A Far Horizon

by Brenda Rickman Vantrease

  With a rap of his knuckles James broke the icy skin in the water basin on the makeshift dressing table. ‘Caroline, you simply cannot stay here alone under these conditions. It is not safe. I insist you come and stay at the print shop.’

  When she started to protest, he said she could have his upstairs room all to herself and he would bunk downstairs with Ben. There was plenty of room since Little John was now boarding with Mr Milton and Ralphie was sleeping at home. ‘This is simply not a situation that Ben nor I can tolerate.’

  ‘Maybe I can persuade the Committee of the Three Kingdoms to let me have our old quarters back now that they are no longer being used. There is a fireplace and large windows to let in the light. Even a cook stove with a flue. It was quite comfortable and lovely …’ Her voice trailed off, as she remembered the first time she had seen it. William had told Letty to bring the girl with the pies inside, so she could warm herself by the fire. That had been wintertime too. She had warmed her girlish self by the great fire and thought it was the prettiest room she had ever seen and Mr and Mrs Pendleton the nicest people in the whole world.

  James’s voice broke in. The memory faded as quickly as a spider’s web at the end of a broom. ‘If you can find somebody to authorize it,’ he said. ‘But that is not helping now, is it? In the meantime, pack your things and come stay with us.’ He lowered his voice, reached out to touch her but let his hand drop. ‘Caroline, I don’t think William would have wanted you to stay here like this. Not if he was the good man you say he was.’

  When he said he was going to stay with her until she relented, she gave up and went back to the print shop. Two weeks later she was still sleeping there, and she had to admit it was much more comfortable. She slept wonderfully well, never awakening in the night with her heart pounding and her legs numb with cold. But she didn’t like to be beholden to him when he had already done so much for her. On the days she went to the guild kitchen, she checked the house in the hope she would find one of the officers there and ask if she could move back to the old apartment. She thought about returning to it without permission, but good sense prevailed – and something else. She wasn’t lonely anymore. At the shop, they laughed and worked and supped together and, after a long day when the printing jobs were heavy and Caroline was clearing away the remains of a hastily thrown-together meal, James would say – with a grin that said he understood her concern for propriety: ‘Ben, go upstairs and see that your stepmother’s room is warm enough. Don’t forget the warming pan hanging by the hearth.’ Sometimes he would add, ‘Carry up a fresh pitcher of water as you go.’

  ‘Aye, Cap’n,’ Ben would answer, scooting back his chair with a smile.

  Between them they made Caroline feel secure and cared for. And needed. She felt as though she earned her keep, and that was good, but still something nagged at her peace. It didn’t seem right that she should sleep under another man’s roof, and worse that she should take pleasure in his company with her husband so lately gone to an unmarked grave.

  Then came the night when the usual evening ritual did not happen. Ben excused himself, saying that he was going to see Patience at Mr Milton’s house. They needed to tell Mr Milton of their marriage plans. It was Patience’s idea. She thought that as his servant of so many years, she needed to at least solicit his approval.

  Caroline was pondering how their marriage would affect her living arrangements; she really should make a greater effort to find something acceptable, so she would not be a hindrance to their plans. She was scouring the last skillet with sand when James asked if she would linger downstairs awhile.

  ‘We have some things to talk about. Private things. Just between you and me.’

  ‘As you wish,’ she said, hanging up the pan on its hook above the hearth. She settled at the table across from him.

  For a long moment he just looked at her. She could feel herself blushing under his scrutiny. Finally, he began. ‘You must surely know by now how I feel about you, Caroline. If you are in any doubt, let me explain it to you. I am not flirting with you or playing at some careless courtship when I compliment you or make excuses to be with you. I am totally and hopelessly in love with you.’

  She shook her head in protest, not wanting him to continue. Just because – especially because – she was under his roof, he should not talk this way.

  ‘No. Hear me out. Don’t interrupt. I have been rehearsing what I wish to tell you for weeks in my mind.’ He paused to clear his throat.

