The Vicar's Frozen Heart (15 page)

Try as he might, he could no longer keep her at a distance. She had said as much at the beginning of their acquaintance. They were drawn together as a honey bee to a summer flower. How could he deny the powerful force of their attraction?

Eliza trailed her fingers through his chest hair. “Tremain?”

“Yes?”

“Am I a sinful woman?” she asked, her voice soft and tremulous.

“I thought you did not subscribe to any religion?”

“I do not. But you do. And I could not bear to think you believe me to be…what do they call it in your church…a fallen woman?”

Interesting question. The church did preach abstinence until marriage, but in his vast experience, he did not see many examples of it. To him, sex was as basic to one’s life as food, water, and the air they breathe. Since becoming a clergyman, he did mention abstinence to younger parishioners, but rather innately understood that desire and love often overrode cautious and prudent thought. “I do not believe in laying guilt and shame on anyone who finds pleasure with another as long as it is consensual and the couple in question takes precautions. As you can imagine, I keep these radical thoughts to myself in most circumstances considering the constrictions of Victorian society and the church itself.” He caressed her arms as he spoke. “We are both mature enough to understand the consequences and I would hope the possible ramifications of what we do. Which is why we cannot do any more tonight, as I have nothing we can use to prevent a child.” He shook his head. “A fallen woman? Never. Not to me. And my opinion is the only one that counts. What happens between us is no one’s business but our own. I would not have let things progress this far if I already did not hold you in high regard. If I did not desire you. And I have...from the first.”

She leaned up on her elbow and gazed down at him, her eyes moist. “You are a most puzzling man. Then why did you fight as hard as you did to keep me away? Was it as you said earlier, you believed you did not deserve it? Or perhaps concern you may harm me during your nightmares?”

He cupped her cheek. “Yes. All that. Especially the harm. I would never want to hurt you, Eliza. Perhaps the time has come for me to forgive myself for my heinous crimes against mankind. But enough of that. Allow me to give you pleasure as you did to me. Lie down and spread your legs.”

She did, giving him a smile that melted more of the ice around his heart. If they kept up in this direction, she would have him completely thawed before the sun rose. Would it be such a horrible outlook? She unlaced the leather corset and it fell away. Keeping her gaze firmly on his, she pulled down her peasant blouse, exposing the most glorious, full breasts he’d ever seen.

He kissed her neck, then trailed his lips down to an erect nipple. Clamping his mouth over it, his hand moved between her legs and he stroked in tandem with his sucking.
Ah, no underclothes.
My dear, wild Eliza.
Finding the nub of sensitive nerves, he rubbed it as he caressed and suckled her breast until she moaned and writhed. Yes. None of this was sinful. Not to him. Not ever. While his thumb rubbed her clitoris, he plunged two fingers inside her wetness, causing her to cry out. “Yes, more. Give me more,” she commanded.

He increased the pace until her moans grew loud and desperate. His own cock hardened once again and she must have felt it against her leg for she grabbed him and stroked. The air in the room thrummed with desire. Both of them panted and groaned, covered in a thin sheen of sweat from their excursions.

Eliza succumbed first, crying out and shaking with her release and he followed right after, spilling into her hand. He lay flat, breathing hard and staring at the ceiling. None of his previous affairs and dalliances equaled the intensity of what he shared here with her. God, they didn’t even have actual sex as yet and already it moved beyond all familiarity.

After gaining proper control of his breathing, he cleaned them up and pulled her into his embrace. He was about to speak when he heard the sound of a horse’s harness.
Of all nights.

“Gather the bedding then run for the guest room and hide. Quickly now.”

Tremain struggled to his feet and dressed swiftly, leaving the shirt open. He grabbed one of the blankets and tossed it to the couch as she ran from the room. Smart girl, she took her cloak as well.

Hard knocks broke the silence. Grasping his cane, he hobbled to the door and opened it. William Treacher removed his hat. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Mr. Colson. My younger brother, Jacob, requires yer presence. His wife, God bless her, had a difficult birth. The baby...well, the wee lad didn’t make it and it seems Hannah won’t either, so the doctor says. Jacob would like ye to say the prayers over them.”

