If Morning Never Comes - Episode Nine
In Which: We Spend Sunday Afternoon in a Graveyard
Welcome to “If Morning Never Comes,” a serial adventure from and proudly published by . If this is your first time, catch up before you begin this chapter:
Episode One | In Which: We Meet the Ashley Family
Episode Two | In Which: Charles Makes A Grisly Discovery
Episode Three | In Which: The Subject of Vampires is Introduced
Episode Four | In Which: Charles Encounters a Fight, a Girl, and an Invitation
Episode Five | In Which: We Arrive at a Mysterious Manor
Episode Six | In Which: Charles Encounters the Raines Family
Episode Seven | In Which: Charles Escapes Disaster
Episode Eight | Charles Gets In Over His Head
Please enjoy!
~ The Editor
“He revealeth the deep and secret things: he knoweth what is in the darkness, and the light dwelleth with him.”
Behind the altar was a high, arching window that flooded the sanctuary with the light of the morning sun. The high ceiling of the church gave full resonance to the deep voice. The dark brown pews were filled with attentive parishioners. In his white robes and spectacles, Vicar Clarke stood behind the pulpit.
“Our eyes are only able to behold that which reflects the light, whether natural or artificial. In the darkness, where no light penetrates, we are blind.” He paused. “It is the same in matters of the spirit.”
Charles sat with his family on the left-hand side of the church. The wings were separated from the center of the room by tall arches. Charles was unfortunate enough to be seated directly behind the base of one of these. He could see the vicar if he craned his neck to the left, but Eleanor did not like that. His mother was seated to his right.
He heard the words of the homily, but paid little attention. He could never make head nor tails of the Vicar Clarke’s ramblings, so he contented himself with assessing the congregation. In particular, he looked for the Raines siblings. He had not seen them before service began, and he could not see them from his seat. They could be behind him, but he was not about to turn around. Certain parishioners thought vigilance for youthful inattention was something of a sacrament.
“We know what we know of God and the angels because God has allowed the light of his revelation to shine upon our eyes. And yet, even with all that we think we know, God dwells in inapproachable darkness. The prophet speaks of deep and secret things. What else might there be, shrouded in the shadows of another realm? What divine mysteries lurk in the darkness of the unrevealed?”
Charles had enough trouble trying to understand what little Scripture he had already seen. Let other men bother with the hidden mysteries. It sounded like an awful lot of work.
He let his thoughts wander to Jenny and Amelia. He found himself rather entangled these days. While he had not seen Jenny since his apologetic visit to her house, nor Amelia since their stolen kiss in the rain, he had spent every moment of the last week thinking of them both.
Some days he was ashamed of his secrecy. He had already hurt Jenny deeply by ignoring her for the advances of the other woman. The thought of hurting her again was unbearable, and he found himself longing for her company. He knew he could be happy with her sweet spirit and modest beauty.
On the other hand, every time he thought of Amelia Raines, his blood began to pump. He returned to their kiss – barely a kiss! – in his mind as often as he could. And her flirtatious, almost impertinent demeanor was contagious. The thought of sneaking around stealing reckless kisses from this exquisite creature awakened something primal within him.
He really did not know what to do. It was a problem. Well, not truly a problem. A problem implied anxiety, and Charles was thoroughly enjoying himself. He knew he would have to come to a decision at some point, but at least right now, here in church, he did not have to make such a decision. So he let his fantasies wander while he waited for the loquacious vicar to finish.
“Truly it is the glory of God to conceal a thing, but the honor of kings to search it out. There is so much more for us to know, new secrets for us to uncover, treasures hidden in the darkness. And we are the light of the world. We must build upon the foundation of our Lord. For what father desires his children to remain in infancy? Shall we spend our days crossing and re-crossing the same, tired old paths? I tell you, no! We must transcend this world and stare into the abyss. For it is there that we will find our light and our future. Indeed, let us ascend to the very throne of God, as is our right as his children. For what is the throne of God but the seat of wisdom – wisdom that appears as foolishness to men; heresy, even madness? Yet it is only those who risk such madness who will see God as he truly is.”
The sermon finished and all said “Amen” as the vicar moved on to the rest of the service. Offerings were given, the eucharist was taken, and soon Charles was receiving the final benediction. As he moved towards the exit, he heard his name and he turned. There, in a lovely Sunday dress and bonnet came Jenny, smiling as she made her way towards Charles.
“Good morning, Jenny,” Charles greeted her.
“Good morning, Charles.”
He silently evaluated her appearance. She was a pretty thing, that was certain. Her dark brown hair was long and graceful, and her dress was nice-looking for all its modesty. In comparison to Amelia, she might have been unimpressive, but her beauty was different than Miss Raines’. It was innocent and kind, reaching to her smiling cheeks and sincere eyes. There was no guile or seduction about Genevieve Tarrant. But Charles could tell from her shy glances and honest smile that she liked him. And however he may compare the two ladies, he could not deny that he liked her too.
