strings hanging loose as though she had forgotten to tie them.
“I have taken down the names of those who wish to contribute,” she said, addressing Mrs. Kirk. “And made certain to take note of all who attended today. And Mrs. Allen hasagreed to distribute the remaining handbills before Sunday. And the candles have been counted.”
