A shout of joy went up, and every face was beaming.
“It is the hand of the Lord!” William Brewster said after Deacon Cushman went over the details, which were indeed more generous than any of them had expected.
Then John Alden asked, “May I ask if—if Mr. Brewster will be . . . ?” He seemed unable to get his question out, and his face grew red with embarrassment. All of them knew his question dealt with the legal status of Brewster; most of them had heard that Captain Jones had ignored the matter, but the Fortune was another thing.
“I’ve heard that there’s a man aboard the ship sent to bring back Mr. Brewster,” Isaac Allerton said. “That’s not so, I hope, Mr. Brewster?”
“No, it is not. I will be staying on,” Brewster said with a smile. “I think the King has more important things to do than send for a poor preacher clean across the ocean.”
“What about Gilbert? Is he going to stay, too?”
All looked to Edward, who shifted uncomfortably, then shook his head, saying, “I believe my brother will return to England.”
“What about the—the charges we heard were lodged against him?” Peter Brown asked.
“There have been no charges.” Edward Winslow’s tone shut the door on further discussion, and the meeting moved on to other matters.
After the meeting, Peter Brown left and went directly to the Common House. As he expected, he found Humility helping the other women as they cooked and prepared, decorating the place as well as they could with such little trimming as they could manage.
“How was the meeting?” she asked when he came to stand beside her. She was cutting a large cod into steaks for baking, her hair bound underneath a white cloth.
“Very good.” He told her the details, ending by saying, “We’ll have 100 acres, Humility, after only seven years. Of course, that’s just a beginning. We can get more later on.”
“Why should you want more?” she asked. Her eyes rested on him, and there was a puzzled look in them. “You can’t farm even that much, can you?”
“I’ll hire men to work it, then buy more. Before we’re through, why, I’ll have as much land as any man in Plymouth.”
“If that’s what you want, Peter.” The subject seemed to hold no interest for her, and she picked up the knife and began slicing fish.
He was disappointed in her reaction, for he was an ambitious man and wanted her to share in his dreams. “Don’t you want to get ahead?”
A wry smile crept across her lips, and she said, “Is a man with 200 acres ahead more than a man with only 100?”
“Why, of course!” The question troubled Brown, and he bit his lip, staring at her. She was not one for small talk, but he had run on this streak in her before, and it bothered him. “Shouldn’t a man do his best, Humility?”
“Yes—but there’s more to a person’s best than getting and spending.”
He stared at her, then a thought struck him, and he said diffidently, “Winslow—he’s going back to England.”
He watched her very closely, and did not miss the fact that she paused in her work, the knife suspended for an instant after he spoke.
Carefully she resumed cutting and did not look up as she asked quietly, “Is he?”
“Humility, don’t do that to me!”
She was startled at the quick anger in his voice. He never showed bad temper to her, but now as she looked up there were harsh lines on his face and his lips were drawn thin.
“Why, what did I do?” she asked in confusion.
“You’re an honest girl, but you aren’t being honest now,” he said. “You cared for the man once. I can’t believe you’ve no interest in him now.”
She started to shake her head, but instead lifted her eyes to his, and there was a faint color in her face. “I was dishonest, Peter,” she said suddenly. “Maybe I’m still ashamed of—of being interested in him. . . .”
“Why don’t you say it—being in love with him!”
She stiffened her back and said quietly, “All right, then, if you think it’s important, Peter. I was in love with him. I suppose you can’t be indifferent to someone you’ve been in love with, can you?”
“I hope so!” Brown answered like a shot. “I’d hate for my wife to have thoughts of another man.”
She stared at him, as if seeing something in him she’d never noted. “But you have your thoughts and your memories, Peter, that I can never really share.”
He was confused and angry, but could not tell why. If he had been calmer he would not have said what he did then.
“You’re still in love with him!”
She put down the knife carefully and wiped her hands on the cloth tied around her waist. “If you think that, Peter, you’d be a fool to marry me. Do you want me to release you from that?”
