The Captive Bride (16 page)

“Then you do not know the depravity of the human heart,” Winslow smiled. “But there is a worse thing; I gained the love
of a pure young woman in the group in order to get myself into the inner circle.”

He went on to tell how when the choice had to be made, he had fought a duel with Lady North's admirer, Lord Roth, and had killed him in a duel to protect the young woman and the congregation.

“So I fled England on the same ship with the congregation, but I hated God!”

“What happened then, Grandfather?”

Winslow spoke slowly, seeming to live over the days when they had fought for survival, with what they called simply the general sickness, killing over half their number the first winter. He told how he had been profoundly influenced by the sacrificial lives of Bradford and others, and how he had finally found Jesus Christ as his Savior in a blinding blizzard, as God revealed himself.

“Tell about the young woman, about Grandmother,” Rachel insisted.

Gilbert Winslow leaned forward, put his chin on his folded hands, and thought. Finally he said, “She was the loveliest thing on God's earth.” Then he turned his head and there were tears in his eyes as he said, “You are very much like her, Rachel. Very much. Oh, you don't
look
like her at all, but her spirit has come to you.” He hesitated so long they thought he was finished; then he said quietly, “All that was good about your father came from her—his generosity, his sympathy with the downtrodden, his wit—and all that was wrong came from me—from the Winslow blood!”

“No! I don't believe that!” Rachel reached over and took his hands in hers, gripping them fiercely. “You mustn't say that!”

The candle was guttering in the pewter holder as he finished, and he looked around in shock. “I can't believe it! I've never told some of this to a soul!”

“I'm glad you did!” Rachel said, putting her arms around him. “It's wonderful to have a hero for a grandfather!”

He laughed in embarrassment and got up, “Well the ‘hero' is dead on his feet. Shall I sleep in the loft, Jude?”

“Yes. Rachel can have the bedroom. But there's only room for two in the loft—” he turned a hostile eye toward Sassamon.

“I will sleep in the barn,” the Indian replied impassively.

Jude hesitated, then continued blandly, “I've got to see to the new calf first. Just a few hours old, and can hardly eat.”

Rachel glanced from Jude to Sassamon, whose face betrayed no hint of anger at Jude's rudeness. She hesitated, as if making a decision, then turned back to Jude.

“Let me go with you, Jude!” she pleaded, just as he'd known she would. She loved all animals, especially baby ones, and she skipped over to go outside the door, calling back, “You sleep well, Gilbert Winslow; I want to hear more about this Lady Cecily North!”

She heard her grandfather's loud laugh as they stepped outside and took the path that led to the small hay shed fifty feet from the house. He opened the door and held the candle high so that she could see.

“Oh, what a darling!” she cried, and ran at once to stroke the tiny calf wobbling across the straw. “How beautiful!”

Jude Alden put the candle on a stool, and came to stand over her. “Yes,” he said with a smile. “A darling—and very beautiful.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm, and confusion swept her. Alden reached down and pulled her to her feet, and she felt his strong arms go around her. As he pulled her close, she whispered, “No—Jude!”

But he said again, “You are very beautiful, Rachel—more so all the time!” She was intensely aware of his male strength as he tightened his arms, pressing her even more closely to his chest. “I think about you all the time, you know. Stuck out here by myself in this wilderness! Every night I go to sleep thinking of you.”

She began to tremble, filled with a fear of wrongdoing,
but at the same time dizzy with the raging emotion that had suddenly risen in her. She lifted her head, and in the flickering light of the candle, he saw her lips frame his name:
Jude!
She felt her arms go around his neck, and she wondered at her boldness, but it was almost as if it were another, and not she herself, who was responding to his kiss.

He released her slowly, and as she slipped from his arms, he said, “I've never known a woman like you, Rachel.”

She waited for him to say more, but he did not. Suddenly she remembered what she had heard said of him, that he was something of a ladies' man, and the thought shamed her. “I'd better go inside, Jude,” she said quietly.

