by Anya Seton
Led by Margaret, the whole family rushed out to meet him except Harry who had profited by his father's absence to pelt off to London, but when Elizabeth saw the sturdy green-cloaked figure, the long-nosed merry face tanned by sea voyaging, the brown hair, the alert eyes misted now by the emotion of homecoming—she drew back behind Martha, and clung to the door frame. It was Martha who rushed up to him with a cry of welcome, and flinging her arms around his neck, burst into tears. "Jack, Jack — we thought you'd never come!" cried the girl, clinging to him, "and I thought you'd been gobbled up by monsters!"
"Not a single monster did I see, Mattie," Jack answered, laughing and kissing her on the top of the head, "But I'm glad to be home." He gently disengaged the girl and kissed all his relatives — Margaret; his quiet plain sister Mary, who was also weeping; his brother Forth, "So you've grown into a man, youngster! Are you still for the ministry?" Forth shook his head, and Jack with a nod said, "You must tell me of it later, d'you know I've not had one letter these fourteen months since I left home until I got back to London!" He embraced his four wriggling little half-brothers, Stephen, Adam, Deane and Samuel, then looked beyond them to Elizabeth who still stood in the shadow of the doorway. "Ah, there you are, Bess," he said, his voice changing slightly. "I was indeed astonished to return and find that you had become my sister!"
"Yes," she said through a tight throat. "It was—was sudden." She forced herself to walk towards him, and offered him her cheek, but she could not smile. Nor did he. His eyes had grown stern as his father's and he turned away from her abruptly to enter the Hall, where Margaret and Martha and Mary fluttered over him, stuffing him with all the delicacies they had been saving for this occasion.
Elizabeth sat silent in a corner while Jack ate and answered questions and told them some of his adventures, though "Truly," he said smiling, "I've become sated with such diversity of countries, and find little difference when it comes to journey's end."
Elizabeth thought. That doesn't sound like him, as he was— all afire for new sights. And Margaret said with hesitance, for the subject upset her, "Yet, dear Jack, I know you've told your father that you would go with him to that dreadful—to that new plantation on the other side of the world." Her voice dropped. "He was much heartened."
Jack looked at her with sympathy, and answered gently, "I had much time for thought on my voyage, and I know that I'll always call that my country where I can best glorify God and enjoy the presence of those I love. I've read my father's Conclusions for the departure, and I think them unanswerable, and that it can't but be a prosperous action. You'll come to feel so too, my mother."
Margaret sighed and put her arms around his shoulders. "I pray so," she whispered, thinking with a fearing pang of the new life which had started in her womb. John did not know yet. But nothing would deter him from his purpose, nor should, of course.
"You saw Harry in town?" she asked quickly, glancing at Elizabeth who looked both unusually lovely and very somber as she sat turned from them, staring out the window, though she lifted her head at Margaret's question.
"No," answered Jack shortly. "Though I heard he was there, staying with friends." That was not all he had heard from his Aunt Lucy. There had been a detailed account of Harry's misbehavior in general, and of Elizabeth's. And for some reason not quite clear to him, Jack had made no effort to find his brother and tell him he was home.
Elizabeth spoke defensively. "Harry will be here on Tuesday or Wednesday, he has written me so. He had much to do about our voyage to Barbadoes." She glanced at Jack and then away.
"Oh, and Harry has such grand friends in town," cried Martha. "The Earl of Thanet and—and others."
"Indeed," said Jack. He smiled at Martha who was looking up at him with open admiration in her large brown eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and her babyish mouth was parted, for the short upper lip seldom covered her rather prominent front teeth. She was a small girl, but in the time he had been gone her figure had rounded and her soft chestnut hair was neatly coiled at the back of her head instead of loosely flowing as it had been. "You've grown up, little one," said Jack, "and become very pretty, upon my word!"
