The Preacher's Bride

by Jody Hedlund

  “We’d be married by now if it weren’t for you.”

  “Elizabeth is a grown woman. She made her own decision to work for me.” John willed calmness to his voice. “Perchance she housekeeps because she is looking for a reason to postpone marrying you.”

  “That’s not true.” Samuel’s face puffed with crimson. He strained forward, but his uncle’s hand upon his arm restrained him. “She is ready to wed me.”

  “Then why does she continue to work for me?”

  “She won’t . . . I won’t let her . . .” Samuel sputtered and pulled at his breeches.

  John couldn’t hold back a smirk. Samuel’s tongue was no match for his—nor for Elizabeth’s. She would easily tire of his witless words. She needed someone who could keep her sharp as well as in her place, and Samuel Muddle was not that man.

  “I won’t let Elizabeth work another day in your house, Brother Costin.”

  “That’s not your decision.”

  “But she must stop.” Samuel’s tone turned into a whine. “It isn’t safe for her anymore.”

  “I will find a way to keep her safe.” But even as he said the words, the emptiness of them echoed through him.

  “I think I have to agree with Samuel.” Brother Whitbread shook his head sadly. “My Elizabeth is in too much danger working for ye, John.”

  John met the kind eyes of the baker, and deep in his soul he knew the old man was right. Fresh frustration pumped through him. He wanted to lash out at his enemies for hurting her again. He’d gladly take the stripes across his back if he could spare her the pain.

  “If only mine enemies would attack me instead,” he mumbled, but then stopped. What if his enemies were attacking him?

  He reached for Vicar Burton. “The rumors. Elizabeth didn’t spread the rumors. She had nothing to do with them.”

  Samuel rolled his eyes.

  “Elizabeth once told me the attacker threatened to spread rumors that would destroy me. And now he has carried through.”

  “Who would want or have need to spread such rumors?” Vicar Burton patted his handkerchief across his damp forehead.

  “I can think of many Royalists who would like to silence our Brother Costin,” Elder Smythe said.

  “By spreading vicious lies they hope to see me defamed and bespattered.” John doffed his hat and ran a sleeve across the mop of hair sticking to his brow. “And they are right. Who will want to listen to a preacher charged with the grossest of immoralities?”

  His heart dipped with the thought of the repercussions the falsehoods could have on his ministry. Surely no one would come to hear him preach now. People would shun him.

  “Elizabeth, my daughter, will testify before the whole congregation that you have only been kind and honorable to her in every way.” Brother Whitbread leaned heavily against Henry. “We can make efforts to refute the lies of your enemies, John. But my Elizabeth will still be in danger as long as she is working for you.”

  “I will post the banns,” Samuel cut in, “and we will get married as soon as possible.”

  “If she marries Brother Muddle with all haste, then our enemies will have no more fodder for gossip,” said another elder.

  The elders murmured and nodded among themselves. John heaved a sigh and dug his fingers through his damp hair.

  “If Sister Whitbread doesn’t work for Brother Costin, then who will?” Elder Smythe asked. “Surely none of our women will be safe.”

  “I would not want to place my daughter in harm’s way,” said another.

  “But I must have someone.” A twinge of panic pushed John to his full height. “The preaching ministry is demanding more and more time away from home. How can I continue without help?”

  Again the men spoke around him, their voices growing louder.

  “John needs someone . . .” Vicar Burton started but then trailed off on a cough that wracked his body and left him speechless.

  God had called him to preach. Surely he wouldn’t want the ministry to suffer now—not when he was beginning to reach so many people. “Don’t you see?” he shouted above the clamor. “This is exactly what the Anglicans want. They want to prevent me from preaching. And they think that by starting licentious rumors and frightening away my help, they will force me to stop.”

  The passion of his words brought silence.

  “We cannot give in to their tactics to scare us from spreading the true Gospel of our Lord.”

  Several of the elders nodded.

