The Preacher's Bride

by Jody Hedlund

  John let go of her hand and stepped away, putting a safe distance between them. “Ah, it would be a pleasure, to besure,” he said to her father, clearing his throat. “But methinks I must get a start on my work. I have a long hike ahead to Lower Samsell. It will be a full day of teaching and tinkering.”

  “Then ye shall have some fresh bread for your trip.”

  “I would be grateful.” John walked back to where he had dropped his bag. He slung it over his shoulder.

  Elizabeth watched him and her heart raced after him, unwilling to let him go, longing for another moment together, no matter how short.

  But he patted the heads of his children before tossing one last smile in her direction. Then he hefted his bag higher, the linen pulling taut against the thick cover of his Bible within.

  She smiled in return, forcing her wistfulness away. When he turned away, she buried her face in the velvet blanket of flower petals, soothing her hot cheeks and reminding herself that John cared about her.

  They were pledged to be married. ’Twould not be long before they would be together, and she would get her fill of him to her heart’s content.

  Chapter

  27

  You wouldn’t believe what I heard this morning at market.” Catherine patted the back of her newborn babe, and his tiny grunts of complaint took on the rhythm of her thumping.

  “I don’t wish to hear any gossip.” Elizabeth turned away from her sister. With one last tin mold of candles to pour, she was sticky and tired and wished to finish without Catherine’s prattling. “Are you not capable of speaking of anything else?”

  The girl had too much leisure. If she took her responsibilities more seriously, then she would have less time to partake in idle tale-bearing. And if Samuel didn’t spoil her so much. . . .

  With a frustrated breath Elizabeth blew the loose hairs out of her eyes. Deep down, what really bothered her was that Catherine knew more about John’s doings than she did.

  In the weeks since their betrothal, she and the children had lived at the bakehouse while John stayed at the forge. On occasion he joined them for a meal, but most of the time he was either gone preaching or laboring on the cottage.

  “I heard both good and bad news.” Catherine lowered her babe back to her breast and pushed him against it. His grunts turned into hungry gulps.

  Elizabeth held a long-handled dipper, filled with melted wax, above the candle molds. She was sure Catherine felt it was her duty to share every rumor she heard about her and John. The most recent was that they had to get married because she, Elizabeth, was carrying John’s child. ’Twas a rumor that left her feeling soiled, like all of the others. She had no doubt William Foster was behind it but was thankful he had otherwise left her alone.

  “Which do you want me to tell you first? The good news or the bad?”

  Elizabeth examined the tall tapered tubes, the wicks already threaded through a narrow hole in the far end and looped over small sticks laid across a pan at the top of the mold. She wanted to tell Catherine to hold her tongue, to shame her for gossiping. But whenever the rumors involved John, she couldn’t make herself say the words. She saw and heard so little of him that she was eager for any news at all.

  “I suppose I shall start with the bad.” Catherine’s voice lacked the regret one would expect in the bearer of bad news.

  Elizabeth began pouring the melted wax into the first tube.

  “They’ve agreed to the king’s return.”

  Elizabeth’s hand trembled and splashed wax. She looked up from the candles to Catherine’s face. “Truly not.”

  Catherine nodded. The ruff of her new bodice outlined the womanliness of her nursing figure. Samuel was indeed pampering Catherine and the new babe. Whatever Catherine wanted, he gave, including linen for new clothes. “They are talking about recalling King Charles from Breda.”

  “That cannot be.” Elizabeth poured the next candle and steadied her hand, even as her heart quaked at the news. At the beginning of the spring, Richard Cromwell had finally resigned as Lord Protector. That news had been a blow to the Independents but not unexpected.

  They hadn’t known what would happen next or who would rise to leadership to replace Richard Cromwell. Certainly they hadn’t expected Parliament to consider having a king again, especially Charles.

  Why would they do such a thing? Everyone knew Charles was Catholic, having been indoctrinated by his French mother. He’d fled to France and the Netherlands after Oliver Cromwell had beheaded his father, King Charles I, and he had lived there during the days of the Protectorate. Now Parliament was considering his return?

  Elizabeth poured the last of the hot wax and then stood back. Having a Catholic king would bring trouble to the Puritans—to John.

  “A king won’t tolerate the Independents,” Catherine continued. “He’ll certainly come down hard on our preachers.”

  “Whatever shall we do?” She was on the brink of marriage, at the start of a life with the man she loved. Would she miss her chance after all?

  “We shall all have to be prepared for the worst.” Catherine’s words were too unfeeling. The girl was only repeating what she had heard, but nevertheless, Elizabeth wished Catherine was capable of sympathy.

  “Now the good news. Or would you rather not hear any more of my gossip?”

  Elizabeth met Catherine’s self-satisfied expression and pinned her with a hard look.

  Catherine rearranged her nursing babe and raised her eyebrows in sweetened innocence.

  “Matron life and motherhood are a means of maturing most young girls. You have not benefited from either.”

  “Then you shall need neither, for you are already the saint of maturity.”

  Elizabeth turned away. Sparring words with Catherine would fuel her anger and lead them both to sin.

