by Jill Stengl
Rachel’s lecture had finally solved some of the puzzles in Maela’s brain; not all of these completed puzzles were pleasant to contemplate—such as precisely why the bishop would have her as his slave. But she could not speak of such things to Harry. Realizing how forward her marriage proposal must sound to him, she fell silent, blushing deeply and thankful for the falling dusk.
Harry could only shake his head as he allowed her to pull from his grasp. “We must wait upon the Lord, Maela. He will preserve and defend us in His time. We must not take matters into our hands and attempt to work our plan in His name. Suffering would come of it; of this I am sure.”
She drooped. He tried to think of something comforting and loving to say, but his mind was blank. He climbed off the wagon and helped her down. She allowed him to envelop her in his cloak, and they walked back to the house, side by side.
The Flemings invited Harry to remain for the evening meal; afterward he would escort Maela back to the castle. Rachel wished to spend every last minute with Maela, and Jonas absorbed Harry in conversation about biblical principles and obscure Scripture passages.
Lane had wandered over to the manor that night, undoubtedly to visit Lottie. Rachel was delighted with her son’s budding romance, for, despite her claims about his popularity, he had always been too shy to court a woman. She and Jonas had nearly given up hope of ever becoming grandparents.
At last Maela stood before the men with a sack of clothing in one hand, a loaded basket in the other. “Rachel has sent a propitiation of biscuits and strawberries to my grandmother, hoping to ease my way. I know not what has occurred in mine absence, but I do know that Grandmere will be angry.”
“Thou art prepared at last,” Harry observed, rising slowly and smoothing his jerkin. “I thought perhaps Rachel had persuaded thee to remain for aye.”
Maela flushed and dropped her gaze to the floorboards. “Verily, I am tempted to remain.”
“One last kiss, my child,” Rachel requested, folding the girl into her arms. “Come to us if ever you have need.”
“I will,” Maela agreed. She then hugged Jonas and kissed his leathery cheek. “Extend my farewells to Lane upon his return.”
Maela’s path from the Fleming’s back pasture to the castle was difficult to find in the dark. Harry tripped over hidden obstacles while Maela seemed to glide along like a ghost. He could see her when occasional breaks in the trees allowed moonlight to silver her white cap and face, but her expression was unreadable.
“I have come to the castle only once ere now,” he observed, “when you were ill. Remember? ’Twas a stormy night, and cold.”
“I recall as though it were last night,” she answered. “I feared for thy safety, but God did protect thee.”
“I used thy secret tunnel. Do you plan to return hence this night?”
“Nay, I shall walk through the castle door. Mine absence is no secret, and my return must be open or Grandmere shall wax suspicious.”
“And Dob?”
“Thou art with me. I fear not Dob with Harry at my side.” She sounded both timid and brave. “Grandmere is more to be feared. She did beat me the last time I stayed away overlong. But then I was a child and had no strength.” Harry watched her lift her free hand and clench her fist as though to show off powerful muscles. Knowing how slender her arms were, he was not reassured.
“She had best not lay hand to thee while I’m near,” Harry muttered grimly. “Come to me straightaway if she tries it.” He shifted Rachel’s heavy basket of food to his other hand.
“Mistress Rachel has instructed me that I must no longer go alone to thy cottage. It is not seemly, since I am no longer a child.”
Harry had feared as much, yet he knew Rachel was right. Unfamiliar feelings now stirred within him, powerful feelings that might prove difficult to control.
“May I visit thee at the castle?”
She immediately shook her head. “I dare not attempt such boldness, Harry. Grandmere would dislike it. I did promise Rachel this day to attend church. I will see thee there, and perhaps we can meet at their home.”
She turned and continued on toward the castle. Harry followed in her wake.
A dark blot appeared against the starry sky—the castle keep. Minutes later they stood before the kitchen door. It was locked. Harry pounded with closed fist.
“What shall I say?” Maela squeaked, now that it was too late for planning.
“The truth, though not too much of it,” Harry advised.
