Her pout worked.
I can’t do anything about the note right now, Drew reasoned. If Matthews reads the note, I’ll just have to make up a story.
“You’re right,” he said to Jenny. “I would enjoy it.”
A coy expression replaced her pout as she extended the spoon. Drew leaned forward. The combination of his hunger and his server made this the best meal he’d eaten in months.
The meal was a typical one for Edenford, considering their economic woes—corn, beans, and coarse bread. Since water was free, it was the standard drink, and Drew was drinking a lot of it lately.
The best part of the dinner was the after dinner kiss under the flowing canopy of Jenny’s hair. This time, her lips pressed firmly against his and remained longer. A small sigh escaped her as their lips parted.
Nell didn’t come to see him until late that night. Standing in the doorway she looked haggard and worn. She wore a sweet smile, and there was kindness in her eyes, but her conversation seemed formal and guarded. They talked of the accident. Little Thomas was still not awake; James was doing better, no longer feeling self-destructive.
It pained Drew when she spoke of James. He tried to ignore it but couldn’t. He reasoned he had no right to feel jealous, especially considering what had happened between him and Jenny today. Still, the thought of Nell comforting that redheaded ox soured his mood. Did she hold his hands? Hug him? Just what did she do to console the oaf?
Knowing Nell would disapprove of his jealousy, he tried to keep his feelings hidden.
“I’m glad James is doing better,” he said in measured tones.
If Nell detected bitterness, she didn’t show it. With eyes half-closed, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
“If you don’t mind,” she said wearily, “I’ll excuse myself. There are still some things I have to do before retiring. I wish I could stay longer. But I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“I understand,” Drew said flatly.
“Would you like me to close the door?”
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
Nell closed the door halfway, then poked her head back in the room.
“By the way,” she said, “you look adorable all blue.”
She smiled prettily and closed the door.
Drew lay awake for several hours, reviewing the events of his abbreviated day—the gratitude of the townspeople, the obvious pride Christopher Matthews was taking in him, his mixed conversation with Nell, and, of course, Jenny’s kisses. Then there was the problem of the Bible. Who had it? And more important, had they found Eliot’s note?
His conglomeration of thoughts turned fuzzy and blended together as he drifted asleep. The last thing he remembered was the sound of a chair scraping the floor. It came from the curate’s office. He must be working late again tonight.
By Saturday Drew felt well enough to try to get out of bed. When he first awoke, a movement in the doorway caught his eye. Jenny smiled sweetly at him.
“How are you feeling?”
Drew didn’t answer right away. He hadn’t quite completed the transit from the realm of dreams to conscious reality. He struggled because the two realms don’t share a common language. One is based on a series of irrational images, the other on a rational sequence of word symbols. Drew struggled, much like a foreigner who was attempting to decipher the English language.
Jenny giggled as Drew wrestled with question.
“Is the question too hard for you?”
“I’m doing pretty well, I think.”
The language of the conscious realm was coming back to him.
“Would you like something to eat?”
Another question! Drew thought hard. “Yes, I think so.”
Jenny was in the room now.
“Your eyes are open all the way.”
She was right. Drew rubbed them with his left hand.
“Ow!”
He’d forgotten that he couldn’t do the little things, like rubbing one’s eyes in the morning, without giving them a thought.
“Are you all right?”
Jenny was beside the bed now, looking directly over him, her long brown hair falling toward him.
“I just have to be careful what I do.”
Drew looked up at her. What a lovely vision to wake up to, he thought.
“I’ll go get your breakfast.”
She turned and left.
Drew was disappointed. He was expecting another kiss.
“Well, are you going to sleep all day?”
A smile accompanied the question. Nell stood in the doorway, her arms folded.
“Actually, I thought I’d join you ladies downstairs today.”
“Are you going to read the Bible for us?”
“Only if I can choose the passage.”
Nell chuckled. Her smile widened, accompanied by laughing eyes. Seeing her like this brought a warm wave of good feeling over Drew. What is it about this woman that attracts me so? Except for that one Sunday afternoon, she has kept herself distant. She is not as pretty as her sister, so why am I attracted to her? Why does it make me feel so good to see her smile?
Jenny brought the breakfast tray in and set it on the little wooden stand, just like before.
“Come on, Jen, let’s get to work.”
Nell turned to leave.
“I thought I’d stay with Drew while he ate his breakfast.”
“He’s a grown man. He can eat his breakfast all by himself. Let’s go, we’ve lost a couple of days this week.”
Jenny’s lower lip appeared. Her expression appealed for Drew’s intercession.
Drew smiled apologetically.
“Thanks for the offer.”
A genuine frown formed on Jenny’s face.
Drew almost fainted trying to go downstairs. He should have been forewarned by the extensive effort it took to dress himself. He wore a single shoe—his swollen and bandaged left foot wouldn’t fit into one. Overall he felt pretty good. His right arm and face throbbed from his exertion, as did the foot, but other than that he felt strong, and he was anxious to get out of bed and move around. Besides, he had to regain his mobility if he was going to make the rendezvous with Eliot.
