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Faith in Abertillery

By T N Traynor

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Just after eleven o’clock on a February evening in 1905, a solo voice rings out with the hymn ‘Here is love vast as the ocean.’ Maybe a thousand people are crammed into Ebenezer Baptist Church, in Abertillery. Leaning over the gallery, squashed amongst the bodies of mostly well-built miners, is a skinny young redhead called Faith, attending this evening’s service simply to find out what all the ballyhoo’s about.
Expectant silence captivates as a miner’s voice fills the church, “Loving kindness as the flood.” Goose bumps prickle along Faith’s arms and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The voice, rich and deep, resonates throughout the church, carrying the man’s convictions with powerful intensity. Moved beyond explanation, tears trickle down her cheeks. Glancing at the surrounding people she finds lots of them crying unashamedly, their faces impassioned with love.
During the third line of the hymn, “When the Prince of Life, our Ransom,” the congregation joins in. Vibrant sound rises and erupts, filling the church with explosive tension as people fling their hearts into worship. Convinced it’s the sound angels would make, Faith takes a timorous peek at the wooden rafters, half expecting an angelic presence. Her atheist life knows nothing of God or religion. In fact, she believes that if there is a God, then at birth He’d seen her defects and cast her aside without mercy. What am I doing here? Sorrow clings to her persona, like limpets to a stone. I’m too wicked for this place. Desperate need to escape the atmosphere of love makes her spin around and start pushing her way towards the exit. It’s slow going. People eager to see the front of the church are straining forward in their praise. Most of them, caught in their own rhapsody, don’t even realize she’s trying to leave. Living her worst nightmare where moving forward is impossibly difficult, like wading through mud, fear makes her shudder. Realizing, just like her night terrors, that someone is after her.
“Let me through,” she wails, her flailing arms knocking anyone close. Eventually a gap opens, and she’s able to stumble her way towards the door.
“Ew all right, girl?” a notably plump, yet kindly woman inquires.
Faith’s eyes are wide with distress, she moves past the woman not registering what she’s asked. Instead, all she observes is the overly tall, flower-pot hat on the woman’s head, which brims over with black, crushed-silk roses. Funeral hat, Faith thinks, continuing to push her way forward.
With relief, she reaches the narrow wooden stairwell. In her haste, she trips and starts to fall down the last few stairs. The awful feeling of falling rushes from her feet to her head, and panic tosses bile into her stomach. Disaster is averted when strong arms catch her and bring her safely to the ground. Glancing up to regard her savior, she locks onto the warmest pair of sea-blue eyes she’s ever encountered.
The man who holds her by her elbows gazes back for a moment, before letting her go. “I ran out the first time I was touched. You should stay though, there is great peace here.”
With a quick glance Faith gauges he’s a toff. More obvious than his immaculate attire is his air of self-assured arrogance. Oh, she knows all about his type. Before stopping to think, she sticks her tongue out at him, and rushes through the doorway.
Cold air engulfs her. Regret at leaving is instant, although she’s not sure why. She feels vacant and detached. Icy wisps of wind caresses her face, flicking her long hair into the air. Yet it isn’t the cold making her shiver. It’s the sudden knowledge she’s just left something precious behind. This feeling of loss emphasizes her emptiness and solitude.
Instead of taking the path home she tiptoes alongside the church wall, tracing her fingers against the austere brickwork in the dark. The words of the second verse filter through the building. As she leans her head against the freezing wall the words ‘Heaven’s peace and perfect justice, kissed a guilty world in love’ pulsates from the building.
Pain grips in spasms causing her to crumple upon the damp grass, as a hidden compartment within her soul cracks open. Groans carry the anguish of squashed rejection. Skirt and underskirts billow around her, forming a sea of brown ruffles. Wrapping her arms around her body, she tries to stay the waves of nauseating pain. The tightly fitted jacket buttoned up to her neck does nothing to stem the cold or agony.
Suddenly, she is nudged out of her grieving bubble as a heavy coat encases her shoulders. She doesn’t need to look up to see who it is, for the slight smell of musky cologne tells her the coat belongs to the man with the deep blue eyes.
“Here.”
Faith is grateful for the soft cotton handkerchief he passes her, and wipes her face with gentle dabs. After a moment, she puts her hand against the wall and pushes herself up.
“Thank you.” Her voice is halting, her gaze cast downwards.
“Come, let me walk you home.”
“No.” Faith’s head snaps up. Looking at him, she doesn’t care that her face will no doubt be red and blotchy. “Thank you for your kindness.” Shrugging off the coat she hands it back to him. “I can see myself home.”
Taking the coat he watches as she marches, with a somewhat awkward gait, towards the street. Her head held high.
“Geoffrey, what are you doing out here?”
Slipping his coat back on, he turns and starts walking towards his sister. “I thought I could help someone, Margaret, but it seems I was wrong. It is late, what do you think, shall we retire?”
“Yes, I’m exhausted. I don’t want to miss a minute of anything, however, we’ve been here for five hours now and I really desire to be home.”
He offers Margaret an elbow, through which she hooks her white gloved hand, and they walk a short way down the road to where their bright red Brougham awaits. The driver, who has been pacing up and down to keep warm, is quick to step forward and open the carriage door.
“Milady,” he says, holding the door wide.
Margaret nods her thanks, hitches up her skirts and steps inside. After a moment, when there is no sign of her brother, Margaret leans forward, sticking her head back outside.
“Are you coming, Geoffrey?”
Geoffrey is looking down the dimly lit street. He can’t be sure, but he has a feeling the young redhead is watching them.
“Geoffrey?”
Pulled out of his sudden trance of intrigue Geoffrey moves, dipping his head he climbs in beside her.

Faith watches as the driver steps up onto his high box-seat and cracks his whip above the horse’s heads. She doesn’t like men, none of them. They are the bane of her life. Yet this tall, distinguished stranger had just crept under her skin and sparked her interest.
“Good night to you, kind sir,” she whispers, before hurrying down the street. Needing to be up at six means that tomorrow is going to be a long day, and all because she let curiosity get the better of her.

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