The Captive Bride (19 page)

No one dared to turn and stare at Matthew during the sermon, except Mrs. Lawson, who would have stared at the archangel Michael. But if the eyes of the congregation were not directed at their visitor, their interest surely was.

Gilbert concluded the sermon, but instead of closing with a final prayer, he said in a steady voice, “We have a guest in our congregation this morning, my son, Matthew. Some of you who have been here for a long time will remember him. He was presumed to be dead for many years—but God in
His mercy preserved him. I ask you to welcome him back, and to join his wife and his daughter in thanking God for His tender mercies.”

Then he prayed, and afterward several of Matthew's old friends approached him eagerly. Matthew's teacher, in his eighties, but with eyes as sharp as a bird's, greeted the tall man, so unlike the small boy he had known. “Thank God, my boy! I thank God!” he exclaimed, giving him a hearty grip of the hand. “I've never forgotten you, never! It cut me like a knife when the word of your death came, and for all these years I've had fond memories of those days when you came to my house—such a bright little chap!” Then he suddenly reached out and embraced Matthew, weeping and patting him on the arm.

Matthew looked over the old man's head at Gilbert, his eyes misty as he said, “Why, that's good of you, Mr. Morrison—and just like you! I've thought of you often.”

Others came, and those who had moved to Plymouth after his presumed death came to be introduced.

It was a strange moment for Matthew, who stood there receiving the greetings of old friends and others, feeling like an imposter. But it would not have been quite so difficult if Mrs. Lawson had not raised her voice, saying loudly, “Well, now, Lydia Winslow! What will it be like to have a husband again after all these years?”

Lydia flinched slightly at the impertinent question, but she managed to smile. “I rejoice with all of you,” she said noncommittally, “that God has seen fit to preserve my husband.”

Then the awkward moment passed, and the crowd began to leave. Gilbert walked over immediately and said, “I'm glad you came, son.”

“We—expected you to come back,” Lydia said with some hesitation.

Matthew gave her a direct look, then shook his head. “As I said, Lydia, I'll not be a trouble to you.”

Rachel had moved to stand beside Lydia. “Well, you can't just
ignore
us!” she said sharply.

Matthew smiled at her. “Rachel, I realize how awkward it is—especially for your mother—but I'm leaving Plymouth today, so people will have to just
wonder
about our family.”

“Leaving!” Lydia said quickly. “But—where are you going?”

“I was going to stop by and tell you about it before I left, but—”

“Come and have a bite with us,” Gilbert said quickly. “It will look odd if you don't—and besides, I want to hear your plans.”

They ate cold beef and bread, their usual Sabbath noonday meal, and Matthew related his plan. “There's a big market for beaver in England. I'm going into the trading business. As a matter of fact, I brought a wagon load of trade goods with me from England. I'll be gone for a few weeks; then when I get a shipment, I'll come back and put them on a ship here at Plymouth.”

All three of them realized it was more than a business venture; he was taking himself out of Plymouth to remove some of the pressure from the three of them. “Matthew,” Gilbert said, “you don't have to do this on our account—”

“It will be best, I think,” Matthew broke in, “if I'm gone for a time. Give people time to get used to the idea of my being back.” Then he added simply, “I'll have to go permanently, sooner or later, you know. There's no other way.”

These weeks since Matthew's sudden appearance had not been easy on anyone. All three had wondered how he could fit into their lives. It would not do for him to remain at the inn, separated from his wife and daughter. In Plymouth that was simply not done, and in any case, it would have put an intolerable strain on all of them.

Breaking the awkward silence, Matthew stated, “I'll call when I get back in a few weeks.”

He left, and although the village had not stopped speculating about the strange and sudden appearance, by the middle
of June most of them had given up trying to ferret the truth of the affair from the family.

Lydia lost weight, Rachel noted, and was much quieter than usual as she went about her work at home and tended to the many charities she pursued. Rachel wanted to speak about her father to Gilbert and her mother, but they seemed engaged in some sort of inner journey and would only say, “We must continue to pray about it,” when she brought the subject up.

