The Winthrop Woman

by Anya Seton

  "Come, Bess," said Will, raising her from her knees. "Don't abase yourself further."

  "Yes—better go," said Baxter. He walked with them through the Council Room door, and out into the Fort. "I'm sure I can get it for you," he said. "Very soon perhaps, but any persistence makes him more stubborn. Can you wait here in New Amsterdam?"

  "I can," said Will. "It wouldn't be wise for Mrs. Feake to, under the circumstances. Nobody would believe that we weren't—" he stopped.

  "Aye," said Baxter understanding and agreeing. "There's one of our ships New Haven-bound—to leave this afternoon. I can get her aboard that; the Master'll drop her off at Greenwich. When you get the marriage permission you can go and fetch her, Mr. Hallet."

  "Will—" Elizabeth cried. "How can I go back home like that, what'll I tell them? Why can't I stay here with you?"

  Baxter shook his head, and walked to the Fort entrance to wait. He now saw clearly that these two were innocent of the divorce charge and that Hallet was trying desperately to protect her from scandal. They've got "the name and not the game," he thought wryly—'tis a sorry coil. And he determined to wrest the marriage permission from Kieft somehow.

  "You must go back, dear heart," said Will to Elizabeth. "Tell them nothing—or what did you say in your note to Joan?"

  "That I had business in New Amsterdam and wanted to register the baby's birth. I didn't mention you."

  "Well, they'll buzz, of course, and guess. But they won't know. Bess, you're a grown woman and the head of a family, you don't have to account for all your actions; but if you stayed here with me, there'd be no glossing matters, and besides, do you think we could keep apart much longer? We've gone this far, hinnie—so terribly far—I never should have let you get that filthy sham of a divorce, but it seemed the only way, and now we must be patient yet for a little while."

  "Aye," she said bowing her head.

  "It won't be long," he said with genuine optimism. "That old swine has no reason to withhold consent. The instant I get the permission I'll gallop back for you, darling. Why, I may be there almost as soon as you are."

  But it was a month before William Hallet returned to Greenwich. During that time Elizabeth summoned all her courage, and encased herself in a haughty aloofness, which even Thomas Lyon could not penetrate, though he did his best. To the natural spate of questions as to why she had gone off to New Amsterdam—and how—she replied that she had business to transact with the Governor, and had accepted William Hallet's courteous offer of an escort, since he also had business in New Amsterdam. She offered no other explanations, and the angry Thomas was completely baffled, especially by her return alone on an official government pinnace.

  Thomas finally expressed his resentment by not speaking to his mother-in-law at all, which eased matters. The children, of course, were quickly satisfied and very glad to have her home again. She had bought them each gilded gingerbread toys before sailing.

  The Greenwich neighbors thought Hallet's sudden disappearance strange when they discovered it, but they were on the whole an incurious lot, very busy with their planting, and inclined to agree with Richard Crab's jest, that it wasn't very astonishing for a lusty young man like William to take a sudden fancy for city life in the springtime. "Plenty o' luscious Dutch harlots at Amsterdam, I hear," said Crab with a wink, which elicited a resounding slap from his peppery goodwife.

  Elizabeth waited, and suffered in secret. Her only comfort was the reading of Will's books. Even the children were not in focus for her, though she gave them a great deal of her time, and was very gentle with them as some sort of guilty compensation.

  With Anneke, and Toby who had just returned from Nova Scotia, a coolness had arisen. Toby remarked that there was something odd about his aunt's behavior, and if there were any more of it he would feel it his duty to speak out, much as he disliked giving Thomas any satisfaction. Anneke held her peace, though she had more reason than anyone to suspect the true state of affairs. She had great hopes that Hallet had finally taken her advice and gone for good, and waited, sadly, for Bess to regain her normal affectionate frankness.

  On a late afternoon of a clear May day, Will came down the northern trail and pulled up his horse before Elizabeth's gate. She was upstairs in the bedroom when she heard the clop-clop of hoofs, and Will's admonishing voice as the tired horse stumbled. She ran to the window and gazed out with poignant joy, savoring relief so keen that it was almost painful. The horse and Will were both mud-spattered, for it had rained earlier, his lank brown hair was matted, there was a stubble of beard on his chin, but she saw him through a radiance, no longer remembering when she had thought him rustic and uncouth. Then as he dismounted she saw bleakness in his unguarded face, and a weary set to his big shoulders beneath the leather doublet. She drew a hard breath and walked downstairs.

