Children of Eternity Omnibus

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Meeting?”

  “Reverend Crane and Mr. Pendleton have asked for a meeting about an important matter. I’m not sure exactly what it pertains to. They insisted on a public meeting.”

  “Is it good news?”

  “I hope so. We’ve had more than our share of bad news lately.” When Prudence frowned, he squeezed her shoulder again. “There’s nothing to worry about, my dear. Everything will work out in the end just as we planned. We’ll have a wonderful new home in this untouched wilderness. A house big enough for as many children as you want and acres of unspoiled farmland to grow crops. The kingdom of heaven right here on earth.”

  She tried to imagine the house and fields, but looking around she could only see ramshackle buildings and flimsy tents. How did she ever end up in a place like this? She thought of their cozy little house back in England and couldn’t imagine why they would ever leave. She couldn’t ask Rodney after what he’d said about creating heaven on earth.

  A sandy-haired man dressed all in black approached them, shaking Rodney’s hand. “Mr. Gooddell, I was hoping to see you before the meeting today.” He turned to Prudence, a smile coming to his face. “And how good to see Mrs. Gooddell is recovering nicely after that nasty bump on the head. The Lord has answered my prayers.”

  “Thank you,” Prudence said. Reverend Crane nodded to her and then pulled Rodney aside. As they discussed some issue, Prudence put a hand to her forehead.

  She approaches the steps of the church, a simple wooden square unadorned with any ornaments or decorations. Her hand touches the door, but she can’t find the strength to pull it open. There must be some other way, she thinks. But there is not. She’s tried every remedy and potion available. She’s sought the council of her mother, the oldest and wisest women in Wessenshire, and even a doctor visiting from Liverpool. She’s exhausted every other possibility. Now she needs a miracle.

  She opens the door and sees Reverend Crane sitting in the front pew as though waiting for her. She creeps along the aisles to where he sits, reading from his Bible. “Excuse me, Reverend. Could I trouble you for a moment?”

  “It’s no trouble, my dear. Sit down.” Reverend Crane sets the Bible on his lap and pats the space next to him on the pew. She sits down, her eyes focused on the rough wooden floor. “What brings you here on this fine day?”

  “My husband and I have been married for nearly six years now,” Prudence begins.

  “Yes, I remember that day quite well. Are you having second thoughts? I’ve known your husband for several years now and he seems to be a very decent fellow.”

  “He’s a wonderful husband. The best a woman could ever hope for,” she says.

  “What then is troubling you?” Reverend Crane takes her hand, his touch evoking a terrible memory that causes her to shiver. “Don’t be afraid, my child. Speak.”

  “In all the time we’ve been married, I’ve never been able to produce a child. I’ve tried everything I can think of to no avail.” She describes these endeavors to the reverend, who frowns. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Reverend.”

  “No, my child. I only wish you had come to me sooner. It’s the sad state of affairs today for people to put their faith in science instead of God.”

  “What must I do, Reverend?”

  “In a land this impure, this corrupt, there’s nothing that can be done. God has not granted you a child because He does not want the babe raised in this foul country.”

  Prudence considers this. She thinks of their little house burned to the ground two years ago by the king’s men. She sees Rodney standing distraught in the field this summer after a hailstorm ruined the crops. “Where then must we go?”

  “I’ve talked with Mr. Applegate and some of the other families in the congregation about financing a venture to the New World. With your husband’s wealth we could surely outfit a ship to reach Massachusetts. In such a pure, untainted place God would surely grant you as many children as you wish.”

  After dinner that night, Prudence tells Rodney what Reverend Crane said. He pats her hand and smiles. “Dear, you worry too much. We’ll have a baby eventually,” he says.

  “We’ve been trying for six years now. How much longer can we wait?” she says.

  “Sailing to Massachusetts isn’t like going to London. It’s very dangerous. And more so to live there.”

  She takes his arm. “I’m not afraid. I want to do this,” she says. “This would be a chance for us to start a new life away from the fighting and corruption.”

