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“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked astonished, for they had seen no white man’s habitations save two empty trading huts since leaving Greenwich. “Vredeland,” said Will briefly. George Baxter in giving him directions for following the trail last summer had named this site, and told him of the Hutchinson massacre.

“So it was here . . .” Elizabeth whispered, shuddering. “God forfend ‘tis not an evil omen - ” she added to herself. But he heard her.

“Nonsense, hinnie!” he cried. “What omen can there be in those old stones? “ Tis of the past, and naught to do with us!”

Of the past, she thought, pray God that ail my past is dead and peaceful as this green field that covers a day of horror.

“The child, Susannah Hutchinson, who was captured has been returned, you know,” Will said, seeking to lighten her mood. “They say she did not want to leave the Indians, had become fond of them.”

“Not surprising,” said Elizabeth in a muffled voice. “They’re no more cruel than we are. No apter at evil. You didn’t know our Siwanoy - but I assure you the Hutchinsons were well avenged.”

He glanced at her with slightly puzzled sympathy. He knew little of her experiences with the Indians, though he knew that these were linked in pain with other tragic phases of her life.

They rode several miles before she regained her happy expectancy.

At the Haarlem River they found a ferry and crossed to Manhattan Island and from then on they passed isolated bouweries, Dutch farms with high-stepped roofs, neat picket fences and an air of snug opulence.

“Good land,” said Will, admiring the rich brown earth. “Bess, d’you see that round point over there, across the East River?”

“Below Hell Gate?” she asked, looking at the turbulent, swirling waters. “I remember it from last time when I came by boat with Toby.”

“That was where my land grant was,” said Will. “On that point - had I not settled in Greenwich, and
bought
land instead!”

“You regret it?” she said, pouting prettily. “You would have preferred over there on Long Island where presumably no tiresome woman would have confused your life?”

“Nay, I don’t regret it,” he said more seriously than she expected, “Though there’s a kind of thin soil near the point that puts me in mind of certain Dorset earth, I think ‘twould grow the rye they’ve no success with in Greenwich.”

“Ah, Will, darling - ” she said laughing. “So I shall have a husbandman for husband at last! I’ve much to learn, and hope you’ll bear with me.”

“I’ll bear with you,” he said, and turning in the saddle kissed her, much to the amusement of a group of fishermen who were angling along the riverbank.

They reached New Amsterdam by ten, and went directly to the City Tavern, where they breakfasted, and Elizabeth made herself presentable. She had worn the violet tiffany, which was somewhat wrinkled but otherwise as elegant as any gown she saw on the wealthy mevrouws. She had also worn her jewellery, Robert’s gold chain and Harry’s brooch, and she had brought the little lace cap. When she had carefully re-combed and dressed her hair, at the tavern’s parlour mirror, she knew that she looked charming. The vivid colour had returned to her cheekbones; she had the glow of a woman in love, who sees consummation within reach.

Will also looked proud and glad. Several people stared admiringly at the couple as they walked along the street towards the Fort, where George Baxter lived in a small house near the Governor’s.

Baxter was at home too, and though he had many private troubles just now, he greeted Elizabeth and Will with cordiality when the manservant showed them into his parlour. The atmosphere changed however when Elizabeth haltingly and ingenuously made known her errand.

“What’s that you say, Mistress Feake?” said Baxter, his jaw dropping. “You want a
divorce!
But, my dear lady, this is preposterous!”

“Not at all, Baxter!” said Will sharply. “You know very well what Mrs. Feake has suffered with Feake’s madness, and now he has deserted her.”

The dismayed English secretary stared from one eager hopeful face to the other. They’re in love, he thought, poor fools, and as addlepated as lovers always seem to get. And what a time to choose to come here with impossible requests!

“I do know some of the tragedies of Mrs. Feake’s life,” he said, shaking his head. “I was present at them, and have every sympathy - but divorce, my dear Madam, you don’t understand the law.”

“Show him Robert’s paper, Will!” Elizabeth cried. “He’ll see for himself.”

Will hesitated, but he drew from his purse Robert’s document. Baxter perused it carefully, and handed it back. “Am I to understand that you wish the Director-General to issue a divorce on the grounds of your husband’s madness and desertion?” he asked carefully with a rueful smile.

