Into His Arms (21 page)

One morning, Faith dressed in one of Elizabeth’s gowns and sat sewing in the gallery in a chair next to her aunt. A cool sea breeze blew through the open windows lining both the front and back walls of the long, elegantly furnished chamber. In the week since Faith had arrived, several black seamstresses had slaved day and night to complete the collection of gowns that would become Faith’s new wardrobe. But Elizabeth insisted that she and Faith attach the trimmings of ribbons and lace.

“They’ll steal bits and pieces, you know,” Elizabeth explained, “and then they’ll get into fights over them.”

The thought made Faith sad. How little they must have to fight over bits of lace. She had wanted to talk to the slave women who had come to fit her for the dresses, but Elizabeth strongly discouraged it, and the women had quickly done their jobs and left. Likewise, her aunt kept her away from the kitchens and the women who worked them, and made sure that she never went near the field hands. Even with such limited exposure, it occurred to Faith that slavery was the serpent in this Garden of Eden.

Glancing at her niece’s gloomy face, Elizabeth sought to cheer her. “Did Naomi ever tell you about the chickens we bartered for a long strip of lace?”

The statement snapped Faith from her musings. There were a few very wealthy women in Boston who trimmed their collars with a small amount of lace, but she had never seen her mother do such a frivolous thing.

“Nay, she never did.”

“Oh, it was a delicate bit of finery!” Elizabeth said with a fond smile and a faraway look. “‘Pretty enough for a fairy’s wings,’ Naomi said.”

It was hard to imagine her mother indulging in such a fantasy. “
My
mother said that?”

“Aye! It was her idea, the whole scheme. We were still living in England at the time. A peddler came through our community, hawking fabrics and such. Our little village was made up of Puritans and farmers. They bought plenty of muslin, but no one had any use for the lace he carried with him, as well. While our mother perused sensible bolts of cotton, Naomi insisted that we simply had to have that lace.”

“
My
mother?” Faith repeated dubiously.

Elizabeth only giggled. “Well, we hied ourselves home, and Naomi got this grand idea that we could barter chickens for the lace. The peddler would have to eat, she said, and he’d be glad of a couple fine hens. I said that mother would not be so very glad to have lost them, but Naomi was certain that we could convince her that they’d run off, if only we left the gate open.”

“Nay!”

“Oh, aye! Well, we left the gate open. When all was said and done, we lost five chickens that day. Three we found in the woods, but two never did turn up.” She winked at Faith. “Mother beat us both for our carelessness, but we had the lace.”

“Mother
stole
two hens and
lied
to Grandmother?” Faith asked incredulously. “Are you sure we’re speaking of
my
mother? Naomi Cooper?”

“Nay Faith, we are speaking of Naomi Winston. And that was not the worst of it,” Elizabeth answered. “There wasn’t enough lace for each of us to use for anything separately, so we agreed that we would trim one of our petticoats. That way, we could share it, and no would ever need know because it would be under our dresses. But our mother knew everything. I often thought God spoke to her directly whenever we misbehaved.”

Faith laughed. “My mother is like that now. None of us children could slip much past her.”

“Mayhap it comes with children, that tattle-tale voice of the Almighty,” Elizabeth chuckled. “Anyway, Naomi was the one wearing the petticoat when our mother demanded that we lift our skirts. My foolish sister tried to shoulder all the blame, but I’d my fair share to take. We took all our meals standing up for days!” She rubbed her backside in remembered pain.

“You must have been very close,” Faith commented. At Elizabeth’s sad nod, she asked, “Do you never hate them, your parents and my father? It breaks my heart when I think that I may never see my family again, but I made that choice knowing what I risked. What they did to you was so cruel.”

“I made a choice, like you,” Elizabeth answered. “And so did they. My parents hurt me, I’ll not lie, but I know the teachings of that church. A more stiff-necked, intolerant theology I’ve yet to encounter. There was little worse than Catholicism in their eyes. Black witchcraft, maybe, although perhaps not. The first time I genuflected before a statue in Miguel’s church, I thought surely God would strike me dead for idolatry.”

Faith smiled. “And yet, here you are.”

Elizabeth surveyed her skirts and held her hands before her face. “So I am!” she exclaimed in mock surprise.

