“We continue her work despite the hopelessness...If the ignorant souls in that town had any idea of what I do for them, they wouldn’t shun me so hastily. Blindness will be their destruction…They won’t feel death if they fall asleep in the snow…Would it be evil to laugh at them?
~From the diary of William Wells; June 24th, 1685
---
With unpracticed, trembling fingers, Elizabeth imitated her aunt’s worn, skilled hands as she delicately cut the butter for cornmeal biscuits.
“I have wanted to meet you for many years, Elizabeth; ever since I received my sister’s letter telling us of your birth. It is a shame that tragedy finally brings us together.”
Unsure of how she should respond, Elizabeth kept her eyes buried in the task at hand and remained silent.
“I’m sorry for what you have lost,” Jenny continued, “I loved Joyce dearly, even though I had not seen her for nearly two decades…And now I will see her no more. But the past cannot be altered. The Lord leads us to our own ends to serve His purposes.”
“Were the two of you very close?” Elizabeth asked.
“We were inseparable when we were young, but…I did not agree with choices she made, and I am afraid we did not part on the best of terms.”
“You mean when she left the Bay Colony and moved to the Caribbean with my father?” Elizabeth spoke quickly, the words nearly running together, before she had the chance to decide against bringing up the scandalous topic. Joyce never shared much about her life in America, and Elizabeth had always longed to hear the romantic tale of her parents’ first meeting.
“Your father was a merchant and a Presbyterian. He was certainly not the man your grandparents chose for her.”
Elizabeth felt a flash of anger redden her cheeks. Her father, Hans Summers, had been killed at sea during a European voyage when she was only a small child. He had always been dear to her, imbuing her with his love of the sea, and she did not wish to hear anyone speak ill of him.
“I am a Presbyterian,” Elizabeth declared, feeling bolder.
Jenny looked up from rolling the dough, startled, and stated softly but firmly, “You will not say that again in this house.”
--
While Elizabeth set the bowls and flatware in proper order on the dinner table, a sudden gust of cool, damp air blew into the common room as the heavy front door swung open. A dark figure clad in a long cloak hurried inside out of the storm.
“Nathaniel! Goodness, I thought that meeting would carry on all night,” Jenny exclaimed as she emerged from the kitchen to take her husband’s hat and cloak before kissing his cheek. “What did you accomplish?”
Elizabeth stood stiffly beside the table with some apprehension, waiting to be introduced to her uncle. He failed to notice her quiet presence, however, and followed his wife into the kitchen.
“Oh, nothing but the usual business. There was much banter regarding the policies of the new governor, as I predicted. They’re calling him a Royalist, you know. He seems to favor the Crown’s opinions over allegiance to the colonies.” The raspy baritone of his voice sent a chill down Elizabeth’s spine, though she did not know why it should.
Jenny’s tone dropped to a hush so that her niece could scarcely make out the words that followed.
“Did anyone comment on…what occurred a few nights ago?”
“No, and there was certainly no reason to,” he whispered.
“But Mr. Townsend—“
“Is dead, Jenny.”
“Perhaps you should ride up to the pond to see if they’re up to anything.”
“No, I will not. There’s no need.”
“I still cannot believe you let that man—“
“Jenny!” he hissed more loudly, “I will not discuss this matter any further, nor will I stand for nonsense.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in perplexity, wondering at the conversation she was not meant to hear. Her own nerves, however, temporarily overwhelmed her curiosity.
“Yes…Yes, of course. Elizabeth, come here please,” Jenny called.
Elizabeth reluctantly passed into the opposite room and obediently stood before her aunt.
“Nathaniel, may I present my sister’s daughter, Miss Elizabeth Summers.”
The Reverend’s dark eyes flashed and his heavy brows furrowed as he seemed to carefully scrutinize her appearance. Elizabeth knew she looked strange to all of them with her golden hair and sun-tanned skin, and she desperately longed to flee and cover herself from the critical glares. When his silence became too suffocating to bear, she glanced up nervously. He had a regal appearance and possessed an attractive physicality for a man of more advanced age, though something in his countenance made her uneasy. His features, though handsome, were both striking and weathered; and she noted an old scar that ran from the corner of his eye across his cheek. Strands of silver shone in his dark hair.
She felt the need to speak out of her discomfort and found that her voice shook. “Thank you, sir, for opening your home to me.”
“You described a child, Jenny. She is much older than I anticipated. What is your age, Elizabeth?”
“I am not yet eighteen.”
“And why have you not married?” he asked coolly.
“I—I do not know.”
“We shall see about introducing you to the community so that you might acquire a suitor. You have reached an age where you should be running a household of your own. I cannot support you for very long, Elizabeth.”
“I…yes sir.”
“And I hope you have brought other apparel. This clothing will not be appropriate.”
“She will borrow some of my garments until she crafts her own. It will not be a problem, Nathaniel,” Jenny assured.
“I should hope not.”
--
Elizabeth folded her hands carefully on the table and stared down at her lap. Occasionally she took an inconspicuous peek at Jenny and Dawn to be sure she followed their movements precisely. Reverend Nathaniel stood at the head of the table, reading from the Book of Psalms. Apparently this was a household ritual before meals. The family had automatically taken their respective places at the table without saying a word, almost as though they were characters in a drama that played the same story every day.