  Thomas had gone to the Sherwoods for the loan of a sickle as his own was always breaking. The little boys had taken the cows to pasture. There was nobody in the kitchen but the three girls: Joan and Lisbet mending, Hannah cleaning alewives they had seined from the Asamuck River.

  As Elizabeth opened the door to Will, Hannah jumped up with a glad cry, "Why, 'tis Mr. Hallet back again!"

  Joan bit her lips and said nothing, being aware of her husband's feelings. What does this mean? she thought, and hoped vaguely that her mother would give the fellow short shrift.

  "Good day, Mrs. Feake—" said Will in a level voice, sending the girls a courteous smile. His eyes met Elizabeth's with a dark intent look.

  "Oh, Mr. Hallet," said Hannah rushing to him. "Have you been to New Amsterdam? Pray tell us of it! Mama says 'tis a fine city now where they sing and dance and play skittles all day long!" The child grabbed his hand, her rosy face beaming up at him.

  "Well, moppet," Will said, tousling her auburn curls. "'Tis not as gay as that, except one day of celebration I did see when the new governor Petrus Stuyvesant landed. Perhaps I'll tell you about it. But now I wish to talk alone with your mother."

  "Aye," said Elizabeth quickly. "We can walk outside, I'll get my cloak."

  Joan put down the shift she was mending. "Thomas wouldn't think that seemly, my mother," she said nervously. "Mr. Hallet can have nothing private to say to you."

  "Tom thought you'd gone for good," put in Lisbet, not quite understanding all this, but anxious to be included. She gave her tinkling little laugh. "Tom won't speak to Mama any more, 'tis like a game. I keep waiting to see if he'll forget, and he almost does."

  "Hold thy tongue, stupid—" cried Joan with unusual heat. "Must you be forever gabbling everything to strangers!"

  Lisbet tossed her head, her pale blue eyes sparkled.

  "Mr. Hallet is not a stranger, Joan," said Elizabeth, glancing sadly at her eldest daughter. This situation was hard for the girl, and would soon be harder, but the time for temporizing had passed.

  "I am going out with Mr. Hallet," she said. "I don't know just when I'll be back. But when I am, I solemnly promise you a full and satisfactory explanation."

  Joan licked her lips unhappily and subsided. She could no more combat her mother's firmness than her husband's.

  Elizabeth fetched her crimson cloak and her purse. Each dav she had been ready, her under linen fresh and scented, her hair carefully coiffed, and wearing either of her two best gowns, despite the girls' wondering questions. Today it was a soft golden wool, lace-trimmed, not as elegant as the violet tiffany, but more serviceable and fully as becoming.

  "By God, I'm glad to see you, hinnie-love," said Will softly as they went through the gate together. "But I've much to say, and want no interruption. Where shall we go?" He picked up the horse's bridle and they all began to walk.

  "Monakewavgo," Elizabeth said automatically, and indeed she had already started down the path that led to it. But when they reached the isthmus it was covered by the tide. She stared at the strip of water in dismay.

  "Aye—there's a barrier, isn't there?" Will said quietly, with a meaning deeper than the words. "Pe
rhaps it's as well, Bess. We'll go to my lands, not yours. I like it better so."

  The wind blew fresh, and ruffled the water with white flecks. She stared out towards her beach and the line of shining sands, then turning looked up into his face.

  "You didn't get it, did you, Will?"

  "No," he said. "I didn't get it."

  He yanked the horse's bridle and led it towards the fork and the Sound path to his house. Elizabeth followed. Neither of them spoke. Presently they passed Angell Husted's farmstead. Angell was working in his south lot. Elizabeth saw his blue smock, and her instinct was to shrink behind the horse and hide herself, though she resisted it. But Angell was too busy heaving stones to notice them. The trees grew denser as they approached Totomack Cove, then opened out around Will's clearing.

