Balty woke to the sound of shouting. He bolted from bed. Thankful and the Cobbs were standing outside Huncks’s door.
“What on earth?” Mrs. Cobb said.
“Another of his nightmares,” Balty said.
“Doesn’t sound like a nightmare.”
A yelp came from the other side—a demented whoop.
“Told you he was drinking too much whisky,” Mrs. Cobb said.
“I’ll deal with it.” Balty opened the door. Huncks was standing, propped against the wall. He was looking down at his feet, lifting one, then the other in turn. He looked up at Balty, grinning, and resumed his foot raising, as if in awe of a newly invented mechanical marvel.
“Look, Balty! Look!”
Mrs. Cobb and Thankful came in.
“My legs!”
“It’s your knees you should be on,” Mrs. Cobb said. “Giving thanks.”
Huncks continued his foot lifting.
“I was dreaming I had to piss. Reached for the pot. Couldn’t find it. Next thing, I’m standing. Standing!”
Over the next few days, Huncks regained full use of his legs. Mrs. Cobb and Thankful competed with each other for the credit. Mrs. Cobb asserted it was her clam chowders. Thankful said it was her prayers and rubbing his legs. Balty offered his own opinion that the credit must go to God for a miracle, not a miracle of healing, but mercy—liberating the Cobbs from further burden of hospitality. Micah took to calling Huncks “Mr. Lazarus.”
Thankful, who throughout had been attentive and gay, now grew distant and withdrawn. Balty noticed it more than the others. As Bartholemew urged Balty and Huncks to remain inside out of sight, it was difficult finding a chance to speak with her alone. Finally he did, the day before their departure.
“Is all well?” Balty said. “You seem a bit sad.”
“Perhaps.” She went on with her housework as she spoke. “Where will thou go?”
“I’m not supposed to say. New Amsterdam. Don’t let on to Huncks I told you.”
“Thou’ll not linger in New Haven?”
“Not sure what Huncks has in mind. He’s pretty hot about Mr. Fish. Huncks isn’t one to let bygones be bygones. Not that I wouldn’t mind dangling him from the cliff. Or that damned Quiripi—”
Balty paused. “Amity told me. About Gideon. And . . .”
“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. I shall repay.”
“That from the Book of Quaker?”
“There is no Book of Quaker, Mr. Balty. Paul’s letter to the Romans.”
Balty harrumphed. “From the sound of it, Paul never made it to New Haven.”
“God has spared thee and Mr. Huncks. Thou might repay him.”
“I’ll propose it to Huncks. But I don’t think he and Paul are of the same mind.”
“Then for me?”
“You are a puzzle, all right. After what these saints have done to you?”
“Leave justice to God, Balty. Promise?”
“I will if you’ll promise not to go parading in their worship house without clothing.” Balty pressed. “Forgive me for saying, but I wonder if your mind’s jiggled loose from all that quaking. You know what they’ll do to you. Do you want to die like that?”
Thankful smiled. Their lips came together. Larks sang hymns at Heaven’s Gate. Then the door banged open and Mrs. Cobb came in swinging a beheaded chicken in each hand.
“Well,” she said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
* * *
Balty and Huncks left the next morning. Thankful accompanied them as far as her cabin. Huncks said his goodbye and waited at a distance.
Balty said, “I didn’t know Gideon, but I can’t think he’d want you to throw away your life like that. I’m sure of it. I do know he was lucky to have you.”
She put her hand to his cheek. “I thank thee, Mr. Balty, for all thou did for me. Whatever lies ahead, I pray I shall be worthy of your good heart.”
She kissed him on the forehead, then turned and went into the little cabin by the pond and closed the door.