The Preacher's Bride (15 page)

Chapter
16

Elizabeth cannot rebuff Samuel’s wishes.” Catherine’s bare hands slugged through the dough their father would bake in the oven that night.

“We’re not asking for your opinion,” Elizabeth replied. She wished the girl would keep her mind on her task instead of giving foolish opinions.

Elizabeth perched gingerly on the bench and regretted that she was unable to join the rest of the family in the work. After a restless night and then day spent in bed, the pain in her back had started to diminish to a dull ache, but her father had prohibited her from her usual duties.

The wounds on her back would eventually heal; she wasn’t so sure about the other injuries—the ones to her reputation. She couldn’t even think about what people were saying about her and John without shame searing her soul. Like every Puritan maiden, she treasured and guarded her chastity—she didn’t know how she could ever go out of the bakehouse and face anyone again.

“So what will ye do, then, Elizabeth?” her father asked. He stood at the brake and held on to the long-hinged roller, pressing down with all his strength. He rolled it back and forth across the mass underneath. Sweat dripped from his face and slickened the dough. Jane stood at his side and constantly turned the lump so that he could knead it evenly, but her gaze flicked to the far corner where Elizabeth sat.

At the moulding table Henry’s hands paused above the dough he had already kneaded but was shaping into loaves. His gaze wavered in her direction too.

“Samuel has been entirely too patient with Elizabeth as it is,” Catherine said, spilling more flour and water onto the floor around the plank-kneading trough. ’Twas not an easy job to mix the maslin flour that was half wheat half rye into the old sourdough, which had been dissolved in water to form the yeast for the new batch. But Catherine never seemed to notice how much flour she wasted as she sloshed the ingredients together.

And she never seemed to realize when she was talking too much.

Frustration twisted through Elizabeth. “The decision is too difficult.”

“You cannot tell Samuel no.” Catherine paused, her arms up to her elbows in dough. “He’s been very kind to you. Not many men would want a bride of questionable purity. You’d be a fool to spurn him now, since he’s willing to still have you.”

“He’s willing because he knows I’m not capable of the things being said.”

“But if you refuse him,” Catherine continued, “no one else will ever want you. For who will know and trust you the way Samuel does?”

“Shush, Catherine,” Jane said. The gentle reprimand was followed by a look meant to be stern, but Elizabeth doubted Jane could muster a severe countenance even if she spent time practicing.

Elizabeth’s insides knotted tighter. She hated that Catherine was right. No one else would ever want her. Regardless of her tainted virtue, she had no other prospects besides Samuel. She never had. If she lost Samuel, would she lose her chance of marrying and having a family of her own?

Though none of the others would say it, she didn’t doubt each of them was thinking the same thing.

“But what about Brother Costin?” Elizabeth couldn’t dismiss her responsibility to his family, even if she was putting her life in danger working for him. “He cannot function without a housekeeper. If he has no one to help him, he will have to stop his preaching. And you told me this is exactly what our enemies want to happen.”

Catherine shrugged her shoulders. “If he has no housekeeper, perhaps he will consider marriage. I overheard some of the elders say his enemies would not dare hurt his wife the same way they would a mere housekeeper.”

“Brother Costin made the pronouncement that he wants Elizabeth to stay as his housekeeper, and now he has swayed most of the elders to his plan.” Their father huffed as he spoke. The exertion of kneading the coarse dough took more energy with each passing year. “But Elizabeth must not let their desires sway her.”

The
thump, thump
of the dough kept rhythm with their father’s heavy breathing. “No, my Elizabeth must discover God’s plans for her.”

She released a long pent-up breath. “But, Father, how will I know what God wants?”

Before her father could answer, Samuel’s bulky frame darkened the open doorway of the bakehouse and blocked the late afternoon sunshine.

“Come in, Samuel, my boy,” her father greeted. “Ye are early today. We have not lit the oven fire yet.”

Samuel stepped inside, carrying the basket of dough he always delivered for his aunt. He squinted through the dimness of the bakehouse. “How is Elizabeth? I was worrying and wanted to check on her health.”

Elizabeth hid her face in her hands and wished she could slip upstairs before he noticed her. He would want her answer and wouldn’t be satisfied unless it was an agreement to stop working for the Costins.

“She’s here,” her father said. “And we were just discussing the decision she must make.”

