A Place in His Heart (10 page)

Mary moved close to her husband. “Yes, is that all right? 'Tis but a nickname I picked for him, but he told me Ann would call him that too. I did not know.”

He settled his cheek atop her head. The scent of jasmine teased his nostrils and he remembered the day long ago when he first took her into his arms in his bakeshop. “That she did. And he is all right with this?”

“Yes. We had a conversation about remembering his mother and I told him I would be pleased to go with him to the cemetery, whenever he should like to think about her. I think it helped him, Barney, and I know it helped me.”

“Very well, then. He misses his mother, to be sure.”

“He is very much like his father.”

“Shall we make a pastry for our roast beef?” He didn't wait for her answer but pulled out a crock of flour. “Could you fetch me a pot of butter?” Trouble creased his brow as he waited for her. “Aye, Joseph is much like me. At times I wish he were not, for I can be very stubborn. This reminds me of something, Mary. I have something exciting to tell you. I have been talking to Jeremy and he tells me he's begun work on his ship.”

“He is such the adventurer. I did not realize he was that serious, though.”

“He is in talks with the Petts and plans to be shipmaster of his own ship.”

“Truly? How extraordinary.”

“He is, he is. He tells me it will be a few years, but he says he will sail for the Massachusetts Bay Colony and he's brought me word about the Reverend John Youngs.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Do you recall me telling you about him? He is curate in Reydon, near Southwold. He plans on leaving from Yarmouth for Boston sometime in the future. Thomas and Jane speak of that too. Jeremy thinks his ship could be ready by then. We could be on the same ship.”

“By your leave, I pray thee, explain what you mean. You are speaking of sailing to New England? Is it true, Barnabas, what Jeremy said at our wedding?”

Her eyes were the flinty gray he had come to know as trouble. It had been over a year since their wedding and Barnabas had not brought up a desire to go to New England again. Apparently, she had never forgotten Jeremy's indiscretion.

“Mary, you know it is hard times these days. Do you recall
my good friend Peter Hobart? He plans to sail to New England as well. The persecution from Parliament is intolerable for him. You are well aware that last year I myself had to petition the courts on behalf of our good friends the Tuttles. Simon was reported to Parliament for nonconformity. Can you imagine? They are inventing things to go after the people they want and I do not believe it will improve. To a degree, when that happens to our friends, it happens to us.

“Word is John Cotton is nowhere to be found. Mayhap he has already sailed for New England. I feel I can do great things in Massachusetts. Churches are being established, townships founded. I desire to be a part of that. I have been much interested in what Reverend Youngs has to say. He supports Reverend Davenport in his decision to go to the New World.”

“Why have you not been speaking to me of such? Why am I just finding this out now? Why did all of your family seem to know this of you before our wedding, yet you did not share any of it with me, Barnabas? Did you not deem it important? You, who feel so strongly about your faith, do you not feel you were lying to me? Do you not feel you have betrayed me?” She threw her hands up in disgust.

He squared his shoulders. Her outburst was uncalled for. “Jeremy was out of place when he spoke. There is danger in too much talk.” He folded his arms. “Besides, it is not my duty to tell my wife everything I might be pondering!”

“Oh, 'tis not, Barnabas? 'Tis done, then.” With that she picked up the crock of flour, ceremoniously dumped it over his head, and stormed from the kitchen.

February 1634

The memory of her wedding drifted like a rose petal in a bubbling brook, overtaken much of the time by day-to-day chores, but surfacing from time to time—mostly when Lizzie came to visit with her children in tow.

Each year on February 14, Barney presented Mary with a wedding cake as beautiful as the one he'd made for her the day they were married.

Each year Mary's longing for his babe in her arms deepened, though she became more practiced in hiding her disappointment. Most of the time.

Lizzie's fourth baby was another little girl, named Hannah after Zeke's mother.

Three years of lessons in spinning and sewing, and embroidery still challenged Mary. Such a lesson was the backdrop for their chatter on this cold winter day. The children played all around them, with little Hannah determined to keep up.

Mary stuck the needle through her cloth. “'Tis so good to hear Joseph playing with Joshua and the girls. It seems to be
the only time he is able to relax and enjoy being a child.” She looked up from her needlework to smile at her sister.

“He is a good boy.” Lizzie lowered her voice. “But much troubled, I think.”

Mary watched as the girls chased the boys out of the parlor. “That he is. He misses Ann. He will not call me Mother, although he is polite about that most of the time. I have grown to love him as my own, though, and I grieve for him.”