It was fortunate for him that a railing was on the side of the stairs as he descended. A little more than halfway down, a white fog rushed to his head, bringing with it a cold sweat. He fell on the railing and tried to clear his head. The white fog grew more dense and began to darken.
The next thing he knew, Nell and Jenny were holding him up, one on each side. They helped him down the stairs and into a chair. A few minutes later his head began to clear. Jenny gently mopped the moisture from the sides of his face and his upper lip.
“Why didn’t you call us?” Nell scolded.
Drew shrugged. “I thought I could make it by myself.”
Nell shook her head and returned to her working place by the window that opened onto High Street.
When his strength returned, Drew offered to read from the Bible, using it as a chance to inquire about his missing Bible. Jenny said she still hadn’t seen it. Nell said she thought it was in the curate’s study upstairs, and so Jenny went to look for it. A few moments later she returned, carrying the Bible. Under pretense of finding a passage to read, Drew looked for Eliot’s note. It was still there.
In the same place, he thought, but he wasn’t sure. Even so, there was no way of knowing if the curate had read the note and placed it back in the Bible. Then another thought occurred to him. What if Nell was the one who was using the Bible? She knew where to find it. Had she read it? If so, how could he explain Eliot’s note?
The Scripture passage Drew read was selected by joint effort. True to her word, Nell left the decision to Drew. He wanted to read more about the adventurous apostle Paul—about him, not by him, he emphasized—but he had no idea where to look.
“Why not start at the beginning of his adventure?” Nell suggested.
She guided him to the book of Acts chapter 9. He scanned the chapter silently for embarrassing references before beginning to read.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?” Nell teased.
As Nell and Jenny pinned, looped, twisted, and tied their lace, Drew read most of chapter 9 (under Nell’s direction he skipped the last eleven verses as well as chapters 10, 11, and 12 since they were about Peter) and chapters 13 and 14.
A wild thought troubled Drew as he read about Paul and Barnabas at Iconium, where there was a plot to stone them. Fortunately, the plot was uncovered and the apostles fled.
Drew wondered what the townspeople of Edenford would do to him if they knew the reason for his presence among them.
Following lunch and a nap, Drew felt good enough to leave the house. Nell insisted someone accompany him. So Christopher Matthews asked if he felt up to a little walk. When Drew said he was, the curate handed him a walking cane, a gift from old Cyrus Furman.
It felt good to get outside. The slight breeze was cold on his face and foot, and Drew welcomed the bright sun like a long lost friend. Walking the streets of Edenford, he felt like a returning battle hero. Everyone they passed said a kind word and thanked Drew again for saving the Cooper boy. With each encounter Christopher Matthews beamed like a proud father.
The curate led Drew to the Cooper residence, located above David Cooper’s cobbler shop. The upper room was extremely warm with no windows or source of circulation. Lying prostrate on the bed was a swollen and blistered Thomas. His mother was beside him, dabbing his limbs with a wet cloth. The boy’s eyes were closed. Drew was beginning to wonder if coming here was a good idea. Seeing the boy like this caused him to feel faint.
“Is he going to be all right?” Drew asked.
“He’s in God’s hands,” the cobbler said.
“What did the doctor say?”
The curate answered this time.
“He didn’t come.”
No further explanation was offered, and from the resentful looks on the faces of the curate and the boy’s parents, Drew didn’t ask for one.
“He’s just now beginning to respond to us,” the cobbler said.
Drew walked to the side of the bed. Thomas’s features were engulfed in swollen skin.
“Thomas,” he said. “This is Drew.”
No response.
“I hope you get better. I’d hate to be the only blue person in the village.”
It took a moment, but then the corners of the boy’s mouth turned upward, and a tear trickled down the side of his face.
As they descended the stairs, the Cooper family heaped “Thank yous” and “God bless yous” upon Drew. There were so many of them he ran out of ways to respond, so he just smiled a lot and nodded.
There was a tense moment as Drew reached the foot of the stairs. James was seated on a stool, hammering a heel to the bottom of a shoe. He hadn’t been back to the vats since the accident, choosing instead to work with his father. The hand that gripped the hammer looked like it was wearing a blue glove, and there was a prominent blue stain on his forehead. At the sight of Drew, James dropped his hammer and stalked out the back door. The smiles that had been everywhere moments before vanished, as the two visitors took their leave.
“It’s not you,” the curate said. “He’s angry with himself for causing the accident, and even more so for failing to rescue his brother. Like the stains on his hand and forehead, you remind him of his failure. It’s difficult for him. Every time he sees his reflection, he sees the mark of Cain.”
“The mark of Cain?”
“In the book of Genesis. Cain killed his brother Abel, so God put a mark on Cain as a warning to others. Cain’s punishment was having to live with the guilt of his actions. That’s how James feels.”
As they turned on to High Street, Drew said, “I’ve been thinking of something you said to me earlier.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“About God having a hand in bringing me to Edenford. Maybe I was brought here to rescue Thomas.”
The curate thought for a moment.
“Could be,” he said. “But I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.”
