The Preacher's Bride

by Jody Hedlund

  Already at the door of the shed, the girl smiled and then stepped inside.

  The tapping of Brother Costin’s anvil stopped.

  Elizabeth watched the doorway for a moment. Should she follow Betsy and make sure he knew none of this was her idea?

  Thomas’s wails drew her attention back to Mary. The girl rocked and bounced him and sang to him, but his cries only escalated.

  “I shall make him pap,” she called to Mary.

  “He’s ready.” The girl stared in her direction, her forehead creased with anxiety.

  Elizabeth stepped through the rosemary and sage.

  “Johnny, you shall have milk and bread too.” When she reached him, she smoothed a wind-tossed lock of his hair. “You were a good boy to patiently wait for me. Did you like Mary’s stories?”

  Smiling, he nodded. “Giant. Killed.”

  Elizabeth planted a kiss on his head.

  Once inside the cottage, Elizabeth prepared the pap while Mary jiggled the crying babe. She mashed the bread with the back of the spoon and pressed it into warm water and milk—the milk and bread she had brought from her father’s house.

  “Mary, with little mouths to feed, I must question why your father doesn’t have a cow.”

  At first Mary didn’t reply.

  Elizabeth paused and lifted her gaze. Had the girl failed to hear her above Thomas’s wail?

  Mary’s chin dipped low. “We did have a cow,” she finally said. “But it got loose and wandered off. Mother was too weak to look far. When Father returned and learned it was gone, he was too late. He found the cow dead almost to Newnham, her carcass about cleaned out.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. A laborer like Brother Costin wouldn’t earn enough wages to easily replace a cow.

  “ ’Twas a difficult time after Thomas’s birth.” Guilt crept into Mary’s voice. “Mother couldn’t milk the cow anymore. And Father sometimes forgot. I tried to help. . . .” The girl’s face constricted.

  The door of the cottage banged against the wall.

  Elizabeth’s hands jerked and splashed pap onto the table.

  Brother Costin stood with feet straddled and arms crossed. “Methinks you have too much ambition, using my own daughter to arrange a marriage. It’s appalling when my wife’s been gone less than a fortnight.”

  “Here we go,” she murmured, whisking the pap as if her life depended on it. Apparently, he had not taken favor to Betsy’s plan.

  “You’ve quite the nerve forcing yourself into my household day after day under the pretense of housekeeper, when all along you’ve been biding your time until you can weasel your way into marriage.”

  Elizabeth slopped half of the pap into another pewter bowl and pushed it in front of Johnny. “ ’Tis not the case.”

  Betsy peeked around one of her father’s legs and her lips quivered. Elizabeth narrowed a frown at the girl.

  “And to encourage my daughter nonetheless.”

  “ ’Twas Betsy’s idea entirely.” She lifted Thomas out of Mary’s arms. “I had nothing to do with it. I tried my best to discourage her.”

  “Methinks a four-year-old cannot know so much about arranging marriages unless someone has instructed her.”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks grew hot. She had said too much to Betsy.

  She tucked a rag underneath Thomas’s chin and sat on the bench next to Johnny. She positioned the baby in the crook of her arm and spooned pap into his mouth. His tongue pushed it out, and she rushed to scrape it off his chin before losing a drop of the precious mixture.

  “Well, what do you have to say?”

  What should she say? How could she defend herself when she sounded guilty even to herself. “I did instruct her,” she finally said. “But only to try to help her understand that ’tis a complicated matter in choosing a mate.”

  “Say what you want, but I’ve heard the whispers and seen the looks. The maidens and their mothers are planning who shall become my next wife. You thought to be the winner—you wanted to get to me first and hook yourself a husband.”

  “That’s not true.” It was not true that she wanted to hook him. But ’twas certain the young women of the parish were speculating about him. Her own sister Catherine had been amongst the gossipers.

  “You may deny it. But it’s obvious. It’s entirely obvious you want to marry me.” He uncrossed his arms and began walking toward her.

