The Preacher's Bride by Jody Hedlund Read Free Book Online Page A

vows. Sometimes marriage is more like a partnership.”
    Betsy smiled and squirmed out of her arms. “Then it will work after all. You don’t need to love my father to marry him. Nor does he need to like you.”
    Elizabeth lunged forward, but the girl dashed beyond her reach.
    “I’ll go tell my father.”
    “No, Betsy. ’Tis much too soon for your father to be thinking of such things.”
    She skipped along without turning back.
    “Come back, Betsy.” She couldn’t let the girl play matchmaker. It would only end in embarrassment for everyone. “Stop.”
    Thomas’s cries rose in the morning air, becoming more insistent. Lucy had come at daybreak to nurse and rarely made it for two feedings in a row. At least once a day, Elizabeth walked over to Calts Lane to find the woman, often with that strange feeling of someone watching her.
    Perhaps Mrs. Grew had been correct. What did an uneducated commoner like herself know about choosing a wet nurse? Maybe she’d made a mistake selecting Lucy. Lucy’s whole way of living was fraught with peril.
    And she feared what would happen if the authorities learned that Lucy was harboring her homeless sister. Lucy had begged Elizabeth not to tell anyone about Martha. The woman’s husband had run off, and she didn’t know where the man was or even if he was still alive. Martha had nowhere to live and no way to support herself or her three children. She’d resorted to begging, moving from place to place to avoid the Bedell of Beggars, whose official duty was to track down poor beggars and then arrest and whip any who didn’t belong to their town.
    Elizabeth rose and brushed the weeds and dirt off her petticoat. “Betsy! You mustn’t disturb your father.”
    Already at the door of the shed, the girl smiled and then stepped inside.
    The tapping of Brother Costin’s anvil stopped.
    Elizabeth watched the doorway for a moment. Should she follow Betsy and make sure he knew none of this was her idea?
    Thomas’s wails drew her attention back to Mary. The girl rocked and bounced him and sang to him, but his cries only escalated.
    “I shall make him pap,” she called to Mary.
    “He’s ready.” The girl stared in her direction, her forehead creased with anxiety.
    Elizabeth stepped through the rosemary and sage.
    “Johnny, you shall have milk and bread too.” When she reached him, she smoothed a wind-tossed lock of his hair. “You were a good boy to patiently wait for me. Did you like Mary’s stories?”
    Smiling, he nodded. “Giant. Killed.”
    Elizabeth planted a kiss on his head.
    Once inside the cottage, Elizabeth prepared the pap while Mary jiggled the crying babe. She mashed the bread with the back of the spoon and pressed it into warm water and milk—the milk and bread she had brought from her father’s house.
    “Mary, with little mouths to feed, I must question why your father doesn’t have a cow.”
    At first Mary didn’t reply.
    Elizabeth paused and lifted her gaze. Had the girl failed to hear her above Thomas’s wail?
    Mary’s chin dipped low. “We did have a cow,” she finally said. “But it got loose and wandered off. Mother was too weak to look far. When Father returned and learned it was gone, he was too late. He found the cow dead almost to Newnham, her carcass about cleaned out.”
    Elizabeth shook her head. A laborer like Brother Costin wouldn’t earn enough wages to easily replace a cow.
    “ ’Twas a difficult time after Thomas’s birth.” Guilt crept into Mary’s voice. “Mother couldn’t milk the cow anymore. And Father sometimes forgot. I tried to help. . . .” The girl’s face constricted.
    The door of the cottage banged against the wall.
    Elizabeth’s hands jerked and splashed pap onto the table.
    Brother Costin stood with feet straddled and arms crossed. “Methinks you have too much ambition, using my own daughter to arrange a marriage. It’s appalling when my wife’s been gone less than a fortnight.”
    “Here we go,” she