A Child of Promise

by Jill Stengl

  “We thought Lane Fleming would never wed. Many did attempt to catch his eye, but no maid could bring him to speak!” Elizabeth Goddard giggled, shifting her toddler higher on one hip. “It needed Lottie to snare him—a maid both bold and unabashed!”

  “Will you remain at their house? I know you are friendly with Lottie, but. . .” Prudence Foster held her pregnant belly with both hands. “I would little desire an unwed maid in my household.”

  “Prudence, that is unkind!” Elizabeth chided. “Lottie is not jealous of Maela, I am certain. They have regard one for another.”

  “Nevertheless, were I Lottie, I would place no other maid before my husband’s eyes—at least for a season or two. What has become of the joiner? We did all believe he would wed thee, Maela, but it appears his attraction was fleeting.” Prudence’s pale blue eyes held little warmth.

  Blood rushed into Maela’s face. “I received a letter from him only a fortnight past. He shall return for me.” Her voice sounded tight.

  “I am certain he shall,” Elizabeth soothed. “Harry was besotted with Maela, Pru, and no wonder, for she is gentle, good, and surpassing fair. Make no doubt, he will return as soon as ever he can.” The plump, kindly girl-mother patted Maela’s arm.

  “Hmph!” Prudence gave Maela a disdainful glance and picked her way down the church steps.

  Once she had passed out of earshot, Elizabeth said, “Prudence is only jealous, dearest. Thy Harry never gave her a second glance, and she did esteem him greatly. She wed Clarence Foster as second choice, and he does not make her happy.”

  “Make haste, or we shall miss the procession,” Hepzibah reminded them. “Lottie’s brother carries the cake, though I fear he has too oft partaken from the bride’s cup!”

  Leading the wedding guests into town, Melvin Putnam followed after the bridal carriage, bearing the heavy cake on a great platter atop a short pole. The crowd gasped in horror as he reeled, nearly impaling the cake upon a tree limb. The portly young husbandman did, indeed, appear cheerfully drunk.

  “ ’Twill be a miracle if we taste that cake,” Elizabeth remarked as she started down the steps. “I believe ’tis not long for this world.”

  “I care little.” Hepzibah lifted her kirtle and skipped down the steps. “Dancing shall continue, with or without wedding cake. I shall dance every dance with Joseph Clark this night!”

  “The next wedding party shall likely be thine, Hepzibah,” Elizabeth smiled at the exuberant girl. The three young women had been friends their entire lives, and Maela appreciated the generous way they had allowed her into their circle.

  “Join us, Maela? We shall be jolly the whole night through!”

  “Nay, though I thank thee. I shall remain.” Her eyes followed the chattering, giggling women, but she felt no desire to join the procession. Dancing held no attraction, and the thought of plum cake made her feel ill. Prudence’s thrust had sunk deep into Maela’s tender spirit.

  When no one was looking, Maela wandered across the churchyard, threading her way between gravestones. Her mother’s grave was not here, and neither was her grandmother’s. They had both been buried in a common graveyard on the outskirts of town, with beggars, criminals, and other no-accounts. Maela stepped over a stile and kept walking. She missed Dudley. He was usually with her, but not today, not during a wedding.

  “Lord God,” she prayed under her breath, walking faster and faster. “I have striven daily to surrender my life into Thy hands. I long to be the woman You have created me to be, yet I fail dismally. Ever within my heart is an ache, a longing for Harry. Shall it ever be so? Must I give up my desire to be his wife?”

  Tears overflowed as she walked and prayed, wrestling with God. At last, she groaned, “I will surrender him, Lord, but I must have Thy love to take his place. I cannot live without love!”

  Blindly she walked, not knowing whither her steps led. “Rachel and Jonas love me, as do Lane, Lottie, and other friends, but they can do very well without me. I want someone to love who needs me, Father! I want Harry. . .but more than anything I yearn to be used of Thee to bring about Thy will on this earth.”

  She was obliged to stop, for a stream blocked her way. Glancing around, she realized that she was thoroughly lost. This did not distress her, for she knew the area well. I need only find a clearing, look for the castle, and I shall be oriented.

