A rustling sound was the first thing Drew remembered following the vat incident. The sound reminded him of his boyhood when he would lay in bed at night pretending to be asleep. Julia, his nursemaid, would quietly move about the room so as not to wake him. With his eyes closed, Drew would track her movements and actions by the sounds she made. He could tell where she was by the rustling of her skirt. The creak of the rocking chair meant she was either reading or knitting—reading if he heard pages turn, knitting if she sighed. Julia always sighed when she knitted, once every few minutes. The best sound of all was a rustling away from him followed by the click of the door latch. It meant he had fooled her. He could stop pretending and get out of bed, as long as he was quiet about it.
But this wasn’t Morgan Hall, and the rustling sound wasn’t coming from Julia. It was accompanied by a soft humming. Julia never hummed.
Drew tried to open his eyes. His effort set off a series of painful jabs in both eyes, which brought a wince, which hurt his cheeks and lips, which caused him to lift his right hand to his face, which sent a stabbing pain up his arm. With a moan he ceased all movement and fell limp. His eyes and cheeks and arm throbbed in unison, and still his eyes were closed!
The rustle of skirts moved toward him and then quickly away, followed by footsteps descending stairs with a hushed voice trailing after.
“Poppa! Poppa! He’s awake!”
To a chorus of “Amens,” Drew heard thumping sounds coming up the stairs—a pair of heavy thuds followed by the pitter-patter of lighter feet.
“Drew! Thank God!”
The voice belonged to Christopher Matthews.
“How are you feeling?”
The second voice was Jenny.
Drew formed a slow grin. It was painful, but he found it easier than trying to open his eyes. It took him a while to respond. Matthews and Jenny waited patiently.
“Well—”
He found it difficult to speak. He was incredibly thirsty; his mouth was devoid of moisture, making his tongue and lips and gums sticky.
“—as you might expect, I’m feeling a little blue.”
There was an uncertain pause, then a huge guffaw. It was a good sound, one that Drew would always associate with the curate of Edenford.
Jenny laughed and sniffled at the same time.
“Half the village is downstairs praying for you,” Jenny said. “They’ve been praying through the night.”
“Through the night? What time is it?”
“Almost ten o’clock in the morning,” Jenny answered. “Thursday morning. When the townspeople heard what you did, everyone stopped working so they could pray for you and Thomas.”
“Some have been here all night,” Matthews added. “Others are at the Coopers’ house.”
The mention of the Coopers begged another question, one Drew wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. He didn’t know if he was ready to hear the answer.
“Is Thomas all right?”
Drew needed to know, one way or the other.
“He hasn’t awakened yet.” The curate delivered the news somberly. “He’s alive, but he’s badly burned.”
“Is he going to die?”
“God alone knows the answer to that question.”
Flashes of remembered pain darted through Drew’s mind as bits and pieces of the incident came back to him.
Unexpectedly, the bed tilted to the right. Someone was leaning on it.
“Can you open your eyes?” Matthews’ voice came from directly overhead.
“I tried once,” Drew responded. “It hurt. A lot.”
“We’ve sent for a doctor. He lives in Exeter and probably won’t be here until tomorrow. If it hurts too much, don’t try to open them. Best wait for the doctor to get here.”
The sound of the curate’s voice traveled from side to side over him. He was probably examining one eye, then the other.
“I’d like to try again. At least one more time.”
He assumed the curate consented, the weight lifted from the side of the bed, and Drew was level again.
It was such a simple thing really, opening one’s eyes. Drew had done it every day of his life without giving it a thought. Not so on this day. With great effort he forced his eyelids to raise. His effort was rewarded with pain. There was the pain of the burn, the pain of light as it poked through the tiny opening, and the pain of raw flesh against raw flesh where the folds of his eyelids overlapped. It took him more than a minute, but he successfully opened both eyes halfway. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, and the overflow burned saltwater trails down the sides of his face.
His first sight was Jenny. Her hands were folded and pressed to her lips; the corner of a handkerchief dangled from between her palms. Next he saw the curate. His right hand was on his hip; the back of his left hand wiped away tears.
“I hope I don’t look as bad as the two of you,” Drew said.
