Once decided on my course, I turned my attentions to other things. Though I had meant to start the pudding to steam, my forenoon seemed taken with other tasks. And soon the door opened and Goody Hillbrook pushed through. She was laden with baskets and bundles and jars.
I left my work upon the table and moved to ease her of her burdens.
She smiled around her snaggled front teeth. “ ’Tis a taste of our dinner that I have brought you.”
A taste of her dinner? It was known throughout the town that not even her own hound cared to taste of her dinner. And, indeed, as she pulled a kettle from beneath her worn cloak, the greasy thin liquid sloshed over the edge and turned my stomach at its smell.
“Have you a kettle?”
I took her kettle from her and turned its contents into one of our own, reminding myself that it was not the food but the intention which mattered most. I forced my lips into a smile. “I thank you, Goody Hillbrook, for your food and your benevolence. I have scarce had time to think of our own meal and now you have shared yours with us.”
Her lips turned up at the corners, but the smile slid from her face as her eyes settled on the fires. “Have you put nothing by for your supper, then? At this late hour?”
I looked at the fires and realized there was no sign of what I meant to lay out for supper. But there was no reason for her to know what I had planned. And why should she? Why not let her think her good will had saved us?
“With your poor mother away, I wonder how you girls have been getting on?”
“We miss her. And ’tis not easy to manage in her stead. But between Mary and myself and the day-girl, we get on.”
Goody Hillbrook nodded. Looked around once more. And then she gathered her basket and her kettle and I showed her out the door.
After the door had shut behind her, Mary came to life. She had kept herself hidden in the parlor, where she had been tightening the ropes of the bed.
“A fine help you were!”
“And would you rather have had me laugh in her face?”
I sighed. Shook my head as I looked at the feast Goody Hillbrook had brought for us.
“What is this?” Mary had picked up something which looked like a biscuit. She put it into my hand.
I nearly dropped it, its weight unexpected in a food usually so light.
“Do you think Goodman Hillbrook truly eats her food?”
I looked from the biscuit up into her eyes and considered her question. “He is painfully thin. . . .”
Mary smiled, then began to laugh in earnest. “But do not throw it away. Perhaps Father can carve a trencher from it!”
I could not help but join her in laughter. Poorer folk often used a slab of bread as a trencher, but Mary was right. Goody Hillbrook’s could probably be carved as if it were wood.
“And what shall we do with this slop?” She eyed the kettle sitting on the table.
I bent close and soon wished that I had not! “I cannot . . .” It was difficult to think when the odor had so penetrated my nostrils.
Mary bent her head to do the same and came away from it swift.
“ ’Tisn’t fit for consumption!”
And it wasn’t. At least not by us.
We waited until after supper had been served, the supper I had intended, and then took out the kettle, carrying it between us, and gave it to the pigs as slops. They grunted, hobbled over, and bent their snouts to it. But then, instead of eating of it, they blew out great breaths of steamy air, turned their backs on it, and ran away.
We doubled over, the both of us, screaming in laughter. And the mass stayed there, unmolested, in a squat gelatinous lump.
The next day I decided to go myself to fetch the water. It felt as if I had lived an eternity within the walls of the house, and with my thoughts pushing at me from the inside, and a want of change pushing at me from the outside, I forgave myself the indulgence.
Snow had begun to fall once more and I meant to go direct from the house to the brook, but the snow-shrouded wood caught my eye. And the stillness and solitude of the place enticed me into it.
As I stood there, glorying in its perfect white sanctity, a voice disturbed the silence.
“You have kept yourself from me.”
I jumped at Simeon’s voice, as startled as if I had encountered a real savage. “I had not meant to.” For certain I had meant to, but I would not have him know it.
He had propped his shoulder against a tree as if he had been standing there for some time, watching me.
The hairs at the nape of my neck went prickly.
“With the snow this deep, no one will question if you do not return with speed. Come here and kiss me.”
I shook my head, more vigorously perhaps than I should have. “ ’Tis not seemly.”
“Seemly!” He laughed as if I had made some great jest. Then he pushed off the tree and began walking in my direction. “Come now—you do not have to pretend with me.”
“I make no pretense.”
“We are to be wed. You do not have to preserve your virtue. Not for me. Not any longer.”
I stepped away from him.
He stepped toward me.
“The way you look at me, the way you want me, haunts my dreams.” He caught me, clenched my chin in his hand and wrenched my face up toward his. His mouth descended upon mine, lips greedy, grasping.
I tried to turn my head from his, but his palm was like a vise. I pushed at him.
He captured my wrists and cuffed them within his hand.
Confined as his prisoner, he no longer needed a grasp on my face. That freed his other hand to roam my body as he willed. It deprived me of my hat and coif and seized at my hairs. Grabbed at my waist, squeezed at my breast.
I twisted to try to escape him, but with a jerk on my wrists, that movement became impossible. I gasped.
It was the wrong thing to do. He took advantage of that opening in my lips to force his own further upon me.
“Do you not think there will be time for such as that after the wedding?”
We both stilled at the sound of Daniel’s voice.
