by Wendy Lawton
“Huh? Baiting?”
“To make leather, the tanner first limes the hides. That takes many days. After the hides are properly limed, they are laid in a baiting dub, to open the pores. Baiting is made of dung and water.”
“Pee-yuu!”
“I know,” Mary said. “’Tis why it smells putrid around the tannery. After the skins are baited, they are put in the oozing—powdered oak bark that fills the open pores and preserves the skins. Finally, the skins are tanned and curried.”
“So the tanner will pay us for the pure?” Jake asked.
“No, ’tis not that easy. Have patience, Jake. When all the pieces are in place, I shall tell you.”
They dragged the bag back to the tannery. Jake brought it around back while the tanner gave Mary a bag filled with strips of leather. Mary promised to hunt pure for him again next week.
As they walked down High Road, Mary told Jake that she must stop at the lacemaker’s cottage. With Jake smelling like the baiting dub, Mary left him to wait near the Crown Pub and made her way alone to the lacemaker. Shortly, she came out with another parcel. Jake caught up with her.
“What ya got, Mary?” he asked.
“You are full of questions today, brother.”
“So you will not tell me?”
“Aye. We have one more stop.” Mary knew this would please him. “Would you like to visit the dancing bear?”
“Oh, Mary! Can we?”
“First stop—the river, so you can clean up,” Mary said, crushing a sprig of rosemary between her fingers.
“So, ve haf put our plan into action,” I Puri Daj said, her arm warm and welcoming around Mary.
“Aye. I have one favor to ask Timoz.” Mary was glad to find Timoz at the encampment.
“Anything for the daughter of Neighbor Bunyan,” Timoz said.
“This is not charity, Timoz. ’Tis a business proposition.” Mary wanted to be clear.
Sofia laughed. “So soon you forget, Uncle Timoz? Mary does not like to take help.” The girl poked Mary in the ribs, teasing her once again.
“What is this business proposition?”
Mary outlined the plan. I Puri Daj made soft, encouraging noises while she talked. When she finished, Timoz spoke.
“A good plan and happy I will be to work for you. Your father will be proud of you, Mary. I will come to your cottage before the kumpania leaves on O Longo Drom.”
“Thank you, Timoz,” Mary replied, grateful for his help. Now she only had one piece of the puzzle to put into place, but not till tomorrow.
“Mary, come with me,” Sofia whispered. “I want to show you something.”
“What, Sofia?” Mary was curious. Her new friend seemed excited.
Sofia put something in Mary’s hand.
“Why, ’tis Timoz’s cross. How do you come to have it?” asked Mary.
“After we talked yesterday, I could not stop thinking about Yeshua and being mahrime—sinful. I asked Timoz if Yeshua—Jesus Christ—would take my burden of sin away and make me zuhho. Do you know what Timoz said?” Sofia talked in a whispery voice.
“What?” Mary was intrigued.
“Because I knew I was sinful—mahrime—and wanted to become pure, and because I knew that the only way to become pure was through the death of Jesus Christ, Timoz said that I was a believer too.” Sofia sounded happy.
“Just like that?” Mary asked.
“Yes. Timoz helped me pray.”
“What did you pray?”
“I told God I knew I couldn’t become zuhho on my own, that I need Yeshua—Christ. Without Him, I would remain mahrime forever, no matter how hard I tried. I thanked God for sending His Son. I thanked Jesus Christ for dying and paying for my sin so that I wouldn’t die. I thanked Him for accepting me—me, Mary, nothing but a Rom chey—into the family of God.”
“Oh, Sofia.” Mary stretched out her hand to touch Sofia’s face and felt tears. “Does this make you sad?”
“No, Mary. It makes me full. My heart cannot hold it all.” Sofia reached up and took Mary’s hand. “Timoz gave me his cross of nails to help me remember to depend on this One who died for me.”
“I am glad that you found this happiness, Sofia,” Mary said.
Mary and Jake walked more slowly on the way home. The bags from the tanner and the lacemaker were tucked safely under Jake’s arms. Mary had much to think about. Nearly all the pieces of the plan were in place. Tomorrow would tell.
