“It must grieve God’s heart to see you so despondent.”
“Why should He care who it is that I marry?” And why should the captain? He would leave as soon as he was able. With regrets, perhaps, and with my own as well, but in the end he would leave just the same. And it made something inside of me ache to know it.
“I wager He cares about you more than you think.”
“ ’Tis vanity to think such things.”
“I would bet my life upon it.”
“You wager your life on this or that. Is it worth so very little?”
“I do not plan on keeping it forever. I might as well enjoy it while I still have it.”
“And it is for such as you that our Lord was sent to die!” I was quite certain that God had not intended His son’s death to cover over a multitude of sins such as his.
“Exactly. His son. For such as me . . . and such as you.”
“For mankind.”
“Have you such a low opinion of yourself?”
“Have you such a high one?”
He laughed. “It seems we are of differing minds about it. But I wonder . . . which of us is right?”
“I am.”
“Ah. And now who is arrogant?”
Why did the captain keep pursuing me? Why could he not just go? Far away from me? “You must be one such as our Lord spoke of in the Scriptures.”
“Aye?” He narrowed his gaze as if he suspected some trap. “I have no doubt that I am but . . . what is it that you think He said of me?”
“ ‘That seeing they may see, and not perceive; and hearing they may hear, and not understand; lest at any time they should be converted, and their sins should be forgiven them.’ ”
“You make it sound as if He did not favor me.”
I shrugged. “They are not my words. They are His. I merely repeat what you might find out for yourself, had you the ability to read them.” I ducked my head in shame ere I had finished speaking. Had I truly said those words? My soul was darker than I had known. I turned from the pigs and started back for the house, but his hand on my arm stopped me.
“Bang on a drum that is already quite slack. I can read. But it takes time. And how am I to be about it when I stand watch all day for savages?”
I hardened my heart against the pity that worked up inside me.With him it was always one thing or another. “One day you will stand naked before your creator, and what will you say to Him? What excuse will you use then?”
“Naked, you say?”
“As the day you were born. With nothing to hide behind but shame.”
“That sounds terribly humiliating.”
“Indeed!”
“Perhaps, then, I ought to practice.”
Finally, he was becoming reasonable . . . at the very point he meant to leave me. Us. To leave us.
He set his musket down beside him. Took his hat from his head and held it out to me. “If you would be so kind?”
I took it from him.
“I thank you.” He unfastened his doublet, drew his arms from its sleeves. “Can you . . . ?”
I took it from him.
He worked to loose the strings that tied his shirt together and then pulled the tails of it from his breeches and pulled it over his head.
He was disrobing. In front of me! “You cannot mean to—you cannot just—have you no shame!” I flung his hat and doublet back at him, turned, and hastily left the way I had come.
His laughter reverberated from the wood behind us, and it followed me all the way to the house. But ’twas not his laughter that bothered me. ’Twas my own reaction to the sight of his naked flesh.John’s nakedness had caused me to turn away, but the captain’s had . . . entranced me.
23
“SUSANNAH, YOU ARE TO go with your father to Newham. To fulfill my list of things we lack and to buy the items necessary to complete your dowry.”
Mary looked up at Mother’s words, envy evident in her eyes.
“What sort of items?”
“You’ll need some fine lawn for a new collar and lace to trim it. A length of black stuff to be made into a gown.”
“Black?” I’d never worn a black gown. Never thought I would be grand enough to own one.
“Aye. What’s good for Mistress Wright is sure to be good for her daughter-to-be. You must ask for the best to be certain the dye is fast.”
I nodded.
“And you’ll need some silk for stitching and sewing. And another board cloth.”
“But they must have them in abundance already.”
“If you are to marry a fine man, you must take to his household items of value.”
“But—”
“ ’Tis decided, Susannah. We must not be shamed.”
And so, several days later, I walked beside the oxcart with Father to Newham’s fair, the cart packed carefully with the fine work Father was known for. Walking with us were others intent upon attending that same fair. Thomas Smyth led an oxcart heavily laden with his wares. Goodman Ellys led a cart bearing the surplus from his harvests, and Goodman Hillbrook had loaded his with dairy goods.
Newham was a bit over four miles to the east along the road to Boston, and a good two hours walk. I would have given anything to ride, but the oxcart was filled with wares too valuable to be displaced for reason of my comfort. Having risen in darkness, none of us were up for talking much. And due to the threat of savages, attention was devoted to the wood that brushed up into the path.I must say I breathed a sigh of relief as the shadowy darkness gave way to dawn’s pale light. And another sigh as the thick stands of trees surrendered to meadows and the meadows to cultivated fields.There was no cover here for Indians. ’Twas then that the men traded their muskets for portions of bread and cheese. And then that easy conversation passed between the merchants.
My father turned to look over his shoulder and slowed the walk of his oxen so that Thomas Smyth’s slower pair, last on the road, could catch up. They labored with their heavy load, tongues lolling in fatigue. “And what are you selling today, Thomas Smyth?”