Samuel’s heavy steps clomped through the maze of bread-making equipment. His apologies followed the bumping and banging his body made.

When he finally reached her, his labored breath formed a cloud above her. His odor seeped around her—a day’s worth of sweat mixed with the strong scent of wood shavings.

She had the sudden urge to press herself into the wall. But if she tried to wheedle away or ignore him, she would affront his kindness—for he truly had been kind to her. As Catherine had indicated, he’d trusted her. He hadn’t believed any of the rumors, had stayed true to her. He’d even defended her reputation when it would have been easy to give up on her.

How could she refuse him now?

Tentatively she took her hands away from her face and opened her eyes to his stained cooper’s apron pulled tightly across his bulging middle.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m faring better, thank you.” She glanced upward to his face, but at the sight of his eyes, the anticipation within them, she dropped her gaze to her lap.

He stood mutely for a moment. His fingers scraped through his beard. Then with several grunts he managed to lower himself until he knelt in front of her.

“I’ve heard more rumors this day,” he huffed.

“They are buzzing about town like flies,” her father said. “We’ve been hearing enough of them today, Samuel, my boy. We don’t want to hear any more.”

“I wouldn’t repeat such rubbish, even if I was on the rack.”

“Good, my boy, good.”

Elizabeth bowed her head with the weariness of shame. How could she withstand additional rumors? Wasn’t the humiliation already sufficient?

“I’m sorry,” Samuel said.

“And I’m sorry for you, Samuel. You’re a good man, and you don’t deserve a wife with a tarnished reputation.”

He reached then pulled back, reached again and pulled back. He groped until his sweaty fingers finally made contact.

Elizabeth stared at her hand swallowed in his fleshy one. The feel of his skin was cold and clammy and sent bumps up her arm. She fought the distinct urge to jerk out of his grip.

She hadn’t wanted to pull away when John had touched her bruised cheek. Indeed, she’d liked it well enough that she’d longed for more.

What was wrong with her? How could she enjoy the touch of a man she could never have but feel revolted by the caring hold of the man she would have forever?

As if sensing her discomfort, Samuel let go. He cleared his throat and fumbled at his breeches, searching for a place to put his hands.

“I know the elders left the decision to you,” he started. “But with the increase of gossip, I must insist that you cease working for Brother Costin. Immediately.”

Even with his bumbling, his tone was firm and his eyes intense.

“Now, Samuel, my boy, let’s not be hasty.” Her father gave the bread dough the last punches. “We agreed to let Elizabeth make the decision. Ye cannot be making it for her.”

“But the rumors are getting worse. My honor is at stake, as well as Elizabeth’s.”

Elizabeth looked back at her hand, the hand he’d held. Should she reach for his hand and let him hold her again? Surely she’d not given him a fair chance. His hold should give her as much pleasure or even more than John’s.

Samuel grasped the bench and heaved himself upward. The bench wobbled and Elizabeth teetered. She grabbed it to keep from sliding off. When he finally stood, he hitched up his breeches underneath his apron.

Maybe she needed to try harder. Perchance she had been too busy for Samuel or hadn’t spent enough time with him yet to welcome his hold.

“You cannot go back.” Samuel’s tone took on the obstinacy of a child. “If you choose him, then you will lose me. I will not marry you.”

The room suddenly grew still and silent.

His words echoed through her head.
“If you choose him, then you will lose me. If you choose him, then you will lose me.”

Samuel pulled on his beard.

If she didn’t know better, she’d almost believe he was competing with John for her affection.

“What will it be?” he persisted. “Me or him?”

“Hold on, Samuel, my boy.”

Her father wiped his hands on his apron and cast Elizabeth the kind of look that said he did not want her to lose Samuel. He had seven daughters to marry off. She would only burden his conscience if she didn’t seize this opportunity for marriage when she had it.

“Ye cannot push this matter, especially when Brother Costin and the elders—”

“ ’Tis all right, Father.” There was no choice between Samuel or John. Samuel was all she had, and she couldn’t toss away the chance of lifelong marriage for a temporal housekeeping job. “I’ll do as Samuel wishes. I’ll stop working for the Costins.”

Samuel released a whoosh of air. The lines in his face smoothed into relief.

She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his anxiety. He truly had nothing to fear. But the emotion seeping through her was not humor. It was resignation. She must marry Samuel, and she couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Then I’ll go to the vicar and ask him to read the banns on the coming Sabbath.”

