In the late summer of 1629, as the obese constable prepared to journey north on his regular rounds, his thoughts were troubled. Reports from London indicated there was nasty business brewing in the village of Edenford. Hoffman hoped it was a mild tempest that would blow over quickly. He didn’t want anything adversely affecting his reappointment six months hence.
Drew had never known a family like the Matthewses. He had lived with other Puritan families in the course of his espionage work and had observed many more. None of them were like this family. There was something different about them, especially the curate.
For a while Drew couldn’t put the difference into words. Then, an analogy came to him that turned his impressions into images. Most people, he observed, practice their religion much like a schoolboy reciting his lesson or an apprentice attempting to imitate the work of a master craftsman. They try to become something they’re not. Christopher Matthews, however, didn’t practice his faith. He and his faith were inseparable. To think of him practicing his faith would be like thinking of a bird practicing flying. Birds fly because they’re birds. Christopher Matthews lived his faith just as effortlessly, just as freely, because it was part of who he was.
Every morning at the breakfast table Christopher Matthews would say, “Well, now, what can we do for God this day?”
The thing that astonished Drew most was not the fact that the curate asked the same question every day, but the fact that he meant it. When he walked out the door of his house, he looked for something to do for God, as if that was a natural thing for a man to do.
The curate followed a daily routine. He would no more think of diverting from his routine than a goose would consider forgoing its winter migration. Matthews rose between 3 and 4 in the morning to spend an hour or two in prayer. Then he would gather his family for morning prayers and the singing of psalms. He would read a chapter from the Bible to them and then pray again, bringing to God his daughters’ prayer requests. In the evening, the Bible was read again, this time accompanied by instruction. Finally, each member of the household would retire to meditate on the day’s Bible passage, examine their lives in light of it, and record their thoughts in a daily journal.
If it weren’t for the presence of ladies, Drew would have felt he was living in a monastery.
For two days Drew accompanied Christopher Matthews in his daily activities. During this time he came to realize that the man was the closest thing to a mayor the village of Edenford had. Most of the land was still owned by the Chesterfields, a vestige of medieval times when the lord of the manor lived in a castle on a hill and was surrounded by serfs. The old political system had passed away, but economics still held much of its structure in place. Such was the case here. The family Chesterfield and the town Edenford were joined together in an economic marriage.
In this union, the family provided the land and the political and economic influence of the Chesterfield name; the village manufactured the goods that produced the revenue. Normally, the two sides got along agreeably. It wasn’t a perfect marriage, but it was livable.
Christopher Matthews was the link between the two partners. When he and his young bride first moved to Edenford, he came as a simple cobbler, having learned the trade from his father. He had no ministerial or political ambitions. The village needed a cobbler, and he desired a little village in which he could raise a family and quietly live out his days.
At that time the village was serviced by the parish priest of Tiverton who held livings in several towns. This was not uncommon. A minister often combined the livings of several smaller towns if a single parish could not support him. Rarely could he do justice to all the villages he serviced; but, for towns like Edenford, it was better than having no minister at all.
It was a dispute between the Chesterfields and the priest that changed the pastoral leadership at Edenford. The priest had performed a wedding ceremony for Lord Chesterfield’s daughter against her father’s wishes. He did it because the groom’s father, Lord Weatherly, paid the priest’s living for Taunton. The marriage didn’t last long, and neither did the priest’s living from Edenford.
To prevent this kind of thing from ever happening again, Lord Chesterfield decided he needed his own minister, one who answered to him alone. While shopping for one, he decided he didn’t want a professional. Professionals tended to take their religion too seriously and often meddled in things that were none of their business. He wanted a man of the earth, not of the cloth. He saw several benefits in this: for one, the living would be cheaper since the layman would also have a trade; another benefit was that a lay minister would be kept busy with his trade and wouldn’t have time to sit around evaluating the spiritual condition of the Chesterfields. Basically he was looking for someone who would keep the people happy with the required Sunday services, be available to him for religious matters when called upon, and stay out of his way the rest of the time.
He found just the right man in his own village. Christopher Matthews was the most religious layman in Edenford, and so the cobbler was offered the position. At first Matthews declined, feeling ill equipped to be a spiritual leader; it was his wife, Jane, who persuaded him to accept. She reasoned this was a God-sent opportunity to establish a biblical foundation in the village. Yielding to his wife’s faith in him, the cobbler became the curate.
Within months the number of village crimes decreased and the work productivity increased. When Lord Chesterfield inquired about the change, he discovered it was the result of Christopher Matthews’ quiet leadership and strength of character. The curate had visited each house in the village, convincing the residents to try godly living. He challenged them to test God’s ways for themselves for six months. If they weren’t better off after that time, they could do whatever they wished, and he would leave them alone. Within two months it was a new village, and Christopher Matthews was their Moses, their prophet and leader.
At first, Lord Chesterfield felt threatened by Matthews’ sudden increase in power over his village. The dilemma was that he liked the increased productivity and decrease in problems. His dilemma was solved by a stroke of genius. Instead of reining in the curate, he decided to give him additional authority and power, and—this was the key—the curate would be responsible directly to him for all matters pertaining to the business of Edenford.
