Chapter 31 - Four or five Weddings and a Funeral

Mrs. Tishell had finished dusting the organ, and I watched as she moved on to clean the pews. She was really putting her back into it, so I walked to her and offered her a cup of coffee, if only so she'd take a break.

"Oh, no, this is good for me," she said. "My goodness Curate Edwards," she held up the soiled cleaning rag, "just look at the dirt I'm getting off these seats!" She shook her head. "The church is going to wrack and ruin! Our custodian has been slacking off… once more!"

From our conversations I knew that she wasn't actually making a swipe at me. "It is an old building," I answered. "And Mr. Wilson does the best he can. He is a pensioner, and almost eighty."

Mrs. Tishell nodded. "Oh yes, he is. But Mr. Wilson is far more interested in bending an elbow and drinking a cuppa than pushing a broom. I used to tell the Vicar that we really needed a new building, or at least a very good cleanup. Why that altar cloth over there must be twenty years old, if it's a day!"

I nodded, which was something I did a lot of on Mrs. T's comments. She was right, more often than not, and she always would tell you her opinion – whether you wanted to hear it or otherwise. "Perhaps we can get a slightly newer one? I know that's the best we have, but perhaps… well, I can call my friend who has a church up in Padstow. Perhaps they can lend us a better one."

"Oh yes, that is a good idea. We certainly need the church to be all tidy for Al and Morwenna's wedding, don't we?"

"Tell you what?"

"What?" she said suspiciously.

"I'll pop into my office and make that call, and then I'll help you clean the pews."

"That would be… uhm, nice, I suppose."

Her tone stopped me. "Will you let me? Help you?" I asked.

Sally's blue eyes looked away for a moment. "Of course, Curate."

"Please? Call me Rosie? At least when I'm not serving officially."

She sniffed. "I'd prefer not to. Curate Edwards suits me and your office." She sighed.

"Is something wrong?"

She shrugged, but then said, "Is the Vicar coming back?"

"Don't know. I have asked."

Sally sighed. "The last wedding we had in here was Doctor Ellingham's – the last one the Vicar held I mean." She stood straighter for a moment. "Those two finally got married," she sniffed.

"Do we count Joe and Janice's attempt?" I asked.

Sally shook her head sadly. "That was your first, am I right? And no. Not a wedding, was it?"

My throat locked. "Arhm, not."

"And we do know when there is an actual one. Am I right? There is a start, a middle, and at last a finish to a ceremony like that. It starts with prelude music, the bride processes, the presentation of the bride, and then the preface. Then a hymn, readings from the Good Book or other seemly poems or writings, and then the Homily on marriage. Then the second hymn, the consent, signing the documents, and then prayers, followed by the next hymn, the blessing, and the recessional. Then the happy couple leave in a shower of rose petals or confetti."

She'd practically recited the Order of Weddings from the Book of Common Prayer. "Yes, it is a process, and a standard one."

Sally shook her head. "But Joe Penhale and Janice? Not even close."

"Perhaps they weren't ready."

She looked at me closely. "Who is ready? Were you?" Then she added, "Oh I am sorry, you didn't get married did you?"

"Ahem, no. Still single."

"Other side of the world. New Zealand was it?"

"Australia."

She nodded in her exaggerated way, head bobbing like a chicken. "You poor dear. Must have been horrid!"

I took a deep breath. "Yes." I wasn't about to delve into my ex's missteps – such as playing the field down there before I arrived. Bugger. "It has been hard."

Sally touched my arm in sympathy. "Before I married Clive, I could have had my pick of the men. But I chose him."

"I'm sure you miss him."

He eyes dropped to the floor. "That was a very nice service – uhm, a very nice message you gave at the funeral."

I'd hardly known the man but I had done my research, for in the village everyone knew all about everyone else. "I'm sorry I'd not known him better."

Sally swiped at her eye, and cleared her throat. "Dust."

"But he was a very pleasant man, and I'm sure he was a fine husband. He was clearly happy to be back with you."

Sally turned away and then sank to the pew she had been cleaning. "Well, he had retired and of course his wife was here."

The way she spoke in third person was strange. "He seemed a sweet person."

She rubbed her forehead. "I do miss him. That might seem strange for you to hear me say it, but I do. Clive could be happy in odd ways. He'd be absolutely over the moon about a dolphin he saw down in the harbor, seeing a rainbow, or when the flowers bloomed in the spring." She sniffed loudly.

I sat down in the pew in front of her, but turned to face her. "I am sorry he is gone."

Her lips twitched. "But he's not, I mean he's dead, I know. Shuffled off the mortal coil. But he's not gone. Oh no, Clive is…" she waved her hand. "Out there…"

"I understand."

"Do you? Do any of us? What does it all mean?"

I shrugged. "We believe that there is a reason. We must! To love one another…" I stopped when I she started to weep.

She shook her head. "I wasn't fair to Clive. Not the way I ought to have been."

"In what way?"

Her mouth opened, and then it closed. "I… oh, maybe I wanted him to be… different?"

I smiled at her. "Not one of us is perfect."

She looked up and swept my hands into hers. "Oh, Curate Edwards, Rosie, how do we keep going?"

"One step at a time," I said. "Just keep breathing in and…"

"Out," she sighed. "I did love Clive," she whispered. "I did."

"I know." Just as I had loved. "This may sound trite but you can forgive yourself for what you did or did not do."

"That can be very hard to do."

"I know," I told her.

We sat silently for a few more seconds, then she slowly let my hands go, and then she folded her hands in her lap. "Well, I'd better get back to work."

Sally now seemed diminished; not so prickly and high-and-mighty. I stood up. "As I said I'll make then phone call and then let's work together, shall we?"

"Yes, yes, let's," she said brightly. "And then perhaps we could have that coffee? Or perhaps tea?"

"Tea," I answered. "Tea."

"Right. Tea."