Chapter 5

Sylvia and Sam left the Rectory side by side. They crossed the road and Sam paused on the other side. “Where would you like to go to talk?”

Sylvia frowned, looked round. “It’s a bit chilly, but the sun’s nice. Why don’t we find a bench looking over the river?”

“Suits me.” Sam turned right and offered Sylvia his arm. She hesitated, but tentatively rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. They started to walk to the park entrance.

Sylvia was thinking furiously. ‘He’s treating me as a lady. As if he likes being with me. But how will he feel when I tell him the story, the way I treated my daughter? Will he see me as selfish slut? As a bad mother? What will he do?’

The entrance to the park was a couple of hundred yards along Park Drive. Not rushing, it took nearly fifteen minutes to cross the park to the river and walk along to a vacant bench, one isolated enough from anyone passing that they could talk in relative privacy. They sat, discreetly separated, but close enough to chat quietly.

“Sharlene’s father died when she was two and a half,” Sylvia began. “At first, I stayed at home with her, but as soon as I could find child-care, I was back at work. I missed my husband. You’ll understand that, I’m sure. I suppose I was looking for a replacement, but I went through ‘boyfriends’ at a rate of one every few months. I don’t think Sharlene understood why there was a different ‘uncle’ every so often. Anyway, that went on until she was about ten and I met Brian Denton. He was ... charming. Considerate. Patient. We went together for three or four months before he asked me to marry him.”

She paused, sitting and gazing out over the river. A young woman ran past, trim and fit, pony-tail swinging with the rhythm of her stride. Sylvia glanced at Sam; his eyes tracked the girl for a few moments, then turned to her.

“She’s pretty,” Sylvia commented, neutrally.

He shrugged. “So are you. She was too young. Could have been my daughter if I’d stayed married long enough to have children.”

“Anyway,” Sylvia went on, abandoning the topic of the young runner, “I married Brian Denton. I found that he was, let’s say, a ‘party animal’, and I joined in with the partying. He also travelled for his work, usually for a few days, sometimes a week at a time. I didn’t consider what he might be doing whilst he was away from home.” She took a deep breath, and shook her head. “Looking back, I realise I was blind and stupid. Even when Sharlene got to twelve and started to develop, and she complained that he was...” she hesitated, “behaving inappropriately towards her, I didn’t think that maybe there was stuff going on I wouldn’t like.” She paused and fumbled for a handkerchief, mopped her eyes and blew her nose. “I didn’t believe her. At least,” she frowned, “I suppose I didn’t want to believe her. She began staying out a lot. Her school grades suffered, and she got caught up with a bunch of kids who got into trouble. They put her in the Ashcroft Centre, which was probably the best possible thing for her. She got her act together, started pulling her grades up, but she didn’t tell anyone what the problem was until she met Helen Billings on a Centre outing on board SB Reminder. Helen believed her, and so did the Centre staff.”

She was silent then for several minutes, gazing out over the water. Perhaps she was watching the seabirds – the tide was too low for boats to move – but Sam was pretty sure it was more of a ‘thousand yard stare’.

“So?” Sam prompted her.

“She didn’t want to come home to me, and I can’t blame her for that. Helen and Geoff fostered her, and she’s at the Plume School, and doing really well. She works part time in the Barge Tea-Rooms, and goes sailing with Geoff sometimes, helps Helen with their little boy.” She turned to face Sam. “Brian was caught with an under-age girl at an illegal rave – here in Maldon, actually, or just outside. He had drugs on him. That forced me to face facts. Until then I’d trusted him. At least, I told myself I trusted him.” She sighed. “I think I knew, really. But obviously, once I admitted what he was – had it shoved in my face – I divorced him. Since then...” she shrugged.

“You turned to the Church – to God.”

“Not deliberately. After the first time I met Sharlene after ... you know ... I was walking aimlessly, really. Blindly, almost. I don’t know why I would enter a church, but I did. I met a priest, who talked to me, prayed for me. Said I was forgiven. I felt ... peaceful. Kept going back...”

“The hardest thing,” Sam began, slowly, “or so I’m told, isn’t being forgiven, it’s accepting the forgiveness you are offered. Sylvia, may I hug you?”

“Why?”

“Because I think you need a hug, and I’d like to give it to you.”

She hesitated, but shuffled along the bench until she was sitting next to him. When he wrapped an arm round her, she relaxed against him, aware of the warmth of his body and ... what?

Both Sylvia and Sam were aware of some unaccustomed feelings; Sam was very aware of the warmth and firm softness of the woman he was holding. Further, he was also aware of some, perhaps surprising feelings; affection ... and respect?

