The curate continued, “I have asked Master Winthrop to address a specific topic which I will announce shortly. First, we have some business to attend.”
He looked deliberately at Ambrose Dudley and Drew. Black smoke from the candles curled toward the ceiling, giving the room and the men a look of mystery to match their secrecy.
“You two men were recruited after much prayer and are to be commended for coming tonight, even though you know nothing about our work and the reason for our secrecy. In faith, we ask you to join us and share our secret.”
“If I may be so bold,” Ambrose Dudley raised a thin, straight arm, requesting to be recognized.
“Ambrose.”
The curate recognized him.
“Before any secret information is divulged, I must object to the presence of Master Drew Morgan.”
For the second time that night, all eyes turned to Drew.
“I realize I have no right to speak out like this, since this is my first meeting. However, that is the very basis of my objection to him being here. You have known me for over three years. For two years I have served as your scrivener without a complaint lodged against me. Not a single complaint. Yet only now do you include me in your confidence. Master Morgan, on the other hand, has been here a matter of weeks. He arrived as a vagabond, despite the outcome of his trial, and is an admitted spy. I must confess it pains me to think it took me so long to earn your confidence, when a vagabond and spy is so readily admitted into your trust. If you ask me, you are making a mistake by opening yourselves to him so readily.”
Ambrose Dudley took his seat.
“Maybe he’s right,” Charles Manly said.
“Gentlemen.”
All eyes turned to the curate.
“I have defended this young man before and will not hesitate to defend him again. I believe there is no finer man in Edenford than Drew Morgan. It was I who recommended he join us. And I will not withdraw my recommendation now.”
“Good enough for me,” David Cooper said.
“Me too,” said Cyrus Furman.
A chorus of assents followed.
Ambrose Dudley nodded toward the curate, conceding his defeat.
Christopher Matthews explained the covert operation to the newcomers. From John Winthrop’s lack of reaction, Drew guessed he was already aware of the secret activities. The curate confessed to writing Puritan propaganda under the pen name Justin. The manuscript pages were then hidden between layers in the soles of shoes and shipped to various sympathetic printers. An elaborate network of volunteers distributed the printed pamphlets. The new recruits would assist by delivering the special shoe orders from time to time.
Drew was surprised at the calm atmosphere of the meeting. They discussed their illegal operation with an attitude of somber resolve. For some reason he expected to see them wearing wicked grins as they plotted their sedition, the air charged with the anticipation of doing something for which they might get caught. None of these elements were present in the room. It was more like a planning meeting for a funeral than a covert operation.
One other element stood out in Drew’s mind—these men were closer than brothers. He could see it in the way they looked at each other, an occasional hug or slap on the back, sometimes a gibe followed by friendly bantering back and forth. They were committed not only to their cause but also to each other. Drew envied their closeness. He watched them from a distance, refusing to allow himself to be pulled in emotionally.
A new Justin manuscript was produced and hidden in a pair of shoes. The order was bound for a man named Whitely in Reigate. He would deliver the manuscript to an illegal press in London. It was decided that the bachelors, Charles Manly and Ambrose Dudley, would deliver the goods. Manly was obviously pleased to have his good friend as part of the secret society.
“God was pleased to bring John Winthrop into my life earlier this year,” the curate said, as he introduced his guest. “The two of us have something in common. He does legally what I do illegally—writes pamphlets. I came upon his paper, Arguments for the Plantation of New England, and on reading it was impressed with his logic and spiritual depth. I sought him out and have had several enjoyable discussions with him. Rather than relate secondhand information to you, I thought it best to invite him to speak to you directly. He may hold the key to the future of our village.”
Matthews yielded the floor to their guest. When he stood, he was taller than Drew imagined he would be.
Winthrop straightened his clothes and took an orator’s stance before speaking, revealing his education and nobility.
“On March 10 of this year of our Lord 1629, as you are well aware, the king of England dissolved parliament. Since that day, he has ruled England in dictatorial fashion, imposing ridiculous taxes—the notorious ship tax being one of them—to raise money without having to reconvene parliament. You yourselves have felt the sting of the king’s policies. He taxes you while his bishop persecutes you.
“It is for these reasons that last September I joined eleven other God-fearing men in signing the Cambridge Agreement. We believe that our future lies elsewhere, in another land. We seek a charter that will allow us to immigrate to America.
“How can you leave England? I know the question is on your minds; I see it on your faces. I am persuaded that God will speedily bring heavy affliction upon this land. But be of good comfort. If the Lord sees it will be good for us, He will provide shelter and a hiding place for us and others. Evil times are coming when the church must fly into the wilderness.
“Think of the possibilities! It is our opportunity to provide a refuge for those whom God intends to save from the destruction that awaits us here. The intemperance of England is overwhelming our society. I fear for my children! The fountains of learning and religion are so corrupted that even the best minds and fairest hopes are perverted, corrupted, and utterly overthrown by the multitude of evil examples in the land. In America, we can raise our children to fear God and honor His ways.