There was no answer. Instead the curate turned silently and went downstairs to inform the townspeople of Drew’s progress. Drew wanted to ask why Nell wasn’t with Jenny and the curate, but he didn’t. For one thing, he didn’t want anyone to know he was particularly interested in her whereabouts; for another, he was being fawned over by a beautiful lady. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask about her sister.
“You really are a sight,” Jenny said, half-laughing, half-crying.
“Am I really all blue?”
Jenny nodded and giggled.
“Wait right here!”
She ran out of the room.
Wait right here? Where does she think I’m going?
A moment later she was back with a hand mirror and held it in front of his face. At the first sight of himself he laughed, then wished he hadn’t. The pain was intense.
Jenny pulled the mirror away.
“I’m sorry!” she cried.
“No, don’t be. It’s not your fault.” Drew paused to take a few deep breaths. “I’d like to see the rest of me.”
“Are you sure?”
Drew nodded slightly. He directed the mirror’s positioning.
“Hold the mirror up higher. Now angle it down, no, too much. Up a little more, there.”
Drew could see his arm. It was puffed and blistered. Funny blue sausages were attached to the end of a bloated hand. His fingers. They too were puffed, red with blisters, and, of course, blue.
“Do you want to see your foot too?”
That’s right. With all the other areas of pain, he’d forgotten about his left foot. He took a quick mental inventory. The skin felt tight and it hurt when he flexed it, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad.
“I suppose it’s blue too?”
Jenny nodded and gently sat on the edge of the bed. Instinctively Drew shuddered; she was awfully close to his burned arm. Internal warning signals sounded, urging him to pull his arm to safety or ask her move away from it. But there was a soft, hazy look in Jenny’s eyes. It was more than a look of compassion; her eyes were filled with tenderness and romance. Drew ignored his warning signals. What’s a little pain compared to the chance to be this close to someone so beautiful?
She slowly, gently lifted a few strands of hair that had fallen to his forehead and brushed them back.
“You’re remarkable,” she said in a half-whisper. “You’re a gentleman. You’re handsome. And you’re brave.”
She leaned over him farther so that her face was directly above his. Her long brown hair fell to both sides of Drew’s face. Now it was just the two of them; Jenny’s canopy of hair shut out the rest of the world.
For Drew the sensation was torture—her hair tickled and stung his burned cheeks as the beauty of her twinkling blue eyes, petite nose, and soft lips lingered over him. As she lowered herself, the pain was shoved aside by the smoothness of her skin and the moist warmth of her breath. Tenderly she closed her eyes and brushed her lips against his. There was no pressure—she didn’t want to hurt him. Somehow that made the kiss even better.
Jenny’s long hair swept across his face as she rose. At the door she turned toward him with an impish grin and was gone.
Drew learned that he was in the Matthews’ house, upstairs in the curate’s bed. He assumed as much since Jenny roamed freely about and knew exactly where to find a hand mirror.
The curate’s bedroom was dark and Spartan. Since it was in the middle of the house, sandwiched between the girls’ bedroom and the study, it had no windows. The only natural light came through the doorway. Rough beams peaked above him and the walls were bare. There were a washbasin on a small stand in the far corner and a small chest of drawers against the wall next to the door. It was a room for sleeping and dressing, nothing more.
After securing Drew’s consent, Christopher Matthews began ushering grateful townspeople to his bedside. First came David and Shannon Cooper. The large, hairy cobbler and his petite wife showered him with tearful thanks. They were accompanied by their middle child, Margaret. Drew guessed her to be about ten years old. She stood silently behind her parents, uncertain about the blue stranger in the bed and the intense emotion of the situation. The fiery-headed James wasn’t with them.
Old Cyrus Furman shuffled up the stairs to visit him. Because of the events surrounding the vat incident, Rose’s funeral had been postponed until Friday. Everyone in Edenford was praying that the funeral service wouldn’t be a double one.
“I guess we was wrong about you,” Cyrus drawled. He leaned over and patted Drew on the chest. “God bless you, son.”
Ambrose Dudley was a surprise. In contrast to the other visitors, the scrivener stood ramrod straight beside the bed, hands clasped in front of him. He held a letter, which he worried with his fingers as he spoke. The sharp lines of his thin face and hard eyes provided Drew little comfort.
“I suppose we are indebted to you,” he said matter-of-factly.
Drew nodded curtly.