Elizabeth shook her head and reached out to the air as if to stop him. “All I ask is for one more day.”

He started to protest.

“Please.” She almost touched his hand but couldn’t go through with it. “Please let me say good-bye to the children and explain to them why I won’t be coming back.”

He hesitated.

“They lost their mother. Now they are losing me too. Please let me go. It will be my last day.”

He pulled his beard harder.

“Please. I need to say good-bye.” Her voice caught on the sadness that had pushed its way into her heart. How would she ever be able to say good-bye to them?

Samuel nodded. “That’s reasonable enough. One more day, then.”

One more day. The ache inside swelled against her chest. How would she ever survive it?

Chapter
17

Now I know why you love the Costin baby.” Lucy stepped back from the doorway and gave Elizabeth room to enter.

Something about the woman’s simple statement undressed her and made her want to turn away and hide. “Of course I love Thomas.”

She ducked into the one-room cottage where Sister Norton and Sister Spencer lived, grateful for the darkness of the early dawn. The glow of the fire cast flickering shadows and illuminated Lucy’s children sprawled on pallets near the hearth.

Elizabeth stepped around buckets and benches and placed the basket of bread on the table. Sister Spencer stood across from her, sawing through the crusty end of their last loaf.

Elizabeth nodded at her.

The widow pressed her lips together in a tight frown that vanished into the folds of her face.

Did everyone in Bedford believe the rumors about her and Brother Costin? Her heart burned with mortification. Didn’t they know her well enough to realize she was incapable of anything even remotely brazen when it came to men?

She lifted the warm wheaten loaves from the basket and placed them on the table. Then she slipped her arm through the basket handle and fumbled back toward the door.

Lucy lifted her eyebrows. “I always wondered why you were so set on savin’ that baby’s life.”

“For the same reason I deliver bread—because I want to help anyone in need.” She was tempted to remind Lucy of all the times she’d given
her
bread and assisted
her
. But she bit back the words. She’d have her chance on the Sabbath to defend herself. The elders wanted her to make a public statement in defense of John before the start of the service.

“I must be on my way to the Costins’,” she said. “Are you leaving now, Lucy? We can walk together.”

Lucy glanced at Sister Spencer.

The woman gave a slight shake of her head.

Lucy tucked a strand of her neatly plaited hair under her coif. She wore clean and mended clothes. Her face was unblemished, the lacerations and bruises a thing of the past. Except for a few scars, she had nothing left to tell the tale of her previous life with Fulke.

“I ’ave to shift the babe first, see?” Lucy looked down at her hands.

“Very well.” Elizabeth nodded and stepped out of the cottage, wishing she could as easily shed her shame.

“Ah, good morning, my dear,” Sister Norton said as she emerged from the corner of the cottage carrying two baskets laden with produce from the large garden she grew behind their home. The widow smiled, her eyes alight with her usual warm greeting.

Elizabeth’s throat tightened in an ache of gratitude. At least one of her friends hadn’t believed the rumors.

“Truly the harvest is more plentiful this year than I have ever seen,” Sister Norton said.

“Praise be to the Lord,” Elizabeth replied. “I believe He’s blessing you for your generosity in caring for Lucy despite your own struggle to survive.”

“Praise to the Lord is the truth. As I told Sister Spencer, if we are obedient to Him, He will provide. Moreover, I would rather starve in this short, temporary life and do what pleases Him, than starve for eternity in that place of judgment away from Him.”

“I cannot but think He’s pleased by the progress you’ve made with Lucy.”

Sister Norton lowered the baskets of vegetables to the ground. Some she would sell at the town market. The others she would save for the winter, either by drying or storing.

Elizabeth pictured the bean plants in the Costin garden, bent under the weight of the harvest and ready for picking. Who would dry the beans for winter now? John would surely have trouble finding someone else to finish all she’d started.

“Ah, ah, poor Lucy. Would that I progressed more with the state of her soul. What benefit is the washing away of her outward filth when her soul languishes in the mire?”

Elizabeth nodded, but her thoughts were tied to the Costins. How would the children survive without the proper stores?

Desperation clutched her insides. It had plagued her all night, since she had acquiesced to Samuel’s ultimatum. She reached a hand to her side, to the pain there.

Sister Norton clucked. “You poor, poor dear. Your back is still hurting?”