Sylvia ... was safe. Secure? Accepted? She thought back to when she’d been first married. Yes, she was feeling much the same as when her first husband held her. She was relaxed in his embrace, and she accepted, soaked up, the feelings she was experiencing. After several minutes, though, she eased away from him. Sam immediately released her.

“Thank you,” she said. “You were right. I did need that.” Pause. “Would you ... might you ... walk me home, please?”

“But certainly!”

“I really like him, Dulcie.” It was in the middle of the week after her walk with Sam, and Sylvia was sitting – tense and stiff – in Dulcie’s study at the Rectory.

“Oh? He’s a very likeable man, Sylvia. What’s the problem?”

“I’m ... I mean ... he’s too good for me. Even if ... I mean ... even if he’s interested...”

Dulcie suppressed a smile, shaking her head slightly. “May I pray for you again?”

“Of course...”

Dulcie’s voice, the melodic, flowing but incomprehensible sounds, were calming, even reassuring. It continued for what seemed a long time. Dulcie, though, was having a private conversation.

“What can I do, Lord? What can You do?”

“It’s not time yet, Sister. And you are not the one. Her complement is waiting for her. He is the key to her deliverance.”

Dulcie’s sigh was internal and Sylvia was not aware of it. “Very well, Lord. I won’t push any more.”

“Thank you, Dulcie.” Sylvia sounded genuinely grateful. “Your prayers always make me feel better.”

“That’s good. One day, you’ll realise you’re already redeemed, that the price has been paid. For now ... I’ll just say that the answer is coming.”

“Really?” Sylvia sighed. “I just wish there was something I could do...”

“There will be, and you’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

Sam Robison sat at the desk in his office at the work site. The project was all but complete, and only a few items left, all cosmetic. His office would be removed in a day or so to the next job. He stared at the computer screen and the words on it blurred, so he closed his eyes.

“Well, Sam?” The voice was unmistakeable.

“Yes, Lord?”

“It’s time for you to make a choice.”

“Lord?”

“You could continue as you are. But you would be happier and more effective with a partner. The sister on your mind is wounded, but she could be your complement.”

************************

It took two weeks (during which the local project was wrapped up, and another begun a few miles further away) for Sam to persuade Sylvia to have dinner with him. Of course, the first week was due to his uncertainty and diffidence. Sylvia agreed that she liked Italian food, and he took her to Intimo. They talked over the food and the meal took over two hours. At the end, Sam walked Sylvia back to the Billings’. At the door, she turned to him. They neither of them spoke for several seconds, both feeling like teenagers on their first date; Sam, eventually placed a couple of fingers under her chin. She tilted her head, he bent down, and their lips touched.

It was a simple kiss, but there was no doubt about the passion behind it on both their parts. When they separated, Sylvia was panting. Breathlessly, she managed to gasp, “Thank you, Sam. It was a lovely meal and a lovely evening. I ... I’d better go in.”

“Sylvia, I really enjoyed it. Um ... ever done any square dancing?”

“Actually, yes ... there was a class at school, but it’s been years. You couldn’t call what I’ve been doing for the last sixteen years dancing.“

“If you’d like, there’s a group in the town. Meets weekly. Interested?”

“Um ... yes. Please.”

The square dancing went well, though both were rusty, and became a regular event. The goodnight kisses remained ‘simple’, but there was no doubt in either of their minds of the depth of feeling therein.

Sam:

There was no doubt in my mind, certainly after our first date, that I wanted Sylvia in my life, preferably as my wife. However, it was apparent that she was still very fragile, and I didn’t say anything for several weeks. By the end of November, though, I was hoping that she’d gained enough confidence not to reject me out of hand. In the Church, the four Sundays before Christmas are called the season of Advent, which is the beginning of the Church year, and a time of reflection and preparation. It seemed to me to be an appropriate time to step out, so after Advent Sunday, after an evening dancing, I walked Sylvia home to the Billings’.

Outside the front door, I didn’t release the hand I’d been holding as we walked. “Sylvia, maybe this isn’t the best time, but I’ve been thinking a lot about you. Will you marry me?”

I mean, what’s the worst that can happen, right?

Wrong. She burst into tears, stabbed her key into the lock, turned it, went in and slammed the door.

Sylvia:

We had a lovely evening, dancing, and a drink after. Sam had a whiskey, but I stuck to pineapple juice. I’ve been careful for the last year or so, since I had to recognise what Brian was, and what I’d become, but it was relaxed and I think Sam understood. He walked me home, as he has every time we’ve been out, and I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead he held my hand.