Obedience to God’s ways as taught in the Bible was the foundation for all of life.
Seated between Nell and Jenny, Drew pondered the words of Edenford’s curate. When the preacher described the evils of the present godless generation, Drew buried his head in his hands. His shoulders shook. Jenny asked him if he was feeling ill. Drew didn’t respond. As the curate expounded on his third point, Drew doubled over, his head and hands on his knees.
“The future of God’s people in England is dark,” the curate boomed. “Black, menacing forces muster on the horizon, building up strength to rain destruction upon us. But we are God’s people. We are not without hope. In His graciousness, God has given me a vision of a promised land for His English people.”
The curate had everyone’s attention. Even those who had been dozing to this point listened intently. Their curate was offering them a glimpse into the future. No one wanted to miss it.
“God has shown me that His faithful people will prevail. More than prevail! God has shown me that His people will live in a land where people will set their hearts on the things of God, citizens and leaders alike. They will not crave power or riches or the things of this world. In this land children will be taught to worship God and serve Him all the days of their lives. In this land men and women will live free from the fear of persecution. For the magistrates, the nobles, the common people, from the greatest to the least, will walk humbly before God. God has assured me it is not a vain thing to dream about such a land. This is God’s will for us. The same God of Israel who led His people out of slavery and into the Promised Land will lead us from this land of persecution to a land flowing with milk and honey. No longer will we be the slaves of evil men, for we will live in a land of freedom.”
His sermon concluded, the curate led the congregation in a prayer.
As she bowed to pray, Nell’s eyes caught a verse from her Bible still open on her lap.
“And the LORD spake unto Moses saying, ‘Thou shalt therefore see the land before thee, but shalt not go thither, I mean, into the land which I give the Children of Israel.’”
Nell thought of the prophecy and her father, and she wept.
“May I say something?”
Drew stood and spoke loudly just as the service ended. Some of the children, anxious to get outside, had already made it to the aisle. Adults were gathering their belongings. The curate was standing to the side of the pulpit. Drew’s words suspended all action.
“Do you wish to address the entire congregation?” the curate asked.
“Yes. May I come to the front?”
The curate nodded.
As Drew slipped past Nell and walked to the front, parents pulled restless children back to their seats.
Reaching the platform, Drew stood with eyes downcast, his hands folded in front. For a long time he just stood there, struggling for the right words. The longer he delayed, the more everyone’s attention focused on him. He didn’t say anything until all the rustling stopped.
“I was sent here to spy on you.”
A collective gasp rose from the congregation. Drew looked up. The first face he saw was Jenny’s. It registered shock. Next to her, Nell scowled. In the back David Cooper and James stood, huge hairy arms folded across their chests. Ambrose Dudley’s face was gathered in a mass of wrinkles around his nose, making him look like a weasel. There was one face Drew couldn’t see since it was behind him—which was just as well. He didn’t think he could bear to look at Edenford’s curate right now.
“It’s true,” he continued. “Powerful men who hate Puritans taught me to believe you are evil, that you are a threat to England. I lied to you when I told you I was traveling to Plymouth. Edenford was my destination all along. My mission was to spy on your curate, Christopher Matthews, and to record any violations of Church of England procedures.”
The congregation was becoming agitated. Drew hurried on, increasing his volume and intensity.
“I have noted several violations for which you can be prosecuted: The communion table is not set against the east wall, nor is it railed off; your curate doesn’t wear a surplice when he officiates at church services; you do not bow at the name of Jesus; and you hold evening preaching services. All of these are in direct violation of English law.”
The commotion grew even louder. Drew adjusted his volume upward again.
“Men have been tried, convicted, whipped, and disfigured for these offenses! I have witnessed these things personally!”
The congregation grew even louder. Drew had to shout to be heard.
“Please hear me out! For I have discovered one other vital fact!” He paused. The commotion subsided slightly. “I have learned that the men who hate you are wrong!”