Lathered with salve and fresh bandages, her back was the least of her agonies at the present. “It does pain me a little. But ’tis the greater heartache at what I must do this morn that pains me most.”

The tall widow tilted her head.

“Samuel has insisted I stop working for the Costins or he won’t marry me. I go this morning to say good-bye to the children. ’Twill be my last day.”

Sister Norton searched Elizabeth’s face and eyes. “I didn’t think you’d marry the cooper.”

“You didn’t?”

“Ah, ah, my dear. It’s obvious you’ve grown to care about our Brother Costin.”

“Oh no.” Heat rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks. “No. Most certainly not.”

Sister Norton smiled.

“I won’t deny I’ve grown to love his children. But him? No. Most certainly not.” She forced a laugh at the thought.

“You may not yet realize it, my dear. But I’ve seen the signs oft enough to know. You love Brother Costin.”

“Absolutely not.” Embarrassment steamed over her like vapor from a boiling pot. “I think you’re mistaking me for Catherine or any of the other maidens in our congregation.”

“Ah, my dear, I’ve seen the look in your eyes when Brother Costin is near. And I haven’t seen that look when you’re with Samuel. It’s the look of a maid in love, to besure.”

“ ’Tis true I don’t have affections for Samuel. Ours is a practical match, a partnership. But I certainly don’t have affections for Brother Costin. I’m in his employ. Nothing more.”

“Surely you have felt differences in your regards of Brother Costin from Samuel.” She cocked her head, as if daring Elizabeth to contradict her.

’Twould be a lie to do so. She
had
felt differences, but it didn’t mean she loved him. “I have admiration for Brother Costin. He is an appealing man in many ways.”

The widow smiled gently and knowingly.

“But,” Elizabeth continued, “ ’tis only admiration you see in my eyes. That’s all.”

“Ah, my dear, but I see more than admiration in his eyes for you too.”

“That can’t be.”

“I witnessed the concern he had for you when you were sick. And I was there when he rushed to your side the day Lucy was in the pillory. I saw the way he looked at you.”

She didn’t need to ask what Sister Norton was talking about. Her mind replayed the time outside the bakehouse on the day of Lucy’s beating, when he’d kneeled before her. The intensity of his gaze had taken her breath away; the softness of his fingers on her cheek still made her stomach flutter. She would never forget. The sensations were burned into her memory forever.

But one moment of attention did not mean John cared for her. She was his housekeeper. That was all. He had grown to value her work. Had he not specifically asked for her to be his housekeeper, even after having the chance to have Catherine? He liked her work. And now he needed her help so that he could continue his ministry.

“Give him time, Elizabeth, my dear.” Sister Norton reached for the baskets of vegetables and looped her arm through each one. “He is still grieving for his dear Mary. But he’s shown there is room in his heart to love again.”

Elizabeth shook her head with a rush of denial. “Even if he should love again, why would he ever want someone like me? I count myself fortunate that Samuel Muddle is willing to marry me.”

“Ah, ah, my dear, you are a sweet child. But you’re naïve and most certainly don’t give yourself enough esteem.” The widow moved toward the cottage door and bumped it with her elbow to open it.

“I only try to see my outlook truthfully.”

With another bump, Sister Norton pushed the door open. “You are an attractive girl, my dear. It’s time for you to see that.”

A rebuttal formed on her lips.

Sister Norton gave her a sharp look that silenced any argument. “Far be it from me to tell you what to do, my dear.” She hefted the baskets higher on her arms, the weight hunching her shoulders. “This I will say, though. You’re a desirable young woman. Any man would be fortunate to take you as his wife.”

* * *

“Any man would be fortunate to take you as his wife.”

Elizabeth shuffled her feet, kicking up dust. The words pounded through her mind to her soul.

She knew what the words meant: Sister Norton didn’t believe Samuel Muddle was her one and only prospect for marriage.

But how could the widow possibly be right? Plain Elizabeth Whitbread? Desirable?

Elizabeth’s clutch on her bread basket was as tight as the agony that gripped her heart. No man had ever paid her any attention until Samuel. And anything John had shown her was just a fleeting moment of a dream.

What did the widow know? Elizabeth swung the basket in a burst of indignation. She was mistaken to think Elizabeth had grown to love John. ’Twas an absolutely absurd notion. More preposterous was the conception John might have feelings for her.