“Of course, come in. I fell asleep in front of the fire.”

William wiped his feet and stepped across the threshold. “Aye, explains why yer all flushed.”

Tremain nearly laughed aloud. Not quite the reason. Silently, he hoped William did not possess a keen sense of smell, for the room fairly reeked of musky sexual activity. Still his entire body cried out for more of Eliza. Not tonight, it seemed. In his more than two and a half years of serving the village and surrounding area, he’d said prayers over two women who’d died in childbirth. This would make three. “Take a seat, William. I’ll be out directly.”

“I’ll take ye in my wagon, Vicar. ‘Twill save time.”

After leaving his cane by the chair, Tremain hobbled down the hall, changed his shirt, attached his collar and pulled on his coat. Grabbing his copy of the
Common Book of Prayer
, he stepped into the guestroom. “Eliza,” he whispered.

She stepped out of the shadow. “Yes.”

Looping his free arm around her waist, he pulled her close and already his prick began to stiffen. “Come tomorrow night. Same time. Will you?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her hard, then stepped back. “Wait at least ten minutes before you leave. Do not bother locking the door.”

“I heard. Not a pleasant way for the evening to end,” she said sadly.

“No. Duty calls.”

He closed the door gently behind him then hurried down the hall. Amazingly, his leg did not ache as it had earlier in the evening. He wasn’t even using his cane at the moment. Nevertheless, after slipping on his greatcoat, he reached for the cane and followed William outside. Yes, duty called. And despite the sad circumstances, for once he did not dread it.

If there ever was a time Tremain found himself glad of his war experiences, it was tonight. The foul smell of rot and blood slammed his senses as soon as he crossed the threshold of the Treacher’s modest farmhouse. Although the odors of a battlefield were ones familiar to him, his stomach churned here all the same. William escorted him to the master bedroom. Hannah Treacher lay covered to her neck. The only other person in the room was Dr. Edwards, wiping his bloody hands on a towel. “She passed about ten minutes ago, Vicar.”

“What happened?”

“I wasn’t called in until two hours ago. A midwife handled the birth. Poor Mrs. Treacher remained in labor all day. A great loss of blood. Mind where you step.”

Tremain glanced down and visibly recoiled at the pools of blood on the bed and floor. Bloody towels and cloths lay in a heap.

“Sepsis and gas gangrene, there was no stopping the infection. The poor woman began to rot before she even died. That’s the smell. The baby did not survive the trauma of his birth.” Dr. Edwards tossed the bloody cloth to the pile. “Even if I were called in sooner, I could have done nothing. Not the midwife’s fault. Just one of those things.”

One of those things.
“Where is Jacob?”

“The family is with him in the kitchen. He told me to tell you he hopes you understand he cannot come back in this room.”

After glancing about the darkened space, Tremain agreed. This
was
a battlefield, where women fought to save a young mother and her baby. Suddenly, he grew dizzy, faint sounds of rifle shots and cries of anguish filled his hearing. Ghostly arms pulled him into his war terrors while conscious.
No. I will not let this happen
. Bad enough they haunted his nights, the horrors would not affect his life while awake. Closing his eyes tight, he willed back the images, smells, and sounds.
You will not claim me, not this day. Not now.
The images dissipated, and with an exhale of breath he stepped closer, the smell became almost too much to bear. Next to Hannah on the bed was a small wrapped bundle, no doubt the baby. God, life could be brutal. And so could death.

“Father of all, we pray to you for Hannah Treacher and her baby....” He glanced at the Doctor, who mouthed “Jacob.” “Jacob Treacher, and for all those whom we love but see no longer. Grant to them eternal rest. Let light perpetual shine upon them. May Hannah and Jacob’s souls and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”

The two men left the room, closing the door behind them. Dr. Edwards whispered, “It is patently obvious the family will have to forgo the wake. They must be buried immediately.”

“I concur, Dr. Edwards. I will ensure they are laid to rest before noon.”

The doctor placed his hat on his head, his other hand clasping his leather satchel. “A bad business. Tragic. Hannah’s first birthing was smooth sailing. But this...everything that could go wrong, did. Out of my hands now and into yours and God’s, I imagine. I bid you goodnight, Vicar.”