Simeon debased me with one last torturous, bruising kiss and then turned toward Daniel. “We could be married in three weeks if she would just say so.”
“Ah, but you made a promise to her father calibrated upon the return of her mother.”
Simeon threw my wrists away from him, causing me to stumble at the motion. I found my balance and moved quickly toward Daniel, wrists sheltered beneath the stuff of my cloak. Simeon’s grip had left the skin raw and burning.
Daniel stepped in front of me. Held an arm out to his side as if to shield me. “Have you no business to see to?”
Simeon’s fists clenched as if he would challenge Daniel’s authority, but he did not. He collected his hat from the ground and left without a backward glance.
Daniel shook his head and spat in the direction of Simeon’s disappearing back. And then he turned around to face me. Gently he pulled out the pins that clung to my hairs and handed them to me. Then he raked his fingers through my locks, smoothing them and pinning them into place. He found my coif, placed it on my head. Collected my hat from the ground and gave it to me. “You tremble.”
I did. When I set my hat upon my head it was with quaking hands.
“You must not place yourself alone with him.”
“Can you even think that I wish to?” I drew my cloak around me, trying to rid myself of the memory of Simeon’s hands.
“I did not mean . . . ’tis just that . . . he is not safe.”
I could not meet his eyes. “I know it.” And that knowledge terrified me.
“You must not—”
“What can I do? I am betrothed to him. He is . . . monstrous . . . and I have no recourse. I have no choice. And who would believe me? Girls throw themselves at his feet. Men gather at his call. No one knows what he is.” Why would my cloak not be drawn shut? Why could I not hide myself within it?
Daniel touche
d my arm and turned me round. Then he gathered me close.
I threw my arms about him and gave way to tears that threatened to engulf us both. “What am I to do?”
“You will not marry him.”
“What other choice do I have?”
“Marry me.”
I laughed. “At least a dozen persons would give just cause why I should not. You are a stranger, you are the king’s man, you are as good as a heathen, you—”
“Marry me.”
Words fled as his hand reached out to stroke my neck. His gentle touch was a balm to the wounds Simeon had left behind. Our breath mingled, heavy in the air, wrapping like a veil around us.
He reached out into my cloak and drew forth my hands. Turning them over, he placed kisses on my wrists over the marks that Simeon had made. His lips were so very warm, so tender in the chill, cruel air. And suddenly I wanted nothing so much as to be wrapped in his warmth. To be secured within his arms.
I reached up, took his head in my hands, and brought his lips to mine.
That kiss, his kiss, was nothing like Simeon’s. The touch of Daniel’s lips on mine only created within me a desire for more. A desire to feel more, to share more. To have more, to taste more. Instead of recoiling from him, I was driven toward him. I wanted to be held against his chest—nay, to crawl inside his chest. To burrow there, safe and protected, where no one would ever find me.
Each kiss between us birthed another and still another. They were hot, deep, impassioned kisses that spoke of the desperation shared between us.
Finally, he pulled away from me, clutched me to himself for one fierce moment and then held me back from him so he could press his forehead against mine.
“Careful, lass.”
“Daniel.” The sound of his name whispered through my thoughts, entwined itself about my heart. I reached out to him, reached up to him to bring him back to me and then we were violently wrenched apart.
I fell to the ground from the force of it and watched, astonished, as Simeon leaped at Daniel.
Daniel staggered under the impact. Attempted to fend off Simeon’s blows.
But Simeon was enraged. He punched and kicked and pounded.
And soon Daniel was knocked to the ground.
Simeon kicked at his side. Bent down to pound his fist into Daniel’s ear. Took a step back.
For one giddy moment, I thought he was done. But he crouched down and drew back his elbows in preparation for a jump.
“Cease!”
Simeon did not react to my words, but they seemed to strengthen Daniel. He rolled away from Simeon’s feet and then kicked out at them, causing Simeon to crash to the ground on his knees.
Daniel scrambled away from Simeon’s reach and then stood, panting, on unsteady feet. Reaching up a hand to his face, he wiped at a trail of blood that had trickled from his mouth. “You will have to do better than that to keep me down.”
Simeon, too, was pushing to his feet.
Daniel tensed.
But Simeon no longer wanted to fight. He spit into the snow. Wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his doublet. And then he turned his attentions to me. “ ‘Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters: With whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication—’ ”
“Shut up your mouth.” Daniel’s tone was even but deadly.
“ ‘ . . . and the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk with the wine of her fornication.’ ”
“Shut it up or I will shut it for you.”
Simeon sneered and continued on, “ ‘Her fornication—’ ”
“Shut—”
Simeon only spoke louder. “ ‘And upon her forehead was a name written . . .’ ” He paused in his speech but began walking in my direction. “ ‘Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of Harlots and Abominations of the Earth.’ ”
I shrunk from each of his accusations. They were true. All of them. Once again, my cape proved too small to cloak me. I was an abomination. I was a harlot. And I might have become a fornicator had he not torn us apart. I was all of the things that he said. And many things I did not wish to think of. Had I not recoiled from Simeon’s advances only to throw myself, in desperation, at another? I was exactly the kind of woman of which he spoke. I deserved his words, his condemnation.
