The Captive Bride

by Gilbert, Morris

  Bunyan rebuked him at once, saying, “Matthew, he’s old and alone in the world. You’re young and strong and you have friends. Can’t you be a little charitable?”

  Matthew bit his lip, then got up and put some stew into an extra bowl. He walked over to where a very tall old man sat hunched up against the wall, his face buried in his arms.

  “Here, Jamison,” he said, “have a bit of this good stew. It’ll warm you up.”

  The old man looked up, and when he saw who it was, he spat on the floor and buried his face again.

  “Well, that’s what you get for being a Christian in this place!” Matthew snapped as he came back and sat down. “Can’t blame the old man much. I’m about to go batty in this place! Be glad when the trial is over and we can get out of here. When will the trial come, John?”

  “No way of telling. I’m hoping Justice Twisten will schedule it in a week or two, but he’s vindictive enough to stretch it out till the crack of doom.” He bit his lip and shook his head. “I want to be there when Elizabeth has her baby. The first baby is always harder on the mother, I think.” He gave a shake of his heavy shoulders, rose and smiled. “I’ll let you two have a little privacy, such as there is.”

  “Have some of this cheese, Matthew,” Lydia urged as Bunyan moved across the room to speak to Jamison. “You’re so thin!”

  He took a piece of the cheese, bit into it and chewed slowly. “I can’t stand this place much longer, Lydia.” He spoke quietly, but there was a thick despair in his tone and she was appalled at the hollow look in his face, the fear that leaped out of his eyes.

  “It’s a time of testing,” she whispered softly. Putting her arm around him, she moved as close to him as the narrow bench would permit. She yearned to draw his head to her breast and comfort him as she did the smallest Bunyan child, but it would have been improper in view of the prisoners. “We’re going to get through this, you and I. Remember the scripture, ‘Whom the Lord loveth, he chasteneth’? This will make our marriage stronger than ever!”

  He stared at her as if she were speaking a language foreign to him; then a shiver ran through his thin frame. “I could stand anything, Lydia, I think—except these walls.” He gave a look that was almost wild at the massive stones that hemmed them in, and again a violent tremor shook his shoulders and she tightened her hold. “It’s not the cold or the stench of this place, though God knows it’s miserable enough! It’s not even being cut off from you. Oh, God, I could be happy in poverty—even in sickness, I think—if only I didn’t have to be caged up like a dog!”

  His voice rose higher so that several of the prisoners looked their way, and Lydia gave him a sudden hard grasp and said fiercely, “I know! I know, dearest! But it’s only for a little while!” She hesitated, then drew his head down so that her lips were close to his ear and whispered something so softly that he missed it.

  “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

  She pulled his head yet closer, and her breath was warm and soft as she murmured with gladness in her voice, “You must be brave, Husband, because you’re going to have a family!”

  He sat there stock-still, as though he had not heard her, then slowly he turned and looked down into her eyes, which were brimming with tears—tears of joy.

  “A—baby?”

  “Yes!”

  He moved his lips but no sound came; only his eyes reflected his deep shock. Finally he smiled wanly, put his arm around her and kissed her, ignoring the guffaws from several of the prisoners. “A son!” he said, and there was more life in his voice than she had heard in weeks.

  “Or a daughter.”

  “Of course—it could be a girl!” He sat there, and despite the abysmal surroundings—the stench and the frigid blasts of air that cut to the bone, the stares of the ragged prisoners and the gray, blank walls—Lydia’s heart sang, for it was the time she’d prayed for. Never during their short marriage had she felt in perfect harmony with Matthew—not until now. They had laughed much and their minds were equal, and no couple, she was sure, could have been more fulfilled by the vibrant love they had shared.

  But she had always known there was a part of him she had not been able to enter—just as there was a part of her she longed to have him know, but he could not find it. Deep down she was aware that it was their walk with God—that private place, like a deeply hidden grotto where the spirit leaves the noisy world and meets with the living Lord—it was that element which she had not been able to share with Matthew. And deep within there was the lurking fear that the two of them, for all their bonds of body and mind, were strangers. Matthew lacked something, and while she dreaded being judgmental, she sensed a shallowness in his walk with God that kept them apart.

