Edenford’s response to the curate’s sermon amazed Drew. Although the circumstances were unchanged, everything was different. People were chatting and laughing; children were playing. By their mood, you would have thought the king had rescinded his tax and John de la Barre had agreed to pay the money he owed them.
Families gathered together all across the village green; some sat in the shade of the trees lining the road, others enjoyed the sun. Nell and Jenny had prepared a lunch of bread, cheese, and fruit. As Drew ate with the Matthews, a stream of people came by to talk to the curate. David Cooper was one of the first.
“Thanks for reminding me that God’s in control,” he said, giving his friend a bear hug. James was with him and knelt beside Nell, saying something so low Drew couldn’t hear it. Nell’s response was a cool shrug of her shoulders.
No sooner had the Coopers left than Cyrus and Rose Furman stopped by. The curate inquired into Rose’s health and assured the elderly couple that something would be worked out regarding the watchman’s pay.
The Furmans were followed by the bachelors, Manly and Dudley, and the Pierce family. And so it went until the whole village had stopped by. The conversation was almost identical with each group.
“It’s like this all the time,” Jenny whispered, as Drew watched the curate fail in his fourth attempt to take a bite of bread.
“The typical life of a curate’s family,” Nell added.
Sunday afternoon was reserved for catechism. The curate taught the children, assisted by his daughters who took turns every other Sunday. That Sunday it was Jenny’s turn. Much to his delight, Drew was left alone with Nell.
Together, they packed the remains of lunch in the basket. Afterward, Nell leaned against a tree, arranging her dress neatly across her outstretched legs, which were crossed at the ankles. While surveying the residents of Edenford at play on the green, she rubbed her hands. Starting at the base of each finger, she worked her way toward the tip. It looked like she was forcing the knots out of the ends of her fingertips. That done, she leaned her head against the trunk, folded her arms, and closed her eyes.
Drew was reclining on his side, his head propped against his hand. He watched some men bowling on the far side of the green. Trying not to be obvious, he stole occasional glances at Nell. When she closed her eyes, he was more obvious about it. Smooth skin stretched over her cheekbones, then down a shallow hollow toward her chin. Her nose had a gentle slope to it, coming to a slight peak before curving under to join her full upper lip.
“Are you staring at me?” she asked, her eyes still closed.
“Don’t flatter yourself!”
“Well, if you are, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
Drew looked away. In the middle of the green a group of young men had gathered in a circle. James Cooper stood in the middle, arms locked in a wrestling hold with another boy. The shouts of the bystanders caused Nell to open her eyes. Her eyes flashed when she recognized James. She leaned her head back against the tree and let out a disgusted groan.
“What’s the matter?”
“That!”
She pointed at the wrestlers.
“I don’t understand.”
Her voice heavy with sarcasm, she said, “I’m not surprised. But James Cooper will certainly get it if his father finds out he’s been wrestling on Sunday again.”
Playing his part as an ignorant pagan, Drew said, “He’s not supposed to wrestle on Sundays?”
“Of course not!”
Drew knew full well that the wrestling match and other Sunday recreational activities were protected by decree of King James, much to the chagrin of the Puritans.
For a dozen years Sunday afternoon recreation had been a controversial issue in England. It began in 1616 when a delegation of servants and laborers waited in Lancashire for King James to return from Scotland. When he arrived, they complained that church leaders prevented them from all recreations on Sunday afternoons. The upshot of the incident was King James’ Book of Sports, which authorized people to enjoy themselves on Sunday afternoons with various sports. The king’s decree angered the Puritans, and they were not shy in expressing their opposition. Their arguments fell on deaf ears.
To emphasize his authority over the Puritans, King James ordered that his Book of Sports be read from the pulpit in all churches. Most ministers grudgingly complied. Some exercised creative interpretations of the decree, which were designed to fulfill the letter of the law, yet still give commentary on the act. For example, one church had the churchwarden read the Book of Sports while the minister sat in the front pew with his hands over his ears. Another minister read the Book of Sports and followed it with a reading of the Ten Commandments. He then urged his congregation to choose which they would follow. There were a few cases where daring clergymen refused to obey the king’s command. If discovered, these were punished.
“You really think it’s wrong for them to wrestle on Sunday?”
“This is the Lord’s Day,” came the curt reply. “And more important for James Cooper, his father believes it’s wrong.”
“Are you going to tell Master Cooper?”
An anguished look crossed Nell’s face as she looked at the young men now rolling on the ground.
“If I’m not here to see it, there will be nothing to tell,” she said, getting up.
She brushed the grass from her dress and stepped into the road.
Turning to Drew, who was still reclining on the ground, she said, “You’re not going to let a helpless maiden wander off by herself, are you?”
It’s a good thing Drew was already on the ground; for if he hadn’t been, Nell’s invitation would have felled him. Jumping to his feet, he joined her.
“Where are we going?”
