Molly

That night, Beth stayed in the east wing’s chambers. She lit some logs in the fireplace to give her cheer. Everyone else was at the feast at Sudeley Castle.

She was a little glad that King Henry VIII had banished her. She didn’t think she could eat the meat from the boar. And she didn’t want to see Henry and Amelia. They would be making goo-goo eyes at each other.

But she did want to hear the music and see the dancers in the great hall. Most of all, she wanted to see Stephen and James. But she had to stay in the chambers.

Knock, knock, knock. Someone was there to see her.

Beth pulled on the large, brass door handle. The tall, wooden door swung inward.

“Greetings,” James said.

“Greetings to you, too,” Beth said. “Isn’t there a hunting party going on? Shouldn’t you be there?”

“I shall go presently. But first I have something for you. I have kept it safe all these years. It shall be our secret.”

James handed her a piece of plain, white cloth. Something was wrapped up inside it.

Beth opened it. “The broken remote! It got ruined in our earlier adventure.”

“You may have wit enough to repair it,” James said.

Beth looked at the jumble of springs and wires. She couldn’t fix it, but Amelia probably could if she got her hands on it. Beth wrapped the remote back up. She had to hide the broken device from the scientist.

She went to her small servant’s room. She slipped the cloth package underneath her mattress.

“The servants need aid in the kitchen,” James said. “The King will never come there. It would be a safe place for you.”

“I’d like that,” Beth said.

James led her down a narrow staircase. The stairs were uneven, and each tread creaked with her steps. The staircase led to the vast kitchen.

It was filled with people, tables, and several brick ovens and fireplaces. Iron pots and pans hung from a rack on the ceiling.

Thin, mangy cats lazed around the fires. Beth guessed they were looking for mice or dropped scraps of food.

James stopped at a long table. It had bowls of sugar, spices, plums, strawberries, and cherries. There were also finished desserts: wafers, gingerbread, sugar cookies, and custard tarts. A young woman in a white apron sat at a bench. She smiled at Beth.

“I need to offer the King my service,” James said to Beth. “But Molly will care for you.”

Molly’s brown hair curled around her dimpled cheeks. She showed Beth how to fill small tart crusts. They stuffed the tarts with the plums, strawberries, and cherries. Molly sprinkled sugar, ground ginger, and cinnamon on top. Beth thought the tarts looked delicious.

Other servants milled around. Beth overheard them laughing about Lady Amelia. “She is setting her sights on the King,” one said. “But he’ll have a new lady friend on the morrow.”

But Molly and Beth stayed together and tried not to listen. They talked of more pleasant things.

“Plum pudding is King Henry’s favorite dessert,” Molly said. “But it’s the wrong season for that. He shall have to choose something else.”

“What’s your favorite of all these?” Beth asked Molly. She swept her arm to point out all the desserts on the table.

Another worker picked up a tray of wafers and took them out.

Molly filled a tart crust with strawberries.

“My favorite is a plain sugar drop,” Molly said. “They are really just egg whites and sugar. Then I use a press to make the little flowers. I make them for Yeoman Stephen White. They make him the happiest, so ’tis why I like them so much.”

“Does sharing cookies mean you are ‘sweet’ on each other?” Beth asked.

Molly laughed at Beth’s little joke. “Yes,” she said. “We are to be wed in September.” Molly stopped her work. She took Beth’s hands in hers. “I want to thank you. You were so brave to fight off the boar. Stephen told me all about it.”

Beth thought over the event. “Well,” she said, “it was my fault he was even there. And then he saved me!”

“I am still thankful,” Molly said. “May I teach you the prayer Stephen and I pray together? It’s from the English New Testament.”

Beth nodded. The two women kept holding hands and closed their eyes.

Molly said, “Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.”

“Who taught you that prayer?” a voice said from behind them.

Beth dropped Molly’s hands and turned around. A man in white robes stood next to the table. His hat was white with gold trim and shaped like a tall beehive.

Three of the king’s guards were with him. Beth had seen one of them at the hunting grounds. It was Ross, who had fixed the wagon and found the mare.

The man in white was holding a small book with a light-tan leather cover.

Beth recognized it as one of William Tyndale’s New Testaments.

Molly stood and gave a little bow to the old man. “Bishop Wakeman,” she said. “What an honor.”

“I asked who taught you that prayer,” the bishop said.

Molly kept her head lowered. She stayed calm. “I can read a little. I learned it myself, my lord.”

The bishop smirked. He opened the Bible and held it in front of Molly. He pointed to a verse. “Read this,” he said.

Molly lowered her head even more. Beth saw a tear sprout from the corner of her new friend’s eye. “I still need a bit of help with some of the letters,” Molly said.

“I’d be surprised if you can spell cat,” he said.

Beth stood. “C-A-T,” she said. “I can read. And I know at least twenty Bible verses by heart. In English. What’s wrong with that?”