  She prayed for some timely interruption, some knock at the door, anything to forestall what she was not ready to hear.

  ‘I have been with several women in my life – fascinated by some, infatuated with others – but it never lasted. Nor did I want it to last. These dalliances grew out of mutual boredom, loneliness, lustful curiosity, or sometimes just opportunity – and the attraction faded as quickly as it flared. Always. Except once. And I was very young and vulnerable, my pride hurt more than my heart. It was the certainty of the temporary nature of all those alliances that made them possible for me. The way I feel about you is singular, unique, at least to me.’

  She took a deep breath. Looked down at her hands, unable to meet his gaze and said quietly, ‘How do you know this time is different, James? Could it be merely that you want something that you cannot have? How do you know that you will not tire of me as you have tired of others?’ She couldn’t help but think of how quickly John Milton had tired of his wife.

  ‘Because I want a different kind of intimacy with you. I don’t want just two bodies grinding together, although after only one stolen kiss by a duck pond in St James’s Park, I knew we would fit together as surely as Adam and Eve. I want a true intimacy: body, mind, and soul. I want to stand before an altar and make a lasting vow to you before God. I want you to be the mother of my children and the nurse for my old age – or I yours, whichever fate decrees. But most of all I want you to want that too.’

  He ran nervous fingers through his hair, forcing it back with both hands and continued, ‘God knows as a husband I have little to offer you. But I would strain every sinew in my body to provide for your sustenance and protection. And for any children that we might have.’

  He stood up then and began to pace, looking at the floor and not her, his voice tight with frustration. ‘You have made it clear that you need time. But I cannot go on like this, lying down here night after endless night, sleepless, trying to stop myself from thinking about you, picturing you in my bed alone. Or picturing you in my bed and not alone.’

  Caroline, heart racing, unable to think how to respond, concentrated on dribbles of rain reflecting the firelight in little prisms on the window glaze behind him. A chaos of color. Separating. Combining. Separating again. Light without illumination. She became aware of the silence hanging between them. She looked up and met his gaze.

  ‘I understand all that you are saying, James. I am honored. What women would not be? I am sure you have left a string of broken hearts in your wake, each of whom would give everything to hear you say what you have said to me. But I do not wish to be one of those broken hearts. I see now that it was a mistake for me to move in here. It was wrong of me to think that such an arrangement would not send false signals. I am sorry. I will move back to Gresham Street tomorrow. You do not need to worry about me. I am no fragile flower that can’t stand a little frost.’

  She heard those words coming out of her mouth, and yet that was not what she wanted to say. But how could she give the answer she wanted without explaining it to William? No grave to visit. Not even the spot where he died. Sometimes she fantasized that he was still alive. Was it the prospect of betraying him or accepting the reality of his death that was holding her back? The heart of any sane woman would leap with joy at such a proposal. If they could just roll back the last week, go back to the way they were, she could have more time.

  ‘No,’ he said, his mouth firm and unsmiling. ‘I will move out if it comes to that. I am leaving for the Continent tomorrow. I wi
ll be away for a fortnight at least. You might as well know all. I have sold the press to one of the guild masters. They will be picking it up this week.’

  ‘Sold the press! James, why?’

  He had stopped his pacing and resumed his seat across from her.

  ‘Do you know what the big November bonfire was, Caroline? The one outside Parliament House?’

  ‘Just the same old celebrations, I suppose,’ she said, wondering at the relevance.

  ‘It was a book-burning. We didn’t report it. I didn’t want to publicize it. All the copies Parliament could get their hands on of Roger William’s Bloody Tenent of Persecution. Milton’s Areopagitica will be next. And then they will begin to seek out the contraband printers in earnest. By then, if they should look my way – and trust me they will, every man has enemies – the press will be long gone. I will merely say that I suffered from lack of large projects and was forced to sell the press. I have destroyed the proofs of the Milton pamphlets. They won’t go after any of us. But they will still have won.’

