“Gilbert! Why, you’ve grown into a fine man!”
Edward Winslow was in the prime of life, thirty-two years old. He had long red hair, a smooth, good-natured face, a neatly trimmed moustache and a powerful frame overlaid with a layer of fat. His eyes were the same cornflower blue as Gilbert’s and seemed to look right into the soul of the person before him. He was wearing a fine lawn collar turned out from his throat, tied beneath a silk, red-tassled cord. A fine corduroy coat with a double row of silver buttons and silk breeches in the Dutch style completed his costume.
Gilbert took only a quick glance at his brother’s dress; he was staring at his beaming face. For six years Gilbert had made this man the villain in his little drama. Now looking at his brother’s face, he could not find the evil foe he had slain in his thoughts a thousand times.
“Elizabeth!” Edward called, and kept his arm around Gilbert’s shoulders as he turned to a woman who came through the low doorway at the end of the hall. “Elizabeth, he’s here! Gilbert’s here!”
“I’m glad to see you, Gilbert,” Elizabeth said, holding out a bony hand for him to clasp. “But you don’t look well.”
“I was seasick, Elizabeth,” Gilbert stammered. His brother’s wife was a frail woman, specter-thin and possessed of numerous ailments, real and imaginary. She was a startling contrast to her husband, who was blooming with vitality.
They took him into a large comfortable room with a huge fireplace, and for a time Elizabeth plied him with remedies for his ailments while Edward questioned him about his activities. When Elizabeth left it seemed to make the air a little freer, and both men breathed more easily. Edward once again clapped his younger brother on the shoulder and smiled warmly. “I hear you’re changing careers.”
It was a critical moment, for Gilbert realized that if he were to gain entrance into the Separatist fellowship it would have to be through Edward. Now he stammered as he tried to explain. “Well, Edward, I know you always thought that I should be in the church, but—”
“Just a moment, Gilbert,” Edward said quickly. “Father wanted that, and I have tried to carry out his wishes—but it was never my design.”
This put Gilbert at ease and he went on more smoothly with the speech he had planned. “I have tried to find my place in the Church of England, really I have. But, it’s not for me, Edward. Let me explain. For the past two years I have grown to be more unhappy with the practices of the English Church. Now, there are many good men who serve as priests, and I have no quarrel with them if they are content. But I cannot in all honesty continue to follow what I believe to be unsound Christian practice!”
“I see.”
Gilbert noted the quick look of interest Edward took in this, and worked himself up into a pitch of excitement, loathing himself for his pretense. “To be quite frank with you, I find the Church of England to be a huge mass of old and stinking works—a patch of popery and a puddle of corruption! The Lord has said, ‘Come ye out from among them and be ye separate, and touch not the unclean thing!’ ”Gilbert had learned this speech by rote from the men at Cambridge who were known as “precise men” who advocated separation from the state church, and he hoped fervently that his face pictured the outrage that his words stated. He finished with the defiant words: “The true church must be restored to purity!”
Edward was staring at him with burning blue eyes. “You really mean that, Gilbert?”
“Yes!”
“Then I welcome you into the fellowship of those who are on just such a quest!”
There were tears in the eyes of Edward Winslow, and he threw his arms about Gilbert, saying huskily, “I have prayed for this, Gilbert! It was not our father’s way—but it is the way of God!”
“You’re not angry with me?”
“Angry? No! It is the way of courage, Gilbert. I welcome you into the ranks of God’s warriors!”
“I—I will try to be faithful, Edward,” Gilbert said, but there was a heavy weight on his spirit. This man, this brother—whom he had trained himself to hate—this was no hypocrite! If he was a true sample of the Brownists in Holland, the task he had vowed to accomplish would violate the very foundation of a truth held sacred! Gilbert remembered suddenly the words of Lucas Tiddle: It may be more expensive than you think!
Then he thought of Cecily and Lord North, their glittering world of excitement—and he smiled and took his brother by the hand. “I will join you, Edward!”