Saturday the mystery regarding Drew’s Bible was solved. The curate had borrowed it. Apparently, while preparing his sermon, he became curious about how the King James translators had handled the passage. Drew was asleep, and the curate didn’t think Drew would mind if he borrowed the Bible. Of course, Drew didn’t mind, but there was still the unanswered question regarding the note hidden in its pages. Had the curate read it or not?
All work ceased in Edenford at three o’clock in preparation for the Sabbath Day observances on Sunday. The evening meal consisted of vegetable soup. There was no bread or meat. Conversation during and after the dinner was low key. Shortly after 9:30 while the others were talking of bed, Drew announced that he had been sleeping too much lately, wasn’t tired, and was feeling so good he thought he’d take a walk. He grabbed his walking cane and left. No one expressed undue alarm.
It was chilly outside. Halfway down High Street Drew thought about going back for a coat but decided against it. Considering how easy it was to slip out of the house, he didn’t want to take any chances of complicating the matter. His shoeless foot was cold, but what could he do about it? He’d just have to manage somehow.
The dark cracks between the shuttered windows indicated that most of the families on High Street had retired for the night.
As he headed downhill toward Market Street, he had a sudden realization. Eliot said to meet him near the bridge, but he didn’t say which bridge. Was he to meet him at the north bridge or at the south bridge by the mill?
At Market Street he had to decide. Which way? Left or right? He looked up and down the tree lined street dimly lit by street lamps. A bulging row of shadows lined the road beneath the trees. Beyond the trees the village green and church could be seen clearly in the moonlight.
Suddenly, two figures emerged from beneath a tree midway down the road. Drew stepped into a shadow against the last house on High Street. Because of the moon’s position, the shadow from the eaves didn’t fully cover him. He pressed himself harder against the wall. Whispers and giggles came from the two figures. Holding hands, they ran toward Chesterfield Road—away from him.
Drew chose the north bridge because that was the bridge he had crossed to enter Edenford, and he assumed Eliot would come the same way. He hugged the right side of Market Street, walking in the tree’s shadows as the street rounded toward the main thoroughfare. Passing the church, he headed north on Bridge Street, which was lined with two foot high stone walls, and crossed the three-arched stone bridge. He looked for Eliot. No one. It didn’t concern him; he was early.
Drew sat on the stone bridge wall and waited. In minutes he was shivering, as the cold penetrated his clothing. The trickling sound of the river below made him even colder, especially his toes. He tried folding his arms to keep warm, but his right arm still wouldn’t bend far enough for that. To warm his toes, he gingerly tucked them in the crease of the back of his right leg. He was beginning to wonder if he was at the right bridge. It was too dark to see the other bridge from here; he could barely make out the mill. Looking back at the village, he saw a few lights on some of the higher streets. What about the castle on the hill? No. Not a chance. It was too dark to be able to …
“Drew!”
Drew whirled around.
“Eliot?”
“Down here!”
The voice came from the riverbank below the bridge. Drew looked down. It was Eliot, his hair sticking up like pickets.
Drew rounded the end of the bridge and slid down the slope to the river.
Eliot’s eyes opened wide with surprise.
“Wha …? Are you blue?”
He burst into laughter, his hyena laugh.
“Shh! Someone will hear you!”
When that didn’t work.
“It was an accident!”
“No kiddin’! I thought ya did it on purpose!”
Eliot fell to the ground, clutching his sides and laughing, rolling in the leaves along the bank. At times his laughter would taper off, then he’d take another look at Drew and start all over again.
Up to this point Drew had been so concerned with the noise of Eliot’s laughing, that he hadn’t taken a good look at him. Of the two, Drew looked the less strange. Eliot was dressed like a caveman, wearing nothing more than an animal skin loin covering. He was filthy, and rolling in the muddy riverbank only added a fresh coat of what was already there. All over his legs, arms, chest, and back were streaks of red. Scratches? Blood?
“Eliot, shut up! You’ll wake the whole town!”
It took a while, but eventually Eliot’s laughter digressed to an occasional snort. He got to his feet and stood opposite Drew, trying to keep from laughing.
“Your note said it was urgent. Is the bishop all right?”
“Got some great stuff for you, blue boy,” Eliot chuckled.
“Is the bishop all right?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know. His last message to me was strange. Like he wasn’t happy with me.”
Eliot scoffed. “You really are stupid, aren’t you? The guy loves you. Everything you do pleases him.” Eliot stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it vigorously as he spoke.
“So, why are you here?”
“Wait here.”
Eliot dug behind some bushes and pulled out a pouch. From the pouch he took a letter and a piece of paper. He handed Drew the letter first. Muddy finger marks were all over it.
“From the bishop,” he said.
Drew took the letter. The seal was broken.
“It’s been opened.”
“Wanted to see if it was a love letter. What are all those numbers? Code, right? Why’re you usin’ code?”
“You shouldn’t have opened my letter,” Drew said, his voice rising.
A queer look crossed Eliot’s face. He stepped back and raised his dirt crusted fists. The other paper fluttered to the ground and landed at water’s edge.
The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1) Page 25