I turned to hear Thomas’s response and saw his teeth flash. “Oh, I’ve a chain for every goodwife who hopes to slaughter and drain a fatted calf or stout pig this month coming. And a hook for every need. And you, Goodman Phillips?”
“A thing or two. This and that. An ordinary bench and a stool.Some small tables and a cupboard.” He put a hand to the oxen’s yoke and clucked to set it straighter on the path. He had more than those few things of course, and his benches were only ordinary in the practical sense of the term. They had legs which had been turned on a lathe to produce fanciful bulbs and knobs. And the stool had a seat that had been smoothed to a shine.
“And you, Susannah Phillips? What do you do this day?” The pleasant conversation suddenly turned wearisome with his question.
Thankfully, my father answered. “She shops to complete her dowry.”
“Felicitations, then.”
I nodded my thanks, though I could not bear to give it in words.
We came, finally, to the town green, where merchants had already begun to gather. There was a smell of meat roasting and the sizzle of fat dripping into flames. Several pigs roamed the area, rooting in the mud and straw. Behind them, a swine reeve tapped a stick, no doubt trying to herd them out of town. Several small urchins skulked about; greedy gleams lit their eyes as they surveyed the wares . . . and the gullibility of the merchants attending to them.
I closed my eyes and imagined myself once more in Boston, my feet set upon the road to Grandfather’s house. But then I sighed and opened them. No such pleasures awaited me this day. As we set up next to Thomas and Goodman Hillbrook, a woman passed by in a frivolous state of dress. Undress. She looked as if she had not seen a sad color in the short years of her life. Her gown was made from a shiny cloth that had been died as pink as a trumpet weed. Though she wore a collar in name, it was fastened far back on her neck and the line of her gown was cut so low that the tops of her breasts
could be seen . . . which showed just how little her cloak was used for covering. There were so many ribbons sewn onto her bodice she looked like a buckbean. Her great puffed sleeves made it likely that she might flutter away in the morning’s slight breeze, and they did not even cover the full length of her arms. She was wearing a hat . . . or something that looked like it, but her hair was visible to all and sundry, curling down from a topknot to caress her cheeks.
And I could not help but stare at her as she walked by.
But then I prayed for her soul. Only utter depravity would convince a woman to dress in such a manner.
After helping Father unload his wares I toured the market, Mother’s list at the forefront of my thoughts. She needed several barrels of salt for preserving meats and making brines. A goodly amount of sugar. Some diverse spices. All of these I purchased and then ordered they be brought to Father’s cart. Once I had done those tasks, then I was free to wander farther into the shops of the town to complete my dowry. I confess that I went about it with all the zeal of a man condemned to die. In the first shop I purchased some needles, sewing silk, and a sturdy pair of scissors.
Placing them into my pocket, I walked next door to the milliner’s. The new one, come from Boston. As I stepped into the shop, I saw that before me had come that young woman I had seen in the market. She of beribboned gown and uncovered hair. She was looking at ribbons as if she had decided she needed more of them.
“Have you none in a bright carnation?”
“And who else in this town dares to wear that color, save you?Were I to have some sent, you would have to promise me you would buy it all. Every last thread of it.”
“And why should I not if you had it sent in carnation? ’Tis my favorite color.”
The milliner sighed and shook her head. “Have you not one somber thought in your head?”
“Why should I? You people have quite enough of them. And why should you begrudge me this one little, tiny pleasure?” I had heard those words before, or something quite like them! Had the woman grown a foot and changed herself into a man, she might have been the captain himself.
It was quite clear the milliner did not approve of the woman, but it was just as clear that she bore her no ill will. No great animosity.In fact, she seemed rather amused by her candor.
Beside the beribboned woman, I felt quite plain. Fairly simple. Rather dull.
The shopkeeper directed her attentions to me. “You would like . . . ?”
“I should like a length of lace.”
She brought several styles up from a drawer and laid them upon the table for my view. But they were meager in both width and decoration.
“I had hoped to find something . . . more . . .”
The shopkeeper’s brows rose. She gathered the examples she had just shown me and replaced them with others.
Still, they were not what my mother had hoped for. “Have you nothing . . . greater?”
Her brows rose higher still, but she only sniffed and returned the lace to their drawers and brought out two more. “This one is worn by Selectman Miller. And this one here, by his wife.”
I might have chosen the first, but it was clear the milliner was suggesting the second.
“How much for the second?”
She gave my clothes a glance and then stated the price. “But it is not fit for a man below a . . . certain station.”
“I am to be married to a man of great station.” And if his station could give me the right to face a woman such as this with a smile upon my lips, then perhaps it would not be so very terrible a marriage.
She returned my smile and placed her scissors at the ready. “How much?”
“A man of great station?” The young woman turned round from her inspection of ribbons and looked at me with some interest.
“Aye.” I did not mean to be a spendthrift with information that was mine alone to bestow.
“Pray which man? Of which town?”
“Simeon Wright. Of Stoneybrooke.”
