by Jody Hedlund
“She’s a fine one,” he spoke softly. “One of Colonel Okey’s Ayrshires.”
“She looks fine.”
“I’ve put in a week of repairs at Ridgmont in Ampthill for the Okeys, and I owe him another two. But he said I could take her today.” His gaze came back to hers and searched for her approval.
“ ’Twill be good for the children to besure.” She couldn’t help thinking of Thomas and how it would be of no use to him now.
Mary stirred. “Father?”
“I’m here, Mary.” He reached down and cupped the top of her head.
“Father, how could you?” Anguish radiated from each word.
“It’s only a cow, Mary.”
Betsy and Johnny opened their eyes and scrambled to sit up.
“A cow?” Johnny stood. At the prospect of seeing a cow, his two-year-old mind could easily forget the tragedy of losing his brother. “Cow? Where cow?”
“Over there.” Brother Costin turned the boy’s face in the direction of the animal. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
“No!” Mary pushed off the ground and stamped her foot. “I don’t care about a cow!”
Brother Costin’s forehead scrunched into a mass of lines. “What is it then, Mary?”
“How could you, Father?”
“How could I what?”
Mary’s breath caught on a sob.
Brother Costin dropped to one knee in front of the girl, dwarfing her with his body.
“You let them take Thomas!” Her sobs rushed out in heaving gulps.
His brow furrowed deeper, and he turned questioning eyes to Elizabeth.
“Sister Spencer and Sister Norton came this afternoon.” Elizabeth tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. “They took Thomas away to Sister Bird for wet-nursing.”
“Mm-hmm.” He folded his arms, and his eyes pierced into Elizabeth as if he were reading something written in the depths of her soul.
“ ’Twas so sudden, so unexpected. We weren’t ready for this.”
“Why?” Mary demanded through her sobs. “Why did we have to lose Thomas?”
Brother Costin lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “Mrs. Grew said Sister Bird was available to wet-nurse the baby. I gave my consent to it.”
“You gave your consent?” The pitch of Mary’s voice rose with every word. “How could you?”
Brother Costin jabbed his fingers through his tousled hair.
“How could you give him away so easily? Don’t you love him?”
“It has naught to do with love. It’s the reality of living in a sinful world—death comes to us all. And for some it comes sooner—especially babies.”
“You think Thomas is going to die?”
“Methinks there is little chance for a baby without its mother. I haven’t known many to survive.”
“But he’s lived thus far. Sister Whitbread and I have been helping him. We’ve worked ceaselessly to care for him. Why can’t we continue?”
“It’s best for you not to become too attached. His loss will be easier to bear that way.”
“I’m already attached. I love him.”
“All the more reason for him to be gone.”
Elizabeth watched Brother Costin’s face, the tautness of his jaw, the muscles straining in his cheeks. Suddenly she understood: he did not want to grow attached to the infant and chance losing another whom he loved. If he sent the baby away, then he wouldn’t love it only to lose it as he had his wife.
Brother Costin reached for Mary, but she jerked away from his touch. “It’s altogether best for the baby to go to a wet nurse. He has a better chance of surviving there than here.”
“But he already has a wet nurse. If you let us have Thomas back, Lucy said she’ll try to come more oft.”
Lucy had come shortly after the Sisters had taken Thomas. Elizabeth had been trying to comfort the children, and in the midst of the chaos, she’d had to explain to Lucy what had transpired. And Lucy had insisted she would come back, she would do better, she would come more often. She couldn’t understand Elizabeth had no say in the matter. She’d finally left, pleading to let her have another chance at wet-nursing the babe, anxious for the small amount of money it had paid.
Brother Costin shook his head and pushed himself up until he was standing under the branches. “The decision is already made, Mary. As hard as it will be, you must accept it.”
He backed out from the tree until he was standing at his full height.
The hard set to his shoulders made it clear he wouldn’t change his mind—not even for his favored blind daughter.