“This came for you,” he said, tossing the letter on Drew’s stomach. “It was delivered by an unwashed, undisciplined young man with wild hair. A friend of yours, I’m sure.”
As the scrivener left, Drew grabbed the letter with his good hand and slipped it under the bedclothes. He couldn’t take the chance of someone offering to read it to him.
How ironic. If Ambrose Dudley only knew he was delivering a message from Bishop Laud!
The messenger was undoubtedly Eliot, and that disturbed Drew. The fact that the bishop had Eliot deliver the message increased its urgency significantly. He’d decode the message as soon as he was sure he’d be left alone. And he would need to have someone bring him his Bible.
Drew received the rest of the townspeople as graciously as he could, considering that they all said the same thing, What you did was wonderful. We didn’t know you had it in you. Thank you. God bless you.
Finally, the last person left the room. Still, there was no Nell.
“I’m sure you’re tired,” the curate said.
He stood at the door, his hand on the outside latch.
“I’ll close the door so you can get some sleep.”
“Wait! Before you leave, could I have my Bible?”
The curate’s face brightened at the request. He retrieved Drew’s Bible.
“Would you like me to read to you?” he offered.
“Um, no thanks. I think I’d like to be alone.”
The curate nodded. He set the washbasin on the floor and pulled the stand next to the bed.
Lighting a candle, he said, “This way you can blow out the candle when you’re ready to sleep.”
“Thanks. Um, where’s Nell? I haven’t seen her.”
The curate playfully knocked himself on the head.
“I should have told you earlier. She’s at the Coopers’. James blames himself for the accident. As you’ve probably noticed, he’s an emotional person. Well, he started saying crazy things about hurting himself, wouldn’t listen to anybody. You don’t know this, but he and Nell have been close ever since they were kids. She’s always been able to handle him. So she’s with him now, trying to keep him from doing something stupid.”
Drew held in his thoughts and simply nodded acknowledgment.
“Oh,” the curate stopped at the door, “just a suggestion. You might read Galatians chapter 6, verses 7–9. I know you’re in a lot of pain right now; I just want you to know that what you have done will not go unrewarded. God will see to that. If you need anything, just call.”
The curate closed the door and Drew was alone.
The thought of Nell consoling James Cooper grated on Drew. He cursed quietly as he flung open his Bible. Retrieving the letter from under the covers, he worked at opening it with his good hand, hoping it was a short message. He didn’t feel like decoding it now, but he wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew what was so important that the bishop had Eliot deliver the message.
The paper tore in two as he fumbled to open it. He cursed again. The news about Nell’s whereabouts disturbed him more than he cared to admit. He shook open one-half of the letter. It wasn’t code! It was handwritten. He dropped the paper on his chest, reached for the second half, and shook it open. Matching the two pieces of paper together, he held them up to the candlelight. The message was written in a nearly illegible scrawl.
“Urgnt! Met me rivrs ege nr brig. Sat. 10p. Eliot.”
Drew lay still in bed, scowling behind half-opened eyelids. Maybe it is nothing. It says urgent, but Eliot set the meeting two days away. And why does Eliot need to talk to me personally? Has something happened to the bishop? Is my mission in Edenford in danger?
Drew folded the pieces of the note and looked for a place to hide them. If found, this note would be more dangerous than the others. Drew wedged it between the pages of his Bible.
Just as he was about to extinguish the candle, he remembered the Scripture passage the curate suggested he read. What was it again? That’s right, Galatians 6:7–9. Looking in the index, he found the page number for Galatians.
By the light of the flickering candle he read, “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting. And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.”
Drew awoke shortly before dinner. He could smell bread baking and—was it beans? He couldn’t quite tell. The aroma of food goaded his stomach to complain loudly.
“Good, you’re awake!” Jenny shoved the door open with her side.
She carried a tray of food. Scooting the candlestick aside with the edge of the tray, she set the food on the stand beside the bed.
The Bible is gone! Drew distinctly remembered placing it on the stand beside the candle before falling asleep. He tried looking over the edge of the bed to see if it was on the floor.
“What are you looking for?” Jenny asked.
“Did you remove my Bible from the stand?” he asked.
“No.”
“Is it on the floor?”
Jenny looked around the legs of the wooden stand.
“No, I don’t see it.”