Edward Winslow’s face was bright with a sudden happiness, and he gripped his younger brother’s hand, saying, “I have prayed for you, Gilbert. Now that the Lord has opened your eyes, like the great Apostle Paul you must begin your race. We will go to the meeting tomorrow, and you will meet your companions on the quest. They will welcome you into the fellowship of saints and receive you as a brother beloved—as I do now!”
Gilbert Winslow had violated most of the Ten Commandments with enthusiasm. His life had been a careless affair insofar as doing right was concerned. He had defiled himself almost cheerfully, tasting of forbidden pleasure at will. But never had he felt the condemnation of spirit as he did now—holding his brother by the hand, committing himself to the society of those who had renounced the world to follow Christ. And as Edward embraced him again, he could almost hear the words thirty pieces of silver! They seemed to echo from heaven—or from hell. He resisted the impulse to put his hands over his ears to shut out the sound.
Instead, he stepped back and made himself smile. He said, “I trust I may prove myself worthy to be a part of God’s band of saints, Edward.”
He was thinking, Thus I begin my new career! Gilbert Winslow—spy and hypocrite!
CHAPTER FIVE
AT THE GREEN GATE
Gilbert took a long drink from the pewter mug and slammed it down on the oak table, exclaiming, “I never thought it would be so easy to be a Judas!”
Tiddle leaned back in his chair and gave Gilbert a tight smile. He shook his head. “So, that honor of yours is bruised already, is it? Well, you’ll have to be more of a Judas than that before you’re of any use to us here in Leyden, Gilbert. You’ve been here three days and nothing you’ve found out is worth a farthing.”
Gilbert shook his head stubbornly, took another drink of the dark red wine, then said, “Why, I don’t see any problem—Edward has already accepted me as one of the saints. Doesn’t appear to be too difficult to join this congregation.”
Lucas shrugged his thin shoulders, pulled a large watch out of his vest pocket and stared at its face. Replacing it, he pulled his cloak around him and said, “I must hurry to catch the ship—but let me tell you this, young man—these aren’t fools you’re dealing with! I notice you haven’t heard the name of William Brewster mentioned, have you?”
Gilbert shook his head. “Well, no, but that’s only—”
“That’s only because these people are not going to give the man up!” Tiddle got to his feet. “I’ll be in London reporting to Lord North in two days. I’ll tell him what we’ve accomplished, which is precious little!”
Lucas threw a coin down on the table, turned and left the inn without another word. When Gilbert followed him outside, he saw a frown on the face of the lawyer and was taken aback when Lucas said in a voice absolutely harsh, “This is the world of business, Gilbert Winslow! You’ll do what you have to do to find this man Brewster. Lie, cheat, steal, deceive—whatever is necessary. That’s what it will cost you to make your place with Lord North. You have my address—don’t bother to write until you have something to say!”
Winslow stood there, struck dumb by the harshness of Tiddle’s manner. Caught short by the savagery of the attack, for a moment he considered getting on the ship and going back to England, forgetting the whole thing. But it was too late for that! For better or for worse, he was committed to the world of business—and as he turned and made his way slowly down the cobblestone street toward the house of his brother, he pondered—not for the first time—the end of this strange business.
/> He forced himself to smile as Edward and Elizabeth came to meet him. “Am I very late?” he asked.
Edward took his arm and smiled, “Why, as it happens, we just have time to stop by Elder Bradford’s house before the service if we hurry.”
As they walked down the linden-shaded avenue he asked, “Did you get your lawyer friend off properly, Gilbert?”
Gilbert nodded and said with a sigh, “Yes. He left me here for a few days to finish some business. I trust I’ll not be an inconvenience to you and Elizabeth.”
“An inconvenience!” Edward flashed him a brilliant smile, struck him lightly on the arm and said with enthusiasm, “We’ll have time to get acquainted, brother! And I’d have you know and be acquainted with your fellow saints. Come now and we’ll have time to talk a little with Bradford and his wife.”
