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“Ah - ” breathed Elizabeth, deeply relieved and proud too. Obviously that foolish Sally had exaggerated her tale. She walked home again in a happy mood, and was further reassured when Robert came running in later and very nearly wept with delight at seeing her back.

In his cuirass, high boots, and red sword-sash of office he looked more manly than she had ever seen him, and she responded with warmth to his embrace. She never questioned him about the period of her absence, and he never referred to it

CHAPTER TEN

On Wednesday, May 14, 1634, Boston held a meeting of the General Court and an election by ballot which resulted in shock and humiliation for John Winthrop. He had been under a constant fire of criticism lately. Watertown continued to clamour for a direct voice in the government. The other towns followed suit, particularly Newtown, where Dudley’s disapproval of Winthrop now gained backing from the newly arrived minister, Thomas Hooker.

John Winthrop himself had a new partisan in the Reverend John Cotton, who had arrived last year from Boston in Old England, to share new Boston’s church pulpit with Wilson. Cotton was a dramatic preacher and a striking man, with his fresh rosy face and fluffy white hair. He believed as thoroughly as Winthrop did in the Bible Commonwealth and in the divine right of vested authority. And he preached a sermon informing the people that those set over them to rule must never be deprived of power and “turned into private men” except for extraordinary wickedness. The people listened, but fear had been growing. They had fled Old England to avoid the tyranny of kings, and many thought that someone as entrenched and arbitrary as a king was rapidly developing in their midst. Also it was pointed out that sinister meaning might well lurk in the Winthrop family motto
“Spes vincit thronum.”

Many too pondered uncertainly over Winthrop’s pronouncement that “If we should change from a mixt aristocratie to a mere Democratie, first we should have no warrant in Scripture for it - there was no such government in Israel, and a Democratic is, amongst nations, accounted the meanest and worst of all forms of government.” On the whole they agreed with him, yet some wondered uneasily whether the Bay Colony was never to be permitted
any
form of government except that used by Hebrews many thousands of years ago.

The unrest grew, and in April a delegation of freemen from each town waited on Winthrop and, demanding a look at the Charter, crowed with triumph at finding it stating that they should take part in the General Court and all law-making. The Governor, who did not so interpret the clause, kept his temper with difficulty, and finally conceded as a favour that he would allow each town to select three men to appear at the court as representatives for the other church members. Those not so sanctified had naturally no hope of legislative voice. The delegation accepted this concession with only temperate enthusiasm, and when John told Margaret about it his voice shook.

“The ingrates,” he said. “I gave them all that they could want - and more. They’ve not the wits to rule, or meddle with the laws. The best part of a community is always the least, and of that best part the wiser ones are fewer yet. As the excellent Mr. Cotton said, ‘If the people be Governor who shall be governed?’ Consider, Margaret, if Groton Manor had been ruled by tenants, what a sorry botch they would have made!”

Margaret agreed anxiously, not understanding all this very well except that John was harassed, and as usual exhausting himself trying to govern people, many of whom were unappreciative, and inexplicably hostile. Besides, she was near to term in another pregnancy and, though in better health than last time, had no thought for public worries.

The towns hastened to avail themselves of their new privilege and each chose three deputies to go to Boston and the General Court on May 14. Watertown picked its three largest landowners: Richard Browne, John Oldham, the Indian trader, and Robert Feake.

Thus it was that the whole Feake family was in Boston on Election Day and that Elizabeth was standing with other women on the sunny green outside the meetinghouse listening to the hum of male voices inside and wondering why there was a sudden hush, then an uproar of shouts, groans, handclappings, and hisses.

She soon found out, for Jack Winthrop who, as one of the colony assistants, had of course been present, stalked out of the meetinghouse looking grim and, seeing her, came over. “They’ve ousted Father,” he said in a low tense voice. “Dudley’s in.”

“What!” cried Elizabeth, staring at him. “You don’t mean Dudley’s to be
Governor?”
It was impossible to think of her uncle as anything but supreme authority; impossible and disconcerting too, unnatural.

“Aye,” said Jack. “Father’s not even deputy. Roger Ludlow is. Those new selectmen did it.”

“Not Robert - ?” she faltered, frowning and still trying to rearrange her ideas.

