Chapter4
Since arriving in Reading, Peterhad worked on familiarizing himself with the St. Mary’s parishioners. He sat in his study, looking through the church registry to get a good sense of who everyone residing within the parish was. He also wanted to understand the situation with Mr. Randolph’s sister better, but he’d neglected to ask the curate for her name. He would ask some of the other parishioners this morning as he made his rounds and visited a few families.
His curate was nothing if not efficient. All the papers in the office were well organized, and Peter had easily found the sermon for Sunday’s services. He’d picked up the pages and groaned at the length of it. Mrs. Paulson was right about the sermons going on for a good long time. This one would probably be in the two-hour range. He would have to pare it down to a reasonable length and take out many of the fire-and-brimstone aspects of it. He wanted the people to be happy about coming to praise God, not constantly hearing about burning in a fiery hell if they strayed from the path of righteousness.
When he walked out of the vicarage, he headed toward the center of town. The first cottage he came to looked a bit run-down. Some of the thatch in the roof seemed sparse, and he wanted to assess the condition on the inside. He knew there was a poor fund for the parish, and he wanted to put it to the bestpossible use for the neediest of his parishioners. Having a dry place to live seemed to him to be at the top of the list.
He walked up the path and knocked on the door. It was several moments before he heard a shuffling of feet and the door opened. An elderly woman leaning on a cane stood in the doorway.
“Good day, madam. I’m Mr. Wallings, the new vicar,” Peter said with a nod.
“Good day, Mr. Wallings. I’m Mrs. Harding. How may I help you?” she asked.
“There’s nothing you need do, dear lady. I’d like to inspect your roof from the inside if I may.”
“Oh, dear me. I don’t think you’ll like what you see,” she said, opening the door wider so he could enter the small cottage.
When Peter walked in, the first thing he noticed was that there were multiple bowls on the floor. “Does your roof leak in all these places, madam?”
“I’m afraid so. After Mr. Harding passed last year, there was no one to help maintain the roof. My son lives too far away to come and help me now.”
“I see. Everyone should have a dry place to live. I’ll see what I can do to get this repaired as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wallings,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “Would you care for tea?”
Peter shook his head. “No, thank you, Mrs. Harding. I’d like to visit a few more families this morning to find out their needs.”
“Of course. Thank you for visiting.”
“May I ask if you know where Mr. Randolph’s sister lives? I wish to visit her as well.”
“Of course. That would be Mrs. Stillwell, who lives past the marketplace at the end of Kings Road.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Harding. I shall see you again soon,” Peter said, leaving the cottage. He scribbled a couple of notes in thesmall journal he carried, wanting to jot down what the various families needed so he could estimate the costs associated with each problem. He had no idea how much money was left in the poor fund, but he would do his best to help as many people as possible.
As he walked through the town, he stopped to talk with folks going about their daily chores. Most folks recognized him by the black cassock he wore, and the people were quite friendly. It seemed everyone wanted to welcome him to Reading, which made him feel good about his assignment.
It took him a while to finally reach the Stillwell home. Walking up to the door, he noticed that the yard could use some tidying up. The weeds were taking over the path. Just as he was about to knock, the door opened, and the curate stood there with a scythe in his hand. His eyes widened when he saw Peter standing on the doorstep.
“Mr. Wallings, uh, I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Do you need my services for something at the vicarage?”
“Mr. Randolph, good day to you. I’ve come to pay my respects to your sister.”
A young woman appeared behind the curate. “Edward, let the poor man in, and please put down that scythe before you injure yourself again,” she said. “Please come in, Mr. Wallings. The tea water is hot. Shall I pour you a cup?”
“Yes. Thank you,” Peter said, taking a seat at the table along with the curate. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Stillwell. Mr. Randolph told me about the unfortunate death of your husband, and I came to offer my support.”
“That’s very kind of you. My brother has been doing his best to help out, but he has other duties and cannot be here full-time.”
Peter looked at the curate. “Mr. Randolph, rest assured, now that I’m here, your workload will be a lot less, so you’ll be able to help your sister more.”
The curate’s mouth fell open. “You’d do that for me?”
Peter nodded. “Of course. We can talk about your schedule over the next few days.”
Mrs. Stillwell brought the cups to the table and poured out the tea as the three of them talked about how Peter could best help out.
“Mr. Randolph, do you know someone who can repair Mrs. Harding’s roof? The poor woman is living with so many bowls on the floor to catch the raindrops that I’m worried she’ll trip and be injured.”