Drew tried to suppress the anxiety welling up inside him.
“I placed it on the stand just before going to sleep.”
Jenny was unconcerned.
“Maybe Poppa borrowed it.”
She scooted the stand closer to the bed.
“I brought you supper,” she said cheerily.
Maybe Poppa borrowed it … What if he finds Eliot’s note?
“Open up!”
Jenny aimed a spoonful of corn at his mouth.
“I’m capable of feeding myself.”
His irritation over the missing Bible fouled Jenny’s playful mood.
The spoon retracted and a kernel fell to the bed. A pouting lower lip appeared.
“I thought you’d enjoy this.”
Her pout worked.
I can’t do anything about the note right now, Drew reasoned. If Matthews reads the note, I’ll just have to make up a story.
“You’re right,” he said to Jenny. “I would enjoy it.”
A coy expression replaced her pout as she extended the spoon. Drew leaned forward. The combination of his hunger and his server made this the best meal he’d eaten in months.
The meal was a typical one for Edenford, considering their economic woes—corn, beans, and coarse bread. Since water was free, it was the standard drink, and Drew was drinking a lot of it lately.
The best part of the dinner was the after dinner kiss under the flowing canopy of Jenny’s hair. This time, her lips pressed firmly against his and remained longer. A small sigh escaped her as their lips parted.
Nell didn’t come to see him until late that night. Standing in the doorway she looked haggard and worn. She wore a sweet smile, and there was kindness in her eyes, but her conversation seemed formal and guarded. They talked of the accident. Little Thomas was still not awake; James was doing better, no longer feeling self-destructive.
It pained Drew when she spoke of James. He tried to ignore it but couldn’t. He reasoned he had no right to feel jealous, especially considering what had happened between him and Jenny today. Still, the thought of Nell comforting that redheaded ox soured his mood. Did she hold his hands? Hug him? Just what did she do to console the oaf?
Knowing Nell would disapprove of his jealousy, he tried to keep his feelings hidden.
“I’m glad James is doing better,” he said in measured tones.
If Nell detected bitterness, she didn’t show it. With eyes half-closed, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
“If you don’t mind,” she said wearily, “I’ll excuse myself. There are still some things I have to do before retiring. I wish I could stay longer. But I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“I understand,” Drew said flatly.
“Would you like me to close the door?”
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
Nell closed the door halfway, then poked her head back in the room.
“By the way,” she said, “you look adorable all blue.”
She smiled prettily and closed the door.
Drew lay awake for several hours, reviewing the events of his abbreviated day—the gratitude of the townspeople, the obvious pride Christopher Matthews was taking in him, his mixed conversation with Nell, and, of course, Jenny’s kisses. Then there was the problem of the Bible. Who had it? And more important, had they found Eliot’s note?
His conglomeration of thoughts turned fuzzy and blended together as he drifted asleep. The last thing he remembered was the sound of a chair scraping the floor. It came from the curate’s office. He must be working late again tonight.
By Saturday Drew felt well enough to try to get out of bed. When he first awoke, a movement in the doorway caught his eye. Jenny smiled sweetly at him.
“How are you feeling?”
Drew didn’t answer right away. He hadn’t quite completed the transit from the realm of dreams to conscious reality. He struggled because the two realms don’t share a common language. One is based on a series of irrational images, the other on a rational sequence of word symbols. Drew struggled, much like a foreigner who was attempting to decipher the English language.
Jenny giggled as Drew wrestled with question.
“Is the question too hard for you?”
“I’m doing pretty well, I think.”
The language of the conscious realm was coming back to him.
“Would you like something to eat?”
Another question! Drew thought hard. “Yes, I think so.”
Jenny was in the room now.
“Your eyes are open all the way.”
She was right. Drew rubbed them with his left hand.
“Ow!”
He’d forgotten that he couldn’t do the little things, like rubbing one’s eyes in the morning, without giving them a thought.
“Are you all right?”
Jenny was beside the bed now, looking directly over him, her long brown hair falling toward him.
“I just have to be careful what I do.”
Drew looked up at her. What a lovely vision to wake up to, he thought.
“I’ll go get your breakfast.”
She turned and left.
Drew was disappointed. He was expecting another kiss.
“Well, are you going to sleep all day?”