On the last of June John Sassamon suddenly appeared, full of news. Arriving at the cottage, his first words to Rachel were, “I've been with your father!”

Rachel eagerly pumped the young Indian for information, and discovered that her father had gone to John's village. The two had met and become fast friends; Sassamon could not speak highly enough of Matthew.

“He is a good man, Nahteeah! As good as his father!” That was high praise, indeed, from the Indian! He went on to add, “He is the most honest trader my people have ever met, but the other traders are very angry with Mr. Matthew because he gives a fair price and does not rob the People! And he is as good as an Indian in the woods, Nahteeah! I have traveled with him and he can stalk the deer better than I!”

Rachel hung on his words, and Sassamon asked suddenly, “What is wrong between Mr. Matthew and you, Rachel?”

“Why, nothing, John!”

“That is the first lie you have told me in a long time!”

She bit her lip, ashamed to be dishonest with him, then said, “It is an old thing, John. My father did a bad thing years ago, and it still lies between us, I suppose.”

“That is bad—for he is a good Christian,” Sassamon said vigorously. “I am disappointed for the first time with Pastor Winslow. He should thank God he has such a good son—and you and your mother—you have a good husband and father.”

Rachel had no answer, and John said, “I must go to Governor Bradford now.”

“Is it bad news again, John?”

“Not good! Philip is trying to get the other tribes more unhappy with white men. And he is having success.” Sassamon shifted his feet. “I think it will come soon,” he added.

“You must be very careful, John,” Rachel continued. “He will kill you if he even suspects you are talking to the authorities.”

He shrugged, “Do not worry about me, Nahteeah.” Then he smiled, saying earnestly, “You must learn to love your father.”

Then he was gone as quickly as he had come. His visit left Rachel so shaken she could not concentrate on her work. She went to the beach, walking the rocky shores and thinking, wondering if John was right. “But I don't hate my father,” she protested to herself. Even as she spoke the words, she knew she was being dishonest.
I've never forgiven him for deserting me and mother!
she admitted.

She walked home slowly, unhappy with herself. When she arrived, her mother had come back, so she went to where she was sitting outside in the sun. “Mother, I've got to tell you something.”

“What is it, Rachel?”

Rachel hesitated, then said with a vigorous gesture of her head, “I—I can't feel right about my father!” she said. “No matter how hard I try, I still can't—can't—”

“You can't forgive him, Rachel, is that it?”

“Yes—but I
want
to, Mother! Why is it so hard?”

Lydia shook her head, and looked out at the sea before she said with bitterness in her voice, “I'm having the same trouble, Rachel. And it's pride—nothing more. We've been hurt, and we won't be satisfied until
he
suffers as we have!”

Rachel looked at her mother in amazement, for she had never known of Lydia bearing a grudge. “But, Mother— surely
you
don't feel that way!”

Lydia suddenly put her fist to her mouth, pressing hard, and Rachel knew that she was stemming a sob that had risen
to her throat. “Yes! I feel that way—and God forgive me! But He won't, Rachel, because the Bible says that if we won't forgive those who've wronged us, God will not forgive us!”

Rachel said slowly, “I want to forgive him—but I just
can't!
”

Lydia stared at her daughter and then before she rose to go into the house, she said slowly, “We're finding out something about ourselves, aren't we, Rachel? God blesses us with a miracle—and we throw it back in His face! I wonder how we will pray when we need God? And I wonder if He'll say, ‘I gave you a blessing and you rejected it—now you provide your own miracles!' ”

Rachel watched her mother go inside. The rest of the afternoon she went slowly about her work, mechanically and duly, unable to forget her mother's words.
Whom would I call on if I needed a miracle?,
she wondered.

