Alis

21
Alis stared up at Galin in horror. “Thomas? Here in Freeborne?” She was trying to clear the ground at the end of the garden where the brambles snaked over the other weeds and flourished their thorns in what had once been the vegetable patch. Lacking the appropriate tools but unwilling to venture out to borrow from anyone, Alis hacked away with a rather blunt old kitchen knife and made slow progress. Nevertheless there was already a considerable pile of barbed strands, some several feet long, when her husband came out to give her the news.
“He arrived yesterday, it seems, with his wife who has miscarried a child. They are with her sister Leah and he asks permission to remain.”
Alis was crouching down to cut off a thick stem of bramble. As she stood up, it caught at her sleeve and it was only with difficulty that she detached it, scratching herself in the process.
“He will make trouble,” she said, brushing earth and leaves from her skirt. “He is cruel and dangerous. When I was . . .”
She stopped. She had told Galin little of what had occurred during her year away from Freeborne and he had refrained from questioning her. She had gone from Thomas’s house in Two Rivers to stay with the Minister’s wife, and from there had disappeared on the night of the fire: this he knew but nothing more. Now he waited. She went on.
“When I was there, he dealt harshly with his wife, blaming her because their babies did not live. I think perhaps he beat her, though I did not see it. But whether he did or not, she was terrified of him. I should have become so, too, I think, if I had remained with them. Why has he come to Freeborne? It cannot be for his wife’s sake. He hates her.”
Galin nodded uneasily. “I have heard much about Master Thomas, and there is what the Minister’s grandson said to you, also. The man likes power, and he has power in his own community. Why does he leave it for one where he will be a mere guest, unless he sees some gain for himself?”
“Can we not refuse his request?” Alis wanted to know.
Galin shook his head.
“His wife is sick after miscarrying a child and wishes to visit her sister. He is concerned for her in her melancholy condition and would attend upon her. What could be more natural or more praiseworthy? How could we refuse?”
Alis felt her temper rise. It did so often these days. “So Mistress Elizabeth may not come here, though she is all goodness, but if Master Thomas wishes to bring trouble among us, he must be permitted to do so. It is a topsy-turvy world, is it not? And if I ask you why, you will say the Great Council rules thus and therefore it is the will of the Maker.”
Angrily she turned her back on her husband and heard him retreat toward the house. Seizing a long strand of bramble, she began to saw at it with her knife. Her first wild joy at Luke’s reappearance had given way to bouts of misery and rage. She need not have come back to marry Galin after all. It was Lilith’s fault, and her mother’s, and Galin’s—his above all. It was his failure to marry that had brought the Bookseers to Freeborne. And she would never forgive her mother, who should have defied them for her daughter’s sake. All her bitterness toward the two of them had returned.
Over and over in her mind she replayed her encounter with Lilith. Why had she not realized? They had cheated her, the three of them: she hated them all. And now, as if things were not bad enough, Thomas had come to Freeborne!
The knife blade snapped off suddenly, and the bramble she had been trying to cut sprang up and scratched her face. Furiously, she flung the useless knife handle across the garden and stormed into the house. Where was Galin? It was all his fault. She would tell him so, let him do what he would. She was not afraid of him anymore.
But the house was empty. She stood in the kitchen, panting with fury. It was unbearable: she must do something or she would go mad. On the table was one of the red platters from which they always ate. She seized it, raised it high above her head, and hurled it down. With an immense crash it exploded against the flagstones, sending pieces sliding across the floor in all directions.
In the ringing silence she stared at what she had done. Fragments of red earthenware littered the kitchen. There were even some on the stove. The thought of having to clean it up appalled her. Impulsively she went toward the door, shards crunching under her feet. She must get away.
Tormented by the thought that she might still have been free, she walked until she was weary, finding herself at last at Boundary Farm, where her husband had been called away the day Luke had come. She was tired and hungry. With a little tremor of fear, she realized that her husband might by now have returned to the house and found the scene of destruction she had left in the kitchen. What would he think? Would he guess that it was an act of temper and not an accident? She did not fear punishment—that was not his way—but he could be very cutting when he was angry, withering her with icy words to which she had no answer. She shrank from that.
When she arrived back, he was eating cold pie and bread, sitting at the table in the main room. She paused in the doorway and he looked up, his face expressionless. Quietly he said, “You must be hungry. Come and eat.”
He had laid a place for her.
“The kitchen, I ought to . . .”
He smiled a little at that. “I have done it. Come and eat.”
After all her rage, she was touched. If only she were not married to him, she might like him very well.
When they had eaten and the table was clear, she said awkwardly, “I am sorry about the platter.”
He raised his eyebrows in that way that he did, and his mouth twitched humorously. “I am glad I was gone from the house or perhaps Freeborne would need a new Minister now.”
She laughed, a little startled. He was jesting, of course, and he could not know what she had said to Luke. All the same . . .


