At the church, Everett helped her step down from the carriage. He wished her well and she went inside with trepidation. Daylight illuminated the little chapel, but with the same cloudiness that was present outside. The vicar was seated on a pew near the front, reading from the Bible. Amala had never before come here alone seeking refuge or advice. But she assumed the vicar likely spent his free time here to make himself available for anyone who might seek him out. She was almost disappointed to see him. Perhaps if he’d been off visiting someone in need, this could have been prolonged. But she squared her shoulders and reminded herself that it was better to have it over with. Now that she’d become brutally aware of how unfairly she’d been treating Henry, she couldn’t bear to have this charade go on any longer.

A quick glance let her know that Henry hadn’t arrived yet, but, then, she was early. The vicar looked up when she entered, but he didn’t stand.

“Hello, Miss Hepworth,” he said. “What brings you here today?”

Rather than trying to explain that she needed to speak with him but couldn’t do so until Henry arrived, she simply said, “I’ll just sit and pray for now, if that’s all right.”

“Of course,” he said and turned back to his reading.

Amala tried to pray while she gripped the wooden bench cruelly, trying to channel all of her turmoil and regret down to her fingers and into the wood that she clutched so hard her hands began to hurt. When minutes passed she began to wonder if Henry wouldn’t come. Perhaps he knew the probable outcome of this meeting and had changed his mind about pursuing it. A minute later she heard the door open behind her, and the vicar immediately rose to his feet.

“Mr. Beckenridge,” he said with overt respect and an obvious pleasure at seeing him here. Assessing the difference in his greeting to her left little doubt as to what his attitude would likely be over their seeking his advice and guidance.

“Mr. Guthrie,” she heard Henry say. The sound of his voice quickened her heart; his words made her realize that she’d actually forgotten the vicar’s name, even though she’d been present in this building to hear his Sunday sermons for many years.

“What may I do for you?” Mr. Guthrie asked with a slight bow and an expression of adoration, as if Henry might be royalty.

“I may need to speak with you,” Henry said, and Amala considered the ambiguity of the word may. “But I’d like to just sit for a few minutes, if that’s all right.”

“Of course,” Mr. Guthrie said. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Henry said.