She held out her arm for him to take.
“I’m not going to tell you. You’ll just have to trust me.”
Nell Matthews led Drew Morgan up Chesterfield Road toward Chesterfield Manor. The dirt road rose before them at an increasingly steep angle. They passed the ends of two rows of houses, packed together like the ones on High Street where the Matthewses lived. Edenford’s looms were housed in a large building behind the second row of houses.
“That’s where my mother worked before she began making lace,” Nell said.
Behind the looms were a field and the base of the mountain.
Drew took little note of buildings and scenery. His awareness focused on his closeness to Nell. To feel her arm entwined in his, to brush against her side, to be inches away from her face—these sensations intoxicated him. As she pointed out other industry related sights, he looked at her cheeks, which were flushed from the walk, the rebellious wisps of hair that blew across her forehead, and the flecks of gray in her brown eyes.
“Let’s rest here a moment.”
They had reached the tree line on the mountain. Nell stopped, pulled her arm from Drew’s, and turned back toward the village. Reluctantly, Drew followed her lead. With their arms no longer linked, she stepped a discreet distance away from him.
From this elevation, they could see all of Edenford, the rooftops of the houses, the church building, and the village green where the wrestling match was still going on. Dominating the scene was the River Exe, with Bridge Street crossing it twice over identical three-arched stone bridges.
A sparkling light caught Drew’s eyes in the far distance to his left.
“What’s that over there?”
Nell followed Drew’s gaze.
“Oh, that’s Williams Lake. And the forest on the far side is Lord Chesterfield’s forest. He stocks it with all sorts of game and invites his rich friends to play hunting with him.”
Where Bishop Laud killed Lord Chesterfield’s son, Drew thought. And where Shubal Elkins’ body was found.
“It’s an interesting lake,” Nell continued. “It never freezes over, even in the winter. Probably fed by thermal underground springs. I’ll take you there this winter, let you see for yourself. That is, if you
’re still around.”
If you’re still around.
It was meant to be a casual remark, but to Drew it had the weight of prophecy. If all went as planned, he would not be around. But then neither would Christopher Matthews. The thought provoked unwanted feelings; he was determined to fulfill his mission, and he forced himself not to think of what that would do to Nell.
“Come on.” Nell grabbed his hand. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
She pulled him off the road and up a grassy slope.
As they crested a ridge, ancient castle walls overlooking the valley rose up before him. The crumbling walls were partially hidden by trees on three sides, as if the forest were reaching out to reclaim the land taken from it by the builder of the castle.
Nell walked to the center of what had once been a large room. Patches of weeds carpeted the floor under her feet. “Do you like it?”
“This is great!”
Drew’s gaze followed the tops of the broken walls as they stretched farther into the forest. None of the stone walls was over three feet high, but the layout of the castle was still plainly evident—doorways, halls, rooms, storage areas. It was magnificent.
“Just think, someone used to live here,” Nell said. “She stood right where I’m standing and probably worried about her children playing in the river, wondered if her husband would come back from a war, or whether they would have enough food for the winter.”
“Who used to live here?” Drew asked.
“Nobody in town knows,” she replied. “All anyone knows is that it was a Saxon king.”
“Sad, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“That a person or maybe an entire family lived and died, and nobody even remembers them. I mean, these people had hopes, dreams, ambitions; and nobody remembers anything about them. They might as well never have been born.”
The two were silent, lost in thought about the unknown family.
Nell and Drew followed each other from room to room, exploring the ancient stones, taking turns describing how they thought the completed structure once looked, guessing the identity of the various rooms, and imagining what it must have been like to live in the castle.
After a while Nell sat on a wall beside a low tree limb. Drew perched on a large rectangular stone opposite her. The large stone seemed out of place. It was the same type of stone as the walls, but was too large to be one of the wall stones. Neither did it look like it belonged anywhere else. It was a mystery, just like the mystery of the castle’s occupants and the secret of the little village situated below it.
“My father is quite taken with you.”
Nell’s statement brought them back to present time.
“What makes you think that?”
“I can tell.”
Nell pulled the tree’s low branch toward her and played with the leaves as she talked, wiping them clean and layering them like a fan.
“Poppa likes everyone, but he’s very selective about the people he respects. He respects you. If he didn’t, he never would have left you alone with Jenny and me the other day.”
“I’m glad he did.”
“I just don’t know what he sees in you,” Nell sniffed.
Drew frowned.
“Why do you say that?”
Nell let go of the leaves, and the branch sprang back into place. She placed her hands on the edge of the wall and leaned forward.
“You have no trade, no future, and no personal faith. In fact, I’m not even sure you believe in God.”
“I believe in God!” Drew protested.
“Oh? What do you believe? Tell me about your God.”
“Well,” Drew searched his mind; he had never before been called on to put his spiritual beliefs into words. He was confident he had some, or at least he thought he was confident, but putting them into words was a different matter.
