The trio walked across the village green in silence.
The curate broke the silence when he said, “I pray that God will open his eyes before it’s too late.”
On the third day of Drew’s captivity, the day before Market Day, Matthews left Drew at home with Nell and Jenny. Important, confidential business, he said following morning devotions, as the two of them walked to the village well for water. He gave Drew a choice: he could stay at the house with the girls, or Matthews could arrange for him to walk the streets with the watchman.
Drew visualized his choices: spend the day with two attractive ladies or shuffle through the streets of Edenford with a slowwitted old man. It didn’t take him long to decide. An afternoon of flirting with Jenny excited him. What surprised him was his eagerness to spend the day with Nell as well. Her intellect and self-assurance intimidated him, yet he felt an attraction to her he couldn’t explain.
As the two men pulled water from the well, David Cooper rushed toward them and pulled Matthews aside. A few moments of furious whispering passed between them. Drew continued drawing water and tried to act like he wasn’t listening. In truth, he was straining to hear what they were saying. He didn’t catch much, just a few words—“shipment” and “delivery” and “distressed.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you here,” the curate said, returning to Drew. “Tell Nell and Jenny I might not be home until late tonight. They’ll understand.” Then, with a sheepish grin he added, “Happens all the time in my line of work.”
Drew watched the two friends hurry up the street toward Cooper’s cobbler shop. They hadn’t gotten far when they ran into Ambrose Dudley. A heated discussion ensued as several times the angry scrivener pointed a bony finger at Drew. A moment later Matthews and Cooper continued on their way. Dudley was left standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at Drew.
Pretending not to notice him, Drew lifted the water buckets by their rope handles. Instead of walking toward High Street and the Matthews’ house, he went down the hill to Market Street, the street that led to the south bridge and out of town. Just as he rounded the corner of the row of houses, he glanced out of the corner of his eye. Dudley was in quick pursuit. Drew quickened his pace as he followed the road along the back side of the houses on High Street. By the time he reached the end of the row, he had a good lead on the scrawny scrivener. He darted to his right up the road between the cornfield and the houses and then right again on High Street. Without knocking, he burst into the Matthews household, startling Jenny and Nell who were doing their lacework at the table before the open window.
“Shhhh!”
He hurriedly set the buckets down and pulled up a chair so that he was facing the open window.
“Master Morgan! What on earth—”
“Shhhh!” Drew insisted, pointing toward the open window.
The girls shared puzzled expressions but stared out the window nonetheless. For several long moments nothing happened. In fact, Drew was beginning to wonder if anything was going to happen. Maybe Dudley gave up on him.
Just then a long nose slowly appeared at the edge of the open window followed by the remainder of the scrivener’s drawn face. He was met by three people staring at him.
“Good morning, Master Dudley,” Jenny said brightly.
Drew waved.
The scrivener, surprised and embarrassed, said nothing. With a loud snort, he straightened himself and strutted down the street.
The three enjoyed a good laugh, Jenny with her girlish giggle and Nell with a light but full laugh. Again Drew was surprised at his feelings. The sight of Nell laughing captivated him. Her brown eyes twinkled and her even white teeth highlighted a perfect smile. He loved seeing her like this and was pleased with himself that he was part of something that made her laugh.
“What was that all about?” Nell asked.
Drew picked up the buckets full of water to take them to the kitchen.
“I guess he was afraid I’d run away. Your father left me at the well. He went with Master Cooper and said he wouldn’t be home until late tonight.”
The statement sobered Nell instantly, her face registering genuine concern. It caught Drew’s attention because Nell was far past the age when a girl would show disappointment when her father didn’t make it home for dinner. There was more to the curate’s absence than Drew was led to believe.
Nell resumed her work with a stoic expression.
“Thank you for relaying the message,” was all she said.
“And thank you for not running away!” Jenny beamed.
This brought a scowl from Nell.
For most of the morning Drew watched the girls make lace. Mostly he watched the girls. Nell worked studiously, her dark brown hair curled around the edges of her face as she leaned slightly forward. The broad bridge of her nose separated those intriguing brown eyes of hers, highlighted by thick, full eyebrows; her lips were full. A hint of laughter seemed to reside in the corners of her eyes and mouth. Drew hadn’t noticed it before.
Jenny was slightly smaller than her sister. Her skin was fair, a perfect match for the straight brown hair that fell down to her waist. Drew loved to watch her throw it over her shoulders whenever it fell forward and got in her way.
The girls were dressed similarly. Muslin blouses were covered by cloth bodices and skirts of muted colors. The most striking similarity between the sisters was their long, graceful fingers that could tug and pull when needed or deftly wind delicate threads with artistic confidence.
Drew had never seen such intricate work in progress. But then, being the product of a wealthy family, he had never seen much of any kind of work in progress.
“It’s called punto a groppo,” Nell said.
“Bone lace,” Jenny translated.
