by Jody Hedlund
She couldn’t speak.
He waited and his smile lost its shimmer.
Thomas squirmed. She hoisted him higher on her hip. What should she say?
“I won’t be offended if you say no. It’s not fair of me to expect you to do more when I have already burdened you with so much.”
“No. You haven’t burdened me. And I would willingly help you . . . I want to help you . . . But . . .” Help me, Lord. “But I don’t think you’ll desire my assistance once you’ve learned of my sin.”
His smile faded.
She took a deep breath. She had to confess now or she never would. “I stole a paper from you.”
He exhaled a low whistle. “You’ve been stealing my papers? That’s why they’re missing?”
“No. No. ’Tis nothing like that. I only stole one paper—”
“So I’m not losing my mind.” The brows dipped into a scowl. “I haven’t been misplacing the papers. You’ve been stealing them.”
“No! You’re wrong—”
“I trusted you.”
“Please, let me explain. I took only one paper. I took it because I was afraid of Mr. Foster.”
At Mr. Foster’s name, John glared at her expectantly.
“He wanted information about you—told me to spy. He beat me the first time because I didn’t have anything for him. After that I was afraid—afraid of what he would do to me the next time I failed to give him what he asked. So I took it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he asked you to spy on me?”
As if sensing the mounting tension, Thomas began to fuss. Elizabeth hefted him around and began patting his back. “At first I didn’t believe myself capable of such treachery. But then after I realized what a danger Mr. Foster truly was, I could see no other way to protect myself.”
For a long moment John didn’t speak. But the disappointment that clouded his eyes and deepened the grooves in his forehead reached across the room and shouted at her.
“You must believe me. I stole only one paper, and I never gave it to Mr. Foster. I returned it many weeks past.”
“Perhaps you returned it only to take others.”
Elizabeth crossed toward him and stopped when she stood in front of him. “I’ve no need of late to take any others. And even if I had, I surely learned my lesson with the first.”
“I thought you made the decision to work for me because you supported my work.”
“I do support you. I made the decision to stay with you because I want to help you.” She had given up married life for him. Now Catherine was living the life that could have been hers.
“How can one who supports me steal my papers and give them to my enemies?” The sadness in his eyes made her heart ache. “Perhaps they are paying you to work for me and spy on me. Is that it, Elizabeth?”
“No,” she cried out. “I would never do such a thing—”
“How can I trust anything you say now?” The hurt in his voice tore at her.
“You must believe that I don’t know where your other papers are. I’ll help you look for them—”
“No. Don’t step into my study ever again.”
“Please, John.” Desperation added to the havoc tearing at her heart. Was there nothing she could do to make him see how sorry she was? “I was wrong to take it. I know now I behaved as a coward. I would rather face trials with a clean conscience before God than avoid persecution with sin in my heart.”
He sighed and then raked his fingers through his hair.
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’ll covet it until you give it.”
He was silent for a long moment. “I want to believe you, Elizabeth, I really do. But these are dangerous times, and I have gained many enemies. Even those I once called friends have turned their backs upon me.”
Elizabeth wanted to cry out and defend herself. But somehow she knew that nothing she could say would convince him.
“I don’t know who to trust anymore,” he said. “Not even you.”
Chapter
21
We all think it’s time for you to remarry,” Gibbs said.
John’s stride faltered and he glanced at his friend sitting at the oaken table near the hearth holding one hand toward the low fire. The other arm hung useless, and the shortened sleeve revealed the blunt point of all that was left of his arm.
“So you’ve been a part of these meetings—the ones I’m not invited to?” John picked up his feet and paced faster. Tension radiated into each hard stomp of his boots.
“The elders of St. John’s only invited me to one.” Gibbs spoke quietly. Even though they were alone in the rectory of St. Peter and St. Paul, where Gibbs held vicarage, the troubled times urged them to caution.
“So you are turning against me now too?”
“None of us are turning against you, John. We are only discussing the best course of action to keep you and your family safe.”
“We are safe.” Even if the Royalists were growing more brazen over the past weeks, none of the turmoil had touched his family.
“We all know the Independents are losing power.”
John couldn’t disagree. Richard Cromwell was failing them. They had hoped once he was in authority, he would prove himself to be a strong leader like his father. But so far, he’d been a marionette in the hands of Parliament. “How many months does he have left?”
“Not many more. Perchance till spring.”
“Are there speculations of who will rule the Protectorate then?”
Gibbs shook his head. “It’s too soon to tell.”
In the many meetings John had attended and amidst the dozens of hushed conversations, no one could predict what the future would hold for the Independents. But everyone agreed that nothing would be the same as when Old Ironsides had been alive.
“I do know it won’t get any easier for you, my friend.” Gibbs straightened and rubbed his warm hand against the stub of his other arm. “Even our own Independent clergy are grumbling about giving too much freedom to unlicensed ministers.”
John had already heard the renewed surge of grumblings. “What can we do?”
“We must be prepared.”
