Alis

19
The next day was hot and when Alis had completed her Thousehold tasks, she remembered a book that Galin had wanted the previous day. It was on the shelf at the back of the prayer house where the volumes for borrowing were kept.
The heavy front door was open wide in the sunshine. Martha would be there with one or two of the other girls, taking her turn at cleaning as Alis had done with Elzbet long ago. The inner door was ajar and she was about to push it open when her attention was arrested by the sound of her own name.
“Well, you can say what you like, but it sticks in my throat to call her Mistress Alis.”
That was dark-eyed Hetty, whose glossy curls always escaped from her cap. She was something of a ringleader among the unmarried girls, and she lived to gossip and make eyes at the young men.
A kinder voice replied—Betsy, the weaver’s youngest daughter, mousy, fair, and thin. “’Tis hard on her, I say. I’d not like to be married to an old man.”
“He’s not such an old man,” Hetty said, adding sharply, “and you’ve no call to speak for her, Betsy; she’s as puffed up with pride as anything. Can’t hardly bring herself to speak to us no more.”
Alis felt her cheeks redden. Then Martha’s grumbling tones took up the theme. “Hetty’s right. You’ve not to work for her as I do. Why should I be servant to such as her? She’s no better ’n me.”
“Yes,” said Hetty, “and my mother says she don’t behave like a wife toward him at all. She’s only took him so’s she can set herself above the rest of us and give herself airs, I reckon.”
“You’re mighty hard on her, Hetty,” Betsy protested. “She didn’t choose him. ’Twas all arranged, they say. And even if she don’t like it, she can’t say so, can she? Besides Elzbet thinks—”
“Elzbet!” Hetty’s voice was spiteful. “You do as I say, Betsy, and don’t be talking to Elzbet. She’ll only go telling tales to the Minister’s wife. Always standing up for her, she is. She’s not one of us no more.”
Alis retreated silently, her cheeks burning. She knew well enough how she must appear to them, but if she seemed proud, it was only that she must get through her days without showing the world how bitter her life was to her. And poor Elzbet. They had been the closest of friends once, and now it seemed the other girls had turned against her on Alis’s account. She would go to visit her and make an effort not be stiff and formal.
Full of good intentions, she turned away from the green, and went down the beaten-earth path along a row of cottages until she reached the one that Elzbet shared with her young husband Martin, the blacksmith’s apprentice. The door was shut but the shutters were open. Alis knocked and waited. There was no reply. Resisting disappointment, for Elzbet might be upstairs or out back, she knocked again, more loudly. This time there were footsteps, and then the door opened.
Elzbet’s pregnancy was well advanced and her belly bulged hugely under her apron. She looked flustered when she saw who her visitor was. “Oh, Mistress Alis, I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting. I was upstairs, and I move so slowly these days. Do come in.”
They went into the cool interior of the cottage. Determined to reach out to her friend, Alis accepted refreshment and pressed Elzbet to say how she was finding married life. Things were well with them, Elzbet said—Martin was most loving to her at home, and the blacksmith thought highly of his work. Although she smiled when she spoke of her husband, she seemed reluctant to say much, and after a little while the conversation faltered. Then Elzbet said timidly, “And what about you, Alis? Mistress Alis, I mean.”
Alis looked away from her. Once, as children, they had promised to be friends forever and tell each other everything, even when they were married. And now Elzbet called her “Mistress Alis” and thought of her only as the Minister’s wife. It was no good.
She turned back to Elzbet, meaning to make a polite excuse and depart but the sorrowful look on her friend’s face and the memory of Hetty’s spiteful words made her say instead, “Dear Elzbet, we were such friends once. Will you not call me Alis and talk to me as you used to?”
She heard her voice waver at the end but Elzbet said eagerly, “Oh, yes, I should like that. I have been so troubled about you.”
“Well, you shall hear all about me, but first, tell me truly how you are.”
“Truly, I am well. And Martin and I are very happy together. He is so proud and joyful that he is to be a father soon.”
Alis hesitated. “And you are not lonely? I have heard . . .” She stopped.
