The Journal of a Vicar's Wife (15 page)

I cannot say how I feel about Frederick’s impending return. Worried, naturally, nervous, indeed. I live in fear.

The villagers have been enquiring curiously of his absence, and there is little I can say. I suspect some know of my transgression, but cannot be certain, for they still treat me with such kindness that I feel quite the charlatan.

After Frederick left the other day, I did as he bade, took heed and began to read the passages indicated to me in my Bible.

I have never wept more tears than I did when I realised the content of those words.

Oh, I have been such a terrible, terrible fool; so caught up in my own troubles I have neglected the see the forest for the trees.

When I opened the Bible there was a hand-scrawled note on the cover page. It read:

Dearest Maria,

I am not a man who can express himself well when it comes to matters of the heart, but please understand I speak to you through the sermons in church and these passages of the Bible. They say what I cannot.

Yours truly,

Frederick.

That terrible sense of hurt ripped through my body and I very nearly dropped my Bible. Yet I did not; I clung to it tightly, so as not to spill the suddenly precious slips of paper my husband had pressed there. How long had this note sat there? Neglected by me?

I turned to the first slip of paper, my hands trembling as I did so. It was from the Book of Proverbs, 5:18–19:

Rejoice in your wife all your life. Let her body satisfy you. Be captivated with her.

When had he marked this passage? I wondered. For when had Frederick rejoiced in me? Only recently, leastways, and prior to those few days when he came to my rooms nightly I had not rejoiced in him overmuch. Why would he have mentioned such a passage to me? Still frowning, I turned to the next one:

An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels.

I gasped as I read this, and my hand flew to my mouth. A sad understanding dawned on me. He had been trying to woo me and due to my guilt, I hadn’t even noticed.

I read another:

Be thankful for your wife and realize the favour you have received from God.

Another jolt of unhappy reflection startled me and I bit my lip. Frederick was telling me something. He
was
speaking through these readings. My heart started to stutter, and I began to remember his many sermons on affection and love. Hurriedly, I turned to the Book of Solomon, where another crisp, white slip of paper rested:

Tell your wife how captivated you are with her body.

Had he not been doing thus, when he’d worshiped me with his tongue on those recent nights?

I bit my lip harder, blinked away threatening tears, and turned to the Book of Matthew, 19:4–6.:

Have you not read that he who created them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, ‘Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh’? So they are no longer two but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let no man separate.

He’d forgiven me for my adultery long before I even knew it.

The guilt that had turned me increasingly thoughtless to his efforts had been worse than my original crime.

A wail broke from my lips, as I turned from slip of paper to slip of paper. There were so many!

Ephesians 5:25–33:

Love your wife as Christ loved the Church.
Love your wife in the same way you love your body and your life.

My silly, pious, stiff unbending husband! He
did
love me.

Is it too late?
I wondered, near-frantic at the thought. I had no notion he felt this way. Was it too late to mend the damage I had unwittingly continued to cause for so long after my adultery ended?

I realised bitterly that my husband was not like those men one hears about in fantasy and dreams. He was a man who wished to feel welcomed and accepted by me, yet was too inhibited to say so directly. Of course I’d told him I wanted him in my bed, but I’d never told him I wanted him in my heart, or that I ever had any intention of letting him be there.

Because, Lord forgive me, he was suddenly there!

After six years of loveless marriage, I found my heart burgeoning with affection and concern for Frederick. Oh, why only now did I come to love my husband, when I had very possibly ruined everything?

The more I considered the matter, the more certain I was that the Lord himself was playing a wicked trick on me.

If Frederick had left two months ago, I daresay it would have been cause to celebrate. Yet now, I desperately wished for him to return home, so I could assure him I would be a true wife and a faithful one.

As he has always been faithful and true to me.

Memories of the many small kindnesses he’d shown me swung through my mind.

Was he not the same the considerate new husband who had taken his virgin wife so gently on our wedding night, and not approached again until I was healed?

Was he not the same good man who’d encouraged my learning, in accounting, the Word of God, and healing?