They both nodded, and Baxter said, “Then you had best not show this paper as evidence, for it seems to disprove both. This is a lucid statement from a man who is about to take a journey - no more; the unusual feature is your inclusion, Mr. Hallet.”

“I know,” said Will. “I begged him not to, but Mr. Feake isn’t sane. My God, Baxter - you know that. He said he was through with Bess and the children forever, and he meant it. He knew I’d protect her, and I will.”

“Aye - ” whispered Elizabeth, and the soft adoring look she gave Hallet touched Baxter in spite of himself. He heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t you know this is a poor moment to approach Kieft?” he said. “He’s been recalled to The Hague for investigation - leaves very soon. We’ve a new governor coming from Curacao, Petrus Stuyvesant.”

“Indeed,” said Will, frowning. “We hadn’t heard. What’s the trouble?”

Baxter shrugged. “Complaints of Kieft - his maladministration, of his inciting the Indian Wars, of lax personal conduct, of constant quarrels with our Dominie Bogardus who is also recalled for questioning. Kieft hasn’t been inside the church for three years and amuses himself firing off cannon during Divine Service. To put it frankly, New Netherland affairs are in a muddle. I don’t know whether I shall keep
my
position, and all in all, I doubt that Kieft’ll bother with you. He’s drunk most of the time, anyway.” From the stricken look in Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes, he turned away. He had seen something like that expression in the eyes of condemned prisoners who were denied reprieve. And he tightened his lips, and rose.

“Well, well - I’ll see what I can do,” he said brusquely. “It’ll take a while. Wait in the courtyard by the church.”

Elizabeth and Will wandered outside. He took her arm and squeezed it but they did not speak until they came to the huge new church with the curious peaked roof, topped with a weathercock-Elizabeth walked under the church porch and Will said without emphasis, “You going to pray, Bess?”

She started. “I suppose I might, but I wanted to find someone who’d record the baby’s baptism.” She did not explain a superstitious feeling that heaven might be more propitious if she made this last gesture for Robert.

She had never mentioned the baby, and Will was astonished, but he said nothing. He followed her into the church, where they found the baptismal book chained to a lectern near the font. They also found the sexton, who did not at first understand Elizabeth’s request, grumbled and backed off, until she offered him two guilders. Whereupon he shrugged and wrote “Sarah” at her direction under the present date of April 14.

“Vader?” said the sexton, looking at Will.

“Robert Feake,” said Elizabeth sternly and watched while the sexton scrawled an approximation. “But the baby isn’t living anymore,” she said.

“Watblief?” asked the sexton, bored and edging away.

“Oh, never mind,” she said. “I don’t know why I wanted to do this. Will, darling - wait outside, please, in case Baxter comes back. I want to be alone.”

When he had gone she crept into one of the great box pews and tried to pray, but no prayer came. Her mind was a chaos of hopes and fears. She could not quiet herself. She left the church in discouragement, which she tried to hide from Will who had his own black thoughts.

Thus they were not unprepared for difficulties, but neither of them suspected the outcome of their interview with Kieft.

It took place in the same Council Room where Elizabeth had sworn her Dutch allegiance. Though today there were present besides the Governor only the new Fiscal, Ensign Van Dyke, who had participated in the destruction of the Siwanoys, a Dutch secretary, and Baxter. All of them were smoking.

Kieft’s recent troubles and imminent disgrace had aged him. His fat cheeks were pendulous, his scraggly locks were grey beneath the imposing red-plumed hat. A silver mug stood at his elbow. He was half drunk and had been as annoyed at this interruption as Baxter had expected. The English secretary first tried to gain the interview for Elizabeth by insistence on her connection with Governor Winthrop, and her own importance as Greenwich patroon. Neither of these pleas any longer influenced Kieft, who snapped that she might as well put her case before Stuyvesant then. Let the incoming Governor deal with it.

Baxter had heard enough of Stuyvesant’s strictness and puritanical morality to know this was impractical, so he tried a different tack, reminding Kieft with adroit flattery of Elizabeth’s personal loyalty to him. He then gave a dramatic account of her ordeals through the years, and said she was counting on the Director-General’s well-known goodness of heart, and that she remembered him with great affection. Kieft snorted, but he said, “Let her come in, and be quick about it!”

