The Preacher's Bride (25 page)

She took a step back under the shade of the low-hanging branches and wished she could disappear. Sooner or later the confrontation was inevitable. She had just hoped it would come later.

He stopped in front of her and stared at her midsection. “Mary, I need to talk with Elizabeth—in private.” His voice was terse and left no room for disagreement.

Mary cocked her head as though she wanted to say something.

“Go.”

Mary pressed her lips together and then shuffled off, making her way toward Milkie’s lean-to. When Mary was a safe distance away, John took a step closer to her. Branches caught in his wind-tossed hair.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Methinks you very well know
what
.”

She
did
know
what
. She just needed more time to figure out how to answer him. “What is
what
?”

“You know
what
.”

“What?”

He growled. He ducked his head and stepped under the canopy of branches, closing the distance between them. He grasped her arm and drew her toward him.

She didn’t want to resist him.

“This is
what
.” He splayed his hand across her stomach, stretching his fingers, feeling the fullness there.

She couldn’t hide from him any longer. She bit her lip, as emotions bubbled up from the pool of anguish deep inside.

“I had to find out today from Elder Harrington that my wife is going to have a baby.” His grip on her arm tightened. “My wife is with child, and I’m the last person in the whole of Bedfordshire to know.”

She cringed at the hurt in his voice. “I didn’t tell anyone. Truly I did not.”

“You should have told
me
.” He pulled her closer.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Are you well?” He searched her face, the fear in his eyes making them almost wild.

She couldn’t stop herself from cupping a hand against his cheek. “I am as well as always.”

His gaze locked with hers and searched deep inside her, seeming to test the truth of her words.

“I have had no problems. I’m as healthy as I have ever been.”

“Truly?”

She smiled, her heart warming at his concern. “Truly.”

His breath swooshed, and the warmth fanned over her lips. She only had to tilt her face upward, and he could not resist her nearness. His lips quickly claimed hers. At first soft and tender, the pressure of his kiss awakened a longing deep inside her, and she couldn’t keep herself from responding with all of the passion that had lain dormant in her heart. For a moment she forgot about everything, and she let her love for him swell up and overtake her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He wrenched himself away from her and dragged in a shuddering breath.

She touched her trembling lips. “I was going to when I first suspected it. But then you told me you didn’t want another child. You said it would be a burden.”

“A new baby won’t be easy for either of us and is certainly not what I would have planned. If I am gone, you will find yourself poor and alone with another child to care for. And I will only worry all the more about the family I’ve left behind.”

“Then don’t leave us, John.” She reached for his jerkin and grabbed it in both hands. “Please, you don’t need to leave. If you would but abandon your preaching, then we could live together as husband and wife without fear. We would have no worries over this new babe.”

It took a moment for her to realize his body had grown rigid. He started to pull away from her.

She leaned into him and wound an arm around him. She nuzzled her face into the bare spot above his collar. A quiet desperation urged her on and gave her uncharacteristic boldness. She must sway him. This was her chance to convince him to give up the preaching that was putting him in danger.

“Wouldn’t you want to be with me and the children?” She brushed her lips against his neck and made a trail of kisses to his ear.

He trembled and his grip on her arm tightened.

She arched into him and stood on her toes to reach his ear. “God wouldn’t have you neglect your family in order to serve Him.” She kissed his ear. “Most surely God wouldn’t have you place yourself in danger when it can so easily be avoided.”

His breathing grew louder, and his heart hammered against her chest.

Again she kissed his neck, savoring the saltiness of his hot skin.

With an anguished groan, he pried her away and took a step back. “You don’t understand God’s call on my life, Elizabeth, or you wouldn’t speak this way.”

She reached for him, but he stepped out from under the tree, putting distance between them.

“God’s calling may change. Mayhap He’s now calling you to something different than preaching. More writing?”

“He wouldn’t have me quit the fight when it gets rough. It’s not His way to give up.”

Her mind darted, frantically searching for the argument that would persuade him to renounce his dangerous way of life so he would be free to stay with her and love her. “What if it is merely your pride standing in the way? What if you don’t want to stop because you don’t wish to concede victory to your opponents?”

Anger flared to life in his eyes again. “Say no more.”

“The work of preaching in Bedfordshire doesn’t rest on your shoulders alone. God could accomplish His purposes without the help of John Costin.”

“Enough, Elizabeth.”

“Or perchance you have grown so puffed up with your ministry that it’s become more about your fame than about God’s—”

“Enough!”

