“Who? Alice Stevens?” Tabitha asked.
“Aye,” Christine said.
“Ha!” Tabitha puffed out her breath. “Marry in haste, repent at leisure.”
“Is that in the Bible?” Abby asked.
“Nay, but it should be.”
“Come, Abby,” Christine said. “Fill this kettle with water. John, you and Ben may bring in some more wood, if you please.”
A few minutes later, the pastor entered the room. “Well, I seem to be performing another wedding.”
“The children told me,” Goody Deane said. “That pair seems rather mismatched to me, sir.”
Samuel leaned against the mantel. “I told Ackley I will visit the girl at her parents’ home and speak to all three. I’ve seen stranger things.”
“She’s not yet twenty, is she?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, Roger Ackley be well past fifty.” Tabitha shook her head.
“He should marry you, Goody Deane,” said Constance.
“Ha! That’s clever. You think I would wed that man?”
“Well now, perhaps we’d best turn the topic here,” Samuel said gently. “All I know is that Goodman Ackley says he needs Alice to cook for the men he’ll hire at harvest, and she can’t stay at the farm to work unless they are wed.”
“But that’s—” Christine stopped and swallowed her words. It was not her place to object.
By evening, the pastor had made his trip to the Stevens house and returned. He said nothing while the children were about, but when Christine had hung up her apron and prepared to leave, he bid her wait and he would accompany her.
Her pulse beat quicker as she waited for him to don his hat and jacket.
“Children, I shall return in a trice,” he called.
Christine felt a foolish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as they stepped onto the path together.
“I would say you needn’t escort me home, but I know it wouldn’t change your mind.”
“You are correct in that. I find it gives me a chance to speak privately with you. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
“Christine, this precipitous marriage of Ackley’s does concern me, but I find no grounds to refuse to perform the ceremony. The girl told me to my face she is agreeable, though she knows it to be a marriage of convenience for Ackley. Of course, it will elevate her status in the community. Ackley is better off than her own father, who is a mere laborer in the brickworks. But her parents seem to have no objection. Her mother even offered to go with her to the farm next week to help her cook for his harvesting crew.”
“That was good of her,” Christine said.
He frowned and shook his head slightly. “I asked her mother if she’d talked to Alice and explained what marriage would mean, and she said she was sure the girl would be fine.” He glanced at her and halted, a few yards from Tabitha’s door. “I’m sorry, Christine. I shouldn’t burden you with this.”
“Think nothing of it. You need someone to express your reservations to.”
“Nay, I should take them to the Lord. But … I do enjoy talking to you. I’ve had no one to discuss such things with since …” He pressed his lips together.
Christine’s heart wrenched. He missed Elizabeth, of course. And she was a poor substitute. “Well, sir, I do not mind if you speak to me about your concerns, and you can be sure that what you say will go no further.”
“Thank you.” He took her hand once again and held it. Her heart pounded. “Christine, your friendship means a great deal to me.”
“And yours to me.” She looked down at their clasped hands and took a careful breath. Could this really be happening?
“I expect that when I read the banns tomorrow, all the girls will gather around Alice and congratulate her, and yet … something about it bothers me.” He seemed to realize suddenly that he still held her hand in his. He squeezed it gently and released it. “Forgive me. I presume too much.”
“Do you, sir?” she whispered.
His eyes flashed with something—what? He drew in a breath and looked away. “I do understand a man … a widower … wishing to remarry.”
She found it impossible to inhale. After a long pause, she squeaked out, “Do you?”
“Aye.” They looked at each other. “Christine …” Samuel raised his hand and halted with it in midair, as though debating which to touch—her hair or her face. She thought her heart might burst if he did neither.
Behind her, Goody Deane’s door creaked open. Samuel quickly stepped back a pace.
Tabitha chuckled. “I may be old, but I’m not blind. Don’t you think it’s time you began calling on this young woman?”
The reaction to Sunday’s public reading of the banns set Christine’s sympathy for Samuel soaring, but she could not show it. The congregants gasped as one when the pastor read the names on the marriage intentions. Samuel spent the noon hour closeted in the meetinghouse with his deacons. When he emerged, there was no time for him to eat dinner, and Christine was able only to slip him a cup of cider and a slice of journey cake.
“Is all well, Samuel?” she whispered.
“Aye, and thank you, my dear.” He pressed the empty cup back into her hand. His afternoon sermon, if anything, was more lucid and elegant than the morning’s. Christine drank in every word. It was the one time she could stare her fill at him without arousing suspicion, and she took full advantage of it that day.
Once, when he called them all to join him in prayer, she noticed Samuel’s gaze resting on her before he shut his eyes. Just for that instant, she felt his warmth and affection. She was glad all eyes were closed then and that she had the high wall of the pew at her back.
That night, he again walked her home from the parsonage after supper was over, but this time Goody Deane was with them.
“Some of the elders wondered if there shouldn’t be a waiting period for remarriage after the death of a spouse,” he told them.
“I never heard anything like it,” Tabitha said.
“Nor I. And I’ve seen a woman who was with child married a week after her husband was killed by a bull. I suppose I could refuse to solemnize the vows, but to what end?”