Martha blushed and her eyes sparkled. "I'm eighteen," she said proudly, but a knife turned in Elizabeth's chest. Does he know he said that to ME, scarce over a year ago, she thought, while reason battled with the pain. It was Jack's way to speak pleasantly, and he was devoted to all his family, and in any case what difference did it make if he admired Martha!
"Jack—" cried the girl, still red from her compliment, "the mulberries are ripe, the old tree's loaded with them. D'you remember how you used to love them? Do come and see!" Martha put her hand shyly on his arm, then dropped it in confusion. "I mean if you want to."
"Of course I do! You shall show me every single thing on the Manor." He stood up, the little boys prancing ahead of him to the door.
"You come too, Bess," cried Martha.
Elizabeth shook her head. "I've work to do." She glanced at Mary and Margaret who were supervising the servants as they cleared the table which had been set with earthenware and some silver in Jack's honor. She saw that the kindhearted Margaret was about to send her off with the others and said stiffly, "I've much linen to sort."
Margaret sent her a troubled appraising look, while Martha, Jack and the boys went out into the garden. Elizabeth stood a moment by the open window, watching. She saw Martha pop a mulberry into Jack's mouth and heard the girl's soft timid laugh, which held for the first time a note of coquetry that Elizabeth knew to be unconscious. She quitted the Hall, and walked across the inner court to the other side of the great house, but she did not go to the linen room; she went to a small chamber near the dairy, that Margaret had allotted to her. It was a combination stillroom and surgery. Elizabeth had herself fitted it for the brewing of simples and cordials, and for the treatment of small injuries amongst the servants and tenants, or ailments for which it seemed foolish to summon the doctor at Boxford. Elizabeth found this work congenial, as many household duties were not; it filled the days that Hany was away, and she took pride in her knowledge of drugs, and in the trust which Groton inhabitants were beginning to have in her remedies and diagnoses. This afternoon she glanced at the crocks where herb vinegars were infusing, at the tray of sun-dried fennel waiting to be powdered, but she touched neither. She sat down on a stool and stared at the scrubbed brick floor until the light died and the cows in the byre across the meadow bawled to be milked.
It was in the same place, the following afternoon, that Jack found her. One of the kitchen maids had burned herself on the soup kettle. Elizabeth was binding a poultice of yellow calendula salve over the blisters and did not at first see Jack who stood in the open doorway watching. And thinking how beautiful she was in her black silk morning robes and white apron, they gave added transparency to her vivid coloring and luster to her long, intent hazel eyes. When the kitchen maid had departed with bobbing curtseys, he walked into the surgery and said, "Bess, we've been avoiding each other, it's best to have it out."
She started, and stiffened. "There's naught to have out," she said faintly, stacking the pile of old linen rags she used for bandages; then adding charcoal to the little brazier which fired the still where she was preparing her father's mithridate. "I'm wed to Harry. I love him passionately. There's no more to say ... nor," she added in spite of herself, "did I ever receive any word from you, though you promised."
Jack glanced at her averted face. Mechanically he fingered a bunch of drying thyme which hung with other herbs from a pole. "I myself received no letters from home all the time I was gone, so I might tell you that I had written you and it miscarried. But I did not write. Yet I thought of you often and I thought that you would—" He stopped sharply. What nonsense, that he had been about to add the word "wait." Had he thought any such thing at all? Had he not in fact nearly succeeded by use of his strong emotional control in forgetting that disturbing scene in the apothecary's garden before he sailed? There was no
excuse for the dangerous implications which had suddenly arisen. He went on with considerable coldness, "Bess, you behaved abominably to my friend Edward Howes. I fear he still loves you. I have just seen much of him at the Downings' and he is very bitter—justifiably so."
"Ah," she said turning around at last, with a green spark in her eyes. "I'm sorry for that. Aye, you urged me to many him, did you not!"
His hand clenched on the thyme which floated in powdery-shreds to the floor. "I thought you'd make each other happy, I—Harry's my brother but—I doubt that he—I never thought that you—"
"The milk is shed," said Elizabeth tartly. "'Tis useless now to water it."