  She ran her fingers over the dried splotches of wax on the table and picked at one with her thumbnail. If she waited long enough, Catherine wouldn’t be able to resist sharing the rest of her news.

  “Very well,” Catherine said finally. “Since you are so insistent, you leave me no choice but to tell you what else I heard.”

  Elizabeth scraped at the cold wax.

  “The banns will be posted this Sabbath.”

  “Banns?” Elizabeth’s breath stuck in her throat.

  “Seems the bad news has put more haste into Brother Costin’s marriage plans.”

  “Then we shall be married in a month’s time?”

  “ ’Tis what they say.”

  Elizabeth’s heart rolled forward like a carriage hurrying toward its destiny. She would finally wed John. ’Twas not just a dream.

  Only one month and she would belong to John. No more smiles in passing. No more separations. She would be able to linger with him by the fire at night and listen to him talk about his busy day.

  “You may end up married.” Catherine lifted her babe to her shoulder and thumped his back. “But you won’t have wedded bliss. If you don’t find yourself a widow, you’ll find yourself alone—with Brother Costin in prison or banished.”

  The wheels of Elizabeth’s heart lurched, bumping and jolting over rocky ground. She narrowed her eyes at Catherine, cheeks flushed from the heat of her nursing, and she fought a sudden and unholy surge of malice. Why must Catherine discourage her at every turn and find pleasure in it?

  “Perchance your hope lies in convincing Brother Costin to forsake his preaching.” Catherine wiped spit off her babe’s chin. “After all, when you’re his wife, you’ll have great influence over him. You may be just the one to save him from certain destruction.”

  “Forsake preaching? How can I sway him to do such a thing? Am I the Lord that I should even attempt it?”

  “You’ll be able to sway him more than you realize.” Catherine smiled. “At least Samuel is very agreeable, especially when we are in bed.”

  “For shame, sister!” Flames sprang to life in Elizabeth’s cheeks. “Say no more!” She turned away from Catherine to
the cooling tins of candles. The girl was foolish, and Elizabeth knew she would do well to pay no heed to her advice.

  * * *

  True to Catherine’s word, the banns were read the following Sabbath, then for two consecutive weeks after that. Hearing her name linked with John’s filled Elizabeth with warm pleasure that grew each time she heard it.

  ’Twould be the usual simple ceremony the Puritans had practiced since Cromwell’s Marriage Act, which had banned marriages from taking place in churches.

  A short wedding ceremony before the justice of the peace was enough for Elizabeth. Royalists, and even some Puritans, had never accepted the marriage law and had continued the practice of marrying in the church. But she was content with simple Puritan ways.

  As a girl who’d never had much of a chance of attracting anyone, she was happy enough to have the opportunity to experience marriage.

  She was marrying the man she loved, and that was the important thing.

  When the day finally arrived, Elizabeth’s heart fluttered with excitement.

  Late afternoon sunshine poured through the glass windows of the guildhall chamber and filled every corner of the big room with light. The murmur of voices surrounded her. She brushed a hand over the smooth linen of her Sabbath meeting clothes, her best apparel, and then glanced at the doors.

  They were still closed.

  She surveyed the room and recounted those already gathered—her family, the witnesses, the magistrate. Everyone was there, except John.

  Sister Norton met her gaze. “Don’t fret. He’ll be here.”

  Elizabeth nodded and attempted a smile. But her heart couldn’t muster enthusiasm past the sudden fear. What if something had happened to him? The Royalists were growing more daring in their defiance of Puritan rule.

  A rampage of thoughts assaulted her and wouldn’t let up their siege.

  Only when the large doors squeaked open did her thoughts finally capitulate with relief. John barged inside and his breath came in heaving gulps. He leaned over and grabbed his side.

  “Is everything all right, Brother Costin?” the magistrate asked.

  He nodded. “Just out of breath is all.”

  “We need to commence. You’re late, and I have another appointment following this.”

  John took a deep breath and pushed away from the door. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He tossed Elizabeth an apologetic smile. “I was preaching south of Elstow. I lost track of time and had to run the last three miles.”

  She released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and gave him a wavering smile as he took his place next to her.

  His hair hung in a sticky array against his neck and forehead.

  Elizabeth fidgeted with sudden self-consciousness. Perhaps she’d made a mistake cleaning herself and putting on her Sabbath dress.

  “I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” he whispered, catching her gaze. The warmth in the depth of his eyes went straight to her heart, and she was helpless to do anything but forgive him.

  When he reached for her hand, nothing else mattered. He was there.

  His fingers surrounded hers but then slowly maneuvered until he intertwined them with hers in an intimate hold like nothing she’d ever known.

  Her breath hitched.

  His palm pressed against hers, and she couldn’t focus on the magistrate’s examination of her father regarding his consent to the union. She chanced a sideways glance at John. He winked at her.

  When the magistrate had sufficient proof that her father supported her underage marriage, he turned to them.

  “Now you may state your vows.”

