Reverend of Silence Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Also by PAMELA SPARKMAN

  Prologue

  Bridgeport, Connecticut - 1814

  1

  2

  3

  Bridgeport, Connecticut - 1819

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  Hartford, Connecticut - 1820

  10

  Bridgeport, Connecticut - 1824

  11

  12

  Hartford, Connecticut - 1824

  13

  Bridgeport, Connecticut - 1824

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  Boston, Massachusetts - 1824

  19

  Bridgeport, Connecticut - 1824

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  Darien, Connecticut - 1834

  27

  Author’s Note

  Copyright © 2019 Pamela Sparkman

  Contemporary Romance

  Shattered

  getbook.at/psparkmanshattered

  Skin Deep

  getbook.at/psparkmanskindeep

  Historical Fiction

  Back to Yesterday

  getbook.at/backtoyesterday

  Romantic Fantasy

  The Moon Shines Red (Heart of Darkness, #1)

  getbook.at/themoonshinesred

  A Monster Like Me (Heart of Darkness, #2)

  getbook.at/amonsterlikeme

  And if my voice break forth, ‘tis not that now

  I shrink from what is suffered; let him speak

  Who hath beheld decline upon my brow,

  Or seen my mind’s convulsion leave it weak;

  But in this page a record will I seek.

  Not in the air shall these my words disperse,

  Though I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak

  The deep prophetic fulness of this verse,

  And pile on human heads the mountain of my

  curse!

  Lord Byron

  Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,

  CXXXIV.

  I need to tell you a story. I need to tell someone—if you’re willing to listen.

  Really listen.

  That will be the crux of this story. Listening. And not with your ears, but with your mind, your heart. Your soul. It was how she taught me to listen. And it will be how I teach you.

  You see, this story—it’s about a girl I once met. A girl with a vigorous personality. She took me by surprise, this girl. I wasn’t prepared to meet her when I did. Although, I think that was the best part about meeting her—all the wonderful surprises she gave me. I do not think I ever truly understood the beauty and the grace she brought into my life until she was gone. Until I needed her.

  I do now. I understand. And I need to tell you about her. It’s important. You’ll understand why later.

  I promise not to tug at your heartstrings. I’ll only tell you the truth. My feelings are my own, and to be honest, I doubt I could ever properly express them, as I am not a man versed in flowery prose.

  But if there’s anything in me worthy of expression equal to what she’s given me in my life, then my hope is that I’m able to convey them now.

  So, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to start at the beginning—when we first met.

  I was only eight years old . . .

  Bridgeport, Connecticut

  1814

  Samuel

  I awoke early, eager to rise for my first day at school in a new town. We had just moved from Darien, Connecticut, where my father had worked as an assistant to Reverend Marcum for as long as I could remember. When Papa accepted the position as the new pastor, here in Bridgeport, he was happy to have it. Sad, of course, for the family and friends who would miss Reverend Hubbard, who had recently passed away, but he was happy to have his own church, his own parishioners. However, it meant moving.

  I had lived in Darien all my life, and now I had to start over, although I didn’t have a lot to show for a lifetime in one town. I had left exactly one friend behind. I suppose I wasn’t great at making friends. But I managed to convince myself that was the great thing about starting over. New adventures and new leaves. The new leaves bit was something my mother had said. I didn’t ask her what she’d meant by it, but it had sounded hopeful.

  I slung off the covers and began the routine of dressing in my finest trousers and jacket, making sure the ruffles of my linen collar were as they should be. This day would mark the first day of the rest of my life. I was equal parts excited and nervous. Papa was now the town’s pastor, which meant everyone would expect a good deal from me as well, being his son. I had to behave better than all the rest of my peers. Papa had talked to me about it. Not that he thought I was better. I wasn’t. Just that I needed to behave better. Which wasn’t always easy. I got mad, sad, glad—same as everyone else. I didn’t think it was fair that I should pretend my life was easier just because my father preached the Word of God.

  I’d said as much the night before. Papa had told me I’d misunderstood what he’d meant. I think maybe he was right, because as I sat pondering how exactly he expected me to behave, I was still uncertain. Perhaps he just wanted me to be good. But then why didn’t he just say that? Back in Darien, I didn’t feel this much pressure to be a certain way.

  I pushed away those thoughts, though, because I had to get to school. I didn’t want to be late on my first day.

  Slipping on my shoes, I ran down the stairs, grabbed my lunch pail off the table, and rushed for the door. “Bye, Mama!”

  “You can’t go yet. You haven’t eaten.”

  “I’ll eat at school.”

  “Sit down, Samuel,” my papa called from the kitchen, where he sat at the table reading from the Connecticut Courier. “You have time to break your fast before you leave.”

  “But I’ll be late.”

  Papa lowered his newspaper and narrowed his eyes over the top of it. He needn’t say anything more. I obeyed without further hesitation, marching myself to the kitchen table, and sat, frowning.