  Was he growing just a bit presumptuous? Did she hear arrogance in his tone? Elizabeth tried not to squirm when he stopped in front of her.

  “Why else would you come here and work without pay unless you wanted to entrap me?”

  “Entrap you?” She suspended the spoon of pap in midair and looked up at Brother Costin towering over her.

  His eyes sparked.

  If she’d been a weaker woman, she may have cowered. But she didn’t consider herself of frail caliber, and the sparks that flew from his eyes ignited her own ire. “Brother Costin, you’re puffed up with yourself to imagine that any and every maiden would entrap you into marriage.”

  His eyes widened and he hesitated. “It’s not inconceivable—”

  “ ’Tis quite inconceivable from me. Believe it or not, I’m interested in serving God and doing the work He sets before me rather than fawning over a man puffed up with himself.”

  Again he paused, as if unprepared for the frankness of her words. “Nevertheless,” he fumbled. “I must ask that this be your last day of service as housekeeper.”

  Betsy, who had wheedled her way into the room, burst into tears.

  Elizabeth rose from the bench, ignoring Thomas’s angry cries at having his meal disrupted. She straightened her shoulders and faced Brother Costin. “Let me clarify this misunderstanding—once and for all. I have no intention of marrying you. None at all. Not now. Nor ever.”

  “And I have no intention of marrying you either—”

  “I’m courting another man, and I’m planning to marry him.”

  He opened his mouth but then drew in a deep breath. “You’re already getting married?”

  “We are not betrothed yet. But I’ve given the man my promise to marry him by autumn.”

  Brother Costin studied her face.

  “She’s telling the truth,” Mary spoke quietly. “I overheard her conversation with Betsy.”

  Betsy hung her head, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “She didn’t want me to go to you. I did it because I miss my Momma and thought maybe I could have a new one.”

  Brother Costin let out a low whistle. Then he crammed his fingers into his hair, tilted his head back, and glared at the ceiling.

  Finally, with lines etched across his forehead and eyes overflowing with sadness, he crossed to the door and left without a glance back.

  Chapter

  6

  Who will come on the morrow to help?” Betsy picked up a stick of gorse and added it to the basket Elizabeth had made with her apron.

  “I’m sure your father will locate a very capable person.” Elizabeth forced cheerfulness to her voice.

  The girl had asked the question at least a dozen times since Brother Costin left. And each time Elizabeth had tried to reassure her, even though she struggled with the same concern.

  Elizabeth had wanted to stay angry at Brother Costin for his unfair accusations. But now only heaviness weighed upon her heart—and guilt. She’d let her tongue get the better of her once again.

  She glanced to the gray clouds that hung low in the sky. She’d spent the afternoon trying to understand why she longed to stay when Brother Costin didn’t want her there—had, in fact, never agreed to a housekeeper.

  She believed God had called her to help the Costins. If He was ending her service there, then shouldn’t she accept His will? Wouldn’t He have something else for her?

  Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with the damp scent of rain. She tried to push aside the thought that maybe God wouldn’t have anything else for her, that maybe it was time to marry Samuel.


  Johnny plodded beside her on one side and Betsy on the other.

  Her apron overflowed with gorse. The Costin cottage, situated on the edge of Bedford, bordered the meadows that stretched toward Newnham and gave them a steady supply of fuel.

  “Buf-fly.” Johnny pointed to a fluttering among a cluster of thistles.

  Elizabeth followed the direction of his finger. A flicker of orange-pink danced in and out of the ironweed and thistles. “ ’Tis a painted lady.”

  She tiptoed closer.

  The children imitated her.

  “See the four small black spots on the bottom wings that look like eyes?”

  “Why do they need four eyes?” Betsy walked closer.

  “They’re false eyes—a wonderful design God gave this butterfly to protect it. Birds and other attackers are fooled by the false eyes and scared away. Therewith the butterfly is safe.”