  They entered his yard. Will hauled up water from the well, gave the horse a pailful before leading it into the shed and forking it some hay. Will sluiced his head with water, came back to her where she stood by the gate and said, "Would you come in, hinnie, or stay outside?—Nay, I needn't ask—" he added with a faint smile. "Nature ever sustains you in some mystical way I envy, but don't quite fathom. I made a bench for you," he said, "while you were ill, hoping you'd use it someday."

  He led her along a path to a ledge of rugged pink and gray rocks which jutted out into the little cove. Against a huge waterside elm he had placed a bench with arms and back and feet, all whittled into graceful curves. Along the back he had carved a long panel of hearts and square-petaled roses interspersed with E's.

  "It's lovely, Will!" she cried, stroking the carvings.

  "A sentimental tribute of the joiner's craft," he said bitterly. "I had hoped, however, to be able to offer you more than sentiment."

  She sat down on the bench, and clasped her hands. "Tell me. What happened?"

  He folded his arms, standing beside the bench and scowling at the brown waters of the cove. "Nothing happened. Kieft refused to gather his Council for any purpose, let alone to issue a marriage license, which Baxter finally discovered he had some daft notion against giving anyway. Finally I got desperate and forced my way into his home. His three guards threw me out, and I spent the night in gaol. The next day Stuyvesant landed, and Kieft's power ceased. Baxter hastily had me released."

  She gave a choked cry. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

  He made a disdainful sound. "After that I waited until Baxter'd had a day or two to feel out the new governor." He paused remembering his own sight of Stuyvesant—the gaunt eagle-beaked face with thin pressed-in lips, the peg-leg with its silver collar, the harsh strident voice of command designed to bring immediate discipline into the unruly colony.

  "Stuyvesant is a staunch Calvinist," said Will, "the son of a clergyman. He is tolerant neither in religious nor civil matters. He flew into a passion when Baxter even mentioned some other divorce case, and of course he doesn't know our story or the extenuating circumstances. In fact, Bess, there is no hope at all."

  She leaned her head against the elm trunk, and watched the quivering of the leaves in the maples across the cove. "I see," she said. "I see. What simpletons we were to think God would grant our wish. I think he takes pleasure in mockery."

  Will turned and stared at her. He sat down on the bench and took her hand in his. "Hinnie—that isn't God. One mustn't blame God for all human miseries. Oh, I know your Uncle Winthrop and his ilk think so, but I do not. A peevish Jehovah with a long beard isn't what I call God."

  "What is, then...?" she said, her hand lying limp in his.

  "I can't say it," said Will frowning. "I can't find words, though perhaps Herbert did—

  "Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back

  Guilty of dust and sin

  "But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack ...

  Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning if I lacked anything."

  "They are fine words," she said, "but they weren't meant for our kind of love."

  "Perhaps they were, Bess, that too. 'Tis part of the whole. Look at me!"

  She raised her head slowly. Her shadowed somber eyes met his earnest gaze. "Shall I leave you?" he said evenly. "Sell this land, and go far off, perhaps to the Indies?"

  "Oh, no!" she cried in sudden terror, flinging her arms around his neck. "No!"

  He pulled her hands from his neck, and held them tight. "Then—" he said. "We must be practical, we must be worldly, and we must be brave."

  "How?" she said.

  "I shall become your husband in the sight of God—the God I mean, and in the sight of man, if we have luck," he added with a grim laugh.

  "We will pretend we're married?" she asked faintly after a moment. "Oh, dear love, how can we?"

  He saw a wincing pass over her mobile face, a recoil. He loosed her hands. "I've thought and thought about this, Bess," he said. "I cannot believe that the mumblings of some magistrate or preacher matter to our inner selves, but we must live an outer life as well—the world's opinions can't be flouted—and either we part or it must be this way."

  Why must it be? she thought. Why are my wishes never granted? Why is there always fear and tarnishing?

  She drew a long sigh. "Yes," she said. "I suppose so." They neither of them spoke for some minutes, until she straightened and gave him a little sideways smile. "Are we married now then, Will?" she asked, a feeble spark of humor in her eyes.

