“What say you? Giving our Mary love advice again?” Zeke grinned at Mary as they entered. “Do not listen to your sister. I do not know of whom she speaks, but I can tell you, when it comes to love, give no man time.” He winked. “Someone else will snatch him up if you do not.”
The stop-it-right-now look Lizzie gave Zeke was not missed as she turned on her husband. “Of course, Ezekiel is just glad anyone snatched him up, though the Lord knows I would do it again.” There was tenderness in her sister’s tone at the last part, and her smile could not be missed either.
As she turned back to Mary, Lizzie resumed her dour look. “Do not listen to him. He will get you into trouble every time. In truth, Mr. Horton might be the perfect answer to your dilemma with Father. You would not have to marry Robert and you would not have to leave Mowsley. But I thought you wanted to wait for love.”
“I want a family, like you and Zeke. And I want to choose whom I marry. Is that so terribly wrong? Mr. Horton I find to be a wonderful man. He could make me happy in so many ways.”
“But you are the one who said he still loves his wife. How could you be happy? And I told you he is a flirt with the ladies who come into his shop. He’s been in mourning, but he won’t always be. He used to love to chat with the ladies and flirt. ’Tis who he is. Ann didn’t give it a care, she was secure in his love. But how will you feel? Knowing that he does not love you as he did Ann? I worry about you.”
“I shan’t find love with Robert, either. With Mr. Horton I shall have a family. Besides, I shan’t be hurt, Lizzie. I may love Mr. Horton, but I’m also prepared to give him time to love me. The ladies all love to prattle with him, but everyone does. ’Tisn’t a bad thing.” She turned quickly and took her leave, before they could see the tears that threatened to fall.
4
December 1630
December’s cold was matched only by the busyness of the season. With the harvest done and land readied for the next spring, the small hamlet turned their toil to preserving food for the winter and the largest celebration of the year. Sausages were stuffed, cheese molded, butter and pork salted, and fruit dried or sugared. Tallow was rendered for candles and soap, while tree boughs and holly were foraged as they readied for the merriment of the twelve days of Christmastide, beginning on December twenty-fifth.
Attitudes about the festivities were mixed in Mowsley. Many, including Barnabas, felt that the sacredness of Christ’s birth was all but forgotten with the overindulgence that accompanied the celebration.
Still, he enjoyed this season of baking and creating confections to delight young and old alike. He particularly enjoyed the frequent presence of Mary and Elizabeth and had finally told the two sisters his intention of calling on Mr. Langton.
It was no surprise to the ladies, he supposed. Elizabeth gave a knowing look to Mary, whose delight lit her face. In that moment contentment gave him a peace he’d not enjoyed for some time.
Still, when the day finally came, as Barnabas rode up the long winding road to the Langton estate, sadness seeped into his soul like flour through a sieve. He patted Baldy’s withers and tried to put Ann from his mind. Mud-brown oak leaves, dry and curled inward, danced in the trees, and he watched as one skittered across the hard ground like a furry brown mouse. The Langton house loomed before him, an elegant half-timbered house with split oak beams that framed the pebble and limestone walls.
He would ask to court Mary and imagined spending many more evenings here. He dismounted, handing the reins to the young boy who emerged from the stable.
Adjusting his dark gray doublet, he knocked on the door. The cook answered and ushered him to the front parlor, offering a seat near the window. He sat forward and studied the room.
“Good morrow to you, Mr. Horton.” John Langton entered from the stairwell.
He stood and bowed. “Good morrow to you, Mr. Langton. A lovely home, sir.”
“Thank you. Mary tells me you are here to ask permission to court her. My daughter, Elizabeth, tells me she and her sister have frequented the bakeshop of late, presumably for Mary to learn some skills. What say you?” He folded his arms across his chest.
“You get right to the point, Mr. Langton, and I appreciate that. Indeed, I have come for permission to court your daughter. I have long held your family in high regard and, I must say, was pleased to meet your youngest once again. I’ve been quite lost without my dear wife. I require a mother for my children. A mistress for my home. I request to spend time with your daughter, Mr. Langton, to discover if this would be a good union.”
