Chapter9
When Peter walked out tothe stables, Belle whinnied when she saw him. “Good morning, girl,” he said, rubbing her nose. “You seem to be settling in well this last sennight.”
Belle bobbed her head in apparent agreement.
Today, he wanted to go and visit some families on the far side of town. It was a beautiful sunny day, and he wanted to take advantage of the fine weather. He hitched Belle to the cart and brought it around the front of the cottage. Some of the vegetables in the garden were ready for harvest, and he wanted to distribute them before they spoiled. He loaded up some baskets and put them in the cart bed before climbing up on the seat and slapping the reins gently against Belle’s rump to get her moving.
He traveled through the town, intending to stop first at Mrs. Stillwell’s cottage. With the cart, it didn’t take long to reach the residence. He tied Belle to a post and knocked on the door.
Mr. Randolph opened the door. “Mr. Wallings?”
“Hello, Mr. Randolph.”
“Sir, let me get my coat, and I’ll report to the vicarage straight away.”
“Mr. Randolph, there’s no need for that today,” Peter said.
The curate looked stricken. “Am I to be let go, sir?” he said in a quivering voice. “I know I should have reported to the vicarage earlier, but—”
Peter held up his hand to stop the curate from berating himself further. “No, no, no. Rest assured, your position is not in danger. I’ve harvested some vegetables from the garden and wanted to distribute them to some of the parishioners.”
The curate seemed to shrink into himself with relief.
“Perhaps you’d like to accompany me so I may reach the neediest families,” Peter said. “I’m not yet familiar with everyone.”
“Of course, sir. I should be delighted to assist you. I’ll only need a moment to get ready,” the curate said, turning away.
“Mr. Randolph.”
The curate turned. “Yes, sir?”
“I think Mrs. Stillwell could use some of the bounty as well, don’t you?”
“Ah, yes. That would be most helpful,” he said, walking out to the cart with Peter and selecting some tomatoes, carrots, onions, and potatoes from the basket.
Mrs. Stillwell came to the door. “Good day, Mr. Wallings, would you care for tea?”
Peter turned. “Good day, Mrs. Stillwell. Thank you for your kind offer, but these vegetables need to be delivered.”
“Of course.” Her eyes widened when she saw the bounty of vegetables in her brother’s arms. “Thank you, Mr. Wallings, for such generosity. I hadn’t expected it.”
“No thanks needed, Mrs. Stillwell.”
“Lovely to see you again. Perhaps next time you can stay for tea,” she said.
Peter nodded. “Thank you. I certainly will.”
Mr. Randolph carried the vegetables into the cottage and came out a few minutes later dressed in his black coat and climbed up on the seat beside Peter.
“Your sister’s home is the farthest I’ve been so far, so it would be most helpful if you could direct me to some of the other cottages.”
“Of course, sir. There are a number of cottages at the far end of the village.”
“Excellent. Let us be off.”
Peter felt bad that the first thing the curate had thought was that he was being let go. He wondered if the former vicar had piled more and more work on the curate’s slender shoulders under the threat that if he did not do as he was told, another curate could be found without any fuss.
What a terrible way to live, always worrying that he could be fired at any moment. He wanted to reassure the curate that it was not his way.