“You know I cannot cease doing what God has called me to.” John stopped his pacing. “People are hungrier than ever before for the Gospel. Every day when I preach and teach, I see grown men fall to their knees in repentance.”
Gibbs nodded. “Your ministry is more effective than ten vicars combined.”
“Surely I cannot abandon God’s calling, even during the worst of trials.”
Gibbs reached his hand back to the low fire crackling on the hearth. He studied the flames for a moment. “You cannot cease. It’s true.”
John stalked forward again, pacing the length of the shadowed room.
“Should the Protectorate dissolve completely,” Gibbs continued, “some are making plans to leave for America.”
“I won’t flee the tide of persecution. I will suffer aright.”
“Perchance God would spare your life and have you serve Him best elsewhere.”
“If the call to preach God’s Word in America came during times of peace and prosperity, then I would not stand against it. But I could not in good conscience accept such a call during times of affliction, for fear that my desire to escape tribulations dictate my actions.”
Gibbs was silent for a moment. Then he sighed. “What you say is true. The Lord surely uses His flail of tribulation to separate the chaff from the wheat.”
“Would you leave for New England? If the Protectorate dissolves, surely you’ll come under persecution as well.”
“I wouldn’t leave, my friend. I’m old and wanting.” He touched what was left of his arm. “My place is here. My flock is here.”
“If you aren’t making plans to leave, then why would you suggest it of me? Aren’t we made of the same ingredients, you and I?”
Gibbs gave a small smile. “In our hearts, we’re brothers in the Lord. But besides th
at, our circumstances are entirely different.”
A quick rebuttal formed on John’s lips, but Gibbs silenced him by holding up his hand.
“John, you’re young. God has given you a special gift with words and with writing. Your work is just beginning.” He arose and then straightened with a wince. “I, on the other hand, have fought the good fight. I’m nearing the end. My wife is gone. My children grown. I don’t fear what mortal man may do to me, whether it be prison or even death. I’m ready to be with my Lord, should He bring me home.”
His friend’s words stirred his blood with passion. “I don’t fear what man may do to me either.”
“But what of your family, my friend?”
The gentle words stopped him.
“You have young children who would suffer for losing their father. Who would take care of them should you be arrested? Who would provide for them should you die?”
John’s first thoughts went to his brother Willie. Willie had always had a compassionate heart and would take his children as if they were his own, even if it meant he would go without to provide for them. Undoubtedly he would go without, for Willie was a poor man, barely able to feed and clothe the family he had. Adding four more would be a hardship—especially a babe and a blind child.
“If you won’t plan for yourself, you must at least plan for your children. It’s time, John. It’s time for you to marry again.”
“I don’t have the desire for it, neither do I have the time.”
“The elders are all agreed and asked me to help persuade you. If not for yourself, then for the children.”
John forced his words of refusal down. He thought of his daughter Mary’s angelic face framed by dangling golden curls, her beautiful smile, her crystal blue eyes, and her sharp, perceiving mind that saw what her eyes did not. What would happen to this precious blind child if danger befell him? The world would trample her, reduce her to nothing.
The image of her dirty, listless, and begging in the cold pierced his heart.
Gibbs watched him. “It would be best for the children to have a mother to look after them should something happen to you.”
Deep inside John knew Gibbs was right. Last spring, before Mary had died, a Royalist judge had threatened him with imprisonment. Even though his Independent friends had easily reversed the charges, the danger of his unlicensed preaching had become a reality. Mary had been large with child. Had he gone to jail, he would have hated being away from Mary and the children. And yet he would have had a small measure of comfort knowing his wife would take care of the children and home in his absence.
But what would happen now, especially when he was losing the support of some of the influential Puritans? If his enemies were to bring charges against him again, would he have any friends left to come to his aid?
“You are busy, but I think you must make time for marriage now too.” Gibbs stepped to the hearth, reached for the poker, and stirred the fuel. The flames flickered higher and cast long shadows.
“You’re rarely wrong about anything.” Even as he said the words, his body tightened with resistance. “And it’s likely you are not wrong about this either.”
Gibbs turned and gave him a smile. “Then you’ll consider finding a wife?”
John wanted to growl. Instead he began pacing again. “I suppose if the elders have asked you to speak with me, then they have finally grown serious about it.” They’d murmured about wanting him to remarry, especially when his enemies had been spreading rumors. But since his confrontation with William Foster, there had been fewer rumors. The man had denied any involvement in the attacks on Elizabeth, claimed innocence regarding the slander, and feigned insult when asked about the thatcher and his wife. Except for the dark look of sin in the man’s eyes, John would have believed the man’s smooth talk.
“Surely your congregation has many godly young maidens,” Gibbs said. “You should have no trouble finding one that’s suitable.”
John tried to think of the maidens who had vied for his attention, whose mothers had pushed them forward and tried to bring them into his favor. But he could picture only one—his housekeeper.