“Just be patient with him and pray for him. 'Tis all you can do.” Lizzie looked over at her sister's work. “Your stitches are looking very even, but shall we turn it over and review the underside? What is underneath is very important as well.”

Mary peeked underneath. “Nay, do not look. I can do better.” She picked up a new cloth and began again.

Lizzie's laugh tinkled like raindrops on crystal. She stood and stretched. “You've mastered stitching a straight seam on garments, indeed they are almost invisible. But without some pretty embroidered flowers or birds, they shall be plain indeed. Let me show you how to hold your fabric.” She bent over Mary's work.

“Ben misses his mother too, but he does seem to be doing very well. I think he would like to have a little brother or sister.” Mary paused as Hannah took a tumble and picked herself up again without a whimper.

Lizzie looked up and caught her tender look. “I know we have spoken of this before, but when do you think that might happen?”

“I think about it all of the time. I don't know. Barney says in God's time. He is right, of course, but I do find myself impatient. I know he wants another child, and I feel sometimes I let him down.”

“Do you take the honey mixture?”

“Yes, I have. Occasionally.”

“Do not fret too much over how Barnabas feels about it. Sometimes when a woman relaxes and lets nature have its way, things happen.” She nodded at Mary.

“I try not to fret about it, but I fear Barney does.” She sighed and pushed away a fallen tendril from her face. “Not to change the subject, but have I ever told you Barney still holds to some of the old ideas of bloodletting and such. A bit antiquated, do you not think?”

“Barnabas is not likely to change. But you are his wife now and should be taking charge of all his care and the children's.” She looked directly at Mary to make her point.

“I know that, Lizzie, and I take all of your instruction to heart. But Barney has not even given me the tongs yet. I feel like he runs the house and almost prefers it that way. I try and try, but look at me. No babe, no kitchen tongs. But someday, Lizzie—I just need to keep working at it.” She said the words with conviction, but could she really try harder?

The door swung open and both Mary and Lizzie lowered their needlework to their laps. The children gathered quietly as Barney came through. “We've a message from Jeremy. He tells me Reverend Youngs would like us to stay with him in Southwold on holiday.”

Lizzie's eyes lit up. “Mary, a holiday at the beach?”

“That shall be lovely, Barney. When would we be going?”

“Not for a fortnight. I will need to arrange to leave the bakeshop for a few days.”

Lizzie rose and motioned her children to say their goodbyes. She leaned close to Mary's ear. “You take the honey mixture with you, Mary. 'Tis an elixir.” She winked as she pulled away.

Barney harped constantly. Not Lizzie too. Mary's cheeks tingled with the blush she knew all could see.

Lizzie hugged her tight. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “See you soon.”

Mary watched the little family hurry down the lane and sighed. She was giving it her all. What more could she do?

Mary spread her gowns on the bed. The dinner invitation had come by messenger the week before, and every day since she'd taken her frocks from the wardrobe, fretting over what to wear. They had been to visit Papa, of course, but this was special, this was his birthday.

“You spend too much time on your apparel, my sweet.” Barney stood at the door. “You will look pretty in whichever you choose. Mayhap the gray?”

“The gray? Yes, I like it very much. I shall have to decide.”

“Very well. It will be good to see Ezekiel once again,” he said as he walked to the parlor.

She picked up the gray and held it to her. She twirled a bit, then set it down and put on the green silk.

Picking up a comb, she padded out to the parlor. “'Tis been a long time since we were all together at Papa's.” She sat and combed each boy's hair and scrubbed Ben's chubby face, wiping it with her apron. He squirmed, but grinned through it all. She handed the rag to Joseph and he quickly ran it over his cheeks and chin.

She heard Baldy out front and pulled on her silk slippers. She pulled on her cape and tucked her hair beneath the hood.

She held out coats for the boys. “Come, boys, your father is ready.”

He helped Mary up first, eyeing her gown as he handed her
a sack of ginger cakes. “You wore that dress the day you came to the bakeshop with Elizabeth.”

“Yes, I did. This is my favorite dress, can you tell?”

“Aye. I like the color. It is very becoming on you. But do you not feel the lace calls attention too much? And the shine of the fabric? Might it be above our standing? We've been over this before and you know how I feel. Why do you persist?”

His words bit at her like Baldy's horseflies. “I like to look pretty for you. You never forbade this dress. Do you not enjoy seeing me in it? Besides, Papa likes it. Please, Barney, I'm looking so forward to our visit. Can we be happy?”

He handed Ben up and turned to find Joseph eager to climb up front. “May I handle the reins, Father?”

“Aye, Joseph, good idea. Be sure to let him know who is in control. Baldy is a wise one.”

