Conversations With the Man Upstairs. Chapter 5—Nearer to Thee
Date: 8am Sunday 29th November, 1925.
They take up their place in their regular pew towards the rear of the church, with Mr Carson nearest the outer side aisle as he has been allocated the reading of the Eucharistic and Responsorial Psalms today and requires easy access to the front of the church when needed. As usual, the first part of the service drones on with Reverend Travis' typically uninspired sermon, and the woeful St Michael's of All Angels Choir groaning their way through the allocated hymns for the day. Mr Carson is not surprised by Mrs Hughes' slightly glazed expression throughout, but it is when he has to direct her belatedly to the correct pages of the Book of Common Prayer on a second occasion that he finally registers just how out of sorts she is today. His brow furrows more deeply when he senses her jerking awake at one point as her hat brim brushes against him and her head nearly falls upon his shoulder.
Thankfully, Reverend Travis has always had a more vivid sense of occasion when directing the rituals of the Holy Communion and Elsie manages to brighten enough to attend properly to this order of service. And besides anything else, she can now admit to herself that she just adores listening to Mr Carson do the readings. His voice naturally commands attention from everyone. But then she finds herself her eyes completely captivated by his visage as the parish begins in the quiet and reverent strains of final recessional hymn and the elegantly suited Mr Carson sings by heart as he silently glides across the century to assist the Reverend in replacing the paten, chalice and ciborium into the tabernacle—his whole being imbued with the grace of this highest form of earthly service.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.
E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.
-oo-oo-oo-
Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.
By the end of the shared second verse he has turned towards her and pauses at the top of the steps into the century arch, singing in his fine deep baritone the soft third verse which normally taken by all the men of the congregation while one or two of the ladies will attempt to weave a wordless countermelody throughout it. Elsie's heart thickens in her throat as he keeps his steady gaze and all of his concern trained upon her. She cannot look away as he slowly makes his way towards her—seeming to sing only to her. For her.
There let the way appear, steps unto Heav'n;
All that Thou sendest me, in mercy giv'n;
Angels to beckon me nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.
And for his part, Mr Carson has always enjoyed singing this particular hymn in concert with Mrs Hughes pretty alto range complimenting his own tones such that they mostly overlap hers but can reach some notes below hers just as hers can stretch a few above his own. He can normally focus on her parts to the exclusion of all else. And so, he can filter out the halting and off-key mess of the choir at the front of the church to just savour the moments when, after the lower tones of the men's verse, he can hear Mrs Hughes sing a little brighter on the ladies fourth verse—not quite a high warbling soprano, but swelling and sweet and seemingly sung as if his own voice has laid a stable foundation for her to be able to soar just that little bit higher with her own. And then he feels the coming together again of their varied voices for the robust and rising fifth stanza, before finishing in unison and complete accord on the final floating verse and refrain—mutually calming and reverent. Together. They have worked and grieved and celebrated and prayed and sung together here for nearly three decades—almost half of his entire life— and Charles just cannot fathom spending his Sundays in church without Mrs Hughes right by his side. But today as he slowly steps down the side aisle towards her he sees that she is barely keeping the countermelody, and she seems stunned to silence and he can see that she is swallowing down hard on some grief he does not understand. Is it worry for Anna and Mr Bate and all their sorrows again? As the men's part finishes he is nearer to her and she cannot look away.
As he takes his place beside her again he sees that her eyes are swimming and her pretty strains are quavering as she only just manages to round out the softness of the ladies fourth.
Then, with my waking thoughts bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee.
With him near her again she seems to rally and rise with the tune, despite her obvious woes, and he can still take pleasure in the way he feels his deeper bass notes lay a foundation for her brighter and lighter tones to soar along with the whole parish's combined voices, which despite the general tonelessness and lack of timing evident across the congregation, just serves to makes her sound all the sweeter so close to his ears.
Or, if on joyful wing cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I'll fly,
Still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
But Elsie cannot help the tears that she has been diligently trying to hold at bay trickling down her cheeks when everything she wants still seems so far from reach. She tries to shield her face with her hat brim by tilting her face downwards, only to see the neatly pressed, folded and pristine white handkerchief, clear with his initials stitched onto it, that he has placed upon her lap without her even noticing. She gives up all hope of holding the tune across the last verse and refrain as the first drops of suffering soak into his innate kindness and all of his dreams…her dreams…
There in my Father's home, safe and at rest,
There in my Savior's love, perfectly blest;
Age after age to be nearer, my God, to Thee.
Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee!