  A strange feeling crept over her—the feeling of being watched. Wise in woodcraft, Maela dropped to the ground and tried to slide into the bushes, but rapid, crunching footsteps told her she was too late. She tried to scramble to her feet, but a hard hand clapped over her mouth, and she was bodily lifted from the ground. “Silence, or I shall slit thy throat.”

  She nodded, and the hands loosened. Her assailant gripped her shoulders, turned her about, and Maela gasped, “Lord Trenton!”

  “Ishy?” Shock turned his dirty face gray. “I did not know thee!” He released her so roughly that she staggered. Striding away, he seemed lost in thought. Then he turned, a smile spreading across his face. “I thought thee dead or gone away. ’Tis a pleasure, indeed, to find thee well and. . .” he gave her an assessing look, “in remarkable appearance. You have truly ripened into a peach!” He chuckled at the old joke.

  “We envisioned thee escaped to the continent, sir. There has been no sign of thee, though the queen’s soldiers search diligently.” Maela’s feelings concerning his return were jumbled. She was thankful to see him alive and well, but not here.

  “Have you heard from the bishop?”

  She shook her head warily. “Not for many months. Is he yet friend to thee?”

  He chuckled grimly. “He should be, for his hand was deeply in the pie along with mine. His head shall roll alongside mine if I go to the block!”

  Maela shuddered. “Is the queen also angry with him?”

  “Nay. Her Majesty knows only of my part in the matter, not of his. The silly trollop admires him and said nothing to the queen of his guilt—only of mine.”

  Though she pitied Trenton’s plight, Maela’s heart lightened at this news. Perhaps she need no longer fear Bishop Carmichael. Should Harry return, they could marry and be free of worry. Her father was in no position to object.

  “Come.” Trenton gripped her arm and dragged her along behind him.

  “Where are you taking me?” she cried in alarm.

  Minutes later, she discovered for herself. Taking Maela straight to the opening of her hidden tunnel, he climbed down and dragged her, stumbling and panting, after him into the darkness. Instead of entering the great hall, he opened the door in the side of the tunnel and pushed her in before him. Immediately, she blundered upon a short, steep flight of steps. Climbing, she was surprised to find that the passageway was not completely dark. Small slits let in daylight from high above. She seemed to be in a very narrow passageway within the castle wall.

  At the far end of the corridor, Hanover opened another door and shoved Maela inside. Without another word, he closed the door and latched it from his side. His footsteps died away.

  Horrified, Maela stared at her dim surroundings. Large casks lined the walls of the chamber. She tried to figure out exactly where she was in relation to the castle, and decided she must be somewhere near the great hall or the entry hall and on a level with the dungeons.

  The only way to be certain was to look out one of those air vents. How could it be that she had never noticed them during all her years of exploring the castle? She clambered to the top of one row of casks and peered through a crack. Only dirt lay before her. She tried to get a better view, but the horizontal slit was angled down.

  She tried the other side of the chamber. These “windows” gave her a view of flagstone flooring, but at least she could see a few feet to another wall. This must be the entry hall. It was dimly lighted, as an indoor hall would be. Her guess had been accurate.

  Maela paced the floor until her feet ached. Would anyone notice her absence during the bustle of wedding celebrations? It was high
ly unlikely.

  At last she heard her father at the door. He entered, carrying a rushlight holder, blankets, and a laden sack. Maela’s heart sank. It looked as though she was to be a prisoner here.

  “But why? Wherefore hold me captive?”

  “You are my means of escape. I was obliged to fly from London with little blunt, and had no means of obtaining enough to purchase my passage. My wife would gladly hand me over for trial, and I have nothing to offer in exchange for aid. Titus shall pay handsomely for thee, as agreed upon many years since, and subsequently I shall arrange passage to Calais.” He seemed smugly pleased with himself.

  Yet, for the first time, Maela noticed how threadbare his clothing was. His recent trials had marked his face and grayed his hair. He looked the part of a wanted and desperate man.

  “How will you notify the bishop of your plans?”

  “He shall come. I know Titus well, and he shall come after thee. He is. . .insatiable.”

  Maela shuddered. The bishop’s burning eyes were fresh in her memory.