  “Let’s not act too rashly, darling,” he says.

  When he asks to try again that night, she refuses. There’s no point in trying, not here. She can’t produce a child in this festering sewer. Her child awaits her in the New World.

  Sometime in the night, he leans over to her and whispers, “Perhaps it is time we leave this place. Start over fresh in a beautiful new country.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she says. There are tears in her eyes as she kisses him. A new life in the New World. I’m coming, she says to the baby waiting for her across the sea.

  “Is something wrong?” Rodney said, having finished his conversation with Reverend Crane.

  “Oh, Rodney, this is my fault,” she said. The tears of joy from her memory are now tears of sadness at condemning her husband to this awful place to die. “I never should have asked you to come here.”

  “No, my darling you mustn’t say that. Nothing is your fault. I made my own decision.”

  “You came here on my account. It’s my fault we’re doomed to die in this wilderness.”

  “Prudence, you must have faith that everything will work out in the end. God has not abandoned us and so we must not abandon hope.”

  He walked her back to the tent, where Molly awaited them. “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Gooddell? You look as though you’ve had an awful fright. Do you think this place is haunted? I was collecting firewood in the forest and I heard this terrible howling. Chilled my blood—”

  “Molly, fetch the missus something to drink,” Rodney said. He sat Prudence down on a bed of cushions fetched from the ship. “You need to get some rest. You’re still not well.”

  “Will you stay with me?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid not. The meeting is about to begin. Molly will be here to look after you if you need anything.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Please don’t go. I can’t bear to be without you,” she said.

  “And I you, darling, but I must go. I shan’t be long.” He kissed her on the lips and then slipped from her grasp. She remained on the cushions, staring at the flaps in the hope he might change his mind.

  No matter what he said, this was her fault. If she hadn’t gone to see Reverend Crane and demanded they go to the New World, they never would have left England. If she had only waited as Rodney had said. Then she would still be there, in their cottage, Rodney in the fields and not cursed to die of starvation or exposure in this foul place.

  There must be a way to go back, she thought. Perhaps they could repair the ship or build a new one capable of taking them back to England. Home. Better to live childless in England than die here.

  The tent flaps opened, but it was not Rodney as she hoped. “Here you go, Mrs. Gooddell, some water just as the mister said. You look better now. Your cheeks are nice and rosy again. Aunt Clara always said rosy cheeks are the flowers of God. I always thought it silly, but beautiful too—”

  “Has the meeting started?” Prudence asked.

  “Yes ma’am. They’re all on the beach right now. I heard Reverend Crane say there are savages here across the way.”

  “Savages?”

  “Yes ma’am, a whole tribe of them through the forest. Mr. Pryde saw them with his own eyes. I’ve never met a savage before. What do you suppose they’re like? I can’t imagine they’d be too friendly or they wouldn’t call them savages, would they? They’d call them something nicer—”

  Prudence heaved herself to her feet and ran from the tent. Sav
ages! They couldn’t stay here. They must find a way to leave this place at once. She had to go down and pull Rodney away from the meeting to convince him. She could not bear for anything to happen to him.

  The entire community—nearly fifty people by her reckoning—stood on the beach in a circle. Rodney and three other older men are clustered on the end of the circle farthest from her. Before she could try to reach him, someone grabbed her arm.

  “I didn’t think you would make it,” Rebecca said.

  Beside her stood a pair of teenage girls, one slight and blonde, the other stocky and dark. “You must be Mrs. Gooddell,” the blonde said. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

  The girls snickered at this. “Helena and Phyllis, mind your manners. Mrs. Gooddell has been very ill,” Rebecca said.

  “She looks it. She’s positively wasting away,” the dark one said. The girls snickered again.

  “Away with you two so I can have a civil conversation.” The girls continued giggling as they climbed up the rise to the encampment. “Don’t mind those two. They’re a couple of mean-spirited harpies. It’s no wonder that Phyllis can’t find herself a husband.”