“What can be a better work, a more honorable and worthy work, than to help raise and support a particular church while it is in its infancy and to join forces with such a company of faithful people? This New World adventure offers the possibility of joining with likeminded Puritans to plan and establish a pure church in a new land.
“England is crowded, and the poor are a great burden. Since the whole earth is the Lord’s garden, why should we struggle here to live on a few acres, when we could have hundreds as good or better in New England?”
“But is it good land?” David Cooper asked.
John Winthrop welcomed the question. He pulled a printed pamphlet from inside his coat.
“This was written by Reverend Francis Higginson who settled in New England earlier this year. Listen to what he writes about the land:
It is a land of diverse and sundry sorts all about Massachusetts Bay, and at the Charles River is as fat black earth as can be seen anywhere; and in other places you have a clay soil, in other gravel, in other sandy, as it is all about our plantation at Salem, for so our town is now named. The form of the earth here is neither too flat in the plains, nor too high in hills, but partakes of both in a mediocrity, and fit for pasture or for plow or meadow ground, as men please to employ it. Though all the country be, as it were, a thick wood for the general, yet in diverse places there is much ground cleared by the Indians, and especially about the plantation; and I am told that about three miles from us a man may stand on a little hilly place and see divers thousands of acres of ground as good as need to be, and not a tree in the same.
Winthrop lowered the pamphlet and continued, “Higginson goes on to say that corn grows in abundance—thirty, forty, sixty, a hundredfold is ordinary for a crop.”
There were wide-eyed stares all around the room.
“He also describes a land where water is plentiful, with an abundance of fish. As for wood, there is none better in the world—four kinds of oak, ash, elm, birch, juniper, cypress, cedar, pines
, and fir. For beasts there are some bears, deer, wolves, foxes, beavers, otters, and great wild cats.”
“What about Indians? Aren’t they dangerous?” Charles Manly asked.
“There are Indians,” Winthrop conceded. “You have all heard of the dangers from the Jamestown experiment. But I like to look on them as an opportunity for missionary work. They need to hear the gospel of Christ.
“My task here is to tell you that I am forming an expedition to the New World. We will sail in the spring. And you are all welcome to join us.”
“Women and children too?” David Cooper asked. “Isn’t that exposing them to great risk?”
“It’s true, there is risk. If we go, we may perish by hunger or the sword, and our families and friends come to misery because of us. But who can be sure of safety here? If the course be right, God will keep us from those evils or enable us to bear them.”
“Not me,” said Ambrose Dudley. “I’m an Englishman. I’ll always be an Englishman.”
Winthrop smiled.
“For myself,” he said, “I have seen so much of the vanity of the world, that I esteem the diversities of countries as so many inns, whereof the traveler who has lodged in the best or in the meanest finds no difference when he comes to his journey’s end. I shall call that my country where I may most glorify God and enjoy the presence of my dearest friends.”
“What did you think of John Winthrop’s proposal?”
Drew and Matthews walked the quiet streets of Edenford from the cobbler’s shop to High Street. The meeting had ended soon after Winthrop finished speaking. No decision was expected or forthcoming. An invitation was extended. Now they would think about it and discuss it among themselves. The curate was asking Drew’s opinion.
“It sounds exciting.”
The curate smiled a knowing smile.
“I thought you would think so. A far-off land, waiting to be tamed by adventurous spirits—young, adventurous spirits.”
“Do you think anybody from Edenford will go with Master Winthrop?”
The curate shook his head.
“No, their roots are too deep in Edenford. It would take something greater than a ship tax to dislodge them.”
“Then why did you have Master Winthrop come all this way to speak to us?” Drew asked.
“God told me to.”
Drew delayed sending a message to Bishop Laud. It wasn’t because he was lacking any information. In fact, he had accomplished everything he set out to accomplish in Edenford—he had a list of violations against the curate, enough to put him out of circulation; and, more important, he had discovered Edenford’s secret. A comparison of handwriting samples readily proved that Christopher Matthews was Justin; what’s more, he had confessed the fact, and Drew knew how the entire operation worked. So why did he hesitate when it came to informing the bishop of his findings?
If the truth were known, Drew didn’t want his experience in Edenford to end. He had committed the ultimate sin for a spy—he had developed feelings for the people he spied on. He was accepted here. More than that, he was respected and loved. What was it the curate said of him at the meeting when Dudley challenged his presence? I believe there is no finer man in Edenford than Drew Morgan. It was the best thing anyone had ever said about him.
Nell stood against the low stone wall of the ancient Saxon castle. Beyond her lay Edenford, basking in the lazy Sunday afternoon sun. The blue ribbon of the Exe River meandered slowly past the village in the background, studded with diamonds of sunbursts reflecting on its surface. Drew sat on the ground, reclining against a large granite block, watching her. Her hands folded a leaf over and back, over and back in zigzag fashion. When she came to the edge of the leaf, she would unfold it, smooth out the creases, and begin again. Drew couldn’t remember ever seeing her hands still. They were always working on something. On this day of rest, her hands worked the leaf.