“I know how. I watch you.”

Barney climbed up with a smile and looked back at his wife. “I will have to remember that. You are right, my sweet. I do like the dress on you.”

As they pulled up in front of the Langton house, Joshua and Ruth ran out to greet Jay. Lizzie followed with Hannah on her hip, as Rachel ran to keep up. “The children could not wait until you were here.”

“Lizzie, 'tis so good to see you. Where is Papa?”

“He's out at the barn with Ezekiel. He has something to show you. Barnabas, good morrow to you. You shall want to see this as well.”

“Good morrow to you, Elizabeth. Benjamin was just talking about the lambs.”

“Oh, he does have lambs out there, to be sure.” She winked at Ben and received a big smile from him in return.

Lizzie put Hannah down and they all followed Barney along the path behind the house.

The ash and birch trees lent shade to the walk, and the scent of roses and lavender drifted from the garden beyond. As they entered the barn, Mary breathed in the aroma of sweet hay mingling with the pungent odor of dung, a familiar scent that she loved. She walked past the row of stalls, Barney, her sister, and the children behind her; Northstar, a yearling, put his head over a stall door to greet her.

“There, baby, you are a good boy.” She patted the bold star on his forehead.

They continued down the corridor and she could hear Papa and Zeke speaking in quiet tones. Both men turned to them and stood as they approached. Mary was the first to reach the stall and peered in. “Oh, Papa. Look, Ben and Rach. See how small he is?”

“It is a filly. A little girl,” Papa said.

“What shall you name her?”

“I believe Starlight. Do you see that faint little star on her forehead? Yes, I like Starlight.”

“Oh, I do too.” Mary bent to trace her finger around the star. The filly raised her delicate nose to nuzzle her fingers. “Why, hello there, little Starlight. You are a beauty.”

“Good you like the name, my girl, because she will be yours someday.” Papa looked pleased with himself.

“Thank you. So much.” She hugged Papa and turned to Barney with a grin. “I shan't have to ride Baldy anymore.”

“Heigh-ho, and Baldy thought you loved him.”

The clan celebrated their patriarch's birthday with a fine dinner, and after much fawning over little Hannah—and the new filly—Papa turned to Mary. “So, my dear. What about you?”

“What about me?” Her smile was expectant.

“A babe. When shall you give me another grandchild?”

Her face burned and she looked away. She could not think of a proper reply, and Barnabas just stared at her.

Lizzie stood up. “Father, for shame. 'Tis not right to make poor Mary speak of such things here at the table with children present. She shall decide when the time is correct for such matters.”

Mary pushed back from the table. “No, Lizzie, I am fine.” She knew her eyes would betray her and she kept them lowered as she turned to her father. “I do pray for that, Papa. I think about it all of the time, it seems. Barney does too. Perhaps it is not in God's plan for us to have one of our own.”

Barney stood and came to her side. “Nay, my sweet, do not think that. He will bless us in His time.”

“I think that is true.” Papa stood. “Children, you are excused. You may play outside, but until I join you, please stay out of the barn. We need to make certain little Starlight has her time to rest.” He turned back to Mary. “You have always been so very good at nurturing. I have always loved that in you. To be sure, you will be a good mother. You are now, my dear. If God does not bless you with a child of your own, He will bless you in many other ways. Of that I am certain.”

On the ride back home Mary was quiet, lost in her thoughts. Jay and Ben bantered back and forth over who might ride Starlight first. As they approached their home, Barnabas drew back on the reins. “Enough, boys. Starlight has plenty of growing before she is big enough for you to ride, and by then I daresay neither of you will care who is first.”

He helped Mary from the wagon and sent the boys to put Baldy in the barn. “I was surprised your father told you God might bless you in other ways.”

“'Tis true, do you not think?”

“We desire a child so much, Mary, I do pray that He will give us one. I am patient. I know it will be in His own time.”

“You do not sound patient to me, Barney. It seems you are always talking about it. Asking me, just like Papa did. Lizzie knows how much that hurts me.”

“I do not know why the question should hurt. It is an honest question.”

“It makes me aware how much time has passed and still no babe. There is only so much time and then . . .”

“Then what?”

“Why, then a woman no longer can. She is old.”

Barnabas finally chuckled. “You have a long way to go until you are old. If that is your worry, please stop it.”

“'Tis not funny and do not tell me to stop it. Or perhaps you should like to sleep with Baldy tonight!” She flounced to the door.

“Gracious, woman, and how would that solve anything?” He charged for the barn, in a fume.

“There is nothing I shall want solved tonight,” she called, but hoped he did not hear.