A Place in His Heart (8 page)

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot upward. “My goodness, Mary, I meant leave him alone for a while, not marry him.”

“I need you to be happy for me. I crave your approval. You must be my advocate to Papa.”

Her sister's arm encircled her. “You have my blessing, and I am forever your advocate.”

“Thank you. I think I shall go to bed, so could you tell Papa good night for me? I'm so tired. Give my love to Zeke and the children too.”

“Of course. Sweet dreams, little sister, if you can sleep.” They hugged once more and she watched Lizzie retreat.

She eased out of her dress and pulled on a sleeping chemise.
Chilled, she crawled beneath the covers and pulled them close about her chin. Tuesday. She could not wait until Tuesday.

Mary spent Tuesday evening with Barnabas. She sat contemplating her next move in their chess game, but how difficult to concentrate when he was sitting right there, opposite of her. Her hand hovered over her knight as she looked up into his moss-green eyes. His eyes held hers until she willed her concentration back to the board and quickly moved her bishop up two squares diagonally.

Her gaze returned to him. His eyes teased with delight, a grin on his lips, but he looked at the board, not at her. She looked down at the game. The proximity of her opponent obviously affected her strategy.

He deftly moved his rook to four squares in front of her king. “Check.”

She could see his rook was protected and she glanced at Papa. Papa smiled. She turned to face Barnabas. “Why then, I resign.”

The next Tuesday evening they read Shakespeare's
The Comedy of Errors
. When Barnabas departed that night, she stretched to her tiptoes and hoped for what Lizzie considered a real kiss, but she contented herself as his warm breath skimmed her cheek.

The following Tuesday evening they finished the play. “It was not his best, do you agree?” He cocked his head back and the firelight played across his features.

He looked so handsome. Could she be this lucky? She picked a chestnut from the pan, popped and roasted, and she peeled it back. “Yes, Papa says it was one of his earlier works and it shows.” She looked from him to Papa. Her father gave her a smile and a nod.

But that night, after their farewells were done, Mary overheard Barnabas and Papa speaking in the hall. As she pulled her chemise over her head, she put her ear to the door. Their words were loud but garbled as they drifted up the stairwell. She lay awake, afraid of what the morrow would bring.

Early the next morning she dressed in a simple yellow gown, covering it with her cape and hood. She left a message for Papa with Cook, took a bite of biscuit, and slipped out the door. Lizzie expected her for a morning of sewing—a bit of feather stitching and point lace—but she needed to talk to her first.

Standing at Lizzie's door, she caught her breath and waited for her sister to answer her knock.

“You are early. Come in, come in. 'Tis so cold out there.” Lizzie helped her with her cape, hung it on the peg by the door, and led her to the fire.

Mary lifted her hands to the warm flames. “Prithee, may I go to the bakeshop alone?” She hadn't quite meant to say it that way.

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Nay, that would not be good. You know how Papa feels about you being alone with Mr. Horton. Why would you suggest that?”

“We'd had a perfectly lovely evening last night, but when Mr. Horton left, he and Papa exchanged loud words. I was in my room and I don't know what they said. It did not sound good.”

“Mary, calm down. Shall we sew a bit and then perhaps I will need to stop at the cobbler's on the way to the bakeshop. He's working on some boots for Ezekiel. I should check on his progress.” She winked at Mary and the two embraced.

Mary entered the bakeshop. Her cheeks burned and her heart fluttered, but here she was. She clutched a basket filled with her
needlework, an alphabet sampler on top—her gift for Joseph and Benjamin.

“Heigh-ho, there. And wherefore is your dear sister, Mistress Fanning?”

“She shall be here soon. I—I—heard you and Papa last night.”

He stepped close and cupped her chin in his hand, drawing it up. “Then you know, do you not? You look worried. Mayhap you have second thoughts?”

Tears pooled and wet her lashes. “Second thoughts? About you? Nay, I thought Papa told you our courting was over. Is that true?”

“If you will have me, Miss Langton, your father gives his consent. Is this too soon for you? For me, I wish not to tarry. It is a difficult thing, children without a mother. Will you have us? Will you marry me?”

His fingers, shaking slightly, caressed her chin. Her tears let loose and he dabbed her cheeks with his fingertips, then took the basket and set it on the table. “I do not mean to cause you sadness.”

“Kiss me, Mr. Horton. Please kiss me.”