I do not know what he would have done to me had Daniel not been there. His skin had purpled with rage. His eyes had gone malicious with disgust. His voice sounded odd, as if it had been consumed by that of another. And his words, though from the Holy Scriptures, had the cadence of another’s speech.
Daniel took hold of him by the shoulder and spun him from me. “Do you not—”
Simeon knocked his hand away. Stepped close to him in belligerence. “Do you not defend her. I intend to go before the meeting and tell everyone what I have seen here. And when I speak of her debaucheries and her virtue, I will also speak of yours.”
“If you even begin to mention her name, I will tell them all of your little secret. I will make known how you used the threat of savages to—”
“Silence!”
They stood there facing each other, panting.
’Twas Daniel who broke the quiet. “Be very careful what you do and what you say.”
“ ’Tis you who have need of care. Be certain of this: If you dare to touch her again, I will kill you. I will see your blood poured out upon the ground, your body eaten by worms, and then we will see who is strong. And who is dead.” Done with Daniel, he turned once more to me.
My cheeks flamed in shame.
“As required, I will have our banns published the next three Sundays in succession. The very day your mother returns is the day we will wed.”
He left us then, striding through the wood, fallen limbs snapping beneath his feet.
Daniel moved toward me. I turned from him.
“Susannah, you must go. Just as soon as you can.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Far from here.” He placed a hand on my arm.
I shrugged it off.
“Come away with me. Leave with me.”
I pretended I did not hear him.
“You will never be safe. Not while you live here.”
“And neither will you.” Fear overcame my shame. I looked up into his eyes. “Hear me: He was not lying. Or threatening or boasting. He means to do as he says.”
“He is an overgrown boy who takes cowardly pleasure in hurting others who do not have the strength to stop him. Now that he knows I see him as he is, he will not harm me.”
I was not at all certain of that. “I fear him.”
“He will not conquer me. His words mean nothing. They are hollow threats spoken by some boy playacting as a man.”
“I beg you. Please. Go. Save yourself.”
“Not unless I can save you as well.” He caressed my cheek with a gentle hand. Kissed at the place where a snowflake had fallen upon it. “Besides, how would I leave? The snows have left me no choice but to stay.”
30
THAT SABATH , AS THE minister stood, I wanted to push to my feet and stop him. I wanted to protest my betrothal, to cry out my objections. But I could not tell any what Simeon Wright had done to me. Were I to give voice to his offenses, I would not be able to live with the shame.
“I publish the banns of marriage between Simeon Robert Wright, son of Robert Wright and Arabella Howard Wright, resident of Stoneybrooke Towne, Somershire County, Massachusetts Bay Colony, aged thirty and two years, single, to Susannah Elizabeth Phillips, daughter of John Phillips and Susannah Phillips, resident of Stoneybrooke Towne, Somershire County, Massachusetts Bay Colony, aged twenty years, single. If any of you know cause of just impediment why these persons should not be joined together, ye are to declare it.”
I looked round, hoping to catch someone’s eye, hoping that someone would stand and give cause. Surely someone must know of some cause. Surely someone must speak.
31
T
HE NEXT SABATH WAS the same. “I publish the banns of marriage between Simeon Robert Wright, son of Robert Wright and Arabella Howard Wright, resident of Stoneybrooke Towne, Somershire County, Massachusetts Bay Colony, aged thirty and two years, single . . .”
I closed my eyes as I heard the words . . . and as I felt them. They pierced me, body and soul, as if driven through my flesh with a hammer.
If only he would stop speaking. If only he would fail to finish the banns.
Perhaps, perhaps . . .
“ . . . to Susannah Elizabeth Phillips, daughter of John Phillips and Susannah Phillips, resident of Stoneybrooke Towne, Somershire County, Massachusetts Bay Colony, aged twenty years, single. If any of you know cause of just impediment why these persons should not be joined together, ye are to declare it.”
Would no one give cause?
Would no one speak?
32
MY HANDS WERE FOLDED on my lap, my eyes downcast, head bowed, as the minister stood. There was no use protesting, no use pretending my marriage would not happen.
“I publish the banns of marriage between Simeon Robert Wright, son of Robert Wright and Arabella Howard Wright, resident of Stoneybrooke Towne, Somershire County, Massachusetts Bay Colony, aged thirty and two years, single, to Susannah Elizabeth Phillips, daughter of John Phillips and Susannah Phillips, resident of Stoneybrooke Towne, Somershire County, Massachusetts Bay Colony, aged twenty years, single. If any of you know cause of just impediment why these persons should not be joined together, ye are to declare it.”
It was finished.
When my mother returned, we would be wed.
33
THE TRAP WAS SPRUNG . Susannah Phillips was caught.
A reading of banns three weeks in succession meant the marriage was as good as accomplished.
She did not appear to like the man, but I wonder if she truly knew? Perhaps in part, for she had begun to wear a cloak of shame, which fit so well about my own shoulders. It was not a heavy burden to bear. Not at first. It slipped about the body so lightly. It covered one with such ease. It seemed, at first, to offer a sort of protection. It was only in the wearing that it became unbearable.
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