An ache of disappointment lodged inside of Elizabeth. Only then did she realize how much she’d hoped he would sympathize with Mary and bring the babe back to them—even though she knew having a full-time wet nurse was in his best interest.
“We must go on now, Mary. And pray that the Lord’s will be done.” His words were a command, not a request.
Mary stood rigidly and said nothing.
He blew out a frustrated breath then turned and strode away.
“I already know the Lord’s will,” she murmured. “And I intend to see it done.”
Chapter
9
Elizabeth heard Thomas crying.
She scrunched her eyes and chanted the metrical psalm with the rest of the congregation.
Even through the singsong voices, Thomas’s high-pitched, hungry wail reverberated in her head as if he were in the church instead of outside in the rectory garden with one of Sister Bird’s young daughters.
She longed to stomp out of the building into the garden and take him away from the girl.
The staleness of the air swarmed around her, and the hard back of the pew pushed against her body, urging her to go. She hadn’t found any of her usual joy in the simple Puritan worship service that morn. Instead, the prayers and Vicar Burton’s long sermon had wound her nerves tight until her entire body had become a board about to snap.
If only she hadn’t heard Thomas crying when the Birds had walked up the path leading to St. John’s. If only Sister Bird had lovingly taken the babe to the garden herself instead of wearily hefting him into the arms of a girl hardly big enough to hold him.
Catherine’s arm brushed against Elizabeth’s, and she flinched. She cracked open one eye and peeked at her sister.
With eyes closed and head bent, the girl was pinching her cheeks.
Elizabeth watched rosy pink spring to life in Catherine’s cheeks. Her mind scrambled to understand why her sister was intent upon abusing herself. Then a sudden burst of dismay and irritation raced through her.
She poked her elbow into her sister’s side.
Catherine’s eyes flew open, and a soft protest slipped from her lips.
Elizabeth narrowed her brow and shook her head.
Catherine smiled and gave her cheeks a last pinch before darting a glance across the aisle to the men’s side.
Elizabeth couldn’t keep her gaze from following and landing directly on the bent head of Brother Costin. The terseness of his wide shoulders and the clasp of his folded hands declared the fervor with which he worshiped.
Certainly a zealous preacher like Brother Costin should have his own congregation by now. But week after week he sat under the teaching of Vicar Burton, carrying out his own preaching at odd hours and in various places throughout the countryside.
Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to Samuel, further behind Brother Costin. With his eyes closed and his lips moving in chant, his face held all the reverence of a godly man. He was a good man, but why did his presence not command her attention the same as Brother Costin’s?
She couldn’t help but look again at Brother Costin, to his large hands folded in front of him. Her stomach tumbled in a warm circle at the remembrance of the way his eyes sparked with anger one minute but crinkled in mirth the next.
Catherine’s elbow dug into her arm.
Elizabeth jerked her head away from the men and slid a glance at Catherine. Th
e girl shook her head and frowned, mimicking the rebuke Elizabeth had just given her, only her eyes held a mocking gleam.
Heat rushed to Elizabeth’s cheeks. She closed her eyes and tried to force her mind back to the words of the psalm. She certainly wouldn’t have looked at the men if Catherine hadn’t tempted her. She never made a practice of gazing at the men like many of the young women did.
What had led her to such vanity? She squeezed her eyes tighter and chanted louder. The Sabbath was supposed to be a day sanctified for the worship of God, a day entirely set apart to the hearing of God’s Word, to praying and meditating. It was not a day for idle activities or for wayward thoughts.
She’d heard others grumble about the Sabbatarian laws, that they’d grown too strict during the years of the Protectorate, that now, after a long week of work, they had no time for amusements. But since Elizabeth had been an infant when King Charles I had surrendered his throne to Cromwell, she could remember no other way of keeping the Sabbath than giving it wholly to the Lord.
Usually she relished the special worship focus of the Sabbath and had no trouble keeping her mind from straying to worldly matters.