They made their way to a poor section of town, passing through crowded quarters, the street cut by many winding lanes and alleys. At the end of the street they came to a small brick house covered with moss up to the eves and topped with dull red tiles. As they paused in front of the cobblestone walkway, a man and a woman came out and made their way down the sidewalk. Edward said, “Ah, William, we’re not late I trust—and Dorothy—you look well today! Let me make known to you a new seeker—this is my younger brother Gilbert, about whom I have often spoken. Gilbert, Elder William Bradford and his dear wife Dorothy.”
William Bradford was a middle-aged man with a full beard and a large wart on his right cheek. He had the air of one impatient with those who were not quick and he pulled at his nose nervously, nodded shortly and said, “It is good to have you in Leyden, Brother Winslow. I trust your stay here will be profitable.”
“We’d best hurry or the services will begin,” Dorothy said. She was much younger than her husband, not at all the type of woman Gilbert expected in a Separatist. She was blonde, with large blue eyes; the frilly lace at her bodice reflected a taste for finery that clashed with the stern grays and blacks of the rest of her costume and with that of her husband. The fine planes of her face spoke of an aristocratic background, this also in contrast to her husband. His features were craggy, rough and deeply creased.
“Dorothy is right—we must hurry,” Bradford said, leading them down the street and across a series of small intersections.
Whether deliberately or not, Gilbert could not tell, but Bradford fell into step beside him, leaving Dorothy to follow with Edward and Elizabeth. He commented briefly on Gilbert’s arrival, asking several rather pointed questions about his business in Leyden, and there was a faintly suspicious light in his eyes as he glanced at the young man and asked, “You are, I understand, a member of the Established Church?”
At once Gilbert realized the snare that was laid. Edward had, of course, accepted him at face value as being an earnest seeker, but this man had no reason to trust him. Carefully Gilbert said, “That has been my history, Elder Bradford, but along with many others, I’ve had serious doubts of late concerning the integrity of the way I have been taught to follow.”
Bradford’s head swiveled and his eyes bored into Gilbert, his question sharp, “You intend, then, to leave the Established Church and become a Separatist?”
Fighting the impulse to blurt out a quick agreement, Gilbert allowed a note of regret to creep into his voice. “No, I cannot say that at this time. It’s too soon. I have hopes that the Lord will give me a word of wisdom on this subject soon—but as for now I am, as my brother says, merely a seeker for the truth of the kingdom of God.”
The sharp light in Bradford’s eyes, Gilbert saw with relief, softened and he nodded, saying in a more genial tone, “As the Scripture says, ‘ Ye shall find me when ye shall search for me with all your heart’!”
“Amen!” said Gilbert and as they walked along, Bradford gave him a few details on the meeting place.
“For many years, we met in the homes of individuals. It was not until May of 1611 that we acquired a permanent place of worship—this is it up ahead. It’s called the Kloksteeg—or Bell Alley, as we would say it. For a long time it was known as the Groenepoort, or Green Gate, and so it is still called by most of the natives here. It is a fine house, and it serves both as a meeting place and a parsonage for our pastor and his wife and three children.”
“We’re late,” Bradford said. “Come and let us join in and afterward, my brother, you will have an opportunity to meet the congregation.”
Nothing about the meeting that day suggested the Church of England to Gilbert. The first shock came when he discovered that the saints were not allowed to sit as they pleased in cozy little family groups. As they filed in, the men took their seats on the hard wooden benches to one side, the women sat apart across the aisle, while the children were placed off by themselves under the stern and restless eye of the deacons. Gilbert learned that this was known as “dignifying the meeting.”
The saints prayed, and during the prayer the members of the congregation stood up, for kneeling was, as Gilbert learned later, an idolatrous Roman practice. After the opening prayer, which continued a little longer than an hour, a small, pale-faced man identified as Pastor Robinson took up a huge Bible and read aloud. He paused often for comment and exposition, and after this a psalm was sung without any instrumental music of any kind, nor did the congregation have musical notation of any kind to aid its singing. All tunes were sung from memory. Someone set the pitch, usually one of the deacons, then all lifted their voices together, with the men taking the lead in the simple melody. The saints evidently shared Calvin’s aversion to any frills in a religious service.