A smile accompanied the question. Nell stood in the doorway, her arms folded.
“Actually, I thought I’d join you ladies downstairs today.”
“Are you going to read the Bible for us?”
“Only if I can choose the passage.”
Nell chuckled. Her smile widened, accompanied by laughing eyes. Seeing her like this brought a warm wave of good feeling over Drew. What is it about this woman that attracts me so? Except for that one Sunday afternoon, she has kept herself distant. She is not as pretty as her sister, so why am I attracted to her? Why does it make me feel so good to see her smile?
Jenny brought the breakfast tray in and set it on the little wooden stand, just like before.
“Come on, Jen, let’s get to work.”
Nell turned to leave.
“I thought I’d stay with Drew while he ate his breakfast.”
“He’s a grown man. He can eat his breakfast all by himself. Let’s go, we’ve lost a couple of days this week.”
Jenny’s lower lip appeared. Her expression appealed for Drew’s intercession.
Drew smiled apologetically.
“Thanks for the offer.”
A genuine frown formed on Jenny’s face.
Drew almost fainted trying to go downstairs. He should have been forewarned by the extensive effort it took to dress himself. He wore a single shoe—his swollen and bandaged left foot wouldn’t fit into one. Overall he felt pretty good. His right arm and face throbbed from his exertion, as did the foot, but other than that he felt strong, and he was anxious to get out of bed and move around. Besides, he had to regain his mobility if he was going to make the rendezvous with Eliot.
It was fortunate for him that a railing was on the side of the stairs as he descended. A little more than halfway down, a white fog rushed to his head, bringing with it a cold sweat. He fell on the railing and tried to clear his head. The white fog grew more dense and began to darken.
The next thing he knew, Nell and Jenny were holding him up, one on each side. They helped him down the stairs and into a chair. A few minutes later his head began to clear. Jenny gently mopped the moisture from the sides of his face and his upper lip.
“Why didn’t you call us?” Nell scolded.
Drew shrugged. “I thought I could make it by myself.”
Nell shook her head and returned to her working place by the window that opened onto High Street.
When his strength returned, Drew offered to read from the Bible, using it as a chance to inquire about his missing Bible. Jenny said she still hadn’t seen it. Nell said she thought it was in the curate’s study upstairs, and so Jenny went to look for it. A few moments later she returned, carrying the Bible. Under pretense of finding a passage to read, Drew looked for Eliot’s note. It was still there.
In the same place, he thought, but he wasn’t sure. Even so, there was no way of knowing if the curate had read the note and placed it back in the Bible. Then another thought occurred to him. What if Nell was the one who was using the Bible? She knew where to find it. Had she read it? If so, how could he explain Eliot’s note?
The Scripture passage Drew read was selected by joint effort. True to her word, Nell left the decision to Drew. He wanted to read more about the adventurous apostle Paul—about him, not by him, he emphasized—but he had no idea where to look.
“Why not start at the beginning of his adventure?” Nell suggested.
She guided him to the book of Acts chapter 9. He scanned the chapter silently for embarrassing references before beginning to read.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?” Nell teased.
As Nell and Jenny pinned, looped, twisted, and tied their lace, Drew read most of chapter 9 (under Nell’s direction he skipped the last eleven verses as well as chapters 10, 11, and 12 since they were about Peter) and chapters 13 and 14.
A wild thought troubled Drew as he read about Paul and Barnabas at Iconium, where there was a plot to stone them. Fortunately, the plot was uncovered and the apostles fled.
Drew wondered what the townspeople of Edenford would do to him if they knew the reason for his presence among them.
Following lunch and a nap, Drew felt good enough to leave the house. Nell insisted someone accompany him. So Christopher Matthews asked if he felt up to a little walk. When Drew said he was, the curate handed him a walking cane, a gift from old Cyrus Furman.
It felt good to get outside. The slight breeze was cold on his face and foot, and Drew welcomed the bright sun like a long lost friend. Walking the streets of Edenford, he felt like a returning battle hero. Everyone they passed said a kind word and thanked Drew again for saving the Cooper boy. With each encounter Christopher Matthews beamed like a proud father.