First, a geometric pattern was drawn on a piece of parchment, and holes were pricked in it to indicate where pins were to be placed. The pins would hold the threads in place while the lace was being made. The parchment was then placed on a pillow and threads attached to the pins. The other ends of the thread were wound around bobbins. Originally bones were used, which gave the lace its name. Finally, the threads were looped, interlaced, braided, and twisted around the pins, forming rows of deep, acute-angled points joined by narrow bands. The finished product was a delicate, open cut design that was the envy of all fashion conscious people.
However impressive and intriguing the bone lace was to Drew, it was not nearly as captivating as the delicate hands making it. Nell’s slender fingers danced with a skilled confidence around the pins. Her hands moved in coordinated rhythm to a silent tempo, like a gentleman and his lady dancing on a ballroom floor, each so familiar with the other that every move is anticipated and perfectly matched.
“Master Drew, it isn’t polite to stare.”
Nell had a slightly amused look on her face.
“Forgive me,” Drew stammered. “I was just fascinated with your work.”
“Haven’t you ever seen a person work before?”
Her dry reproach was not lost on Drew.
“Nell! Master Drew is our guest,” Jenny came to his defense. “You shouldn’t speak to him like that!”
“Maybe not,” Nell replied with an unrepentant tone. “I suppose I’m just not used to having a healthy man sit around the house and do nothing all day long.”
“Nell!” Turning to Drew she said, “I enjoy your company, Master Drew, even if my sister doesn’t.”
Drew sat back in his chair, arms folded.
“I’ll gladly do whatever I can—as long as it’s legal.”
His joke died for lack of response.
“There is something you could do to help us pass the time, if your offer is sincere, Master Drew.”
“Tell me what it is and I’ll gladly do it.”
“Do you have a good reading voice, Master Drew?” Nell asked.
Drew shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“It would help us pass the time if you would read t
o us while we work.”
“I could do that,” Drew said. “What would you like to hear?”
“The Bible would be my choice,” Nell said.
Drew spied an opportunity to give Nell a dose of her own sarcastic medicine.
“Excellent choice!” he exclaimed. “And I’m sure you won’t mind if I read from my Bible, the one translated by order of King James.”
Jenny gasped.
“Oh, I don’t think Poppa would like that,” she said.
If Nell was as shocked as her sister, she didn’t show it. She looped and twisted a thread.
“I’d like that very much,” she said evenly.
“Nell!”
Jenny dropped her work in her lap and stared in disbelief at her sister.
“But if you don’t mind,” Nell continued, “since you chose the Bible version, I feel it’s only fair that I choose the passage you read.”
Drew retrieved his Bible from his bag beside the fireplace.
“Fair enough,” he said.
Nell didn’t announce her choice until Drew returned to his seat. Jenny just sat there, immobilized by her sister’s willingness to allow the rogue translation to be read aloud in their home.
“What would you have me read?” Drew asked, falling into his chair.
“Song of Solomon, chapter 4.”
Drew went right to work to find the book in the Bible by turning to the table of contents. Beginning with Genesis, he scanned the contents with his index finger.
“Let’s see … Song of Solomon … Song of Solomon—”
He failed to notice the crimson coloring rising in Jenny’s cheeks.
Nell watched him with amusement.
“Read the Bible often, Master Morgan?”
“All the time,” Drew said, without looking up.
“It’s near the middle of the—”
“Found it!” Drew flipped the pages to the appropriate page number. Then he said aloud, “Chapter 4 … verse 1. Here it is!” He straightened himself in the chair and began to read, “Behold, thou art fair, my love.—”
He stopped, an embarrassed look crossed his face.
Jenny began giggling uncontrollably.
Nell maintained a straight face.
“Please continue,” she said. “You’re doing a fine job.”
Drew realized he’d been tricked, but he wasn’t about to back down now. This was a battle of wits, and he intended to outlast Nell Matthews.
With a loud voice he continued reading, “Thou hast doves’ eyes—”
“Master Morgan?”
Drew looked up, perturbed at being interrupted.
“Would you mind beginning again … from the start? And please forgive my little sister’s giggling.”
Jenny sobered slightly.
Drew cleared his voice and began again, this time even louder.
“Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them. Thy lips—”
Drew was beginning to weaken. Jenny was giggling uncontrollably; even Nell was having difficulty maintaining her composure.
“—are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks. Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men. Thy two—”
This time Drew turned red. He had translated a few coded words from this book of the Bible, but he had never read it. And he had certainly never heard the priest at his church in Winchester read this passage in a church service.
“Don’t stop now,” Nell laughed. “You’re doing so well.”
Drew gritted his teeth. “Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.”
Just then two women walked by the open window, their eyes wide with shock.
Jenny hid her face in a pillow, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as she tried to muffle her laughter. Nell could hold it no longer. Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to suppress her laughs.
Drew closed the book.
“Well, that’s enough Bible reading for today,” he said. “I think I’ll take a walk.”
As the door shut behind him, he could hear howls of feminine laughter coming from inside.
