Goddess Born

by Kari Edgren

  For fun and perhaps to keep from falling asleep on Thomas Dowling’s shoulder, Henry caught my eye and winked ever so slightly. Never before had I witnessed such a brazen gesture during meeting and I watched him closely, thinking I had been mistaken. But he did it a second and a third time and I had to clamp my mouth shut for fear of laughing. He must have started receiving stern looks from the women’s side as well, for he finally stopped and descended back into utter boredom.

  Within minutes, Henry’s eyes began to droop again, and I thought for sure he would fall asleep when Gideon Boyle stood and cleared his throat to speak. Henry revived and turned expectantly to listen.

  “We Quakers are a plain and sober people,” Gideon started in his usual solemn manner. “We value simple things and do not strive to keep pace with an ever-changing world. Our children are taught to seek no more than is needed and to resist the temptation of coveting what others have gained. While I reflected this morning I found myself greatly troubled that any member of this fellowship would be guilty of squandering their time wishing for fancy things. My friends, such desires are traps and snares set by the Devil himself to distract us from our true mission in this life.”

  Gideon spoke along this vein for some time and I tried in earnest not to smile as I stole a quick glance at his wife, Anne Boyle. It was no secret that Anne had been soliciting her husband for the past six months to build a brick oven in her kitchen next to the hearth. Fed up with trudging outside to bake, she was most adamant that he should do this for her, and if he desired any peace at home this coming winter, he was to have it done before the first snow.

  Anne did not waver from her usual serene expression as her husband praised the plain life while ranting against the evils of worldliness. Half an hour later when he finally concluded, his face beaded with sweat from the exertion, little doubt remained in my mind, and probably those of most of the wives present, that Anne would get her oven.

  The meetinghouse fell into silence once more when Gideon sat. I anxiously waited to see if Nathan would stand and speak next, but he remained seated, staring down at his feet. Edgar Sweeney stood after a few more minutes had passed. He was an old man, being somewhere above seventy years of age, with deeply etched wrinkles and close cropped gray hair framing his face. By nature he was the most pleasant of men, which was of itself rather amazing considering the tragedy that marked his earlier days. When he’d been no more the thirty years, his wife and infant son fell ill during an outbreak of scarlet fever. My grandmother had also been stricken by the disease, and by the time she recovered there was nothing to be done for Edgar’s loved ones other than grieve their death and offer prayers for their immortal souls. Following such a loss, Edgar never found it in his heart to remarry, and became instead an honorary grandfather to many children over the years. I had known him my entire life and had always considered him a member of my extended family. I suspected a similar sentiment by most of the people seated in the room this morning, patiently waiting to hear what he had been moved to say.

  “God has commanded us to be still that we may know Him,” Edgar began in his warm, full voice that I found so soothing. “There are those who wonder at our love of silence and how this could lead to any measure of truth. ‘What good is silence,’ they argue, ‘for one man must speak and another to listen for knowledge to be of use.’ But I say there is but one voice worth hearing and that is the one speaking from inside each of us. By this voice alone can we understand the will of God, for it is His voice and He speaks directly to every man, woman and child if we will but take the time to listen.”

  I looked over at Henry. After being taught a more hierarchical form of religion in England, I could well imagine how radical it must sound that God presided in every person and by this inner light did we receive revelation without the necessity of any clerical go-between. Henry’s brows creased in thought as he listened to Edgar, though whether or not he agreed remained a mystery.

  When Edgar sat back down, my heart leapt right into my throat, thinking Nathan would surely stand next as he spoke nearly every Sunday. The minutes passed slowly and I felt the beginnings of a cold sweat coming on despite the summer heat. But Nathan remained seated with his eyes fixed on the floor until Gideon finally reached over and shook hands with the Elder next to him, signifying the meeting had come to an end. I took a deep breath and sighed my relief, seeing the danger had passed for today at least. From my efforts this past week Nathan may have discovered that I wasn’t entirely friendless nor such an easy target as he first believed. I crossed my fingers, wishing for this same luck to continue until either his hatred of me faded or he dropped dead from a raging distemper. Given the circumstances, I didn’t think it prudent to be overly picky so long as he left me alone.

  People all around began addressing their neighbors, shaking hands in a friendly manner and I watched as Henry was surrounded by a group of men eager to make his acquaintance and probably to better gauge the new Master of Brighmor Hall. Seeing him thus engaged, I turned my attention to Nora.

  “What did you think of Gideon Boyle’s sermon this morning?” I asked.

  “Anne will have her bake oven by autumn or my father’s the king of Norway,” she said. Her gaze wandered to Nathan, who had stood and was speaking to Edgar Sweeney. “It’s unusual for Nathan to lack inspiration during meeting. He doesn’t seem to be in good spirits today. You should inquire if anything ails him.”

  I blanched at the suggestion. As the primary cause of his flagging spirits, I had absolutely no intention of approaching the man of my own free will. “I’m sure it’s nothing more than a poor night’s sleep,” I said.

