Wednesday, July 10, 2013

The Shattering of the Rose, Part IV


this part of the story does not yet touch Tam...but someday it will, and is yet another piece that will shatter...


the Sophie and the Val who are to be...via google :) 
and, by the by, it is Jennie's part of this story that throws my timeline 
all off and makes me think the story will not be historical fiction. :P


This should be interesting.
Val stepped out of the way to allow his mother to enter the family pew box first. After nine months of interim preachers and very little shepherding, the country flock of Christ’s Church had a new vicar at last, and this Sunday was the man’s first sermon.
Wondering curiously what the man was like, Val took a step into the pew, only to bump into a cloud of silk and lace. Mercy’s sparkling blue eyes laughed saucily up at him, and she folded her fan to one side and then flipped it open to shield their faces from the rest of the church.
“Daydreaming already, Val? When we haven’t even seated ourselves yet? Or did you once again forget your poor little sister?”
He rolled his eyes at her—poor little sauce-box—and stepped back to allow her room to go in ahead. “I thought you were on the other side of Mother!” he whispered back, and she sniffed proudly, then started giggling.
“What?” he asked, and she pointed to the pulpit. Val’s gaze followed her finger as he swung the box door shut, and there he was. The new vicar of Christ’s Church, second son of Lord Wilcox, and someone none of them knew much of anything about. Scarcely had his mind registered the thought before Mercy was nudging him, as forcefully as she dared in church.
“His daughter must be here, then; can you see her?” she whispered, and he leaned forward slightly, craning his neck to see the far pew box closest to the pulpit.
“Yes,” he said then, for as soon as he saw the pew, he saw the girl. Or rather, he saw her hair. Golden sheets of it, cascading down her back like a river of sunlight. Then she turned her head slightly, and he saw she was studying the church, her eyes traveling over every inch of the plain architecture that made up Christ’s Church, a solemn curiosity about her.
“What’s she like? Come, Val, tell me!” Mercy was fairly bouncing beside him, trying in vain to see through the crowd.
He frowned—how exactly did one describe a girl?—and kept watching her. Even his untrained eyes told him her dress was probably half again as plain as that of the dress of any other woman or girl in the entire church, which said well for both her father and herself. They would not be upsetting any of the wives of the elders with that dress—the scandal that had sent the last vicar packing his bags had nothing to do with any of his children, but that had not prevented his daughters’ clothing from being the topic of much vindictive gossip which had but barely died down.
“Val!” Mercy begged, and he shrugged, frowning again.
Just then the girl turned, as if feeling his gaze, and their eyes met, and before he could look away in embarrassment, she smiled. A tentative smile, but a very real one, and one he could not help but return. So soon as he did, her smile widened, lighting her whole face.
Her father began to speak and she faced hastily forward, though her smile did not disappear.

“You’ll like her,” Val whispered at last, glancing down at his pouting younger sister. Her face brightened instantly, and he gave a decisive nod. “You’ll like her,” he repeated, and somehow he was sure of it.

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