  John turned to face her. “I, John Costin, do here in the presence of God, the searcher of all hearts, take you, Elizabeth Whitbread, for my wedded wife.” His smile softened, and his earnest words brought joyful tears to her eyes. “Also, in the presence of God and before these witnesses, I promise to be unto you a loving and faithful husband.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. Could she speak her vows past the tightness of her throat? “I, Elizabeth Whitbread, do here in the presence of God, the searcher of all hearts, take you, John Costin, for my wedded husband.” Her voice strengthened with each word. “In the presence of God and before these witnesses, I promise to be unto you a loving, faithful, and obedient wife.”

  The magistrate closed his book and stepped back. “You are now husband and wife.”

  The ring, along with the elaborate ritual that accompanied its giving, was no longer permitted. Neither was the conjunction for kissing the bride. Indeed, the ceremony lasted only minutes and was over before it had the chance to begin.

  The men of the congregation who’d come to witness the wedding surrounded John. As he turned to greet them, his hand slipped from hers. In an instant, her own friends and family enveloped her with warm hugs, and she found herself separated from John.

  Her gaze followed him, however. When he filed out of the guildhall chamber ahead of her, deep in conversation with the men, she reminded herself that these were troubled times. No one could stop debating who would lead their country next, not even on a wedding day.

  Her father invited everyone to return to the bakehouse to join together in a meal. He had prepared extra pasties and pies and had baked a special cake with almonds for the occasion. As the evening wore on, well-wishing friends and congregates joined them until the small rooms of the bakehouse were crowded and many had to gather outside in the cool dusk of spring.

  Elizabeth lost track of John and only occasionally spotted him deep in conversation with one elder or another.

  When the hour had finally grown late and most had taken their leave, she helped her sisters clean up the meal and debated whether to search for John. She released a relieved sigh when he stepped into the room and nodded to her.

  “ ’Tis time for us to be going,” he said quietly.

  Both Anne and Jane grew motionless and turned curious eyes onto her.

  She ducked her head, knowing what everyone would now be thinking. She would be going to her new home and would become John’s wife.

  Slowly she wiped her hands on her apron and then reached for a large bundle wrapped in a linen sheet. She didn’t have much: a flaxen pillowbeer, a table sheet she had woven, a bolster, a blanket, the tin candle holder John had given her, and the few clothing items she possessed.

  With an encouraging smile, Jane handed her a basket filled with leftovers from the evening.

  “Thank you, Jane.” Elizabeth’s voice caught in her throat. She was leaving home, leaving her family, never again to be one of them. Her life would forevermore change.

  As if sensing the same thoughts, Jane reached for her and hugged her, and then with a sob Anne did likewise.

  She squared her shoulders and turned to face John, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

  He slid the large bundle from her shoulder. Then, with his tinkering bag over one shoulder and her parcel over the other, he led her through the farewells to her father and the rest of her family, until finally they were away from the smiles that whispered of secrets she knew not.

  When they arrived at the cottage, John deposited her belongings on the table and spoke with her for a few moments about the last of the repairs he had recently finished. Elizabeth tried to focus her thoughts on what he said and give the appropriate responses, but her mind was as jumpy as a frog catching flies.

  “The children will be glad to be home with you,” she said as he bent low before the hearth and stirred the embers.

  “And I with them.”

  Willie and Sarah had taken the children to Elstow for the night and offered to keep them for several days, until the Sabbath. Willie had elbowed John and proclaimed that John would need time with his young bride.

  John had grinned in return but had shaken his head and remarked that he had a gathering near Elstow on the morrow and would retrieve them on his way home.

  “ ’Twill be quiet without them.” Elizabeth fingered her sleeve cuff and looked around
the room, the stillness of it making her insides do more flops.

  Finally he stood, crossed his arms, and looked at her. Something in the dark depths of his eyes sent her heart scurrying wildly.

  She quickly busied her shaking hands by reaching for her bag and fumbling with the drawstring. “Think you William Foster will try to harm me now that I’m back at the cottage?”

  His footsteps thudded against the floor toward her. “Foster won’t dare,” he said behind her.

  She pulled open the bag, drew out a handful of clothes, and tried not to think about John’s nearness.

  “He knew he could get away with harassing you when you were my housekeeper.” John’s voice was low. “But he would never try manipulating you now that you are my bride.”

  She dumped the rest of her belongings into a pile on the table. Her hands fluttered from one item to the next.

  John stretched past her and picked up the tin candlestick. “I see you still have my gift.”

  Her hands stilled on the half-folded blanket. “Of course. It’s my most treasured worldly possession. . . .”

  For a moment John fingered the pierced leaf pattern. She stared at his strong callused fingers and remembered their strength and warmth as they’d intertwined with hers during the wedding.

  He lifted his hand from the candlestick and touched her arm. Gently he turned her away from the disarray on the table until she faced him.

  Before she could object, he caressed her cheek and then made a trail down her jaw, across her chin, and up her other cheek.

  The softness of his touch took her breath away.

  His fingers didn’t rest. He drew them across to her lips until the callused tips brushed them.

  A sigh slipped from between her lips, an echo of the delight he was stirring within her. And when he bent his head nearer, she closed her eyes and held her breath.

  In an instant, the feathery caress of his fingertips vanished, replaced by the most exquisite tender warmth, the gentle pressure of his lips against hers. For an eternal, heavenly moment, his lips melded against hers, softly, sweetly.