Then he said, “Have you ever thought of marrying, Rachel?”

She stared at him, then said, “Every girl thinks of that.” Then the quick sense of humor came to her and she quipped, “You'd better ask Betsy Small, Jude. Her father's got a big farm he's going to give for her dowry—big enough that you won't mind her being so thin!”

He smiled but said at once, “I've got a bad reputation, haven't I, Rachel? About women and about being ambitious.”

“There is talk—about both.”

“About the first,” Alden said easily, “I must confess that I've been lax—but that's over. About the second, I plead guilty. I see nothing wrong in having things. What's wrong with that?”

“It depends on how you prosper—and what you do with the money when you get it.”

“I'll spend it,” he smiled. “You think I'd enjoy sitting around
counting
it? No, I'll work hard for a few more years, then I'll live the good life—travel, go places, meet people!”

He had touched on a longing that she had never let another soul know of—her desire to travel, but she did not let a flicker of this yearning show in her eyes.

Then he said, “What about you, Rachel? What do you want?”

She bit her lip, then shrugged and said, “I don't know, Jude. I suppose I'm trying to find out.”

He looked at her in the darkness and said, “Maybe we can help each other to find our way, Rachel.”

“Maybe, Jude.” She turned and they walked out into the night; then she went to her room and tossed fitfully on the straw mattress.

The next morning they left early and on the way home, Gilbert said to her out of John's hearing, “You decide on Jude?”

She stared at him, then laughed. “I wouldn't put it past you to climb out of the upstairs window and creep on your hands and knees to eavesdrop on us.”

“I would if I thought it would help you,” he said simply.

She took his hand and squeezed it, saying, “Tell me about Cecily North.” Then she added with an odd smile, “I don't know about Jude. I'll tell you as soon as I know.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

OUT OF THE PAST

Lydia said nothing to Rachel, but for several days after her return from the Indian village, she was aware that something was troubling the girl. Finally when she and Gilbert were alone in the church after a service, she approached him about it.

“You haven't said much about your trip to see King Philip,” she said as they sat down on one of the benches. “Were you discouraged about him?”

“Yes. He's sour, and sooner or later he's going to give trouble.”

“Rachel's been very quiet since you came back.”

“Oh, that's a different matter,” he said. “She's all tangled up about what to do with young Alden. They had some sort of meeting out in the barn, and she's been all het up ever since.”

“In the barn!”

He laughed and patted her shoulder. “Now, don't get your feathers ruffled, Lydia. She told me some of it, and there's nothing to worry about. They're just circling around trying to decide whether to make a match of it or not.”

She shook her head. “I wish she would marry him, Gilbert.”

He shrugged and bit his lip. “I'm not so sure I agree. He's a good match, I suppose—he's got land, and he's a hard worker, but his walk with God isn't much. Pretty much of a Sunday man. And he's got a rather unchristian attitude about this Indian issue. Snubs John Sassamon dreadfully. I'd like to see Rachel get a man who puts God first.”

They talked for a long time that night, and it was on the following Wednesday that Sassamon came by. It was late afternoon, and they did not hear his step. A knock at the door startled them all as they sat reading in the front room.

“Who can that be?” Gilbert muttered, as he went to answer it. “Well, John, come in!”

Sassamon entered and said, “Hello, Mr. Winslow—and how are you, Mrs. Winslow?”

“Hello, John,” Lydia smiled. “Come in, come in.”

“No, I have to go see the governor right away.” He hesitated, then said, “I would like for you to go with me, Mr. Winslow. He may not believe what I have to tell him.”

Gilbert looked hard at him, then at Lydia and Rachel. “What's the trouble, John?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then burst out, “It's Philip, sir!”

“What about him?”

“He's organizing for war against you!”

“I knew it!” Winslow cried. “The fool! He'll set the frontier on fire!”

“Will you come with me to see Governor Bradford?”

“Yes, of course, but is it certain, John?” He pulled his coat from a peg and was shrugging into it. “How did you find out?”