  "No," he said rising. "You shall have more ceremony than that, my poor little bride. Yesterday I bought rings in Amsterdam, and wine too, the best canary. Come into the house love. I'm conventional and feel a wedding should be dignified by four walls."

  She nodded and tried to laugh, but could not forbear a quick glance down the path, knowing that beneath his attempt at lightness there was the fear of discovery by a neighbor—or by Thomas.

  Once in his little house he shot the great iron bolt. He built the fire up, and she with uncertain nervous gestures tried to fill the pot with cornmeal and salt meat for their supper. They drank quickly of the strong canary, until the trembling of her knees passed. Then he stood beside her on the hearth, and held out two thick golden rings.

  "I've never had a wedding band before!" she said, her voice shaking. "How shocked my Uncle Winthrop would be—Oh Lud!" she added on a note of hysteria. "Why did I speak of him?"

  "Hush, Bess," he said. "Hold out thy hand!"

  She did so, sobering at once. This isn't play-acting, she thought. Dear Lord, forgive us, what else can we do!

  He took her hand. "I, William, take thee, Elizabeth, for my wife, and swear to love, honor and cherish thee until death do us part." He put the ring on her finger. And she with a steady voice repeated her own vow and placed his ring.

  They looked at each other shyly, as their hands dropped.

  "I think you should kiss me, now," she said.

  He bent and kissed her awkwardly, hurriedly, as he never had before. "Oh, Bess—" he whispered. "Bess, it is real enough isn't it?"

  "Aye, my darling." She felt a sharp stinging in her eyes, and said briskly, "Now, husband, I shall start our married life by proving me a shrew. Comb your hair, and shave your chin and take off that old leather doublet. Forsooth what sort of groom are you to grace the marriage bed!"

  "A hobbledehoy," he said with a lopsided grin. "A rustic clown—or what was it you called me on the Lyon the day of the fishing at the Banks?"

  "I don't remember, Will Hallet," she said. "But I think I already loved you then, and what a strange toilsome journey we've come since."

  Nor is that journey ended yet, he thought. By God that we should get in such a fix.

  The rising sun made golden cracks between the shutters, when the intrusion came which they had been expecting. Will's sharp ears heard distant voices, and the horse whinnied in the shed.

  He turned on his elbow and looked down at her, at the fair body which had responded so rapturously to his. Her long eyes, languid now and very soft, met his gaze with confidence, her red lips smiled a little.

 
"They're coming, dear heart," he said. "Are you ready? 'Twill be nasty."

  "I'm not afraid," she whispered. She raised her head and kissed him. "Indeed I had not known there could be such content."

  "Nor had I," he said in a voice of wonder.

  His horse neighed again. Will jumped from the bed, and pulled on his breeches. "Hasten, hinnie," he said. "Dress thyself."

  She had not fastened the buttons of her yellow gown before there was a thunderous banging on the door. And Thomas Lyon's voice shouting, "Open up, William Hallet, open up at once or we shoot!"

  "What the devil ails you!" Will cried back with anger. "What's the meaning of this?" He threw the bolt, and flung wide the door so suddenly that Thomas stumbled through and nearly fell. Behind him were Angell Husted and Toby Feake. All three men were armed.

  "I knew she was here!" Thomas shouted, pointing at Elizabeth. "Oh, strumpet! Oh, shameless whore!"

  Toby's face turned red beneath his freckles. He gaped at Elizabeth. "I couldn't a believed it," he mumbled. "I couldn't."

  "Believed what?" said Will stepping in front of Elizabeth. "Is it so strange that my wife should spend the night with me?"

  "WIFE, forsooth!" cried Thomas, shaking. "Ye must think we're crazed. She has a husband, you foul knave."

  "She has," said Will. 'Tis I. As I shall shortly prove to you. if you'll stop bellowing."

  The two big yeomen glared at each other and Angell said uneasily, "Best listen to him, Tom. There's summat strange here."

  "Aunt, Aunt—" said Toby still gaping at Elizabeth. "How could ye so disgrace the Feakes!"

  "I haven't, Toby," she said lifting her chin, and staring back at him. "I am divorced from Robert. 'Twas why I went to New Amsterdam."

  "Divorced," repeated Thomas whirling on her. "You lie. You cannot be divorced!"