The Carpenter's Children by Maggie Bennett

wedding in a Methodist church,’ Aaron answered. ‘But my uncle took the view that they must never disown Rachael, and I think Paul did a lot towards encouraging her to stay in touch with her parents, and well, being such an obviously decent fellow, they couldn’t fail to like him. And then when Lucy was born - well, you know what women are like with babies – my aunt succumbed, and there was reconciliation of a sort. And of course Paul and Rachael live quite a distance away from the family.’
    Hearing this, Ernest still wondered how Paul had persuaded Rachael to forsake the religion ofher race; was it that she genuinely came to believe that Christ was her Saviour? Ernest concluded that she had, though a part of him suspected that she must have been passionately in love with Paul, and determined to marry him in defiance of parents and grandparents.
    Just as he himself would have married Paul if either of them had been a woman.

C HAPTER F OUR
May, 1914
    Tom Munday sat reading the monthly letter his daughter Isabel had written to the Rev. Mark Storey, the newly inducted vicar of St Barnabas’ Church in the East London borough of Bethnal Green. Each month Tom felt more uncomfortable about this censorship of their letters. The one-time awkward, well-meaning curate now had charge of a rough, sometimes dangerous parish, and the shy girl dreaming of love in a vicarage had become a capable young woman of eighteen, as pretty as ever, and much loved and respected at Miss Daniells’ school. And she remained as unwavering in her attachment to Mark Storey as his for her. They had served almost two years of enforced separation from each other, during which time they had not once met, for when Mark had invited Isabel and her parentsto attend his induction earlier in the year, Tom had given way to his wife’s insistence that they should decline. A complete separation decreed by a bishop should be strictly observed, she argued, though Tom was not as convinced as she was, and now regretted their decision. For one thing, it would have given Isabel an opportunity to compare the relatively rural life of North Camp with the poverty and hardship of an East London parish, a life that she might be required to share in due time.
    Tom sighed, and reread the letter, imagining what she might have written if her words had been for Mark’s eyes only.
    I was interested in all that you said about the Settlement that has been such a help to the young people, and the football team for the boys. You describe it all so vividly that I feel myself actually there, and I only wish that I were. It has been so long.
    (That means ‘I long to see you and share your life,’ thought Tom.)
    Life at school goes on as usual, the children are happy and learn well on the whole. I often think of the poor, ragged little souls that you tell me about who have no chance to learn to read and write. They come to mind when I am teaching my little ones to say their ABC, and my heart goes out to them. It seems so long since you used to come on school inspections for Mr Saville.
    (‘How I should love to teach your poor, barefooted urchins, and welcome your inspections to see what progress I have made! Your smiles and commendations would be all the reward I needed.’)
    Mr Saville preached a very solemn sermon last Sunday about the unrest in Europe, and he obviously doesn’t admire the kaiser, though our late King Edward VII was his cousin, and they seemed to be friendly. My father agrees that this trouble in the Balkans could be a threat to peace in that part of the world, and may spread to Germany and Austria. The newspapers contradict each other, and I find it all quite bewildering. Here we have lovely spring weather, and when I get time to walk in the Blackwater meadows, thoughts of war seem very far away. The trees look so beautiful in their new green foliage, and yesterday I heard a cuckoo calling. That place holds happy memories.
    (‘I felt as if I were walking again