listened intently. I snatched sidelong glances at him: at his face, the line of cheekbone and jaw lit by the fire’s glow, at his hands resting on his thighs. I longed to reach out and take his hand in mine, but a girl could not be so bold.
“Eden had a serpent,” said Judith. She shivered. “I should not like to go so far … so many months at sea… Would thou go, Nat?”
He laughed. “I’d need earn my passage before even thinking of it. I’m bound for London, as a journeyman printer.”
“And thee, Will?” asked Tom.
I looked up sharply at Will’s face. His answer was important to me.
“To London,” he said, “if the bond is agreed. “But” – he sighed and struck with clenched fists on his knees – “thou know’st how I am torn.”
I had never heard him use our way of speech before; and it seemed he had done it without thinking. He is being drawn in, I thought; and I was both glad and fearful for him. I didn’t want him to go to London, and yet, if he stayed, he might suffer in prison, and how could I wish that? God will uphold us, I thought, no matter what comes.
The fire was now so low that the walls were almost invisible, and when we stood up the darkness enfolded us and Nat and Will had to cast about to find their coats and hats. Judith looked out and checked that the Mintons’ servant, Hester, had lit the outside light. The shop sign, swinging below the window, creaked in a rising wind.
“I’ll walk back with thee, Will,” said Nat.
They said goodbye, and Will briefly touched my hand. “I’ll come tomorrow.”
I shared Judith’s bed that night. Both of us were wakeful, aware of her parents’ empty chamber and of how uncomfortably they must be lodged, and of Abigail near by, who made small whimpering sounds in her sleep. We whispered, so as not to wake her.
“I think thou lov’st Dan Kite,” I said.
“Oh! Is it so clear to see? But what of thee and Will Heywood?”
We laughed and shushed each other.
“But has Dan spoken?” I asked. “Will you be wed?”
“Oh, Su, I don’t know! I think he likes me. Indeed, I know he does. But he’s a man full of action and schemes and ideas. I don’t know if I could live such a bold, outward life. My mother thinks him wild. And she says I’m too young.”
“ My mother was young, like thee, when she married,” I said.
I lay thinking of Will, and whether we would ever be married. Would he want me? And if he did, would his family allow it?
“Everything is different,” my mother had said, “in a time of war.”
It feels like a time of war now, I thought.
William
“F ather…” I took a breath. “Father, I must speak to you about the prisoners.”
It was Monday, and we had finished our midday dinner. The women had left us, and we were drinking: small beer, not wine, for my father likes to stay alert for business in the afternoon.
He was alert now – and puzzled.
“Prisoners?”
“The Quaker prisoners. Those who were arrested yesterday.”
He stared at me and I felt myself beginning to tremble with a mixture of anticipation and fear. My father, wearing his hat, as he always did indoors as head of the family, was an intimidating figure.
“They are kept without warrant,” I said. “Therefore they don’t know why they are detained or when—”
“Don’t know !” he exploded, and I flinched. “They know exactly why they are detained. They are a most wily people and know everything about the law and how to use it to their advantage. As for the warrant, with so many arrested at once it is bound to take time… But what’s your interest in this? Who have you been talking to?”
“I … have some friends among them.”
“Friends? Among the Quakers? Ah…” He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with cynical amusement. “I see it all now. It’s this girl, isn’t it? The one Richard saw you with. You’ve got yourself a Quaker girl and now you want her released from jail. Is that it?”
“I have
“Eden had a serpent,” said Judith. She shivered. “I should not like to go so far … so many months at sea… Would thou go, Nat?”
He laughed. “I’d need earn my passage before even thinking of it. I’m bound for London, as a journeyman printer.”
“And thee, Will?” asked Tom.
I looked up sharply at Will’s face. His answer was important to me.
“To London,” he said, “if the bond is agreed. “But” – he sighed and struck with clenched fists on his knees – “thou know’st how I am torn.”
I had never heard him use our way of speech before; and it seemed he had done it without thinking. He is being drawn in, I thought; and I was both glad and fearful for him. I didn’t want him to go to London, and yet, if he stayed, he might suffer in prison, and how could I wish that? God will uphold us, I thought, no matter what comes.
The fire was now so low that the walls were almost invisible, and when we stood up the darkness enfolded us and Nat and Will had to cast about to find their coats and hats. Judith looked out and checked that the Mintons’ servant, Hester, had lit the outside light. The shop sign, swinging below the window, creaked in a rising wind.
“I’ll walk back with thee, Will,” said Nat.
They said goodbye, and Will briefly touched my hand. “I’ll come tomorrow.”
I shared Judith’s bed that night. Both of us were wakeful, aware of her parents’ empty chamber and of how uncomfortably they must be lodged, and of Abigail near by, who made small whimpering sounds in her sleep. We whispered, so as not to wake her.
“I think thou lov’st Dan Kite,” I said.
“Oh! Is it so clear to see? But what of thee and Will Heywood?”
We laughed and shushed each other.
“But has Dan spoken?” I asked. “Will you be wed?”
“Oh, Su, I don’t know! I think he likes me. Indeed, I know he does. But he’s a man full of action and schemes and ideas. I don’t know if I could live such a bold, outward life. My mother thinks him wild. And she says I’m too young.”
“ My mother was young, like thee, when she married,” I said.
I lay thinking of Will, and whether we would ever be married. Would he want me? And if he did, would his family allow it?
“Everything is different,” my mother had said, “in a time of war.”
It feels like a time of war now, I thought.
William
“F ather…” I took a breath. “Father, I must speak to you about the prisoners.”
It was Monday, and we had finished our midday dinner. The women had left us, and we were drinking: small beer, not wine, for my father likes to stay alert for business in the afternoon.
He was alert now – and puzzled.
“Prisoners?”
“The Quaker prisoners. Those who were arrested yesterday.”
He stared at me and I felt myself beginning to tremble with a mixture of anticipation and fear. My father, wearing his hat, as he always did indoors as head of the family, was an intimidating figure.
“They are kept without warrant,” I said. “Therefore they don’t know why they are detained or when—”
“Don’t know !” he exploded, and I flinched. “They know exactly why they are detained. They are a most wily people and know everything about the law and how to use it to their advantage. As for the warrant, with so many arrested at once it is bound to take time… But what’s your interest in this? Who have you been talking to?”
“I … have some friends among them.”
“Friends? Among the Quakers? Ah…” He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with cynical amusement. “I see it all now. It’s this girl, isn’t it? The one Richard saw you with. You’ve got yourself a Quaker girl and now you want her released from jail. Is that it?”
“I have
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