  “What’s going on?” Prudence asked. “I heard talk of savages across the forest.”

  “That’s what the reverend says. A bunch of nonsense if you ask me. This Mr. Pryde is not to be trusted. He’s nothing more than a foul pirate. We ought not put stock in anything he says,” Rebecca said. The reverend stood in the center of the circle, conferring with an older man and another leaning on a walking stick.

  “Who is—” Before she could finish her question, Reverend Crane raised his hands for silenced.

  “My children, there can be no doubt about what we must do now. We must destroy the savages and take the land from their godless hands. Our very survival depends on this.”

  “We cannot be certain of this,” Rodney said. He entered the circle to face the reverend. “We have not done a proper survey yet. There may be another suitable place to build.”

  “We do not have time for surveys,” Reverend Crane said with a sneer. “Winter will be here in a month, perhaps two. We must strike now before they become aware of our presence. Take them by surprise and burn their heathen village to the ground.” Rumbles of assent came from the villagers.

  “If these savages can survive here, then surely we can as well,” Rodney said. “We must learn their secrets if we are to last the winter.”

  “You propose to talk with savages?” the man with the walking stick asked. Others around Prudence mumbled their disbelief at this notion. Prudence put a hand to her lips with worry. She wanted only to go home, not stay here and negotiate with savages.

  “That is precisely what I propose,” Rodney said. An uproar came from the villagers. He raised his hands to silence them. “My friends, I came here with my wife to escape war and corruption, not to embrace them. I came here to this New World to find the peace unavailable to us in England. I can speak only for myself, but I believe we all came here in the hopes of finding a new promised land. A new land of milk and honey where generations to come can live without fear and bloodshed. By slaughtering these innocent natives we will only cause God to forsake us, leaving us in darkness.” Prudence heard murmurs of agreement from some in the crowd. As proud as she was of Rodney for his brave stance, terror seized her heart at the thought of these savages capturing and torturing Rodney.

  “Who are you to presume to know what God demands,” Reverend Crane snapped. “He has charged us with purifying this heathen land so that we might establish his new kingdom here.”

  Rodney gestured to the wrecked ship on the rock. “We have already buried one hundred of our fellow Englishmen since arriving here. I will not bury any more.” His eyes met Prudence’s with a look of pain and sadness before he turned to the older men he had been standing with. “If anyone must risk his life, then let it be I. I will go to the savage village and attempt to negotiate a peace with them. If I am unsuccessful, then you may follow Reverend Crane’s plan.”

  “No!” Prudence said, but she could not be heard over the din of the other settlers.

  One of the elders silenced the crowd. “It will be as you say, Mr. Gooddell. In three days hence, you and whoever chooses to accompany you will attempt to establish relations with these savages. If you fail, then we will take up arms.”

  The circle began to disintegrate as the meeting concluded. Reverend Crane stood where he was, his face red with rage. Rodney looked down at the sand, resigned to his fate. Prudence rushed into his arms, throwing her arms around him. “You can’t do this,” she said.

  “I must,” he said. “For you and everyone else here.”

  “No. We can go somewhere else. We don’t have to stay here. We’ll find a way to go home. Please, I can’t lose you.”

  He stroked her hair and smiled. “There’s nothing to fear, my darling. Everything will work out. Have faith.” She collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. He held her there on the beach long after everyone else departed.

  ***

  After two days of waiting for his opportunity, Wendell finally seized his chance to run away. Mr. Pendleton had treated him like a prisoner during this time, forcing him to labor from dawn to dusk and then chaining him up in a lean-to for the night. He allowed Wendell a few scraps of food and water with the benediction, “This is more than you deserve, you foul sewer rat.”

  At night, Wendell examined the handcuffs in the moonlight coming through cracks in the lean-to walls. He had nothing to pick the lock with, but found the cuffs loose on his narrow wrists. By working his wrists back and forth, he finally managed to slip them free. This left his wrists bloody and raw, but the pain was worth it for freedom. He tore bandages from his clothes to conceal the bleeding and then slipped back into the cuffs, waiting for his strength to return before attempting his escape.

