A Quiet Stroll

A Quiet Stroll

D. A. Ratliff

I peeked out the lacy curtains covering the parlor window, watching Bishop Strong walk toward his waiting car. Good riddance. I didn’t think I could bear another minute with that stuffy, pompous man. I also didn’t think I could stand another moment with the hideous lacy curtains. I am a man of simplicity, and frilly things annoy me. I chuckled. Perhaps I am as pompous as the good bishop.

“Vicar, tea is at six. I am making beef stroganoff for your dinner. I understand that is your favorite?”

I turned toward the dining room door where my inherited housekeeper, Margaret Smith, stood. “You’ve done your homework.”

She laughed. “I did call Mrs. Martin and ask her what you liked.”

“Your consideration is much appreciated.”

“Lesser Brynham has been without a vicar for months. We are happy to have you. Should I unpack and put your things away?”

“No. I’ll do that. I have found that my bedroom and my things are my only solitude. It keeps me grounded to do things for myself, so I don’t expect you to wait on me, Mrs. Smith. I rather enjoy doing my laundry.”

She grinned. “Well, you will be a lark to take care of.”

“You may not say that in a few months. I can be picky. In fact,” I turned to the lacy drapes and held a panel out, “can we change these? I find them too fussy.”

“Vicar Chavin loved to have feminine touches in the vicarage. As the first female vicar in Lesser Brynham, she liked to remind people. I have the original linen drapes stored away. I will change them tomorrow.”

Mrs. Smith glanced down at her hands, which she had clasped, and I sensed melancholy flow over her. “I know her disappearance has been hard on the village. I will do all I can to help her parishioners heal.”

“We are now your parishioners, Vicar, but I feel you’ll help us heal.”

“Thank you. Time for me to head to the church office, where I am to review the calendar with Mrs. Dean and Mr. Grainger. My work begins.”

I relished the beautiful May afternoon as I strolled to the church through the gardens of the vicarage. Spring brought fragrant flowers and soft green foliage to the lush grounds. I remember visiting this church when I was in the seminary. What a perfect place to tend to the needs of a congregation. I passed the parish house where the community held meetings, wedding receptions, and, I have been told, a rousing game of bingo. I reached the rear door of the church, relaxed and pleased.

Ms. Dean was waiting. “Vicar Finch, welcome to St. Stephen’s.”

“Please call me Thomas.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that, Vicar.”

That told me what I needed to know about Delores Dean. She is a serious woman and likely a fervent believer, making her invaluable to me. We discussed how I wanted routine matters handled until the Church Warden, John Grainger, arrived. I knew his type as well. Retired, gung-ho, and usually a pain in any vicar’s rear, he could also prove valuable.

“Ah, Vicar Finch, we have a leader at long last.”

“I’m certain you did well keeping the congregation happy while the post was vacant.” He preened at my words as I knew he would.

“I tried to do what I could...,” he paused and quickly added, “but I couldn’t have done it without Delores.”

I suspected there was more to this story when they exchanged sly glances. I had a bit of gossip to uncover.

He continued. “We are fortunate that many people who live in Oxford come here for services. They love coming to such a picturesque location, only a fifteen-minute drive to Lesser Brynham, and Vicar Chavin was an amazing orator. Everyone loved hearing her sermons.”

“I have huge shoes to fill and will do my best. Now, let’s discuss the upcoming events.”

It turned out that they had planned a welcome reception following my first sermon on Sunday. Ms. Dean reported record RSVPs for the fete, and I was pleased. I would get to meet my congregation soon.

The remainder of the week proved busier than I expected. For a small village church, the congregation was quite large. I received phone calls, flowers, food deliveries, invitations to dine, and one marriage proposal, granted a tongue-in-cheek proposal from an eighty-six-year-old congregant and grand dame of the church. I told her I would consider her offer.

Sunday came, and I was quite good if I say so myself. I do know how to turn a crowd to God and me at the same time, receiving an inappropriate but considerate standing ovation at the end of my sermon. Vicar Chavin might have been a product of the hallowed halls of Oxford, but I was the better orator.

The fete was surprisingly fun. If these people keep feeding me, I might need to increase my daily walks to more than two. I met the mayor, the local MP, two heads of colleges at Oxford, and locals alike, from shopkeepers to farmers—an eclectic congregation.

I was enjoying my second strawberry scone when Mayor John Ruddy approached with his wife and two daughters.

“Vicar, may I introduce my wife, Wilona, and my daughters, Mindy and Charlotte. “

I shook Wilona’s hand and nodded to the girls who were, I learned later, eighteen and sixteen. Wilona smiled. “I do hope you enjoy being here, Vicar. We already know we are thrilled to have you lead the church.”

“Thank you. I have been here a week, and I am overcome by the welcome I have received. I hope the bishop will see fit to leave me here for as long as I am welcome.”

John patted Mindy on the shoulder. “Our Mindy is starting Oxford in the fall but will take courses this summer.”

Mindy smiled shyly, and from the sparkle in her eyes, I saw a young woman full of spirit.

Wilona sighed. “Unfortunately, she is moving into a flat with a girlfriend in June.”

I gave Wilona a reassuring smile. “Children do grow up, and you must let them go, but they will never leave your heart.”

