Goddess Born

by Kari Edgren

  “You must be careful,” I told Ben when the treatment was finished. “And no more defensive farming techniques for a while.” My words brought a sufficiently guilty look to Ben’s face. Henry had no such guilt, his smile broadening as they left the apothecary.

  Healing one boy, two men and a bird had taken longer than expected. Back in my room, I quickly washed and smoothed my hair into place for supper. While my father lived and had strength enough to eat in the dining room, he’d been a stickler about meals being served at the same time each day. Either from routine or respect, Mrs. Ryan had kept to the same schedule after his passing. I barely made it to the table when the small mantel clock struck the seventh hour. Henry came in a moment later, also refreshed from a long day of work.

  Since we had officially reconciled last night, it turned out to be the most pleasant meal we had shared so far. Over fresh pea soup and roasted chicken, I told him about my day, or the parts that could be shared without giving the servants too much more to gossip about with the neighbors. Heaven knows they already had enough to keep the town talking for the near future.

  After supper I excused myself to read in the smaller parlor, and smiled in surprise when Henry followed me rather than going for one of his long walks alone. The distant thunder and impending rain were probably the greater influence, but I liked to think he had stayed for my company. Several candles had already been lit, casting the room in soft light and making it a most comfortable place to spend the evening. I moved toward my usual place on the sofa when Henry spied a chessboard set up on a small table.

  “Do you play?” he asked.

  I looked at the board with mixed feelings. “I used to play often with my father before he got too sick.”

  “Then we are the same. My father also taught me, but it has been months since I last played. Would you care for a game?”

  He wore that smile I adored, and quite suddenly I very much wanted to play chess again. “Yes, I would.” I set the book aside and took a seat in front of the black pieces.

  We didn’t speak much at first while we studied the board and assessed each other’s skill. He proved a thoughtful opponent, though he tended to place his pieces more boldly than I was accustomed.

  “Have you had a chance to meet many of our neighbors yet?” I asked once the game had taken on a good rhythm.

  “Some, while riding around with Ben.”

  “And what is your opinion of Hopewell so far?”

  Henry glanced down at the board, either to consider his next move or how best to answer my question. “It’s a nicely situated town,” he said as he attacked my pawn with a knight.

  “And what do you think of the people?”

  “Those I’ve met seem pleasant enough.”

  Could he be anymore vague? Nicely situated and pleasant enough, indeed! Such descriptions were meant for spinster aunts living in rented rooms—not my beloved Hopewell.

  “I do confess to finding the Quakers a most peculiar people,” he went on.

  Peculiar wasn’t exactly the glowing report I’d hoped for, but it would do for now, especially after the run-in with William Goodwin this afternoon.

  “Are you familiar with their beliefs?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, no. The majority of my acquaintances in England are Anglican with an occasional Catholic here and there. At one time I knew a fellow who took up with the Baptists, but England was too corrupt for his taste and he immigrated to the Colonies.”

  “We get a lot of that sort here,” I said, while attempting to take his queen in a failed gambit.

  Though I had never actually been out of the Colonies, there was no shortage of stories circulating about the moral degradation currently spreading like the plague across Europe. Mothers would use them to warn their daughters against wicked young men waiting to lure them into a life of sin. Ministers loved the topic and ranted for hours against the Old World and the rampant vice that festered on all levels of society. At social gatherings, ladies would huddle in thick knots to recount the latest news from across the ocean, whispering together and wringing their hands for the sorry state of our European cousins. Some of these stories had grown really quite shocking, making it difficult to believe everything one heard nowadays. But it was religion in Pennsylvania rather than England that we needed to discuss tonight.

  “I imagine they seem peculiar to someone unfamiliar with their ways, but Quakers make up half of Hopewell’s population. A basic understanding of their faith is necessary if you plan to get along at all while you’re here. One of the first things most outsiders notice is their refusal to use proper titles when addressing each other.”

  He stopped studying the board and looked at me. “Then how do they distinguish one’s station?”

  “Quakers view titles as manmade conventions, created only to divide the classes and place one person above another. In their eyes everyone is equal and there’s no reason to perpetuate a system that falsely valuates a man’s worth.”

  “And what do you think? Do you support this notion?”

  “To a point. When addressing non-Quakers I still use such titles as ‘Mister’ and ‘Mistress,’ but only as a common courtesy and not a means of distinguishing rank.”

  “So my wife is no respecter of persons, and all men are the same in her eyes.” He gave me a wry smile, bordering on a smirk. “Selah Kilbrid, Mistress of Brighmor Hall, is equal to the chambermaid and the washerwoman. Do you really believe this?”

  “Most of the time,” I said, ignoring his dubious tone. “Except on those occasions when conceit gets in the way. It can be tempting to inflate my own self-worth in comparison to those less fortunate. But wealth and rank are false indicators of a person’s true merit.”

  “All rank, then? Even the peerage?”

