Page 25 of Discovering Grace

As Jacob had very fond memories of the vicar’s late wife, that comment made him grin. “I cannot believe Mrs. Spratt was anything other than a saint of a woman. I remember her leading the children in hymns every Sunday.”

“She was the very best of women.” Mr. Spratt held his spectacles loosely in one hand, his eyes unfocused as he spoke. “An angel more than a saint. But you will recall, young man, that angels as often rebuked man as sang to their Maker. My Henrietta was the same. She could sing praises to heaven and then call its wrath down upon me when there was a need.” He rasped a laugh and then settled his spectacles upon his nose again.

Jacob reached for another book. A roll of thunder in the distance brought his attention to the window. The skies grew dark. Were it not for the candles the men had lit earlier, even Jacob would have a difficult time making out the text printed in the books. “Mrs. Spratt? I do not think I ever heard her raise her voice to anyone.”

“She did not raise her voice.” Mr. Spratt picked up another book. “By the time you knew her, she’d accomplished her hardest task.” He placed his free hand over his chest on the last word, clearly indicating what that work had been. “And she was a lady, true as could be. The youngest daughter of an earl, if you can believe it.”

“A lady by birth? I believe that most readily, sir.” Jacob remembered the woman’s gentle gray eyes, the way she always had a kind word for the children. She knew all of their names. Even his, though he was surrounded on all sides by younger and older siblings. She never failed to greet him by name and ask after his studies or his play.

Mr. Spratt leaned back in his chair. “Believe it all. Henrietta and I were friends as children, you see. No one knew me better than she did. After I was ordained, I went about searching for a wife. I had a fine house all set up. On her father’s land. It was a large parish, with one of those grand Elizabethan churches. My living was better than most.”

Jacob shelved another book and paused, his hand still upon the shelf.

“I thought myself quite the catch,” Mr. Spratt added, folding his hands over his middle. “And when I went parading myself about in drawing rooms, Lady Henrietta was nearly always there, watching me with those stormy eyes of hers. She let weeks go by before she spoke her mind. I will never forget it. ‘Percival Spratt,’ said she, ‘you are no better than a peacock.’ She told me I strutted about in my smock as though I expected the ladies of our county to fall at my feet and beg for the position of wife.”

Jacob could not help the laughter that burst out of him, but he quickly covered it with a cough. Picturing Mr. Spratt as a young man was difficult, and imagining the wrinkled vicar before him strutting even more so.

Mr. Spratt took no offense. His lips turned upward, in fact. “She was right. Though it stung to hear it. I had always admired her, you see. I knew her to be a good woman, a lady of intelligence. That she would say such a thing to me! I admired her more for it. In time, I came to realize we were a perfect match. Henrietta lifted my soul as much as she helped me keep my pride in check.” His expression softened along with his voice. “And she was my very dearest friend. I could speak with her for hours, about anything.”

Given Jacob’s present difficulty with obtaining a wife, seeing the evidence of another man’s joy proved both bitter and sweet. “It sounds as though you married the perfect woman, Mr. Spratt.”

“Very much so.” Mr. Spratt opened his eyes again and took up another book. “Have you given much thought to marriage, Mr. Barnes?”

“A great deal of thought, actually.” Jacob went to the mantel where a clock rested and checked the time. Five o’clock. “I thought I had settled on a young lady, but I am beginning to wonder if we would suit after all.”

A shuffling sound made him aware Mr. Spratt had stood, then the old man approached him. “It will happen from time to time. Being wrong.” Mr. Spratt leaned closer to inspect the clock. “Ah, so late? And the rain has not stopped. Will you take dinner with me tonight, Mr. Barnes?”

Jacob did not bother to hide his pleasure at receiving the invitation. “Of course, sir.” He knew well that the vicar spent many evenings alone, with no one but his butler to wait upon him. The old man’s loneliness likely accounted for his retirement more than his age. When Mr. Spratt left, he would go to a daughter with whom he anticipated spending many merry hours, in company with grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

“Excellent. Let us put off this work for a time.” Mr. Spratt patted Jacob on the arm and went to the door connecting the library to the parlor. Jacob followed. “Are you content with the vicarage? It is not as large as the house you were brought up in.”

“It is not, sir, but I did not expect such when I decided upon the profession.” Jacob came fully into the comfortable room, only half the size of his mother’s favored sitting room. “It is a beautiful house, just the same. I am honored to be its keeper for a time.”

“Very good.” Mr. Spratt sat in a well-worn red chair, the nearest to the fire. “We loved it, Henrietta and myself. All our children were grown and away when we came here, so the house suited us well. Still, it has four bedrooms. Enough to start a family, if you ever find the right young miss.”

Jacob settled on one end of the couch. “It will happen eventually. There are any number of suitable young ladies in the parish, after all.”

“That sounded more like a lament than a hopeful statement.” Mr. Spratt fixed him with a stern frown. “A man of your position and age ought to be more enthusiastic about such a pursuit, unless the first woman you mentioned left you with a broken heart. But you do not strike me as one greatly disappointed in love.”

“No. I don’t suppose that fits.” A roll of thunder punctuated his words, the boom directly above them. Jacob started when a second crash overwhelmed the first. His eyes turned to the ceiling and his heart slammed against his breast at the exact moment a third crack sounded. “The storm is upon us, it would seem.”

“Indeed. Not unusual at this time of year.” Mr. Spratt turned to the table at his side, where a box rested. He opened it and took out a long-stemmed clay pipe, a box of tobacco, and began to stuff it. “So your lady did not break your heart? Well then. You must not yet be deeply in love with her.”

The sudden return to that topic, and Mr. Spratt’s pronouncement, startled Jacob nearly as much as the thunder had. Jacob stared at the vicar for several moments, until the man had his pipe lit, before he made his answer.

Wasn’t he in love? Yes, he had enjoyed the idea of marrying Hope, had imagined what it would be like for some time. And it had hurt when she announced her plans to leave, taking away his opportunity to court her properly.

He had been hurt, then angry that all his plans had been frustrated.

Yet nothing had permanently broken inside him. If he had loved Hope, wouldn’t the hurt have lasted longer? And perhaps his passing idea to ride after her, to tell her what he wished for them, would have led to action. Instead he let her go, somewhat spitefully, with the thought she would fail at her act eventually and be brought back in shame.

Had he even worried over her properly?

“Perhaps I was not deeply in love.” He admitted it aloud, to see how the words felt. Were they true?

The tension that had been growing in his heart and mind for the last several days eased enough for him to feel it, to let out a relieved breath. If he did not love Hope, then her going left him intact, heart and all.

“Good. Now go about finding someone you do love, with complete honesty and passion. Life is too short to spend it with someone you merely admire, whose faults you tolerate, and whose good points are a minor comfort.” Mr. Spratt pointed the stem of his pipe at Jacob. “I’ve heard people from my generation call it a shame that so many marry for love these days. I say it is a fine thing. Be practical, by all means, but be passionate when possible.” He put the pipe back in his mouth and puffed a few times. “Find a companion of the heart, Mr. Barnes, and you will find joy the rest of your days.”