He drew her close once again and she breathed in his scent of toast and spice. His lips hovered over hers as he looked into her eyes. “I think I'm learning what your sister has always known. I can see your thoughts in the color of your eyes.”

His lips fell gently on hers and the warmth of his kiss spilled over her like sunshine on a chilly morn. She'd thought she had known love before, but Nathan did not come close.

February 14, 1631

A wind swept through the bare limbs of the oaks and the smell of rain hung in the air. Even so, the snowdrops were in bloom, poking up here and there, papery white petals adding light to the dreary landscape.

Barnabas strode up the lane with his sons at his side, Baldy and the wagon secured at the livery. Jeremy emerged from nowhere to walk with him. They joined the small group huddled together at the church. Elizabeth and Ezekiel stood by Joshua, Rachel, and Ruth. Barnabas's parents, Joseph and Mary Horton, arrived, along with Thomas and his wife and daughter.

The group turned as John Langton walked around the bend with Mary tucked beside him. A long white brocade cape, trimmed in matching fur around the hood and along the open front, lifted in the breeze, giving a glimpse of her pale yellow gown with a high neckline trimmed with point lace.

The wedding party stepped inside the church and John helped her remove the cape, revealing billowy sleeves with small slashes,
tied above the elbows with blue ribbons. Her high-waist bodice, laced with more blue ribbon, narrowed into the full brocade skirt. The open front, scalloped with lace, revealed layers of silk petticoats, the top one as creamy as her glowing complexion. She was beautiful.

Barnabas's throat grew tight. Why did it feel like a door was closing, when indeed a new one stood open before him? He was leaving Ann behind. He'd anticipated this day with a measure of joy, so the sadness surprised him. He must hold onto Ann, keep her by his side. Never forget her. She wished him love, that he knew. She always would.

The rain pattered, lending a cadence to the vow “With this ring I thee wed.” The two became one in the sight of God. Barnabas held back tears that were of what might have been, but he ardently prayed Mary's were tears of joy.

The sun broke through the clouds and the wedding party made their way to the Langtons' home with much dancing and singing. As the merrymakers entered the house, the servants—Cook's family—laid out platters. Barnabas would have been more comfortable with a civil ceremony, and far less gaiety, but to see Mary smile and laugh was a good thing.

Succulent beef, seasoned with herbs from France, wrapped in a flaky, buttery pastry, was accompanied by roasted carrots, parsnips, and leeks swimming in butter. A joint of pork encrusted with blackened spices, a roast duck surrounded by six doves all nestled in a currant-cherry sauce, and several savory pies filled with pigeon, mutton, or beef filled the table.

Salads with borage and violets dressed in oil, lemon juice, and salt were served, as well as breads, puddings, and mincemeats of every kind. Cherries, apricots, pomegranates, and figs and pippins complemented an array of cheese.

Sugared plums, oranges, and lemons as well as fruit tarts and sugared violet candies loaded the long oak side table.

Barnabas arranged to have a tray piled high with small, crisp ginger cakes sprinkled with sugar for the children and the wedding cake kept out of sight.

The guests took seats at the long table, with Mary and Barnabas in the middle, Joseph and Benjamin on each side. Hands were joined and heads bowed in the Langton tradition for grace.

He squeezed his bride's hand as her father led the prayer. How wonderful to have found a woman who came from a righteous home. She would understand in time his desire to worship God, free from the pressure of government.

Benjamin wriggled and squirmed during the prayer and Barnabas snuck a glance to see his new bride lean down to plant a kiss on his young son's forehead. He smiled at them. At least one of the little Hortons was glad that she was joining the family.

John raised his glass and announced, “Hear, hear. To my lovely daughter, who on this day has married a man of fortitude, honor, and devotion to God. And to Barnabas, who is a lucky man, indeed. To their good health and cheer.”

“Cheers,” came the echo.

Barnabas finally stood and raised his glass. “I am indeed a very lucky man this day. To that I give tribute to Mr. Langton, who has raised her to be such a fine and lovely woman, and to her mother, God bless her. And lastly, to Mary, my sweet. God blessed me far above rubies when I found you. I am, indeed, a rich and lucky man.”

A smile wreathed her face and a deep, red blush crept across her cheeks. Her eyes were as bright as emeralds. “Thank you, my husband, I so want to please you.”

