Page 32 of A Castaway in Cornwall
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“I should warn you that there is no marker as of yet,” she added.
“I understand.”
“If the squire, Mr. Sandys, or the shipowners won’t cover the cost, my uncle will likely pay for one himself. He is generous that way.”
“Kind of him.”
“Yes, he is a good man. Can you walk, do you think? It’s about half a mile away. Or should I ask Uncle Matthew for the carriage?”
“Walking would be good for me, I think. Need to regainmy strength. With this stick from Miss Chegwin, I think I can manage.”
“Very well. Tomorrow after breakfast, then.”
She accompanied him back to his room. “Would you like to join us for church sometime? You would be welcome, though I should warn you that you would be stared at and whispered about as a great curiosity.”
Laura well remembered this experience from her first service at the main parish church of St. Menefreda’s. The prickling awareness of being watched and found wanting: from her outmoded bonnet and frock to her red hair and her very person. She could still feel the embarrassment of glancing over and finding hard stares and smirks pointed in her direction. And she could still see a young Kayna Roskilly whispering about her to Miss Sandys behind a gloved hand.
“Thank you for the invitation—and the warning,” Alexander said. “I don’t think I am ready for that just yet, but perhaps you might lend me a Bible so I can read on my own? If you or your uncle have an extra one, that is.”
She smiled, pleased he would ask. “We do indeed.”
Laura went back to her room and brought him the second Bible she had rescued from the sea—bound in leather and tied tightly with a cord. Very little salt water had gotten in, and she had been able to dry it without lasting damage beyond some minor warping. She had hoped to return it to the family whose marriages and deaths were recorded in the frontispiece, but had not as yet been able to find their direction. So for now, she was glad someone else should have the use of it.
It reminded Laura of the first Bible she found, and one of the more positive results of her letter-writing efforts.
After a shipwreck a few years ago, she’d found a leather-bound New Testament and Psalms in a young soldier’s knapsack, stillstrapped to his back. The owner’s name, several generations of his lineage, and even the name of the family estate were written inside. It had taken only one letter in that instance to reach the next of kin, or in this case, several next of kin.
The patriarch of the family, the poor young man’s grandfather, had written back, full of all the sadness and grief one might expect, yet with heartfelt gratitude to her for writing to let them know his grandson had been given a Christian burial and that he’d kept the Bible with him. This man and his wife and daughter had traveled to the parish to speak with her. Laura and Uncle Matthew met the family at the inn where they were staying. She restored the treasured book to them, recounted the details of the wreck, and escorted them to the churchyard to show them where their loved one had been buried. Many tears were shed, but Laura was left with the satisfaction of knowing that she had helped them during their time of loss and grief.
It had all been her uncle’s idea originally. Not long after they moved to Fern Haven, he’d found a name embroidered in a drowned man’s coat, and said, “I really ought to try to get word to his family. I suppose I could track down the owners of the ship, and they in turn might send me the young man’s place of birth or next of kin. But sadly, I don’t have the time.”
He was very busy with three churches to look after, so Laura had offered to write letters of inquiry on his behalf.
Uncle Matthew readily agreed. “Life can be hard, and yours has not been easy. But I can honestly say that serving God and serving others has given me purpose and fills my soul when life is sometimes disappointing. I would love for you to find that same fulfillment.”
At the time, Laura had brushed off his encouragement, saying, “Don’t make it sound too grand. I am only writing a few letters. Nothing may come of it.”
Her words had been fairly accurate. Little had come of her early inquiries. But on that day when they parted company with the young man’s family, Laura said to her uncle, “You were right. It isn’t an easy or happy task, but it is worthwhile. Thank you for entrusting me with it.”
He’d patted her hand. “I am glad to hear it, my dear. But don’t thank me. It would have gone undone if not for you. I thank God He is blessing your efforts.”
After breakfast the next morning, Laura and Alexander set out together, dressed for the brisk weather, he with walking stick in hand and wearing the tall leather boots she’d given him.
They strolled along a narrow sandy lane toward Daymer Bay. The heath flowers were mostly brown, but here and there dashes of purple remained, and the gorse was still in golden bloom among the fading ferns and reeds.
Soon St. Enodoc came into view, at least those parts that were visible. Because it was set among the dunes stretching up from the estuary, sand had encroached on two sides of the chapel, covering the eastern gable, the low porch roof, and door. At this end, only the slate roof showed. Near the middle stood the squat, crooked spire the winds had twisted over the centuries.
They entered through the lych-gate. At the far end of the churchyard, a mound covered in shaggy vegetation rose to nearly the top of the north transept windows. From there it was possible to lean near the glass and look inside the mostly buried structure.
“This is the north chapel of the parish,” Laura explained. “There is also a south chapel in Porthilly. The main church is in the village of St. Minver.”
Gesturing toward the sand-covered church, Laura went on, “Some people call it Sinkininny Church or Sinkin’ Neddy, for obvious reasons.”
“Does your uncle still conduct services here?”
She nodded. “He is required to at least once a year. We lower him down through the roof with a rope—see that hatch there? It covers the skylight made for that purpose. A few stalwart parishioners go down as well, while others gather on the mound to listen to the service.”