Nearly the entire village turned out Monday morning for the hearing at the meetinghouse. Catherine Dudley and Tabitha kept the children of several families at the parsonage with the young Jewetts.
Christine put on her Sunday best and went with the pastor, in expectation of being called upon to testify. She slid into the customary pew and felt people staring as Samuel joined her. The pastor had never sat in the pew before, to her knowledge. Certainly never beside her. The scrutiny of the villagers set her nerves on edge. Her hands trembled as she arranged her skirts.
McDowell was brought in and made to sit in the elders’ pew between Baldwin and Paine, his wrists and ankles still chained. He stared down at the floor. A stranger in a cutaway coat and breeches sat near him, and Christine looked to Samuel and arched her brows.
“The lawyer,” Samuel whispered. “I fear the crown must pay for his services, which means we shall be taxed for them.”
The men had placed a table at the front, on the platform with the pulpit. The bewigged magistrate entered with great pomp and took his seat behind it.
When Christine was called to face the magistrate, she took her place knowing every eye was upon her. Her voice shook as she recounted how McDowell had accosted her again and again, demanding food and other comforts.
“And did the accused ever harm you physically?” the magistrate asked.
“Nay, he never laid hands on me.”
“Did he threaten you bodily harm?”
“Not I, sir, but others. He told me that if I did not do as he wished, he would hurt others who were close to me.”
“And who would that be?”
She inhaled and glanced toward Samuel. His compassionate blue eyes looked back at her, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.
“The parson’s
children, sir.” A sympathetic murmur went up from the congregation. “I be in charge of them most days, for the Reverend Jewett.”
“And the accused said he would hurt them?”
“Aye. He showed me a knife the first time, and one other time. And more than once, he said he would hurt them. He said …” She shuddered, recalling his words. “Despicable things, sir. I do not wish to repeat them before the children’s father.”
Samuel’s head drooped, and she thought she could see the sheen of tears in his eyes. A whisper rippled through the ranks of the people. The magistrate hit his gavel on the table and bid her step down.
Others went forward and told about the thefts they had experienced, and one farmer told how his dog had chased a man off one night, but he hadn’t gotten a good look at the intruder. Captain Baldwin described the search for Mahalia Ackley, and at last the pastor gave his tale of the finding of McDowell in the thicket.
The magistrate recessed the hearing and went to the ordinary for his dinner. Meanwhile, the people either went to their homes or milled about the common, eating the refreshments they had brought and discussing the testimony.
Samuel and Christine walked back to the parsonage together.
“I’m sorry you had to go through this,” he said on the way.
“It is needful.”
The house was full of children. Samuel cast a woebegone look at Christine, retreated into his bedchamber, and closed the door. She waited while Tabitha fixed a plate and a cup of strong tea for him, then she took it to the door. When she knocked on the panel, he opened it a crack.
“You must eat, sir,” Christine said.
“Thank you. I don’t feel hungry, but I suppose I must.” He took the plate and cup then looked earnestly into her eyes. “This will be over soon.”
“Yes. Pray for justice.”
fifteen
That afternoon, the hearing was reconvened. The magistrate asked McDowell if he wished to speak on his own behalf.
McDowell shuffled to the witness chair and took the oath to speak the truth.
“Tell us, then,” the magistrate said, looking him over with narrowed eyes. “Did you commit the heinous acts described here this morning?”
“Aye, sir, all but one.”
The people burst out in exclamations of surprise, and the magistrate banged on the table. “Silence.” He fixed his gaze on McDowell, still scowling. “Make yourself clear, sir.”
McDowell’s attorney rose. “Your honor, the prisoner admits his guilt to the petty thefts previously alluded to and to intimidating Miss Hardin and threatening the children. However, he maintains he did not kill the aforementioned Mahalia Ackley.” He sat down with a self-satisfied expression.
The magistrate tapped his gavel on the table once more. “The court finds there is enough evidence to hold the prisoner, Abijah McDowell, for trial. He is to be held locked up where he was housed heretofore until the trial. The Lord willing, I shall return here in a fortnight to carry out that business. Meanwhile, the prisoner’s attorney will prepare his case.”
The lawyer nodded, and the judge dismissed the hearing.
Christine stood, feeling a bit let down. “Seems nothing has changed,” she said to Samuel.
“Aye. Another two weeks.” The creases at the corners of his eyes looked deeper, and his eyes duller.
“You need rest, sir,” Christine said softly.
“As do you. Come. Let us go home.”
As they made their way out, they passed the attorney, who was speaking to the owner of the ordinary. “It sounds as though I shall have to lie over tonight at your establishment, sir. I regret I must remain here even another day.”
“‘Tis not so unpleasant a place, sir,” said the innkeeper.
“Nay, but I’ll lose business I could be doing in Portsmouth for better pay than I shall receive for this, I’ll tell you.”
As Christine and Samuel walked toward the parsonage, they met several couples who had been to retrieve their children from Tabitha and Catherine’s care. When they arrived, all of the children had left except the Jewett brood and Charles and Jane Gardner’s little boy.
“I’ll carry little Johnny over to the common,” Catherine offered. “I expect Jane and Charles tarried there to talk to people.”