Dr. Edwards sounded weary and Tremain couldn’t blame him. When he heard the front door shut, Tremain made his way to the kitchen. A cluster of people stood in the outer edges of the room. Sitting at the table were William, Jacob--now a widower--and curled up asleep in his lap, a little girl of about three years of age.

Jacob was twenty-eight, a tall, good-looking man who chose for a bride a rather plain woman. Tremain had observed the couple at Sunday services many times, and their love and respect for each other had been evident. A tragedy indeed. Since Jacob was both handsome and a kind, honorable man, Tremain doubted he would remain a widower for long. Eventually, if and when the grief lessened, he would need a helpmate and a mother for the girl. A companion for his life, and if blessed, for his heart. Far from the strictures of London society, most common folk did not have the luxury of observing strict periods of mourning. Unfortunately, life marched on and held many demands.

Jacob glanced up at him, his clear blue eyes moist and beseeching. Tremain laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. In a low voice, Tremain said, “Everyone, gather around.” The family shuffled closer. “Hannah and Jacob are gone now from this earthly dwelling and have left behind those who mourn their absence. Grant that we may hold their memory dear, never bitter, for what we have lost nor in regret for the past, but always in hope of the eternal Kingdom where you will bring us together again. Through Christ our Lord.”

The family murmured “amen” in reply. Jacob’s mother gathered the sleeping girl and took her from the room.

Tears fell freely from Jacob. “She’s in a better place, her and the wee one, aren’t they, Vicar? They’ve gone to a better place.”

In this circumstance speaking his truth would not suffice. Not to a young man mourning his wife and child. A man mired in deep grief and misery. Tremain squeezed the farmer’s shoulder. “Yes. They’ve gone to a better place. Their troubles are behind them and their suffering is at an end. They are both at peace, Jacob. Take comfort in that.”

He nodded. “She...Hannah told me to find love again, to be happy. She made me promise...” his voice broke.

“Then you must do as she asked. Mourn her, never forget her, but remember to live and love. Let light and hope into your heart.” Jacob turned and buried his head between his arms on the table, his broad shoulders shaking as he sobbed openly. His mother rushed to his side, rubbing his back in comfort. Tremain turned and quietly left the room. There was no more he could do for the anguished farmer tonight. Finding William and Mr. Treacher, he relayed the doctor’s instructions for a swift burial. Tremain offered to stop by the gravediggers’ houses on the way back to the vicarage. They would have to start at the crack of dawn. As William escorted him to the wagon, the words Tremain spoke to Jacob reverberated in his mind. “Remember to live and love. Let light and hope into your heart.”

Perhaps the time had come for him to follow the sage advice.

* * * *

Eliza heard of the tragic death of Mrs. Treacher from the servants at breakfast, and while she sympathized with the young farmer and his family, her heart ached for Tremain. What he must have witnessed. Gossip usually spared no details, and neither had this conversation, which was particularly gruesome with breakfast.

Though Tremain witnessed death in war and as a vicar, it must be brutal to observe regardless. While nibbling on her scone, she wondered if she would have the inner strength needed to stand by his side as his wife. Her? Married to a member of the clergy? Who would have thought she would entertain such a possibility, but she did and often lately.

For a while she thought she lusted after Tremain because of her wantonness, and wallowed in leftover guilt stemming from her strict upbringing at the orphanage. That she readily entered into physical relations with the only two men she’d been in close proximity with gave her pause.

Though she rushed into her brief affair with William Winters more out of loneliness than any deep affection, those reasons did not factor into her relationship with Tremain. The fact they didn’t hasten into anything was due more to his keeping her at arm’s length than anything else, but it did give her time to observe the man and get to know him better. Her affection grew as well as her admiration. Lust turned into passion and a deep yearning. And ultimately, possibly--love.

Yes. Her feelings for Tremain were vastly different from anything she’d experienced before. Seeing him walk into a room made her heart race, observing him struggle to hide his emotions behind his stony mask touched her deep in her soul. The man needed to heal and she wanted to help him any way she could.