“My brother, Matthew, has been to see me. He says that he was there when Philip came to his village. Philip promises that if the tribes all rise up together, the settlers will be wiped out and the land will be back in the hands of the People!”

“Come along!” Gilbert barked, plunging out the door. “I don't know if we can convince the governor or not, but we'd better!”

Rachel and Lydia stayed up until midnight, waiting for them to come back. They had talked fearfully about the possibilities of a war, but it was late and they were sitting quietly, busy with their thoughts, when Rachel suddenly said, “I kissed Jude Alden in the barn, Mother.”

Lydia almost laughed out loud at the confession; it was
much like those times when as a small child Rachel would think over some small misdeed for a long time, then come marching in to look her straight in the eye and announce it boldly.

“Did you now?”

“Are you angry?”

“No, I don't think so,” Lydia said with a smile. “Did you think I would be?”

“Oh, I suppose not. But it made me feel a little wicked, Mother.” She turned her clear hazel eyes on Lydia. “How do you know you're in love with a man?”

“Why ...” Lydia was caught off guard. She finally cleared her throat and said, “I don't think there's any rule about that, Rachel. You just have to be sure you want to spend your life with him and that you respect him.”

But that was not enough for Rachel, and she asked insistently, “But how did you know you were in love with my father?”

Lydia was trapped, and the pulse in her throat beat more rapidly as she said at last, “I can't put it into words, Rachel. You'll just have to—to—”

Rachel was staring at her mother, disappointed that there was no simple answer coming. Just as she was about to pursue the subject, they heard voices, and they got up as Gilbert and John entered.

“What did he say?” Lydia asked at once.

“The governor can't believe that it's so serious as John says,” Gilbert shrugged. “He wants John to keep an eye on the situation and let us know if there's any danger.”

John was angry, and Rachel saw it. “There's danger right now!” he said grimly. “When Philip attacks, he won't send any announcement, I tell you!”

“I'll work on it, John,” Gilbert said, and he put a restraining hand on the young man's shoulder. “Governor Bradford is getting on, but I may be able to bring him around.”

John shrugged. “It will have to be that way, I suppose. But be quick, Mr. Winslow.”

“You'll stay the night,” Lydia said and she went to get some cover for John. She gave it to him, and she went to bed, saying, “I'll make you a big breakfast before you go home tomorrow.”

“We will pray about it, won't we, John?” Gilbert said, and gave the young man a firm embrace before he went to his own room.

Before she left, Rachel said, “Be careful, John. Philip hates you. If he thought for one second that you were talking to us about this, he'd cut your throat.”

“You're right about that. I'll be very careful.” He turned to go with the blanket in his arms, then paused and said, “You're very special in my heart, Nahteeah. I treasure the memory of our childhood days here more than anything else.”

She stared at him, for he had always been reticent about his feelings. “I feel that way, too, John. But there'll be more good days to come.”

“I hope so, Nahteeah,” he said, then turned and left silently as a shadow.

He was gone when they got up the next day, and Gilbert said ruefully, “He's in a bad place, Lydia. I fear for the Praying Indians, converted to Christianity. They're going to be in the middle if a war breaks out. Both sides will hate them.”

“We'll have to see that they don't,” Lydia said, and as they spoke, Rachel felt a chill of fear, for there had been something fatalistic in John's eyes as he had left her the previous night.

Then she felt the two watching her, and Gilbert said, “It'll be bad for Jude, too. He's right in the middle of Philip's territory.” He said nothing more, and the weight on her heart kept her subdued for the next few weeks.

Lydia awoke and glanced carelessly at the calendar, little thinking that the date—April 10—would be any different from another day. She rose, dressed, and spent the first hour
with her Bible, praying quietly while kneeling beside her bed. Then she hurried to the kitchen and put some bread in glowing coals left from the night's baking, and by the time she had sliced the loaf, Gilbert and Rachel entered and sat down.