Matthews’ initial response was to decline. He did not seek additional power; his only wish was to be the people’s spiritual leader. Again, it was his wife who convinced him otherwise. She saw the position as a two-way street. Not only would he represent the Chesterfields to the people, but he could represent the people to Lord Chesterfield and possibly improve the living conditions of the villagers.
Under Matthews’ leadership, the Edenford wool industry prospered as never before—from raising the sheep, to shearing, to spinning, weaving, dressing and scouring, fulling and drying, and dyeing of the serges. The greatest addition to the Edenford merchandise, however, was the intricate bone lace crafted by the Matthews women.
The shadows of Edenford were beginning to lengthen as Drew and Christopher Matthews and David Cooper strolled toward the village green. All morning long Drew had followed the curate from business to business, astounded at their reception. As a boy he had witnessed his father’s transactions and had concluded that business was a matter of shouts, threats, and confrontations. Not so in Edenford. The owners of these establishments greeted Matthews with genuine warmth. Business was transacted with friendly tones and handshakes. By midday Drew wondered aloud if Matthews had any enemies.
“That’s an odd question,” the curate responded. He glanced at Cooper who scowled at the question. “Why would you want to know if I have enemies?”
It was an unfortunate slip, one that cast suspicion on Drew.
“Forgive me if I offended you,” he stammered. “It’s just that where I come from, business is a hostile transaction. Everyone here is so friendly.”
“It’s because we’re more than just neigh
bors. We’re family.”
Family … not like my family! We were never this kind to each other.
Every place they visited, the curate treated each person he was talking to as the most important citizen of Edenford. And Drew saw that his fear of being branded as a criminal by the townspeople was totally unfounded. In fact, he had to remind himself he was under this man’s legal custody. Everywhere they went, Matthews introduced him as if he were a visiting London dignitary.
Drew had met Mrs. Weathersfield, a widow who said she prayed every day that Matthews’ daughters would find suitable husbands. It was no secret she also prayed for a husband of her own, preferably the curate himself. Matthews gave her some shillings for food. Later, when Nell learned that the money was not from the church, but from Matthews’ own pocket, she was upset. It wasn’t the first time her father had given away too much of their money so that they didn’t have enough to buy food. This, in addition to his bringing Drew Morgan home with him—another person to feed.
Drew had also met David Cooper, the village cobbler and boyhood friend of Matthews from Exeter. The two buddies had their fathers’ profession in common when they were growing up. Cooper was the one who sat next to Matthews in the meeting hall the day Drew was arrested. He was a large, hairy man with an equally large smile. His heavy black head of hair, beard, and thick arms reminded Drew more of a blacksmith than a cobbler. He had come to Edenford upon Matthews’ invitation when Matthews became Lord Chesterfield’s representative and the village was left without a cobbler.
At the cobbler’s shop Matthews pretended to be a shoe inspector and ribbed Cooper about sloppy workmanship, which was difficult to do since the shoes were masterful products. Then the two friends decided to play hooky from work for the remainder of the day. They took Drew with them.
The three of them spent a lazy afternoon at the bowling green. The two friends were evenly matched and were better players than Drew—who had handled a bowling ball only once in his life. Bowling was considered a commoner’s sport, beneath the dignity of noblemen.
After the first two games, the curate winning both, Drew was content to lie on the grass and watch. He was amused at their competitiveness. After Matthews’ third straight win, the cobbler’s temper flared, and he dented the grass with a few bowling balls. The curate quipped that the force of the balls was undoubtedly creating earthquakes in hell, which made the cobbler chuckle. His anger passed as quickly as it had appeared.
“Is this the way you guard a prisoner?”
The angry voice came from behind Drew. It was Ambrose Dudley. His face was flushed as his yellow teeth spit out the words. Old Cyrus Furman, carrying the town’s aged musket, lolled behind him.
“Master Morgan isn’t going anywhere, are you, Drew?” Matthews emphasized Drew’s name and title, in contrast to Dudley’s use of the term “prisoner.”
Drew, still lying on the grass, smiled and shook his head no.
“This is irresponsible. Completely irresponsible!” the scrivener shouted. “For all we know, this boy may be Shubal Elkins’ killer!”
Again the curate addressed Drew.
“You’re not a murderer, are you?”
“Nope.”
Drew picked a blade of grass as he said it.
The curate was in a playful mood. Ambrose Dudley was not. His clenched jaw worked back and forth as he looked from man to man.
“Now, Ambrose,” Matthews walked toward him, “the boy’s not going anywhere. He’ll be here on Market Day.”
Dudley refused to be consoled.
“If he isn’t here, it’ll be on your head! Come, Cyrus.”
The angry scrivener turned and stalked away. His elderly companion shrugged his shoulders and lolled after him.
Matthews looked at Cooper.
“Think we should have invited them to bowl a game with us?”