His roar was loud enough to draw the attention of the children and waken Thomas, who sat up with a wail.

John’s jaw was tight with the strain of keeping his voice low. “You don’t know me. You shouldn’t presume to understand more about my motivations than I myself do.”

Elizabeth clenched her fists at her side. Holding up her chin, she refused to cower from the lightning flashing in his eyes. She was losing her chance. She could feel the moment slipping away. “Please, John. All I want is for us to be together, to be a real family. Truly, that is all.”

His face was dark with anger. He spun away from her and then gave her one last look. “I take my preaching orders from God and God alone. I cannot and will not listen to the prattle of a foolish young girl.”

Elizabeth watched him stalk toward the cottage. Frustration and hopelessness swept through her like the aftermath of a storm, leaving debris scattered painfully throughout her heart.

She plucked an apple from a nearby branch. Then with a cry she hurled it to the ground and stomped it with her foot. She mashed it again and again, until all that remained was a mush of soggy pulp.

Her chest burned. Tears stung her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Her breath came in large heaving gulps as she stared at the flattened remains of the apple.

John Costin had done the very same thing to her love. He had thrown it down and trampled, until he had broken her heart and destroyed her last hope of ever gaining his love.

Chapter
31

There is a warrant for your arrest, Brother Costin,” Brother Burgess said in greeting.

John ducked inside the farmhouse and dropped his tool bag to the floor. “Methinks there is hardly a day that goes by without word of threat against me.” John cupped his hands at his mouth and blew on them, trying to bring back warmth. The air had finally grown too damp and cool for them to meet outside, and after the long walk, he was grateful to be inside on this November day.

Brother Burgess peered outside, scrutinizing the road before he closed the door.

John strode to the long table in the center of the room and took the mug of cider Sister Burgess offered. He gulped down half of the sweet liquid before the silence of the others in the room began to haunt him.

He licked the froth from his lips and glanced to the somber faces of those already gathered for their meeting. Unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He thumped his mug on the table. “My enemies may rant, but they have no just cause against me.”

Brother Burgess sniffed several times and rubbed his sleeve across his red nose. “We have reason to believe it’s not merely a threat this time.”

“Word reached us that Mr. Wingate has issued the warrant. He’s made it known that if you preach, you’re to be arrested.”

“I should have known.” Francis Wingate was a staunch opponent of the Independents. His family had suffered heavy fines during the Protectorate, and it was no secret he was eager to avenge the past. Moreover, he was William Foster’s brother-in-law. That alone was all John needed to grow pensive.

“I think it would be wise to postpone our meeting to another day,” Brother Burgess suggested.

Throughout the summer and fall, John’s enemies, along with most of England, had been too busy celebrating the king’s return to take any measures against the Independents. But in recent weeks Parliament had restored the Anglican Church and the Book of Common Prayer. The exiled leaders had moved back into their parishes and forced the Puritans out.

Parliament assumed that everyone would return to attending the Divine Service, but none of the Puritans had made any effort to participate in Anglican services. Rather, the Bedford Independent Congregation had resorted to gathering in farm fields and barns.

No one had prevented them from meeting yet. And so far John’s enemies hadn’t had any basis for keeping him from preaching and teaching.

He had no reason to think Foster would succeed this time. Even with the help of Mr. Wingate, what reason did they have for his arrest? Parliament had not yet enacted any new laws that would prevent him from preaching.

“No,” he said, “by no means. I won’t stir, neither will I have the meeting dismissed for this.”

The men began to murmur.

“Come, be of good cheer. Let us not be daunted.” John reached again for the mug of cider and took a long drink. “Our cause is good, and we need not be ashamed of it. To preach God’s Word is so good a work that we shall be well rewarded even if we suffer for it.”

“Yes,” Mr. Burgess said in a hushed tone, “but Mr. Wingate has already called upon the constable.” He glanced at the door.

“We think you should flee while you still have the chance,” another said.

The odd feeling churned in John’s gut again. Foster was a snake—sly and unpredictable. What if this time he was able to finally sink in his fangs?

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Since we still have time before the others arrive, I will pray about the matter.”

The men nodded their assent.

John retreated to the field behind the farmhouse, away from the fearful gazes, away from the anxious pressure.

He paced under bare elm branches. The dry leaves crunched under his feet, and the coolness of the day permeated his woolen cloak. He shivered and took a breath of the woodsy damp air.