The curate led Drew to the Cooper residence, located above David Cooper’s cobbler shop. The upper room was extremely warm with no windows or source of circulation. Lying prostrate on the bed was a swollen and blistered Thomas. His mother was beside him, dabbing his limbs with a wet cloth. The boy’s eyes were closed. Drew was beginning to wonder if coming here was a good idea. Seeing the boy like this caused him to feel faint.
“Is he going to be all right?” Drew asked.
“He’s in God’s hands,” the cobbler said.
“What did the doctor say?”
The curate answered this time.
“He didn’t come.”
No further explanation was offered, and from the resentful looks on the faces of the curate and the boy’s parents, Drew didn’t ask for one.
“He’s just now beginning to respond to us,” the cobbler said.
Drew walked to the side of the bed. Thomas’s features were engulfed in swollen skin.
“Thomas,” he said. “This is Drew.”
No response.
“I hope you get better. I’d hate to be the only blue person in the village.”
It took a moment, but then the corners of the boy’s mouth turned upward, and a tear trickled down the side of his face.
As they descended the stairs, the Cooper family heaped “Thank yous” and “God bless yous” upon Drew. There were so many of them he ran out of ways to respond, so he just smiled a lot and nodded.
There was a tense moment as Drew reached the foot of the stairs. James was seated on a stool, hammering a heel to the bottom of a shoe. He hadn’t been back to the vats since the accident, choosing instead to work with his father. The hand that gripped the hammer looked like it was wearing a blue glove, and there was a prominent blue stain on his forehead. At the sight of Drew, James dropped his hammer and stalked out the back door. The smiles that had been everywhere moments before vanished, as the two visitors took their leave.
“It’s not you,” the curate said. “He’s angry with himself for causing the accident, and even more so for failing to rescue his brother. Like the stains on his hand and forehead, you remind him of his failure. It’s difficult for him. Every time he sees his reflection, he sees the mark of Cain.”
“The mark of Cain?”
“In the book of Genesis. Cain killed his brother Abel, so God put a mark on Cain as a warning to others. Cain’s punishment was having to live with the guilt of his actions. That’s how James feels.”
As they turned on to High Street, Drew said, “I’ve been thinking of something you said to me earlier.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“About God having a hand in bringing me to Edenford. Maybe I was brought here to rescue Thomas.”
The curate thought for a moment.
“Could be,” he said. “But I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.”
Saturday the mystery regarding Drew’s Bible was solved. The curate had borrowed it. Apparently, while preparing his sermon, he became curious about how the King James translators had handled the passage. Drew was asleep, and the curate didn’t think Drew would mind if he borrowed the Bible. Of course, Drew didn’t mind, but there was still the unanswered question regarding the note hidden in its pages. Had the curate read it or not?
All work ceased in Edenford at three o’clock in preparation for the Sabbath Day observances on Sunday. The evening meal consisted of vegetable soup. There was no bread or meat. Conversation during and after the dinner was low key. Shortly after 9:30 while the others were talking of bed, Drew announced that he had been sleeping too much lately, wasn’t tired, and was feeling so good he thought he’d take a walk. He grabbed his walking cane and left. No one expressed undue alarm.
It was chilly outside. Halfway down High Street Drew thought about going back for a coat but decided against it. Considering how easy it was to slip out of the house, he didn’t want to take any chances of complicating the matter. His shoeless foot was cold, but what could he do about it? He’d just have to manage somehow.
The dark cracks between the shuttered windows indicated that most of the families on High Street had retired for the night.
As he headed downhill toward Market Street, he had a sudden realization. Eliot said to meet him near the bridge, but he didn’t say which bridge. Was he to meet him at the north bridge or at the south bridge by the mill?
At Market Street he had to decide. Which way? Left or right? He looked up and down the tree lined street dimly lit by street lamps. A bulging row of shadows lined the road beneath the trees. Beyond the trees the village green and church could be seen clearly in the moonlight.
Suddenly, two figures emerged from beneath a tree midway down the road. Drew stepped into a shadow against the last house on High Street. Because of the moon’s position, the shadow from the eaves didn’t fully cover him. He pressed himself harder against the wall. Whispers and giggles came from the two figures. Holding hands, they ran toward Chesterfield Road—away from him.