He knows better than to ask what has moved her so right now and so he stays by her side in silent prayer for her suffering, hoping against hope that she is not ill again…and fielding nods of acknowledgment and querying gazes as the last of the congregation shuffle down the aisle and outside to chat a little before tea is served in the vestry. Then he silently rises to go and shield her from any further scrutiny by putting in a most reluctant show of constancy from the heads of staff of the Abbey in front of St Michael's of All Angels.
oOOo
Later in the vestry, Mr Carson is casting his eye about trying to see that Mrs Hughes has finally been able to join them, but she is nowhere to be seen. In deep concern he spies Mrs Patmore making her goodbyes to some of the ladies of the village and moving on to do the same with Mr Mason, who has travelled from Mallerton this week, as he sometimes does, to attend a service together with Daisy.
"Ah, good day Mr Mason. I trust you are well.' He asks with customary politeness even as he fights against an insistent drive to forcibly pull Mrs Patmore aside and question her desperately about where Mrs Hughes could possibly have got to.
"I am very well. Thank you, Mr Carson."
"Good…good."
Thankfully Mrs Patmore has pegged Mr Carson's thinly veiled distress and directs proceedings with a subtle deftness the butler has rarely ever recognised in her.
"Mr Mason, I am afraid I must be getting back to the Abbey now to start on the lunch, but Daisy, you stay on for a while and catch up with your father. I hope to see you here again soon, Mr Mason."
"Thank you, Mrs Patmore. I will aim for the last Sunday before Christmas.
'Oh, that'll be nice."
"I'll look forward to it. Good day to you, Mrs Patmore." Mr Mason lifts his hat to her as Charles makes use of the moment.
"I will take my leave as well Mr Mason, busy days ahead at the Abbey. But it is good to see you so soon again after the memorial service."
"Likewise, Mr Carson. Good day," he finishes as he shakes hands and wonders a little as the large man's face becomes intensely serious as soon as he turns to move away with Mrs Patmore.
"Well, we'll see you a bit later then, Daisy."
"Yes, Mrs Patmore. Mr Carson"
As they move from the vestry and out of earshot Mr Carson is quick to lean down towards Mrs Patmore's ear to make his quiet enquiry.
"Mrs Patmore, have you seen Mrs Hughes since the service?"
"No, Mr Carson, I never saw her leave the church."
"Do you know if…if she is… quite well? Mrs Hughes mentioned she slept poorly."
"Seems to be catching—between the three of us, that is."
"Only… she seems quite out of sorts today…I mean…she doesn't have anything on her mind…like before…something…more distressing…does she?"
The fear in his voice is palpable but at least Mrs Patmore can assure him that he need not suspect the worse. Still, the fact that he can still be so totally oblivious to the part he is playing—or not playing, as the case is— in Mrs Hughes current state of poor composure rankles Beryl no end, and so her thin veneer of social politeness leaves her in a jiffy and she bites out a rejoinder as she only just resists the urge to forcibly take the big lunk by the ears to try to twist his totally obtuse head back on straight.
"No, Mr Carson…she is not ill. Thank the Lord…But if you don't finalise your intentions for this property venture of yours, quick smart, I cannot guarantee the ongoing health of either of you in my presence for much longer!"
"Bwah…wha…?" Mr Carson splutters out totally confused about how his concern for Mrs Hughes health has seen him landed in hot water with Mrs Patmore now.
"Look,…" Beryl softens at the sight of the floundering old doofus who would know his own heart so much the better if he would just look down at his ruddy sleeve every now and again, "she's probably just headed back to the Abbey early…Just…give her a little space today and then speak to her. Now come on, we had best be getting on."
Mr Carson just huffs and grumbles and then falls into furrow-browed silence as he begins the seemingly interminable walk back to Abbey with Mrs Patmore—somewhat miffed that in all of his diligent planning for a steady future together with Mrs Hughes, he is still somehow to blame for all of this today.
oOOo
And as they walk, Elsie is already ensconced at her desk, diligently scratching away at her adjusted rotas. She pauses to stretch her fingers that can cramp up a little more readily on these colder days when she writes in too much of a flurry. She rises to stoke the coals in her sitting room fire grate and to check on how Mr Carson's two borrowed handkerchiefs, freshly washed and rinsed, are drying out over the firescreen before she can press them with a smoothing iron and return them to him. Elsie gazes for a long time at the flickering flames, thinking about the swirling grief she felt as she had surreptitiously left the church via the side vestibule door and through the graveyard—not wanting to face the land of the living again quite so soon. She rubs her fingers and senses the residue of cold marble from when she smoothed her still gloveless hand over their dear Sweet William's grave, as she finds she is often wont to do…and she reminds herself that, one day, the Abbey will indeed have to run, somehow, without her…and then she also realises with dire clarity and as it was for their Sweet William, that sometimes the path towards something good—something better—requires, at the very least, the risk of great sacrifice.
oOOo