JACK HAD BEEN AMAZINGLY GRACIOUS and calm while packing up at Capford, but now, two weeks after their eviction, his mood had deteriorated. Pacing like a caged lion, he prowled around Uncle Hector’s house, bored and grumpy. He had no study, no workshop, no income, and no job. Rebecca wished she could help, but her sympathy was wearing thin. She was in the same predicament. She missed her friends, responsibilities, chores, and kitchen and was having to invent things to do. Never had time dragged so frightfully!
Uncle Hector received the very best of care from Hester. Hester seemed to require no time off, and the housekeeper was extremely efficient at running the household. In short, there was very little to occupy Rebecca. Of course, she frequently spent time with Uncle Hector, reading to him or telling him about the day’s events, but there was so little to tell.
The physician seemed pleased with Uncle Hector’s progress, but Rebecca could not share his optimism. It was true that he could now eat slops and understand speech, but he was unable to move his left side and was still bed-bound. His awareness only increased his frustration with his own limitations. He had become highly emotional and uninhibited, roaring with exasperation or weeping with despair at the most trifling problems or news. Hester knew how to handle his moods and humour him, for she had seen this fragile emotional state in many a stroke victim, but Rebecca felt at a loss to know what to do or say for the best. His lack of conformity to normal social graces was so out of character that she hardly knew how to treat him, or indeed, who he was. His frustration at not having his slurred speech understood made conversation painful for all involved. Jack, particularly, had problems in deciphering his words so began avoiding conversations, limiting his interaction with him to twice daily reading and prayer.
Nurse Hester Haynes, though, was worth her weight in gold. Not only was she a kind and devoted nurse, but she was also a good companion. In a quiet, unobtrusive way, she mothered the Hayworths as well as nursing Uncle Hector. Despite initial protests, Hessie, as she encouraged them to call her, agreed to eat dinner with them every evening. During the many hours they spent together, Rebecca gradually heard her story. Hessie was born and brought up in Bournemouth, enjoying a happy childhood by the sea. She met a handsome merchant sailor when still young, and they soon married. To avoid painful periods of separation, her husband, David, gave up life at sea and took a job at Poole Harbour. One day while unloading cargo, David was knocked onto the stone quay by a tumbling bale of cotton, and falling awkwardly, he broke his spine. David was carried home to die. Hessie lovingly nursed him for three painful months as his life slowly ebbed away like the receding tide. Alone and bereft, Hessie had to find her own way in the world. She had no extraordinary skill or experience other than caring for her husband. The relentless regularity of industrial accidents meant that experienced caregivers were in frequent demand. At first Hessie helped families who were unable to offer more than board and lodging, but as her skill and experience increased, so did her modest fees.
Whereas Hessie’s care of the patient was superb, Rebecca felt that Jack was not persevering enough in trying to understand Uncle Hector or his slurred speech. He seemed to blame him for the semi-captive state they were living in and to resent Uncle Hector’s emotional reliance on his niece.
“It is hardly living,” grumbled Jack. “It is just waiting without knowing what we are waiting for. It seems ironic that just when we are in a house with gas lamps, so can work late into the evening, we have no work to do, let alone to stay up late for.”
“The lamps make reading easier.”
“But what is the point of studying?”
“I’m not studying. I’m just reading a bit of Brönte, a bit of Austen, and dipping into Dickens.”
“I wasn’t talking about you.” Jack’s tone sent Rebecca’s eyebrows upward. “Anyway, those books aren’t my taste. I want to be preparing sermons.”
“Why not prepare one?”
“What’s the point? I may never preach again.”
“Oh Jack, don’t say that. I expect you will get another parish soon.”
“Do I really want one? Do I want to stay in the Church of England, with all its unbiblical associations with the crown and the aristocracy?”
“Not everyone in authority is as bad as Lord Wilson.”
“But why should they be in authority when they have no Christian convictions? They shouldn’t be meddling with the church at all.”
Rebecca changed the subject. She had heard his views on church government many times in the past fortnight.
“Why not do some carpentry? You enjoy that.”
“What’s the point?” asked Jack, throwing a log into the fire with unnecessary force.
“To do something pleasurable.”
“I wouldn’t know what to make.”
“Something for us.”
“We haven’t even got a home to put anything in.”
“Make something to sell.”
“No one around here would want stuff from me. They want elegant and expensive furniture. Anyway, there is nowhere here to set up my work bench.”
Jack picked up the newspaper, flicked through it for a few minutes, and then chucked it on the floor.
“I’m quite jealous of Joe and Violet.”
“Have they got into the news?” asked Rebecca jokingly.
Jack ignored this attempt at wit.
“The way they are going to leave everything behind and emigrate.”
“You’re not fed up with your nation as well as the national church, are you?”
“No, but a new start sounds nice. As does the luxury of actually having a plan.”
“God has a plan for us.”
Jack sighed and drew a hand over his face as if to wipe away his disgruntled mood. “You are right, my darling. I just wish we had some clue as to what it is.” He stretched out in the chair and studied the ceiling. “Maybe we should be joining your nun-like friend and be missionaries in Africa.”
Rebecca stopped knitting. “I have often wondered if we are childless so we can do something like that.”
“I’ve wondered too, but I’m not convinced it is what we are supposed to do next.”
Rebecca nodded and returned to her knitting. “We will just have to keep on praying for guidance.”
“And patience as we sit here idly and wait.”
Waiting! That word perfectly described their present existence. Waiting for what? For Uncle Hector to recover, or (they dare not say it) to die? Waiting for a child, for guidance, for work? Back at the vicarage, Rebecca had longed for more time with Jack; now she had his undivided attention but not his cheerfulness. On busy committee days, she had longed for leisure; now she had so much it hung heavy. She had longed for relief from domestic tasks; now she longed for a morning in the kitchen. In Capford her walks around the parish had been purposeful. Now the afternoon walks with Jack were only a means of exercise and a change of scenery.
As the weeks dragged on, Rebecca looked for new ways of filling the time. Is this how unmarried daughters of the upper-class feel? Filling their days with the latest craze of paper folding, fern collecting (which magazines mockingly called pteridomania), or tatting, petit point tapestry and painting shells, in a pointless endeavour of keeping occupied and looking fulfilled? The fashionable periodicals were full of these laborious—and often bizarre—time-wasters and useless things women could make or give away but never lower themselves to sell. How many pairs of embroidered slippers or decorated tobacco jars did a man really need? Was this really the best way for women to use their skills and demonstrate their accomplishments? Rebecca despised them all and longed for some honest, hard work. Meanwhile, Uncle Hector got no better and Jack got worse. In his view the local church was rubbish, the house was too hot, the gas lamps caused headaches, and the food was too rich.
After weeks of inertia, something strange happened: Jack started going out. With no explanation, he would leave Milton Square early in the morning and return late at night, totally exhausted from walking but unwilling to share his impressions. At first Rebecca was glad that he had started exploring London, but as his return became later and later, she started to worry. Was her marriage, the one thing she thought was rock-solid, also going to crumble under her feet?