Mary’s father rubbed his chin, then pushed the intractable lock of hair from his forehead. He motioned for Barnabas to sit once more and took his own seat. “Forgive me, but I well recall the sense of loss I felt when my own wife passed. I feel it to this day. It never is easier. But, though I had a daughter to raise, I would never have married again. I could not. It would feel as if I betrayed my wife. Surely, it is very soon for you to consider another marriage, is it not? You barely know my girl, and you do not profess to love her.” His look was pure pain.
“I know your sorrow, sir. My loss haunts me daily. And to be sure, marriage to your daughter will be of much benefit to me. I must take care of my sons. Ann would want that. And I can provide a comfortable home for your daughter. She would have her own needs met. It is difficult in my business to have small children underfoot. My sons need a mother to watch over them.” He paused, unsure of where to go from here. “Many women in the village have offered their help, but in truth, I dislike their intrusion on my grief. Mayhap that sounds ungrateful. But I don’t like to intrude on their busy days, either.”
“Has Mary told you that I have been in discussions with Mistress Haskins of London, regarding a possible marriage to her son, Robert?”
He took a breath. “Aye, she did. She is not in favor of that union, sir.” He did not want to say too much at this juncture. Arguing would be of no use. Mayhap her father would come to understand that he truly had Mary’s interests in mind.
Mr. Langton stood up and began to pace. He rubbed the back of his neck. “And do you not feel, Mr. Horton, she might desire to marry you in order to avoid a marriage to Mr. Haskins?”
“Your daughter may have her reasons to marry me, but the kindness she bestowed on my sons tells me of the sweetness in her heart. I would be honored if she would choose me in marriage, rather than an arrangement without choice. Though we will not know her choice, sir, if you deny us a courting period.”
He stopped pacing. “I will need some time to think on these things. You understand, do you not, that I failed to have her taught many of the things you would expect in a wife?”
Barnabas stood, aware the visit had ended, but a bit of tension eased from his shoulders. He spoke gently. “It surprises me that she lacks in the domestic skills with a sister such as Mistress Fanning. But there are many things I can teach a bride when it comes to preparing a meal, and her sister tells me she gives her lessons in needlework and spinning. I truly am not looking for a replacement for my dear Ann. I could never do that.” The grief that lurked behind his words threatened to surface and he donned his hat to take his leave.
“Mr. Horton, may I extend an invitation to supper this Saturday? Perhaps we can further discuss the problems of such a courtship. I do have many questions about your beliefs, your family. Over supper we might have a relaxed discussion. One that Mary could be present for. In the end, I do love my girl, very much, and I do want her happiness. Most of all I want her to be safe and secure, but her happiness is of great importance to me as well.”
“Very well, Mr. Langton, supper on Saturday. I do look forward to helping you understand my position. I will answer any questions you please.”
Old Baldy stood waiting, the young boy by his side. Barnabas mounted, pulling his doublet closer. The clouds moved in and he could taste snow in the air. He had not expected the hesitancy Mr. Langton exhibited. No, he thought Mary’s father would welcome him. Mayhap not wit
h open arms, but certainly he must know this would be a good arrangement for his daughter. Many parents in Mowsley would be delighted to marry their daughters to the baker. He told Mr. Langton he would answer any questions he pleased to ask, but doubt began to settle into his thoughts. What if he did not have the right answers?
Mary stood from her perch at the top of the stairwell.
Papa closed the door and turned to look up. “Come down, my girl. We have much to discuss.” He looked weary, a bit older. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes suddenly looked more like wrinkles than laugh lines.
She obeyed her father and sat in her favorite chair, hands folded.
“So, my girl, you have made quite an impression on our Mr. Horton.”
“He has made an impression on me too, Papa.”
“That is not the same as love, of course.” He turned his back to her and stared out the window.
“If I were to marry Robert, it would not be for love either.” She felt the sting of tears as they welled.
