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John Wheelwright jumped to his feet and, hastening down the aisle, climbed into the pulpit with alacrity, then, bowing to Cotton and ignoring the outraged Wilson, he launched into what was ever after known as
“The
Fast Day Sermon.”

Wheelwright was a large, powerful man of decided opinions, like his friend Oliver Cromwell, with whom he had studied in Cambridge, and who he hoped would shortly join them here in the New World, as England became increasingly dangerous for Puritans. Wheelwright was ambitious and brash, he admired his sister-in-law Anne Hutchinson, and believed in her Covenant of Grace, but he was also profoundly impatient with what he considered the

bigoted hidebound form of government he had found in the Bay. He had expected a
position of ministerial power fitting his proven talents, and had run headlong into opposition and lost the first skirmish, when he had been shunted off to the tiny distant parish south of the Neponset River, where he had no intention of remaining. He detested Wilson and Winthrop and considered them negligible, for was not Governor Vane on the Hutchinson side? Also Mr. Cotton, and influential men of the town sitting now below him in the pews and looking up at him with approval - Mr. William Coddington, Mr. Coggeshall, Mr. Aspinwall, Mr. Hough - even Captain John Underhill, and solid tradesmen like William Balston.

So, rejoicing that at last he had opportunity to rally his friends from Boston’s own pulpit, he began confidently, “The way we must take, if so be we will not have the Lord Jesus Christ taken from us, is this: We must all prepare for a spiritual combat.”

The meetinghouse grew very quiet as Wheelwright’s eager voice went on, using over and over again words which lost the unworldly meaning with which he was glossing them, and became by very repetition the primitive war cries which rang truer in their hearts than mystical analogies. “Fight!” “Gird our loins!” “Sword in hand-show ourselves courageous!” “When enemies of truth oppose the ways of God - we must kill - ” “If we do not strive, those under a Covenant of Works will prevail.”
“Kill!”

Mr. Cotton began by looking anxious, then with murmurs tried to stop his protege, who did not listen but rushed on. Winthrop sat petrified, mastering his initial fury with savage control. This was sedition, this was real danger, and they must be careful. “Careful - ” he signalled to Wilson, whose eyes were bulging and whose whole squat body could be seen shaking beneath the black robes. The pastor did not heed his friend’s signal, he did not see it.

Wheelwright, thoroughly enjoying himself, informed the congregation that he and those under the Covenant of Grace were by no means Antinomians or libertines, but that through Grace they had the benefit of holy inspiration. “And,” he added, his voice rising to a sonorous shout, “those who deny this are but whited sepulchres, and Anti-Christs, and we must
fight
them!”

Mr. Wilson sprang to his feet, bellowing, “So it’s
fight
you want, is it? And it’s Anti-Christs you call us! I say that Satan himself has got in my pulpit! And I’ll get him
out!
” The enraged pastor rushed to the pulpit and swarmed up the steps before Wheelwright understood the meaning of the commotion behind him. Wheelwright found his robes yanked so violently that he overbalanced, and was immediately pounded on the head and shoulders by flailing fists. He stumbled down the steps on top of his assailant and, recovering himself, began to hit back.

Margaret screamed. The meeting exploded into uproar. Another fight broke out amongst the boys in the gallery; there was a scuffle near the door with the bewildered tithing man, and Winthrop, standing on his pew, called “Guards! Captain! Captain Underhill! Halt this disgraceful brawl!” before running to help Cotton, who was ineffectually trying to separate the two angry ministers.

Captain Underhill had been sitting in the back of the meetinghouse, and he now moved slowly down. the aisle, his black moustache twitching with suppressed laughter. He ignored Winthrop and the struggling parsons, walked Instead to Vane, and said,“What are
your
orders, Your Worship?”

“Arrest Wilson,” cried the young Governor, excitedly. “He started it.”

Underhill shrugged. “I know he did,, sir. And I’d like nothing better. But I fear ‘t wouldn’t do. Besides - ” He glanced towards the pulpit. Mr. Wilson now sat trembling and vanquished on the step, dizzy from the final blow on the ear dealt him by the much larger and stronger Wheelwright. Nor was the latter unscathed. His nose was bleeding and he looked white and shaken.

“Captain!” called John Winthrop sharply. “West’s the matter with you? Where are your guards? There’s still fighting in the gallery.”

