check when we left Bedford to see if everyone was present.”
John’s mind whirled with all of the possibilities of what could have happened to Mary. Panic swirled through him and rose in his throat like bile.
“Usually Eleanor walks with Mary, holds her hand, guides her. But Eleanor claims she didn’t see Mary at the meetinghouse before we left.”
He followed Sarah’s gaze to Eleanor, the youngest of her daughters, close in age to Mary. The girl had always seemed responsible and had shown a kindness toward Mary that most did not.
“She weren’t nowhere around. Nowhere ’tall,” the girl whispered, eyes alight with fright.
“We don’t understand what could’ve happened,” Sarah said. “Mary never wanders off. She always stays right by me or Eleanor.”
“Betsy, Johnny, do you know what happened to Mary?” John’s voice was sharper than he intended.
Their eyes filled with tears, and they shook their heads.
“Did she tell you anything? Did you see her go anywhere?”
Again they shook their heads.
His thoughts returned to the visitor who had made threats to Elizabeth and the children earlier in the month. He’d checked with neighbors; none of them had seen anyone unusual in the neighborhood. And as he’d expected, he’d gotten nowhere in discovering who had visited.
The criticism against him was growing daily. He could easily picture a number of men as the culprit—especially Royalists who would do whatever they could to undermine the Puritan cause.
Had one of them finally resorted to the ultimate intimidation—using his children as a way to force him into complying? Was Mary even now abducted and held captive by someone who wanted his silence?
“Willie has been out looking for her most the afternoon,” Sarah said. “He’s worried sick to death about her.”
John’s stomach clenched, and he took a deep shaky breath to keep himself from getting sick.
“We’ll find her.” He slapped his soggy hat back on his head and hoped his words didn’t ring as hollow as he felt inside.
He turned to leave, but then stopped and glanced from Betsy and Johnny to Sarah.
“You go on.” Sarah waved at him with her dripping ladle. “They’ll stay with us here.”
He gave her a curt nod before he turned and bounded out of the cottage.
He’d lost his wife and had given up their newborn baby for dead.
How could he survive if he lost his daughter too?
Chapter
10
John swished through the long grass. Mud clung to his boots and slowed him down. The familiar run between Elstow and Bedford was usually one he could make before he had time to breathe heavily. But not today.
He hadn’t yet glimpsed the high tower of St. John’s over the treetops, and already his side ached and his breath came in heavy gasps.
“Mary!” He searched along the hedgerow. “Where are you?”
Only the lone call of a warbler answered him.
What had happened to her? Nausea churned in his stomach. What if someone had accosted her, intent on taking advantage of her blindness? She was a pretty young girl. Any filthy vagrant could easily use her and dump her in a ditch or field. What if she was lying abandoned with a broken bone or bleeding gash, crying out for help with no one to hear her?
He had to find her, especially before it got dark. The rain would shear one hour, maybe two from the day, precious moments that could mean the difference to her survival. Once night settled, his search would be futile. She might end up lost to him forever.
His eyes scanned every willow and elm and every spot of grass and brush. When he finally turned onto St. John’s Street, his lungs burned and his voice was hoarse from calling her name.
He barged into the meetinghouse, peered down the aisle and under each pew. Then with growing panic he banged on the rectory door. “Willie has already scoured the parish,” Vicar Burton answered. “Several of the neighbors joined in the search too.”
John blew out a shaky breath.
When he met
John’s mind whirled with all of the possibilities of what could have happened to Mary. Panic swirled through him and rose in his throat like bile.
“Usually Eleanor walks with Mary, holds her hand, guides her. But Eleanor claims she didn’t see Mary at the meetinghouse before we left.”
He followed Sarah’s gaze to Eleanor, the youngest of her daughters, close in age to Mary. The girl had always seemed responsible and had shown a kindness toward Mary that most did not.
“She weren’t nowhere around. Nowhere ’tall,” the girl whispered, eyes alight with fright.
“We don’t understand what could’ve happened,” Sarah said. “Mary never wanders off. She always stays right by me or Eleanor.”
“Betsy, Johnny, do you know what happened to Mary?” John’s voice was sharper than he intended.
Their eyes filled with tears, and they shook their heads.
“Did she tell you anything? Did you see her go anywhere?”
Again they shook their heads.
His thoughts returned to the visitor who had made threats to Elizabeth and the children earlier in the month. He’d checked with neighbors; none of them had seen anyone unusual in the neighborhood. And as he’d expected, he’d gotten nowhere in discovering who had visited.
The criticism against him was growing daily. He could easily picture a number of men as the culprit—especially Royalists who would do whatever they could to undermine the Puritan cause.
Had one of them finally resorted to the ultimate intimidation—using his children as a way to force him into complying? Was Mary even now abducted and held captive by someone who wanted his silence?
“Willie has been out looking for her most the afternoon,” Sarah said. “He’s worried sick to death about her.”
John’s stomach clenched, and he took a deep shaky breath to keep himself from getting sick.
“We’ll find her.” He slapped his soggy hat back on his head and hoped his words didn’t ring as hollow as he felt inside.
He turned to leave, but then stopped and glanced from Betsy and Johnny to Sarah.
“You go on.” Sarah waved at him with her dripping ladle. “They’ll stay with us here.”
He gave her a curt nod before he turned and bounded out of the cottage.
He’d lost his wife and had given up their newborn baby for dead.
How could he survive if he lost his daughter too?
Chapter
10
John swished through the long grass. Mud clung to his boots and slowed him down. The familiar run between Elstow and Bedford was usually one he could make before he had time to breathe heavily. But not today.
He hadn’t yet glimpsed the high tower of St. John’s over the treetops, and already his side ached and his breath came in heavy gasps.
“Mary!” He searched along the hedgerow. “Where are you?”
Only the lone call of a warbler answered him.
What had happened to her? Nausea churned in his stomach. What if someone had accosted her, intent on taking advantage of her blindness? She was a pretty young girl. Any filthy vagrant could easily use her and dump her in a ditch or field. What if she was lying abandoned with a broken bone or bleeding gash, crying out for help with no one to hear her?
He had to find her, especially before it got dark. The rain would shear one hour, maybe two from the day, precious moments that could mean the difference to her survival. Once night settled, his search would be futile. She might end up lost to him forever.
His eyes scanned every willow and elm and every spot of grass and brush. When he finally turned onto St. John’s Street, his lungs burned and his voice was hoarse from calling her name.
He barged into the meetinghouse, peered down the aisle and under each pew. Then with growing panic he banged on the rectory door. “Willie has already scoured the parish,” Vicar Burton answered. “Several of the neighbors joined in the search too.”
John blew out a shaky breath.
When he met
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