  “Why are you in such a rush to get to school?” my mother asked, setting down a plate of eggs and salted ham in front of me.

  I dug in, not wanting to tarry any longer than I had to. “I’m the new boy.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Papa scolded.

  I swallowed properly, then took a sip of water. “I want to get there early. If I’m late, the other kids will stare when I walk in.” Surely, my parents could understand my reasoning and let me go. No one liked to be stared at.

  “So, let them stare,” Mama said.

  My shoulders slumped, and my frown deepened. They didn’t understand at all.

  Tucking her finger underneath my chin, she forced my head up to look at her. “No son of mine will leave this house hungry before running off for the day. Besides, it’s a two-mile walk. Now, finish your food and then you may go.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took her seat across from mine and began eating her own eggs and ham. I polished off the rest of my breakfast and started for the door again.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” my mother asked. I looked at her, confused, unable to imagine what I was forgetting. And then she tapped her cheek, smiling at me like she always did. Whenever my mama smiled, her whole face went soft, and when her face went soft like that, I thought she was the prettiest lady who ever lived.

  “Oh,” I said, and dropped a kiss right where she had directed me—on her cheek. “I’ll see you after school, Mama.”

  “Have a good
day, Son,” my father said, folding his newspaper in half.

  “I’ll try, Papa.” But now I’ll be late.

  All the kids were already in their seats by the time I arrived at the schoolhouse, and in my haste to get inside, I’d let go of the door too soon, causing it to slam shut behind me. Everyone in the room startled—including me. Everyone except one—a girl sitting in the back. She didn’t even flinch.

  “You must be Samuel,” the teacher said, moving toward me. He wore spectacles like my father. Maybe I was searching for something familiar in the unfamiliar, but I liked that he wore them.

  “S-Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to slam the door.”

  He waved my words away like I had said something silly. “I’m Mr. Goulrich. And you must be the new Reverend Burke’s son.” I nodded. “Yes, yes . . . well, class, this is Samuel Burke.” To me, he asked, “Do you prefer Samuel or Sam?”

  “E-Either is fine.”

  He clapped a hand on my shoulder and spun me around to face what I hoped to be my new friends. “Let us give Samuel here a warm welcome, shall we?”

  “Good morning, Samuel Burke,” everyone chirped in unison. Everyone, I noticed again, except the girl sitting in the back. She just stared at me like I was something weird someone had brought to class.

  “You may take your seat now.”

  It should not have come as a surprise to me that he pointed to the seat beside the girl who chose not to welcome me like the others had.

  That hurt a little.

  Taking my seat beside her, I placed my slate on the rough plank desk we shared and refused to look at her, and waited for instruction, though none came. Mr. Goulrich had simply gone back to his place at the front of the class and sat down, eyes on a book in front of him. Glancing around the room, I noticed all the other kids were paired off, doing their own thing. But what was I supposed to be doing?

  “Mr. Goulrich?” I said, raising my hand.

  “Yes, Samuel?”

  “What’s my assignment, sir?”

  Tearing his eyes away from whatever he’d been reading, he asked, “Well, what were you studying before coming here?”

  “Math, Literature, Geography, Hist—”

  “My, my,” Mr. Goulrich said, rising to his feet. “Much accomplished at such a young age. How old did you say you were?”

  “Eight, sir.” I kept my eyes on my teacher because I could feel at least a dozen eyes focused on me. Those that weren’t looking directly at me had their heads cocked, ears primed, listening.

  “How well did you do in your studies at your other school?” he asked.

  “I didn’t attend a schoolhouse. I was taught at home, sir, by my parents. We didn’t have a teacher where I came from.” I looked sheepishly around the room. “But I know numbers—sums and such, and I know all my letters. I can read—”

  Mr. Goulrich held up a hand, cutting me off, and I clamped my mouth shut. He stroked the whiskers on his chin. It made me wonder if he thought I wasn’t smart enough to be here. Maybe he thought I was . . .

  “Why don’t you practice your sums for now?” I let out a relieved breath. He waved me forward, and I got up and he handed me a handful of cards with problems on them for me to solve. “Tomorrow I’ll have your lessons planned out. All right?” I nodded. “This is the way it works here. You’ll either work on your own or with someone on the same academic level as you. You are the only eight-year-old here. There are two or three children younger than you. I believe two are older by one year. But everyone else is older by at least two years. So, you see, I cannot teach everyone the same lessons, and you will most likely be working on your own most of the time.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good, you may take your seat, Samuel. Everyone else, get back to work,” Mr. Goulrich directed.

  When I sat back down, I cut my eyes back over to the girl sitting beside me, then glanced at her slate to see what she was working on. She seemed to be doing nothing but doodling lines. I raised an eyebrow at that and then shrugged it off, and for the better part of twenty minutes I worked on my assignment, although I found it difficult to concentrate when my desk partner worked keen eyes over my profile. I angled my body in such a way that my shoulder obstructed her view, at least in part, and for the next half hour I was content on working my sums.