She was sturdy and strong. They had more provisions for the winter through her resourcefulness than they’d ever had in previous years. She was a hard worker, the kind of woman who wasted little time. Whenever he saw her, she was busy.
There had been times when he’d thought that should he have to remarry someday, he’d want to find someone like Elizabeth. Not that he wanted to marry or even planned to, but if and when he must marry, he had decided she would make a good wife. Especially because his children already loved her.
More importantly, Elizabeth didn’t expect much from him—not his time, nor his attention, nor his affection.
Such a woman would make the perfect wife for a busy man like himself.
“If only . . .” His shoulders sagged with the same disappointment that had burdened him since he’d learned of Elizabeth’s betrayal. Even though she claimed to have taken only one of his papers, he continued to lose them. If she’d stolen one, what was to prevent her from taking others?
The ache in his chest pulsed harder. If only she’d remained faithful. If only he could trust her . . .
He shook his head. He couldn’t marry a woman he didn’t trust, no matter how strong and diligent. Elizabeth Whitbread was not a wifely candidate.
If the elders and Gibbs insisted that he should remarry, then he would have to find someone else.
Too bad he couldn’t think of any other woman who’d make a finer wife.
Chapter
22
I have some delicious gossip.” Catherine smoothed a hand over her rounded stomach.
Elizabeth paused in sweeping the crumbs from the table and narrowed her eyes at the girl. “For shame, sister. I won’t listen to gossip. Saint Timothy instructs young women not to partake in idle talebearing.”
“It’s not idle.” Catherine had grown more beautiful as the months passed and her body swelled with child. Now as February came to a close, her eyes were brighter, her skin creamier, her body fuller.
A weight of envy settled in the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach. Samuel Muddle had been good to Catherine and had done everything he could to make her happy. Perhaps Catherine didn’t yet reciprocate Samuel’s love, but she had adjusted to being married to him and enjoyed his attention and flattery.
Elizabeth glanced to the hearth, where the men had gathered after finishing their late Sabbath meal. Samuel bent near the flames warming himself, along with her father and Henry. Would Samuel have been as good to her as he was to Catherine? Would she have been happy and expecting her first child?
She sighed and turned her attention to cleaning the long plank table.
Catherine leaned toward her. “I heard it only this morning at the meeting,” she said quietly.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Elizabeth retorted more sharply than she intended. “ ’Tis wrong to gossip.”
As usual Catherine paid her no attention. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned even closer to Elizabeth. “Brother Costin has been in discussion with Elder Harrington about courting one of his daughters. Lizzie, I suspect.”
Elizabeth froze. Ice crusted over her insides as though a snowstorm had blown through her suddenly and without warning.
Catherine smiled. “I knew you would be interested.”
“John—Brother Costin is courting?”
“I don’t know if he has started courting yet. But Sister Harrington told some of the matrons this morning that Brother Costin had called on them to get permission for courting.”
Elizabeth’s mouth turned dry, and she could hardly form the words of her question. “It is arranged, then?”
Catherine straightened and situated one hand on her lower back and one on her protruding belly. “To think I once wanted to be the next wife of John Costin.” She gave a small laugh. “Now I pity the woman who must marry him.”
“Pity?” Elizabeth
felt anything but pity. Shock. Despair. And perchance envy. But never pity.
“They said that any woman who marries Brother Costin will find herself soon a widow.”
“That’s not true.” Even though Richard Cromwell was becoming more and more unpopular, and it appeared his short reign as Lord Protector was doomed, Elizabeth could not believe much would change. Her father and Henry both said the Independents still held enough power in Parliament to hold the Protectorate together. They would appoint a stronger leader next.
“Either way, John Costin won’t have need of a housekeeper much longer.” Catherine’s smile turned to a smirk. “What will you do then, sister?”
Feeling the pressure of tears in her eyes, Elizabeth ducked her head.
An intense longing deep inside welled up and burned against her chest and throat. How could John think of marrying Lizzie Harrington? How could he think of marrying anyone except her?
Sudden clarity pierced her. She had been waiting for him these past months, since the day he had come to her when she was picking gooseberries—the day he had hinted he would someday want to marry her.
Had she been wrong? Hadn’t he said she would do well as a wife? Hadn’t he said if he had to marry again, he would want to find someone like her?
That was what he had said, for the words had seared her memory, and she had reviewed and savored them many times since.
Had she perhaps misunderstood him? Had she read more into his words than he’d meant? Panic sent a cold chill through her body.
But he’d shown some regard toward her when he’d crafted the candlestick for her—surely a man wouldn’t make so fine a gift for just any woman.
She swiped the last crumbs from the table and let them fall to the floor.
Catherine must be wrong. John could not be getting ready to court someone else.
Her sister said no more about it as they gathered for family worship. No one mentioned it as they reviewed the sermon and as Father taught them from Scripture. As much as she wanted to discover the truth, Elizabeth dared not ask about the rumor, for then she would be as guilty as Catherine of gossiping.
