mRs. DiViNe By HoRiZoN

And there is Mrs. Divine, the mother of four grown children, all with letters after their names, a domestic queen and devout wife of the parish minister. When not at the side of her titular lord she was generally to be found in the same room, on the same spot, ironing and starching all, from white collared shirts to the white cotton sheets. She held great and just pride in her home and appearance. Her attire always buttoned closely from chin to the ground, strong walking shoes, and neatly groomed hair. She was a plain serious woman, respected, and liked. What a pity it was that her husband was never able to appreciate the shy wisdom, and quiet direction, that very nearly amounted to genius. She took her position seriously and each week flung her self into and orgy of cleaning in preparation for the ladies’ afternoon high tea.
So it was that on every Wednesday afternoon strictly at two o’clock, the doorbell would chime, and Mrs. Divine, with a natural dignity would advance to receive them - escort them thorough to the east gable and therein the parlour. With the rustle of skirts and the clatter of boot heels they’d sweep by her and steal to their desired chairs.
A gracious parlour it was, with a wide beautiful window, which had been cut toward the sun and elegant china, placed gingerly throughout the room. Mrs. Divine’s chair sat beside the fireplace; in which she kept a continual flame to add warmth to the home. The hearth gave heart to the parlour with its quality-cracked tiling and distinguished mantel, displaying deeply engraved carvings of Adam and Eve. Mrs. Divine thought that the carved figures were as lovely as a dream wherein a subdued tinge of the wild and wonderful was thrown. A rather singular coincidence it was that Mrs. Divine even in her exhilaration kept her emotions subdued amid the vivacious chattering.
With fresh disappointment, Mrs. Divine knew that as the clock chimed three. There would be a familiar tapping upon the parlour door. Immediately the sharp vibrating sounds would cease, the door would fly open and there he’d be: handsome, tall and broad shouldered – ascending amongst the ladies as a god. She’d watch as her husband met their eager faces with shinning eyes and bright smile. He would quickly assume his place; attending to everyone’s wants, listening sympathetically and giving immense satisfaction.
Mrs. Divine had never seen such infatuation and in a wide-awake survey glanced around the room. Her husband had bewitched, seized and shook these women; lips twitched, convulsive laughter rang out and a torrent of breathlessness surrounded her. To these ladies Mr. Divine was evidently the centre and the sun, and Mrs. Divine felt that he’d have been better suited to the name of Mr. Desire! After the benediction and even before the echo of the minister’s boots had died away on the stairs – the ladies would bid their leave.
Mrs. Divine’s pleasures lay in her religious visits with the travel shop each Wednesday afternoon- after the ladies had gone. There she would stay and browse through the multitude of magazines, full of enriched colour photos, until closing time. Her youthful imagination had dwelt most fondly on being a world wanderer- marked out for high destiny; and with this flush of far away beckoning, a flow of natural feeling gushed like a wellspring in her heart.
The blue sky paled considerably to Mrs. Divine – it was Sunday morning, and as decorum demanded she was to take her place on the front pew at the Kirk after all others had been seated. Briskly striding to her seat, she would first pass through a fog of moth balls that hovered amidst the two back rows and then pass by the vain haverels, stroking down and setting right their finery, before the organ would crank to alert them that the minister was aloft in the pulpit.
This Sunday service revealed the truth in its most naked form. Some ladies gazed fixedly at the speaker as if he beheld something mysterious and unearthly while others gazed in the pursuit of sinful pleasures. Their pupils watching every move of his powerful hands, as he turned a page, grasped the side of the deep, rich mahogany or simply wrung them. With cheeks faintly blushing and bosoms heaving in the direction of her husband, Mrs. Divine knew then that mortal desires had grievously replaced a moral direction.
Perhaps the jealous element was not entirely lulled in their round curves and passions within the vestibule, but in the truth that her marriage was one now only of convenience. He was a self-deceiver to have distinguished himself amongst these shameless charlatans. The years together had passed, summed now only into a moment. Her minister had fallen from grace and it seemed that his influence and biblical directions would be left only for futurity to show.
Tomorrow dawned fresh and fair and it was from this, as it was with each new day, that Mrs. Diving drew an inward strength. Tired of living in his shadow, of being lost in an unused life, she had bid a sweet goodbye to pain. Lying back with a bemused smile she imagined the events that would soon unfold.
That last Sunday morning as his eminence embarked upon the stairwell he was unusually greeted by the smell of damp kindling and stillness. Questioning what set of circumstances had befallen; he pulled a bowl from the shelf, and ate, and thought. During the service he missed her assuring presence and afterwards was quizzed by the fellowship as to the whereabouts of his dear wife.
Retreating back into his quiet place, surrounded by his ever watching books and sharply groomed leads, he sat to divide the collection plate as usual: minister’s wages, missionary fund, club uniforms- and not forgetting his questionable leftovers. These tid-bits had amounted to quite a vast sum over the years. Mr. Divine had envisioned himself as a missionary – Mrs. Divine envisioned her husband as missionary in Costa Del Sol!
The combination to the safe had only been known to Mrs. Divine and himself, as safe as a baby in its mother’s arms, he thought- he was wrong.