“Away with you,” he finally said as his lungs heaved. “I have come to see your rascal of a father.”
It took some doing to dislodge the little monkeys climbing about him, but soon, Mr. Godwin was free and turned toward the steep stairs in the back corner of the room, which led to a loft. Taking hold of a rope that offered a modicum of support, Mr. Godwin climbed upward and ducked into the small room, disappearing from sight.
Mrs. Harvey settled her guest at the table whilst pulling the basket away from the little hands that grabbed at it. “This is heaven-sent, madam. My deepest thanks.”
“We are glad to be of service,” replied Phoebe, tucking her hands in her lap and leaning forward. “How are you faring? Any news from the surgeon?”
Mrs. Harvey’s brows rose at that. “Surgeon? We just ‘ave Miss Sally down the lane, and she says it’s too soon to tell.”
Cursing herself for that slip, Phoebe wondered why they didn’t have even an apothecary on hand to tend to the ailing man; a surgeon may be beyond their means, but surely a few powders or tinctures were necessary. A broken back was serious at the best of times, let alone for one who made his living with his hands.
But Phoebe brushed the discomfort aside and settled into a discussion about anything other than the great weight hanging over this family. Often, the best assistance was a distraction, and thankfully, Mrs. Harvey was a far more engaging conversationalist than Mr. Godwin (though Phoebe wasn’t certain there was anyone worse than him), and they quickly waded into plans for her kitchen garden and where to move the laundry line.
But Phoebe’s attention strayed, pulled by the muted sounds from the loft above, for Mr. Godwin’s presence filled the house. Thinking back over the past weeks, she recalled the small inconsistencies she had noticed and dismissed—threads of levity weaving through a tone as dry as dust, and flashes of sharp intelligence in his eyes as he bowed and scraped.
Was the self-effacing parson simply a performance? A mask he donned?
And if so, why hadn’t she realized it in two months of marriage? Was it a willful blindness on her part? Or a deception on his?
Phoebe’s fingers stilled upon the tabletop.
The women spoke on for a time, and when Mr. Godwin eventually descended the narrow stairs, the children swarmed him once more, small hands tugging at his coat, voices overlapping in eager competition. He accepted it without hesitation, bending to them and listening with a patience that felt far less practiced than his usual manners.
The room brightened as he paid them attention, each in their turn, and Phoebe watched from her seat, struck silent by the ease with which Mr. Godwin met them on their own ground. There was no stiffness in him now, no careful distance, and when at last it came time to leave, it took effort to disentangle himself, for the children were reluctant to let him go.
Outside again, Mr. Godwin retrieved the baskets without a word, lifting them as though they weighed nothing at all, and the pair continued down the lane, though Phoebe found herself unable to speak. Try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile the man she knew with the one she’d just witnessed. The difference was too marked to ignore. This man was no fool.
And at the Pattersons’, the pattern repeated itself in a quieter form. There were no children to gather at his knees, no sudden burst of noise to announce his arrival. Yet once seated by thehearth, he spoke with the same warmth as the weather-worn couple shared the aches and pains of their ever-shrinking world. The low fire struggled against the creeping chill, but his manner lent the room a comfort the hearth could never hope to match.
Phoebe knew she was too quiet, yet it was impossible to focus when the world was tilting beneath her. But if any of them noticed her distraction, they gave no sign, and she forced herself to focus when the visit came to an end with promises of future calls.
Side by side, they walked through the heart of the village, venturing to the farthest corner from where they’d been. With all the buildings pressed close, the air warmed slightly, and the pair nodded to the passersby whilst she was acutely aware of the man at her side.
Mr. Godwin cleared his throat. “Thank you for your help with copying my sermon. Time was getting away from me, and I fear I would’ve had to stay up most of the night if you hadn’t seen to it first.”
“I am glad to be of service. I had intended to ask your permission before I began, but I needed something to occupy my time this morning and thought it wouldn’t do any harm.” Glancing at his profile, she ventured to add, “Though I know a good many publish their sermons for everyone to read, I’ve never heard of a clergyman who sells them to his peers.”
“Because their customers do not wish their parish to know they do not bother with that most basic of duties,” said Mr. Godwin, the faintest hint of a laugh at the corner of his lips. “I may publish eventually, but at present, selling them individually is the most sensible approach.”
Turning his gaze to her, he asked, “What did you think of the sermon?”
“You wish for my opinion?”
“There is a fine line between success and failure when speaking of delicate subjects, and having another set of eyes review it is helpful,” he replied. “Temperance is an often neglected virtue, and most think of it in terms of spirits and indulgence, but it is so much more than that.”
“I am certain you know the doctrine better than I do,” she said, struggling to know what else to say.
“Nonsense.” Mr. Godwin’s brow furrowed. “You are a woman of great faith. I wish to know your perspective on it.”
Halting in place, Phoebe stared at the man as he turned to face her, a question written in his expression, though she was certainly more flabbergasted than he.
“A woman of great faith?” she asked. “For all that you are a rector, I do not believe we have ever discussed religion before. Why would you claim such a thing?”
Canting his head, Mr. Godwin met her incredulity with his own. “Most do not attend every Sunday, yet you do. And having conducted a good many services, it is easy to tell who is listening and who is simply warming the pews. Anyone with sense would know you are more than a convenient Christian.”
Phoebe clutched her shawl tighter around her as Mr. Winwood’s voice surfaced in her thoughts, drawing forth a blush as she considered that final moment they’d shared.
“I simply hadn’t thought you so devout…”Mr. Winwood had spoken that judgment with ease and confidence. All those hours they’d spent together, yet he had never truly seen her. That Mr. Winwood was so shallow was no great surprise now that she knew his true character, but the gentleman they’d derided and dismissed had noticed her. Understood her.