She reached up and tucked a stray wisp of hair back under her coif. Surely she was still as plain as she was always? She sucked in her stomach. The rough linen slipped lower on her waist. She had grown thinner in the past weeks, mostly due to her illness.

But that didn’t mean she’d somehow grown more desirable, did it? She lifted her hand to her cheek, then to her nose. Her features hadn’t changed.

She dropped her arm with a short laugh. ’Twas vain to be thinking of such things. She would do best to focus on the difficult task of saying good-bye to the children.

When she arrived at the Costins’, she stopped at the door. Her body tensed with the dread of facing the sweet little faces and kissing them good-bye.

Giggles from within the cottage tore at her heart and brought tears to her eyes.

She couldn’t put off the inevitable. She’d come to say good-bye, and now she must do it. With a deep breath, she forced the door open and stepped inside.

“You’re here!”

Before she could close the door or set her basket down, Mary flung her arms around her and buried her face into her chest.

Elizabeth bit back a cry of pain from the pressure against the wounds in her back.

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back.” The words trembled on the trail of a sob.

Elizabeth dropped the bread basket and wrapped the girl in an embrace. Unshed tears squeezed Elizabeth’s throat, making it ache.

“She’s back!” Betsy rushed to her and threw herself onto Elizabeth too, with Johnny following, wheedling his body into the melee.

With a choke, Elizabeth opened her arms to receive them. She pressed a kiss onto each of their heads, her tears anointing them with her love. Her embrace tightened as the anguish in her chest radiated outward. How could she say good-bye? How could she leave them when she loved them so?

“Father didn’t think you would choose us,” Mary said, her tangled golden curls falling over tear-streaked cheeks. “He said Samuel would win.”

Elizabeth smiled through her tears. Did men have to make everything a competition?

“I knew you would want us,” Betsy said with a smile that filled her face. “I know I cannot call you Momma, but that’s what you are.”

“Momma,” Johnny repeated, letting go and jumping up and down.

She couldn’t speak past the constriction of her throat, and the agony of what she must do pierced her.

“We won’t let anything else happen to you,” Betsy said, stepping back and gazing at her with earnest eyes. “Father said we wouldn’t let you get hurt again.”

“That is very kind of you.” Elizabeth swiped her cheeks, trying to dry them, knowing she would be safe but not because of anything John might do to protect her. She would be safe because she would no longer be with them. She would be with Samuel. And that would be the protected, secure life she wanted. Would it not?

“Good day, Elizabeth.” John’s voice came from behind her, from the open doorway.

Using her sleeve to finish drying her cheeks, she spun around. Flames spurted into her cheeks at the thought of John overhearing the children’s declarations. Surely that one little word
Momma
would drum up his anger.

He filled the doorframe and leaned against the post, his arms crossed at his chest. In the shadows of the cottage, his eyes were dark and unreadable. For a moment she wished she could run to a place where she wouldn’t have to face his disappointment and anger. For he would surely find no pleasure in her company once she shared her decision.

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly.

“Good day, Brother Costin.” But ’twas
not
a good day. ’Twas indeed a horrible day, as he would soon know.

“Methinks it could not have been an easy decision for you to make.”

“ ’Twas the hardest decision I have ever made.” Even now she wondered if she had chosen correctly. Was she right to accept Samuel’s ultimatum?

John shoved away from the doorframe and crossed the short span that separated them. When he stood in front of her, she saw the softness in his eyes. “I’ve had much time to think since the Sabbath meeting, and perhaps Samuel is right. My home is too dangerous for you.”

His words toppled the precarious defenses she’d tried to build. He didn’t want her? Was he letting her go that easily? “But I thought you needed help—”

He put a finger to her lips.

The warmth of his skin brushed against the sensitive fullness of her lips and silenced her words and thoughts.

“How can I leave every morning, wondering what will happen in my absence, worrying if you and the children are safe while I’m away?”

“I would never let anything happen to the children—”

The pressure of his finger stopped her. “You truly have a servant’s heart and have only sought to help me in my time of direst need, without ulterior motives, with no thought of reward.”

The feathery lightness of his finger sent finches to flight in her middle. At his merest touch she could think of nothing else, nothing but his nearness and the gentle cadence of his voice.

“Even though I know you would continue to sacrifice for me and the children, I don’t want you to get hurt again, Elizabeth.” His voice turned to whisper. “I truly don’t.”