And Sofia … No one had ever shared secrets with her besides Bets. Sofia confided that she had prayed to see Mary today and tell her about Timoz’s cross. Sofia’s trust cemented their friendship. Mary was happy that Sofia had decided to put her faith in God. For herself, though, she disliked the idea of dependence, even on God.
“I-can-do-all-things … I-can-do-all-things,” Mary repeated softly.
“What?” asked Jake.
“Oh, nothing. I’m just happy about our work today.”
Uproar at the Cottage
Should I believe the talk I heard about you and Jake traipsing all over Bedford—including the gypsy encampment over by the fair?” Elizabeth asked with a no-nonsense tone.
Mary hated it when Elizabeth tried to sound like a mother. She absently fingered the length of soft silk ribbon in her apron pocket.
“Mary?”
“We were out doing errands.” Mary would not back down. She disliked arguing with Elizabeth, but Mary had done nothing wrong. Were it not for her plan, this family would soon be scrounging to stock the soup pot.
“Errands? I gave you girls instructions before I left yesterday. They did not include errands, did they?” asked Elizabeth. “And you left Bets with all the work?”
“Aye. I feel badly about that part, but I am struggling to take care of this family.” Mary was exasperated. “There was work to do.”
“Why do you presume you must take care of the family?” Elizabeth was puzzled.
“When Papa was arrested, he charged me to care for all of you.”
“Oh, Mary,” said Elizabeth sadly, “your father meant for you to help me, not exclude me.”
“We are nearly penniless! How do we buy food or pay Papa’s—?”
“Do you think I am unaware of these things, Mary?” Elizabeth said. “During the time I lay abed, I asked God to intercede for us. I meet with some of the elders of your father’s church tomorrow.”
“No, Elizabeth!” Mary said. “The Bunyans must not be reduced to begging.” She paced. “I came up with a plan to replenish our funds. Yesterday I began putting the pieces in place.”
“Why did you not tell me this, Mary?” Elizabeth took Mary’s arm to stop her pacing. Elizabeth’s voice shook. “Why keep everything to yourself?”
“’Tis for our family I am doing this, yet everyone is mad at—”
“Mary Bunyan!” Bets shouted from the dooryard, but her voice filled the cottage. “Mary, where are you?” Bets was already inside the common room by the time she finished her question, so Mary saw no need to answer.
“Bets, what is the matter?” Elizabeth asked. “Calm down, take a deep breath, and tell me what is wrong.”
“Mary, do you not want to tell Elizabeth what is wrong?” Bets asked.
“Bets, Thomas is asleep,” Elizabeth reminded her.
“I am sorry.” Bets took a deep breath. “I am humiliated. Mary took Jake all over the town yesterday—in the good parts, in the bad parts, by all of our friends’ houses, down by the river.” A pause. “Do you know what they were doing, Elizabeth?”
“Bets,” Mary said, “why don’t you get on with the telling, since you are enjoying it so much.”
“Aye, then. They were collecting dung. I was told that they were not particular—chicken dung, goose turds, dog manure—”
“What!” Elizabeth’s voice rose an octave.
“Yes, Elizabeth, you heard true. My sister and my brother were picking up dung all over town.” Bets wasn’t through. “And you know who made sure I kne
w this? Gifre. He’s spreading the word to anyone who will listen.”
Mary could say nothing. Gifre. Could things get any worse?
“Is this true, Mary?” Elizabeth asked.
“’Tis not as bad as it sounds.” Mary tried to convince herself.
“So … ’tis true.”
“Well, yes. But ’tis part of the plan I worked out. When all the pieces are in place—”
“Mary,” said Elizabeth, “I must hear this plan now.”
“I cannot tell you till I speak to Father.” Mary knew that Elizabeth and Bets were angry. “When I put the final piece in place, ’twill become clear.”
Mary sensed an air of frustration in that room as tangibly as if it had dimension. Since nothing more could be said, she turned and made her way out of the cottage. When they see the whole plan, they will understand. Well … Papa will understand, anyway. At least someone would be proud of her accomplishments. Why did Papa have to go to jail?