“Oh no, not Robert, of course - but most of the others.” Jack laughed suddenly on a sharp note. “Ah well, it’s an ill wind that blows good to none. Dudley’s been hankering after this for years, and Father needs a rest. He’ll put a good face on it, though ‘tis a bitter pill, for now Dudley’ll move the capital to Newtown - well entrenched with his cronies, Ludlow, the Reverend Mr. Hooker, and John Haynes.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Elizabeth, astonished to find that she felt sorry for her uncle; and in a few moments, proud of him, as he walked out of the meetinghouse side by side with Dudley, who was flushed with victory. Winthrop held his head high, his smile was tight, but it
was
a smile, as he ceremoniously waved to his beadle and halberdiers to take their places before the new Governor. He showed none of his inner confusion and dismay while he laboured to accept, not the will of the people, for this he considered stupid if not wicked, but what was perhaps the Will of God.

“I must go to him,” said Jack, watching his father walk with Dudley while the people cheered uncertainly. “Dudley and Council will dine with us as arranged before this - this reversal. ‘Twill not be an easy meal - but Bess - I must ask you something first.”

“Yes?” she said, wondering. She had seen Jack but seldom since her marriage and not at all since he and Martha had moved thirty miles north to the new settlement at Agawam last autumn.

“ ‘Tis my poor Martha,” he said. “Hasn’t she written to you that for three months or so she is at last with child?”

“No!” Elizabeth cried. “Jack, how wonderful! But why hasn’t she written? I confess it pains me that she hasn’t.”

“Oh, she’s had a cold, and her spirits are mopish,” he said with some exasperation: “She has nervous fancies, like all breeding women, I suppose. But she longs for you, Bess. I found her weeping over a fine lace handkerchief she says you gave her once at Christmas in London years ago. ‘Tis wild country up there and lonely, so few women yet. Bess - could you?”

“Go to Agawam?” she said slowly, thinking of Robert, Joan, and her own baby of scarce a year, and still unweaned.

“Aye,” he said. “If you could go to Agawam, or Ipswich rather, for so we’ve named it - just for a visit, I know ‘twould cheer her. I must be away so much and she frets after me, poor lass, she’s so timid.”

“To be sure I’ll go,” Elizabeth said after a moment. She looked up into his steady brown eyes. He clasped her hand, said, “God bless you, we’ll arrange later,” and strode off down King Street towards the Winthrop home.

Robert came out of the meetinghouse much distressed at the way the election had gone, and fearful that Winthrop might somehow blame him for not having influenced the other two Watertown deputies. Elizabeth reassured him, and forbore mentioning Martha or the trip to Ipswich as yet. This was a holiday, the only one permitted by the colony, and the Feakes, like all the settlers from nearby towns, planned to enjoy it, no matter who was Governor. The Feakes had come down-river by water and brought food in baskets. Before running off to amuse themselves, Sally and the menservants laid out the provisions on the grassy slope of Trimount, in the shadow of apple trees planted around William Blackstone’s spring. The centre of the Common was still nearly treeless, and very hot on this bright May day, so that other family parties crowded near the Feakes, and there was a temporary awkwardness when members of the Dudley clan ensconced themselves nearby. These were the new Governor’s daughter - Anne Bradstreet and her children; also Mary and Sam with their baby. Robert, at once embarrassed, wanted to move away, but Joan darted over to play with the little Bradstreets, and Elizabeth, feeling that constraint was untenable, called out laughing to Mary, “Aren’t
you
the fortunate lass! Since you have a father for Governor no matter
what
happens!”

Mary smiled. The tall dreamy Anne Bradstreet, who never seemed quite aware of her surroundings, looked around and smiled too. Soon all the new babies were being compared, and Robert was relieved when he heard his own little Lisbet admired. She was very like him in colouring, a silvery fairylike child, undemanding and quiet. She had given Elizabeth no trouble at her birthing, and she seldom cried now. Robert was wonderingly proud of her and had insisted she be named for his wife, much against Elizabeth’s wishes, who yearned for something romantic like Celia or Pernelle. But Robert had shown a curious streak of stubbornness until Elizabeth had yielded. And now in its shortened form of Lisbet the name did suit the child.

