The Preacher's Bride (5 page)

“What is wrong with your eyes that you must hide them from me?”

Her chest rose up and down rapidly. “Nothing is wrong with my eyes. Indeed, they are working altogether
too
well this day.”

He reached a hand out and fingered the edge of the apron.

Through the veil of linen, her gaze followed the path of his strong bare arm to his wide shoulders, and then down his smooth chest to his navel. “Oh, this is terrible! Most terrible! You must go away. Please leave. You must leave!”

“Go away? Leave?” He gave a light tug on the material. “Methinks you are forgetting something important here.”

His face loomed closer.

Her breath drowned in her chest.

“You’re forgetting this is my home, and if anyone is to be doing the leaving, it will be you.” With his final word, he yanked the apron and pulled it from her grasp, forcing it down, so that she stared eye level at his well-defined chest.

With another shriek, she pinched her eyes shut. “I only meant that you must clothe yourself.”

He was quiet, as if finally understanding the impropriety of the situation.

She half-opened her eyes and prayed he would see the error of his ways.

He gave her a lazy, lopsided grin. Then he slapped his chest and rubbed his stomach before finally lifting his arms into the air.

She couldn’t stifle her gasp. “Brother Costin!”

He gave a short laugh. “I haven’t long been a part of the Independent Congregation. And there are still many things a former rebel and chief of sinners such as I must learn about Puritan ways.”

“Apparently so. Modesty and prudence are virtues of great worth.”

“In my youth it would have been a strange occasion for a maiden to hide her eyes from the sight of me thus unclothed. The maidens I once knew were much less chaste.”

“ ’Twould seem that way.” She was glad he didn’t have to know that she had looked at him—not long to besure—but it had been enough time to give herself an education in the male physique. “Now, Brother Costin, I must say it again—this is a most awkward situation—”

“Say no more.” He turned away from her. “I promise I’ll clothe myself, if you promise not to scare the children again.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help smiling. He had a charisma about him that made him easy to like. She could understand now why he was winning many souls for the Lord—and why he was winning the favor of all of the eligible young women. Not that
she
was one of those women—she wasn’t weak enough to let a man’s charm sweep her away.

She waited until he crossed the room to his study, listening to his heavy steps retreating before she opened her eyes. However, she was a second too soon. As he entered his closet, she saw his back.

She sucked in a breath. If the front of him was a sight of physical perfection, then his back was the opposite. Patches of purplish red skin marred the expanse of muscles.

She cringed at the thought of the amount of pain he had experienced to receive such scars.

“For all of the fuss you made about not looking at Father,” Mary said, “you sure are taking advantage of every opportunity to stare.”

Elizabeth jumped. She hurried across the room, took hold of the crying Thomas, and comforted him. She tried to ignore the bright blue eyes that followed her every movement even though they were blind.

Elizabeth realized that for one who was sightless, the girl could see more than most.

Chapter
5

Should I call you Momma?”

Elizabeth sat back on her heels and dusted the dirt from her hands. She peered out from the brim of her wide hat at the little girl kneeling in the herb patch next to her. Betsy’s face was smudged and her hands caked with soil. Her efforts to help prune the herb garden had evolved into the concocting of mud biscuits and weed soup.

“Since I don’t have a momma anymore, could you be my new one?”

Elizabeth smiled at the upturned face and brushed at a streak on the girl’s cheek. She was flattered the children had quickly grown to like her. Yet she was at a loss to answer such a question. How simply a four-year-old mind worked—thinking she could gain a new mother merely by the asking.

Elizabeth lifted her gaze to the forge to the outline of Brother Costin on his bench, illuminated by the brazier within. With his narrow tinman’s hammer, he shaped a piece of tinplate over the stake in front of him. The tapping echoed out the door and over the cottage plot—a pleasant, comfortable sound.

For a man grieving over the woman he’d lost just over a fortnight past, finding another wife was likely the furthest thing from his mind. Besides, he was a busy man. When he wasn’t gone preaching or locked away in his study, he labored in his forge, repairing kettles and pots and anything else the locals needed him to fix.

She’d hardly had the chance to speak with him, which had worked to her advantage. She wasn’t avoiding him—exactly. But he’d never officially given her permission to stay, and she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to send her home.

Elizabeth glanced to Mary under one of the apple trees with Johnny snuggled on her lap. He sucked the thumb of one hand and with the other fingered the edges of Mary’s curls. Thomas slept near Mary on a bed of blankets, quiet for the moment. Her gentle lilting voice rose and fell with the drama of David and Goliath—the story Johnny always asked her to tell.

“Momma is a good name.” Betsy stood so that she was at eye level. “Don’t you agree?”

“Oh, Betsy,
Momma
is a wonderful name.” She brushed her hand against the girl’s cheek. “But it can only belong to the woman married to your father.”

Betsy’s eyebrows furrowed.

Did a mind as young as Betsy’s even comprehend marriage? Elizabeth stroked her cheek trying to think of another way to explain.

“So if you marry Father, then I could call you Momma?”