Her thoughts flashed to Brother Costin’s bent head, and just as quickly she gave herself a mental shake. She was having trouble staying focused this Sabbath because she was worried about Thomas.
Once again she strained forward to listen. She was certain she could hear his cries outside; the wails resonated through her head and ripped her heart. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Sister Norton and Sister Spencer had taken him away, but it felt more like twenty-four weeks.
As soon as Vicar Burton recited the Apostolic Blessing and dismissed them, she sprang to her feet. Relief swirled through the driving need to find Thomas and make certain the crying had only been an illusion of her anxious imagination.
“Don’t leave too soon.” Catherine grabbed her arm. “Someone is on his way over here.”
Elizabeth’s heart gave a loud thump with unexpected hopefulness, and she followed Catherine’s gaze.
“Oh,” she muttered. Samuel Muddle lumbered with a jolting side step along the length of his pew, his eager eyes fixed upon her. What had she expected? That Brother Costin would seek her out? She flushed at her own foolishness. Why would such an important man ever give her a passing glance?
“Catherine, I need you to detain Samuel for a moment.”
The girl’s eyebrows arched high and revealed a surprised glimmer.
“I don’t have the time to make small talk with him.” Elizabeth edged backward down the pew.
Catherine glanced at Samuel working his way out of the narrow pew, his wide stomach making his steps cumbersome. “I can’t remember when you’ve ever had time for the man.”
“I have plenty of time. Just not today. Not now.” She narrowed her gaze on the back of Sister Bird still sitting in her pew with the matrons in their place of honor close to the communion table.
Why wasn’t she rising to leave? Didn’t she have even the tiniest sense of urgency to check on the babe placed in her care?
“I think you should take at least a moment to speak with Samuel.” The genuineness of Catherine’s tone was lost in a smirk. “You certainly can’t afford to spurn the attention of the first man who’s ever shown you interest.”
“I’m not spurning him.” She backed to the end of the pew and slipped into the aisle. “I just have something more important to do.”
“I’m sure you’re off to save the world, as usual.” Catherine’s sarcasm trailed after her.
Elizabeth shook off the girl’s words and the niggling of unease they stirred within her. Instead, she wound her way through the congested aisle toward the door.
As she stepped outside, dismal low-lying clouds greeted her and touched the gray stone tower of the church. Heavy moisture filled the air, and a light mist had begun to fall. She took a deep breath of the coolness that had blown in and replaced the late June heat.
She hoped Sister Bird had swaddled Thomas warmly.
Elizabeth peered past the towering canopy of branches to the rectory garden. There the Bird girl swung from a low branch of a mulberry tree, kicking her legs back and forth in merry abandon. Elizabeth couldn’t see Thomas, but his faint, unceasing cries beckoned to her.
All the worrying over the past hours and the heartache of losing him pooled in her chest and rose in a tight, aching cry that begged for release. She took a step forward.
“I say, where do you think you are going?” Mrs. Grew’s voice and a tight grip on her shoulder stopped her.
Elizabeth swallowed the ache in her throat and turned. “Good Sabbath, Mrs. Grew.”
The woman stood tall and straight. Her ruffled white collar rose out of her bodice and touched her chin in a fashionable style. The rich chestnut color and fine linen of Mrs. Grew’s meeting gown spoke of wealth and prestige. In comparison, Elizabeth’s best meeting clothes, remade from Jane’s, were dingy and faded.
“I asked where you are going.” The woman’s disdainful expression clearly communicated that she had not forgotten Elizabeth’s defiance when she’d brought Lucy to wet-nurse Thomas.
Elizabeth hesitated. Her mind scurried for excuses but finally landed on the truth. “I was on my way to check on the Costin babe. He’s crying—”
“Stay away from him.”
Her mind warned her to acquiesce to someone of Mrs. Grew’s status. But Thomas’s cries called to her as if he were her own baby, her very own flesh and blood.