“I’m waiting.”
There was a smugness in Nell’s voice that infuriated Drew.
“Well, for one thing, He’s up there!”
Drew pointed upward.
Nell looked up.
“In the trees?”
She was toying with him.
“Of course not! He’s in heaven!”
“I see,” said Nell. “And what does He do in heaven all day long?”
Drew had never thought about it before. The only images that came to mind were those of Greek mythology where the gods were promiscuous and spiteful, amusing themselves by complicating people’s lives.
“He answers prayers and does other God things!” Drew stammered.
“God things?”
Nell stifled a chuckle.
“Sure, God things. How do I know what God things are? I’ve never been to heaven!”
Drew hopped off his stone perch and walked away from the amused curate’s daughter. He walked only a short distance.
“Did you bring me up here to make fun of me?”
Nell stopped giggling. She reached for the tree limb again.
“No. I’m sorry.”
She began picking at the leaves.
“That was mean of me. I just find it odd that someone who carries a Bible with him on his travels knows so little about it.”
“Maybe I want to learn more about it.”
Now it was Nell’s turn to be embarrassed. She stared at the leaves as she picked them from the limb one at a time.
“If you truly want to learn the Bible, my father’s the one who can teach you,” she said.
“I know.”
Drew welcomed the change of subject, anything that shifted attention away from himself. He walked casually to where Nell was sitting and sat on the stone wall next to her, but not too close.
“He really surprised me this morning. He’s a much better preacher than I thought he would be.”
“Most people are surprised.”
Nell smiled with unconcealed pride.
“Has your father had any university training?”
Nell shook her head.
“No, everything he’s learned, he learned from his father in a cobbler’s shop.”
“But he knows the Bible so well! And he presents it so well in his preaching.”
A thought occurred to Drew. Here was a chance to fish for some information about the curate.
“I’ll bet he’s a good writer as well,” he said.
Nell laughed.
“No,” she said. “No, my father communicates well verbally. God has blessed him with an incredible speaking ability. But when it comes to writing, he gets all knotted up. I think it’s because he takes it too seriously and tries too hard.”
Drew’s hook came back empty. Since the curate was good with words, Drew thought he might be one of the infamous Puritan pamphleteers, maybe even Justin himself. Nell’s comment destroyed that theory. Unless, of course, she recognized the question as a trap and was protecting her father.
The conversation lagged. Neither seemed in any hurry to leave, but they didn’t know what to talk about next. Nell broke the silence.
“Drew, what do you want out of life?”
This woman isn’t one for casual conversation, Drew thought. First, she’s asking me about God, and now she wants to know the meaning of my existence. This is not your typical courting conversation.
He had already been cut once today by Nell’s barbed wit, so he was cautious.
“I really don’t know,” he said.
“Well, what kind of things do you dream about?”
He looked hard at her. There was no hint of playfulness on her face. Her eyes were soft and inviting.
“I’m not sure I want to tell you,” he said.
Nell’s eyes and mouth expressed disappointment. She hopped down from the wall.
“Maybe we should go back now,” she said.
“Nell!” Drew pleaded. “It’s just that the things I dream about can’t possibly come true.”
“Why not?”
Drew hesitated. He wanted to be open wi
th her, but he knew that if he was, he would be making himself vulnerable. What if she laughs?
“They can’t come true because—”
He stopped and looked at her again. She was intent and serious.
“They can’t come true because they’re past. I dream about the past.”
Nell smiled. It wasn’t the smile of a predator about to pounce; her smile was warm and understanding, the kind that says, Thank you for sharing your feelings with me. It filled Drew with an unusual warmth.
“Any particular time period?” she asked.
He was in it this far, he might as well go all the way.
“This one,” he said pointing to the fallen stone walls. “The age of Camelot and King Arthur. The age of chivalry and might for right. I think I like it because everything was simpler. You knew who was good and who was evil. Men fought to make the world a better place, not just so their house could be bigger than someone else’s or so their clothes could be better or so their wives could wear more expensive jewelry.”
“You’re an idealist!” Nell cried, showing genuine surprise. “It’s not a very easy thing to be in today’s world.”
“Not very realistic, that’s for sure.”
Nell was looking at him with an expression he had never seen before. It was a look of admiration.
“Well,” Drew said, “now it’s your turn. What do you dream about?”
Nell turned to leave.
“It really is time we started back.”
Drew blocked her way.
“Oh, no you don’t. It’s only fair. What do you dream about?”
She tried stepping around him. Drew grabbed her by the shoulders. Fury flashed in her eyes like the drawing of a sword. Had he made a fatal mistake? Apparently hers was a reflex action, because an instant later the fury faded. She searched his eyes with hers. Now it was her turn to decide if she wanted to make herself vulnerable. She smiled and turned away, choosing not to look at him as she spoke.
The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1) Page 21