He
was.

I looked towards the book of physiology by Pierre Jean George Cabanis that lay on my writing table and flinched. Frederick had bought it for me on my birthday, to assist my treatment of villagers when the physician was unavailable.

A sob escaped me.

Poor Frederick!

All this time, he
has
been listening to me, yet I have not offered him the same courtesy!

Oh, and now I fear it is too late!

Saturday, 7
^th
August 1813

My husband is returned to our marital home, and it is with fierce determination I have set about attempting to make amends.

Firstly, I cast out all the brandy!

Thus, with no brandy, it was with a flurry of awkward emotions that I heard his carriage draw into the stables by the vicarage.

I stood by the window, uncertain and fearful. What if he had changed his mind and wished to cast me out?

It was of course a frightening possibility. To make matters worse, my unpredictable monthly courses are heavy, and it is frustrating that I am confined to my rooms at this time.

Still. I shall not delay this plan.

If it is at least possible, I wish to make my marriage a good one. Or, if not good, at least better than it was.

I only pray Frederick wishes to do the same, and there is one thing of which I am certain. Our marriage cannot be improved without dedication and determination – both of which I have in barrows full.

There is, however, the matter of my courses. It is natural that I do not like to depart my rooms for fear of unsightliness. It is with trepidation that I have made the decision today to dine with my husband regardless.

To this end, I have organised a string belt, which I tie about my waist, attached the cloth placed between my legs and suspended there. It works well indeed and ought to suffice for the length of a meal.

My plan thus far is quite a simple one, really.

Having read, and re-read, those most poignant passages of the Holy Book, I am certain that Frederick once harboured a deep, secret affection for me. It is my ardent hope that he still may. Now, in light of my recent discovery, I wish to prove my affections for him.

For many men, I realise this would mean lavishing them with sensuality. My husband is not such a man. Sensuality, I have little doubt, is far from his mind at this time.

I feel I may better prove my affections to him by showing my interest and assistance in matters that are of import to him. I think he would well appreciate my genuine interest in matters of faith, philosophy and the like. So, I shall set about proving to him that I am not at all so shallow as I have seemed previously.

Will this plan work? Does it make sense? Lord in Heaven, I hope so, and I pray my efforts will be rewarded by Frederick’s forgiveness and a renewal of his previous affections.

To this end, I am certain it will please him greatly to hear I have marked out some passages in the Bible which I feel will reflect the affection I have come to feel.

As I walked to my bedroom door I could hear my husband speaking in low, hushed tones with Mrs Cartwright.

‘Is she well then?’ he asked, his voice a low rumble.

‘Yes Vicar, but confined with monthlies.’

‘Ah,’ I heard him murmur. ‘And what of her melancholia? Was it much improved by my absence?’

I heard Mrs Cartwright chuckle. ‘No melancholia to speak of, Vicar. She’s been absorbed in her readings.’

I could hear him sigh then. ‘It is as I suspected it would be.’

I wanted to curse at Mrs Cartwright for making me sound an idiot, but I could not, lest they realise I was eavesdropping.

‘Make no mistake,’ Mrs Cartwright added, ‘She’s missed you, Vicar. Said so herself.’

Had I? I did not remember such a conversation, but my irritation at the housekeeper left me, and I found myself absurdly grateful for her lie.

‘Truly?’ My husband sounded surprised.

‘Indeed, Vicar. She’ll be most pleased you returned, you mark my words.’

‘As you say,’ he replied, and I stepped from my rooms onto the landing. I leaned over the balustrade and looked down to the entry room, where my husband stood with Mrs Cartwright, who was now busy brushing down his coat.

‘Good day,’ I called, as Frederick turned to move towards the sitting room.

‘Mrs Reeves.’ Frederick’s eyebrows rose in surprise at my appearance.

Without pause, I lifted my skirts carefully, so as not to dislodge my blood catch-cloth, and walked down the steps to greet him properly.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Reeves,’ I inclined my head. ‘I trust your parents were in good health?’