The three walked across the road that separated the village green from the river and descended the slope to the water’s edge. As they lay on their backs, hands folded behind their heads, Cooper spoke of a special shipment of shoes going to London on Market Day. The curate asked Drew if he had ever been to London. Drew casually mentioned his family’s recent trip to Windsor Castle, leaving out the part about the armor and Bishop Laud.
“Have you been to St. Michael’s Church?”
“I’ve been in it once,” Drew replied. “Not for services, though.”
“Last time I was in London I went there,” the curate said. “I’m not sure I could worship God there.”
“Why not?”
The question came from Cooper.
“A couple of things bothered me. First, the sanctuary is so magnificent. To me it’s distracting. I’d probably find myself looking at it instead of thinking about God. Then, outside the building, the poor, homeless, and the hungry gather on the steps. They live there. Twice a day, a groundskeeper tries to chase them away. In some ways I can see his point. They do leave a mess, urinating on the pillars and discarding their trash all over the steps. The thing that bothers me most is that those people think that by being close to a church building they are close to God.”
The talk went from church buildings to the controversy in the church between the bishops and the Puritans to the persecution of the Puritans since William Laud was appointed bishop of London. The shift in topics made Drew uneasy, but there was no indication that the conversation was an attempt to elicit his views on the matter.
“When I think of Laud, I think of a story I heard recently,” Matthews said as he sat up.
“Everything reminds you of a story,” Cooper gibed.
“True. But I think Laud’s actions will come back to haunt him.”
“So, what’s the story?”
Matthews rose to his feet with a groan.
“There’s no time for stories now. We need to get home.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Cooper cried. He pulled Matthews to the ground and pinned him. “Not until I hear your story!”
Drew watched this horseplay with unconcealed amusement. He’d never seen grown men acting like this. The men he knew would never joke with each other. It lowered too many barriers. Someone might see it as a weakness and exploit it.
“All right! I’ll tell the story. Just get off of me, you big ox!” Matthews cried. “I can’t breathe!”
Cooper eased up but was prepared to pounce again if Matthews made any attempt to get away. However, Matthews made no false moves, and, after brushing himself off, he began his story:
“There once was a man, a poor man, who got it into his head to become a highway thief. He explained to his wife that it would be a much easier and more profitable way of making a living than working day in and day out. And so the next morning he went, club in hand, and walked down the London Road, somewhere between Newark and Grantham. There, a gentleman on horseback overtook him. The poor man waited for the gentleman to get close, and when he did, the thief caught hold of the horse’s bridle.
“‘Stand and deliver!’ he shouted with club raised.
“The gentleman on horseback began to laugh! ‘Would that a thief should rob a thief?’ he cried. ‘I am one of your trade, you poor wretch! But surely you are either a fool or one who has recently started this trade, for you are doing it all wrong!’
“‘I have never done this trade in my life before.’
“‘I thought as much,’ said the gentleman. ‘Therefore, take my advice and mind what I say to you. When you have a mind to rob a man, never take hold of his bridle and bid him stand; the first thing you should do is knock him down. And if he talk to you, hit him another stroke and say, “You rogue! Cease your babbling!” Then, you have him at your will.’
“Thus they walked for about a mile, the gentleman teaching the poor man his art. As they were going through a certain town, they came to a bad lane. The poor man said to his teacher, ‘Sir, I am better acquainted with this country than perhaps you are. This lane is very bad, and anyone traveling it is in danger of being
robbed. But if you go through this gate and along the field side, you will miss the bad part of the road.’
“So the gentleman took his advice and followed the poor man through the gate. Coming to the other side, the poor man knocked the gentleman over the head with a blow that brought him to the ground.
“The gentleman cried out, ‘Sir! Is this your gratitude for the good advice I gave you?’
“‘You rogue!’ shouted the poor man. ‘Cease your babbling!’ And he gave him another knock. And so, having him wholly at his mercy, he took almost fifty pounds from him and the man’s horse. Then the poor man rode home to his wife as fast as he could go.
“When he arrived home, he said, ‘Good wife, I find this a very hard trade that I have been about, and I am resolved to have nothing more to do with it, but to be content with what I got. I have a good horse here and fifty pounds in my pocket from a gentleman. And I have considered that since he too is a thief I cannot be prosecuted for it; therefore I will live at ease.’”
David Cooper rubbed his whiskers and chuckled.
“I like it,” he said.
Drew added his favorable consent.
“A question though,” said Cooper. “How does Laud remind you of this story?”
Christopher Matthews stood to his feet and stretched.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ll tell you on the way back.”
The others joined him. By now long shadows stretched their direction.
“The way I see it,” he explained, “England is the poor man in the story—hungry, desperate, and looking for a way to survive. Along comes Bishop Laud, the gentleman of the story. He tells them that he too is concerned about England’s plight and that Puritans are to blame for their wretched condition. So he teaches them to hate and to kill Puritans. What he doesn’t realize is that someday the hate he taught them will be turned against him. I believe that when all is said and done, England will survive. Laud will not.”
The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1) Page 16