They stood and stared at each other, both in varying degrees, now aware what their anger hid. Bubblings in the retort over the fire, and the hiss of the burning charcoal alone broke the silence. Then John mastered himself and said, "Aye, you're right. I yammer like a weanling. But, Bess, we've become brother and sister, can we not also be friends as we used to be?" His face broke into its warm smile.
I doubt it, she thought, but she bowed her head and murmured acquiescence, while conjuring up with all her strength the image of Harry. His handsome blond head that would have grazed the ceiling, his swagger and grace, his knowing hands and lips for which her body yearned each night. And she thought of something else, which would seal the barrier between herself and Jack for all time. She added a handful of rue to the simmering mithridate and said, "I have but lately known that I am with child."
Jack hid from himself a twist of distaste, and said lightly, "What excellent news! The first Winthrop grandchild. Now surely that will steady Harry's character!"
And mine, I hope, she thought. They talked then of nothing but her medical activities in which Jack was much interested. He examined her father's book of receipts and Gerard's invaluable Herbal. He had a quick scientific mind and made several suggestions for improving her equipment—a different shape retort—new steel lancets for bloodletting such as he had seen in Holland. He helped her untwist and clean the coils in her still, and their hands touched by accident once. They both drew back quickly but as he continued refitting the still he could not help glancing at her hands. They were not small, the palms were square and capable, but the long fingers ended in polished rosy nails and the skin looked like white velvet. Elizabeth took great care of her hands because Harry admired them. Indeed he often expressed pleasure in all her bodily charms, which did not, however, suffice to keep him from London, she thought bitterly—and when I am swollen with child...
Jack saw her face set, and the cloud in her expressive eyes. Once he would have tried to cheer her, but now he felt a painful constraint so alien to his nature that it brought annoyance.
This is ridiculous, he thought, and will surely pass. I'll not allow this—this chimera to cloud my homecoming. "How glad I shall be to see my father," he said brightly, "and to learn more of this tremendous move, on which if it be God's will we shall embark."
"Aye," she said, removing her apron and hanging it on a peg, "And I'll be glad when we leave for Barbadoes. Harry has told me of its beauties." And glad to be away from here. Alone with Harry there would be no memories, and no Jack.
"Do you pray sometimes when you're alone, Bess?" he said suddenly. "Oh, I've not the piety of my good parents, I fear, nor am I sure of my salvation as I might be—yet I know that God listens when we beseech his love and kindness, and He helps us to bear the unhappiness He sometimes sends for our own good."
She looked up at him and smiled a little, but she did not answer. Even to Jack she dared not admit how prayers and sermons bored her, and that in the fastness of her heart there was a void of disbelief, or rather a secret certainty that there was nothing in the world or out of it to sustain her but herself. It had been thus since the day her uncle flogged her here at Groton Manor.
The autumn passed quickly in a constant bustle of preparations, letter writings, interviews with prospective emigrants, and strange visitors at all hours. From the moment of John Winthrop's return and even when he made quick trips to London, the entire manor was imbued by his fervor and his three older sons were all pressed into service. Jack was his father's able lieutenant and coped with much of the business matters besides acting as magistrate in the local court at Groton Hall. Forth transcribed dozens of letters at Winthrop's dictation, and Harry's wanderings were summarily curtailed. Since his father and brothers were so immersed in matters relative to the Great Migration, he was allotted the supervision of the manor work. This at least gave him fresh air and the enjoyment of riding and shooting with his greyhounds, while he visited the various tenants, collected Michaelmas rents, inspected winter pasturage, and the condition of the stock, over-saw the threshers, the garnering of fruit and nut crops, and the cutting of wood logs for winter fuel.
Harry was subdued and compliant during those months; Jack's presence always had a sobering effect on him, and there had ban a painful scene with his father and brother combined, when he had had to confess the inadequacies of his arrangements for return to Barbadoes, which was moreover being bombarded by the Spaniards.