‘Excellent. Yes,’ he replied, awkwardly. ‘And you?’

Relief flooded me. He was asking of my welfare when he’d already heard Mrs Cartwright’s recollection of it – surely this was a sign of goodwill and forgiveness?

‘I am well. So much better now you are returned,’ I said as I drew to the last step. I offered him my hand, and he took it gently, his expression guarded.

‘Are you not confined, then?’ he asked quietly, and I heard Mrs Cartwright mutter something to herself and move towards the kitchen.

Heat bloomed on my cheeks. ‘Yes, but I had thought to dine with you regardless.’ A sharp stab of fear shook me. ‘Unless you would rather I remain in my rooms?’

He said nothing for a terribly long moment, and I realised that his forgiveness may be harder to garner than I expected. Yet after a moment he squeezed my hand a little and brought it to his lips. ‘That would be very good,’ he replied.

A breath I had not realised I’d been holding escaped me, and I smiled. ‘I did miss you,’ I said, softly.

He did not respond; instead, he kept hold of my hand and led me to the sitting room. I stood by the fireplace, the warmth of flame warming me, while his lack of response chilled me.

‘I must beg for your forgiveness, Frederick,’ I said when I had the strength. ‘I have been a poor wife to you.’

Frederick looked away. I could scarce know what shame having an unfaithful wife had brought down upon him. I did not know what pains he felt, but I could well imagine, and what I imagined was horrid.

As I waited for a response, I pulled my Bible from my reticule. ‘When you left, you were angry at me, and rightfully so. You asked that I read my Bible in your absence, and this is what I have done these days since you left,’ I said.

He looked up, his handsome, dark face tortured in the flickering firelight. ‘I was very angry. But my absence has given me ample time for reflection,’ he agreed quietly. ‘I am pleased you have found the Word of God.’

His tone was distant, and another chill ran across my skin.

‘Yes, I believe I have and … I understand.’ Lord, but I felt a fool saying it. ‘I understand how you chose to let the words of the Bible speak for you, when you felt you couldn’t say these things yourself.’ I paused, gnawing on my lower lip. ‘I hear you now. I didn’t before, but I hear what you’ve been saying, now.’

His face flushed. ‘You do?’

I inclined my head. ‘I hope my discovery is not too late. I do not think I entirely understood at all until just now,’ I whispered. ‘I thought you had no affection for me …’ I faded off. ‘I see now how terribly wrong I was.’

His face remained flushed, and he rubbed his chin with his hand. ‘I am a difficult man. I know this. My parents and tutors all told me so. I have never made affections clear to you, or to anyone. In truth I do not know how. Though it is difficult to say – I will say it but once – I do not blame you for your faithlessness. I gave you nothing to have faith in.’

His words made tears prickle in my eyes. I dashed them away. ‘No. I was wrong. I knew what I did I was wrong. I excused myself of the sin by not allowing you any avenues to improve,’ I replied sadly.

I knew that if he’d been more passionate, I would not have strayed, yet could I blame him for not wanting me? No. Not really. Just as his nature had made our marriage difficult, mine had made it that way also. I’d revelled in shocking him, appalling him, and had done so with frequency. No wonder he’d thought so ill of our conjugal meetings.

It was as if he almost read my mind.

‘I did not wish to be a husband who mauled the wife who did not want him, love him, or take pleasure in his touch. If not your words, then your actions made it clear.’ His voice was soft, and terribly vulnerable.

My throat tightened. ‘You never were that husband,’ I said.

We fell into an awkward silence. The only sounds were the restless ticking of the mantle clock and the occasional baa from the goat in the garden.

The unhappy silence continued, and I knew it was a moment in which I should speak, and make my intentions known in a manner he would understand and appreciate.

I coughed and commenced. ‘I never did allow Mr Goddard liberties, that day. Do you believe me?’

He looked up at me, his eyes dark and troubled.

‘Yes,’ he acknowledged, but turned and moved closer to the window.

It was at least a beginning.