They heard nothing from within until the door creaked open. “What is it?” Hera Coats asked, holding a candle up to light their faces. “Who are you? We take no lodgers at Castle Trent. Away with you!”
“Grandmere?” Maela quavered.
Hera’s bloodshot eyes opened wide. “Ishy? Whatever. . . ? Wherefore came you to be out with this stranger? I did believe thee sick abed!”
The realization that she had not even checked on her granddaughter’s health roused Harry’s wrath, but he held it in check. The old woman had a gray pallor upon her cheeks. Perhaps she herself had been ill.
“I did fish her out of the river yesterday. The Flemings took her in and cared for her. Mistress Rachel Fleming sends thee greetings, Mistress Coats.”
“And these biscuits and berries,” Maela added, taking the laden basket from Harry.
Hera’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “And how did you come to be in the river, blaggard?” she snapped at Maela.
“I did sneak out,” Maela admitted, truthfully enough. “I intended not to fall into the river.”
This turn of events had evidently shaken Hera Coats. Reaching out a clawlike hand, she grabbed Maela’s arm and dragged her inside. Two berries fell to the floor and rolled into bleak darkness beyond Harry’s view. “To thy chamber, wench. I shall settle accounts with thee later.”
Then her cold blue eyes pinned Harry to the spot. “What do you want of the wench? She is not for a commoner—she, the daughter of a great lord. Begone, knave, ere I call the guard.”
Thinking of his last clash with “the guard,” Harry restrained a bitter smile. He saluted the old woman respectfully, saying, “Fare thee well.”
He marched away without a backward glance, though his heart cried many prayers for Maela’s protection.
eleven
And, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Matthew 28:20
“ ‘They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength and mount up with wings as eagles,’ ” Maela quoted softly as she stood upon a rickety table, leaned both arms upon the narrow windowsill, and gazed across the countryside. “Ever have I loved the prophet Isaiah’s words and sought to hide them in my heart. Now they shall comfort me in my sorrow. Jesus is with me always, though Harry cannot be.”
Setting her jaw, she stated, “I shall strive to please Jesus with my thoughts and actions. When Harry returns, he shall be pleased with me. I shall attend church and learn more of the Scriptures and of God. My life shall count for Jesus, with or without Harry the joiner.” Hopping down from the table, she whisked across the chamber and opened the door with a flourish.
A search through one of her mother’s old chests had produced a treasure trove of clothing, scented soap balls, and a tortoiseshell comb and brush set. Maela had nearly grown into her mother’s clothing, though the gowns tended to sag in front. Most women possessed but one set of garments; Maela now owned seven, not counting Agnes Fleming’s hand-me-downs. This was wealth, indeed.
Now Maela was prepared as though for battle. Clad in one of her mother’s embroidered smocks and a puce kirtle and waistcoat, she tied a white cap over her neatly bound braids, hurried downstairs, and marched openly through the kitchen. “Grandmere, I go to church this day. I shall return late.” Before Hera could do more than stare in reply, she was gone, running down the road like a deer.
She was too late for the regular church service, but Harry had thought she would prefer the Bible study meeting anyway. It usu
ally took place Sunday afternoon. Master Tompkins, the vicar, seldom audited the doctrine being taught; he preferred his afternoon nap. This was fine with the attending believers; the vicar’s sermons contained little meat and tended to lull his flock to sleep.
National church leaders would have frowned heavily upon the meetings being held in the stone church building, but Master Tompkins did not wish to cause trouble, and the bishop was seldom around. Therefore, Trenton parish flourished and grew in knowledge of the Scriptures of its own accord with little fear of reprisal.
People squeezed together on the benches, women on one side, men on the other. A hush fell upon the crowd when Harry entered with Sir David Marston. Many eyes widened, glued to the nobleman’s flushed face. Sir David had always attended the liturgical service, never the Bible study. Lane Fleming scooted over to make room and waved to them. Harry nodded his gratitude, and the two men settled upon the bench.