  “If I do not continue with my preaching, then our enemies will think they have won—that they can badger us into submission. This is what they want—to control us and to frighten us into doing their will.”

  More of the men nodded.

  “My foes have missed their mark in their open shooting at me,” he continued. “If all the fornicators and adulterers in England were hanged by the neck till they were dead, John Costin would still be alive. I call not only men but angels, even God himself, to bear testimony to my innocence in this respect.”

  He stood, his wide shoulders braced like his feet for battle. “No. I will not fear them or their slanders of the blackest dye. They will not scare me away from my preaching.”

  “How will you defend yourself, John?” Vicar Burton asked through a wheeze. “How will you uphold your reputation?”

  “Sister Whitbread will give testimony. And I will defend myself with my preaching and writing, as I always have. The truth will be made known and will prevail.”

  He listened to the calls of agreement.

  “Since we are all of the belief that we must stay strong against our opposition, then you will not object to Sister Whitbread continuing her housekeeping duties.”

  Samuel gave a loud grunt of protest, but before he could speak, Brother Whitbread held up his hand and silenced him. The baker’s shaggy brows came together, and his gaze met John’s, peering down into his very soul.

  “I do not like the danger of the situation,” Brother Whitbread said.

  “And I don’t like it either,” John added.

  Brother Whitbread stared deeper. John wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but finally he sighed and looked at Samuel.

  “Since we are unable to come to an agreement, we must let my Elizabeth decide.” He straightened himself and hobbled forward with his cane. “When she’s feeling better, she’ll make the decision.”

  Samuel nodded. Brother Whitbread walked past them to the church door, and only then did Samuel toss John a triumphant smile.

  A sickening lump lodged in John’s gut. What would happen if Elizabeth chose Samuel over him?

  He’d surely have a difficult time finding a suitable replacement—if he could find one at all. His ministry would indeed suffer.

  But for some reason that wasn’t what bothered him the most.

  Chapter

  16

  Elizabeth cannot rebuff Samuel’s wishes.” Catherine’s bare hands slugged through the dough their father would bake in the oven that night.

  “We’re not asking for your opinion,” Elizabeth replied. She wished the girl would keep her mind on her task instead of giving foolish opinions.

  Elizabeth perched gingerly on the bench and regretted that she was unable to join the rest of the family in the work. After a restless night and then day spent in bed, the pain in her back had started to diminish to a dull ache, but her father had prohibited her from her usual duties.

  The wounds on her back would eventually heal; she wasn’t so sure about the other injuries—the ones to her reputation. She couldn’t even think about what people were saying about her and John without shame searing her soul. Like every Puritan maiden, she treasured and guarded her chastity—she didn’t know how she could ever go out of the bakehouse and face anyone again.

  “So what will ye do, then, Elizabeth?” her father asked. He stood at the brake and held on to the long-hinged roller, pressing down with all his strength. He rolled it back and forth across the mass underneath. Sweat dri
pped from his face and slickened the dough. Jane stood at his side and constantly turned the lump so that he could knead it evenly, but her gaze flicked to the far corner where Elizabeth sat.

  At the moulding table Henry’s hands paused above the dough he had already kneaded but was shaping into loaves. His gaze wavered in her direction too.

  “Samuel has been entirely too patient with Elizabeth as it is,” Catherine said, spilling more flour and water onto the floor around the plank-kneading trough. ’Twas not an easy job to mix the maslin flour that was half wheat half rye into the old sourdough, which had been dissolved in water to form the yeast for the new batch. But Catherine never seemed to notice how much flour she wasted as she sloshed the ingredients together.

  And she never seemed to realize when she was talking too much.

  Frustration twisted through Elizabeth. “The decision is too difficult.”

  “You cannot tell Samuel no.” Catherine paused, her arms up to her elbows in dough. “He’s been very kind to you. Not many men would want a bride of questionable purity. You’d be a fool to spurn him now, since he’s willing to still have you.”