  “My goodness, Henry, the peerage is the worst of all. These titles of nobility are the most extreme case of man’s arrogance, and I quite support the Quakers in their refusal to recognize such a repressive system of hierarchy. Just because someone owns land and wears fine clothing doesn’t mean he needs a special title. You might as well call him Lord Pompous or the Duke of High and Mighty and have it done with.”

  He frowned in response to my rather pointed opinion. “That is quite a declaration. And if all Quakers share this sentiment, it’s no wonder they were ill received in England. It may sound good in theory to say all men are equal, but in practice such a system is impossible. There will always be those on top meant to lead and those on the bottom meant to follow.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from pointing out the irony of his words, given his own situation. “I know this may be uncomfortable after living under a more formal system, but it’s best to try instead of going about causing offense.”

  “Very well,” he said resignedly. “Please continue with the lesson.”

  “Their lack of titles can be confusing when introductions are in order, especially in a group of people from various faiths. If the person is introduced exclusively by their first and last name, then you know they’re Quaker, and it’s considered polite to respond in kind. If any type of title is added to the name, such as Master or Mistress, then they are from another faith and the same rules apply as in England. This holds true for most occasions, except for people who may attend Quaker meeting, but haven’t actually been read into the membership yet, like both Mary Finney and myself. Mary was raised Catholic, but has taken a liking to the Quakers, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she was to join. Until that time she will continue to call me Mistress.” My thoughts were becoming increasingly distracted from the game, and soon enough Henry had captured both of my bishops.

  “Are you subtly implying that I may have caused offense to William Goodwin this afternoon when we were introduced?”

  My face fell. “I don’t know. It’s not like him to be that easily offended.”

 
“His mood obviously soured once I came over. Personally, I think it has more to do with his being madly in love with you than a simple mistake over title.”

  “That’s preposterous. William and I grew up together. I think I would know if he were in love with me.” By now I had completely given up on the game and simply moved pieces about at random.

  “Selah, if looks could kill, I would have been struck dead this very afternoon,” he laughed. “William loves you, and I’m surprised you could be so obtuse to his feelings when they are written plain as day on his face. Has he never offered any hints of his affection or tried to kiss you?”

  My face grew warm from the question, and I felt rather annoyed by how much Henry seemed to be enjoying my discomfort. “Oh, tell the truth,” he prodded, “for I can tell something happened.”

  I lifted my chin defiantly. “Yes, he kissed me once.”

  “So I guessed. Now tell me this, was it a chaste peck on the cheek or did he dare a real lover’s kiss on that lovely mouth of yours?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I laughed. Little did he know that I would have chosen to boil in oil before admitting that he was the only man who had ever kissed me any place other than my cheek.

  I expected some clever retort when the humor left his face. “Yes, I would like to know. Do you love him?”

  “William Goodwin?” I asked, startled by the change. “Of all the ideas!”

  Henry stared at me, the chess game entirely forgotten. His emotions were usually so well guarded, I didn’t know what to make of the stark anticipation in his eyes or why I suddenly felt off-kilter. Why would he care if I loved William Goodwin?

  “Do you love him, Selah?” he asked again.

  “William and I are good friends, nothing more. There was a time I may have imagined stronger feelings for him, but it would never have worked between us.”

  Henry’s face relaxed. “Did you ever tell me why it was so important to have your cousin shipped over from Ireland instead of choosing a husband from the local population? I’ve seen several good-looking fellows while out with Ben. Why didn’t you just take one of them and spare yourself the trouble?”

  Unease moved though me, and my heart began to beat more quickly. Biting my lip, I dropped my eyes and pretended to study the chessboard.

  Because anyone else who found out about my gift would have me arrested and possibly hanged for witchcraft. Unless, of course, I refused my birthright and never again drew upon my power since it would be impossible to keep such a secret from any husband.

  Or so my mother had told me. Since first discovering the truth, I’d managed to keep it secret from even my dearest friend and didn’t know why a husband would be any different. But my mother had been adamant on the subject, only telling me that one day I would better understand.

  “The Kilbrids have always been a tight-knit family,” I said, effectively summing up my thoughts.

  “Only a Kilbrid then?”

  “My mother was a MacBres, so I could have married one of them if I’d wanted to, but my father thought Samuel and I would get along well together.”

  “Had you ever met Mr. Kilbrid before you were sent to get him from the docks?”

  “Not directly.”

  “What does that mean, not directly?”

  “We exchanged some letters, and I found him to be most pleasing.”

  “Why do I feel there is more to this story than you’re telling me?” He leaned closer across the table, upsetting some of the chess pieces with an errant elbow and drawing my eyes back to his. “Is there some dark Kilbrid secret you are hiding?”

  My heart thumped into my ribs. By sheer will, I kept my eyes on the level and forced a laugh. “You are full of all kinds of strange ideas tonight. Now, if you’re done dramatizing my rather dull existence, I’ll tell you something amusing that happened today.” In near torment, I waited for him to decide whether or not to let it go.