Drew chose the north bridge because that was the bridge he had crossed to enter Edenford, and he assumed Eliot would come the same way. He hugged the right side of Market Street, walking in the tree’s shadows as the street rounded toward the main thoroughfare. Passing the church, he headed north on Bridge Street, which was lined with two foot high stone walls, and crossed the three-arched stone bridge. He looked for Eliot. No one. It didn’t concern him; he was early.
Drew sat on the stone bridge wall and waited. In minutes he was shivering, as the cold penetrated his clothing. The trickling sound of the river below made him even colder, especially his toes. He tried folding his arms to keep warm, but his right arm still wouldn’t bend far enough for that. To warm his toes, he gingerly tucked them in the crease of the back of his right leg. He was beginning to wonder if he was at the right bridge. It was too dark to see the other bridge from here; he could barely make out the mill. Looking back at the village, he saw a few lights on some of the higher streets. What about the castle on the hill? No. Not a chance. It was too dark to be able to …
“Drew!”
Drew whirled around.
“Eliot?”
“Down here!”
The voice came from the riverbank below the bridge. Drew looked down. It was Eliot, his hair sticking up like pickets.
Drew rounded the end of the bridge and slid down the slope to the river.
Eliot’s eyes opened wide with surprise.
“Wha …? Are you blue?”
He burst into laughter, his hyena laugh.
“Shh! Someone will hear you!”
When that didn’t work.
“It was an accident!”
“No kiddin’! I thought ya did it on purpose!”
Eliot fell to the ground, clutching his sides and laughing, rolling in the leaves along the bank. At times his laughter would taper off, then he’d take another look at Drew and start all over again.
Up to this point Drew had been so concerned with the noise of Eliot’s laughing, that he hadn’t taken a good look at him. Of the two, Drew looked the less strange. Eliot was dressed like a caveman, wearing nothing more than an animal skin loin covering. He was filthy, and rolling in the muddy riverbank only added a fresh coat of what was already there. All over his legs, arms, chest, and back were streaks of red. Scratches? Blood?
“Eliot, shut up! You’ll wake the whole town!”
It took a while, but eventually Eliot’s laughter digressed to an occasional snort. He got to his feet and stood opposite Drew, trying to keep from laughing.
“Your note said it was urgent. Is the bishop all right?”
“Got some great stuff for you, blue boy,” Eliot chuckled.
“Is the bishop all right?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know. His last message to me was strange. Like he wasn’t happy with me.”
Eliot scoffed. “You really are stupid, aren’t you? The guy loves you. Everything you do pleases him.” Eliot stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it vigorously as he spoke.
“So, why are you here?”
“Wait here.”
Eliot dug behind some bushes and pulled out a pouch. From the pouch he took a letter and a piece of paper. He handed Drew the letter first. Muddy finger marks were all over it.
“From the bishop,” he said.
Drew took the letter. The seal was broken.
“It’s been opened.”
“Wanted to see if it was a love letter. What are all those numbers? Code, right? Why’re you usin’ code?”
“You shouldn’t have opened my letter,” Drew said, his voice rising.
A queer look crossed Eliot’s face. He stepped back and raised his dirt crusted fists. The other paper fluttered to the ground and landed at water’s edge.
“Want to beat it out of me? Come on! Try it! I bet you couldn’t even land a blow.”
When Drew didn’t respond, Eliot moved toward him, punching Drew’s shoulder, slapping his face.
Drew winced, not so much from the blows, but from the pain on his burned flesh.
“Come on! Try an’ hit me. Use the cane if you want!” Eliot taunted.
Drew shook his head. “Stop it, Eliot! What else do you have?”
When he saw Drew wasn’t going to respond, Eliot lowered his fists. Facing Drew at all times, he retrieved the paper from the water’s edge. One corner was wet.
“There was a raid at Peterborough,” he said. “They was printin’ Justin pamphlets. We found some of these. Pages of Justin’s writing, in his own hand. The bishop wants you to match the writin’ on this page with this curate’s writin’.”
“Christopher Matthews?”
“That’s him. The bishop thinks this guy might be Justin. Maybe not. I took pages to a couple of other lads too. Same instructions.”
Drew took the paper. “Tell the bishop I’ll compare the writing.”
“Tell him yourself!” Eliot spit. “In one of those number love letters!”
Drew tucked the letter and the writing sample in his shirt. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could. Eliot had always been strange, but Drew had never seen him this wild.