  Johnny pounced at one of the painted ladies, but it fluttered away, easily escaping the boy’s chubby fingers.

  “God also gave them speed and agility to protect them from young children who want to catch them.” She smiled at Johnny’s attempt to chase the butterfly, thinking back to the days before her mother had died, when she’d done the same thing.

  A splotch of rain fell against her nose, then another against her coif. “Time to turn back home, children. We’d best hurry before we get a soaking.”

  The children began to run through the field ahead of her toward the cottage. Their squeals drifted through the increasing gusts of wind. She followed and watched their abandon, seeing in them the little girl she’d once been.

  As much as she admired butterflies, she had not turned into one. She’d grown up to be a moth—plain and unadorned, practical and useful, but certainly not eye-catching or graceful.

  If she’d been more pleasing to behold, would Brother Costin have relinquished her so easily?

  By the time she reached the cottage, the splatters of rain had changed to a steady sprinkling. She ducked into the dark gloom of the interior, where the high shuttered window begrudged little light.

  “Good day.”

  Elizabeth halted. Unease slithered through her.

  Her gaze scanned the shadows and landed upon a tall man standing in front of the hearth. He caressed the edge of his hat, and when he stepped into the low glow of the fire, one glance told her that he was not one of their kind. Everything about his attire spoke of a lavishness foreign to a Puritan—from his pointed doublet finished with a narrow sash to his loose breeches tied with ribbons.

  “I’m here to meet with John Costin,” he said. “The blind child insists he is not hereabout. But I was told he would be home today.”

  Mary stood against the wall holding the sleeping Thomas, her head cocked as if she was using her perceptive sixth sense to take in all that she couldn’t see. Johnny stood on one side of Mary and Betsy on the other, each clutching the girl’s petticoat, their eyes wide.

  “She’s correct.” Elizabeth stepped further into the cottage. “Brother Costin is presently away on business.”

  “Business?” His voice had a hint of sarcasm. “What kind of business did he say he was about today?”

  Her unease pattered harder, keeping tempo with the beat of the rain on the dirt street outside the door. She narrowed her gaze on him. He looked familiar, a Bedford resident, most likely a Royalist who had weathered Oliver Cromwell’s sequestrations enough to live comfortably.

  Even though most citizens of their small town had complied with Cromwell’s Puritan laws, there were many staunch Royalists who had remained loyal to the exiled king and his church.

  What kind of dealings would such a man have with Brother Costin?

  As if sensing her discomfort, he sauntered toward her. In his narrow face, his eyes were too big, too brazen. His gaze roved over her, taking her in from head to toe.

  “Has Costin taken himself a mistress? Or has he more than one wife?”

  Heat flamed into Elizabeth’s cheeks. “Neither. I’m the housekeeper.”

  “The housekeeper? Oh, I beg your pardon.” He stared at her bosom. “It would be devastating if someone overheard me. Indeed, it would be quite a detriment to Costin’s reputation.” He lifted his gaze and met hers. “Would it not?”

  His eyes glinted like the blade of a knife.

  “I don’t understand.” She was tempted to take a step backward, but she didn’t want him to know he was beginning to frighten her.

  “I think you understand. Call it what you will. Housekeeper. Maidservant. But we all know it’s more than that. It would hurt Costin for word of this to get out. It would hurt your reputation too. Don’t you agree?”

  “Perhaps. Were it true.” The heat in her cheeks seeped into her blood and spread to the rest of her body. “But ’tis not true. Not in the least.”

  “Ah, but how do we know that?”

  “On my word.”

  His lips turned up into a cold smile. “Do you really think people are going to believe your word? You, a mere maiden?”

  She swallowed a knot of panic. “I can assure you, I’m nothing more than housekeeper to Brother Costin.”

  He gave a short laugh. The glint in his eyes grew sharper. “Fortunately, I can help.”

  “How can you help?”

  “I can help ensure no one knows about your indiscreet relations with Costin.”

  “You can’t help me with it because no such relations exists.”