“Well, yes, but ’tis not that easy—”

“Then you must marry my father.” Betsy shook the dirt from her skirt. “I shall go ask him this instant.”

“Oh—no, no, love.” Elizabeth jumped up and grabbed Betsy’s arm before she could dart away. “ ’Tis much more complicated than that.”

“I shall make it easy.” The girl squirmed under Elizabeth’s firm grip. “I promise.”

“Let me tell you about marriage.” Elizabeth lowered herself back to the ground and pulled Betsy onto her lap.

The girl settled herself and peered up at Elizabeth with wide eyes.

“ ’Tis like this.” Where did she start?

Her gaze wandered around the garden with its freshly turned soil and tiny sprouts showing in places. She had planted her own family’s cottage plot more than a month ago but was only now bringing order to the Costins’.

To besure she could plant a garden. But she was not the most qualified candidate for giving a marriage lecture. She was only a maiden and would herself benefit from such a talk.

“ ’Tis not easy to explain.”

Betsy’s eyes didn’t waver from hers.

She must do this or have the girl run to her father proposing marriage betwixt them. “The Bible says a believer is not to be yoked to an unbeliever. This is the most important consideration.”

“You’re a believer. Father’s a believer.”

“But there must also be the weighing of character—two people who share values, virtue, and godliness.”

“You’re godly. Father’s godly. You see, there’s nothing to stop you from marrying him. I shall go tell him this is what he must do.”

Elizabeth wrapped her arms tighter around the girl. The conversation wasn’t going as planned.

“No, love. You mustn’t go to your father about this. There must also be a mutual consent, a willing partnership of both the woman and the man, a liking of one to the other.”

At this Betsy was silent.

“Notwithstanding, I’m already courting another man.”

The girl studied Elizabeth’s face, as if trying to comprehend the magnitude of this revelation.

Thomas’s whimpering turned louder, the sign that his belly needed the nourishment she struggled to provide. Mary deposited Johnny and picked up the babe. She was proving to be a greater help than Elizabeth had anticipated.

“Do you love him?”

“Love who?”

“Do you love the man you will marry? I know my mother and my father loved each other. I heard ’em say it.”

Did she love Samuel Muddle? She’d never pretended to feel anything even near attraction for the man. Theirs was a practical match. That was all. She didn’t have dreams about gaining a man’s love or attention. That was reserved for pretty women like Jane and Catherine, whom men watched and admired—or a woman like Mary Costin, who had gained the adoration of John.

“Well,” the girl said, “do you love him?”

“No, I don’t love him. He’s a good man, and perhaps with the passing of years we’ll learn to have affection for each other. But love isn’t always something that accompanies marriage vows. Sometimes marriage is more like a partnership.”

Betsy smiled and squirmed out of her arms. “Then it will work after all. You don’t need to love my father to marry him. Nor does he need to like you.”

Elizabeth lunged forward, but the girl dashed beyond her reach.

“I’ll go tell my father.”

“No, Betsy. ’Tis much too soon for your father to be thinking of such things.”

She skipped along without turning back.

“Come back, Betsy.” She couldn’t let the girl play matchmaker. It would only end in embarrassment for everyone. “Stop.”

Thomas’s cries rose in the morning air, becoming more insistent. Lucy had come at daybreak to nurse and rarely made it for two feedings in a row. At least once a day, Elizabeth walked over to Calts Lane to find the woman, often with that strange feeling of someone watching her.

Perhaps Mrs. Grew had been correct. What did an uneducated commoner like herself know about choosing a wet nurse? Maybe she’d made a mistake selecting Lucy. Lucy’s whole way of living was fraught with peril.

And she feared what would happen if the authorities learned that Lucy was harboring her homeless sister. Lucy had begged Elizabeth not to tell anyone about Martha. The woman’s husband had run off, and she didn’t know where the man was or even if he was still alive. Martha had nowhere to live and no way to support herself or her three children. She’d resorted to begging, moving from place to place to avoid the Bedell of Beggars, whose official duty was to track down poor beggars and then arrest and whip any who didn’t belong to their town.

Elizabeth rose and brushed the weeds and dirt off her petticoat. “Betsy! You mustn’t disturb your father.”

Already at the door of the shed, the girl smiled and then stepped inside.

The tapping of Brother Costin’s anvil stopped.

Elizabeth watched the doorway for a moment. Should she follow Betsy and make sure he knew none of this was her idea?

Thomas’s wails drew her attention back to Mary. The girl rocked and bounced him and sang to him, but his cries only escalated.

“I shall make him pap,” she called to Mary.

“He’s ready.” The girl stared in her direction, her forehead creased with anxiety.

Elizabeth stepped through the rosemary and sage.

“Johnny, you shall have milk and bread too.” When she reached him, she smoothed a wind-tossed lock of his hair. “You were a good boy to patiently wait for me. Did you like Mary’s stories?”

Smiling, he nodded. “Giant. Killed.”

Elizabeth planted a kiss on his head.