“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and he delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down; for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand. Amen.”
“Amen,” Elizabeth echoed awkwardly with her aunt and cousin.
After Nathaniel took his seat, Jenny began to scoop a ladle into the pot of vegetable stew and filled each bowl. The women waited for the Reverend to begin his meal before they helped themselves.
“This is delicious, Jenny, and just what I needed on such a cold and dreary evening,” he nodded in approval. Elizabeth felt grateful to at last have the ritualistic silence broken.
“Yes it is quite good,” Elizabeth agreed, “It’s been so long since I’ve had the privilege of enjoying a cooked meal.”
She instantly knew she’d done something wrong when she was answered with a heavy hush and downcast eyes from everyone at the table.
“Elizabeth, you must not speak unless your opinion is required directly,” Jenny corrected softly, “She will learn quickly, Nathaniel.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks burned with anger and humiliation. How can I learn when you neglect to tell me what is expected? I just want to go home, far away from this town and its absurd rules.
She pursed her lips to keep herself from expressing her opinions, and instead focused on blowing her spoon lightly to cool the scalding broth. They ate on in a formal silence, which Elizabeth found both bizarre and quite sad. Her mother’s table had been a place of warmth and community where friendly discussion was always welcomed and encouraged. Joyce’s reasons for leaving this frigid place were becoming quite clear to her daughter. Elizabeth imagined her mother, once young and beautiful, her hair long and golden, being carried away from the dull misery of her life by the handsome sea-faring traveler Hans Summers…Perhaps one day a mysterious rescuer would come for Elizabeth as well; someone with whom she could sail the open sea, someone who would show her exotic places, someone who would not look on her with disdain, but rather with love and admiration. The notion was silly and childish, of course, but maybe fragile faith was enough to keep her spirit alive while she pretended to belong in this world.
Lost in her thoughts, she reached across the table carefully for the tray of biscuits, but soon realized it was just outside her grasp.
“Dawn, would you please pass the biscuits?”
As soon as the words escaped her lips, Elizabeth bit her tongue in horror. She thought she might simply apologize and that maybe they could forgive her this first day—but no, they would not. These people had an odd manner of social education.
“Leave this table at once,” the Reverend said gruffly under his breath.
“But sir, I did not intend—“
“I will not repeat myself, Elizabeth.”
Before hot streams of tears had a chance to cascade down her cheeks, Elizabeth fled from the room. Her feet carried her swiftly up the staircase and into the darkened loft bedroom that she would share with her cousin. She flung herself upon one of the small cots, buried her face in the quilt, and sobbed unapologetically. She cried for her mother, for her father, for Nenna, for all the friends she’d left behind, and for her beloved Bermuda, which, now she knew for certain, she would never see again.
--
“Elizabeth…Lizzie? It’s just me—Dawn. Are you all right?”
Gentle fingers stroked her back and smoothed tangled wisps of hair from the nape of her neck. Elizabeth shifted onto her side, propping her head up on her fist. She rubbed her eyes to clear her blurry vision and tried to muster a grateful smile for her cousin.
“I’m fine,” she said numbly, her voice hoarse with tears and fatigue.
“I brought you a biscuit and some warm milk. I mean, since you didn’t finish dinner…” Dawn gestured to the tray she’d placed on the wooden stool between the two beds. The room seemed friendlier in the warm glow of candle light.
“Thank you. Oh, am I on your bed?”
“No. That’s the one Mother made up for you.”
Elizabeth sat up slowly, her head throbbing. She must have been laying there for a long while. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Late. It’s after my bed time…are you sure you’re all right? Listen, Mother and Father aren’t bad people, Lizzie. Father is just strict because religion and propriety are very important to him. He wants to keep an orderly household is all.”
“Of course your parents aren’t bad people, I just…this place, everything about it is so different from what I know,” Elizabeth murmured as she took small sips from the tin cup.
“You’ll grow to like it once you get to know the town. Everyone’s nice, and we all care about each other. You’ll make friends soon, I promise.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Well, I suppose we should get to sleep soon,” Dawn said as she pulled the covers back and climbed into her bed, “We have to be up early in the morning for church.”
Apprehension tightened Elizabeth’s chest as she pondered what church would be like in Wethersfield. She groaned inwardly.
--
Disoriented, she blinked her eyes and peered into the blackness of the small room. The candles had been extinguished long ago, and Dawn breathed slowly and evenly beside her, snoring lightly. Hushed voices emanated from downstairs, and holding her breath, Elizabeth strained to hear.
“…Nothing but trouble.”
“She’s grieving now Nathan, you must understand—“
“I understand—I understand that she is just like her mother.”
“But she can be disciplined.”
“After all these strange occurrences…and now with her being here…something is coming.”
“Whatever stirs…it has nothing to do with her arrival. She is my blood, Nathan. And you were uncharitable to her this evening. Dismissing her from the table was simply uncalled—“
“The girl is wrong. I knew it from the moment I first saw her.”
Elizabeth snorted. Just because she was different from them, that made her wrong? Surely one could commit a greater sin than being born a Presbyterian. Resolute to remain unscathed by the sting of their harsh and strange words, she pulled the quilt over her head in an effort to shut them out.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I know it might be hard to tell so far, but if anyone is reading, I'd love to hear what you think! : )