  ‘Oh James, I am so sorry. You are so good at what you do. Think of all the readers you have reached.’ And then she had another thought. ‘James, what about Ben?’

  ‘Ben’s journeyman status has been approved. He can work anywhere he wants. The masters all have their own presses. He will keep the type and blocks and trays. He and Patience can live here. They can have the whole downstairs and you can keep the upper chamber. I will not be here. The lease is prepaid for two more years. Parliament will not interfere with it, I think, since Ben fought with Cromwell’s army.’

  Outside the window the light had dimmed. The color was gone, and only gray streaks of water marked the pane. ‘You will not be here? Where—’

  ‘This city is choking me. I don’t belong here. No matter who wins. Maybe if John Pym had lived … but, without strong leadership, Parliament is splintering into factions. If the King loses – and I think he will eventually – there will be a period of bloody chaos and retribution, jackals converging on the spoils. Then the military will take over. The strongest man standing will rule. I have fallen in love with the idea of freedom almost as much as I have fallen in love with you. Freedom, but not chaos. The idea of self-governance has rekindled a hope in me that I thought had died. I want to help build the kind of society that Roger Williams is working toward on his plantation in Narragansett Bay. It is a venture that, if it succeeds, might just make a new world.’

  His voice grew soft, his tone almost regretful. ‘Roger invited me to leave with him when he went. Said he and his sons would help me build a house, clear a patch of land, plant a crop. Said there was already a growing fishing industry and fur trade. Even jokingly said they would soon need a printer. There was already one in Boston, but it was a Puritan press. In six months I would earn the status of freeman and I could vote. Imagine that, Caroline. A man could have a voice on the kind of government he wanted to live under. No king, no royal fees or Parliament taxation without the consent of the governed. A people governed by their own settled law, and not by whimsy; each man given his right to due process. It was so tempting. I told him I wanted to stay to see his project through, but I could have found a printer in Amsterdam for him. I would have taken ship, right then, had it not been for—’

  Leaning across the table, she put her fingers to his lips, to stop his saying it. She could not bear the thought of his leaving. But he had drunk a magic elixir and she knew there was no stopping him now, and she would not stop him if she could. Then, hardly knowing what she was doing, on some unfamiliar impulse that suddenly seized her, she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was long and filled with pent-up passion, a kiss unlike any she had ever shared with her late husband.

  She could almost feel William’s presence. She pulled away, her face burning, shivering inside.

  He sat still as a statue, smiling, a hint of self-satisfaction in his eyes.

  ‘William will not always be there between us, Caroline. He will fade. The dead always do. But I want you to remember that kiss while I am gone. That is real. That is now. Whatever you owed to William is in the past.’

  She was not likely to forget it. She would take the guilty pleasure of it to her grave. But even if reason taught her to ignore her sense of betrayal, how could she leave everything she’d ever known? If what he said was true, she just might be able to hold him here. But to what purpose? He would learn to resent it. To resent her.

  ‘I am going to Amsterdam tomorrow. I think the Dutch merchant ships are better built and their sailors more knowledgeable of trade winds than the lighter English ships. Their crossings are more frequent and faster than the Massachusetts Bay Company.’

  He had been thinking about this for a while, she realized. It was no impulsive scheme.

  ‘Caroline, while I am gone I want you to think about what I have said to you. Think about our building a future together. Think about new falling snow on evergreens and virgin hardwood forests. Think about fertile fields with soil that is not blood-soaked, and skies so clear you can see the glory of the firmament against a night sky. Think about what it will be like to breathe free air and build something together, unhindered by the whims of a tyrannical government. Ask yourself, Caroline, what have we to lose, balanced against all that we could gain?’

  What indeed? But how could she leave Ben?

  ‘Ships make frequent crossings. If you are not happy there, we can always come back and start over here, once the war is over. Or maybe Ben and Patience will join us there. Start their own newspaper. Print what they want without guild or government interference. Build a cabin next to ours so our children can play with their children.’

