No Shame, No Fear by Ann Turnbull

under the sign of the gloved hand, is only a few doors from Will’s home. Here, in the centre of town, houses and shops are packed close, grand and small together. Next door to the glove-maker’s is a tailor’s and on the other side a shoemaker’s. The tailor’s wife came out when we appeared and asked if we had come to any harm.
    “None, I thank thee,” said Judith. “But our parents are taken to prison without a warrant.”
    The woman saw Abigail’s tear-stained face and said, “This is a bad business. Your parents are godly folks and good neighbours. They should not be treated so.” She reached out to Abigail. “Never fear, pet, we’ll get them out. My husband will stand bail for them.”
    “Thou’rt good to us,” said Judith. “But my parents will not agree to it.”
    “But the children…” The woman looked pityingly at Abigail and Joseph. “There is a time to give over stubbornness. We’ll go with you tomorrow, and see what can be done.”
    After we had gone in and were upstairs in the rooms above the shop there came a knock at the door; it was the woman’s servant with a dish of meat for us to share and some pottage for the children.
    Judith put the food on the table and we gathered around. All the time I was aware of Will, conscious that we had never been together in a group like this before, and that all except perhaps young Joseph must know of our feelings for each other.
    There were only two chairs, and Judith offered these to Nat and Will. The rest of us sat on benches. We ate and talked, our discussion full of what might be to come. From time to time I glanced at Will, wondering what he thought of this craftsman’s home with its simple furniture and pewter tableware. Even now, dressed in his plainest clothes, he did not look like one of us.
    “There are thirty people or more in prison now,” said Judith. “They cannot keep them long. The overcrowding will be too much.”
    “They care nothing for that,” Nat said. “They’ll push us in till there be no more room to stand. It’s happening in London, they say. And Bristol. All around.”
    I thought then of my parents in Long Aston. Would the country meetings be raided too?
    After we had finished eating, Judith cleared the dishes and sent Abigail and Joseph to bed. The men brought the benches closer to the fire, and Will moved swiftly to sit beside me. My heartbeat quickened, and I knew I was blushing. But no one had noticed. Nat was asking Tom about his plans for an apprenticeship. Tom was fourteen, fair and tall like Judith, and more than ready to leave home. His sights were set on Bristol. He spoke eagerly of going there, of how big the Bristol meetings had grown, of the Quaker merchants who were beginning to flourish because they dealt fairly and their word was their bond. “And the docks!” he said. “I’d see the ships that sail to Africa and the New World!”
    “Dan Kite has thoughts of sailing to America, to spread the truth there,” said Nat.
    “He told me,” said Judith, and I saw at that moment that she loved Daniel and feared for him and did not want him to go. “But there’s more danger in Massachusetts than here, surely?”
    I knew she was thinking of the news I’d read about, of Friends hanged in Boston because they defied the law against Quakers entering the colony.
    “If so, there is the Lord’s work to be done there,” said Tom; and Judith said, “Oh, Tom,” and sat biting her thumbnail.
    “There are other places,” Nat said. “They say America is vast beyond imagining; land to be had for the taking.”
    “The Garden of Eden?” I said, and yawned. I was growing sleepy. The light had gone and Judith had not yet lit candles. We had only the embers of the fire to see by. I was lost in the pleasure of being so close to Will; not touching, but near enough to feel each slight movement as he leaned forward or shifted his weight on the bench. He was quiet, no doubt feeling somewhat of an outsider, but he