Maela knew Harry had not spotted her, for Rachel sat on the end of their bench, hiding her from view. She had not seen him for three days—it was difficult to keep from peeking around Rachel for a sight of him, especially since his remaining time in Trenton was dwindling rapidly.
The Bible teacher was a wainwright from Cambridge who had come to work in town for a few months, supplying dung carts and a few wagons for the local populace. He opened the huge Bible and began to read aloud from Isaiah. For two hours he read and spoke of God’s compassion for His people, of Israel’s perfidy, and of God’s anger and forgiveness. It was a new passage for Maela, and she soaked up the Scripture with a rapt expression.
Sir David was not the only newcomer to create a stir. Several young girls tried to examine Maela without turning their heads. A few young men were equally interested in the new maiden, casting their eyes across the aisle. Though her bright hair was hidden beneath her cap, her face was sufficient to capture their attention. Maela was unaware of their scrutiny; Rachel noticed and was pleased.
After the service, one of the girls introduced herself as Hepzibah, daughter of the coppersmith. Maela felt shy, but she listened while the other girl chattered, and she soon began to relax. It was another novel experience for her to spend time with girls of her own age. Two other girls soon joined the group. One of them was married and held a baby on her hip. The baby fascinated Maela. She had never seen anything more amazing than this tiny boy with his soft brown curls and dimpled arms. Maela forgot to look for Harry. She forgot everything but the fun of companionship and girlhood.
Sir David was also welcomed into the family of believers. Yeomen, husbandmen, merchants, and craftsmen alike welcomed him as their brother when he professed his faith in Jesus Christ. Days before he had prayed with Harry, committing his life to God’s service. Joy radiated from his countenance—none could doubt his sincerity.
While the men talked, Harry watched Maela from across the room as she took the baby from its mother and cuddled it close. She looked mature in her new clothes—too mature. Had Rachel given her that embroidered smock with the scalloped neckline? Harry’s fists clenched and relaxed, feeling moist. Such clothing was too old for the child; it drew undue attention to her exquisite neck. He must speak to Rachel about this. . .this impropriety.
Yet it was good to see the girl clean, blooming, happy, healthy. . .lovely. . .and no longer in need of him. He could no longer provide for her, so God had removed her from his hands and placed her, in a sense, with a proper family. It was right and good. So why did he feel as though he had received a fatal wound from a well-driven halberd?
❧
“Harry, have you heard about thy little friend? The red-haired maiden—thy fishing companion? Lane tells me she now dwells with his parents.” Lottie stopped to chat while dusting the hall.
“Come again?” Harry was sanding down the last portion of his masterpiece—a magnificent red deer, carved with its antlers thrown back, its mouth agape as it bugled a challenge to its foes.
“The maid you rescued from drowning—I cannot recall her name. ’Tis a frightful scandal about town; I cannot believe you have not heard of it. Hera Coats was found dead, and the little maid found sanctuary at the Flemings. Dob Titwhistle has disappeared, and rumor indicates he headed for Parminster Court. The bishop likely enticed him away with higher wages.”
Harry decided it was time for a break. Climbing down from the ladder, he picked up his tools. His mind ran in circles.
Lottie followed him to the door. “Lane made this known unto me last evening as we walked out together. Shall you take thy leave soon despite these happenings, Harry? I believed you did love the maid.”
“I must repair home. My family depends upon me.” Harry felt like tearing out his hair. This exigency would surely bring Lord Trenton to his castle in a hurry, and then what would become of Maela? She was now “ripe” enough to tempt even the bishop.
He could not deny his hurt that Maela had run to the Flemings for aid, not to him. And yet, it served him right. He would soon be leaving her in her time of great need.
Harry simply told Master Lyttleton, “I have emergency business of a personal nature. The carvings will be complete tomorrow as planned.” And he left.
It was a cool, dismal morning. Fog lay thickly in shallow vales and drifted haphazardly across the road. At times, Harry could scarcely see his hand before his face. He felt his spirits drooping and fought to keep them high.