“Oh, no! No, Humility!” Brown caught up her hand and said earnestly, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to say that! Why, I can’t lose you, Humility!”
“You could do better.” She stated this as a fact, and there was a steady look in her eyes as she added, “I’m not ambitious, Peter.”
He smiled in relief, kissed her hand, then said, “I’ll be ambitious for the two of us.”
“Very well.” She picked up the knife and began to slice the pink steaks. “I knew he would go—and I’ve been worried about what awaits him when he gets to England.”
Brown laughed then, which surprised her. He said, “So that’s it! I’m glad to hear it—but you can worry about someone else. Winslow’s going back to what most men would love to have!”
“But—he’s going back to be tried for murder!”
“I’ve been talking to Deacon Cushman,” Brown said. “He’s a natural gossip, I fear, and it didn’t take long to get out of him that the charges have all been dropped.”
“Dropped!” Humility stared in unbelief at him. “That’s impossible! How could—?”
“My dear girl,” Brown smiled sourly, “with money all things are possible. Evidently Winslow was in favor with Lord North, and when that gentleman wants something, he usually gets it!”
“I can’t believe it!”
“Can you believe this—” Brown watched her closely, and continued evenly, “Lord North’s daughter is on board the Fortune—and it’s Cushman’s feeling that she’s come for Winslow.”
“Cecily!” The word slipped out before Humility thought, and she reddened. “He—called for her when he had the sickness.”
“Well, he called well,” Brown said with a wry smile. “She heard him, apparently, and will wed him as soon as she gets him back to England.”
Humility said slowly, “She’ll be coming to the reception this afternoon along with the rest.” She looked around the rough-hewn logs making up the Common House. “This won’t impress her much after a mansion, will it?”
“I suppose she’ll do the impressing,” Brown shrugged, then kissed the cheek that Humility offered and left.
Peter Brown was neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet—yet his words came to pass.
The area around the Common House served as a dining room for many, and the weather was good. Tables were set up outside for those who could not get inside the single community building, and the air was filled with laughter and singing as the new settlers—thirty-five in all, joined with the firstcomers in the festive affair.
They had just seated themselves when there was a scraping of chairs, and the men rose as a small group entered. A middle-aged man, balding but with quick, intelligent eyes entered first, and Cushman said at once, “Friends, may I introduce Captain Robert Logan—and this is Mr. Evans, his mate—and Mr. Caleb Wellington of London.”
There was a slight pause, then a silence as Cushman said, “Mr. Gilbert Winslow, you know, of course, and this is Lady Cecily North.”
He was partly mistaken, for the company did not “know” the Gilbert Winslow who stepped through the door. They were not looking at the plainly dressed brother of Edward who had labored in the mud and cold.
Gilbert wore a smooth dark blue velvet coat trimmed in light blue ribbon. It was long, reaching halfway to his knee, but loose with a short line of silver buttons down the right side. His neckband carried a shortfall of lace, down over a long red satin waistcoat slashed with white. The dark blue velvet breeches and the snowy white hose completed his dress, except for the Clemens Hornn sword buckled under the coat at his left hip.
Startled as they were at Gilbert’s transformation, he was forgotten as they took in Lady Cecily North.
She wore a short pellise of black ermine which reached to her elbows, which she removed at once and handed to Mr. Wellington. Her gown had vertical stripes of black and scarlet, with a very low bodice edged in small white and black ruffles. A small purse, gold-dusted and set with a circle of rubies swung at her right hip, and her skirt flared in vivid scarlet; under it she wore so many petticoats that when she moved she sounded like a small rain shower.
A cluster of fiery stones hung from her neck, suspended by a golden chain; two diamonds flashed from her earlobes. She had full red lips and flawless olive skin; a small mole on her left cheek, far from being a flaw, served as a natural beauty mark.
Bradford indicated their places, and soon the meal was under way. Peter was sitting at Humility’s left, and he talked easily to the man across from him—a new settler named Duncan—about the year’s events in England.