  “Let me make myself clear.” His tone took on an edge. “If you help me, I’ll make sure no rumors are started. If you don’t help me, then I cannot guarantee anything. So you see, you help me, and I help you.”

  Anger started to mingle with her fear—anger that she was helpless to stop this man from saying whatever he wanted and ruining both her and Brother Costin’s good names.

  “Exactly how am I to help you?”

  He glanced at the children. Her gaze followed. Their eyes glistened with fear.

  He leaned close to her. “I want information. Watch Costin. Report what he’s doing, where he’s going, what he’s writing.”

  His foul breath fanned over her face, and she took an involuntary step back. Was his soul as rancid as his breath? For surely only someone with a rotting black heart could manipulate this way.

  She wouldn’t tell him his manipulation was useless, that after today she wouldn’t be around to do what he was asking. “Brother Costin is a good man,” she whispered, darting a glance at the children. “Why would you want information about him?”

  The man’s features hardened. “John Costin is a blight on the security of true religion.”

  Elizabeth knew by true religion the man was referring to the Anglican Church and its ritualistic ceremonies that had dominated England for over a century.

  Elizabeth shook her head. Puritan preachers like Brother Costin were hardly a blight. They were sharing the truth of salvation and bringing hope to those long held in bondage to empty traditions.

  “John Costin presumes too much.” The man’s tone was condescending. “He is an unlearned, simple, poor tinker with no training or calling, and therewith he is taking liberties with the holy Word of God.”

  “Liberties?” Her head told her she would be safer to agree, but her heart demanded that she defend Brother Costin. “I’ve heard Brother Costin preach many times and can’t think of anything he’s ever said that contradicted the Bible.”

  “Only a man with an education in the Scriptures and with the years of required and proper training ought to preach and teach.” His voice rang with conviction. “Anyone else who does so endangers the soul of Christianity, interpreting and twisting Scripture until it no longer resembles the truth.”

  “Brother Costin might not be educated, but he knows the Bible as well as any ordained preacher.”

  “Are you educated?”

  Like most girls, she could neither read nor write, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think or reason. “My father has taught us from
the Scriptures every day and has helped us to memorize—”

  “You’re a stupid wench. You know even less than Costin.”

  Words of rebuttal sprang to life, but the anger in his eyes stopped her. The war had been over for many years, but the tension between the Royalists and the Independents had only increased. And now, apparently Royalists in Bedfordshire were growing to dislike the increasingly popular John Costin.

  “You must do what I’ve asked. That’s all.” His gaze slid over her again, leaving an ugly trail. “And if you help me, then you can rest assured, I’ll keep your secret.”

  Protest rose within her, but before she could speak to defend herself, he grazed her upper arm with the back of his fingers. The shock of the touch cut the words off her tongue. She jerked away from him. Her eyes clashed with his, and the carnality within them sent alarm racing through her.

  “Perhaps when you’re finished as Costin’s housekeeper, I’ll make you mine.” He grabbed her wrist and rubbed it with his thumb in a circular pattern.

  Repulsion swelled through her stomach, and she stumbled backward. The linen of her apron slipped from her fingers, and the heavy load of gorse clattered to the floor onto the man’s feet.

  He cursed then kicked at the twigs.

  Elizabeth pushed the sticks around with her foot. She was innocent in the ways of men and ways of the world, but she sensed enough to know this man could easily let his lusts take control of him, making him the kind of man with whom she would never want to be alone.

  “I’ll be back.” He slammed his hat onto his head and adjusted it so that the long plume slanted outward. “When I come, you must have the information I’ve requested.”

  Chapter

  7

  Eventide was the worst part of the day.

  John hesitated in front of the cottage door. Rain dripped from the brim of his soggy hat into his soaked cloak. He was chilled through to his skin and had been since he’d started home from south of Harrowden.

  He’d always loved returning home after a busy day. Mary’s gentle eyes would light up, and she’d slip her slender arms around his waist and bury her face against his chest.