They exchanged only the smallest pleasantries as they walked towards the door. He did not see Edgar and Amelia, so he was able to relax. It seemed inappropriate to make romance in the church, however, so together they made their way to the exit. There stood Vicar Clarke, shaking hands and nodding wisely to all.
“Well, Charles! Good to see you,” he said. He did not shake Charles’ hand so much as grasp it with both of his and hold it for a moment. Charles wished him the blessings of the Lord in a bland monotone, lost on the oblivious cleric.
“Ah, and Miss Tarrant, how delightful,” said Mr. Clarke. “It’s been much too long, my dear. How is your father?”
“Not well, I’m afraid, Mr. Clarke,” answered Jenny. Charles sympathized with the poor girl. All anyone seemed to ask her about was her dying father. He could not decide whether he should avoid the topic out of courtesy, or if it would be insensitive not to bring it up.
After a pious promise to pray for Mr. Tarrant, the vicar released Jenny, and she and Charles stepped out into the yard of the church.
Jenny sighed, “Sunshine at last!” She raised her arms up like a flower opening its petals to greet the dawn. “I was beginning to think we’d be stuck with that nasty gloom forever.”
“Life on the moor, Miss Tarrant,” said Charles. She didn’t mind when he called her that if he was joking. “Bleak and boring.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Jenny said. “It looks lovely to me.”
They looked out on the bare expanse together. The church was set on a hill, and they were provided a rare view of the countryside in the bright sun. Actually, this morning it looked almost inviting. The little knolls and dips were far less sinister without their usual veil of mist.
“Well,” said Charles, “if it could look like this all the time, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Is it so bad here, Charles?” asked Jenny.
Charles laughed and extended his arm. She took it and they walked together. They strolled around the grounds of the church, coming to the western side, where an iron fence prevented them from tumbling down a steep incline. Behind them was the church graveyard, but even that looked welcoming in the morning light.
Charles saw his home country stretching out before him. Green grass and rocks. The occasional tree. Behind him was the stately but small church building with all the people he had ever known filing out of the door. The bells rang gaily in the tall tower. And on his arm was a woman he believed he could love. No, it was not so bad.
As they stood by the iron fence, a raven flapped its wings and landed on the rail. It was a large bird, nearly two feet tall. It stood still and stared at Charles and Jenny. Its eyes were chocolate brown.
Jenny laughed, “Well, someone seems to be enjoying the sun today.”
The bird croaked, a grating guttural sound. Its neck feathers fluffed up and its head darted around, examining the area. Charles found it unsettling.
“Bad luck, those birds,” said Charles.
“No!” protested Jenny. She was delighted by the creature. “He’s lovely.”
Charles took a step towards the bird. It turned towards him and bent its knees, cautious. It croaked again.
“You know folk used to believe them to be demons?” said Charles. “Look at him, spending Sunday in a graveyard!”
“You’re spending Sunday in a graveyard, Charles,” teased Jenny.
Charles smiled. The raven changed its sound and began to call again. Perhaps he was imagining things, but he could have sworn the bird was crying, “Help! Help!”
Jenny seemed not to notice. “I read that ravens will choose a single partner for their entire lives. A pair will have a special call for one another, so they can find each other across miles.”
“Help!” begged the raven. Then it spread its large wings and took off. It flew up into the church belfry. The sky was a clear blue.
Something about the raven sobered Charles. Maybe it was its melancholy plea, or the way it flew, untethered from the ground. He could not explain it, but he felt himself moved. He was enjoying the finest Sunday he had had in recent memory, and yet he felt cold. As though he had been granted a lucid moment in a happy dream – knowing that the morning must come. He felt a deep longing in his breast for something he did not understand.
“Jenny,” he asked, “have you ever wanted to run away?”
She turned. “What?”
He felt foolish trying to articulate what had come over him. “Have you ever wanted to spread your wings like that? Just jump onto a horse and gallop off into the distance?”
“I don’t know, Charles,” she answered. “I’ve never thought of it before.” She hesitated, as if considering the implications of that question. “Is that what you want?”
He said, “Sometimes I feel like we’re all standing on a frozen lake, cracks breaking through the ice, and I’m the only one who sees it. Most days I can ignore it, but sometimes it freezes into a single, driving desire to run for the trees as fast as I can.”
Jenny said nothing. She listened, calmly. Her bonnet fluttered in the wind and she calmed it with a hand.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Charles,” she finally offered.
Conscious of her feelings, Charles tried to speak more carefully.
“I know that I could make a life here,” he indicated the moor, “and be happy.” He felt her squeeze his arm. “But anyone can be happy, can’t they? Doesn’t anyone want more than that? Isn’t there more to life than happiness?”
He looked at Jenny. He knew it was a silly question, but he really wanted to know what she thought.
She took the time to answer honestly, “Happiness is a tricky thing. We can be happy even when life around us is miserable. And I’ve met some who have no misery in their life and yet can’t seem to find joy in anything.”