  Nora leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “Selah Kilbrid, how can you be so unfeeling, especially toward a man who holds you in the highest esteem.”

  “His esteem disappeared the moment I refused to marry him,” I whispered back.

  “I think his heart is just broken, like my brother’s, but that’s no reason to be so mean and refuse to help him. Really, it’s the least you could do.”

  Startled by Nora’s reproach, I considered telling her in no uncertain terms just how much I despised the man when she linked her arm through mine and began leading the way toward the raised benches. I began to protest and pull away, but Nora held tight, determined to inquire about his health and if I could be of service.

  An encounter seemed inevitable when Nathan looked up at the last moment. Our eyes met in that instant, flashing our true sentiments before Nathan turned and abruptly stormed from the room.

  Nora stopped in her tracks. “My goodness,” she said shortly, recovering somewhat from the surprise. “He doesn’t seem to want your services...or your company for that matter.”

  Being suddenly without a companion, Edgar moved his attention to us. “My girls,” he said warmly. “What a pleasure to see you in meeting.” He leaned a little closer and patted my shoulder in a consoling manner. “Don’t mind Nathan. He’s still smarting from your refusal, but he’ll come around in time.”

  Not likely, I thought, but appreciated his kind words all the same.

  “For me,” Edgar continued, keeping his hand on my shoulder, “it is difficult to feel the meeting complete without your father here among us. You have my deepest sympathies.” His fingers tightened to an affectionate squeeze. “Mary Finney explained how he ordered you to meet your cousin in Philadelphia, and the Elders are of one mind that you should suffer no guilt of conscience for missing his funeral. It’s a daughter’s duty to obey her father and his last wish was for you to be properly looked after when he quit this world.”

  I blinked to ward off the threat of tears. “You are very kind. My father always considered you a very dear friend.”

  “Jonathan Kilbrid was more kin than friend. Now he’s gone, I think of you as my family. And being so related through the blood of goodwill,” he smiled, “would you mind introducing me to your
husband? He looks an amiable fellow and if we can persuade him to accept our simple ways and have his name read into meeting, it would put an end to this talk of your disownment.”

  Edgar seemed to forget that I wasn’t a Quaker myself. Not yet, anyway. “That would be nice,” I said politely. “Henry seemed quite interested in your sermon this morning.”

  “As he well should be. The truth is the way, and the way is the truth. He would be a fool to ignore it.”

  From my experience the whole truth was highly uncomfortable and most people avoided it at all cost. “If only it were so simple,” I said, without really thinking.

  Edgar looked at me queerly. “Take heart, my girl, one day you’ll be free.”

  His wording was a bit curious, but I knew what he meant all the same.

  And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. Quakers loved to quote this scripture, written nearly two thousand years ago by the Apostle John.”Oh, to be so lucky,” I laughed. This sentiment might offer hope to those who hadn’t been forbidden from telling the truth. For my kind, such freedom was unknown in this lifetime.

  Chapter Eight

  Differences Too Great

  The meetinghouse began to clear as people bid their friends good day and set off for home and an early supper. Henry and I were engaged to dine with the Boyles later that afternoon and decided to spend the surplus time on a country drive rather than returning home to Brighmor. While Henry went to fetch the horse and shay, I waited on the front steps of the meetinghouse, and soon found Matthew Appleton standing at my side.

  He politely inquired how the crops fared at Brighmor this summer, and whether we had lost any wheat due to the rain. With his wife expecting a baby the beginning of August, I suspected he didn’t really want to talk to me about wheat. “The fields are wet, but we haven’t lost anything yet,” I said before changing the subject. “How’s Susanna doing today?”

  “Oh, she’s doing fine,” he said, rather unconvincingly. “Just a bit under the weather.”

  “Did she tell you not to say anything to me?”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back slightly on his heels. “She thinks I worry too much.”

  Susanna was a very independent woman, verging on stubborn. As her midwife, I should have marched right over to her home and demanded she tell me everything. For Matthew’s sake, I decided to go about it another way. “Henry and I are having supper at the Boyles’ this evening. How about if we stop by later for cake and wine?”

  His face immediately brightened from the suggestion. “That would be nice. And then maybe you could ask how she’s feeling.”

  I went down the steps to meet Henry. “We’ll be over soon as we can,” I told Matthew.

  “Would you mind pretending we never had this conversation?”

  “It will be our secret,” I promised.

  Matthew offered his arm to assist me into the carriage. “Thank you, Selah. I don’t know what we would do without you.”

  I gave him my best reassuring smile as the horse pulled the shay away from the steps. Then leaning back in my seat, I closed my eyes and started debating what to do about Susanna.