After the meal there were many speeches, and Humility was relieved when finally Captain Logan thanked them for their hospitality, but said he wished to get back to his ship before dark.
“You must see my guns, Captain,” Standish said, and the captain, being an ex-soldier himself, gave in. The two men left and most of the crowd followed them up the steep hill to the miniature fortress overlooking the town.
As the room cleared, Humility moved around stacking the trenchers and mugs. Hearing a sound, she turned and found herself face-to-face with Cecily North and Gilbert.
“It’s a little cool for such a long walk,” Cecily said with a smile. “Do you mind if we wait inside?”
“No. Of course not.”
Cecily waited for a moment, then looked at Gilbert. “I have not met this lady,” she said.
Gilbert cleared his throat, then made the introduction. “This is Miss Humility Cooper—Lady Cecily North.”
Instantly Cecily’s eyes riveted on the girl in front of her, taking in the plain gray smock, the lack of adornment. She did not, however, miss the fine green eyes set off by blonde hair and fair skin.
A challenge filled Cecily’s dark eyes suddenly, and she drew herself up, saying, “Ah, yes, Miss Cooper—I’ve heard of you.”
Knowing what she had heard brought the color to Humility’s cheeks, but she said, “We’re happy to have you here, Lady North.”
“Even if I’m taking part of your small company away from you?” It was a playful remark on the surface, but Cecily took Gilbert’s arm with a possessive gesture, and a predatory curl marred the line of her full lips as she watched the effect of her words on the other woman.
Humility deliberately looked from the dark girl into Gilbert’s face. He was watching her intently, and the vertical lines between his heavy brows indicated he was displeased. He met her gaze, and there was a short, charged silence.
“Mr. Winslow will be a great loss to the colony,” Humility said, and a shock ran along her nerves as she discovered it was true. “He has served the company well, and will be greatly missed.”
Gilbert blinked his eyes in surprise, then bit his lip. “That’s kind of you; but then, you’re always one to find something good in the worst of us.”
Cecily did not care for the sudden flash of intimacy that seemed to exclude her. “Perhaps,” she said with a small smile, her voice drawing Gilbert’s attention, “you’ll come to visit us after we’re married.”
Humility did not miss the startled glance that Gilbert shot at Cecily, but ignored it. “That’s very kind of you, Lady North—but very unlikely.”
“Well, you are cut off out here, aren’t you, Miss Cooper?”
“From what?”
“Why—!” Cecily was taken off guard and looked confused, “Why, from the world, I suppose I meant.”
Humility stood there, and the smile on her face softened her features. The quietness that Gilbert had learned to appreciate was never so clearly in evidence as at that moment.
“We’re far from England,” she said, “but we’re not far from God.” Then she nodded and said, “I hope you enjoy your visit, Lady North.”
After she left, Cecily stared at the door, and then looked directly into Gilbert’s eyes. “You didn’t tell me she was so attractive.”
Gilbert said at once, “She is very beautiful, Cecily—and very strong.”
“Yes, that’s true. I wonder she’s not married.”
Gilbert’s gaze swept Cecily’s face, and he said tonelessly, “She’s engaged to marry a man named Brown.”
“How nice!” Cecily’s dark eyes sparkled and she leaned against him, saying, “We must send them something very nice for a wedding gift.”
* * *
“When did you say we sail from this dreadful place, Mr. Wellington?”
Cecily threw her book down and went to stare at the bleak coastline out of the windows of her cabin.
Caleb Wellington lifted his big head from where he sat beside an oil lamp. “We’ve been here three weeks. Logan says we’ll leave soon—next week, I’d venture.”
“How can they stand it?” Cecily threw herself down, and raked her nails across the fabric of her chair. “I’d go insane if I had to spend a winter here!”
“Well, you won’t have to, my dear,” Wellington said calmly. Then he asked curiously, “Where’s Mr. Winslow been the last three days?”