It was an unusually hot summer. The old people kept within or sat on their doorsteps, fanning themselves with their hands. The more easygoing mothers brought their little ones down to paddle in what was left of the stream. Shrieking and laughing, the children splashed each other. Elzbet and Alis walked slowly in the shade of the trees close to the water; Elzbet was near her time now and the heat troubled her.
They had been speaking of Thomas. He had created no such stir as Alis had feared but conducted himself courteously enough as a guest in the Community, though not concealing the strictness of his views. Some of the unmarried girls would have made eyes at him had they dared, Elzbet reported. He was a good-looking man, and his sternness excited them.
They seated themselves on the bank, watching Leah’s children, Peter and Rachel, who were playing at the edge of the stream. Peter was already soaked. Little Rachel, more mindful of her clothes, was keeping well back on the bank. Her brother was capering for her amusement, pretending to extract fish from his pockets, shaking his head like a dog so that the drops sprayed everywhere. Rachel laughed and clapped her hands crying, “More! More! Do it again, Peter.”
The boy broke off a long stem of willow and began flicking the surface of the water with it so that Rachel was showered in droplets, much to her delight.
Suddenly Thomas appeared from among the trees, looking stiff and hot in his dark clothes. “Come, Rachel, and you too, Peter. Your mother wants you home. The meal is nearly prepared.”
Rachel came forward obediently, but the boy, who had crouched down at the water’s edge to examine something in the mud, looked up briefly and went back to his play. Alis held her breath as Thomas stiffened, wondering whether she could intervene. Before she had time to speak, however, Thomas was beside the child. He grasped Peter roughly and hauled him to his feet. The boy let out a yell of protest and began to struggle. Thomas’s face convulsed with rage. In an instant he had seized the willow rod that Peter was still holding and began to beat him furiously with it, gripping him by the arm. At once Alis was on her feet calling loudly, “Stop, Master Thomas! Stop this instant! Leave the child be! You have no right.”
Thomas’s head jerked up in surprise and taking advantage of the diversion, Peter wrenched himself free and ran to Alis, flinging his arms about her waist and sobbing with his face in her apron.
“Give the boy to me!” Thomas’s voice was low and furious.
Peter tightened his hold on Alis and she stared at Thomas, her heart beating fast. Putting her hand gently on the child’s head, she said in her most conciliatory tone, “Master Thomas, won’t you forgive Peter? He has been sufficiently punished for his naughtiness, and he will go home quietly now like a good child, I am sure.”
Red-faced with heat and rage, he stared back at her. “I will decide when he has been sufficiently punished. Give him to me.”
She did not know what to do. She could not yield up the boy who was clinging to her desperately, but she could see that Thomas was not going to back down. To make matters worse they had attracted a small audience, mainly children and a few mothers, who were watching avidly.
When she did not move, Thomas said coldly, “The boy is under my authority. I will punish him as I see fit. The matter does not concern you, and when you are no longer a child yourself you will, perhaps, know better how to conduct yourself.”
Alis felt her cheeks burn and heard Elzbet’s intake of breath: no one spoke to the Minister’s wife like that. She put her arm protectively over Peter’s shoulder. “The welfare of the children of this Community is most decidedly my concern, Master Thomas, and I must tell you that however you do things where you have come from, we do not beat small children publicly for trivial offenses here.”
He curled his lips in contempt. “Whether the offense is trivial is a matter of judgment. But since you object to his being punished where he has offended, I will take him home and attend to the matter there.”
This was too much for Peter, who had ceased his sobbing and turned his head to listen. He slipped free from Alis’s sheltering arm, shot off along the bank, jumped the stream, and disappeared at a run into the trees beyond. Rachel, who had been standing wide-eyed with fright, gave a whimper of terror. Thomas turned toward her but only said sharply, “Get you home, Rachel. Tell your mother that I will be there shortly.”
She gazed at him white-faced, unable to move. Then from among the watchers, a young mother carrying a small girl on one arm stepped forward and took Rachel by the hand. She did not look at Thomas. Saying comfortingly, “Come along, little one. Let us go and find your mother,” she led the child off. Another woman shooed the rest of the children away, leaving Alis and Thomas with only Elzbet as witness. He was still holding the willow rod. Now he tossed it aside.
“Well, Mistress Alis, if the boy should come to harm, no doubt you will feel able to explain to his mother how it came about.”
“He will not come to any harm,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “And if he does, I will most certainly be able to explain to his mother”—she paused—“and to the Elders, also.”
Despite the heat, his face went white. For a moment he seemed to have difficulty breathing. “Do you dare to threaten me?”
Uneasily she remembered the prayer-house fire. Thomas had meant her to be blamed for that: he was dangerous. She said as calmly as she could, “I do not threaten, Master Thomas, but you know well that when a child goes missing, it is a matter for the Elders.”
Now for the first time Elzbet spoke up. “I think, Master Thomas, that some of the older boys will know where Peter goes to hide. If he knows that he will not be any further punished, he will be persuaded to come home, I am sure.”
Thomas hesitated. Then he said stiffly, “I thank you, Mistress Elzbet. Let the matter be closed. Obviously it is not my wish that any harm should come to the child.”
They watched him walk away, and Elzbet let out a long breath. “What ails him?”
“He likes to rule,” Alis said.
“But Peter is not even his own child. Surely Leah does not allow it?” Elzbet’s face was indignant.
“What can Leah do if he says the boy is disobedient? She is already afraid that the Elders will think she lets Peter run wild, having no father at home.”
Alis put out a hand to help her friend up. Elzbet hauled herself to her feet, panting a little and saying, “Well, I must speak to Martin. He has a brother just thirteen who will know the hiding places hereabouts. Let us hope the child has not gone farther afield.”
Peter had not gone far. An hour’s search found him, still tearful, curled up by the wall of the ruined hut in the woods.


Because he had been found so soon, the Elders did not concern themselves in the matter, but it caused a good deal of talk. Some thought that Alis had done well and that Thomas had been too hard on the child. Others said that Leah should be grateful to him; the boy was fatherless and needed discipline. Thomas regarded Alis coldly whenever they met.
It grew hotter and hotter. The fish lay gasping in the shrunken shallows of the stream, while above swarms of tiny insects danced in the stillness.