The Reluctant Widow part 4

Jenny put the phone down, frowning slightly. Deep in thought she went first to the kitchen, still heavy with the smell of breakfast, then outside to the graveyard, staring far off as if in a trance. Reverend Stones observed her from the window of his study, then went to join her.
‘I can guess what you’re thinking.’
‘It’s more than ten years since Tom died...ten horrible years.’
‘I know.’
‘So much pain. How can it be possible to go through so much suffering and stay alive...at least, what else can I call it?’
‘Tom was a fine young man.’
‘God fearing...not that it helped him much.’
‘We have to believe in the ultimate goodness of all things and pray...’
‘Pray?’ Jenny stared deep into the old man’s eyes. ‘I’m sick of praying!’
‘Jenny!’
‘Sometimes I truly believe that I’m just talking to myself.’ Her words visibly shook the Reverend. ‘I’m sorry John,’ she moaned. ‘I know it hurts you when I say such things, but how can I believe after all that’s happened?’
John Stone remained silent, eyes unable to meet hers, his forehead deeply furrowed as if struggling within himself for an answer. ‘I have no words of comfort,’ he said slowly. ‘No words of solace...only a faith which, like yours, has been tested perhaps too far.’
Now it was Jenny’s turn to be shocked. For a moment all the conviction and assurance she always admired, seemed to drain from his face. His shoulders slumped, as if through the weight of his admission. Then he quickly collected himself, straightening up, once more the inspired preacher who could persuade the most wavering soul from the pulpit each Sunday. ‘But I know that God is good...He is our friend when troubled, our anchor when chaos threatens and, no matter how it may appear, he will never fail us!’ His message was lost in the open pit of Jenny’s mistrust. She turned her sad eyes back to the jumble of stone remembrances. ‘They’re the lucky ones...all their pain is over...they have found peace.’ She wrung her hands bitterly.
‘The dogs scavenging amongst the rubbish heaps are better off than I am!’
‘Jenny, how can you say...’
‘It’s how I feel! They live and die in ignorance...not in this torture!’
‘Jenny you must try...’
‘Is this part of God’s plan? That the dead should be more fortunate than the living!?’
Reverend John Stones was beaten into silence. They stood as two exhausted combatants, locked together in a struggle of conviction which neither could win. It was Jenny who broke the long silence. ‘I’m sorry John, to burden you with my anger. You have as little answer for me as I have for Simon, when he questions God’s love.’
‘We must never give up hope Jenny,’ he laid a gentle hand on her forearm. ‘How is Simon? He looked rather pale at breakfast.’
‘His head still aches. He’s resting now.’
‘I was hoping he’d make a speedy recovery.’
‘The garage phoned just now; his car won’t be ready until Monday or Tuesday.’
‘Most unfortunate. We must keep him away from the Sunday Service tomorrow...there’s no sense in him discovering...’
‘He must leave as soon as possible!’ Jenny urgency was not lost on the Reverend.
‘You’ve had a warning?’
‘Yes.’ She unconsciously brought a hand up to her neck. ‘I must keep away from him...but how can I?’
‘What is it...are you attracted to Simon?’
‘Nothing,’ Jenny mumbled. ‘Nothing...there can be nothing. I must not love...or even think of love...that is God’s gift to me!’

Late in the afternoon Simon stood before the remains of Jack Dibney’s grave, slightly puzzled. By his reckoning it was almost a week since his crash. He’d been unconscious for two days, in bed for the rest. Now it was Saturday and nothing had been touched. No attempt had been made to repair the damage. That was odd, surely. He looked around, slowly perceiving that the general upkeep of the whole graveyard looked pretty poor. The weeds, dirt and various collapsed stones gave him the impression of abandonment. When he turned to look at the church and vicarage, the same gloomy disarray met his eyes. Still too, if you stopped to listen, not a twitter or a twitch of Springtime activity; as if everything was set in some kind of sombre gel, like a specimen in a jar. No light, no movement, no people...perhaps his natural melancholy was getting the better of him?
Sure enough, as if to contradict his instincts, a grocers van came rattling up the road and stopped almost beside him. A portly, broad shouldered man in a whitish coat stepped out. He had a thick neck supporting a rough though not unfriendly face, which inspected Simon from top to bottom, then grinned broadly.
‘’Arfternoon,’ he chuckled, then began unloading some crates from the back of the van.