Silence. This wasn’t what they were expecting. Some, thinking they heard wrong, asked those sitting next to them to repeat what he said.
“They are wrong. You have proved that to me. You’re not evil. You’re not dangerous. It was wrong of me to spy on you. The very man I came to investigate welcomed me into his house as a guest. All of you have accepted me and loved me as one of your own. I never knew this kind of love existed.”
Smiles of relief appeared.
“Through your actions you have shown me the true love of Jesus Christ. I am unworthy of you. My only request is that you forgive me. I will leave Edenford immediately and never trouble you again.”
Head bowed, Drew stepped from the platform and limped toward the door.
“Drew! Wait!” the curate called after him.
Drew stopped mid-aisle.
“Let him go!” someone shouted.
Several others echoed this sentiment.
Christopher Matthews went to Drew and put an arm around his shoulders.
“You have heard his confession,” the curate said, “and have witnessed his repentance. Isn’t this the essence of everything we believe? Christ died to forgive our sin! Who among us came to Christ except through the forgiveness of sin? Who among us has not done something for which we are ashamed?”
The curate waited for an opposing opinion, which he knew would not come.
Turning to Drew, the curate said, “Is this what you want? Do you want Jesus Christ to forgive your sin? Do you want to become one of His disciples?”
Drew looked into the curate’s pleading eyes. The man’s arm around his shoulder was warm yet firm. He glanced out at Jenny, her eyes were pleading, just like her father’s. He couldn’t see Nell’s expression; her head was bowed, hiding her face behind a curtain of brown hair.
“If He will have me,” Drew said softly.
Drew Morgan was baptized in the River Exe that afternoon.
To the children’s delight, the celebration that followed canceled their Sunday afternoon catechism instruction. The people of Edenford ate, sang, and talked away the daylight hours. Without exception, every member of the town shook the new convert’s hand. Their acceptance of Edenford’s newest church member, however, was mixed.
Jenny gave Drew a hug, holding it a little longer than most of the women standing nearby deemed appropriate.
“My, aren’t we full of surprises!” Nell said.
She hugged Drew too, a brief hug around the shoulders.
Ambrose Dudley held out a bony hand, which Drew found dry and cold.
“Welcome, Master Morgan,” he said. Leaning closer, he whispered, “‘By their fruits ye shall know them,’ Matthew chapter 7, verse 20.”
That night Drew lay on his bedding in the darkness of the Matthews’ sitting room. He stared at the ceiling beams and smiled.
Eliot, you’re a genius! he thought. You’re weird, but a genius!
The events of the day had unfolded just as Eliot said they would. The gambit worked to perfection.
Begin by telling them the truth, that you’re a spy. Drew remembered laughing when Eliot first suggested the tactic.
No foolin’, Eliot insisted. It works! Tell ’em you’re a spy and that you have the goods on them, but you ju
st can’t go through with it. Tell ’em that they’ve won you over to the faith. That you’ve seen the light (that’s an expression they like to hear) and that you’ve learned the error of your ways. The worse the scoundrel you make yourself out to be, the more they’ll want to forgive you. And then—this is the best part—always tell ’em you’re leaving, that you’re unworthy to be around ’em. They’ll beg you to stay! Really! No foolin’! They’ll beg you to stay! And then they’ll tell you every secret in the church! They’re suckers for the conversion trick. All you have to do is look sincere and it’ll work every time!
Ambrose Dudley was the real puzzle. Every indication was that he suspected something; and surely he’d heard the yelling beside the river that night, if not the entire conversation. Why hadn’t he said something publicly? What was he waiting for? Then again, maybe Drew was making too much of it. Judging from the townspeople’s reaction, he concluded he had succeeded in looking sincere enough, because the plan worked—to perfection.
After a full morning of business, it was Christopher Matthews who gave Drew the opportunity to sneak into his upstairs study.
“You look tired,” he said. “That’s not surprising. You had a busy day yesterday and have been going strong all morning. Why don’t you go home and take a nap?”