Chapter 12
Market Day was dark and cold. Heavy gray clouds lumbered overhead, threatening rain but never living up to their bluster. On any other day, the mood of the residents would match the grayness of the day, but not today. This was Market Day, and the hardworking people of Edenford weren’t going to let a few dark clouds deprive them of a diversion from their daily drudgery. Besides, this particular Market Day had excitement on its agenda; this was the day of Drew Morgan’s trial.
The trial was scheduled for midmorning. This was because High Constable Hoffman was not an early riser. Then, of course, he would have breakfast, which would sometimes last until lunch. The townspeople took the high constable’s schedule in stride. They were in no hurry; if the accused hadn’t run off by now, it was safe to assume he’d still be around whenever Constable Hoffman finished eating.
In the meantime the people of Edenford made every effort to enjoy themselves. The womenfolk strolled from booth to booth in groups of three or four, whispering and laughing as they bought vegetables, fruit, and cheese. The men folk usually gathered on the church steps or in front of David Cooper’s cobbler shop. Their conversation ranged from the wool trade to politics and religion (for in these times you could not talk of the one without talking about the other), to weekly bowling scores, or to just plain gossip. The young men usually ended up on the grassy area next to the church where they would wrestle or race or kick a ball around.
Of course, it wouldn’t be Market Day without the aromas. The musty, heavy smell of a wool town gave way to the sweet odors of fresh bread and rolls, flowers, cheeses, and the earthy smell of freshly picked vegetables.
Drew accompanied the Matthews family down the hill to Market Street. All of them, including the curate, were carrying some kind of bundle or basket. The girls had packed food, their Bibles, and odds and ends that would be needed during the course of the day. A stiff blast of air sent Drew’s felt hat flying down the road toward the south bridge. The Matthews waited for him while he chased it. He was halfway to the bridge before he caught up with it.
Maybe I should just keep going, he thought.
In spite of Christopher Matthews’ assurances that everything would be all right, the thought of a trial unnerved him. Maybe the hat was an omen warning him to escape while he still could. After all, he wasn’t even supposed to be here. He thought he’d be gone by now. But the last few days had turned up nothing new. Then there was the matter of the town’s secret. How could he leave knowing there was a secret and not knowing what it was? Drew pulled his hat down tightly around his head and walked into the wind, toward the waiting Matthews and his trial.
Just beyond the Matthews house, shouts and grunts could be heard coming from the village green. Nell and Jenny had already turned that direction to see what the commotion was all about. Two men stripped to the waist were locked in a wrestling match. One of the men was a hairy red giant; the other was of medium height with a dark complexion. Jenny leaned toward Nell and whispered something. Nell shoved her away.
The redheaded giant was toying with his smaller, weaker foe. The dark-haired man, whom Drew had never seen before, was scowling and intense. No matter what he tried, he wasn’t able to gain a hold on his opponent who was larger, stronger, and quicker. The harder the dark man tried, the more frustrated he became. Lowering his head, he charged. Drew thought he looked like a bowling ball rolling toward a taller pin. An instant before impact, the giant stepped aside, grabbed the passing man’s torso, and sent him flying. The dar
k man, arms and legs flailing, landed with a thump at the feet of some spectators.
Acknowledging the cheers, the red giant raised his hands in victory. Then he caught sight of Nell, and his sweaty grin grew even larger. He seemed especially pleased that she had witnessed his victory.
However, the dark-haired wrestler wasn’t ready to concede defeat: the red giant’s arrogance enraged him. Struggling to his feet, fists clenched, he attacked the giant from behind, landing a solid blow to his kidneys.
The pain of the blow registered on the giant’s face. With surprising quickness he whirled around, slammed the dark man to the ground, and proceeded to pummel him.
It took four strong men to pull the giant from atop his bloodied opponent. One of the men was Christopher Matthews. Coming face-to-face with the curate brought a look of shame and embarrassment to the red giant’s face, as he wiped a bloodied nose with the back of his hand. He glanced at Nell who wore a look of disgust. She shook her head, turned her back, and walked toward the market booths.
“Nell, wait!” The red giant called after her.
No response. Nell continued walking away.
“Nell,” he whined, “he hit me first!”
Drew leaned toward Jenny.
“Is there something going on between Nell and him?”
Jenny smiled, enjoying her closeness to Drew. She leaned toward him to get even closer.
“He’d like to think there is,” she whispered, “but he’s wasting his time.”
“Why doesn’t Nell tell him she’s not interested?”
“It’s not that easy for her. Our family has been friends with the Coopers since before we were born. They’re like family.”
“Coopers? He’s a Cooper?”
Jenny nodded and stole a glance at Drew’s lips.
“His father is David Cooper, the cobbler.”
Now that he knew the family connection, Drew could see some resemblance—the massive arms and chest, a thick forehead jutting out over deep inset eyes. He was bigger than his father and just as hairy. It was the red coloring that was so different.
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