“Only a bit of youthful sport, sir,” said Underhill airily, flicking a blob of dust from his shining cuirass. “Taking example from their elders, as you might say.”

Winthrop stiffened and turned away. Enemies. The meetinghouse was filled with enemies, and this was not the time for routing them. Mrs.’ Hutchinson, bending over and soothing her brother-in-law; it wasn’t only Cotton she had bewitched, but Vane, Underhill, and most of Boston. Still she’d not get by with it long. Any more than Roger Williams had been permitted to remain in the colony and promulgate his heresies. I’ve been accused of laxness and lenity, Winthrop thought. There shall be no grounds for that reproach now. He felt indomitable strength rising in him like a black winter tide. The
other
Bay towns were not beglamoured; when their ministers heard of Wheelwright’s sermon they would know how to act, even Dudley would lend his support to the extirpation of this menace. But one must tread with care, with care and due formality, nor ever forget the hostile eyes which watched the colony from across the ocean. “Speak to them - ” he murmured to Cotton, and added a suggestion to which the minister replied, shaking his head,

“Aye - but this is appalling - appalling, Mr. Winthrop, I beg you to believe I’d no idea that Wheelwright would sermonize like that - the Lord help us all.”

Cotton mounted the pulpit and, spreading wide his arms, looked down with deep sorrow at the congregation which gradually stilled. He prayed then, simply and fervently, asking God to heal the breach between them. And he ended by following Winthrop’s suggestion, saying that he knew a ship was shortly to set forth for England, and that perhaps some of its passengers were in the meetinghouse today. If so, he commanded that they keep quiet about the lamentable differences that had arisen, and simply say if they were asked about any strife in Massachusetts, that it was not strife; only different ways of magnifying the Grace of God.

“One party,” said Mr. Cotton, his beautiful voice ringing to the rafters, “is but seeking to advance the grace of God within us, while the other seeks to advance the grace of God towards us, and so there is no need for conflict.”

So great was Mr. Cotton’s eloquence that they all filed out quietly, half convinced that the extraordinary scenes they had witnessed never happened, end even Elizabeth was under Cotton’s spell until the cold air cleared her wits and she thought, with sudden revulsion, But what does all that really
mean?
And thought too that the grace of God. whatever that was, either inside or outside, had very little to do with the clashing anger of its proponents.

But metaphysical intricacies could never long hold her interest As she walked through the snow down the High Street with Margaret, who was still near to tears, Elizabeth reviewed the feelings she had had in the meetinghouse. At first when the ministers began to fight she had been as alarmed as Margaret and the other women, but then had come an exhilaration and release, despite the shock of sudden violence. There had been satisfaction too when Uncle John’s power had been flouted by Underhill. Power - for a second Elizabeth saw the whole episode as a turbulent struggle for power, regardless of the motives beneath, but then her thoughts dwindled to confusion. There was more than a desire to dominate about Mrs. Hutchinson. As she had tended her brother-in-law after the battle she had appeared distressed, and uncertain. Elizabeth had seen her throw Winthrop a look of pleading contrition which he had ignored. Mrs Hutchinson’s face had grown sorrowful and yet it kept that luminous conviction. I believe she is a good woman, Elizabeth thought, and, echoing Deane’s youthful rashness, she added, maybe God does speak to her, how does Uncle John know?

By the time she reached home with Margaret, Elizabeth had determined to meet Mrs. Hutchinson, and talk with her, though unaware that this was the strongest impulse she had felt in a long time, since, indeed she had rushed down Boston Common on election Day three years ago to greet Will Hallet

It was the following Tuesday afternoon before Elizabeth found a chance to slip out of the house and go to the Hutchinsons, who lived in a mansion as large as the Winthrops’ and only a block or so away on the corner of School Street and the High. John Winthrop did not approve of his womenfolk roaming the wintry streets and would certainly have stopped Elizabeth had he seen her, but he had called a meeting of all the nearby ministers for a council of war and was locked with them in his parlour. Elizabeth from her chamber window had watched them arrive on horseback, except Mr. Wilson who came first on foot from his parsonage, Hugh Peter had come from Salem with John Endecott; old Dudley with his pastor, Thomas Shepard, from Newtown; her own George Phillips from Watertown; the lean rat-faced Thomas Welde from Roxbury with his colleague, John Eliot, the Indian missionary; and others whom she didn’t know. Mr. Cotton, whose true sentiments were doubtful, had not been invited.