  Trenton made two more trips, bringing fresh water, a chamber pot, and a straw pallet. “At night I shall allow thee to walk about the castle, to wash and perhaps cook, but the risk is too great in daylight.”

  “Where do you lodge?”

  “In finer quarters than these,” he grumbled, “yet ill fitting my station. It suits me to have conversation with thee; mine own company grows tedious. You shall tell me what has come to pass here, for I confess myself amazed at the changes wrought in mine absence. Where is the witch? And that toad, Dob Titwhistle? He owes me a considerable sum, and I descry no hint of his whereabouts. I did arrive to find my castle deserted, my holdings unguarded. Even the stables and outbuildings stand empty! Why has neither word nor payment come to me since spring?”

  Maela sighed. Lord, what is Thy purpose in bringing me here? I asked Thee for someone who desperately needs my love, but this is not the answer I did envision.

  thirteen

  And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. 2 Corinthians 12:9

  “Whoa, Saul,” Harry reined in his horse before the gates of Marston Hall. It seemed strange to be back after nearly seven months’ absence. “Do you recall this place?” he asked the dogs. Ragwort perched before him on the saddle. The little fellow’s legs had long since given out.

  Harry clucked and nudged Saul’s sides. Marston’s dogs rushed to meet them as they entered the drive. Laitha was quickly surrounded by old acquaintances, and Ragwort barked greetings from his perch. Tired as he was, King Saul shied and bucked a little while dogs swarmed about his legs.

  “Harry!” a young boy shouted in excitement as Harry neared the stables. “You have returned! We nigh despaired to behold thee again.”

  “Well met, Ned,” Harry called back. “Come, hold my horse, and I shall reward thy courage. Saul is kindly, though the dogs have made him mettlesome.”

  The boy took Saul’s rein as Harry swung from the saddle. “Shall I walk him for thee, Harry?”

  “Yea, and give him drink when he has cooled. Thou art a good lad, Neddy.” Harry thumped the boy companionably on the shoulder.

  Word of Harry’s arrival spread like ripples on a pond. Before he had even reached the house, Sir David burst from its doors. “Harry! Harry Jameson! How is it with thee, son? I have craved the sight of thy face these many months, but had begun to believe you would never return.” He gripped Harry’s hand heartily, clapping him on the arm. “Enter, sir, and welcome.”

  Harry followed his former master through the great front doors and into a parlor. “I came first to see thee, sir. I have just ridden into town and would ask—”

  “Has noise of Lord Trenton’s disgrace traveled even unto Lincolnshire? ’Tis a sad business. Hanover was my friend, though we seldom spoke these many years. And now this disappearance of his natural daughter! I know she was thy particular friend, so—”

  “What is this?” Harry demanded, stiffening. “What of Maela?”

  “Ah! You had not heard? I am indeed sorry to bear these tidings. The maiden disappeared nearly a month since. She attended the nuptial celebration of her friends, Lane Fleming and my former housemaid Lottie. Afterward, she vanished and has not been seen since. They set dogs upon her trail, but it had rained and frosted in the night, and the trail was cold.”

  Harry’s face was ashen. His thoughts ran wild.

  Sir David was still speaking. “Were I not a Christian, I would believe the Trenton line cursed. First the son’s death, then Hanover’s title and holdings stripped from him. Now the maiden has disappeared. The castle is a ruin, and the tenants pay no rent since that crook absconded—what was his name?”

  “Dobbin Titwhistle. Trenton’s son has perished?”

  “They know not what took the lad. It came of a sudden. One day he was in health, the next, gravely ill. He had fits and spasms, they say, and went rigid. The mother said the lad had trodden upon a horseshoe clamp some days before and punctured his foot deeply; but the wound had healed and the doctor thought all was well. They leeched and drenched him, but to no avail. ’Twas a sad business, from start to end.”

  Harry was only half listening.

  “I must find Maela. I ask, sir, for use of the coppice cottage. I would pay its rent.”

  “Nay, it is thine to use, Harry. It stands vacant. These calamities have stricken thee a mighty blow, I can see. I sorrow for thee, my son. Thou art foremost in my prayers until thy maid is found safe. I would do anything to aid thee; if thou hast need, come to me.”