  But this moment had been one of total intimacy of spirit, and her heart cried out for him as he sat there holding her. This is marriage, she thought happily.

  But then he suddenly gave a start, looked around the cell with wild eyes, and when he turned to face her, there was something distraught in his eyes—a fear that was mastering the joy that had flashed out when he had heard of her condition.

  “I’ve got to get out of here, Lydia!” he gasped, and with a moan he put his head in his hands. “How can I live with you having a baby—while I’m cooped up like a dog?”

  She put her arm around him and whispered fiercely, “We are God’s children, dearest—He will never forsake us!”

  But it was as if she had not spoken, for he sat there with his face buried in his arms, and nothing she could say would bring him out of it.

  Finally she arose and said, “I must go to Elizabeth. She’s having a difficult time with this baby.”

  Matthew raised his head and looked at Bunyan. Suddenly he motioned for the preacher to come, and Bunyan rose and stepped to where they stood. “John, Lydia is going to have a child!”

  Bunyan’s broad face beamed and he said heartily, “Is she now? Well, that’s fine—fine!”

  “No—not with me in prison! And Elizabeth—she’s having a hard time, Lydia says. John, we’ve got to get out of this place!”

  Bunyan asked quietly, “Elizabeth is worse?”

  “She’s not well, I’m afraid.”

  He stood there, a strong shape in the gray light that filtered feebly through the high window. His form seemed to be made of the same material as the walls—enduring, tough, and impervious to time or hard wear. But his face was not so, for as the light caught it, though his eyes, hidden in the hollow sockets of his face, evidenced deep pain, his features held such an expression of pain and sorrow that Lydia wanted to weep.

  Matthew stood there waiting for his reply, but when it came, it was not what he expected.

  “We must be faithful to God, my boy. ‘He that loveth husband or wife more than me is not worthy to be my disciple.’ Those are hard words, but our Savior speaks. You and I can bear the suffering to our own bodies, and Satan knows this well enough! He will not attack us there, but where we are weak. And that is—that is our wives and our little ones!”

  Matthew stared at him, then shook his head. “He that does not provide for his own is worse than a heathen,” he quoted. “Does God expect us to let our loved ones suffer, those whom we’ve vowed to protect?”

  “He is the Father of the fatherless, and we must be faithful to His word. He will care for Elizabeth and my little ones—and He will take care of your dear wife and the little one to come.”

  Matthew stared at him, then turned with a bitter light in his blue eyes. “God is unfair!” he said through clenched teeth, then wheeled and stalked stiff-legged to the window he’d occupied earlier, staring out at the gray river that rolled heavily by the prison.

  “He’ll be better,” Bunyan whispered to Lydia as she stood there with tears in her eyes. “He’s young in the faith, and I was no stronger at his age. Pray! Pray for him!”

  Lydia was so full of fear she could not answer, but finally said, “Yes, John, I’ll take care of Elizabeth—perhaps she’ll be strong enough
to come tomorrow.”

  She went home, walking slowly with her head down, impervious to the icy bite of the wind. A deadly spirit of fear more potent than winter’s blast was sweeping through her heart, and the tears that she could not contain rolled down her pale cheeks.

  She tried to pray, but the words would not come. So she walked beside the cold river, the dead brown grasses of summer breaking beneath her feet, and her heart rose up to God. She did not know what it was that she brought to God, but as the urgent cries of her soul ascended, somehow the presence of God came down, and the fear that had pierced her fled and she knew a peace in her spirit such as she had never known!

  For many days this was her strength. Day after day rolled by, turning into weeks, then months, and there was no trial. Everything in her world was shaken. Elizabeth grew worse, so much worse that Lydia moved into the Bunyan house and with Mary’s help did all the housework. She was a comfort to Elizabeth, spending hours reading the Word of God, and the children came to look on her as a second mother.