“There are many reasons to marry Robert, and I must tell you, many reasons to not marry Mr. Horton. Without going into those, let me just say that I know I failed your mother miserably with you. What would she think? I most certainly should have sent you to live with Elizabeth. Selfishness. It was pure selfishness that I didn’t. But I can at least take care of you now, Mary. Even Elizabeth agrees, Robert is the right solution.”
“Solution? Is that what he is, Papa? I do not need a solution. And Lizzie does not agree with you anymore.” She rose and stood close to his side. She tried to keep the anger out of her tone, but it seethed inside like a current beneath a restless sea. She inhaled and the words came out a whisper. “You didn’t fail me, Papa. But you will if you send me off to London. And you would fail Mother. She would never do this to me.” She was drained, so very tired of fighting to make her own decisions. Why must it be this way?
“My dear girl, what is so terrible about Robert? Did Mother know something I do not? I don’t recall he teased you growing up or pulled at your braids. As I remember, you played rather nicely and he always seemed infatuated with you. Almost speechless.”
“That’s it, Papa. As we grew older, he never said anything to me. Just sat there like a lump. He is a lump. No passion, no dreams. And he just stares at me. He is . . . he is disgusting.”
Papa’s shoulders drooped and he took her hand in his. “You heard that Mr. Horton will come for supper?”
“Yes.” She could barely trust her voice.
“I shall not promise you anything. I have many questions to ask. But I shall listen to what he has to say. Are you going to Elizabeth’s today?”
“Yes.”
“Tell that daughter I want to see her. Why ever would she be taking you to the bakeshop in the first place? What is she filling your mind with?” He shook his head and sat down to study his ledger.
“It was me. I made her. I told her I wanted to go. ’Tis not right to blame her. But she agrees with me, Papa. She has her own concerns, but overall she thinks perhaps to marry Mr. Horton is a good choice for me.” She hoped she did not embellish what Lizzie had said.
“So be it. But do not see Mr. Horton again until I can talk to him. And tell Elizabeth to bring Ezekiel and the children for supper on Saturday. She should be here. I need her presence and perhaps advice. She would know best what your mother would do.”
“Papa, I think I’m in love with Mr. Horton.” Her voice was but a whisper, and Papa did not respond.
Dismissed, she gave Papa a soft kiss on his cheek. She took her hooded cape from the peg and let herself out the door. As she walked up the lane, she turned to wave to Papa, but he was not in the window. Never had she felt so distanced from him.
5
January 1, 1631
On Saturday, Cook roasted a joint of beef, and the aroma drifted through the house, a welcome to hungry guests. Mary noted that the fires in the kitchen and parlor, kept up all morning, gave the rooms a warmth and cheer they lacked on an ordinary day. It was the halfway point of the twelve days of Christmas, and each day she, Lizzie, and Papa had exchanged a tiny token of their love for each other.
Today she would see Barnabas, and her anticipation was more than she could bear. No gift required, he was indeed the present she wished for.
A rumble of wagon wheels signaled the arrival of the Fannings. Her giddiness turned from thoughts of Barnabas to thoughts of her nieces and nephew, and she ran to the door. Zeke handed Rachel down to Lizzie as Mary joined them to unload the wagon.
She opened her arms and Ruth fell into them, but squirmed to the ground. “What, are you too big to let your auntie hold you?”
“Mama says I am.” She ran her hand over her aunt’s skirt. “I like your dress, Aunt Mary, so soft. Mama says you have Miss Temples make them for you.”
Her ruby-hued velvet was a favorite, with its lace collar and cuffs. “Yes, that I do. Sometimes. She does good work, do you agree?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
The two walked into the parlor. Lizzie set Rachel down and she toddled to her grandfather. “Bumpa, Bumpa,” she squealed.
He brought her up to his knee and kicked out so she could have a horsey ride. For the moment his eyes twinkled and a broad grin spread across his face as he played with his granddaughter. “She looks so much like you, Mary, when you were but a poppet. You loved to ride on my knee too.”