  Harry expressed his appreciation and soon took his leave.

  The cottage looked neglected and lonely. Harry realized in one glance that its small paddock and shed would never do for King Saul. He must find other accommodations for the horse. The cottage also seemed small and dreadfully empty. Excited, Laitha and Ragwort inspected every corner, sneezing at intervals. Ragwort killed a rat near the chicken coop. He tossed and caught it cheerfully.

  Leaving his pack on the dusty bench, Harry hurried back out to his waiting horse. Saul had rested at Marston Hall; he was ready for a good canter. His great hooves splatted in the road’s muddy ruts. Laitha loped nearby on the grassy verge. Ragwort stood before Harry on the saddle, his small forepaws planted upon Saul’s crest, his black nose drinking in scents. Harry held him by the tail.

  The Fleming farm looked neat and prosperous, as always. A sizable addition had been built on one side of the house, undoubtedly for Lane and his new bride. Jonas appeared in the barn doorway.

  “Jonas!” Harry shouted, waving an arm over his head as Saul trotted up the lane.

  Jonas returned Harry’s wave with vigor.

  The two men met in the barnyard. Harry swung down from Saul’s back and clasped Jonas’s arm, then hugged him. The older man’s blue eyes sparkled with pleasure. Turning to the horse, he slapped Saul’s sweaty neck and said, typically, “The gelding looks well. He has served thee faithfully?”

  “There can be no better horse. He desires a good rubdown and—nay, Jonas, I shall care for him. I did not intend that you should do my work,” he tried to protest, but Jonas waved him off, leading the horse toward the barn.

  “I shall tend him. Go to Rachel in the house, lad. We have much to tell thee. I shall join you shortly.”

  Ordering his dogs to follow, Harry headed for the house, his cape swirling behind him in a stiff breeze. Rachel burst into raptures at the sight of him, laughing, hugging him, and wringing her pudgy hands in turn. She dragged him into the house; he bumped his head on the lintel. “Dogs, come as well,” she invited the animals. “Does your head ache, Harry? Let me take your hat and cape, sir. I say ‘sir’ for you have changed so these months. Tush! You even have a sword! Have you been in a duel?”

  “Nay, I did carry it for defense upon the road,” Harry tried to explain, but she scarcely paused for breath.

  “ ’Tis a grand man thou art, Harry Jameson! I had forgotten t
hy vastness—thou art as tall as Lane and twice his magnitude. Sit here now. You have increased while you were away, though I detect no fat upon thee.” She prodded his thick chest muscles and flat stomach as she spoke. Harry meekly allowed her motherly inspection, thankful to have no audience. His dogs settled upon the hearth, panting audibly.

  Rachel continued her inspection. “They have fed thee well and worked thee hard. Thine arms are of bronze, and hairy as Esau’s. Thy trim little beard resembles that of a high lord. Maela shall—oh!” Distressed, she clapped one hand over her mouth.

  “I have been apprised of her disappearance. If you would, relate to me the facts.”

  “Oh, if only you had come sooner, mayhap the child would yet be here! ’Twas the morning after Lane’s wedding—did you hear of it? Lane did wed Lot—”

  “I did hear of it. ’Tis glad tidings, indeed. What of Maela?”

  “She did not attend the festivities; her friends saw her last at the church. Jonas raked the countryside for her, and our brethren searched likewise. Nothing has been seen of her.”

  “The castle?” Harry’s voice was deadly calm.

  “It is deserted. They have searched it, to no avail.”

  “Where is Dudley? Did he not guard her?”

  “He is with Lane in the fields. Of a certain, Maela would not take her dog to church, though some do. Lane set Dudley upon her trail, but the dog became distraught. He has shadowed Lane since her disappearance.”

  “Did Maela take anything with her? Clothing? Food?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Nothing that we could discover. Even her kittens are here.”

  It was a silly remark, but Harry did not notice at the time. It did not seem strange to believe that Maela would have taken kittens along had she been able.

  Harry ate the evening meal with the Flemings. Despite his distress, he smiled to see Lane and Lottie together, evidently well matched and happy. Lottie now attended church regularly, and she spoke of Jesus as her personal Friend.