Trees stretched beside them and over them, encompassing them in their own private canopy. The light that filtered through the layers of leaves was soft and peaceful, making the sunlit village appear as a mural painted with bold strokes of brilliant green, yellow, and blue hues.
They had come to the castle ruins at Nell’s suggestion. They talked of town events, the lack of food and money, and how various people were reacting to the hardship. Nell commented on Drew’s improved physical condition. His skin had just a hint of blue, and he had regained full use of his right arm and left foot. She asked him how his apprenticeship with her father was going, and he replied that he was learning a lot about the woolen industry. Then they ran out of things to talk about and fell to silence. Nell had walked over to the wall and folded her leaf while Drew sat and watched her.
“James Cooper asked me to marry him.”
“Oh?”
Nell had made her announcement matter-of-factly, without turning around to face him. Drew did his best to hold his voice steady in response. He hoped he didn’t sound as startled as he felt.
Nell shook her head.
“The night you were at that meeting with Poppa, James came over and said he wanted to talk to me. We walked down to the village green, and he asked me to be his wife.”
“Congratulations.”
Nell spun around. Her eyes flashed with anger and dismay.
“Congratulations? Is that all you can say?”
Drew struggled to his feet.
“What else should I say?”
Tears came to her eyes. She looked at him in disbelief.
“I can’t marry James!”
“Why not?”
“Uhhhh!”
Nell turned away in disgust. She produced a handkerchief and furiously dabbed her eyes.
“Well, for one thing, he’s as dumb as a dirt clod. Then there’s his ungodly temper. I’m not going to marry an immature child wearing a man’s body simply because we were born at the same time and our fathers are best friends!”
“Do you really think your father expects you to?”
“That’s another reason! Who’s going to take care of Poppa? Jenny’s of marrying age, and the way she flirts with boys it won’t be long before she gets married. Poppa will be all alone!”
Drew simply nodded. He wasn’t about to disagree with her.
“And then, of course, there’s the biggest reason.”
“The biggest reason?”
Nell turned toward him. She looked at him in wonder.
“You’re incredible,” she said. “You really don’t know, do you?”
Drew’s expression was blank.
“It’s you, silly. How can I marry James when I love you?”
Drew didn’t move. He looked for some sign that she was toying with him but couldn’t find any. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and those sparkling brown eyes beckoned him to come to her. He took a hesitant step toward her. She flew into his arms, eagerly kissing him over and over again.
Her kisses were warm with tears as he pulled her closer. He embraced her with an intensity that frightened him. He had never experienced a sensation like this. It was as if their souls overlapped and each was now a part of the other. He never wanted to let her go. Nothing on heaven or earth could make him let her go. Nothing except Nell.
“This isn’t right,” she said, pushing herself away.
With the greatest of efforts, he released her.
“What do you mean?”
She took a deep breath.
“It would be best if you just go.”
She stepped aside, clearing his way to the path leading down the mountain.
Drew lowered his head and walked toward the path.
“You would go, wouldn’t you!”
Drew stopped.
“Isn’t it enough that you’re kind and caring and handsome? Must you be a gentleman too? Come here, my love!”
She held her arms out to him.
Nell Matthews and Drew Morgan kissed each other until they were exhausted. With his blue stained thumbs, Drew wiped the tears from her
cheeks. He kissed one cheek, then the other, then the end of her nose, and eagerly sought her lips again.
After a while, they sat on the remnant of the castle wall overlooking Edenford at dusk. Nell leaned against Drew with her head on his shoulder.
“What are we going to do now?” Drew asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what are we going to do about James? Your father? What are we going to do about us?”
Nell straightened herself and moved away from him slightly.
“We’re not going to do anything.”
“But you said you loved me!”
“And I do. But nothing can come of it.”
“How can you say that?”
There was more than a touch of anger in Drew’s voice.
“Nothing can come of it because we’re too different. We come from different backgrounds, and we have different futures.”
Drew attempted to interrupt her, but she wouldn’t let him.
“I don’t care what you say—you will never be happy staying in Edenford. You can’t fool me with this woolen industry apprentice game you’re playing. You need challenges, adventure, excitement. The only excitement we’ve had in Edenford is what you’ve created since your arrival. If you stay, you’ll be unhappy; and I could never leave Edenford. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t you know it breaks my heart to say this? This moment has been special to me. You don’t know how I’ve longed for you to hold me. Until my dying day I will remember this place, your embrace, our kisses. But nothing can come of it.”
Later that night Drew lay on top of his bedding and relived every moment, every sensation of the afternoon with Nell. Somehow, he would convince her to come away with him from Edenford. And if he could not, he would stay. For her, he could do it. He’d become a dirt farmer or a shepherd if it meant staying with Nell. She refused all his assurances that she was wrong. He’d have to prove it to her.
The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1) Page 28