  “He’s willing because he knows I’m not capable of the things being said.”

  “But if you refuse him,” Catherine continued, “no one else will ever want you. For who will know and trust you the way Samuel does?”

  “Shush, Catherine,” Jane said. The gentle reprimand was followed by a look meant to be stern, but Elizabeth doubted Jane could muster a severe countenance even if she spent time practicing.

  Elizabeth’s insides knotted tighter. She hated that Catherine was right. No one else would ever want her. Regardless of her tainted virtue, she had no other prospects besides Samuel. She never had. If she lost Samuel, would she lose her chance of marrying and having a family of her own?

  Though none of the others would say it, she didn’t doubt each of them was thinking the same thing.

  “But what about Brother Costin?” Elizabeth couldn’t dismiss her responsibility to his family, even if she was putting her life in danger working for him. “He cannot function without a housekeeper. If he has no one to help him, he will have to stop his preaching. And you told me this is exactly what our enemies want to happen.”

  Catherine shrugged her shoulders. “If he has no housekeeper, perhaps he will consider marriage. I overheard some of the elders say his enemies would not dare hurt his wife the same way they would a mere housekeeper.”

  “Brother Costin made the pronouncement that he wants Elizabeth to stay as his housekeeper, and now he has swayed most of the elders to his plan.” Their father huffed as he spoke. The exertion of kneading the coarse dough took more energy with each passing year. “But Elizabeth must not let their desires sway her.”

  The thump, thump of the dough kept rhythm with their father’s heavy breathing. “No, my Elizabeth must discover God’s plans for her.”

  She released a long pent-up breath. “But, Father, how will I know what God wants?”

  Before her father could answer, Samuel’s bulky frame darkened the open doorway of the bakehouse and blocked the late afternoon sunshine.

  “Come in, Samuel, my boy,” her father greeted. “Ye are early today. We have not lit the oven fire yet.”

  Samuel stepped inside, carrying the basket of dough he always delivered for his aunt. He squinted through the dimness of the bakehouse. “How is Elizabeth? I was worrying and wanted to check on her health.”

  Elizabeth hid her face in her hands and wished she could slip upstairs before he noticed her. He would want her answer and wouldn’t be satisfied unless it was an agreement to stop working for the Costins.

  “She’s here,” her father said. “And we were just discussing the decision she must make.”

  Samuel’s heavy steps clomped through the maze of bread-making equipment. His apologies followed the bumping and banging his body made.

  When he finally reached her, his labored breath formed a cloud above her. His odor seeped around her—a day’s worth of sweat mixed with the strong scent of wood shavings.

  She had the sudden urge to press herself into the wall. But if she tried to wheedle away or ignore him, she would affront his kindness—for he truly had been kind to her. As Catherine had indicated, he’d trusted her. He hadn’t believed any of the rumors, had stayed true to her. He’d even defended her reputation when it would have been easy to give up on her.

  How could she refuse him now?

  Tentatively she took her hands away from her face and opened her eyes to his stained cooper’s apron pulled tightly across his bulging middle.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m faring better, thank you.” She glanced upward to his face, but at the sight of his eyes, the anticipation within them, she dropped her gaze to her lap.

  He stood mutely for a moment. His fingers scraped through his beard. Then with several grunts he managed to lower himself until he knelt in front of her.

  “I’ve heard more rumors this day,” he huffed.

  “They are buzzing about town like flies,” her father said. “We’ve been hearing enough of them today, Samuel, my boy. We don’t want to hear any more.”

  “I wouldn’t repeat such rubbish, even if I was on the rack.”

  “Good, my boy, good.”

  Elizabeth bowed her head with the weariness of shame. How could she withstand additional rumors? Wasn’t the humiliation already sufficient?

  “I’m sorry,” Samuel said.

  “And I’m sorry for you, Samuel. You’re a good man, and you don’t deserve a wife with a tarnished reputation.”