He’d always known his unlicensed preaching carried the possibility of arrest. Even under the protection of Cromwell’s rule, there were too many, even among the Independents, who believed only the properly trained and educated should preach.

Yet, in all the many months of his ministry, he had never let their threats sway him. God had given him skill with words and had called him to preach. Therefore, he’d obeyed God’s call, not man’s prejudiced dictates.

Why would he do any differently now?

Elizabeth. He could picture the way she’d looked when he’d left the cottage that morning. In the dim light of the hearth, he’d glimpsed the swell of her stomach and the soft lines of her full figure—and his entire body had ached with the longing to hold her again. When she’d turned her sad gray eyes upon him, he’d wanted to rush to her and wipe away the dark shadows from her tired face.

He’d tried to convince himself over the past weeks that he’d done the right thing by shutting her out of his life. He’d tried to remind himself of her demands and of how she’d asked him to abandon his preaching. But lately, whenever he was near her, he couldn’t quite remember why those things mattered so much.

His gaze turned toward the road, the narrow path that would lead him back to Bedford. It would be so easy to slip away now. No one in the farmhouse would fault him. Instead, they no doubt would be pleased if he did. Then he could be with Elizabeth, really be with her, and stop fighting the longings for her that overwhelmed him at times. He could be with her when their baby was born. Maybe they could be the
real
family she wanted.

With a long sigh that blew a cloud of white moisture into the air, he hung his head. If he turned and ran now, what message would that send to the new converts—that he was not as strong in action as he was in word? If he, their mentor and teacher, fled from persecution, wouldn’t they follow his example when threatened?

“Lord, I covet your wisdom. What would you have me do?” He paced quicker, as if in so doing he could think faster. “Surely you don’t give a calling only to take it away at the threat of hardship.”

The clamor of voices signaled the arrival of more people from the surrounding countryside, from Pulloxhill, Westoning, and Flitwick—earnest, hardworking tradesmen and laborers who had languished in the dead ritualistic religion that had ruled in England for so long.

Now that they had heard the truth of the Gospel, that God could save them and would invite them to an active and personal relationship with Him, they couldn’t go back to their empty way of living. They were starved for someone to give them the solid food of the Word of God.

How could he give up the fight now? If he and other unlicensed preachers gave in to the pressures, they would concede defeat, not just to Foster and Wingate and others like them, but ultimately to the devil.

The old enemy of man’s salvation was working hard to keep the purity of the Gospel message from spreading, just as he had worked in the days of the early apostles and saints. But they had persevered through persecution, even if it meant death. Was he willing to do the same?

Slowly John walked back to the farmhouse. Expectant gazes riveted to him when he stepped inside. “I won’t run from danger.” He shed his cloak.

The voices of the men rose in argument. Some of the new arrivals wanted to resist Wingate and had complaints of their own against him. Others wanted peace at all costs.

John pulled his Bible from his bag and took his spot at the head of the gathering. “I don’t know what the outcome of this day may bring. But nothing will happen that our Lord doesn’t ordain. If He’s chosen me to suffer arrest for Him, then He has a purpose in it. And if my time for it has not yet come, He will make that clear too.”

He flipped open the pages of his Bible.

Suddenly a thundering knock on the door broke the quiet.

His body tensed and his thoughts flashed to Elizabeth. He envisioned her face the day he’d discovered she was with child, when she’d stood under the apple tree, flushed and beautiful, arguing with him more convincingly than any man. What would she feel when she learned he’d been arrested?

“John Costin, I’ve got a warrant for yer arrest.” The constable banged the door open and stepped inside. Two brawny men accompanied him.

“What’s he done?” A big farmer jumped to his feet and put a hand to the hunting dagger sheathed at his belt. “The king hasn’t made any law against meeting together for prayer and Bible study—at least not yet.”

The constable spread his feet apart, and his cloak fell away to reveal a long rapier. The two men with him did likewise, their hands already thrust through the hilts. The room grew quiet enough to hear hens cackling in the yard behind the house.

“All we want to know is what Brother Costin’s done wrong,” another man said.

“Why would I have a warrant if he weren’t guilty of something? Now, let’s get on with it. I’ve been waiting outside long enough for your foolhardy meeting to start.”

“Well, this ’ere
foolhardy
meeting isn’t open to you or Wingate’s men.” The big farmer took a step forward. His fingers worked at unsheathing his dagger. “You’re gonna have to wait outside until we’re finished.”