Elizabeth bundled herself in her fur-lined cloak and pulled her hood far over her face, then ran lightly down the stairs past the shut parlour door, avoiding the kitchen, where the children and servants were gathered. She had her hand on the latch when Deane jumped out from the shadows under the stairs. “And where arc you sneaking off to, cousin?” he cried, chuckling.

“Sh-h . . .” she said involuntarily, glancing towards the parlour where there was a clamour of male voices; then she recovered and said haughtily, “What are
you
doing here? You ought to be at school!”

Deane brandished a sackful of books with a very inky hand. “That’s where I’m going. What a to-do - ” He hunched his shoulder towards the parlour. “All those black crows flapping about Mrs. Hutchinson, they want to jail her, and Wheelwright too.”

“Deane - you’ve been eavesdropping,” she said weakly, “and you must show more respect, and they couldn’t jail Mrs. Hutchinson, why, she’s
gentry
and she hasn’t done anything bad.”

Deane peered shrewdly at his cousin, whom he admired. “I believe you’re sneaking off to one of her conventicles - the Lord save you if Father knew it.”

Elizabeth reddened, while Deane’s eyes sparkled.

“I won’t tell,” he said. “But you better hurry, or half Boston’ll be there, and you’d be recognized.”

She nodded, giving up pretence, and they went cautiously through the front door together. “Put your mask on,” said Deane when they were at the garden gate. “Didn’t you bring it?”

She nodded again, and pulling a black satin mask from her muff tied it under the hood. “Everyone wore ‘em in London,” said Deane. “When it’s cold like this, it’s odd they don’t much here, I guess ‘cause there’s so few gentlefolk.”

“Deane,” she said as they neared the Hutchinson doorstep, “why do you like this lady? You said you did, but you can’t know her.”

“Don’t I though!” said the boy. Suddenly embarrassed, he stopped and began kicking at a snowbank. “Last autumn I was, well - downcast - melancholic. I couldn’t seem to feel at home here, and Father, he was always, always - ” Deane looked up at Elizabeth and, feeling sympathy, went on quickly, “Mrs. Hutchinson, she has a fine apple tree in her back garden - I don’t know why but I - I stole some. She caught me. I thought she’d have me flogged or worse - she could’ve had me put in stocks. She didn’t”

“What did she do?” said Elizabeth.

“She was kind, and said I could have the apples. Then she took me in her house, and she talked. I don’t know just what she said but I felt different inside. It was about Christ and love, stuff like that, but seemed real - ” Deane blushed, gave Elizabeth a funny sideways glance, shouldered his book bag and pelted down the street in confusion.

Elizabeth glanced around, and, seeing nothing in sight but two dogs and an old scissors grinder, knocked hastily on the Hutchinson door. It was opened by a tiny maidservant who stared at the mask and said, “Be ye come to the meeting, ‘cause Mistress she’s not holding it today.”

“Is she in?” said Elizabeth. “I’d like to see her.”

“Wot name, ma’am? And on wot matter?” said the little maid, stubbornly barring the door.

Unwilling to answer the first question and unable to answer the second, Elizabeth was struck with the foolishness of her impulse, but it persisted, and she said in tones as imperious as her uncle’s, “Tell your mistress a lady wants to see her. Go!”

The maid scuttled off, and presently Anne Hutchinson herself walked into the hall, glanced without surprise at the crimson-cloaked young woman in the mask - many women of all kinds had come to her for help - and said courteously, “What can I do for you, Mistress?”

Elizabeth looked at the tall, grey-haired woman in the simple dark blue gown and white cap, at the broad forehead, slightly lined, the dark compassionate eyes that glowed with fervour, and she answered in a voice that sounded like a stranger’s to her, “I don’t know, Mrs. Hutchinson, I don’t know why I trouble you. I had to come.”

Anne listened thoughtfully, hesitated, then smiled, and her plain face became beautiful. “Ah, it happens that way, sometimes,” she said softly. “If we listen to the Voice, and seek the Inner Light.”

“The Inner Light,” repeated Elizabeth. “I fear I’ve never seen that.”

Anne put her hand out, and said, “Come. We can’t talk here. Poor child, I feel that you are unhappy.” She led Elizabeth into a small chamber where a bright fire glinted on brass andirons, and a huge sheepdog lay stretched on the hearth beside a cradle where a baby slept She indicated a cushioned chair and sat down near Elizabeth, who obeyed without consciousness of her surroundings.