  No mention of sickness and hardship. Even thinking of the long crossing made her queasy. Nothing but water around them for weeks. No mention of pirate ships? No mention of stormy seas? But what a landscape he painted to tempt her. It was as though he read her mind. No wonder he was so good at cards.

  ‘They probably don’t allow card-playing there, James. They are pretty godly folk, I hear.’ She tried to resume the easy bantering tone they often enjoyed.

  He laughed then. ‘Unenforced piety, my darling. That’s the beauty of it. Every man to his own conscience, to worship when and how and if he pleases. Consider it. We could be married here before we leave. Just think about it, Caroline. And in the hope that you make the right choice, I am going to book a cabin instead of a single berth.’

  She felt something akin to panic.

  ‘James, you are too optimistic. The picture you paint is not realistic at all, and I am not sure … But I will think about it while you are in Amsterdam. I promise. I will give you my answer when you return, God willing.’

  ‘That is good enough,’ he said. ‘But since I believe that there is a certain hope that your answer will be affirmative, and since I want there to be no secrets between us, I have something I wish to show you. With your permission, I shall retrieve it from upstairs.’

  She heard him climbing the stairs, his steady footfalls crossing the floor, then hurrying back down. Resuming his seat, he rested his closed fist on the table.

  ‘I fell in love with you I think the first time I saw you. And it was not in the coaching inn or at the guardhouse in Reading.’

  ‘It wasn’t? But when? Where? I would have remembered.’

  He opened his fist and a pearl ring fell onto the table.

  Was that? She picked it up. It was. Her ring. The pearl ring William had given her. The pearl ring that was stolen by a highwayman brandishing a pistol just outside of Reading.

  ‘You … I don’t understand. How did you know it was mine?’

  ‘Because it was I who took it from you.’

  The thief’s face had been covered. All she had seen was his eyes. And one strand of dark hair – hair as dark as his – pulled tight behind his low-brimmed hat. For a moment she almost lost her breath.

  ‘You? It was you? A common thief? You pointed a gun at William, threatened to shoot him?’r />
  His voice was quiet. He did not look at her as he tried to explain. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment act. A lark. I had never stolen anything before. But that night I had been to a royal gathering and they had taken up a collection for the King. All the courtly sycophants were there, the ones who had not run to the Continent with the Queen. I just kept thinking how useless it all was. Charles Stuart didn’t need their sovereigns and crowns, their gems and gold chains. At worst it would only go to buy guns and bullets. At best some Flemish painting or gilded saint for the Queen’s Royal Chapel.’

  The drizzle had turned to sleet. Caroline was conscious of it pinging the window. Every little piece like the prick of a needle somewhere inside her.

  ‘I could put a haul like that to better use than the King. A haul like that would buy a new press I had my eye on. I followed Edward Hyde out when he left and relieved him of it and more besides – a bundle of silver candlesticks and gold plate he had collected earlier. It was so easy.’

  He looked up at her then. His eyes, dark and troubled, squinting, like a man startled by the light. ‘I was on my way to sell it when I saw your coach.’

  ‘Was that a lark too, my lord? A lark to rob a poor merchant and fright a helpless women half to death?’

  ‘Helpless? You, Caroline, are the least helpless woman I know. But I repented it before you were out of sight. I don’t know why I took your ring. I knew the King’s haul was more than enough. Maybe it was the thrill. You must believe me. I would never have hurt you or the coachman or William or anyone else. You know me by now. You know I would never shoot a stranger.’

  ‘I thought I knew you. But now I see that you are not the man I thought you were.’ She hardened her gaze, feeling betrayed, wanting to hurt him, and said, ‘Highway robbery is a hanging offense. You, my lord, are nothing more than a common criminal.’

  He visibly flinched under the lash of her words. Words she hated even as she said them. She did know him, or at least some part of him. ‘Is that why you went out of the way to help me? Because you suddenly found a conscience? Or was highway robbery just another adventure?’