The Widow and The Vicar

By Muriel Kingsley

Like a flash of lightning, the vicar appeared in the pulpit and immediately their eyes met. Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat; her body went weak. She gulped suddenly and nearly choked. A warm stream of fire raced through her body - something she had never felt before in all her life. She was love-struck. “Oh my gosh!” she mumbled. She had been praying secretly for a long time, asking God to send her a nice man to fill the gap in her life, but she never expected to fall in love with anyone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A H Stockwell
• Release date: Jul 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9780722345726

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Kingsley

Chapter One

It was a glorious crisp morning in February 2003, when the new vicar finally arrived at our church to take over from Mr Tranquil, the previous vicar. Mr Tranquil had been our shepherd for the last ten years; however, he was now sleeping the everlasting sleep. He had died three months before he was due to retire, leaving the church without a leader. He went to his peaceful bed one night, fell asleep and never woke up.

Everyone was gossiping about the vicar’s death, making up their own stories of how he died. Some said, Maybe he prayed for death because the church was his whole life, and what else was there for him to live for?

You know, there is a saying, whatever you ask God for He will give it to you, so you’d better be careful what you pray for, remarked one.

Others speculated that the vicar had died from heart failure. Everyone knew how much he loved his white rum.

Strong drink can shorten your life, you know, announced another.

He visited Jamaica every year for de over-proof white rum and de curry goat. I’ve never known an Irishman who loved Jamaican food so. De man love de West Indian food - de ackee and salt fish, de rice and peas, de jerk chicken and de curry goat and de booze, Joan recited. Come to think about it, he was a bit overweight as well, Joan added.

Come on, now - stop talking ill of the dead. None of us are perfect, rebuked Ruby, peering over her specs. He was the kindest person I have ever had the privilege to meet. I hope his soul finds a resting place.

Let’s say he died of old age, announced Annie, sipping her hot chocolate.

She was holding a book, but she had wrapped it with brown paper so that no one could see the title. When I asked her what she was reading, her answer was Never you mind.

Is that another one of your dirty books, Annie? Joan asked with a cheeky grin.

The old vicar, Mr Harry Tranquil, was a very caring, healthy and cheerful man. As far as I understood, he had never been sick, not even with the common cold. He’d never missed a day at church and had never been late, so on that cold morning in November when he didn’t turn up to take the service we all knew something was wrong. An elderly retired vicar who lived nearby and was very active in the church went immediately to investigate with another church member. They found Mr Tranquil in his bed.

As soon as they had entered the still, darkened house they knew there was no life in it. Apart from the narrow opening of the curtains in the bedroom, where a chink of light appeared, the house felt uninviting and cold. There was no urgency needed. He was dead - very dead. He was lying on his back in bed with a peaceful expression on his face as if he were in a sweet, deep sleep. His old beloved King James Bible and hymnal were open on the bedside table, ready to be picked up and read. A half-full glass of water stood next to the Bible. His clothes were folded and neatly stored away. Every inch of the house was immaculately clean. Oh yes, cleanliness is next to godliness, and he knew it. He lived by it and he died by it. He was an example to us