When Elizabeth and Will entered the smoke-hazed Council Room, Kieft examined them both with a leer. He licked his shining purple lips and chuckled, saying something to Baxter.

“What does he say?” asked Elizabeth, standing straight and stiff at the end of the table and trying not to look frightened.

“He says,” answered Baxter reluctantly, “that you are still a beautiful woman, and he doesn’t wonder you like a little bit of fun.”

She flushed. “Have you presented my plea for divorce, Mr. Baxter?”

He nodded, and spoke at some length to Kieft, who listened impatiently, drumming his fat fingers on the table. “Bah!” cried the Governor, interrupting, “Overspel! Overspel!” - and he added a brief angry speech.

“Baxter spoke again, and Kieft banged his hand on the table. “Overspel!” he shouted, staring straight at Elizabeth, before turning with a contemptuous shrug towards Will who had sat down in the back of the room.

“What is ‘overspel’?” Elizabeth asked, swallowing.

Baxter left the Governor’s side and walked to Elizabeth. “ ‘Overspel’ means adultery, Mrs. Feake. I’m sorry to tell you that the Director General will grant a divorce on no other terms, indeed those
are
the only terms which are legal.”

“That’s not true!” Will cried, jumping up. “I know of a case last year which he granted for desertion alone.”

“Aye - ” said Baxter in a low voice. “That was before he was accused of taking the law into his own hands. He dare not be lax now.”

“Robert has not committed adultery,” said Elizabeth, leaning her weight on the table.

“No, no, Madam,” said Baxter with pity. “You don’t understand. The divorce would be granted to Mr. Feake
in absentia
because of
your
adultery; it is the only way you can get it.”

“That’s monstrous!” cried Will, rushing forward. “And a foul lie. You can’t do it, Bess!”

Baxter was startled. There was the ring of truth in this, though he and Kieft had naturally thought otherwise. He went back to the Governor and spoke again.

Kieft’s bloodshot little eyes sparkled, his underlip thrust out. “Nee!” he shouted, glaring at Elizabeth. “Nee! Nee!”

She did not need Baxter’s unhappy murmur of explanation. “He says ‘no’ to any but the terms I told you, and I’m afraid he may soon change his mind on those.”

“Then I accept,” she said quickly. “Make the decree as he says. Hush, Will - what difference, if I get it?”

“It can be kept private, Mr. Hallet,” said Baxter uncomfortably, wishing that he had never let his sympathies lead him on, and yet increasingly sorry for both of them as he foresaw what the next move would be. “It’ll be buried in the files here and your English neighbours won’t be able to read your copy. You can tell them what you like.”

Kieft saw submission in Elizabeth’s face, and was seized with obscene laughter. It tickled him that the proud English “dame” should humble herself like this and into his genever-soaked brain there came a glimmer of what use might be made of this incident in Holland, when they dared to question his own conduct. It had been the bawdy English who made the administration here so difficult. “Look what they’re like!” he would tell their High Mightinesses. “Even in the Winthrop family they confess to adultery!” He turned to his Dutch secretary and began to dictate rapidly, while the Fiscal Van Dyke yawned and stared at the wainscoted ceiling.

Nobody spoke or moved, while Kieft affixed his signature and seal to the decree, which he sent flying down the table towards Elizabeth. She bit her lips, and picked it up, her cheeks flaming. “So I am divorced?” she said to Baxter. “Mr. Hallet and I can be married at once?”

“I am afraid not, Madam,” said the English secretary, sighing. “Permission to remarry requires a separate document and a full meeting of the Council and there is customarily some delay. Also I wouldn’t ask Kieft for it now, he wouldn’t give it.”

Elizabeth gasped. The colour drained from her face, leaving it as white as the parchment in her hands. “Then we’re no better off than we were!” she whispered.

“Oh yes, you are -” said Baxter. “The decree is necessary first.”

She did not listen to him; she ran to the end of the table and seized the Governor’s pudgy, beringed hand; kneeling beside his chair she spoke wildly, pleading, the words of entreaty stumbling over each other.

“What does she want
now?”
asked the Governor, delighted and rubbing his thick finger along her neck.

Baxter explained, and Kieft chuckled. “So hot!” he said in Dutch. “The pretty little bitch. What does she need marriage lines for? Hasn’t she enjoyed her bed-sport well enough without?”