The Pilgrim by Hugh Nissenson Page A

not.”
    â€œNot yet. ’Tis true. I do not yet love you. But as the saying is, ‘Marry first, and love after by leisure.’”
    â€œIs that the saying? Ah, Charles! I want to be loved now.”
    â€œWill you not wait on me? Most dainty and honey-sweet mistress, marry me. I know I shall come to love you after a time.”
    â€œâ€˜Most dainty and honey-sweet mistress!’ Fie! Your excess of sweetness cloys, Charles. Call me simply ‘My Sarah.’ My head aches extremely on the sudden, Charles. We shall talk of our marriage anon. Meanwhile, my thanks to you for asking me to be your wife. I am grateful to you. I shall think on your considerate offer, and we’ll talk of it again.”
    She bade me wait upon her reply till the twenty-seventh of December in the year of Christ 1619.
    That day she said, “Well, Charles, I accept you to be my husband. I love you, Charles. In truth, I have loved you since first we met at dinner and you said, ‘You are very young, Mistress, to wrestle with God.’ It seemed to me that you peered through my veil into my soul and witnessed its bitter travail. You perceived my inward self and looked through mine eyes upon the world which was indifferent to my suffering. You immediately understood my perpetual struggle to reconcile myself with God’s will. I instantly loved you for your understanding heart, though in truth, I would rather be loved than understood.
    â€œNonetheless, you are big and tall, Charles. All these attributes of yours commend themselves to me, and I am satisfied—at present. My mother made my father fall in love with her after they were married. She hath taught me how, and I shall work my woman’s gentle magic upon you. I shall rouse your love for me by my tenderness. Methinks, no woman hath hitherto been tender to you.”
    â€œThere was one—my nurse—but, bidden by the Evil One, she strangled her infant and was hanged.”
    â€œPoor Charles! My poor Charles!”
    â€œWhat’s this world but a gilt bitter pill that the Devil forces down our throats?”
    She said, “I do not believe it. This is the world that God loves and wherein love between man and woman thrives, and likewise love between them and their children. Let us marry, Charles, and pray that God blesses our union with issue. I want a boy and girl, and, by God’s grace, the complexion of each shall assuage the pain of our mutual disfigurement. We shall rejoice in their unmarred features that they inherit from each of us: your cleft chin, perhaps, or the slight slant of mine eyes or my full lower lip, as once they were. Our babes shall shape our countenances anew and, in doing so, renew us.”
    I said, “So be it! Take off your veil. Let me kiss you.”
    Afterwards, she said, “That was my first kiss.”
    â€œMine, as well.”
    â€œYou want practice, Charles.”
    â€œThen let me give you another.”
    â€œNo. You shall earn the rest. I want you to court me in the old English manner. Give me five tokens of your love in as many days.”
    â€¢ • •
    During the next five afternoons, we went walking through St. James Park. Despite the cold wind, Sarah went without her veil. The first token of my love that I gave her was my mother’s kid gloves. I told her their history and how I had covered them with kisses when I was a child.
    She said, “Then so shall I!”
    â€œHath my token earned me a kiss?”
    â€œYes,” she said. “Warm my lips.”
    My second token was a Geneva Bible. My third was a gold ring worth eighteen shillings; my fourth was a girdle and five red ribbons. My last token was an ivory comb that cost me twelve shillings.
    On the selfsame day, my Sarah said, “I give you this shilling, my darling Charles, as a sign that I will marry you and be your wedded wife.” At that, we kissed again, mingling our warm breaths made visible by the icy