And there was no answer except the slight breeze that stirred the trees and the far-off cry of a curlew.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DEATH IN THE WINTER

Jude Alden was a contented man. He leaned against the rail fence and gazed off into the distance, savoring the knowledge that every blade of grass and every tree as far as the eye could see belonged to him. He glanced down at Rachel, then raised his arm and indicated a low rise of hills off in the distance. “There's where the new plot begins—see? There—by that line of timber off to the left.”

“How many acres did you say?”

“Over three hundred in the whole tract.” Jude chuckled deep in his chest, and a broad smile crossed his lips as he said, “Old Taylor thought he'd do me in on the swap—but I knew if I held out, he'd get greedy and make a snatch for that worthless piece I traded for this. I let word get out that the new road to the north was going to go through my place— and I made sure that Taylor thought I
didn't
know it. Why, it was enough to make a dog laugh, Rachel, the way he came up so innocent and offered to trade me this place! It was like taking candy away from a baby, I tell you!”

Rachel looked up with an uneasy smile at Alden as they walked back along the trail to his house. She was sure her grandfather would never approve of his methods. Besides, she could never understand the pleasure he got in trading, and now she asked curiously, “Doesn't your conscience ever hurt, Jude? I mean, you traded the old man a worthless piece of rocky ground for one of the best farms in the area.”

He stared at her in surprise, and the blank look on his
face showed that he had never once considered such a thing a moral issue. He studied how to explain it to her, his sharp-featured face expressive. “Why, I'd not treat a widow or an orphan this way—but if a man wants to do some trading with me, he'd best watch out for himself. It's just a game, you see, Rachel? I try to best him and he tries to best me—and that's the fun of it!”

She thought about it, but her own sense of right and wrong was too limited to render judgment, so she shrugged and said, “Well, you own it, Jude—all this land. But I can enjoy the trees—and the birds sound just as sweet to me with their singing as they do to you.”

He said little more as they made their way back to the cabin. Finally he smiled and said, “Now, you're a woman, Rachel, and not able to think about business like a man. And that's all right with me. I don't want a wife to do the trading in the family.”

“What do you want from a wife, Jude?” she asked mischievously. She was amused to see his jaw drop and a look of confusion sweep across his regular features.

He suddenly stopped, pulled her around and kissed her resoundingly. His lips were cold in the December chill, and the bulky clothes they both wore hindered him. “I guess I want a wife for
that
for one thing!” he laughed, then kissed her again, holding her soft form tightly until she pulled away.

“Come on, I'll race you back to the house!” She took off running, and was so light and fleet of foot that he did not catch up to her until they turned into the clearing where his house sat. She stopped suddenly and was not even breathing hard as she said, “You've got company.” She lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the bright winter sun and bit her lip, adding, “It's my father and John Sassamon.”

He gave her an odd look. Then as they walked across the open field he said, “Nobody in Plymouth understands about your family, Rachel.” She didn't answer and he went on, “Your father came out of nowhere eight months ago. He doesn't
live with you and your mother. He runs all over the country with those savages, and I suppose he's made a fortune in beaver by this time. But—you never say a word about him.”

“It's a family problem, Jude.” Rachel shrugged and added only, “There was a falling out years ago, between him and my mother.”

Jude shook his head. “I don't like to say anything about your family, Rachel, but it'd be a tragedy if your mother took him back.”

“Why do you say that?” She lowered her voice, for they were less than a hundred feet away from the house. “My grandfather says he's a changed man.”

“Changed from
what?
” Jude asked instantly. “This country is on the verge of an Indian war, Rachel. Philip is a madman! And your father spends all his time with the Indians.”

“It's the Praying Indians he's with most, Jude. He's working with Reverend Eliot a great deal.”

“Praying Indians!” Jude muttered. “When the trouble comes, there'll just be one kind of Indian! You'll see. And your friend Sassamon will be right with them!”

Rachel had argued this with Jude many times, but it was hopeless; Alden, like many of the settlers who lived in the wilderness areas, had no confidence in any Indian.