“I’ve got to get back,” he said.
“What’s the matter? Blue boy doesn’t want to be seen with me?”
Drew planted the tip of his walking stick into the hillside and started up the slope.
“I’m not good enough for you? You can make love to a bishop, but not to me?” Eliot grabbed Drew’s injured arm.
Drew stifled a yell and pushed him away.
“Hey! Does blue hurt?”
Eliot came right back and began dancing around Drew, punching and squeezing every blue area he saw. Each contact brought fresh pain.
Drew tried to ward off the punches, but he had only one arm to defend himself. He took a wild swing with the stick, missing Eliot completely. The look in Eliot’s eyes showed he was clearly enjoying Drew’s pain.
Another swing and miss.
“You are slow, blue boy!”
Eliot landed a couple of blows to prove his point.
Drew was getting angry. He tried again to go up the slope, but Eliot jumped in his path. He tried to step around him, and Eliot jumped in front of him.
“Eliot, I’m tired of your game. Let me pass.”
“Try and get past me!” Eliot taunted. He stood on higher ground, hands on hips.
Drew looked around him. The river was too wide to attempt crossing it; immediately downstream the footing of the bridge blocked his way. The only way out of the river gorge was to climb the slope, the one blocked by Eliot Venner.
Drew moved straight at Eliot. Eliot pushed him back. A second attempt yielded the same results. On the third try, Drew lowered his left shoulder and tried to fake one way and slip past Eliot the other way. The fake worked, but Drew’s burned foot slipped on some leaves, and he fell with a thump. Eliot put a foot on Drew’s back and let out an animal cry of victory.
Eliot’s other foot was planted next to Drew’s good arm. He saw his chance. Releasing the walking stick, Drew seized Eliot’s foot and yanked with all his might, sending the half-naked man plummeting to the ground on his backside. Drew tried to scramble to his feet; they failed him, and he went sliding down the slope.
Now Eliot was up, his eyes filled with fury and his dirt covered cheeks puffing in and out with each exaggerated breath. Letting out a scream, he charged toward Drew who was still struggling to get up.
With hands held high, fingers extended like claws, Eliot charged. Drew did the only thing he could do. Having regained his balance, he stood in a crouched position, ready to take on his attacker. Eliot was hurtling straight toward him. At the last second, Drew dropped to the ground on his good shoulder and rolled into Eliot’s legs. The charging Eliot flew over him, into the river.
Before Eliot could get out, Drew stood over him with a large boulder raised unsteadily over his head; his burned arm was stiff and weak, and did little more than steady the boulder.
“That’s enough, Eliot!” Drew shouted.
Eliot spit water out of his mouth and shook his head.
“I was only havin’ a little fun.”
“Go have fun somewhere else.”
“I thought you were supposed to be some kinda knight or something.” Eliot shook his head. “Knights are supposed to like fighting. Some knight you are!”
With the boulder still aimed at him, Eliot climbed out of the river, grabbed his pouch, and headed upstream.
Drew watched him go. He wasn’t about to lower the rock or turn his back until he knew Eliot was gone. Just then he remembered something.
“Eliot!” he called in a forced whisper. “Eliot!” He had to call several times before Eliot turned around.
“Shubal Elkins,” Drew shouted. “Lord Chesterfield’s groundskeeper. Did you kill him?”
Eliot turned and walked upstream.
“Did you kill him?” Drew called after him.
Eliot Venner dropped his pouch. He raised both arms skyward and danced wildly in circles, around and around, howling like a wolf.
A hurt, exhausted Drew Morgan limped across the bridge into Edenford. He couldn’t get over how much Eliot had changed. He’d always been crazy, but this Eliot was unstable and dangerous. Drew made a mental note to tell the bishop of his fight with Eliot tonight. Then he returned to the task at hand, the Justin manuscript. He always knew there was a possibility that Christopher Matthews was Justin, but Nell told him her father wasn’t good at writing. Still, he’d have to check. That would mean finding a time he could sneak into the curate’s study. He just hoped that it wasn’t true.
“Master Morgan?”
Drew jumped at the unexpected voice. A tall, thin figure emerged from the tree shadows in front of the church. The scarecrow. Ambrose Dudley.
“A little late for a stroll, don’t you think?” the scarecrow asked.