She opened the door of Papa’s workshop. At the workbench she gingerly ran her hands around the edge, careful of slivers. She felt each hook until she came to one with a scrap bag on it. The bag was only half full. She felt the rest of the hooks. Nothing.
Getting on her hands and knees, she carefully ran her fingers over the sawdust floor, collecting each scrap of sheet metal she could find. She tried to work methodically, to miss nothing. The warmth of the forge was long gone and the room was as chilled as Mary’s spirits.
“Ouch!” She sat back and probed her knee with her fingers until she found the sliver of metal. It gave her shivers to pull it out. Did it tear her stocking? Not a very big hole. Good. She was thankful for that. Her fingers felt the stickiness of blood. She smiled to herself. At least that will keep the hole from tearing farther until I can ask Bets to mend it.
Bets. How to mend her relationship with Bets was a bigger puzzle. She loved her sister. Bets was more than a sister, she was a friend and, a good part of the time, she was Mary’s eyes. I’m sorry Bets. ’Twill be made up to you. You shall see.
And Elizabeth. Since Papa’s arrest, Mary had come to appreciate her for the first time. Did I ruin everything? Should I have told her the plan? There was no time to dwell on it. She needed to take these things to Papa.
Last night Jake had laid out the tools Papa would need. Mary wrapped them in a cloth and tucked them inside the bag of scraps, tying strong twine around the opening. She set it on the bench next to yesterday’s two bags. Where is Jake? I need his help taking this to Papa. Lately, every time she needed Jake, he was gone. He’d worked hard yesterday—she had to give him that.
She knotted all three bags together so they could be slung over her shoulder, leaving a free hand for Papa’s soup. How to manage to get to Papa with all this?
“I-can-do-all-things … I-can-do-all-things …”
Almost there. Only about half a furlong to go, thought Mary. No, I’m going to have to put these down and rest for a time. She leaned over to the left and let the sacks slide off her shoulder onto the road—making sure she didn’t spill the soup in the crock. Ahhhhh. It felt good to be rid of that heavy burden.
As she set the crock down to hoist the bags back onto her shoulder, her hand brushed what felt like a rope on the ground. No, it was two pieces of rope, one on either side of her … or had it been a rope that had stretched across the road. Gifre? Could it have been Gifre trying to trip her? She remembered the pebbles that had been scattered across the path just a few days ago.
But someone had cut this booby trap, saving her a terrible fall. Could Timoz be looking out for her? Sofia?
She hefted the bags back up, carefully picked up the jug of soup, and continued on her way. Was that the flap of a loose sole in the distance? She chided herself for a vivid imagination.
“Mary! How did you ever make it all the way over here with the weight of those sacks?” Her father’s voice was incredulous. “Where is your brother?”
“I wanted to bring this to you, Papa, and see what you thought before I told everyone.”
“I see,” Papa said thoughtfully. “You are trying to save the world all by yourself again.”
“Oh, Papa.” Mary could recognize his teasing voice. “Just remember, you must not ever call me ‘wee’ Mary again.”
Papa laughed. He was kneading her shoulders with his big hands. It felt good. She knew Papa would be proud.
“You had best eat your soup before it gets any colder.” Mary pulled the cloth and spoon out of her apron pocket.
“Show me your wares as I eat, my good missus,” Papa said.
“’Tis best to start at the beginning. You know we are very nearly out of food and money, do you not?” Mary asked.
“Elizabeth and I have spoken of this. She meets with the congregation tomorrow. And Paul Cobb obtained permission for prisoners to perform some kind of labor in prison to help pay our keep and support our families.” He took another slurp of soup. “’Tis not for you to worry, little one. God will care for us.”
“Oh, Papa. I not only worried, but I have a perfect plan. Jake and I visited the St. Andrew’s Day Fair and saw a man in fancy dress. He had hundreds of ribbons on him—some looped on his breeches for decoration, some lacing up slits and jags sliced through his garments, and others lacing his vest and breeches closed.”
“Ah, Mary, I can picture the peacock you describe. Jake exaggerated not one whit.”
“Each lace, the fancy ones as well as the plain leather laces, had a metal tip.”
“That’s right. They are called tagged laces,” said her father. “What has this to do with your plan?”