Elzbet looked down at her lap and sighed. “Well, you know, Hetty thinks me a dull old thing now that I am a married woman. And where Hetty leads, Betsy and half a dozen of the others follow, so I see little of them.”
“What about Susannah? Surely she will not do Hetty’s bidding.” Susannah was the cobbler’s daughter, a big, kindly girl whom they had both liked very much.
“Poor girl,” Elzbet said. “She lost her baby last year, and she cannot bear to come here. I understand very well how she must feel. To lose a child, it is what everyone dreads.”
They spoke sadly of Susannah, and Alis promised to visit her, then with some hesitation, she approached the subject of what she had overheard that morning. It was typical of Elzbet to say nothing of the real reason for Hetty’s spite and Alis wanted to show her gratitude for her friend’s support.
“I think . . . I have heard that you have spoken up for me sometimes. It is good of you, Elzbet. I have not been much of a friend to you since—”
Elzbet broke in, “Oh, Alis, you must not blame yourself for that.
You have suffered, I know you have. You are so pale and thin. Will you not tell me all that has happened?”
“I will tell you everything,” Alis said.


It was strange to relive it all. Elzbet was shocked by life in the city and troubled to hear of Edge’s savage ways, though glad that she had helped Alis. When they came to Luke’s death, Alis wept and Elzbet comforted her. It was such a relief to unburden herself that she was even able to speak of Galin calmly. Only when it came to her mother did anger overwhelm her again so that her voice lost its steadiness.
“She should not have agreed to the marriage. I am sure she could have done something.”
“But Alis,” Elzbet said reasonably, “what could your mother have done if, as you say, the Bookseers named you? She must have thought it the Maker’s will, even if you do not.”
Alis was silent for a moment. Hannah was powerful. People listened to her and did as she advised. How was it that she could do nothing for her daughter? She said bitterly, “She did not pity me, even. She just said it was my duty. I thought she loved me but she does not.”
Elzbet gave a little cry of protest. “Oh, Alis, you are wrong. I am sure you are wrong.”
Alis shook her head but Elzbet took both her hands and said urgently, “Listen to me. I will tell you how I know that you are wrong. When the news reached here that you were gone from Two Rivers, your mother came to see me. She guessed that you had run off, though she did not tell me why, and she hoped you might have confided in me where you meant to go. She begged me to tell her, but of course, I could not.”
“She wanted to fetch me back so that she could make me marry, that is all,” Alis said angrily.
But Elzbet went on. “No, that was not it. For she said to me, ‘If only I knew she was safe, I would be content.’ When I said again that I knew nothing, she looked so ill I wanted to fetch my own mother for I was afraid, but she would not let me. She sat awhile with her hand pressed to her side as if she were in great pain. Then she said, her voice very low, ‘I do not think I can bear it.’ After that she got up and went away. For a long time, she did not come to prayer meetings or do any of her work as an Elder.”
“She recovered, though. When I came home, it was my father who had aged. She looked just the same.”
“My mother says she put her sorrow away for your father’s sake, seeing his grief for you and his fear that he would lose her also. But if you had seen her that night,” Elzbet said, “you would believe me. Be angry with her if you will, Alis, but do not say she does not love you. I have seen and I know.”
They sat for a long time in silence. The heat had gone and they were both weary. At last, with a quiet embrace and a promise to meet the next day, they parted.
Walking home through the evening sunshine, Alis found herself dwelling on the image Elzbet had painted of Hannah’s visit. She wanted to go on being angry with her mother. She wanted to believe that her mother, who had once seemed all-powerful, could have acted differently. There must be someone to blame! But the image would not go away.
When she got home, the house was empty. Galin, she knew, was gone to take supper with her parents. They had both been invited of course, but she avoided her mother when she could: she had said she would not go. She went to the kitchen and opened a cupboard although she was not hungry. There was some bread, and a pot of preserved meat. She stood there, seeing nothing.
After a long time, she closed the cupboard and went upstairs. She poured water from the ewer into the basin and washed herself before putting on a clean gown and apron and descending again. Into her basket went a blackberry pie she had made—her mother liked blackberry.
Then she set off for her parents’ house.