“But she’s coming home? She is coming home, isn’t she?”
Winnie had known this would be difficult. “Not just now, Maureen. She seems to be content where she is for the present, but she wanted you to know that she misses you, and that she misses her brother and sister.”
Maureen Wills put her face in her hands. “You don’t know—you can’t imagine what it’s been like,” she choked out. “Losing your baby, not knowing if she’s alive or dead. And Gary—Gary won’t even allow us to speak her name —It’s been terrible for Meredith and Jon.…” She raised her face, blotched and tear streaked. “How could she do this to us?”
“Maureen, kids make mistakes. We all make mistakes, but this one isn’t easy to put right. I’m sure Faith never meant to hurt any of you.”
“Then why is she so stubborn? If she’d just told us what happened, who the father is, or if she’d just been reasonable about having an—” Maureen broke off abruptly, with a glance at Winnie’s collar. “I never thought … when Gary told her she was legally an adult, that if she was going to disrespect us that way, she could fend for herself. I never thought she’d go.”
Winnie listened, nodding encouragingly, knowing how badly Maureen Wills must have needed to say these things to someone.
“And then, when I found her gone, that was terrible enough. But I never thought she’d stay away. Every minute, every hour, I thought I would hear the door. Or she would ring and ask me to come and get her. Sometimes I’d find myself thinking I had to pick her up from soccer practice, or choir, and then I’d realize …”
“She told me she sang in the choir. It seems to have meant a lot to her.”
“She was at Somerfield. We were so proud of her.”
“Faith is very special, Mrs. Wills—Maureen. What’s happened doesn’t change that. I’ve seldom seen a girl her age with such courage and self-reliance.”
“I want to see her, please. Can’t you take me to her?”
The tearful supplication was hard to resist, but Winnie shook her head. “I can’t betray Faith’s wishes. But I’ll tell her what you’ve said, and I’ll do my best to arrange a meeting. I think that’s all we can hope for just now.”
“But where is she? How is she managing? Is she eating? Does she attend your church?”
“I came to know Faith as a friend, not in my official capacity,” Winnie explained. “She has a job, and a safe place to live, and a number of people who are concerned for her welfare.”
“But how will she manage, once the baby’s … When is it …?”
“Late October, I believe. As for what she’ll do then, I don’t know, but we’ve some time to find a solution. If you’ll just—”
There was a sound from the back of the house and Maureen Wills froze, holding up a hand to silence Winnie. “It’s Gary and the kids. I don’t want him to—It’ll be better if I talk to him. Could you—”
The woman looked so terrified that Winnie quickly handed her the card she’d taken from her handbag and rose. “Here’s my number. Ring me.”
She patted Maureen’s trembling hands, and was out the front door as a man’s furious voice called out, “Maureen, where are you? The damn chips are burned to a crisp!
Winnie drove home with hopes that she had made some progress in reconciling Faith with her family, although perhaps a goal of physical reunification was unwise if Mr. Wills was as intimidating as he seemed. It seemed obvious that he was the real stumbling block. Winnie had seen this a number of times in her years of counseling parishioners—men often took a daughter’s pregnancy as a personal affront, and even in the more well-balanced families there seemed to be an element of jealousy involved. What she did find curious was the lengths to which Faith had gone to protect a boy who apparently had shown no further interest in her.
The next challenge would be arranging a meeting between Faith and her mother on neutral ground. As she neared home, she decided that her study at the Vicarage would provide the ideal setting.
The Vicarage was on the Butleigh Road, south of Glastonbury, in the village of Compton Grenville. Winnie had come to love her parish in this gentle countryside, with its view of the Levels to the east, and to the west the Hood Monument at the top of wooded Windmill Hill.
The house was the epitome of the drafty Victorian pile, but in five years Winnie had come to regard its eccentricities with a profound affection.
Of course, to do the place justice would have taken a small fortune, but Winnie had done the best she could with diocesan funds, and she had used a bit of the small inheritance she and Andrew had had from their parents. She had made the front parlor her office, and had outfitted the large old kitchen as a combination sitting/eating area.
She turned into her drive with the pleasure she always felt. She and Jack had no plans for that evening; for once she had no pastoral obligations, and she was rather looking forward to a quiet evening spent working on her sermon. Then, to her surprise, she saw Andrew’s car pulled round near the kitchen door.
Andrew had been dropping in unannounced rather frequently of late. While Winnie adored her brother, she was aware that his concern was much more likely to be for his welfare than for hers. Andrew had come to depend on her, perhaps too much, and she had tried to reassure him that her feelings for Jack wouldn’t change things between them—although if she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit they already had.
Stopping the car, she retrieved the shopping she’d picked up for her supper from the boot and let herself in the back door. Andrew sat at her kitchen table, the
“Hullo, darling. I brought you a nice bottle of Burgundy, and thought I’d stay to do the honors.”
“I can see you already have.” She gave him a fond peck on the cheek as she set her shopping on the table. The cheerful kitchen was her favorite room in the house. Roman blinds in tomato-red canvas covered the windows, so that the morning sun filled the room with its own sunrise, and she’d slipcovered the old sofa and chair in the small sitting area in a combination of prints in the same red and apple-green.
Now in the evening light the rich colors were muted, the room cool and welcoming. Andrew examined the