Drew did his best to look sleepy eyed.
“I am tired,” he agreed. “But I have too much to learn, and you need the help. I’ll be all right.”
The curate insisted, as Drew knew he would, and it was settled. Since he would be unable to sleep in the sitting room while Nell and Jenny worked, he would have to go upstairs. The curate would be gone, and Nell and Jenny would be busy, a perfect opportunity to get into the study.
Following a meager lunch of soup broth, Drew read Scripture to the girls as they worked. Then he yawned and climbed the stairs for his nap. He pulled the bedroom door closed from the outside, loud enough for the girls to hear it.
He didn’t go to the study immediately, not until he was convinced the conversation downstairs was continuing in a normal manner.
“You like him, don’t you?” he heard Jenny ask.
“Drew? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nell replied.
“What are you going to tell James?”
Nell didn’t respond for what seemed a long time. Drew strained to hear something, anything.
“Well?”
It was Jenny again.
“There’s nothing to tell him,” Nell said sharply.
When their conversation shifted to the bone lace, Drew concluded it was safe to move into the study. Remembering the creaking board that had scared Nell a few nights earlier, Drew took a large step over it into the study. His eyes darted around for loose papers.
The desk was neatly arranged with two stacks of books on the far right-hand corner. A quill pen and inkwell were situated center forward. There were no papers on the desk. Drew scanned the bookshelves above the desk. He spotted the curate’s Bible and pulled it from the shelf. He flipped through the pages and found what he was looking for. Sermon notes from Sunday. Deuteronomy, Moses, the Israelites, and the Promised Land.
He pulled the page of Justin’s manuscript from his pocket and laid the sermon notes and manuscript side by side. He looked for capital T’s and lowercase letters with descenders—y, g, p. There were enough of them to make a valid comparison. He bit his lower lip and sighed. Satisfied, he put Justin’s manuscript back in his pocket, the loose papers in the Bible, and placed the Bible back on the shelf.
Before leaving, he looked over the desk to make sure everything was as he found it. He was being overcautious. Better to be sure than to get caught due to carelessness, he reasoned. He checked the row of books on the shelf; some were pushed back farther than others. A random ordering. No one would notice any change. The inkwell and pen, undisturbed. The double stack of books on the corner. Just as they were when he came …
He noticed a familiar volume. It was on the bottom of the far right stack—the one Nell closed and hid from him the night he frightened her upon returning from his meeting with Eliot. Probably her journal. The temptation to take a quick look at it was irresistible.
Drew glanced at the doorway. He didn’t expect to see anyone standing there—he would have heard them come up the stairs— but he looked to make sure. With deliberate slowness, he lifted the top books to one side and pulled the buried volume in front of him. He opened the cover. There was no name, no writing at all. There was, however, a finely crafted cross made of bone lace. A bookmark? He lifted it to examine it more closely. The strands were delicate and expertly woven, without flaw as far as he could tell. The cloth strands had a sweet, mild scent to them, reminding him of Nell. It was the same scent he smelled the day they walked arm in arm to the castle ruins. Holding the lace to his nose, he breathed in, savoring the scent and the memory.
Returning the lace cross to the front of the book, he flipped the pages randomly. It was Nell’s journal. He read an entry. Lord Chesterfield was being unreasonable. He had demanded an impossible amount of lace in an unreasonable time. The crisis? A party at Theobalds. Nell was unsympathetic to his plight. In another entry, she and Jenny had had a fight. There were no details, but Nell was upset that Jenny was too trusting, too naive. Nell was afraid Jenny would someday get hurt. In another entry, Nell struggled with pride. She asked God to forgive her. And another, James was making advances. She asked God for wisdom in helping him mature.
This last entry infuriated Drew. A mental picture of that hairy giant’s hands on Nell incensed him. Then a thought struck him. Does she say anything about me? He flipped the pages toward the end of the book, looking for his name. There. Drew Morgan.…
The door downstairs opened and closed.