  But when someone’s slate crashed onto the wood-slat floor, the unexpectedness of it startled everyone, including Mr. Goulrich, and for the second time that morning, everyone jumped.

  Everyone except the girl seated next to me.

  Heart still pounding heavy inside my chest, I whispered, “Do you frighten of anything?” When she didn’t answer, I cocked my head to the side. She was watching me with owlish-hawkish eyes. It was unnerving—the way she did that—like I was being inspected, right down to my undergarments. “Why do you stare at me like that?”

  She blinked once, twice, three times.

  No one likes to be stared at.

  “You’ve been staring at me since I came in,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Blink. Blink, blink.

  All right. If she wanted to stare, I could stare too, I thought. I turned completely toward her and looked right in her face.

  It was sudden, the way she changed—her breathing picked up, her eyes got bigger, brighter. And I realized then how very pretty she was and how very pretty her eyes were. They were a golden color, and I tried to think what color they reminded me of, but then her lips parted, and I lost my train of thought.

  She turned away from me and quickly began drawing lines again on her slate, but her lines were jagged and uneven because her hands were shaking.

  Slowly, I turned back to face my own slate and tried to concentrate on the numbers before me, stealing glances from the corner of my eye at her trembling fingers.

  Slamming doors and slates falling to the floor didn’t frighten her, but somehow, I did.

  I felt sick.

  I gathered up my things and stood, and for once, she didn’t stare. She refused to look at me at all.

  “Mr. Goulrich, I’m not feeling so good. I’m going to go home.” I placed the cards he’d given me on the corner of his desk. “Here’s my work if you would like to look it over first.”

  My teacher eyed me for a moment, then took the slate I offered him, glimpsed it over, and handed it back. “I hope you feel better tomorrow, Samuel.”

  “Thank you, sir.” But I won’t be back tomorrow.

  I left after that, making sure the door didn’t slam on my way out.

  My mother had simply allowed me to go up to my room to lie down when I’d walked through the door, telling her I wasn’t feeling well. After ensuring I wasn’t feverish, she’d pursed her lips, but said nothing more. I had felt her concern, though, and I knew she had questions; however, she’d not shared them with me. Now that Papa was home, I knew the questions would begin.

  “Are you feeling better?” my father asked after saying the blessing. He had been out late visiting his new parishioners, and I was relieved he didn’t appear upset about my coming home four hours early.

  I speared a potato, wondering how to admit to my parents that I had been unkind, or at least, had the intentions of being unkind. It mattered little that I hadn’t meant to scare her. I saw her hands tremble. I saw how flushed she got in the cheeks. I had done that, and I couldn’t undo it.

  “Maybe school is not for me, after all,” I said in a low voice.

  “Whyever not?” Mama asked.

  “I don’t think the kids there like me.” At least one girl didn’t like me.

  “I saw Mr. Goulrich today,” Papa said. “I made a point of stopping by his home to find out how you got on today. He seemed to think you got on just fine before you left early. He did mention you were seated next to Lucy Hallison—”

  “Is that her name?” I asked, lifting my head, cutting him off before he’d finished what he was saying.

  “Yes,” my father said. “Lucy Hallison. I saw the
Hallison family today as well. Nice family. I’m glad you’re seated next to her.”

  “You are?” I asked. “Why?”

  “Because I know you’ll be kind to her,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Mama smiled from across the table. “Of course you will, dear. That’s the kind of boy you are.”

  But I wasn’t kind to her. I put down my fork and swallowed back the burn in my throat. “I’m not very hungry, Mama. May I be excused?”

  Her brows pinched together. “Are you truly not feeling well?”

  “Upset stomach,” I said.

  She pursed her lips again, her eyes working over the planes of my face. But all she said was, “Very well. Up to bed. Brush your teeth.”

  “Yes ma’am. Good night.”

  I climbed the stairs like a boy about to swing from the gallows. I’d disappointed my parents. And myself. I’d been full of hope, and somehow, I had managed to squash that hope before midday.

  Crawling into bed, I thought about Lucy. I had a name now to go with those big golden-colored eyes who liked to stare—until someone stared back.

  No one likes to be stared at.

  But as I was drifting off to sleep, I realized that when I was staring at Lucy and she was staring back at me, I didn’t mind it so much. Not really.

  “Time to get up, Samuel. You have school,” Mama said as she opened the curtains in my room, letting in the sunlight.

  I blinked, blinded momentarily, and dipped my head back under the covers. “I don’t want to go to school, Mama. Yesterday was horrible.”

  I heard her searching through my armoire, pulling things out. “Hat or no hat today?” she asked, as though I’d not said anything at all.

  “No hat,” I mumbled. “I don’t want to go.”

  I felt the bed press down as she sat next to me. She let out a sigh. “First days are always hard,” she said. “Let me tell you a secret.”

  I sat up. If Mama wanted to tell me a secret, then I wanted to listen.

  She smiled at my sudden interest. “First days are hard for adults too.”