“You’re finished now.” The constable stepped toward the farmer and pulled out his rapier. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The farmer jerked his dagger out.

“Brother Lyte,” Burgess cautioned. “This is a peaceable gathering.”

“It’ll be peaceable soon enough, when I usher our unwanted
guests
back outside.”

John closed his Bible. “There will be no fighting here. I’ll go with them.” He nodded at Brother Lyte to put away his dagger. Brother Lyte, along with several others, was still new enough to the ways of the Lord that he could easily be tempted into bloodshed, especially against Wingate’s men.

The stocky farmer didn’t move except to puff out his shoulders and arms into the kind of stance that shouted defiance.

“I don’t want to be apprehended for being a thief or a murderer.” With a calmness that belied the tension squeezing his muscles, John picked up his tool sack and stuffed his Bible inside. “No. If I must go to prison, it will be because I am innocent.”

With even steps he walked toward Brother Lyte. “It’s better in God’s sight for us to be the persecuted than to be the persecutors.” He reached for the farmer’s dagger and pried it from the man’s grip. Then he flipped it upside down and motioned it toward the sheath. “You must fight with your prayers, Brother Lyte. They are your strongest weapon now.”

The farmer hesitated and then replaced his dagger into his belt.

Brother Burgess released a heavy breath.

“Let’s go, Costin.” The constable backed toward the door without taking his focus from the gathering.

John slung his pack over his back and nodded assent. But he turned to Brother Burgess. “Get word to my brother Willie in Elstow. He’ll know where to find the Bedford elders.”

“Let’s go. Now.” The constable opened the door and motioned for John with his head.

“And get word to Elizabeth and the children. Tell her not to worry.” But even as he said the words, he had a feeling deep inside that this time she had every reason to worry.

* * *

When they arrived at the large double gates of Harlington House, the constable told him Francis Wingate was otherwise engaged. John was sure the delay was intended to put him off guard, to instill fear of the unknown, to make certain he knew who was in control.

After a sleepless night, John was finally ushered into the parlor. Even though he had spent much of the night praying, the moment he stepped into the dark room, the paneled walls and low ceiling closed in upon him and stole his last shreds of peace.

Gloomy fog enveloped him and shrouded his soul. He hesitated and blinked his eyes to adjust to the dismal lighting. One of Wingate’s men gave him a shove that sent him stumbling into the room.

In the shadows, lit by a single candle, Mr. Wingate reclined in an upholstered chair, his legs crossed at the knees. One finely leathered boot tapped at the air, and long smooth fingers drummed on the carved armrest. The darkness of the room shadowed his face, but John could feel the man’s eyes coldly regarding him.

“Do come in, Costin.”

John straightened his shoulders and bristled under the man’s haughtiness. “With the hospitality that’s been extended to me, how can I resist?”

A sharp blow to his lower back caught him off guard, nearly knocking him to his knees with the pain. John gritted his teeth and struggled to hold himself upright.

“Costin, do you know why you are here?”

“Methinks I can guess—”

“You are here because you are guilty of plotting revolution against His Majesty King Charles II.”

“Then you’ve got the wrong man, Mr. Wingate. I assure you I was leading a peaceable Bible study with not a thought toward rebellion.”

“A likely excuse, I’m sure. Gathering your kind under the guise of Bible study but then using it as an opportunity to speak politically, arguing for yet another revolution.”

John’s temper fired to a hot flame and spread through his body like a spark upon thatch. “You can ask any man in that gathering yesterday or anywhere else, and they’ll all attest to the same—I’ve never spoken against the king.”

Wingate waved his hand. “I’ve read your works, Costin. Your writing is full of sedition.”

“Then it’s not my writing you’ve read—”

“I’ve read it. And
if
I so desired, I could prove sedition.”

If
. The word hung in the air, and suddenly John knew the charge of plotting revolt was not the real issue. Rather, it was the threat, the sword to prod him into submission.

John caught a movement in the corner behind Wingate. He could distinguish the outline of a thin man with a narrow face. Was it Foster?

John squared his shoulders. The battle was about to get rough. “So what is it that you really want from me?”

Wingate sat forward in his chair and stomped both feet against the floor. His face, now visible in the light of the candle, revealed features as hard as chiseled marble. “You are a tinker. Follow your own trade. Stop troubling everyone by usurping your place.”

“I instruct people on forsaking their sins and closing in with Christ.” John worked hard to keep his words even and calm. “I can do such exhorting without confusion or compromise to my tinkering trade.”