“Okay,” she whimpered. “But Paul … I’m scared.”
Alice Foster had prepared for this moment, but now that the moment was upon her, she fumbled the delivery of her speech.
“You see, Kathryn, your father didn’t know … er, what I mean to say … ’twas not his fault that he brought the Plague from London. He fell ill so swiftly. Had we known where you and Paul had gone, Henry would have sent word … but, of course, there is nothing you could have done.”
“What are you saying, Mrs. Foster? What happened to my father?”
Alice bowed her head; she did not meet Kathryn’s eyes. “Your father is with our Holy Father in Heaven.”
“Oh no! Papa … Papa,” Kathryn wailed.
Paul held her and tenderly stroked the back of her head as she sobbed and trembled in his arms. Alice looked on with wet eyes. As a mother of five children, she was an expert at mending things. Scraped knees, torn britches, sibling feuds — such calamities all fell within her motherly domain. This tragedy, however, was uncharted territory for her. All she could do was watch in silence as her eldest son comforted the daughter-in-law she had officially met only five minutes ago.
Henry Foster ordered the younger children away to the loft so he and his wife could talk privately with the young runaways. He took a seat at the head of the family table next to Alice, while Paul and Kathryn sat on the opposite side. To Paul’s astonishment, the conversation did not unfold as he had expected it would. Neither parent chastened him for missing the harvest, nor for running away. His father did not even mention the theft of the mare. Instead, Henry and Alice welcomed them home and told them how relieved they were that the young couple had eloped to Chesterfield and stayed clear of the Plague.
After Paul and Kathryn related the details of their previous three months as newlyweds, Alice reciprocated by explaining what had transpired in Eyam during their absence. She explained how the village had searched for Kathryn the night she ran away, and of course, how the search party had returned empty-handed. She recounted the details of Rector Mompesson’s visit to George Vicars’ cottage three days later, his discovery that the Plague had reached Eyam, and of the tailor’s proclamation of love for his daughter. Then, taking Kathryn’s hand, she explained that Rector Mompesson had later told Henry that the tailor’s final act had been to give his blessing for Kathryn to marry Paul. This news caused Kathryn to brighten, clench Paul’s hand, and then burst into tears. Sobbing, Kathryn inquired after her father’s funeral service. Alice dutifully recounted the details of George Vicars’ burial and eulogy, which in turn caused her to weep. After both women had regained their composure, Alice admirably steered the conversation onto other town gossip. Henry Foster chuckled as Alice acted out the story of Ethan Cromwell’s visit to the Foster farm. With her chest puffed out and her nose held high, Alice imitated how the aristocrat had stomped about the house for ten minutes, yelling at Henry, and then at Alice, and then at Henry some more, about their insolent son, and how he would make them suffer the consequences if he learned Kathryn and Paul had done anything so foolish as to marry. When Kathryn inquired after Cromwell’s current state of mind, Henry Foster smirked and said simply, “As far as I imagine, the only thing on Ethan Cromwell’s mind is six feet of cold, hard earth.” Alice explained that the Plague had ravaged the Cromwell estate during the last two weeks of October, and that Cromwell had died the Friday before last. The conversation carried on for two hours, but the longer they talked, the more Paul’s mind gravitated toward a single thought. Plague. Fear took hold of him, and he erupted.
“Mother, if the Plague is afoot in Eyam, then it’s not safe here. For any of us! We all should leave. We should all go to Chesterfield.”
Alice turned to Henry.
“Son, I understand your fear, but we are safe here on the farm. Yes, Plague is afoot in the village proper, but on the farm we are isolated. We have practically everything we need stored in the cellar and the barn. Your mother and I have a plan. We are going to wait out the scourge. Let it run its course in the village through the winter. Come spring, we will reassess. Until then, no one in this family leaves the farm. Nobody goes into town. Alice is going to teach the children their school lessons at home. You and Kathryn are welcome to stay here through the winter. In fact, your mother and I welcome you to move back permanently. But if you decide to live here, then you will live under the house rules. That includes you too, Kathryn.”
“We’re not trying to be harsh. It is for everyone’s protection,” Alice added.
Paul looked back and forth between his parents apprehensively, probing for any signs of insincerity or false hope in their faces. He found none. Still, his gut told him that he and Kathryn should return to Chesterfield, back to his uncle’s house, where they had lodged the past three months. He would need to discuss the matter with Kathryn, in private.
Kathryn slumped in her chair. She had dark circles under her eyes and her skin was pale. “Mrs. Foster, you have been so kind welcoming me into your home, thank you. And thank you for telling me the story of my father’s final hours. The emotions of the day are weighing heavily on me — I mean no offense — but I would like to be alone.”
Paul escorted Kathryn to his old bedroom and returned sullen, five minutes later. Alice walked over to her son, threw her arms around him, and did not let go for a very long time.
CHAPTER 6
Kathryn sat, huddled in a corner, shivering on a bed of straw. The tattered wool blanket wrapped around her did little to stave off the moist, bitter chill in the air. It was winter in Eyam, and the Foster barn where she was exiled was not heated. Gaps in the siding boards, shutters, and doors were exploited by the wind; drafty gusts nibbled incessantly at the tiny aura of heat her body was able to generate. If Paul did not return in five minutes’ time, she was resigned to huddle with the sheep. Oh, what she would give to be a sheep right now. They may be stupid, dirty creatures she thought, but at least they were warm in their fleeces.
She sneezed and wiped her nose on the corner of the blanket. She cursed the sneeze, and then she cursed Henry Foster. Yes, she had violated the house rules, but she felt no remorse for having done so. If time were somehow magically turned back, she would do it again. She opened the flap of her leather-bound diary, pulled out her father’s letter, and read it for the third time that morning. It had not been her intention to see Rector Mompesson; she hadn’t even known about the letter when she set out. Her only intention had been to visit Papa’s grave and pay her final respects. Plague or no Plague, was that not a daughter’s right?
She had needled Paul for hours until finally he relented and let her take the grey mare. Yes, she had broken the house rules by going into town, but it had not been her intention to interact with anyone. Her mission had been simple. Ride straight to her father’s grave, make her peace, and return directly to the farm. Of course, for her plan to have worked, the graveyard needed to be deserted. It had not been.
She replayed the previous day’s events in her mind:
Rector Mompesson spied her immediately when she arrived on the Foster’s grey mare. He was giving his daily blessings in the graveyard for the souls claimed by the Black Death thus far. He smiled at her and walked over to her father’s grave. She sat frozen in the saddle for a long moment, debating what to do. She was afraid to speak with Rector Mompesson, afraid of what he might say about her father. Afraid that his words might tear open the wound in her heart that had just stopped bleeding. For what seemed like an eternity, she ignored his repeated gestures for her to “come hither.” But Mompesson was unrelenting, and eventually she broke.