The Fleming farm looked deserted and dreary, though smoke trickled from the chimney. Pegasus grazed near the roadside fence; he spotted Harry and whickered a friendly greeting. Harry took a moment to ruffle the pony’s thick mane. Pegasus was getting older, like Samson. His face was sprinkled with white hair.
Another horse joined them at the fence, hoping for a treat. It was an immense gray, dappled beneath and nearly white above. Its mane and tail were dark at the roots and white at the ends. Heavy white feathering made boots around its black feet. Its skin was dark gray, and its eyes looked very dark upon that white face. Harry had never seen such a horse—the top of his head scarcely reached its withers. Its coloring was unusual and quite handsome.
“That gelding shall be thine,” Jonas said from behind him, making Harry start.
“Indeed! I have not the means to pay for such a beast. It looks strong enough to pull thy barn from its foundation. It must stand eighteen hands!”
“Verily, it is strong indeed, but contrary, high-spirited, and ever hungry. My Suffolk horses pull well enough, are calm in spirit, amenable, and eat half as much. I must let this fine beast go. I bought it at market some months past, captured by its handsome face and impressive muscle, though it was in poor condition at the time. Not a se’ennight passed ere I knew ’twas a mistake. Its will is as strong as its neck, and it cares not to pull a plow. Even Lane confessed himself out of patience with the beast.”
“And it is to be mine for the agreed upon price?” Harry could scarcely believe his luck. “It has the aspect of a war horse, a charger.”
“No doubt that was its origin.”
“Is it broken to saddle?”
“Yea. Should it displease thee, thou mayest freely choose another. I would not cheat thee, Harry.”
“I know that. I trust thy judgment, Jonas.” Harry patted the horse’s shoulder and suddenly remembered. “Maela! Is she here with thee?”
“She is in the barn,” Jonas answered simply. “You did come to see her?”
“Has she departed the castle for aye?”
“I know not. Only that she came to us in her need, and we shall keep her while we may. Do you wish to ride the horse? Its saddle is in the barn. I will prepare it for thee.”
Harry couldn’t resist. “If you would.”
Jonas walked with Harry to the barn and picked out a large head collar. “I shall call when he is saddled.”
Harry nodded and waited for Jonas to leave before inquiring, “Maela, where art thou?” There was no sign of the girl.
“In the loft.”
Harry jumped, ca
ught the edge of the loft opening with his fingers, and easily hauled himself up. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Something scurried amid the mounds of hay. There was a thump, a squeak, and a large tabby cat appeared along the wall with something dangling from its mouth.
“Is that the mother of thy kittens?” he asked.
“It is the father, I believe,” a quiet voice replied from his left.
“I did not bring the dogs with me this time.”
She didn’t answer, so he went on, “I heard of thy grandmother’s death. Lottie told me this morn. I came straight-away to find thee.”
She crawled toward him slowly, for her smock entangled her legs. Her kirtle was looped up and tucked into her leather belt. Harry crawled to meet her and pulled her close. She clutched his jerkin and sighed.
“I must learn to survive without thee, Harry, but it is hard.”
“Tell me.”
Maela’s low voice trembled. “Grandmere went outside. I heard her shout and Dob shout, and then silence. I suspected no tragedy, for they often fight. But then I heard Dob enter the castle—he has entered it not since she laid the curse. Somehow I knew then that she was dead. She has been ill, but I knew not that her death was near. I ran and hid myself until Dob quit searching and calling for me. Then I packed up my raiment and fled here. I wanted thee, Harry, but. . .I may not have thee.”
“Maela,” Harry blurted in dismay. “I am ever thy friend! Conceal not thy troubles from me.”
Jonas called from below. “Thy horse awaits, Harry.”
“Thy horse?” Maela echoed.
“Perhaps. We shall see if it will be my horse. I must not make Jonas wait.” He swung himself down from the loft, then waited for Maela to follow.
She peered shyly down at him. “Away, Harry. I shall follow in my turn.”
“I would assist thee. Come,” he beckoned, reaching up for her.
She slipped her legs over the edge, trying to keep them modestly covered. Hesitating again, she asked, “Art thou certain? I am heavy.”