“Simeon. ’Tis a name that is difficult to forget.” She addressed herself to the proprietress. “Is that not the one, Mistress? The one from Boston?”
The milliner crimped her lips together and nodded.
Why would being from Boston be such a dreadful thing? “We are all of us in Stoneybrooke come from Boston.”
The young woman raised one slender eyebrow. “Are you not a brave one, then?”
“A brave one? Why must I be so?”
“To marry such a man.”
“Such a man as . . . what?”
Again they exchanged glances. And it seemed to me that the milliner shook her head, ever so slightly.
The younger woman looked straight into my eye and, birdlike, tilted her head. “I err in dispensing gossip. And truly, I know not exactly what happened or what was said . . .”
Something had happened? Something was said? “If there is something I should know, please, make haste in the telling of it. Is there some reason . . . should I not . . . ?”
The woman stared at me one moment longer, and then she made a show of adding a smile to her face. “In truth, some reason can be found not to marry most men.” But then, the smile slipped. For just an instant. “Only do you be careful. ’Tis said the men in that family are brutes. Is that not so?”
The milliner’s eyes dipped toward her table, and she shrugged.
“ ’Tis what we have heard. But that does not make it so.”
The woman returned her attentions to the ribbons, taking them to hand and stroking their shiny lengths. But just when I thought she was done with me, she spoke. “You have good taste. Selectman Miller is my husband. And I, his wife.” Then she walked to the door, drew it open, and headed out into the chill with a flounce.
I could not help staring at her as she left. When I turned back to the milliner, the woman was shaking her head. “An impudent little thing without a pious thought in her head. She was on a ship bound for Virginia that landed in Boston instead. The selectman, newly widowed, took one look at her and proposed. That instant.”
“She is not . . . a Puritan . . . ?”
The woman laughed. “One would not think it to look at her, would one? She told me she made an arrangement with the selectman. For want of throwing away perfectly good clothing, she is to wear the gowns she brought from England until they fall apart.”
“Aye?”
She looked up at me with a twinkle in her eyes. “But she comes to me, now and then, to assure that they do not. Fall apart.”
I shook my head as well, marveling at the glimpse of a woman I had mistaken for frivolous. She most likely ruled her husband as well as her home. “She is not . . . her virtues are . . .”
“She is the wife of but one husband, if ’tis that which you are asking.”
I flushed in confirmation.
“There is naught but a faithful soul beneath all of that frippery. ’Tis not her fault the ship got blown from its course.”
The ship. And it had been bound for Virginia! “And when was that?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Must have been . . . in spring. Late.”
I could see it. She was a perfect match for the only other person I had known come recently from England. The woman was the captain’s equal in fashion as well as attitude. And the both of them bound for Virginia. What sort of people were there in Virginia that lived beyond the rules the rest of us pledged to follow?
And then, in the next instant, relief buoyed me. “But if she only arrived in spring, how could she know of Simeon Wright? We have been at Stoneybrooke, all of us, for these three years past.”
The milliner looked up at me with something like pity in her eyes. “Good news is difficult to keep from traveling. And bad news, even worse.” She held out the packet of lace to me.
I exchanged coin for it.
As I let myself out the door, I thought I heard her say, “God keep you.”
It looked to have been a profitable day at market f
or all. Thomas Smyth’s oxen were light on their feet compared to that morning.And Father had sold all but his cupboard.
We walked along beneath a sky cobbled with clouds. Father passed me a loaf of bread. I broke off a piece and handed it back.
“You are ready, then. For the wedding.”
“I have a collar left to make. And a board cloth. And a gown.”
We walked on several dozen yards in silence. “And after those, all is readied.”
I nodded.
After going up one hill and down another, Father spoke again.
“I have no misgivings about the man, about Simeon Wright, beyond the way he keeps his business. Some, I suppose, are shrewder than others. Still if I . . . if there is some reason . . .”
There was no reason. Perhaps if he had asked me what I felt about the union. If he had asked me whether . . . I was happy about it. But what had happiness to do with anything? And why should I doubt my own father’s opinion? Had not God entrusted me to his care? And what sort of daughter would I be if I questioned my father’s guidance? I, who longed to be good? This then, was one way in which I could do it: Children, obey your parents in the Lord.>Was that not the first of the commandments that I had been taught?“He is . . . a selectman.”
“Aye. Aye, that he is.” Father’s face seemed to brighten at that thought. “Chosen by the freemen of the town.”
“He looks after his mother.”
“He does. The poor woman.”
“You do not . . .” How could I ask if he knew some reason, had some cause for the marriage to be cancelled? How could I question his provision for me? Give voice to the thought that he might knowingly pledge me to some man who . . . was not . . . good? I could not do it.
“Aye?”
“You do not . . . you do not know how good a father you have been.”
He looked up at me then. For just a moment. Quickly. Then he fixed his eyes once more on the path ahead of us. “Well, now . . .”
The remainder of the walk home was spent in silence.
24
WE MET UP WITH the captain that night as we walked from the road toward the house.
Love's Pursuit Page 15