“He needs attention.” Surely the woman couldn’t fault her for wanting to help. “He’s cried for overlong now and should have attention.”
“He is no longer your concern.”
“I shall make him my concern if no one else does.”
“You no longer have any say in matters regarding that baby—not that you should have had any say in the first place. His care is now in more capable hands and will stay that way.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Grew. But it doesn’t appear he’s in anyone’s hands at present.” Elizabeth took a deep breath to calm herself and to keep from saying anything she might regret. “I merely wish to comfort him until Sister Bird is available.”
“You shall do no such thing. It is precisely your meddling and coddling him that has made him so whiny and difficult. You have indulged him these past weeks. And only the good Lord knows what corruption the baby has suffered at the hands of that beggar you pulled from the ditches. It will take much time to undo what you have done.”
“The source of his fussiness has chiefly to do with his lack of nourishment. Loving and nurturing him have only served to sustain him—especially during the times of insufficient feedings.”
Mrs. Grew took a step closer to Elizabeth, her chin high and her eyes cold. “You have asserted yourself far above your status as a poor, unmarried girl.”
Elizabeth wanted to cower, but she squared her shoulders, determined to help Thomas even if she made an enemy of this woman.
“Your work with the baby is terminated.” Mrs. Grew lowered her voice. “If I had my way, you would be done with the Costins altogether. But as it is, you are finished with the baby. Do not go near him again. Do I make myself clear?”
Silence stood between them. Thomas’s cries echoed through Elizabeth’s head.
“I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Grew. I don’t wish to disobey your command. But I can’t do what you ask. My conscience before God will not allow me to stand idly by.”
At that moment Elizabeth caught a glimpse of Mary. Somehow the girl had made her way from the church to the garden and was stumbling through the arch of branches. Her fingers guided her along the wall until she disappeared around the corner.
She didn’t doubt Mary was just as desperate to get to the babe as she was, perhaps more so.
“Excuse me. I must see to Mary—”
Just then Sister Bird stepped past them. She bowed her head in deference to Mrs. Grew.
Elizabeth caught
a glimpse of the dark circles under the woman’s eyes. Was Thomas the source of the fatigue, or was the woman still grieving the loss of her babe?
Mrs. Grew nodded her head impatiently, and the woman hurried past, keeping her eyes focused on the ground.
Sister Bird crossed the churchyard with choppy steps and snapped at the girl swinging from the mulberry tree. The girl dropped to the ground and disappeared with Sister Bird into the garden. It was only a moment later the crying ceased.
Elizabeth released the pent-up breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from him.” Mrs. Grew’s hard tone had an unspoken threat to it.
“God shall guide my conscience, Mrs. Grew. Rest assured, I shall do no less than He asks of me.”
* * *
John halted in front of the small cottage his brother rented. Surrounded by long grass and weeds, it stood at the entrance to Elstow on the main road south of Bedford. John had lived in the cottage with Mary before they moved to Bedford. The sight of the timber and pebble building with its gabled roof and tiny dormer windows surrounded by thatch stirred painful longings in his heart.
Why did reminders of Mary chase him everywhere he went?
The mist had slowly but thoroughly soaked John during the long hike back from Stevington, where he had preached that afternoon. Thankfully the drizzle hadn’t dampened the number of people who’d come out to hear him. God was moving powerfully through his words, bringing men and women to repentance, and nothing—not the weather nor his critics—could stop the hand of God.
Without knocking, John pushed his way into his brother’s cottage. He stepped down into a low dark room, its large fire the only source of light in the dismal late afternoon. He took off his hat and wiped his eyes. The tangy scent of bean soup set his stomach to rumbling, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since dawn.
“Father!” Betsy and Johnny scurried across the dirt floor toward him. For an instant he thought they would fling themselves upon him with hugs. Instead, when they reached him, they stopped short and peered beyond him out the door.
“Children.” He patted each of their heads, dripping on them and onto the straw that covered the dirt floor.