Once inside the cottage, Elizabeth prepared the pap while Mary jiggled the crying babe. She mashed the bread with the back of the spoon and pressed it into warm water and milk—the milk and bread she had brought from her father’s house.

“Mary, with little mouths to feed, I must question why your father doesn’t have a cow.”

At first Mary didn’t reply.

Elizabeth paused and lifted her gaze. Had the girl failed to hear her above Thomas’s wail?

Mary’s chin dipped low. “We did have a cow,” she finally said. “But it got loose and wandered off. Mother was too weak to look far. When Father returned and learned it was gone, he was too late. He found the cow dead almost to Newnham, her carcass about cleaned out.”

Elizabeth shook her head. A laborer like Brother Costin wouldn’t earn enough wages to easily replace a cow.

“ ’Twas a difficult time after Thomas’s birth.” Guilt crept into Mary’s voice. “Mother couldn’t milk the cow anymore. And Father sometimes forgot. I tried to help. . . .” The girl’s face constricted.

The door of the cottage banged against the wall.

Elizabeth’s hands jerked and splashed pap onto the table.

Brother Costin stood with feet straddled and arms crossed. “Methinks you have too much ambition, using my own daughter to arrange a marriage. It’s appalling when my wife’s been gone less than a fortnight.”

“Here we go,” she murmured, whisking the pap as if her life depended on it. Apparently, he had not taken favor to Betsy’s plan.

“You’ve quite the nerve forcing yourself into my household day after day under the pretense of housekeeper, when all along you’ve been biding your time until you can weasel your way into marriage.”

Elizabeth slopped half of the pap into another pewter bowl and pushed it in front of Johnny. “ ’Tis not the case.”

Betsy peeked around one of her father’s legs and her lips quivered. Elizabeth narrowed a frown at the girl.

“And to encourage my daughter nonetheless.”

“ ’Twas Betsy’s idea entirely.” She lifted Thomas out of Mary’s arms. “I had nothing to do with it. I tried my best to discourage her.”

“Methinks a four-year-old cannot know so much about arranging marriages unless someone has instructed her.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks grew hot. She
had
said too much to Betsy.

She tucked a rag underneath Thomas’s chin and sat on the bench next to Johnny. She positioned the baby in the crook of her arm and spooned pap into his mouth. His tongue pushed it out, and she rushed to scrape it off his chin before losing a drop of the precious mixture.

“Well, what do you have to say?”

What should she say? How could she defend herself when she sounded guilty even to herself. “I did instruct her,” she finally said. “But only to try to help her understand that ’tis a complicated matter in choosing a mate.”

“Say what you want, but I’ve heard the whispers and seen the looks. The maidens and their mothers are planning who shall become my next wife. You thought to be the winner—you wanted to get to me first and hook yourself a husband.”

“That’s not true.” It
was not
true that she wanted to
hook
him. But ’twas certain the young women of the parish were speculating about him. Her own sister Catherine had been amongst the gossipers.

“You may deny it. But it’s obvious. It’s entirely obvious you want to marry me.” He uncrossed his arms and began walking toward her.

Was he growing just a bit presumptuous? Did she hear arrogance in his tone? Elizabeth tried not to squirm when he stopped in front of her.

“Why else would you come here and work without pay unless you wanted to entrap me?”

“Entrap you?” She suspended the spoon of pap in midair and looked up at Brother Costin towering over her.

His eyes sparked.

If she’d been a weaker woman, she may have cowered. But she didn’t consider herself of frail caliber, and the sparks that flew from his eyes ignited her own ire. “Brother Costin, you’re puffed up with yourself to imagine that any and every maiden would entrap you into marriage.”

His eyes widened and he hesitated. “It’s not inconceivable—”

“ ’Tis quite inconceivable from me. Believe it or not, I’m interested in serving God and doing the work He sets before me rather than fawning over a man puffed up with himself.”

Again he paused, as if unprepared for the frankness of her words. “Nevertheless,” he fumbled. “I must ask that this be your last day of service as housekeeper.”

Betsy, who had wheedled her way into the room, burst into tears.

Elizabeth rose from the bench, ignoring Thomas’s angry cries at having his meal disrupted. She straightened her shoulders and faced Brother Costin. “Let me clarify this misunderstanding—once and for all. I have no intention of marrying you. None at all. Not now. Nor ever.”

“And I have no intention of marrying you either—”

“I’m courting another man, and I’m planning to marry him.”

He opened his mouth but then drew in a deep breath. “You’re already getting married?”

“We are not betrothed yet. But I’ve given the man my promise to marry him by autumn.”

Brother Costin studied her face.

“She’s telling the truth,” Mary spoke quietly. “I overheard her conversation with Betsy.”

Betsy hung her head, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “She didn’t want me to go to you. I did it because I miss my Momma and thought maybe I could have a new one.”

Brother Costin let out a low whistle. Then he crammed his fingers into his hair, tilted his head back, and glared at the ceiling.

Finally, with lines etched across his forehead and eyes overflowing with sadness, he crossed to the door and left without a glance back.