She bid them good-bye and left with the baby and a bundle of his things.
John Jewett went to stand before his father. “Be they going to hang that man?”
“I don’t know, son. Today was not the trial but merely a hearing to see if the case warrants a trial. The judge will return a fortnight hence, and the matter will be settled then.”
“May we go next time?” Ben asked.
Samuel sighed. “I hardly think I want my children to attend such a proceeding.”
Tabitha said sharply, “You young’uns clear out now. You can see your father’s tired. Let him rest while Miss Christine and I get supper on.”
“No, really.” Samuel held up both hands and looked around at his offspring. “I believe I’d rather sit out under the oak tree with the children for a while. It does my heart good to see them around me, all strong and healthy.”
Christine touched his arm. “Then you do that, sir. We’ll bring you some refreshment out yonder.”
She watched the children, quieted by their father’s unaccustomed manner, surround him and head for the door. Ruth and Constance took his hands and pulled him along.
“That man is exhausted,” said Tabitha.
“Aye.” Christine reached for her apron. “Let me take him some cider, and then I’ll get on a large supper for them all. You must be tired, too. Why don’t you go home and lie down?”
“I’ll help you. Then we shall both go home and leave them in peace for the evening.”
Christine eyed her for a moment then put her hands on Goody Deane’s shoulders and stooped to kiss the old woman’s wrinkled cheek. “Thank you, dear lady. You are a blessing.”
Tabitha waved her comment aside. “This will cheer you. This morning, Mrs. Gardner brought a haunch of venison, or rather, her husband did. And Mrs. Leeds, when she brought her three children, left a blackberry pudding. I made sure to put it up where the young’uns wouldn’t get into it.”
Christine gave her a weary smile. “Then let’s get at it. The Jewett children and their father will feast tonight.”
The next morning, Christine took the three Jewett girls with her to the trading post. Samuel had taken the boys with him to the meetinghouse for lessons, and Tabitha had stayed at home to do her own washing and light cleaning.
Christine disliked going to the trader’s, but sometimes it was necessary, and she found that they needed some hooks and eyes for Abby’s new Sunday dress and a few stores for the parsonage larder. Samuel had entrusted her with two shillings that morning, and she feared it might be the last of his silver.
She and the girls entered and went to the counter where sewing notions were displayed. She was surprised to see Alice Stevens there as well, fingering rolls of braid. “Good day, Alice,” she said.
“Hello.” Alice seemed distracted as she compared the selection of fripperies.
“Good day, Miss Stevens.” Abby dropped a pretty curtsy, and Christine felt a stab of pride. The eight-year-old’s manners were better than many adults’.
Alice shot her a smile that was almost a smirk. “Soon-to-be Goody Ackley.” She held out a roll of fancy black braid so Christine could see it. “The master—that is, my soon-to-be husband—has given me his late wife’s clothing. I intend to cut down her somber old dresses and fix them up with pretty trimmings. Think you this would look well on her plum-colored wool?”
Christine gulped for air. “I’m sure I don’t know. I’m … not one who knows much about fashion.”
Alice looked her over for a second. “Aye, so you don’t.” She turned back to her shopping.
Christine inhaled slowly, feeling the flush creep up her neck. Abby’s look of distress prodded her to control herself.
“Come, girls, let us find the hooks we need.”
A few minutes later, they were outside the trading post and headed for home. Christine picked Ruth up to carry her and let Abby tote their small purchases in her basket.
“Miss Christine,” Constance said, looking up at her soberly and clutching her free hand, “did she rude us?”
Elder Heard blew the conch shell Sunday morning, and all the villagers hastened toward the meetinghouse. The temperatures had moderated, with a promise of autumn on the breeze, and all of the women donned shawls that morning.
As they reached the common before the meetinghouse, Christine spotted Alice Stevens approaching in the company of her parents. It did not surprise her that Alice wore her late mistress’s plum-colored wool skirt and bodice or that the skirt was edged in swoops of black braid. She tried to forget the impolite words the young woman had spoken at the trader’s. Alice’s coming marriage seemed to have altered her attitude toward her neighbors. Christine hoped it was not a permanent change.
Jane Gardner hurried toward her with little Johnny on her hip. “Christine! Good day.”
Christine smiled. “Ah, well met, Jane.”
“What were you staring at?” Jane threw a quick look over her shoulder at the people entering the meetinghouse.
Christine ducked her head. “I’m embarrassed to say it, but I was surveying the future Goody Ackley’s fashions.”
Jane squinted toward the church steps. “Ah, a new gown?”
“New to the wearer. I met her at the trader’s Tuesday, and she was buying trimmings for the late Goody Ackley’s old clothing.”
Jane nodded with comprehension. “Ah. It seems she has also acquired the mistress’s fine scarf from England. Remember how Mahalia used to wear it to meeting?”
“Every Sunday,” Christine agreed.
“Well, ladies.”
Christine jumped at the pastor’s voice. She’d thought him inside long ago.
“Good day, Pastor,” Jane said with a smile. “Oh, here comes my husband. Pardon me.” She hastened toward Charles.
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