“Poppa!”
He heard Jenny’s childlike squeal.
“What are you doing home?”
Hurriedly, Drew closed the journal and placed it back on the corner of the desk. Then, impulsively, he took the lace cross from inside the cover and thrust it in his pocket. Listening for steps on the staircase, he piled the other books back on top of Nell’s journal. Still no sound of footsteps. The curate was explaining to Nell and Jenny that Cyrus Furman was suffering from loneliness. Since the Furmans didn’t have a Bible, the curate had come to get his so he could comfort the watchman with Scripture.
Drew quickly tiptoed over the noisy floorboard, quietly worked the bedroom door latch, and slipped inside the room. He lay on the bed, his heart pounding. The heavy thud of the curate’s boots fell on the stairs. A creaking floorboard indicated he reached the top landing. A few moments later, the floorboard sounded again, followed by descending footsteps.
Drew lay on the bed for more than two hours, sleep far from him. In the darkness of the room, he took the lace cross from his pocket and gently caressed it. Raising it to his face, he inhaled Nell’s scent and rubbed the lacework against his cheek.
The feelings that churned in him were troubling. He had never had such strong feelings for a woman. He had lusted after women before, many times, like Rosemary at Mile End Tavern. But once his lust had been satisfied, Rosemary disgusted him. He never wanted to see her again. It was true, he desired Nell strongly, but it was more than lust that attracted him to her. He wanted to be with her always. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted her to look at him with the respect he saw in her eyes when she looked at her father. He wanted so much to spend the rest of his life with her by his side. But how could he? She would never leave Edenford and her family. And his future was in London where fame and fortune awaited him.
In fact, everything he had dreamed of and craved all his life was now within his grasp. Notoriety. Praise. Maybe even knighthood. All these things would be his when he revealed to the world that Christopher Matthews was the notorious pamphleteer Justin.
Chapter 17
As it turned out, Drew would not have had to sneak into Christopher Matthews’ study to discover that the curate was Justin. He was to
ld of the notorious pamphleteer’s secret identity several nights later at a meeting.
Only a handful of men knew of these covert meetings that were held late at night in the back of the cobbler’s shop. When he arrived with Matthews, Drew saw seven men squeezed into the cobbler’s small back room among shoes, leather strips, and mounds of wooden heels. Drew recognized most of them: the cobbler David Cooper, of course; Charles Manly, the keeper of the inn; Cyrus Furman; and Ambrose Dudley. He had met two of the other men at church but couldn’t remember their names; the third he had never seen before. Drew sat in the only vacant place left, next to the stranger who stared at him rather impolitely. Drew began to take offense and then remembered he was still tinted blue. The dye was fading, and everyone else in the village was used to his color. For the stranger, he was a new and unusual sight.
The curate thanked the men for attending the meeting and led them in a prayer, asking God to give them wisdom in the matters they would discuss.
Following the prayer, the curate looked around the room and chuckled at the close quarters.
“Normally, we are six in number. Tonight, we are nine. Our two newest members don’t need introduction. This is Ambrose Dudley’s first meeting. We have known him for years, as he has distinguished himself as town scrivener. Welcome to the group, Ambrose.”
Dudley acknowledged the curate’s welcome.
“And you all know Drew Morgan, town hero and our most recent convert.”
Drew smiled as everyone looked at him.
“The third gentleman here for the first time is a special guest. I have asked him to speak to us about a matter of utmost importance. He is a respected Puritan leader and a man after God’s own heart, John Winthrop.”
Drew looked at the guest sitting next to him. He sat erect, assured of himself with a slightly noble bearing. His dark brown hair was longer than that of most Puritan men, falling almost to his shoulders. His face looked even longer than it was because of his thin, straight nose, the line of which pointed past his mustache and down a beard that came to a neatly trimmed point.
The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1) Page 27