That Election Day was a merrier gathering than any Elizabeth had seen in New England. Several ships had come in that week; the town was full of newcomers, by no means all of them strict Puritans. On that brilliant spring day, little Boston wore an almost settled and cosmopolitan air. The ships had made quick voyages and had supplies left to sell. John Coggin, a wealthy merchant, had opened the first general shop, and public pressure had finally resulted in a licensed tavern - an ordinary - run by one Samuel Cole. The delighted settlers patronized it lavishly, though Cole’s brother, Robert, wandering the streets with a red D for Drunkard sewn on his doublet, also provided a warning which went unheeded as the day advanced, Nobody was very sure how severe Dudley would be on moral laxities, and it seemed reasonable to enjoy oneself in the interregnum. Moreover, Boston’s ministers, Cotton and Wilson, were dining at the Winthrops’, so that except for the very godly, who soon withdrew to their homes, there was no curb on the normal English love of sports, drinking, and horseplay. It was very like a Fair Day at Boxford.

There were three military leaders in the colony now, by the addition of John Mason, who commanded the Dorchester militia, and on the parade ground all the captains held competitive drilling of their train bands, which produced an agreeable background of stamping feet, drums, fifes, and occasional wild musket shots. Soon there was singing too. Some of the new-come lasses and lads began the May songs they had loved in their English villages, and Robert Cole, unabashed by his red badge of shame and half tipsy despite it, started up the ballad “Robin Hood and Little John, They both are gone to the fair, O!”

The sport rapidly grew rougher. A squealing greased pig was brought and set loose for the young men to catch, there was a tug-of-war, and a wild sack race to the ducking pond and back. Near the Feake and Dudley parties somebody started to play the fiddle and a group of youngsters from Essex caught hands and began to dance while the surrounding ring jiggled and clapped hands and cheered when shrieking girls were caught and kisses snatched.

“This is getting very lewd,” said Mary, drawing her brows together like her father. “Samuel, I think you should stop them. Dear me, isn’t that
Stephen,
wrestling with that chandler’s boy?”

Elizabeth, who was thoroughly enjoying herself and wishing she dared dance, looked with interest where Mary was pointing. It was indeed Stephen, Margaret’s eldest son. He was as panting and yelling and as dirty as any of them, and this despite his dramatic conversion two months ago, when, as Winthrop had solemnly recorded in his Journal, the fourteen-year-old Stephen had been

buffeted by Satan, and so broken for his sins that he mourned and languished
daily,
until at last he confessed his blasphemous and wicked thoughts openly and was freed
from
temptation and received into the church,

“Aye - His Worship - that is - Mr. Winthrop will be much upset when he sees this revelry - ” said Robert nervously, while Samuel went off to reprimand Stephen.
^:
Come, wife, I think we should go.”

“Wait,” Elizabeth said, scarcely listening. She stood up and, shielding her eyes, peered down the Common where there was a cannon-ball-pitching contest. There was something familiar about the large figure which was whirling and flinging the heavy iron ball.

“I’ll

be back soon,” she said to the astonished Robert. She walked around the dancers and down the strip of trampled rough grass through the crowd until she came to the contest. “Will Hallet,” she whispered, and felt a peculiar, not entirely pleasant thrill. He had changed a good deal in three years, grown and broadened so that he was much larger than all the other men except his opponent - Bigelow, the blacksmith. Will’s face was still fresh coloured though shadowed now by a stubble of beard, his lank hair was darker and cut off below his ears. His sweaty leather doublet hung open and disclosed a chest full of curly hair. As he lifted the cannon ball with two hands and swung it back for the throw, the muscles swelled in his powerful arms and long sturdy thighs. The ball fell on the far side of a stick, beyond that thrown by the blacksmith, and some of the crowd cheered. “Good lad, Will I Go it, Hallet. I’ve, bet all my pence on ye!” Others groaned and encouraged the smith,

Elizabeth waited at the edge of the crowd until the cannon balls were thrown again and Hallet won, when a pretty girl of about sixteen rushed up to him and, throwing a garland of green maple leaves around his neck, gave him a hearty kiss. Oh, thought Elizabeth. Of course, there’d be a girl with blue eyes and yellow ringlets, maybe there was even a babe at home somewhere.

She turned to leave, chiding herself for the unconsidered impulse which had made her rush over here, when Hallet saw her. The girl was clinging to his arm, but he pushed her aside impatiently, tore off the maple wreath and strode towards Elizabeth. “Mistress Winthrop?” he said with the gently-bred intonation which seemed so incongruous with his rough shabby clothes and workman’s haircut.