Page 78 of Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match
“It’s my pleasure. Will shall escort you home.” She handed Edwin to his mother. “I’m going to the church, and then I’ll ride home. Leg me up, please.”
Will did so but was clearly torn by the decision he had to make as he loaded Clara’s luggage and groceries. “I am not meant to leave you alone.”
“I can take care of myself in the village. I’ve done so all my life. And they cannot.” Poor Clara looked wretched, hugging her son tight. “Ask Sarah to fill a bath for them.”
Will nodded. “Come straight home, my love.”
“Of course.” She waited until they were on their way. As she turned her own horse toward the church, the window opened once more. It was Mrs. Winchester, spying on Clara’s departure.
Angelika flipped her a penny. “Invest in a new attitude.” Percy lifted his tail and deposited a steaming heap.
Without Will by her side, she did feel vulnerable as she continued riding. Word had spread that the lady on the shiny horse dropped coins, and children trailed her like bees. Men leaned on doorframes to watch her pass. Percy was fretting for Solomon and wouldn’t stop neighing.
It was the first time in her life she’d sighed with relief to be riding up to a church. She tied Percy to a wrought-iron railing near the rectory and loosened his girth-strap. “You’re a foolish nag,” she scolded him, and he began stripping leaves off an untidy hedge. She found herself unable to leave him and sought the attention of a sweaty young man sweeping the path in religious garb.
“I will pay you a shilling to watch my horse for a short while. The villagers look like they’d steal the shoes clean off his feet.”
The disciple snorted a laugh, then looked skyward to mentally apologize. “If you donate it to the collection plate, consider it done.”
“You need a groundskeeper here,” Angelika remarked as she took off her gloves. “I know from experience that if you let ivy creep an inch, it will smother everything.”
“Our work is never done,” agreed the young man. “We almost did engage a groundskeeper, but we have had to make sacrifices. Father Porter is inside, if that’s who you are here for.”
Everything was arranged. She was here at the very place she had avoided for weeks. Years. Inside was a man she had not seen since the worst moments of her life. But if she could arrange this wedding, Lizzie would smile again, and Victor would perhaps increase his hugs to biannual.
There was nothing else to do but enter the big dark doors.
She had a premonition.
She was walking to her doom.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Angelika walked through the church with both arms across her stomach in a tight self-hug. Victor’s voice kept her company, albeit in her imagination.
Walking down the aisle at long last, eh, Jelly?
Look out. The bearded man in the sky will throw a lightning bolt at you.
Those stained-glass panels look new, don’t they? Lambskin upholstery on the pews. What do you think those cost? Father Porter is no better than a common grifting thief.
I will bet a thousand pounds he is wearing a jeweled ring the size of a quail’s egg.
“Hello?” Her voice echoed and was not answered, so she stopped when she reached the fourth-row pew. On this left-hand side was where she once sat with her parents. She found she could not walk another step without sitting down in her old place.
Every Sunday morning had felt like an eternity in this seat, and she’d winced through every moment, hyperaware of Victor’s incredulous expression and barely concealed scoffing at some of the priest’s claims. It was now clear that she had wasted that time.
“I miss you, Mama, Papa,” she said to the empty seats beside her. “I should have known that sitting with you regularly was my privilege.” She whispered to herself now, “Typical Angelika. You’ve got to start noticing moments with other people, because they do not last forever.”
“Miss... Annnnnn... gelika... Fran... ken... stein,” an elderly man said, scaring her silly.
She tried not to gape, but Father Porter looked like he’d been buried six feet under since she saw him last. He was nothing but bone and blue-veined skin, and cloaked in robes fit for royalty. How he had the strength to bear that thick gold rope around his neck was anybody’s guess.
She heard herself ask: “How old are you?”
“The good Lord has given me my ninetieth birthday,” Father Porter replied.
“NINETY?” Her horror echoed around them likeninety-inety-inety-inety. She hurriedly got to her feet. “What I mean to say is, congratulations, and nice to see you again.”
