‘Yes, how may I help you?’ A tall dark-haired man with fierce, bushy sideburns answered the door, dressed in clerical robes, and looked down upon him, his voice still betraying his Irish roots with a slight lilt.
Adam recognized him as the curate who had earlier been married to the parson’s middle daughter until her death. Indeed, people blamed the curate for her untimely death, after making her take a walk in the pouring rain, and it was rumoured that he had not cared, or shown his wife any love.
‘I’d like to see the Reverend.’ Adam held out his hand to be shaken. ‘It’s Arthur, isn’t it?’ Adam watched as the curate tried to remember the face in front of him.
‘Yes, do I know you? I’m afraid I don’t recognize your face?’ The curate looked down at Adam and scrutinized him.
‘I’m Adam Brooksbank, you probably don’t remember me. I’ve been away for some time now and, to be honest, we only met perhaps once or twice, under difficult circumstances, if you recall. The Reverend knows me well.’
‘Oh yes, I remember, you were a peeler. You used to help Branwell, and you lost your wife in tragic circumstances and then you left the district. Such a sad affair – the good Lord does not show any mercy to our feelings sometimes. I’ll just see if the Reverend is available. Please do come in and wait in the hall. He’s in the study. I’ll check if he’s awake, as he usually has a nap nowadays after his dinner,’ Arthur said, leaving Adam in the hallway.
Adam looked around the entrance hall, which was sparsely furnished but homely, and had always drawn the parson’s family back between its walls from whatever lives they had been living elsewhere.
‘Ah, Adam, so you have returned to us. Like all prodigal sons do. No matter where you go, the place of your birth will always draw you back – my girls all knew that.’ The ageing parson held out his hand to shake and urged Adam to join him in his study, as Arthur left them to catch up on old times.
‘I have indeed, sir. Perhaps I should have returned earlier. I regret not being there when my father and mother passed away. But Her Majesty’s army and the fighting in the Crimea got in the way.’ Adam smiled at the old man as he urged him to sit down opposite him in the chair next to the fire.
‘A dreadful war, from what I hear. Man’s inhumanity to man I still cannot understand. Still, you have survived and are back with us now. I hope you plan to stay?’ The parson looked at the man who had been always understanding when his son had driven him to despair, and watched as Adam looked down at his feet, noting the regret of his past life’s decisions.
‘I am. I’ve returned to Black Moss and I’m rebuilding what nature has done to my old home over the last few years. I should have known that hiding away from hurt and sorrow does not work, and that self-pity only leads to self-loathing. I cannot bring my Mary back, but I can lead a good life and try to be there for others now.’ Adam looked across at the old man, who had experienced more than his fair share of pain in life, but despite that he had not lost his faith and still helped the people around him.
‘God moves in mysterious ways. Here am I, without any of my family alive, all of them dying from consumption. An illness that made me look at how my parishioners lived, and made me fight for their right to have clean water and sanitation. The vapours that were being breathed in by one and all have killed a good many, but it took the death of my dear daughters to make me realize that. Now, with the help of Benjamin Babbage and the good Lord, I have saved many a soul, through losing the ones that I loved. There is a purpose to life, Adam. Never despair, you will eventually find peace with yourself.’ The Reverend reached out to Adam and patted his hand. He knew what pain Adam had felt when he lost his wife, and how he blamed himself, but it was time for him to put that behind him and enjoy his life now, back in his home, where he had always belonged.
‘I’m trying, sir. I’m no longer the headstrong youth I used to be,’ Adam whispered.
‘Good, then you will find happiness. Now, enough of these worries. Let us enjoy a cup of tea and perhaps a scone? My cook makes the most wonderful scones, and even though I have just had my dinner, I can find room for one, if you’ll join me.’ Patrick smiled.
‘That would be most agreeable sir,’ Adam replied.
‘Then tea and scones it is, and you must tell me about your travels.’ The parson sounded the small silver bell by his side, and no sooner had it rung than a maid in a mob cap came and quickly asked what he required. ‘Some tea and scones for my good friend here. And perhaps, Alice, you’d be kind enough to fill the coal scuttle while you are here.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Alice bobbed and took the brass coal scuttle to be filled, returning within seconds and adding some coal to the fire, as both men talked about days gone by and their hopes and dreams for the future, while sharing a pot of tea together. They had both loved and lost, but neither was without hope as they looked into the future.
Adam arrived home at dusk and, after