He could speak so easily with her. She listened. She did not panic when he raised important questions. She allowed him to talk through what he was thinking. Suddenly, Charles found himself revealing thoughts he had never realized himself.
“I want to do great things, Jenny,” he said. “I want to risk and fight and win and come to the end of my life exhausted. I want to be tested beyond my limits and come home scarred but stronger than before. If I’m going to fall through the ice I want it to be straining for the shore, instead of standing still.” He turned to her. “Does that make any sense?”
“I think so.” Jenny looked up at him, then looked away and blushed. “You’re a man of passion, Charles.”
Charles reddened as well. No one had ever said that to him before. “I don’t know about that. I’m just afraid that I’ll go my whole life and never have the chance to prove myself.”
“Prove what?” she asked.
He began to answer, but was distracted by a commotion from the doors of the church. The couple turned around and saw Herr Stryker waving his arms and stamping his walking stick into the ground as he shouted at the vicar. Mr. Clarke looked afraid that the German was going to live up to his name.
Charles and Jenny walked closer and began catching snippets of the conversation. They seemed to be arguing over the sermon.
“We must ascend to the throne of God?” exclaimed Stryker. “Is that the sort of blasphemy you peddle in this place?”
Vicar Clarke was backed up against the brick wall of the church. He kept looking over Stryker’s shoulder to see if anyone would help him. “But Mr. Stryker, did not Christ himself say that he would grant us to sit upon his throne?”
“Pah!” spat the German. “You know as little of theology as you do of science, idiot!”
“Mr. Stryker, this – hardly seems necessary!” said Mr. Clarke, cowering in his robes.
“It’s Herr Stryker. Herr Stryker!”
Herr Stryker threw up his hands and stomped off. His mustache bristled like hackles on a dog. He saw Charles and Jenny and tipped his hat as he passed.
“Guten Morgen,” he grumbled, not stopping to say more.
Charles and Jenny looked at each other. Charles tried to restrain a smile, but it was Jenny who first sputtered out a laugh and covered her mouth with her gloved hands. Vicar Clarke scurried into the building and shut the doors behind him.
When he was gone, Mrs. Ashley and Charles’ two sisters walked up. Charity and her mother were beside themselves at such an interesting Sunday.
“Good gracious!” said Mrs. Ashley. “Can you believe Mr. Stryker would do such a thing?”
“He was so angry, I thought we’d be in need of a new vicar after that!” giggled Charity.
“It’s because he’s a Lutheran,” said Mrs. Ashley. “They’re all that way.”
Eleanor hissed at her mother and greeted Jenny gracefully.
“Oh yes, so sorry dear,” said Charles’ mother. “Please be so kind as to remind me of your name?”
“Genevieve Tarrant, madam.”
“Oh yes, the poor girl whose father is on his deathbed. Dreadful thing. You have my deepest condolences.”
“Mother!” exclaimed Charles, appalled.
“I say, have either of you seen Mr. and Miss Raines? I simply must hear what Edgar has to say about that little display. Eleanor, darling, have you heard from him lately? Surely he would write to you if one of them had fallen ill.”
At the mention of the Raines family, Jenny’s countenance fell and she politely wished them all a good Sabbath. She curtseyed to Charles and he watched her climb into her family’s small one-horse carriage. Furious, he turned on his mother.
“Mother, how could you speak to Miss Tarrant that way?”
Mrs. Ashley looked legitimately surprised, “Charles! Whatever are you talking about? Don’t get so excited.”
“Excited, Mother? You bring up her dying father to her face and then change the subject like it was no matter?”
“If you recall, Charles, I said that it was dreadful. How dare you speak to me this way? And on a Sunday, no less!”
“And then to bring up the Raines family in front of her. You don’t think that might have made her uncomfortable?”
“Well, why ever would it?”
Charles stopped. He realized he had spoken his own insecurities in front of his family, who thus far knew nothing of his blossoming relationships with either Amelia Raines or Jenny Tarrant. He stammered, and Charity noticed his discomfort.
“Ooh, Charles has a sweetheart!”
“I do not!” Charles protested, hating how much he sounded like a little boy.
“Oh Charles, you can’t be serious,” complained Eleanor. “A girl like that, of no fortune or status to speak of?”
“She is a handsome, well-bred woman, Eleanor, and I’ll thank you not to speak ill of her,” he shot back.
“And I’ll thank you to consult me before any more romantic misadventures!” interrupted Mrs. Ashley. “What with dear Eleanor stealing the heart of Mr. Raines, we really can’t afford to be seen consorting with people of inferior station.”
Charles had no words for his mother. He was embarrassed and angry and confused, and he could not take it anymore. He threw up his hands and stomped off down the hill onto the moor, announcing that he would be walking home. His mother shouted at him something about the Sabbath, but he paid no attention.
The last thing he heard as he walked down the hill was the hoarse cry of a raven calling, “Help!”
Charles wants to prove himself. Be careful what you ask for. Great post. I am thoroughly enjoying this story.