betroth herself to Mr. Howes.”
“Oh, well enough, then,” said John, still unaware that the girl could hear him. “But let her marry soon, before she brings disgrace upon the Winthrops with her carnality. I’ve heard that she makes lewd sheep’s eyes even at their ‘prentice.”
“Dear husband, you talk too harsh!” cried Margaret, and she sent Elizabeth a look of apology, while forming with her lips, “He still wanders a bit.”
The girl had gone very white, her hands were clenched. Her heart pounded and, mixed with fury at the injustice of her uncle’s words, was a bleak despair.
She looked towards the bed where the big-nosed profile above the pillows was something like Jack’s, as the cruel voice too had been a travesty of his son’s. I hate him, hate him - she thought
She put back her shoulders, lifted her chin, and without another word, walked out of the room.
Margaret, somewhat troubled, watched her go. Poor child, it was a pity that she should have heard such wounding criticism, but John had not meant to hurt her, and when he saw faults either in himself or others, his need to circumvent evil wherever found made him at times seem harsh. But Margaret knew him in many tender moments; he had given her a devotion and sometimes astonishing passion that she had little expected during their betrothal. They had built together a satisfying married love, for which she thanked God daily in simple gratitude. No doubt Bess would find the same, in time, with Edward Howes, when she had learned to conquer daft desires such as that for Jack Winthrop.
Margaret instantly forgot Elizabeth as John stirred again. She felt his forehead, and found cool sweat there. “I praise God, love,” she
cried. “The fever’s broken, and sooner than last time. We’ll have you on your feet in a day or two!”
“Aye.” He smiled a little and his fingers closed around hers. “I had not wanted to bring you up from Groton, but, my sweet wife, I am so glad you came. I pray that Our Merciful Lord has chastised me enough for my own good, and will suffer me to return to my chambers for Hilary Term . . . I’m in dire need of the fees.”
He sighed and, while Margaret mixed with water the Purple Electuary, he thought glumly of his mounting debts. He had financed young John’s trip to the Levant, and Henry’s plantation venture in Barbadoes by selling the Essex property left him by his first wife, Mary Forth. But that was insufficient. Henry not only sent abominable tobacco home, as sole return on the venture, but kept demanding money and servants as well. Moreover there was the next son, Forth, to be educated at Cambridge, a dowry to be found for little Miry, and Margaret’s sons to be provided for in a few years. I scarcely know how, he thought, tugging unhappily at his small pointed beard and frowning at the brocaded tester above his head.
Margaret proffered him the pewter mug of medicine, and he drank it absently. “I must soon answer that distressing letter from Henry,” he said. “The boy’s vain overreaching mind will be his downfall. I marvel that he dares to ask me for more money; he knows I have none without sale of our manor lands, and I am already much in debt to my brother Downing.”
“Think not of those things now, love,” she said. “The Lord will provide.”
“Sometimes I think the Lord has turned his face from England,” John said slowly. “How can it be that He permits the King to so oppress us with false loans and taxes imposed without consent of Parliament? How can it be that He permits popery and Arminianism to seep like plague throughout our lands?”
“Now, dear, pray, don’t heat your blood with such thoughts ...” coaxed Margaret, and she added timidly, for she knew little of such matters, “Will there not be a Parliament soon that can show the King where he does wrong?”
“Aye,” said John. He struggled up from the pillows, his eyes stared from their hollow sockets at the Bible on
“Oh, well enough, then,” said John, still unaware that the girl could hear him. “But let her marry soon, before she brings disgrace upon the Winthrops with her carnality. I’ve heard that she makes lewd sheep’s eyes even at their ‘prentice.”
“Dear husband, you talk too harsh!” cried Margaret, and she sent Elizabeth a look of apology, while forming with her lips, “He still wanders a bit.”
The girl had gone very white, her hands were clenched. Her heart pounded and, mixed with fury at the injustice of her uncle’s words, was a bleak despair.
She looked towards the bed where the big-nosed profile above the pillows was something like Jack’s, as the cruel voice too had been a travesty of his son’s. I hate him, hate him - she thought
She put back her shoulders, lifted her chin, and without another word, walked out of the room.
Margaret, somewhat troubled, watched her go. Poor child, it was a pity that she should have heard such wounding criticism, but John had not meant to hurt her, and when he saw faults either in himself or others, his need to circumvent evil wherever found made him at times seem harsh. But Margaret knew him in many tender moments; he had given her a devotion and sometimes astonishing passion that she had little expected during their betrothal. They had built together a satisfying married love, for which she thanked God daily in simple gratitude. No doubt Bess would find the same, in time, with Edward Howes, when she had learned to conquer daft desires such as that for Jack Winthrop.
Margaret instantly forgot Elizabeth as John stirred again. She felt his forehead, and found cool sweat there. “I praise God, love,” she
cried. “The fever’s broken, and sooner than last time. We’ll have you on your feet in a day or two!”
“Aye.” He smiled a little and his fingers closed around hers. “I had not wanted to bring you up from Groton, but, my sweet wife, I am so glad you came. I pray that Our Merciful Lord has chastised me enough for my own good, and will suffer me to return to my chambers for Hilary Term . . . I’m in dire need of the fees.”
He sighed and, while Margaret mixed with water the Purple Electuary, he thought glumly of his mounting debts. He had financed young John’s trip to the Levant, and Henry’s plantation venture in Barbadoes by selling the Essex property left him by his first wife, Mary Forth. But that was insufficient. Henry not only sent abominable tobacco home, as sole return on the venture, but kept demanding money and servants as well. Moreover there was the next son, Forth, to be educated at Cambridge, a dowry to be found for little Miry, and Margaret’s sons to be provided for in a few years. I scarcely know how, he thought, tugging unhappily at his small pointed beard and frowning at the brocaded tester above his head.
Margaret proffered him the pewter mug of medicine, and he drank it absently. “I must soon answer that distressing letter from Henry,” he said. “The boy’s vain overreaching mind will be his downfall. I marvel that he dares to ask me for more money; he knows I have none without sale of our manor lands, and I am already much in debt to my brother Downing.”
“Think not of those things now, love,” she said. “The Lord will provide.”
“Sometimes I think the Lord has turned his face from England,” John said slowly. “How can it be that He permits the King to so oppress us with false loans and taxes imposed without consent of Parliament? How can it be that He permits popery and Arminianism to seep like plague throughout our lands?”
“Now, dear, pray, don’t heat your blood with such thoughts ...” coaxed Margaret, and she added timidly, for she knew little of such matters, “Will there not be a Parliament soon that can show the King where he does wrong?”
“Aye,” said John. He struggled up from the pillows, his eyes stared from their hollow sockets at the Bible on
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