I broke away when Ms. Dean informed me it was time to say a few words before the fete ended. To be honest, I was looking forward to a quiet evening at the vicarage.

~~~

I settled in rather quickly. It was not difficult to do as these people were eager to be led. In the past six months, I had officiated at four funerals, seven weddings, and six christenings. Not to mention, I had visited many sick people in their homes and hospitals and was invited twice to High Table for dinner at Oxford. And I was right. Ms. Dean and the widower Grainger were indeed an item. I may be officiating at another wedding in the future.

Considering expected interruptions, I needed to establish a daily routine as best I could. I made it a habit to walk through the village in the morning and the late evenings to let the residents know I was always there for them. Morning walks took longer as the sun rose, people stirred, and I stopped for brief conversations. I relished the quiet strolls at night because, other than an occasional dog walker, my walk was solitary.

My quiet evenings consisted of dinner left by Mrs. Smith and working on sermons or correspondence until I went for my walk and then home, where I read or watched telly until bedtime. A rewarding life until the ugly realities of the world reared their heads.

October arrived, and I had returned from my morning walk to find Mrs. Smith waiting for me, her face ashen.

“What’s wrong?”

“Vicar, it’s Mindy Ruddy. Her roommate said she never came home from the library, where she’d gone to study. They can’t find her. “

“Now, Mrs. Smith, let’s not get too worried yet. Perhaps she met up with the young man I hear she is dating and decided to stay with him.”

She shook her head. “No, he doesn’t know where she is. He hadn’t seen her since Saturday night.”

I hugged her and told her I was going to the Ruddy house and would stay in touch. I changed into a black suit and drove to the Ruddy home. Their home, Inverness House, was not quite as large as a manor house but stately. Two police cars were parked on the curved drive. At the front door, I was met by John Ruddy.

“Thomas, I just called the vicarage, and Maggie said you were on your way here. Thank you for coming. We need you.”

“I am always here for you. What’s the latest news?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid. She just vanished. They saw her walking from the library, but there were no security cams along her route to the flat she and Gina rented. The police are searching but don’t know where to look.”

Ruddy was about to lose control. “John, look at me. Wilona and Charlotte need you right now. Let me talk to the police. Have you called your brother?”

“Yes, Harold and Leanne are on their way from London.”

“Okay, let’s get you inside, and then I’ll talk to the police.”

The next forty-eight hours were grueling for the Ruddy family and ended with the news they feared the most. Mindy’s body was found in a dense wooded area north of Oxford by early morning hunters. She had been strangled.

The agony of her mother’s cries would stay with me forever. John’s brother Harold took over, making all the arrangements. We held Mindy’s funeral on a chilly, sunny morning in early October.

Death is never the end for an Anglican. We believe that the soul is in a state of being with God. Yet, watching the pain of my congregation as they shared the family’s grief in the loss of their daughter, I had a momentary lapse of faith that she was in a better place. But I knew some souls I met must go to a higher plane.

I was drained by the time I returned to the vicarage. I pulled the drapes, thankful that Mrs. Smith had changed them months ago so that no one could see inside. I left the lamp on in my study so anyone passing by would think I was working.

The evening had turned cold, so I dressed warmly in black and left the vicarage through the cellar door. The only door was not connected to the security system, so my comings and goings would not be recorded. I was thankful for the bright moonlight as I wouldn’t have to wear night vision goggles to find my way down the forest path.

I had chosen this church as the ideal location for my needs. It sat on a dead-end lane with no through traffic, fronted by a botanical garden with a thick forest behind it. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I quietly walked through the trees. I had served my faith once again.

A brisk twenty-minute walk brought me deep into the forest to land I had purchased through a false name—a small tract bordering an access road rarely used by utility companies. I approached the small shed I had built by hand with weathered wood in the months before I assumed the position at St. Stephen’s. There were no windows but a false drop window on the outside to make it appear to be a bird-watching blind.

I unlocked the combination lock and entered, closing the door before I turned on the light. My motor scooter sat along one side of the small space, with two full gas cans. A collapsable shovel leaned against the wall, and I chastised myself for being sloppy. I folded it, placed it into its pouch, and tucked it away in the scooter’s storage compartment along with the hand rake and brush I used to cover my tracks in the woods. The only other items in the shed were a chair and a leather trunk.

It had proved relatively easy. I had planned this well, and my first venture after arriving in Lesser Brynham was flawless. Once at the shed, I could take the scooter anywhere, as I had a week ago.

I knew from the moment I met Mindy that she was my next charge. I saw in her eyes that she was ready to become one with heaven. My goal since I was young was to free these trapped souls.

I followed her from the library twice, knowing she went there each Sunday evening to study. I spent a couple of evenings following her to choose the best place to act.

Mindy was surprised to see me but willingly took up my offer to give her a ride. I hopped off the bike to help her get on, and that’s when I strangled her with the silk scarf I carried in my pocket. She went peacefully, and I placed her body in front of me and sped out of town. I had chosen a place to leave her body where she would be found, in deference to her parents. Their agony touched me. I dug a shallow grave near a common hunting path and placed her in it, a hand visible. The others will never be found.

The leaf cover, fortunately, was thick and the ground dry, leaving no tracks, and I didn’t need to rake or brush the terrain. I returned to the shed undetected.

Now, crouching before the leather case, I open it, my heart racing. I slipped off her pearl necklace, which her mother said she had given Mindy when she left for college, anguished because it was missing. Do not worry, Wilona, her necklace is safe. I kept it around my neck during the service, and now it rests with my other mementos. I picked up the velvet box and opened it. A smile came over my face as I gazed at the several items I had taken as souvenirs and placed Mindy’s necklace among them. Before I closed the lid, I picked up the cross that Vicar Chavin had worn and thanked her for allowing me to take her place.

I nestled the velvet box among the silk scarves stored for the future and locked up the shed. My quiet stroll back to the vicarage was filled with joy. I had rescued another soul.

There were more.

~~~

Please note: The manuscript word count for the Unreliable Narrator Challenge is 2,423.