For fun and perhaps to keep from falling asleep on Thomas Dowling’s shoulder, Henry caught my eye and winked ever so slightly. Never before had I witnessed such a brazen gesture during meeting and I watched him closely, thinking I had been mistaken. But he did it a second and a third time and I had to clamp my mouth shut for fear of laughing. He must have started receiving stern looks from the women’s side as well, for he finally stopped and descended back into utter boredom.
Within minutes, Henry’s eyes began to droop again, and I thought for sure he would fall asleep when Gideon Boyle stood and cleared his throat to speak. Henry revived and turned expectantly to listen.
“We Quakers are a plain and sober people,” Gideon started in his usual solemn manner. “We value simple things and do not strive to keep pace with an ever-changing world. Our children are taught to seek no more than is needed and to resist the temptation of coveting what others have gained. While I reflected this morning I found myself greatly troubled that any member of this fellowship would be guilty of squandering their time wishing for fancy things. My friends, such desires are traps and snares set by the Devil himself to distract us from our true mission in this life.”
Gideon spoke along this vein for some time and I tried in earnest not to smile as I stole a quick glance at his wife, Anne Boyle. It was no secret that Anne had been soliciting her husband for the past six months to build a brick oven in her kitchen next to the hearth. Fed up with trudging outside to bake, she was most adamant that he should do this for her, and if he desired any peace at home this coming winter, he was to have it done before the first snow.
Anne did not waver from her usual serene expression as her husband praised the plain life while ranting against the evils of worldliness. Half an hour later when he finally concluded, his face beaded with sweat from the exertion, little doubt remained in my mind, and probably those of most of the wives present, that Anne would get her oven.
The meetinghouse fell into silence once more when Gideon sat. I anxiously waited to see if Nathan would stand and speak next, but he remained seated, staring down at his feet. Edgar Sweeney stood after a few more minutes had passed. He was an old man, being somewhere above seventy years of age, with deeply etched wrinkles and close cropped gray hair framing his face. By nature he was the most pleasant of men, which was of itself rather amazing considering the tragedy that marked his earlier days. When he’d been no more the thirty years, his wife and infant son fell ill during an outbreak of scarlet fever. My grandmother had also been stricken by the disease, and by the time she recovered there was nothing to be done for Edgar’s loved ones other than grieve their death and offer prayers for their immortal souls. Following such a loss, Edgar never found it in his heart to remarry, and became instead an honorary grandfather to many children over the years. I had known him my entire life and had always considered him a member of my extended family. I suspected a similar sentiment by most of the people seated in the room this morning, patiently waiting to hear what he had been moved to say.
“God has commanded us to be still that we may know Him,” Edgar began in his warm, full voice that I found so soothing. “There are those who wonder at our love of silence and how this could lead to any measure of truth. ‘What good is silence,’ they argue, ‘for one man must speak and another to listen for knowledge to be of use.’ But I say there is but one voice worth hearing and that is the one speaking from inside each of us. By this voice alone can we understand the will of God, for it is His voice and He speaks directly to every man, woman and child if we will but take the time to listen.”
I looked over at Henry. After being taught a more hierarchical form of religion in England, I could well imagine how radical it must sound that God presided in every person and by this inner light did we receive revelation without the necessity of any clerical go-between. Henry’s brows creased in thought as he listened to Edgar, though whether or not he agreed remained a mystery.
When Edgar sat back down, my heart leapt right into my throat, thinking Nathan would surely stand next as he spoke nearly every Sunday. The minutes passed slowly and I felt the beginnings of a cold sweat coming on despite the summer heat. But Nathan remained seated with his eyes fixed on the floor until Gideon finally reached over and shook hands with the Elder next to him, signifying the meeting had come to an end. I took a deep breath and sighed my relief, seeing the danger had passed for today at least. From my efforts this past week Nathan may have discovered that I wasn’t entirely friendless nor such an easy target as he first believed. I crossed my fingers, wishing for this same luck to continue until either his hatred of me faded or he dropped dead from a raging distemper. Given the circumstances, I didn’t think it prudent to be overly picky so long as he left me alone.
People all around began addressing their neighbors, shaking hands in a friendly manner and I watched as Henry was surrounded by a group of men eager to make his acquaintance and probably to better gauge the new Master of Brighmor Hall. Seeing him thus engaged, I turned my attention to Nora.