  This morning, after Wendell chopped down one of the ancient trees to use in constructing new homes, Mr. Pendleton clamped the chains around Wendell’s bandaged wrists and hauled him back to the lean-to. “With everyone at the meeting I can’t have you running loose. When I get back, you’re to haul that tree up the hill with the others.”

  “Yes sir,” Wendell said. He counted off five minutes after the lean-to door shut to begin slipping his hands from the cuffs. He bit down on a sliver of wood taken from the tree to keep from screaming as the metal cut into his raw flesh.

  The empty handcuffs crashed to the ground, leaving Wendell free at last. Mr. Pendleton had tied the lean-to door shut, but Wendell didn’t need a door to escape. He banged against a section of wall with his shoulder until the flimsy sticks gave way to create a hole big enough for him. He slid through the opening to find Pendleton hadn’t lied. The camp was deserted.

  He broke into a run uphill, towards the forest. A pair of giggling girls emerged from the last of the tents as he came by. He slammed full-speed into the heavier of the two, bouncing off her and falling to the ground while she stumbled back a step.

  A thin blonde girl squinted down at him. “I don’t remember seeing him before. Oh, look at his wrists and clothes. Do you suppose he’s one of the savages the reverend spoke of?”

  “He doesn’t look like a savage. He looks Irish,” the darker, heavier girl said. “Maybe he’s the sister of Fatty Gooddell’s girl.”

  “Tell us, boy, where do you come from?”

  “From England,” he said. “I stowed away on the ship.”

  “A stowaway, how exciting,” the blonde girl said.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?” the heavy girl asked. “Everyone else is down on the beach for the meeting.”

  “Mr. Pendleton told me to fetch some firewood.”

  The girls looked at each other and adopted identical looks of a cat eyeing a juicy mouse. “I think we should go down and ask Mr. Pendleton about it,” the blonde girl said.

  “No, we can’t,” Wendell said.

  “Why not?” the heavier girl asked.
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br />   “We can’t disturb him during the meeting,” Wendell said.

  “He’s up to no good, don’t you think so, Phyllis?”

  “Definitely. We best go straight to Mr. Pendleton.”

  The girls started towards the beach. Wendell scrambled to his feet and chased after them, catching them at the lean-to from which he’d escaped. He seized the blonde girl by the wrist, yanking her down to the ground. He put a hand over her mouth before she could scream. “You’re not telling anyone,” he said. Phyllis gaped at him, her face turning pale. “You, into there before I break her neck.”

  Phyllis untied the lean-to door with trembling hands and went inside. Wendell shoved the blonde girl after her. “I’m sorry,” he said to the girls. Then he closed the door and tied it. He propped a piece of firewood to secure the section of wall he’d escaped through.

  No one else appeared this time as he ran through the encampment, up the hill, and into the forest. He continued to run until he tripped over a root and crashed to the ground. He lay there for a minute, looking up at the green canopy of leaves. A bird circled one of the trees, finally landing in a nest to deliver food to its young ones.

  Wendell listened for any sign of pursuit, but heard only the bird’s song in the trees. He crawled over to a tree, leaning against its rough bark. He would rest here for a few minutes, until he got his strength up. He couldn’t stay too long; those girls had probably told Mr. Pendleton by now. As he closed his eyes, the pungent odor of decaying plants reached his nostrils.

  Water seeps into shoes three sizes too big for his feet until he feels as though he’s running with two stone slabs on his ankles. His legs ache and his chest burns, but he can’t stop. He looks behind him, imagining they’re still behind him with their torches, shouting curses and hurling stones.

  In the folds of his oversized jacket he feels the half-loaf of bread stolen from the farmhouse along with the clothes. He would have escaped unscathed if not for the mistress of the farmhouse stumbling from the bedroom in a drunken stupor. She sobered up at the sight of him crouching in the corner, wearing dirty rags and clutching the bread and a knife.