Chapter 10

Mary Stanton entered Wincham's Church of St. Mary Magdalene, having taken particular care to select her dress and bonnet that day. She had never before been one to care about such things, but it was Easter and it seemed important to her, now that she was the rector's wife and stood before the congregation as an example, to honour God by dressing in a most respectable manner for this day.

She was not dressed in a flashy manner – Catherine had been perpetually attempting to convince her to go for thinner muslins and lower necklines, but when Jane had taken her to Derby to be fitted for her trousseau, Mary had held fast to her scruples and ordered a conservative set of dresses. Still, she owed Catherine a debt, in making Mary think at all about the fabric she chose and how her bonnets were trimmed. It was important, she now saw, to be able to greet her parishioners, to say good morning to Lord and Lady Winterley, in modestly fashionable clothes.

It had been some weeks since she had first taken up her place among David's congregation, embarrassed by being the centre of attention until the pleasure of hearing him give his sermon had calmed her nerves. Now, although she was still called on to go in first when they were invited to dine by Lord and Lady Winterley or one of the other local gentle families, she was not nearly so much of a novelty as she had been.

Across the church, she espied Mrs. Hobbs, the wife of one of the Winterleys's tenants, who had been ill for nearly a fortnight with a severe sore throat. Mary had not expected Mrs. Hobbs to be well enough to attend services today, and pleased to see this was so, Mary walked across the church to greet the woman.

"Mrs. Hobbs, I am very pleased to see you up and about!"

"I thank ye, Mrs. Stanton. I was none so sure I'd be here for Easter, me-self, but I woke yesterday morn and felt quite well again," said Mrs. Hobbs. "I cannae thank ye too much for the willow bark tea, for t'was it that gave me the most relief."

"I am glad it was helpful," Mary said, watching as each of the five Hobbs children followed their father into the pew and were seated. Mary was fairly certain she had learned the names for each of the children, but not quite sure enough to test herself and risk embarrassment, so instead she said, "It has often been a remedy for many maladies, within my family."

"I'll be swearin' by it now," said Mrs. Hobbs.

Mary felt there was more she should say in response to Mrs. Hobbs, but in truth her interactions with the Hobbs family over the course of the woman's illness had been much easier for Mary than Sunday pleasantries. Then, there had been willow bark tea to brew and children to help look after, and Mary was at her best when she could identify some action to take, some occupation for which she could be useful.

In the end, she merely said, "Happy Easter to you, Mrs. Hobbs," which the woman seemed pleased enough by as Mary departed her company.

After a great many other greetings, Mary took her seat in the front pew, and thought the old medieval church looked as well as it could, on this day. Lady Winterley had donated quite a lot of flowers from Winterley Hall's hothouses, and assisted Mary in arranging them throughout the church. They brightened the space beyond what its leaded windows could do with only the grey light of yet another wet day to illuminate them.

David began his services in a way that only a clergyman well-respected by his parishioners could – he quietly walked up into the pulpit and opened his prayer-book, looking expectantly out at the pews before him, for those in the congregation to take their seats. That they did, in a rapid cavalcade of pew legs thumping against the flagstone floor. On this as every other service he kept strictly to the common prayer-book, then shifted to his hand-written sermon.

This was the favourite part of Mary's, and, she had gathered, of most of the others around her, favoured enough that some of the people in attendance were not from within the parish of Wincham at all, but instead rode their horses or came in their gigs and pony carts from neighbouring parishes to hear him speak. David spoke well and clearly, but Mary thought this popularity was more because of what he had to say; he was tremendously well-read, but able to translate the theological arguments of their day into something that could turn the common man to thoughtful introspection, without his being overwhelmed. She had heard him do this, Sunday after Sunday, and after each speech, found herself even more proud of – and in love with – her husband.

"It will not surprise you that I wish to talk this day of resurrection. I suppose it should surprise you all more if I were to speak of anything else. But the resurrection I wish to speak of is not precisely of the sort we were reminded of in today's readings," David said. "Most of you will recall how, nearly four years ago, I went through a very dark time in my life."

He must have been referring to the death of his first wife, Isabel, Mary thought, and she felt herself momentarily seized with a strange, paralysing discomfort.

"Many of you have been through similar times," he said. "For it is a part of life that those of us left behind must suffer the death of our loved ones, even if we are spared their passage in so horrific and painful a manner as that in which Christ was crucified. We are all, in a way, like Mary Magdalene and the disciples, running to the tomb in our grief and confusion.

"We do not have that sort of resurrection – a true resurrection – to hope for, and it is not the goal of my sermon today to demean the importance or the significance of that most miraculous event upon which our faith is founded. But it has been my own experience that we each have in ourselves a more private sort of resurrection, in which we may be reborn from the darkness, and brought back to the light of our Lord. Some of us are able to find our way to that light through God's assistance, while for others, he sends another, to bring them back."

Here, he looked directly at Mary, and she thought for a moment she might burst into tears, but managed to hold them in, although she trembled violently in the effort.

"The resurrection of Jesus Christ can seem sometimes to be an event so miraculous that it is difficult to comprehend, and even to believe. I think we are given our more private resurrections for this purpose. Because when you are seated in darkness, and fear, and despondency, a return to the light may seem as impossible as God sending his son to earth to be crucified for our sins and raised from death. And yet that we may triumph over our own darkness provides a sort of evidence that God may make a larger and more fantastic event happen.

"I hope, if I have made any of you remember your own darker days, that you shall see this evidence in the happiness and hope you live in now. And if there are any among you who dwell in that place of darkness presently, that you shall speak with me of it, so I may pray for you and assist as I may."

David concluded, then, as he always did, with a prayer, and although it had been the shortest of his sermons that Mary had heard, when she looked about the congregation as much as she trusted herself to after the service, she thought it had been the most impactful, for while the message had been simple, it had been powerful. There were a great many people who wished to speak with David, while the others were filing out of the church with thoughtful countenances. Mary knew she should stand and give Easter greetings to those she had not done so for before the service, but she was still feeling a little overwhelmed, and remained where she was.

When the last of the voices within the church could be heard to exit, and the door banged closed with a reverberating thump that echoed throughout the church, David approached her and said, "Mary, are you well? I am sorry – I should have spoken to you of what I intended to put in my sermon, but in truth I was not entirely certain I was going to give it until just before I did. I had an alternative written out, one much more like my usual speeches."

"I never knew you felt like that," said Mary, finally surrendering her tears and rising to embrace him. "But why me? I do not understand what it was I did to help you."

"You made me realise I could have a life and a love beyond my career again, and now you have given me both. That is what you did, Mary, and it is everything."

Well that turned out to be rather good timing! I'd like to say I planned it this way, but I can't make such claims.

It's so wonderful to see all of you lovely commenters back here. I'll be honest, I wasn't sure whether I'd get many comments at all for the third book in a series, but there you all are! I'm so looking forward to sharing this story with you.