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Catherine Hille was, above all else, a gossip.
Private matters didn't stay private for long. The town's florist, she knew everything about everyone. Who was buying flowers for whom - whether they were confessory in nature, apologetic, loving, mourning.
Now that she was too ill to tend to the Hille gardens, it fell mostly on Beatrice and Sylvia, and the two girls spent hours out there most days, even though there was no one to buy the flowers. They'd worn themselved well and truly out, though, but Sylvia had enough energy to go and ask if she could play with the neighbourhood children.
"Did you hear about Pastor Miller?" Catherine sipped the cup of tea Beatrice had just made her. Tea leaves were scarce this time of year, and the weather had been extra odd lately, so it was a weak cup, but a cup nonetheless.
Beatrice was only half listening, more thinking about when Daniel was scheduled to return. Since the moment she'd shared with Isaac the night before, he had consumed her thoughts. It was normal, she supposed, for a wife to be thinking about her husband. She just didn't think the overwhelming guilt was as normal.
She'd wanted to ask her mother about the marriage certificate, but she'd felt so foolish. There was also a part of her, a deeply sequestered and fearful part of her that worried. If she brought it up with her mother, what would she do?
Her mother, whom she loved so dearly she was willing to chain herself to a man to ensure Catherine's comfort. If Catherine hadn't been so unwell, Beatrice couldn't imagine turning down Isaac's frenzied offer. If he asked her again even now, completely sober, she wasn't sure she'd be able to say no.
"His wife is worried," Catherine said. "He's not himself, gave his poor daughter a fright that morning. She worries it's the devil."
That struck Beatrice, deep and cold in her blood. Something of the devil? Overtaking Pastor Miller? The man was not only one of the most respected in town, but the kindest Beatrice knew. He made time for every member of the parish, and hadn't told anyone when Beatrice confessed her faith had wavered right after her engagement. She sensed if she let it fester it would grow into something she couldn't contain, though, so despite his kindnesses a few weeks later she had promised he'd helped her. He'd seemed pleased, if only to end her internal struggles. He'd been the one to marry her to Daniel.
Daniel, her poor husband who had done nothing to deserve the way she had betrayed him. Adultery the word was. And despite her wavering beliefs, Beatrice knew the Bible. God will judge those who commit such a thing.
Oh, God. She and Isaac... the Pastor.
That had to be it. The night she finally gave in, let Isaac violate the sanctity of her union. All these thoughts of a marriage certificate. All she had done is prove to God that she didn't consider His word enough for her.
"Beatrice?" Catherine reached for her daughter's hand. "Are you alright, my love?"
Her mother was a gossip, Beatrice knew word would get around quickly if she told. But she didn't want to have to weigh up the social politics, the heavenly implications of what she had done. She wanted her mother. She was too young for this.