Mary untied the twine on the tanner’s sack. “Look, Father. Leather strips.”
“Where did you get such fine leather, Mary? And how, with no coin?”
“I had to devise a way to provide the tanner with something he needed in exchange for the leather. I discovered he needs pure for baiting the leather.” Mary paused as her father burst into laughter.
“Don’t tell me, Mary—you collected pure!”
“Not exactly. Jake did it for me.”
“Bless his heart.”
“But I arranged it with the tanner, Papa. I thought of it all by myself.” Mary was proud of her resourcefulness.
“Hmm. I would be careful of how you tell Elizabeth.” He laughed again and said under his voice, “I would dearly love to see her face …”
“Regrettably, ’tis too late for that, Papa. She knows and is none too pleased.” Mary, changing the subject, reached for the next bag. “Here are ribbons and laces.”
“However did you manage these, Mary? They must have cost a king’s ransom.”
“These are not first quality. They are seconds—the short ribbon ends and lace pieces that have a thickened warp thread. They will make perfect tagged laces. I offered Bets’s services to warp Goodwife Emory’s ribbon looms each morning in exchange for her seconds.”
“Mary, you amaze me.”
“The other bag is your scrap bag. I think there are metal pieces enough to tag all of these laces. Jake helped me gather some of your tools.” Mary asked the last question, “Will you be allowed to make tagged laces here in jail?” Everything hinged on this answer.
“Aye. I even have a small bench near my mat.”
“You know Timoz, the Rom believer?”
“Aye. You have met my friend Timoz?”
“Timoz and his family are my friends too. Timoz will buy the laces from us. He will peddle them along with his other wares as they travel.”
Mary felt Papa’s big arms surround her. ’Twas an embrace she sorely needed.
“Mary, will you pray with me? I am filled with gratitude—I wish to speak to our heavenly Father.”
“Aye.”
“Father.” Papa paused, as if to think of everything that word implied. “Beloved Father, I come to You with this cherished daughter You gave me. Thank You for her. She is more precious to me than all I own.”
Mary snuggled de
eper into her father’s approval.
“Thank You for Elizabeth and her steadfast love. Even now she is caring for my family while I am serving You in prison.”
Elizabeth? Caring for the family? Mary stiffened. I am the one—
“And I offer thanks for Bets … for the soup she lovingly prepares each day. And now for her willingness to take on the job with the looms.”
Willingness? She doesn’t even know.
“I thank You for my son Jake, who is watching out for his sisters.”
Watching out? Mary sniffed. If Papa knew how out-of-control his precious Jake was!
“… and for his readiness to perform a distasteful task—he is learning servanthood. Keep little Thomas safe and well. Bless all of our friends who have come to our aid in this time of need—Neighbor Winswode, the tanner; Goodwife Emory …”
He’s thanking God for the tanner and the lacemaker? Papa, this was me. Me! I did this by myself.
“Thank You for my friend Timoz, who will buy these laces. Most of all, Lord, I thank You for Your provision. You have demonstrated that I can depend upon Your promise to care for my family. Amen.”
Mary did not trust herself to speak.
“Is there something wrong, Mary?” Papa was puzzled.
“I labored for days to make this plan work, Papa.” Mary moved out of his embrace, putting distance between them. “I did it all by myself. I depended on no one. Yet you have given credit to Elizabeth, to Bets, to Jake … why, even to the lacemaker and the tanner.” Mary shook her head as if to clear the jumbled thoughts. “I know God provides for us, Papa, but it took much toil on my part to help Him with His provision.”
“Oh, my wee Mary. We are back to that, are we? I am proud of you. This is a wonderful plan. It will put food on our table for a long time to come.” He sighed. “I take nothing away from you—’tis brilliant. But ’twill take the work of our whole family to accomplish it.”
He pulled her back next to him, unwilling to let a gulf come between them. “Had you shared your ideas with the family, ’twould have eased their worry.” He waited for a response, but when none came, he continued. “By trying to do this on your own, you’ve robbed yourself of the joy that comes with working together.” He paused. “You’ve heard the old saying, ‘All is well that ends well’? I cannot agree. ’Tis not the final destination that God cares most about—but the journey itself.”