  He reached then pulled back, reached again and pulled back. He groped until his sweaty fingers finally made contact.

  Elizabeth stared at her hand swallowed in his fleshy one. The feel of his skin was cold and clammy and sent bumps up her arm. She fought the distinct urge to jerk out of his grip.

  She hadn’t wanted to pull away when John had touched her bruised cheek. Indeed, she’d liked it well enough that she’d longed for more.

  What was wrong with her? How could she enjoy the touch of a man she could never have but feel revolted by the caring hold of the man she would have forever?

  As if sensing her discomfort, Samuel let go. He cleared his throat and fumbled at his breeches, searching for a place to put his hands.

  “I know the elders left the decision to you,” he started. “But with the increase of gossip, I must insist that you cease working for Brother Costin. Immediately.”

  Even with his bumbling, his tone was firm and his eyes intense.

  “Now, Samuel, my boy, let’s not be hasty.” Her father gave the bread dough the last punches. “We agreed to let Elizabeth make the decision. Ye cannot be making it for her.”

  “But the rumors are getting worse. My honor is at stake, as well as Elizabeth’s.”

  Elizabeth looked back at her hand, the hand he’d held. Should she reach for his hand and let him hold her again? Surely she’d not given him a fair chance. His hold should give her as much pleasure or even more than John’s.

  Samuel grasped the bench and heaved himself upward. The bench wobbled and Elizabeth teetered. She grabbed it to keep from sliding off. When he finally stood, he hitched up his breeches underneath his apron.

  Maybe she needed to try harder. Perchance she had been too busy for Samuel or hadn’t spent enough time with him yet to welcome his hold.

  “You cannot go back.” Samuel’s tone took on the obstinacy of a child. “If you choose him, then you will lose me. I will not marry you.”

  The room suddenly grew still and silent.

  His words echoed through her head. “If you choose him, then you will lose me. If you choose him, then you will lose me.”

  Samuel pulled on his beard.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d almost believe he was competing with John for her affection.

  “What will it be?” he persisted. “Me or him?”

  “Hold
on, Samuel, my boy.”

  Her father wiped his hands on his apron and cast Elizabeth the kind of look that said he did not want her to lose Samuel. He had seven daughters to marry off. She would only burden his conscience if she didn’t seize this opportunity for marriage when she had it.

  “Ye cannot push this matter, especially when Brother Costin and the elders—”

  “ ’Tis all right, Father.” There was no choice between Samuel or John. Samuel was all she had, and she couldn’t toss away the chance of lifelong marriage for a temporal housekeeping job. “I’ll do as Samuel wishes. I’ll stop working for the Costins.”

  Samuel released a whoosh of air. The lines in his face smoothed into relief.

  She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his anxiety. He truly had nothing to fear. But the emotion seeping through her was not humor. It was resignation. She must marry Samuel, and she couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “Then I’ll go to the vicar and ask him to read the banns on the coming Sabbath.”

  Elizabeth shook her head and reached out to the air as if to stop him. “All I ask is for one more day.”

  He started to protest.

  “Please.” She almost touched his hand but couldn’t go through with it. “Please let me say good-bye to the children and explain to them why I won’t be coming back.”

  He hesitated.

  “They lost their mother. Now they are losing me too. Please let me go. It will be my last day.”

  He pulled his beard harder.

  “Please. I need to say good-bye.” Her voice caught on the sadness that had pushed its way into her heart. How would she ever be able to say good-bye to them?

  Samuel nodded. “That’s reasonable enough. One more day, then.”

  One more day. The ache inside swelled against her chest. How would she ever survive it?

  Chapter

  17

  Now I know why you love the Costin baby.” Lucy stepped back from the doorway and gave Elizabeth room to enter.

  Something about the woman’s simple statement undressed her and made her want to turn away and hide. “Of course I love Thomas.”