“Aye, Mary, and that you will do when you accompany him
and the boys to Massachusetts.” All chatter ceased as Jeremy clapped Thomas on the back. “Eh, Thomas?”

John's face turned to stone as his eyes slowly riveted between Jeremy, Barnabas, and Mary.

Her eyes widened, their smokiness unmistakable. Barnabas shot a warning look first at Jeremy, then at Thomas.

Mary's eyes widened, the smokiness in them unmistakable to Barnabas, but he looked steadily at Jeremy.

Benjamin jumped up and down in his chair. “Where are we going, Papa? Where? Where?”

Joseph's long face shifted to a scowl.

He did not want to lie to Mary, but this was clearly not the moment to approach her about sailing to the colonies. He swallowed hard as he searched for something to subdue her. “Mary, forgive my brother. He always is one for fun, but he has misjudged his humor this time. Jeremy, please apologize, for you have misspoken.” He glared once again at his brother.

Thomas remained quiet during the exchange.

Jeremy stood up. “Pray pardon, my dear sister-in-law and Mr. Langton, do forgive my jest.” He returned to his seat and looked expectantly at his brothers, as if relying on them to take over the conversation.

John leaned toward Mary just as she turned to Barnabas. Her father had more to say about Jeremy's comment, he could see that, but he hoped it could wait until the morrow. Or longer. He needed to talk with Mary, he prayed she would understand.

The meal progressed with much gusto, culminating in the presentation of the much-awaited wedding cake. “For you, my sweet.”

The traditional wheat cake towered, covered in an almond paste and shimmering in sugar. Delicate sugar roses, created
with rose water, sugar, and pomegranate juice to match Mary's ruby lips, crowned the cake and cascaded down the side. To those he'd added a sprinkling of candied violets.

“But, Barney, 'tis the most beautiful cake I have ever seen. I want to keep it forever—we cannot eat this.”

He chuckled, grateful that his bride could make him smile. He leaned over the cake and tenderly lifted her chin until her dewy eyes met his. He swept a wisp of hair from her cheek as his lips brushed hers, tentatively at first, then passionately as he claimed them for his own.

A twitter of laughter pulled them out of the moment, and together she curtseyed as he bowed. He took her elbow as she again sat, and he dried the tear caught in the corner of her eye with the tip of his finger. “Nay, my sweet, do not weep over our cake. For you, I will bake one every year. You will have wedding cakes forever.” A deep pang cut through his chest. He would do anything to see her smile, but truly there was no such thing as forever.

After the meal, Joseph and Benjamin went home with Aunt Lizzie and her family. Mary told them they were cousins now, to Joshua, Rachel, and Ruth. Joseph almost grinned at that.

Thomas and Jeremy were not so easily persuaded to leave the party.

Barnabas's earlier displeasure forgotten, Jeremy was up to his usual pranks. “Heigh-ho, brother, can we not follow you home to toss the stockings?”

Mary turned to Barnabas. “Toss stockings?”

“Aye, to see who shall marry next. Jeremy, you and Thomas go home. Thomas has a wife and I would pity the woman who marries you.” Great guffaws erupted and Barnabas pounded his brothers' backs.

Mary and Elizabeth exchanged a look, and it occurred to Barnabas they were not used to the playful banter brothers could engage in. “Mistress Fanning, I believe we are now in the same family. It would be a privilege if I may call you by your given name.”

“Indeed, call me Elizabeth, and may I call you Barnabas?”

“I would be honored.” He bowed as an elegant carriage, provided by his parents, came into view. He turned to Mary. “Are you ready to go to your new home, my sweet?”

She cast a shy look—or was it trepidation? He would have been surprised if she was not a little anxious. But she managed a brave front and accepted the hand he stretched out to her. “Yes, I'm ready to go with you.”

Mr. Langton shook Barnabas's hand. “You take care of her for me.”

“I will do that. Our door is always open to you, John. Please, visit soon.”

“That I will do.” He gave Mary a firm hug and cleared his throat. “You come see me.”

“I will, Papa. Often.”

In the carriage, Barnabas offered Mary his shoulder, where she rested until arriving home. He jumped down and swept her into his arms. She hugged his neck as he carried her through the house toward the bed they would share. Her dainty feet peeked out amongst the petticoats, and he was pleased to see that the sugar roses matched not only her red lips but a petticoat as well.