Duncan pulled his watch from his vest and frowned. “I did not properly anticipate how slowly you walked; we are nearly late. Can you walk faster?”
So much for feeling proud of the accomplishment. “I am going as fast as I can.”
“All right.” But his anxiety about being late was obvious.
Hazel increased her pace as much as she could, but doubted Duncan even noticed. Her hip ached. Not like it had every day when she’d had the old boot, but more than it had in the weeks since getting her new one. There was still the walk home when this was over, too. Learning more about Duncan’s past had made the effort worthwhile, however.
The chapel was nearly full when they arrived, the room decorated with pine boughs and bright bows in red and gold and green. Duncan headed to the second row from the back, and the people sitting there moved closer together to make room. People gave her curious looks over their shoulders. Duncan sat beside her, very close in fact, and stared straight ahead. It was comforting to have him there, and she leaned toward him to feel his shoulder against hers, which made her feel even more secure in this unfamiliar church full of unfamiliar people.
She stretched and flexed her frozen hands and endured the tingling as her face warmed up. Hazel was grateful to have arrived without time for Mrs. Marcum to notice or make a fuss. A Christmas gift if ever there was one.
The vicar smiled at her from his place at the pulpit, however, and she smiled back, though sheepishly as she did not want to be noticed. He began to recount the story of the Nativity and talked about Mary being visited by an angel and told she would be the mother of the Messiah. He relayed how Mary pondered what she’d been told in her heart, and Hazel glanced at Duncan beside her.
They had been married not quite two months, and her curiosity about his life before now and how his mind worked had only grown. There was the mystery of Delores, who shared some of Duncan’s features. There was the mystery of Catherine, who had given up her position in society to live in scandal with Duncan’s father, and who had treated Duncan so well even after his father’s death. There was the mystery of Duncan himself, who could show so much consideration in some ways yet could easily pretend people were statues.
They sang “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing!” as the final hymn, which Hazel had always liked, and then Hazel immediately stood, ready to go home. Duncan, however, seemed to say hello to everyone as they made their way from the church. Hazel tried to hang back, finding so many strangers overwhelming, but Duncan never failed to introduce her.
“This is my wife, Hazel Penhale. Hazel, this is Mrs. Sylvia Cardamom. She is the sister of the vicar’s wife.” Or “Hazel, this is Mr. Peter Burbidge. He is the sexton for the cemetery.”
She must have been introduced to twenty different people before they even made it to the churchyard, where people were knotted together in small clusters, the sound of their chatter rising like birdsong in the trees on a summer morning even though it was absolutely freezing. Hazel held tightly to Duncan’s arm as they moved slowly down the steps. When Duncan began moving toward one of the groups of people, Hazel pulled back on his arm.
“Can we go home?” she whispered.
“You do not want to meet the rest of the parishioners?”
Hazel shook her head while scanning the yard. Several curious glances were directed her way, which reminded her to paste a polite smile on her face to hide her discomfort.
“I know many of them are looking forward to meeting you.”
“I have met plenty,” Hazel said. She could not limp away without him, and she wanted him with her. She felt safer that way. “I am very cold, and we have a long walk to get home. Please.”
“Very well,” Duncan said. They turned away from the pockets of conversation and began making their way toward the street.
“Duncan.”
Hazel had noticed that nearly everyone called him Duncan, which she found rather odd considering how opposed he had been to calling her Hazel when they first met. In fact, she’d never seen him act so formally since coming to Ipswich. Was that because he was comfortable here? They turned together, since she had clamped herself onto his arm, and she watched an older man with a gray goatee come toward them. He wore a long charcoal coat and a beaver-skin hat.
“Good morning, Dr. Randall,” Duncan said.
Hazel recognized the name as the “associate” Duncan had visited several weeks ago when she’d met with the cobbler. The man who had given Duncan several medical journals to read on their Thursday evenings. Surely a doctor would not visit too long in such cold weather.
“Good morning.” Dr. Randall drew close, but he did not put his hand out to be shaken. In fact, no one had initiated a handshake with Duncan. Hazel looked around at these people once more; they had known Duncan for years, decades. It was sensible that in that time they would come to understand his peculiarities. That they had adjusted to them and were so welcoming that softened some of her hard feelings against church in general.
“So, this is the Mrs. Penhale I have heard so much about.”
She looked back to Dr. Randall. She had to let go of Duncan’s arm in order to let the doctor bow over her hand. She noticed him glance at the cane in her other hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Dr. Randall.”
“As it is to meet you. Congratulations on your marriage. We are very happy to see Duncan settle down.”
Hazel shifted her weight. Settle down for ten more months. Sometimes that felt like an impossibly long time—like right now, for instance. Her face was going numb again. “Ipswich is a lovely city.”
“I agree, though it is more lovely in fair weather.” He smiled but made no move to let them begin their walk home. He turned his attention back to Duncan. “I have another periodical I am finished with if you would like to come around this week. I shall be keeping office hours on Tuesday and Wednesday.”
“Wonderful,” Duncan said. “I shall come Tuesday at one thirty.”
“Very good, I shall look forward to that. In light of your marriage, would you and Mrs. Penhale like to come to dinner some evening?”
“Dinner?” Duncan sounded as though he did not know what the word meant. “A dinner party?”
“Well, a dinner party for four, I suppose. I’m sure Mrs. Randall would love to meet your wife.”
“I am not a traditional attendee at dinner parties because of my limited social skills,” Duncan said.
Hazel refused to show the embarrassment she felt.
Dr. Randall just smiled, however. “I quite enjoy your limited social skills, Duncan, and it would allow us the chance to become familiar with your new wife. I shall have Mrs. Randall pay you a visit after she returns home in a few weeks. Is that all right, Mrs. Penhale?”