“How should I know?” Cecily said shortly. “He said something about making some sort of trip inland for Mr. Bradford—business with the Indians of some sort.”
“Well, he’ll be back soon, and we’ll sail—then it’ll be over.”
Cecily stared at him, and there was a puzzled look on her face. She asked, “Have you found Gilbert—different lately?”
“Different? How different?”
“I don’t know how to put it,” she said. “He’s attentive—but when I try to talk about our life when we get home, why, he just doesn’t seem interested.”
“He’s been through a lot. He’ll be all right when we get him away from these preachers.”
She stared at him, then nodded, saying, “I think you’ve hit on it—he’s more caught up with all this holy living than he knows. I noticed it almost from the first day we got here. And lately it’s worse! He’s always reading the Bible or some sermon. He reads parts of them to me and I try to be interested, but they’re so dreary.”
The big lawyer shrugged, “You’ll take that out of him soon enough, I should think. Get him back home, give him a taste of good living and what service with your father can bring—he’ll forget all this!”
Cecily leaned back and there was a calculating light in her eyes as she said softly, “He’ll have to, Mr. Wellington—there’s no room for pilgrims in my world!”
* * *
At the very moment they were speaking, Miles Standish was giving Edward Winslow a report on his brother.
“You talked to him before he left, Miles?” Edward asked. There was a worried frown on his face, and he shook his head doubtfully. “We’re in for bad weather. He could get lost and freeze.” They were standing on the hill looking down on the scattered houses lightly coated with fine-grained snow. “I don’t understand why he went. He was all tied up with that North woman on the ship.”
Miles looked at the larger man, and there was a flicker of humor in his sharp eyes. “Well, if you want my opinion, he’s coming down with a bad case of God-fearing conviction.”
“What?”
Standish smiled and said, “You’re on your honeymoon, Edward, and you don’t notice things. Gilbert hasn’t been happy.
Truth to tell, he’s been bone-achin’ miserable!”
“But he’s got what he wants, Miles!” Edward protested. “He’s always wanted to rise in the world, be rich—now he’ll have it.”
“Well, all I know is, he came to me three days ago, and he was at the end of his tether! I thought he was sick, he looked so bad, but then after a while, I saw it was something else.” Standish was a man of action, and he had trouble finding his words, but finally he shrugged and said, “He came to me because he didn’t want any sermons, Edward. He knew I’d been through the fire after Rose died, and he knew I wouldn’t have a sermon for him.” Then the fiery little captain laughed and said, “He was wrong about that!”
“What did you tell him?”
“Well, I listened to him at first. He went over the whole thing, all his life wanting to be somebody, to be rich. And when he was finished, he looked at me with pure misery in his eyes, and he said, ‘Now I’ve got it, Miles—so why am I so unhappy?’ ”
Edward stared at Standish, then shook his head. “I should have seen it! Should have helped!”
“I think the boy covered it up pretty well,” Standish observed.
“Why’d he leave town?” Edward asked.
“Well, I told him how I’d forgot about God until it was a shame—and then I said, ‘You’ll never be happy, Gilbert, until you get Christ!’ Well, it touched a nerve, I tell you! He turned pale as a ghost and seemed to melt. So I told him he ought to do what I had to do—back when I lost Rose and just about went crazy.”
Edward stared at him, then said quietly, “I failed you, too, Miles. What did you do?”
“Why, I went out into the forest and stayed until I found God,” Standish said simply. “Like I told your brother, I went out there, and if God hadn’t done something to help me, why, I’d never have come back, Edward.”
Edward stared out into the gathering darkness, and there was a sadness in his voice as he said, “Poor boy! I wish I could be there to help him!”
Miles Standish said quietly, “No, he’s got to that place we all have to come to, Edward. Nobody can help us there—not father, mother, brother, or friend. A man can get help with most things, but when he goes to find God, he goes alone!”
The Honorable Imposter (House of Winslow Book #1) Page 33