  She made the short journey to the jail daily, for the state did not furnish food for the prisoners. This made the chore even more demanding, for neither she nor John Bunyan could bear to see those prisoners who had no family nor friends starve; therefore, she brought as much extra food as she could.

  Matthew’s condition worsened almost daily. He lost weight at such an alarming rate that she feared for his life. His lungs were affected by the biting cold, and he developed a cough that disturbed them all. But even worse was the awful depression that gripped him. He spoke little, and seemed not to hear what she said most of the time.

  Her walks along the river grew longer, and she prayed fervently; prayer built her up, edified her spirit, and enabled her to carry the heavy burden.

  Snow came, and on the second day when the earth was muffled with white, Lydia left the Bunyan cottage and started for the jail. The heavy pot of soup dragged at her arm, and walking was difficult in the six-inch blanket of snow that covered the earth.

  She had turned the corner onto the main road that led to the jail, and as she lifted her eyes, what she saw sent a shock running through her so violent that she almost dropped the heavy iron pot.

  “Matthew!” she cried out, struggling to run toward him, crying out his name, filled with wonder that he was free.

  Finally she set the pot down and ran toward him, her eyes so blinded with tears that she could barely see the tall figure so familiar to her. She fell into his arms and he caught her with a powerful grip.

  “Matthew! Oh, my dear!” she cried out, holding to him as if she would never let him go.

  Then she heard the familiar voice—but at the same time strangely different, “Well, daughter, I am here...!”

  She looked up, drawing back at once from his embrace. She saw a wedge-shaped face with wide lips, cornflower blue eyes such as she loved in Matthew—but it was not her husband!

  He said, “I’ve just come from my son, Lydia. We have much to pray about, you and I.” Then he smiled, and she saw the same courage and strength in the father’s eyes that she had fallen in love with in Matthew. “But first, will you allow me to have a father’s embrace? For you are my daughter now!”

  She gave a cry and fell into Gilbert Winslow’s strong arms as a battered ship comes out of a wild tearing storm into the peace and safety of a calm harbor!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE TRIAL

  “She slipped away with the tide,” Gilbert Winslow said slowly. “Just as she had lived trusting in the Lord God, so she endured her going hence.” He sat relaxed in front of the cheerful fire that threw leaping figures on the walls of the small cottage. There was a quietness and peace in his voice that took away the sting of the news that Matthew’s mother was dead. He leaned forward to pick up the heavy iron poker, and Lydia’s eyes stung as she recognized in her father-in-law the easy grace and strength that she loved in Matthew.

  “It must have been terribly hard on you, Mr. Winslow.”

  “Hard?” He looked at her with a starboard twist of his head, just as she’d seen in Matthew a thousand times, then smiled and shook his head. “No, child, not hard. What was hard was watching her in pain from day to day. That last night the pain left, and we both knew it was time. She’d always loved to watch the tide go out, so I picked her up and carried her to a clearing on the hill—the same spot where I’d asked her to marry me forty years ago. It was dawn, and just as the morning light came to turn the sea red, and the tide began ebbing from the shore, she turned to me, put her arms around my neck, and whispered, ‘You’ve been a good husband to me on this earth, Gilbert—but I must go now to my heavenly Bridegroom!’ And then she put her head on my shoulder—and she left to be with Him!”

  Sitting with her feet tucked beneath her, Lydia could not keep her eyes off her father-in-law. He looks far more like Matthew’s older brother than his father! she thought suddenly. As he went on speaking quietly, she drew the brightly colored quilt around her like a cocoon, her eyes never leaving his face. Matthew is so much like him—but there’s something different, she thought. It was not long until she discovered what that difference was. Gilbert’s face was Matthew’s, but it had been refined by hardship to a countenance of sharp planes and fine lines that contrasted strongly with the soft, handsome features of the son.

  “I—I’m glad you’ve come, Mr. Winslow,” she said when he paused. “Matthew has been a good husband, but he’s changed since he went to prison.”

  Gilbert smiled at the first confession, then shook his head at the second. “He’s been like a wild hawk all his life, Lydia. He’ll dare anything, but you can’t cage a wild creature without killing his spirit, I think.”