  “Very well.” He sat back up and replaced the toppled pieces to the correct squares. “Tell me what is so amusing.”

  “While I was visiting with Anne Boyle and Mrs. Oswald, it became quite clear that most, if not all of Hopewell, knows we are sleeping in separate chambers.”

  His brows furrowed deeply and he didn’t seem to be enjoying the news so much as I had hoped. “Splendid,” he said, his voice verging on sarcasm. “I am amused beyond measure to have most, if not all of Hopewell, believing me incapable of bedding my wife.”

  Once I had gotten beyond my own humiliation, I hadn’t really bothered to give his much more thought. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Henry, but our sleeping arrangements practically prove that I’m not a witch.”

  “How so?” he asked curiously, his tone softening.

  “According to lore, a witch is by nature a carnal creature and would never have waited to consummate the marriage. Believe it or not, our sleeping apart is more a reflection on my innocence than your manhood. With my mother gone, I assume half the matrons are plotting how best to inform me of my wifely duties and what I must do to start a family.”

  My explanation must have worked, for Henry was smiling again. “And do you know what it takes to start a family?”

  “Of course I do. Not that it’s any of your concern,” I huffed.

  Henry chuckled at my indignation and then fell silent as we took a few more turns on the chessboard. “How long do you think we’ll be able to keep up this charade?” he asked after a moment.

  His question surprised me. “For as long as need be,” I said. My neighbors might be concerned with my situation at present, but soon enough they would grow bored of our affairs and move on to something new.

  The game looked to be a stalemate when by a series of lucky moves Henry backed my king into a corner. “Checkmate,” he said quietly.

  I studied the board for any possible options, but he was right and I nodded to acknowledge my defeat. With a nimble finger, he tipped my king, putting the piece to rest.

  Chapter Seven

  Quaker Meeting

  The dark clouds that had been threatening rain much of the day burst open with a vengeance late that night just as I was climbing into bed. The windows were generally left open on warm nights, and I fell asleep to the relentless hammering of water against the hard ground below. It must have slackened at some point, for I was roused once by the sound of an animal scratching in the dirt somewhere beneath my bedroom window. The rain soon started again, regaining its previous force, and I fell back to sleep until morning.

  The rain continued on into the next day, thoroughly drenching the fields and turning the roads into a sloppy mess. As it pelted mercilessly against the windows, I sipped a cup of tea, deciding it best to stay in rather than making more calls and risk getting the shay stuck in the mud. Henry had gone out earlier with Ben on horseback to check the wheat, leaving me to dine alone and silently grouse my lack of company. Married just six days, and on good speaking terms for only two of those, it was surprising how much I missed him this morning. I glanced at the mantel clock and sighed; it would be several hours before he returned.

  Resigned to a lonely day at home, I went into the smaller parlor to fetch my book and saw the chess pieces had already been returned to their proper squares. I didn’t welcome the reminder of my unfortunate loss, and vowed to pay closer attention next time no matter what we may be discussing. Taking a seat on the sofa, I had grudgingly opened the book when Alice came in to say I had a caller.

  “It’s not Nathan Crowley, is it?” I asked warily.

  “No, ma’am, it’s Nora Goodwin. Should I see her back?”

  My heart leapt. Without a second thought I snapped the book shut and tossed it aside.

  Nora must have been just as eager to see me, for the moment I entered the drawing room, she took hold of both my hands. “My dear Selah, y
ou are simply glowing. I dare say married life has agreed with you. Come sit and tell me everything.”

  I laughed at her no-nonsense manner. Following her to the sofa, we sat so close our heads nearly touched as we spoke.

  “I can’t believe you came out in this weather,” I said. “You must truly love me.”

  “What choice did I have after the scolding you gave poor William yesterday?” she teased. “My guilt had grown so enormous for not calling sooner, I could hardly fit it all into the shay this morning.”

  “Did William bring you, then?”

  “He dropped me off on the way into town.”

  “Why didn’t he stay?”

  “He said we needed some private time to catch up with our feminine prattle. In truth, I don’t think his heart could have endured seeing you with Henry again so soon. You can’t imagine the temper he was in after returning from Brighmor yesterday. I believe his being a Quaker was all that stopped him from challenging your husband to a duel.”

  “It’s true then,” I said, no longer able to deny Henry’s words.

  “Indeed,” she sighed wistfully. “Pacifists can be dreadfully dull at times.”

  I swatted her on the knee. “I mean about my breaking William’s heart. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  As usual, she was right. “Probably not,” I admitted.

  “You were promised to marry your cousin,” she said, giving the matter a dismissive shrug. “William and I decided it was for the best, which is why he never openly declared his feelings and asked for your hand in marriage, though it nearly killed him to give you up to another man. I guess it was easier for me, since I never wanted to marry you. Not that you aren’t pretty or charming enough, I just prefer someone who can fill out a pair of breeches.”

  “Oh, Nora,” I laughed. “How am I supposed to be depressed with you around?”