“You were my first horse, Papa, and then the one with the rocker that you made for me. I rode it for so long, way too big for it, before you finally gave me my first pony.”
“I was jealous of that,” Lizzie said. “Could you tell, little sister?”
Mary shook her head.
Papa set Rachel down and stood up. “That was the fun of watching the two of you grow up. You both were so different, but always wanting what the other had. The love you had for each other never changed, though. Your mother can be thanked for that. She knew how to instill love in each of you.”
Papa cleared his throat. Now the lecture would come and the rules set for Mr. Horton’s visit. Mary steeled herself, but Zeke’s voice announced the arrival of the baker.
Quickly her father added, “I want to remind you both that I shall be the one talking. If I want your opinion, I shall ask for it. Understood?”
“Yes, Papa. But I think Lizzie wants to tell you something.”
Lizzie’s exasperation showed as she looked first at her sister, then at her father. “I only want to say that Mr. Horton is a fine man. Mother thought so too. His boys are well behaved from what I can tell. Mary could do worse, Father. She could be a spinster and a burden to you someday.”
He softened his tone. “Your point is well taken, Elizabeth. Now let us greet our guest.”
The three moved with Rachel to the front hall and found Barnabas removing his coat and Zeke helping Ruth and Joshua remove outer clothing.
“Mr. Horton, where is Joseph?” Joshua held on to his father’s leg as he wiggled from his coat.
“The boys are visiting their Grandmother and Grandfather Horton.”
Mary listened to Barnabas comment to Zeke about how fast boys grow. She drew back, needing to slip away for a moment, to collect herself. She entered the kitchen and moved toward the door. Cook beat at eggs with a spoon, her back to Mary, and thankfully took no notice as she hurried outside.
She closed the door quietly and shivered, more from nerves than the cold outside. The kitchen garden soothed her as she bent to run her fingers over the winter lettuce. The last of the turnips would be pulled soon and put in the cool dirt beneath the house. Winter’s sting would bring an end to what was left in the ground, so there was work yet to be done. She sniffed the air, enjoying the earthy redolence. The seasons were experienced in the garden like nowhere else and there was a pleasure in digging and plucking as they readied for winter’s freeze.
She worked with the gardener every year. She found it such a pleasure. But where would she be next year? She sank onto the
stone bench and pulled a rose, dark and shriveled, from the thorny bush. Long devoid of leaves, the bush looked foreboding. London was that way. Pretty in the summer, but as ugly as this rosebush in winter.
Mary raised her face to pray. She probably should be kneeling, with her head bowed and hands folded, but so far that hadn’t seemed to work. Perhaps if she looked up to God, He would see her desperation. Lord, I’m going to marry Mr. Horton. I am. This is what I need to do.
It wasn’t a very good prayer, but she did hope He understood her plight.
Barnabas appreciated the warm fire and stood with his back close to it, hands clasped behind to thaw his fingers. Mary had been in the hall when he first arrived, he knew she had, but now was nowhere to be seen. Should he ask after Mary, or ignore the fact she was no longer present? He was accustomed to leading conversations, and his hesitation bothered him.
It didn’t matter. Mr. Langton excused himself, and Mistress Fanning—though polite—seemed quite occupied with her children.
His gaze lingered over the green boughs that framed the hearth and the red ribbons and balls with holly that adorned them. Where was Mary? Could it be that she had made the decision not to see him? That she would marry Robert after all? He cleared his throat. “Mistress Fanning, your sister, she is well?”
Elizabeth peered toward the kitchen. “Oh yes, she looks forward to your visit. Father would rather I not discuss this with you, but Mr. Horton, I do know she is distressed by these circumstances. Father and I both worry about her, but in the end only wish for her happiness. Prithee, have patience with Father.”
Before he could answer, Mr. Langton reappeared, with Mary by his side. “Cook says supper is ready to be served. Mr. Horton, follow me please.”
A Place in His Heart Page 4