“I’m also in digs at Temple Fosse Farm.”
So this was Ruth. Now that Stella could put the face to Beth’s stories, the affected boredom made sense.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said.
“I still can’t believe they were able to get this all arranged so quickly,” said Ruth.
“It’s my understanding that Mrs. Symonds made the arrangements, and the vicar was happy to help a couple who are both doing their part,” said Stella with a note of censure in her voice.
“I do my part,” Ruth said tartly. “What do you do?”
“I was declared medically unfit to serve by the ATS, the WRNS, and the WAAFs. The Women’s Land Army wouldn’t take me, either, so I couldn’t have done what you’re doing now.” The back of her neck grew hot, so she added, “I volunteered with a Civil Defense unit, but then I became my nephew’s guardian a few months ago.”
The other woman’s mouth snapped shut as the organ began to boom from the opposite end of the room. Stella let out a sigh of relief.
The scrape of shoe leather against stone resounded as the guests all stood. Outlined against the sunlight was Beth in a navy-blue dress. She wore a hat with a white net—a little bridal nod when clothing rationing made wedding dresses impossible. Stella touched the spot above her heart when she saw Mr. Penworthy holding Beth’s arm, looking proud as punch.
Stella glanced up at the altar, where Graeme stood beaming. As soon as Beth reached the top of the aisle, she looked down at her bouquet of flowers, a blush pinking her cheeks.
Father Bilson adjusted his glasses, smiled, and began to speak. “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you.”
“And also with you,” echoed everyone in the church.
After the sermon and the readings, Mrs. Symonds stepped forward to take Beth’s bouquet when it came time to exchange the rings, and Stella frowned, still in awe of how her polite friend had managed to establish such ease with the imperious Mrs. Symonds.
When the vicar declared Beth and Graeme husband and wife, Stella felt something lurch inside of her. Not jealousy or envy, but an awareness that she was witnessing something she may never experience. May never want to experience.
The congregation rose a final time to cheer the couple as they walked down the aisle and out of the church. Stella caught Beth’s smile as Beth passed her by; she’d never seen her friend so happy.
A little elbow hit her arm. Stella looked over and realized that Bobby had climbed up onto the pew.
“Bobby, get down from there,” she gasped. “We’re in church.”
“I can’t see,” he said.
“We’re going outside right now,” she said.
“I’m hungry,” he complained as she tugged his jacket into place.
“You’ll have to wait until we’re back at the house.” Then she would hand him off to the maid, Dorothy, tie on her apron, and get back to work. Even with Mrs. George’s help, a thousand things needed doing for the wedding breakfast.
“No!” Bobby shouted right in the middle of the aisle.
Dozens of heads swiveled to them.
“No!” Bobby screamed again.
“Bobby, stop it,” she hissed.
“No!” He hung on the “o,” dragging it out so that it echoed up to the arches and rose above the organ. Then he threw himself on the floor.
Stella knew she was supposed to react, but all she could do was stare. She didn’t know how to make him stop this tantrum. All she knew was that she didn’t want to deal with any of it.
I don’t want to do this. Her guilt dropped through her like a stone through water. She hadn’t asked for this child, even if he was blood.
Bobby began to writhe on the floor as people murmured, their eyes darting from the child to her and back again. As though they expected her to somehow stop this display.
“Bobby, get up,” she said, her voice weak, defeated.
He continued to squirm, hot tears rolling down his face.
“Bobby—”
“Bobby Reynolds, you will stand up this instant!”
The sharp voice of Mrs. Symonds brought Stella’s nephew to a stop. He peered up at the mistress of Highbury House with wide eyes, as though just realizing that he had an audience. He’d likely never heard Mrs. Symonds use anything but the soft, ladylike voice she employed as either a pat or a slap.
Mrs. Symonds put her hand on Bobby’s shoulder and crouched down until she was almost on her heels. “You will pick yourself up off the floor and apologize to Father Bilson. Do you know why?”