"That settles the matter," said Winthrop with exasperated finality. "We will efface the whole Barbadoes venture, where you were apparently swayed by vicious company, and I shall endeavor not to remind you how disappointing and costly it has been. You will come to New England with me where I can keep an eye on you, and where you will have ample opportunity to serve God and your family."
"What about Bess, sir?" said Harry glumly, accepting the decision as inevitable. And in truth his London life had ceased to be amusing. Thanet was married, Seaton had gone to Papist Ireland, other acquaintances were cool towards a youth without money.
"Elizabeth—" said Winthrop, sighing. Since learning of her pregnancy he had come to feel more kindly towards her, and sorrow for his second son's obvious deficiencies as a responsible husband. He picked up his pen and addressed a letter to "The Rev. Mr. George Phillips, Boxted, Essex" before he went on. "Elizabeth will wait here at the Manor with my wife, until it is sold. Since they are both with child, it is better thus anyway. John will look after them, and see to the Manor sale. When that is concluded he will bring them over, but you will come with me." He sighed again, not looking at Harry, who stalked out, and he returned to his letter which was an urgent invitation for Mr. Phillips, vicar of Boxted, to join the Massachusetts Company and sail with them in March. "I pray that this Phillips will be moved to come with us, and that the good reports I've heard of him are true," Winthrop said to Jack who was copying lists of necessities to give the prospective Planters. "It would be unthinkable to sail without a Man of God amongst us."
"I thought Mr. Wilson had consented to go," observed Jack, who had found the scene with Harry painful though he entirely agreed with his father.
"Aye, I believe Mr. Wilson will go, but not as soon as we. His wife holds back and his parish is loath to part with him."
I wonder at that! Jack thought with an inward laugh. He did not share his father's admiration for John Wilson, the rector of Sudbury, who was a fat pompous man without a gleam of lightness, and whose splayed toadlike nose was famous for its ability to smell out the slightest want of zeal in his flock. Jack was aware that he was thinking of Mr. Wilson so as not to think of Bess, and the dismay she would feel when she heard the new plan for Harry. There were many times when he avoided thinking of Bess. Still, now that Harry was home it was usually easier. Martha too made it easier. He had become fond of her trusting innocence, her dependence on him, and one could not help but be flattered by the adoration in her eyes.
When Harry told Elizabeth of his father's ultimatum, she was indeed dismayed. She had been lying in their great caned four-poster listlessly watching the bare elm branches writhing against the dun December sky, while the sleet hissed on the windowpanes. Her condition bothered her very little, but she had moments of queasiness. Harry burst into their room, kicked angrily at the log fire, and went to fish in the cupboard for a
jug of brandy he kept hidden there. He took a long pull, then going over to the bed, said, "We're not going to Barbadoes. We're going to Massachusetts instead."
She made a quivering sound and stared up at him. He told her what his father had said, and when he finished she turned her face into the pillows and began to cry.
"Don't Bess—don't, love—" cried Harry, much moved. He had never seen her cry before, except at her father's funeral. "I don't like it either, or leaving you at such a time. But I have no say, you know that. It can't be so long until you come with our babe, and Brother John'll look after you."
At this she cried harder, and he lifted her up in his arms, kissed her wet cheeks and her mouth, and settled her head on his shoulder. "Here, have a swig." He held the jug to her lips and she swallowed. "Breeding ever makes women upset," he said tenderly. He was very proud of having begotten a child, the first of the new generation, and certain it would be a son. Once in Massachusetts he could get a land grant far larger than on Barbadoes, and no plaguey tobacco to struggle with either. There'd be game to hunt, forests, Indians, adventure and freedom. He had no doubt that he could avoid his father's watchfulness after landing. "You'll like the New England, darling, I know you will." He kissed her again with enthusiasm.
"Must we always do as HE says?" Elizabeth cried, yet yielding to his arms. "You're of age, Harry."
"But I've no money, or property left," he answered cheerfully. "You know that. There'll be a fine chance to get both in a new land."