  “It’s killing him, that prison.” She threw the quilt back, got up and bent to pick up the heavy kettle. As she poured a cup of steaming water for his tea, she said steadily, “What do you think will happen to him?”

  “If he stays in prison?” He took the tea, sipped it carefully, then looked at her over the lip of the heavy cup. “He may not survive it. I hardly knew him, Lydia!” he exclaimed. “He’s very ill, as you know. That cough is bad—down deep in his lungs, and prison fever is quick and deadly as a serpent!”

  She stared at him, hesitated, then asked the question aloud that she’d never dared to frame to anyone. “Do you think he should give in to the Crown? You realize he and Brother Bunyan can leave anytime they agree to obey the new law?”

  “I know.” Gilbert turned the cup in his hands, seeming to find something fascinating in the plain surface. He sat comfortably in the chair, a strong figure even in repose. She had heard both from Winslow’s son and his brother how he had the daring of a buccaneer in his youth; how he had been forced to choose between a place of prominence as the husband of Cecily North, daughter of Lord North, the beautiful aristocrat who had followed him across the Atlantic, and the simple Pilgrim maiden, Humility Cooper. He had been a swordsman with few peers, a lover of some repute, and would have risen in the world—but threw it all away to embrace the hard life of a poor minister on the rocky shores of Plymouth.

  She saw that strength in his hands, in his face, and in every line of his tall figure, and suddenly she thought, This is what I want for a husband! This is what I thought Matthew was like!

  He looked at her sharply, and said in answer to her question, “If he gives in to the Crown, he’ll live—but what will he have left? A man who lets a king—or anyone else!—direct his soul may be alive physically, but he’s dead to the best that’s in him!”

  “I’m afraid for him. I’m afraid for myself, for Mr. Bunyan, and for his poor wife and children!”

  He rose and came to stand by her. Taking her hands in his he looked down on her for a long moment, then said gently, “Never take counsel of your fears, Lydia. I would be afraid, too, for Matthew is the last of his family—the last of the House of Winslow.”

  She smiled tremulously and said shyly, but with a note of triumph in her voice, “No, t
his child will have the Winslow name.”

  “Ah!” A tender smile crossed Gilbert’s broad lips, and he embraced her, and the tender kiss he placed on her forehead broke down all restraint. It was as if she had known him all her life, and she leaned against him, clinging to him in her need as she had clung to her own father years ago.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said again. “It gives me faith, and I know you can help Matthew.”

  He shook his head, saying only, “I trust that is so—but in one sense and in some things, a man must make his own way. We will try and we will pray, but my son must choose for himself.”

  “I know—but he has such faith in you—and so do I!” She laughed awkwardly and added, “Here you are fresh off the ship, and I dump all my care onto you the first time we meet!”

  He said at once, “You’re not a weak woman, Lydia. No, indeed! You know that thought that came to me, not five minutes after we met? Here is a woman as strong as my Humility! I never thought to hear myself say it,” he smiled.

  She was embarrassed by the compliment, but warmed all the same by his approval. “I must go to Mrs. Bunyan’s. Would you go with me, to pray for her?”

  “Of course!”

  The two of them made their way through the falling snow, and Mr. Winslow became an instant success with the small Bunyans. He knew all sorts of games it seemed, and he thought nothing of roughing with the little ones. Elizabeth felt well enough to sit in a chair by the fireplace, and she watched in amazement while the tall minister got down on his hands and knees with the children. “He’s an unusual man, isn’t he? He loves children, that’s plain,” she whispered to Lydia.

  When the children were in bed, he spent a long time reading the Bible to Lydia and Elizabeth; the Book of Hebrews, the eleventh chapter, and the ancient promises seemed to fill the small room with warmth. Finally he closed the book and prayed for Elizabeth and for her husband warmly and fervently.

  After he had left, the strength of his presence lingered somehow, and Elizabeth smiled at Lydia, saying, “He’s got a strength in him, that man has! John will love him!”