  The Appletons had moved to Hopewell from Philadelphia to open a dry goods store fifteen years ago, when they were first married. Since then they had built up a flourishing business while gaining the reputation for being good-natured and possessing the best of hearts. Matthew offered quality merchandise at fair prices, and more than one widow or poor family could claim receiving indefinite credit or being offered the necessities at a significantly reduced rate.

  But despite this success, one disappointment overshadowed everything else. For fifteen years they had remained childless, Susanna having suffered through several miscarriages and two stillbirths from what I knew. Being in her mid-thirties, she had all but given up hope of ever having a child when she unexpectedly became pregnant again late last fall.

  Over the past few months I had been checking on her regularly. The baby seemed to be growing normally, but these things could change without warning. If the baby died in the womb, there would be nothing to do. If it were only a matter of preterm labor, Susanna was far enough along that it would be possible to sustain the little one’s life so long as I was summoned in time. Once Susanna had passed into her eighth month, I had been very adamant about being called the moment the pains began.

  “You seem to be thinking awfully hard about something,” Henry said, his deep voice drawing my attention back to the carriage. We passed by the gristmill, which meant I must have been musing to myself for a good thirty minutes.

  “I’ve been trying to decide what to do about Susanna Appleton. It was her husband Matthew who invited us over later tonight.”

  “Is it something you want to talk about?” he asked politely. “I might be able to offer an opinion.”

  “Not unless you know anything about midwifery,” I laughed. “She’s expecting a baby in the beginning of August, but has a terrible history of miscarriage and stillbirth. I’m just trying to decide what can be done to minimize the risk. Susanna and Matthew desperately want to be parents, and I think this might be their last chance.”

  Henry stopped the carriage to let the horse rest in a patch of shade running alongside the creek. “Childbirth has always had its risks.” From the sadness in his voice, he seemed to be speaking specifically of his own mother who had died on the birthing bed. “What else is there to do other than wait and see what happens?”

  His suggestion sounded completely reasonable, for someone who didn’t have the ability to change the final outcome. Even so, unborn babies were very tricky to fix and my gift was somewhat limited until Susanna went into labor. Without more experience I could inadvertently cause additional harm by interceding too early. So other than sleeping on the Appletons’ sofa and following Susanna around like a shadow for the next month, Henry was right, and to some degree I would have to wait and see what happened.

  “There’s not much else to do,” I admitted. “But it would be heartbreaking if they lost another baby.”

  “They would still have each other for comfort, which is more than a lot of folks can claim.”

  “I guess you could look at it that way,” I said, somewhat taken aback by his matter-of-fact perspective. “Any woman would be fortunate to find a man who loves her half as much as Matthew loves Susanna. It’s what I had always hoped for in my own marriage, before—” I caught myself just in time.

  “You mean before Samuel died?” Henry asked.

  I saw no use denying it and simply nodded.

  Securing the reins, Henry got out of the carriage and walked over to the water’s edge. After two hours of sitting in meeting followed by a long ride, I understood the inclination to stretch his legs.

  “Do you think you’ll marry for real once I’m gone?” Henry asked when I joined him.

  “Only if there’s another cousin willing to immigrate to the Colonies. And with my father gone, I’ve no idea where to look or who to ask.”

  “You never did tell me why it has to be a cousin.”

  “It’s a family tradition. My parents were very strong believers that like should marry like.”

  “My father believed the same thing. In fact, it was the last thing we talked about before I left England.”

  This seemed a rather odd way to say goodbye. “Was there someone in particular he had in mind?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said bitterly. “Our families were very close and we’d been intended since our infancy. Last summer when I turned nineteen, my father presented me with a betrothal contract. He insisted that I sign it to show my intentions of marrying once I turned twenty-one and had finished at Cambridge. I refused, on grounds of having no affection for the girl beyond friendship. He didn’t ask again, and I thought the matter settled until I returned hom
e in February to find that he had forged my name. The marriage would proceed as planned, except it had been moved ahead one year to this summer, just after my twentieth birthday.”

  “You were supposed to marry this summer?” My insides took a sudden chill. Although we weren’t really married, I disliked the idea of him with someone else. “But, you told me you weren’t engaged the day we met.”

  “I had signed nothing and so far as I was concerned, had no legal attachment to anyone.”

  “Would you have gone through with it if you’d stayed in England?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, sighing. “To give my father credit, it really wasn’t a poor match. The girl had many fine qualities, and in time I probably would have grown to love her. Besides, with the contract signed, her mother may have sought the King’s favor to force the marriage if I refused.”

  “Why would the King get involved? I would think a broken engagement of little concern to someone in his position.”

  “Unfortunately, there are times when he finds it necessary to exercise his authority.” Henry stared out into the woods, though by the look on his face, he was even farther away.

  “I’m surprised your father consented to have you indentured if the marriage was so important. Seven years of service seems rather contrary to his immediate plans.”

  “My father didn’t know I was sent over. At present he probably thinks I’m dead or have run away from home. He will only know of my whereabouts when the letter reaches him through Captain Harlow.”