The Captive Bride (33 page)

They came to Plymouth at midday, and he said, “Take me to the sea, Matthew.”

They skirted the town, coming in from the seaward side. When they arrived, Gilbert cried, “Help me up!” As Matthew raised him, he gazed at the rolling waves of the ocean, the scudding white clouds, and then turned his eyes upward toward the village on the hill, soaking in the memories, etching them on his mind.

“Now, let it come,” he whispered.

Matthew found a house for rent, and all of them set up temporary housekeeping. It was a quiet, holy time, for as the days went by, they saw Gilbert's face grow more and more peaceful.

On the fourth day after their arrival, just before sunset, Gilbert called with urgency in his weak voice, “Rachel— Matthew?”

“Yes! What is it?” Rachel ran to his bedside.

“It's time to go home,” he told her simply, a high expectancy
in his eyes. Turning to Matthew he urged, “Take me to the sea, son; the tide is going out.”

“All right, Father. Rachel, go tell the others.”

Though they had prepared for this day, sadness tugged at their hearts, knowing this might be the final parting. After gently placing his father in the carriage with his head in Rachel's lap, Matthew drove the carriage, while the others followed in another.

“Go to the hill where she is, son,” Gilbert directed.

Matthew drove to the high hill overlooking the harbor, and stopped the horses beside an iron fence that enclosed a few worn stone markers.

Carefully he picked up his father and carried him to the plot. The others followed close behind. He stopped at a special marker, holding his father's thin form in his strong arms as the others crowded around them.

Gilbert opened his eyes and looked down at the stone that said,
Humility Cooper Winslow—She hath done what she could.

He said nothing, but there was a smile on his face. “Put me down here for a moment, son.”

Matthew gently placed him on the marble bench and sat beside him. As Gilbert lifted his eyes again to the sea, he said quietly, “There's where we landed that first time. What a crew we were—God-hungry and afraid of nothing—Bradford and Standish and Howland—good old John Alden and his Priscilla!”

Raising his voice, he continued. “This land is like no other—and you are Winslows! You must never do other than serve the Lord Christ with all your hearts—but you will live in this land—a land that offers—freedom—”

He paused and lifted his head as if he'd heard someone call his name, and he smiled and whispered, “Yes!” He opened his eyes and looked around, taking in each of them. “I am proud—of all of you! God—is—good—”

Then he gave a little gasp and his head fell forward.
“Father!” Matthew cried, but he knew, as they all did, that Gilbert Winslow had gone to his true home! Rachel stared at the face she'd loved all her life. “Goodbye—for a little while!” she whispered as she kissed his brow.

For sometime they knelt there with heads bowed, tears flowing; then they got up and Matthew carried his father back to the carriage.

The next day, they had a little ceremony and once again, Gilbert Winslow lay beside his beloved Humility.

Rachel walked blindly away from the small plot, wanting to be alone. For hours she walked the shores, thinking of all the times she'd spent there as a girl with her grandfather; how he'd been both grandfather and father to her those years she thought her father dead. The pure joy of living and love for the Lord he had instilled in her. He had given her so much. She would miss him. But as the day wore on, a peace fell on her, and she felt the presence of the Lord. It was as though His loving hand reached down and touched that deep ache within, filling her with joy.

“Rachel?”

She turned to see Robert standing by an outcropping of stone. With a cry of joy she ran to him, falling into his protective arms.

“Are you all right?” he asked gently as he held her close.

She squeezed his hard muscular body with all her strength, then threw her head back. There were tears in her eyes, but she dashed them away. “Yes, I'm all right—as long as you love me!”

He crushed her to him, kissing her tears away.

“Rachel Winslow,” he said simply, “if you're all right as long as I love you, why, you have nothing to worry about! I'm never going to let you go!”

She kissed him again, then said with a smile of victory:

“Take me home, Robert! Take me home!”

GILBERT MORRIS spent ten years as a pastor before becoming Professor of English at Ouachita Baptist University in Arkansas and earning a Ph.D. at the University of Arkansas. A prolific writer, he has had over 25 scholarly articles and 200 poems published in various periodicals, and over the past years has had more than 180 novels published. His family includes three grown children. He and his wife live in Gulf Shores, Alabama.