After several hours of the singing came the sermon, preached not from a pulpit but a low dais supporting a simple wooden table. Here, in black clothes and black gloves, Robinson expounded his text with a quiet and moving eloquence, a deep human understanding, and a wealth of apt illustration.
When the sermon was concluded, the congregation sang another song, and the sacraments were then administered. Two men came forward to pass the collection plates, and the morning exercise ended about noon with a benediction.
Gilbert felt rather awkward, but he was led by Edward through a small garden behind the house where the congregation met to talk briefly before their noon meal. He was, of course, an object of curiosity to the congregation, and most of them gathered around to be introduced. Isaac Allerton, a thin man of about thirty-five, his wife Mary—a little younger—both bowed deeply and introduced their children—a young boy named Barth and a girl with the strange name of Remember. Standing beside them a couple named White, William and Susanna, whose son was dressed in black exactly like his father, although he was only five. He bore the unusual name of Resolved. Noticing that Gilbert was taken slightly aback by the unconventional names of the children, Bradford brought forth a slender woman with a dark olive complexion, accompanied by two small boys. A twinkle appeared in the elder’s eye as he said, “This is Sister Mary Brewster, Gilbert—” and Gilbert looked up swiftly, recognizing this woman as the wife of the man he had been sent to ferret out. “And these are her two boys, Love and Wrastle.”
A large, thick-bodied man with a black beard and a pockmarked face shouldered his way through the crowd surrounding Gilbert and said in a voice that thundered, “Well! So this is the young scholar we’ve heard so much about, is it, Edward?” His massive hand swallowed Gilbert’s, and a solid thump on the shoulder shook the newcomer to his heels.
“Careful there, Deacon!” Edward laughed, and turned to say to Gilbert, “This is Samuel Fuller, one of our deacons.”
“And a physician, sir!” Fuller’s large eyes gleamed with humor, and he stepped back to survey the visitor shrewdly. “Cambridge, is it now? Well, I’d spend some time with you, young master Winslow—to see if your stay there has left any brains in your head!”
Bradford smiled gently and with a shake of his head said, “Now don’t wear the young man down, Samuel—he’s not one of your patients, you know.”
“Well he will be, soon
or late!” Fuller smiled and said to Gilbert confidentially, “I’m not the best physician in the world—but my fees are reasonable, so come to me when you have an ailment for body or soul! Sam Fuller’s your man!”
The burly physician seemed to have taken a liking to Gilbert, for he pulled him toward a table set with a light meal of round loaves of fresh bread, butter, cold cuts of several types and large containers of fresh milk. It was a time, evidently, of fellowship and of simple relaxation, and Gilbert allowed himself to be ushered to a stone bench in the garden while Fuller ran on with his mouth full, usually concerning the church—of which he was obviously very proud.
“Now, you’ll not understand some of our ways, Winslow, but if you’ll pay attention to the Holy Discipline, why you’ll soon find your way!”
After listening for an hour to Fuller expounding the views and beliefs of the Brownists, they got up and went again into the house where Gilbert was introduced to “prophesying.” Pastor Robinson chose a text, spoke on it briefly, and then opened the meeting for general discussion. Despite himself, Gilbert was impressed at the broad and deep knowledge of the Scripture possessed by most of the men and was likewise struck by the gentlemanly nature of their bearing.
By three o’clock Gilbert had dozed off several times, losing track of the sophisticated arguments that went around the room. But his attention had been attracted by two young women who sat well toward the front of the room on the women’s side. The one closest to him was a small girl with brown hair and a pretty face. From the looks she exchanged with John Howland, who sat on the men’s side across from her, Gilbert assumed this was the Elizabeth Tilley whose praises he had heard from the husky young man. The other young woman was hidden behind Elizabeth, but when the final “amen” was said and the congregation rose and filed out into the afternoon air, Gilbert made it a point to tell Edward that he would walk for a while around the town before returning to the cottage. Most of the congregation took time to stop by and say a friendly word of greeting, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Howland and his young woman leaving through a gate to the north of the house, accompanied by the other young woman. Quickly he made his way through the gate and caught up with them as if by accident.
The Honorable Imposter (House of Winslow Book #1) Page 5