‘Hello. I’m...Simon Ashton.’
‘’Course you are. You’re the bloke Doc Shorely was tendin’ to. The one that smashed up old Jack Dibney’s grave.’ He heaved the heavy crates to the ground with a disturbing ease. ‘I’m Parry. Like it says on the van.’
‘I’m sorry about the grave.’
‘No use bein’ sorry to me. You’d better watch out for Jack’s widow. She’s got a big walking stick and a short temper.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Some says that it was her that put him in there in the first place.’ Parry gave Simon a strange look, then moved closer and whispered more confidentially. ‘Mind you, I reckon you’d be safer with her than stayin’ here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They ain’t told you then?’
‘Told me what?’
Grocer Parry chuckled heartily. ‘Oh it’s a tall un, a right tall un. Best of it is, ’t’is all true!’
‘What are you talking about. And why don’t you take up those supplies to the vicarage?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough. Mind, if it were me, with ’er on one side and graveyard on t’other, I’d scarper real quick!’ The chubby man gave Simon one last “if you only knew” shake of his head, before stepping into his van and driving off.
What to make of that? Simon puzzled. The only answers were to be found in the house behind him, so he picked up one of the crates and walked back to the vicarage. Jenny was in the kitchen folding tea towels as he entered. She gasped in surprise as he set the crate down. ‘I’d forgotten how late it was. Did...you talk to Parry?’
‘Yes. Not that he made much sense.’
‘What do you mean?’
Simon stood before Jenny, laying his hand on hers as she put the last towel on the pile.
‘He seemed to imply that I might be in danger staying here.’
Jenny moved away, putting the towels in a cupboard. ‘Old Parry likes pulling legs, especially with strangers.’ She laughed lightly but it couldn’t convince. Simon confronted her once more. ‘It didn’t sound like leg pulling.’
‘Oh Simon, you know how people exaggerate things.’
‘What things?’
‘Well...they’re superstitious around here.’
‘About what?’
‘I...I...oh really Simon, you shouldn’t make too much of Parry’s gossip.’
‘It might explain one thing which has been puzzling me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why I woke up here and not in hospital.’
‘Oh that.’ Jenny sounded relieved.
‘Yes...why didn't you phone for an ambulance?’
‘We heard the crash and rushed outside. It took a little time to find out what had happened. We found you crawling on your hands and knees, mumbling incoherently. You must have somehow been thrown out of the car by the impact.’
‘I wasn’t unconscious?’
‘No. As far as we could see, you hadn’t broken anything, so we helped you back to the vicarage, and I phoned for the doctor; I knew he would get here much quicker. He examined you thoroughly, saying it was a miracle you hadn’t broken your neck. You were running a fever. Dr. Shorely said it was probably from mild food poisoning.’
‘It didn’t feel very mild to me.’
‘You were lucky again to have vomited most of the bad food out of your system, in the car and on the road.’
‘I was really some sight.’
‘I’ve seen worse.’
‘I still don't understand, surely the doctor insisted that I be taken to hospital?’
‘Dr.Shorely said you needed complete rest and proper nursing. I told him I could give you that.’
‘Why?’
‘Something...a voice told me you would sleep for some time...and that I had to be the first person you saw when you woke up.’
‘A voice?’
‘I don’t know what else to call it.’
‘A piece of that faith you were so doubtful about in the church?’
‘Possibly. I just knew that you had to stay here...I had no choice.’
‘And the doctor agreed?’
‘Reluctantly. He waited until your condition stabilised, satisfied himself that you hadn't sustained any serious head injury, then left, on condition that we would call an ambulance immediately if you got worse.’
‘Which, thankfully, I didn't.’
‘The first night was worst. Your fever was at its highest. The next day it broke. Dr.Shorely sedated you, so that you could have complete rest.’
‘I must admit, I don't remember any of this.’
‘The fever must have wiped your memory.’
‘I remember being out of control, then it’s a blank until I woke up and saw your face.’
Jenny bowed her head.
‘All the same, you’ve explained what I’m doing here, but not Parry’s concern.’
‘Parry is a fool...well meaning perhaps...but...’
‘What is the danger he’s talking about?’ Simon fixed her with his gaze. Jenny frowned and seemed about to answer when, to her obvious relief, she heard the vicar calling her from the study.
‘I must go,’ she said, moving away quickly. ‘We’ll talk later.’