“I suppose it is foolish, when you think of it,” Faith reflected. “We are all Christians. What can it matter to God that we worship somewhat differently?”

“Here in the Caribbean, we see people from everywhere. Have you ever met a Mohammedan?” Faith shook her head, and Elizabeth continued. “They are as fierce in their devotion to Allah and Mohammed as any saint to God and Christ.”

Faith paused, deep in thought, before she said, “And so, in the name of their devotion, people have slaughtered each other in crusades and pushed loved ones away. Think you, Aunt Elizabeth, that it is possible that we all worship the same God, in the end?”

With a sideways glance and shake of her head, Elizabeth replied, “Not much of a Puritan, are you?”

“I was, once. I thought I was.” Faith’s brow was furrowed in thought. “I know what happened to me. I couldn’t stand it anymore, swallowing my emotions, dutifully obedient to the point of nearly having to marry a man who despised me! But what happened to my mother? What became of the girl who took two beatings, all for a lace-trimmed petticoat?”

Elizabeth gave her a bittersweet smile. “Jonathan.”

“My father?”

“Aye. We met him on Cigatoo. We took an immediate dislike to one another, Jonathan and I, but for Naomi, it was love at first sight.”

“They are not like you and Uncle Miguel,” Faith said. “But they love each other, that I know.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that, Faith. I may not ever have liked your father overmuch, but the man commands respect. If I know Jonathan, he loves you all fiercely.”

“He does, and I’ve surely broken his heart,” Faith agreed, her voice quivering.

With a harshness that was out of character, Elizabeth replied, “‘Tis about time his faith cost
him
something.”

“Then you do hate him for keeping you and Mother apart.”

“I don’t hate him,” Elizabeth sighed. “Naomi wrote to me once. She could have done so again, if she had chosen to. I suppose I’ll always feel a little hurt that she chose him over me, but I understand.”

“You do?”

“Aye. Naomi needed Jonathan, even as I needed Miguel. My sister and I are on two different paths, and that is just the way of it. Do you really think yourself so unusual, a Puritan born and raised who eventually comes to rebel against all of the proscriptions, the hypocrisy?”

“No one I have known has ever spoken such rebellion.”

“Only to face the stocks or be whipped? Imagine that,” Elizabeth retorted, and Faith nodded in understanding. “Naomi and I spoke of it, though, in furtive whispers, in the dark of night.”

Such a tale was inconceivable to Faith. Her mother was a pillar of the church, an upright woman. She was very nearly as perfect as Faith’s father.

“But while such thoughts made me long for escape, they made Naomi long for security. When I allowed myself to question the church, I felt free. Naomi felt terrified. I suppose the story of the lace sums it up well enough. After our mother discovered the petticoat and whipped us for our lying, stealing, and vanity, she marched us to the church. There we were lectured to for well over an hour. By the time we left, I was disgusted. It was only a bit of finery. But Naomi was utterly convinced that her desire for the lace was a sure sign that she was destined for the fires of hell. She struggled with such worries for a long time.”

Faith could well imagine her mother’s torment. Had she not wrestled with the very same fears?

“And then came Jonathan Cooper. A more solid, stable, self-certain man you’ll never meet. He’s a rock, that one. And he was handsome and hardworking, a man with a promising future. A man brimming with divine grace. When she fell in love with him, she changed. I almost wish I could say that it was for the worse. Our separation might have been easier to swallow if I could have believed that she feared him.”

“Oh, nay!” Faith protested. “He is not a brutal man! He is forceful, and fearsome in some ways, but he would never really hurt any of us!”

Elizabeth reached over and patted her hand. “I know that, dear. As I said, I selfishly wished that Naomi had changed for the worse. Mayhap I was a little jealous. She married your father, and it was as though a light went on inside of her. He restored her. He gave her back her faith in the church, and in doing so, he gave her faith in herself. Who am I to judge that? He has made my sister happy. I cannot, for the life of me, hate your father.”

“What did Uncle Miguel give to you?”

The older woman paused, as though she debated something in her own mind. Finally, she turned and arched a graceful brow at Faith. “Well, for one thing, he was devilishly handsome and a master of flattery. I must admit, having never in my life been told that I was beautiful, that meant a great deal more than it should have.”