The bishop looked to the ceiling as if appealing to God Himself.

“What am I to do with such a flock of evildoers! They disobey the head of the church!” the bishop cried, lifting his arms. “It has been said that you” —he motioned to Beth —“left this Bible in a wagon earlier today. One of the King’s Guard brought it to me. I came here to question you for myself.”

Ross looked at the ground. He thumbed his small nose and shifted his feet awkwardly. He seemed to be nervous.

The snitch, Beth thought.

Bishop Wakeman waved the Tyndale New Testament.

“What’s going on in this castle?” he shouted at Molly. “I won’t have any Reformers in our county. We must cleanse the district of rebels.”

The servants and cats ran away from the angry bishop. Beth even saw a mouse scurry away to its hole.

“’Tis not her fault she had the book,” Molly said calmly. “This girl is innocent.”

Beth’s mouth turned dry. She tried to speak, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“I have need to speak to Lady Amelia. She must watch you with greater care,” the bishop said to Beth. “You shall remain in the castle dungeon till I discover who gave you this New Testament.” He shook it at Beth. Then he looked at Molly. “And you’ll tell me who is teaching you the Bible in English. Until you do, you’ll be locked in the dungeon with her.”

He took three steps and turned. He pointed a long, bony finger at the girls. “Remember, the stake and the fire await all Reformers —men, women, and children alike!”

Molly reached and took Beth’s hand. “It’ll be all right.” Molly’s voice was confident and full of hope. “God will protect us.”

The Model T Imagination Station brought Patrick to a cave.

He stepped out, and the machine faded.

An eerie feeling enveloped him. He’d been here before, in this very spot. But things were slightly different. It smelled even mustier than before.

A thin beam of sunlight showed through a thick knot of vines.

That’s the entrance, he remembered.

Patrick moved to the dangling plants and parted them. It was morning. The sun was rising and cast a yellow glow over the farmlands.

Old and dark woods were on his left.

Just ten feet away on the road was a man. He had a mop of curly, gray hair. He was lifting a crate into a wagon. A heap of barley stalks lay on the ground.

“Hello,” Patrick said. “I’m looking for a girl named Beth. Have you seen her?”

The man dropped the crate. He spun around.

Patrick held his hand in the air just below his forehead. “She’s about this tall, and she has brown hair.”

“Patrick!” the man cried. “You are long awaited.”

The man rushed toward Patrick with open arms.

Patrick stepped back. He didn’t recognize this man. “How do you know me?”

The man let his arms fall. “’Tis a fair question. My name is James. I was a youth the last time you saw me. You helped us during a jousting match.”

Patrick asked questions about the other people he’d known. James answered them all. He also told him about King Henry VIII.

“That’s the king who wanted a divorce,” Patrick said. “But the Catholic leaders said no. I heard about him.”

Patrick wondered why Whit had sent him to England. “Where’s Beth?” he asked. “Mr. Whittaker said she was in trouble.”

“Let not your heart be troubled,” James said. “King Henry protected her. But now she has to stay under house arrest. She can’t leave the east wing of the castle. And she still has to serve Lady Amelia.”

House arrest. Castle. Lady Amelia.

“Protect Beth from what?” Patrick was feeling uneasy.

James gulped. “I should have held my tongue.”

“But you didn’t,” Patrick said.

James wrung his hands. “There be a chance she could go to prison or worse . . . but really, she shall be fine. Lady Amelia is her protector.”

That news didn’t make Patrick feel any better. Amelia couldn’t be trusted. “What did Beth do?”

“’Tis more of a question of what I did,” James said. He reached down to the crate. He picked up a book and held it out to Patrick.

“I gifted her one of these,” James said. “And having one is against the law.”

Patrick knew from his time in Belgium what that meant.

James added, “She left one of these where it was seen. One of King Henry’s guards turned her in.”

Patrick peered into the crate. “You’re a Reformer then? Aren’t you worried about breaking the law?”

“No. I choose to follow God’s law,” James said, “not the bishop’s. But it would be safer if I burned all these New Testaments.”

Patrick thought about William Tyndale in prison. He thought about the good merchants who had paid for the printings. “Don’t burn them. Let’s make sure all these New Testaments are read by farmers and shopkeepers. And their children as well. William Tyndale would like that.”

James opened his arms again. He gave Patrick a bear hug.

Afterward, James said, “The wagon is almost loaded.” He lightly kicked the crate. “This be the last box.”

Patrick helped James lift the crate of Bibles into the wagon.

James covered the crates with the barley stalks.

They climbed onto the driver’s bench. James took the reins and gave a flick. The gray mare’s hooves plodded along the road toward the castle.

A falcon flew overhead. Its white feathers blended with the white of the clouds.

Ker-eeera! Ker-eeera!

The earbud translated: Find the lass. Find the lass.