Read Online Charity Begins at Home by Alicia Rasley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alicia Rasley
Ads: Link
could imagine it: wily, cunning, a bit shamed.
Unfair, she thought, and almost said it aloud. Instead she followed him past the altar toward the sacristy. Her boot heels set up an angry clatter on the worn granite; deliberately she slowed, smoothed her steps, just as deliberately softened her tone as she spoke. "Mrs. Williams said that? I'll have to thank her for taking such an interest in my life. But I think I met every respectable man in London, and a few less respectable ones, so I missed little by coming home. And Midsummer isn't trivial. Why, it's the most important festival of the summer, and the whole parish looks forward to it! Especially after the terrible spring floods, I think we need something to cheer the village folk, don't you?"
They went on fencing like this in the church parlor, Charity and the vicar. She kept her voice light and her manner cheery; Mr. Langworth maintained a gloomy mien throughout. It must have been better than a play for the housekeeper, Mrs. Ferris, who brought in lemonade and biscuits and stayed to polish the gleaming sideboard, her ear bent in the direction of the tea table.
Now that Charity had volunteered her services as organizer, Mr. Langworth could not credibly insist on cancelling Midsummer. But he could and did object to every proposal she made for entertainment.
An orchestra for the Midsummer Eve banquet would be too expensive? Charity smiled and agreed, knowing that Mr. Perry, the mason, would donate his fiddle playing in return for getting the contract to fix the tower.
The St. George and the Dragon mumming play planned for after the banquet offered a violent example to the village children? Charity pointed out that St. George was Britain's patron saint, thus the tradition had patriotic as well as religious significance.
"What if," she said, as if struck by inspiration, "we follow it with a more devotional sort of play, one the children perform themselves? If they are desperately trying to remember their lines for, oh, say, Jonah and the Whale, they will pay no attention to the St. George story."
The vicar could hardly accuse her of lying about the devotion of the church's children, and he could hardly cancel Britain's patron saint. So in bad grace he said, "I shan't hear of any fortune-telling. That's paganism, and worse, it will remind people of painful conflicts of the past. It wasn't so long ago that witches were burned, you know."
That ominous warning wouldn't deter Margo Ashton, Charity knew, for the baker's wife loved to dress up in her gypsy costume and frown at her cards, intoning bad tidings in an eerie voice. But Charity would find some place for her, if not along the green where the concession booths would be located.
"No fortune-telling booths then." Charity sighed, as if making a great concession. "But I do worry what Mr. Ashton will say if we not only deprive Margo of her fortune-telling, but we also don't put in our customary order for destiny cakes from his bakery. There's no witchcraft in destiny cakes, surely, only a bit of amusement."
And so it went as they nibbled their biscuits, Charity conceding a little bit and keeping a great deal, the vicar glowering, knowing he was being cheated but too fond of her to point it out. But on one point he stood firm.
"No kissing booth. Absolutely none."
Mrs. Ferris, whose daughters wanted to staff this booth, stopped polishing long enough to hurrumph her agreement, but the vicar was caught up in his righteous wrath and didn't notice.
"I would be the scandal of the diocese if I sanctioned such depravity as the girls of the parish kissing the boys of the parish!"
"But, Mr. Langworth, they are doing it anyway." Charity's thoughts went inevitably to Lord Braden, wondering if he would purchase a kiss at a kissing booth if she were the kisser. With a wrench she forced the picture out of her mind and brought her attention back to the vicar. He was already pink with outrage, but practicality required one last effort.
Unfair, she thought, and almost said it aloud. Instead she followed him past the altar toward the sacristy. Her boot heels set up an angry clatter on the worn granite; deliberately she slowed, smoothed her steps, just as deliberately softened her tone as she spoke. "Mrs. Williams said that? I'll have to thank her for taking such an interest in my life. But I think I met every respectable man in London, and a few less respectable ones, so I missed little by coming home. And Midsummer isn't trivial. Why, it's the most important festival of the summer, and the whole parish looks forward to it! Especially after the terrible spring floods, I think we need something to cheer the village folk, don't you?"
They went on fencing like this in the church parlor, Charity and the vicar. She kept her voice light and her manner cheery; Mr. Langworth maintained a gloomy mien throughout. It must have been better than a play for the housekeeper, Mrs. Ferris, who brought in lemonade and biscuits and stayed to polish the gleaming sideboard, her ear bent in the direction of the tea table.
Now that Charity had volunteered her services as organizer, Mr. Langworth could not credibly insist on cancelling Midsummer. But he could and did object to every proposal she made for entertainment.
An orchestra for the Midsummer Eve banquet would be too expensive? Charity smiled and agreed, knowing that Mr. Perry, the mason, would donate his fiddle playing in return for getting the contract to fix the tower.
The St. George and the Dragon mumming play planned for after the banquet offered a violent example to the village children? Charity pointed out that St. George was Britain's patron saint, thus the tradition had patriotic as well as religious significance.
"What if," she said, as if struck by inspiration, "we follow it with a more devotional sort of play, one the children perform themselves? If they are desperately trying to remember their lines for, oh, say, Jonah and the Whale, they will pay no attention to the St. George story."
The vicar could hardly accuse her of lying about the devotion of the church's children, and he could hardly cancel Britain's patron saint. So in bad grace he said, "I shan't hear of any fortune-telling. That's paganism, and worse, it will remind people of painful conflicts of the past. It wasn't so long ago that witches were burned, you know."
That ominous warning wouldn't deter Margo Ashton, Charity knew, for the baker's wife loved to dress up in her gypsy costume and frown at her cards, intoning bad tidings in an eerie voice. But Charity would find some place for her, if not along the green where the concession booths would be located.
"No fortune-telling booths then." Charity sighed, as if making a great concession. "But I do worry what Mr. Ashton will say if we not only deprive Margo of her fortune-telling, but we also don't put in our customary order for destiny cakes from his bakery. There's no witchcraft in destiny cakes, surely, only a bit of amusement."
And so it went as they nibbled their biscuits, Charity conceding a little bit and keeping a great deal, the vicar glowering, knowing he was being cheated but too fond of her to point it out. But on one point he stood firm.
"No kissing booth. Absolutely none."
Mrs. Ferris, whose daughters wanted to staff this booth, stopped polishing long enough to hurrumph her agreement, but the vicar was caught up in his righteous wrath and didn't notice.
"I would be the scandal of the diocese if I sanctioned such depravity as the girls of the parish kissing the boys of the parish!"
"But, Mr. Langworth, they are doing it anyway." Charity's thoughts went inevitably to Lord Braden, wondering if he would purchase a kiss at a kissing booth if she were the kisser. With a wrench she forced the picture out of her mind and brought her attention back to the vicar. He was already pink with outrage, but practicality required one last effort.
Similar Books