To her dismay, Faith felt her cheeks flame at her aunt’s words. Even as she understood her mother’s long-ago doubts, she understood Elizabeth’s vanity. It was a heady thing, to be told of one’s beauty and desirability.

“And he stirred within me feelings both forbidden and intoxicating. Sheltered as I was, I was ill prepared and overwhelmed.”

Faith’s face felt positively scorching.

Elizabeth continued as though unaware of the girl’s response. “We had a whirlwind romance, because my family was to spend only a few weeks in Jamaica until our ship came for us. My conversion to Catholicism was an impulsive one, born of passion, but I quickly came to embrace much of it.”

“It spoke to you?”

“Not all of it. I saw the corruption I had been warned of since childhood, but having seen the flaws in my own church, as well, it mattered little.

“Forgiveness, Faith. Here was a God who had not already chosen my fate. I could ask forgiveness, and it would be granted.”

“There is little enough of that in our church,” Faith acceded.

“Even the very best people founder, Faith.” Elizabeth looked hard at her niece, and Faith had the uneasy feeling that she could see right through her. “In the end, redemption comes through forgiveness. Forgiving others and forgiving ourselves.”

When Elizabeth rose to check on the midday meal, Faith sat alone with her thoughts. Geoff’s betrayal had cut her to the quick. She hadn’t been able to decide which infuriated her more, the fact that he had seduced her and then discarded her, or the fact that she had allowed him to do so.

Wrapping her arms tightly around her waist, she walked to one of the front windows and gazed out at the bay and the sea beyond. Thoughts of Geoff always left her with a nauseating combination of frustrated ire and aching emptiness.

Where was he? Did he ever think of her? Had he any regrets?

She shook her head to clear it. These were futile questions. She could only hope that, in time, she would be able to follow her aunt’s advice and forgive both Geoff and herself.

Elizabeth had given her much else to think on. She had cast an entirely new light upon Faith’s mother, and somehow it left her feeling somewhat differently about herself. Different paths, Elizabeth had said. Not one path of good and all others of evil, merely paths that were different. Where would Faith’s take her?

Chapter 19

There would be many such conversations between Faith and her aunt in the weeks to follow. And the more they talked, the more certain Faith felt that, despite the pain that Geoff had caused her, and despite her own fall from grace,
Destiny
had been the answer to her prayers, after all. Geoff’s bold defiance of convention had shaken her loose from the grip of Puritanical fear. Now, Elizabeth was helping her to find new places to take hold of hope.

Here was a woman who could forgive those who had denied her forgiveness. She could question churches without forfeiting her faith. Her thinking was adaptable, independent, admirable.

But Elizabeth was not without her own contradictions, and at times, they nearly split Faith’s heart in two. She had quickly came to love both her aunt and uncle. They had welcomed her warmly and lavished her with the finest of everything they had to offer. At the same time, what she saw in the cane fields sickened her.

As in town, she could not understand the words of the Africans’ songs, but the anger and sadness, ever colored by a fierce pride, spoke directly to her soul. It was a wonder they had the energy to survive, much less sing. Many did not. Those who did seemed to find that energy in the hostility and disdain that steeped just below the surface, impervious to the overseer’s whip and the indignity of bondage.

The innocuous, sweet sugar crystals that had once been a rare treat could be had in abundance at Winston Hall, but Faith found that she had lost her taste for it. She drank her tea black and declined the luscious desserts prepared by the African women who served in the kitchen. Anything sweetened with sugar was made sour by sweat and sadness, bitter by blood and anger.

“Does it never disturb you, Aunt Elizabeth?” Faith ventured one afternoon as she and the older woman rode in an open carriage. They traveled down the road, through recently burned fields, and out toward the beach. “All that you have costs them so much.”

Faith inclined her head to a thin, young African boy not much older than her brother David. He moved among the blackened plants, cutting away the canes that stood strong amid the destruction. Fields were burned before harvesting to make them passable. Thick growth, snakes, wasps, and other hazards had to be destroyed before laborers could begin the work of harvesting. Fire eliminated these impediments without damaging the fruit of the canes.