The Vicar's Wife

8*

Twiddling her fingers, restless, Hattie stared from the window for a long time after Miss Stafford took her leave. Impatient for something to do, anything to relieve her mood, she stood up, recalling Forsythe's request.

"Mamma!" Whirling for the door, she rushed to it, leaning on the frame to poke her head into the hallway. "Mamma!"

"Goodness child!" Lucille's voice echoed from the library. "You needn't shout!"

"We must visit the butcher, Mamma! I shan't have lamb at the banquet!"

"What?" Surprise was clear in Lucille's tone. "Why ever not?"

"My Forsythe has requested that-"

"Hattie, child, I can't hear you!"

"I said my Forsythe asked that-!"

"Why must you scream so?" Mrs Foster's voice grew sharp. "Gracious, child, just come in here!"

Clenching her fingers, Hattie stomped down the hall to glare at her mother.

"My Forsythe states he dislikes lamb, Mamma, and has asked that it not be served at the banquet."

"Selfish man!" Aghast, Lucille stood up from where she'd been comfortably eating sweets. "It is your wedding day! Of course you shall have it!"

"Mamma-"

"If he doesn't wish to eat it, he shall not have to!" Sniffing pointedly, Lucille scratched the edge of her nose. "His opinions do not encompass the world entire, Hattie. Remember that when you are wed. Difficulties are to be expected."

"I shall go myself, then, if you will not." Lifting her chin, Hattie narrowed her eyes. "If my betrothed asks something of me, I consider it my duty to comply as I can."

"You shall do no such thing!"

"But-!"

"No!" Whirling on her daughter, skirt rustling, Lucille frowned. "I have a taste for lamb also and have set my heart on enjoying such luxury on your special day. I won't hear another word about it."

"Not so special," Hattie muttered, earning a dark look from her mother. A sudden desire to escape the suffocating atmosphere flared in her mind. "I'm going outside!"

With that, the young lady had fled for the door, pausing only long enough to grab a shawl before breaching the sunshine. Mrs Foster's call of protest went utterly ignored, much to the matron's dismay. Hattie's golden locks were bouncing as the girl ran with unladylike haste toward the flowering gardens.

Perfumed air drifted everywhere about the walkways as Hattie slowed, taking it in. This was a lovely place in warm weather, her favourite spot to sit away from everyone just ahead-

"Oh dear..." a dark thought slowed her step. Very soon, this would not be hers any longer. Her days would not be spent merrily chasing whatever idle thought happened to spark her fancy. Wife of a vicar! Inside her young breast, Hattie's heartbeat increased.

"Whatever does the wife of a vicar do?"

Her only experience came from a memory of old Seamus O'Doole, the old vicar before Jonathon Forsythe, and his ancient wife, Hortense. Milking cows and goats, chasing chickens, collecting eggs...Frizzy greying hair pinned into a coif, wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, short fingernails on gnarled hands...Hattie gasped in horror. No! Surely that wouldn't be her fate! She was too young and pretty to end a hag like that!

"Oh dear, I cannot have such an unhappy end," she moaned pitiably, pouting her lips. "I shall have to tell my dear Forsythe-"

It made her freeze in place. Wide, sky-blue eyes fixed open, hands still curled at her cheeks, she felt sick. Forsythe! No, if she told him she shouldn't like to end like old Mrs O'Doole, he would tell her they couldn't marry! If he said that, surely her heart would break! She wanted to marry him!

With determination, giving no thought to her parents' worry, Hattie took off in a sprint for the wooded trees lining one side of their property. Only a short distance down the road, if one considered three miles a short distance, was Highland Manor and the vicarage. If she could talk to her Forsythe, and explain her worries over becoming Mrs O'Doole, they might come up with a solution together! Happy with herself, she ran faster, skirt flapping.

In a forested section of land a few hundred yards from Nebbit Brimmings farm, a shrill cry stopped her hurried flight. Panting, tucking wild locks behind her ear, Hattie looked all around for the source of the noise. It came again, and she crept that way, curious but slightly anxious as well. In a small gully, whimpering, was one of Brimming's farm dogs, a motley brindle hound. One of its legs was caught in a twisted ring of steel wire. Seeing her, it wailed fearfully, ears flat, tail flapping desperately.

"There there, poor dear," hurrying to it, she dropped to her knees, heedless of the mud and grass staining her skirt. Slender fingers caught the wire, pulling at the steel. "Gracious...this is harder than I anticipated."

Whimpering, the hound lay motionless, staring at her with terrified eyes. Spurred on by the beast's helplessness, she kept working at the trapping, finally wiggling it loose enough to tug the paw free.

"There," sitting back, she smiled as the dog scrambled upright on three legs, holding the fourth up. "I'll take you home. Come along,"

With the mutt limping alongside, she turned from her chosen destination, making her way through tangles of briar and dense brush toward the distant lowing of cattle and bleating sheep instead. Farmer Brimmings himself was in the fields when she appeared from the trees, covered in debris but smiling. Gaily, she waved at him, calling out.

"Good day! I have found one of your dogs and thought to walk him home!"

"Why, Miss Foster," grizzled, heavy set, with a gruff nature, the old farmer smiled, standing up to hook a thumb into his trouser pocket. "You needn't clamber through the wood just for that old hound!"

"He was quite frightened, and I think his paw needs attention," her fingers caressed the stiff fur of the dog's ears. "It was a wire trap."

"Was it?" Surprised, he looked sharply at her, a scowl forming on his brow. "A wire trap you say? Where about, lass?"

"Oh, I'm rather dull about things like that," she admitted sweetly but pointed vaguly. "Some distance in that direction, in a little gully."

"A poacher no doubt," his tone had a dark edge. "They come in to steal my livestock."

"How horrible!"

"I'm beholding to you, Miss Foster." Brimmings came to the dog, kneeling to examine the hurt paw. "This is one of my best guard dogs, that's why he runs loose. I can't afford to lose him."

"Oh, what a good boy he is then," murmuring to the shivering creature, Hattie rubbed the fur between its eyes. "What is his name?"

"I call him Dog. Never had need for anything else."

"Dog...?" with puzzlement in her bright eyes, she kept a serene expression, remembering her manners. "That makes it very easy for me, then! Good day to you, Mr Brimmings! I am off to the vicarage."

"I'm grateful to you, lass!" The scruffy beard prickled out in all directions as he smiled at her. "Good day to you!"

"I'm ever so glad to be of service!" Smiling widely, she bent, and before the farmer could warn her not to, planted a kiss on the hound's forehead. "You stay away from those nasty wires! Your job is very important to Mr Brimmings here,"

With a pat on its head and a cheery wave to the startled farmer, she was off, nearly skipping toward the road that would lead her back toward the vicarage.