S ince Rob and Will approved of Annelise’s fiancé, they didn’t mind in the least when he spirited her off before church the following morning, although the questions they asked while we were in church made me wonder what kind of comic books Clive Pickle had been bringing to school lately.
Peggy Taxman’s head snapped in our direction when Will inquired, loudly, if Annelise and Oliver would have babies, and the vicar faltered in the middle of his sermon when Rob announced, after some thought, that Annelise would have lots of babies, because she had such a nice, soft tummy. I could do nothing but bow my head, not only to hide my blushes but to give heartfelt thanks to God that Annelise wasn’t there.
The boys and I trooped over to the vicarage after church, to apologize to the vicar for interrupting his sermon and to meet the white kitten he and Mrs. Bunting had adopted the night before. While Will and Rob played with Angel, Mr. Bunting took me to his study to admire the armchair his wife had given to him for his birthday.
“Your birthday!” I exclaimed, mortified. “It was last month, wasn’t it? I’m so sorry. I forgot all about it.”
“I didn’t bring you in here to make you feel guilty for forgetting my birthday,” said Mr. Bunting.
“I know, but I feel guilty anyway,” I said. “How could I have missed your birthday?”
“You haven’t been to see us since the boys started school,” he said gently.
“You’re kidding,” I said, gazing up at him in surprise.
“I’m not.” He smiled. “You’ve also been rushing off after Sunday services as if the church were on fire. We’ve hardly had a
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chance to say hello.” He ran a hand across the back of his new armchair. “I do understand, Lori. It’s not an easy transition for any mother to make, and you’ve had more reasons than most to worry about your little ones. My wife tells me, however, that the boys are doing wonderfully well at Morningside. Perhaps the time for worrying is over?” He smiled again. “It’s for you to decide, of course. I simply want you to know how pleased the whole village will be when you find time for us again. Now, let’s see if the boys have taught Angel a trick or two—or vice versa!”
I was grateful to Mr. Bunting for turning his attention to the kitten’s antics, because I was so choked up I couldn’t speak. I hadn’t believed my neighbors when they’d told me that I’d been gone for “an age and an age,” but the vicar’s kindly remonstrance had made me realize, fi nally, that they’d been telling me the truth.
It had been six weeks since the twins had started school, six weeks since I’d dropped out of village life to obsess about their safety, and in a tightly knit community six weeks was an age. I wondered how many other birthdays I’d forgotten, how many neighborly duties I’d neglected. Every role was vital in a tiny place like Finch, and I’d failed to play mine for six long weeks.
“Thank you,” I said to the vicar as the boys and I prepared to leave the vicarage. “Your message came through loud and clear. I’ll be at the nativity-play committee meeting on Friday evening, and everyone will know I’m there. And,” I added as we reached the doorstep, “I will most defi nitely stay for tea and buns afterwards.”
I stopped to chat with everyone I saw as I drove through the village, and instead of taking the twins back to the cottage for breakfast, we fi lled up on bacon and eggs—and plenty of gossip—at the tearoom. By the time we returned to the cottage to change out of our Sunday clothes, I felt as if I’d made up some of the ground I’d lost since the boys had started school.
We had a wonderful time at the Cotswold Farm Park, feeding the friendly, curious goats and petting the rabbits and sheep. My prayer Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
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for rain had evidently run its course, because the weather was fine enough for us to eat our picnic lunch at the park’s outdoor tables.
After lunch, we paid our respects to the oxen, the pigs, and the chickens. I said hello to the Gloucester Old Spots for Bill, and they grunted their best wishes back to him. The highlight of the boys’
visit was, of course, the stately Shire horses, and we spent the entire homeward journey discussing the many ways in which horses had served mankind.
Annelise floated into the cottage shortly after we’d eaten dinner. She was so love-drunk after her day with Oliver that she did nothing but smile seraphically when I informed her, very cautiously, that her tummy had been mentioned in church.
When Bill called, I spoke to him freely and without restraint, because for the first time since he’d left for London, I’d made it through an entire day without thinking once about Rendor.
“Look at it!” I expostulated as I climbed into Kit’s pint-size pickup truck on Monday morning. “Look at the sky! Bright sunshine, no clouds, not a hint of rain!”
“The old folks would tell you that St. Luke’s Little Summer has arrived,” said Kit, turning the truck toward the Upper Deeping road. “I believe it’s called Indian summer in the States.”