Honor in the Dust Page 10

  Stuart finished the mutton and would have eaten more, which she offered, but he thought it might be greedy. “I will take some more of that cider, miss. It sure is good.”

  Heather poured the cider, and then began to draw from him some of his own story.

  Heather had heard of the Winslow family, of course. She had seen Lord Winslow, and she had heard tales of a younger brother who had gone bad. And this was his son. He is so handsome and doesn’t even seem to know it, Heather thought. She soon found out that his father, once a soldier, had been injured and that his mother’s name was Grace.

  And then she remembered the old story about how Lord Edmund had been engaged to Grace but the younger brother and the woman had fallen in love and they had fled the country.

  She was ready to hear more about it, at first hand—from their son!—when Mr. Tyndale came through the garden gate.

  A tall man entered the kitchen, and Heather said, “Mr. Tyndale, this is Stuart Winslow. Stuart, this is Mr. William Tyndale. He’s the scholar who teaches the children of the house.”

  Stuart stood up at once.

  “I’m happy to know you, Master Winslow.”

  “And I you, sir.”

  “You live close?”

  “At Stoneybrook. Lord Edmund Winslow is my uncle.”

  “Oh, yes, I believe I’ve met him.”

  “Won’t you sit down and have something to eat?” Heather asked. “We have fresh mutton and fresh bread. Stuart can tell you whether it’s good or not.”

  “Oh, sir, it’s very good, and I’ve never had any cider before. I wonder if they drink cider in heaven.”

  “I’m not sure about that. In any case, I will have something to eat. I’m rather hungry.”

  “Sit down, sir. I’ll fix you a plate.”

  The tall man sat down, and he began to question Stuart in almost the same manner as Heather had. But the subject matter was different.

  “Are you a follower of Jesus, Master Winslow?”

  “Yes, sir, I think I am.”

  Tyndale smiled. “Well, surely you know what you think about Jesus Christ.”

  “My father is a Christian and my mother and my grandmother.”

  “Well, that’s good. I’m happy to hear it. But what about you?”

  “I try to be a good man.”

  “We all try that, I suppose.”

  Stuart was trying desperately to think of something that he could offer the man, and then an inspiration came. “I can read the Latin Bible.” He saw this caught Tyndale’s attention. His eyes suddenly brightened and he said, “I read it every night.”

  “How did you learn to read Latin?”

  “My father taught me. I’m not very good at it, but I’m learning.”

  “What do you read, Stuart?”

  “Oh, just the Bible. That’s the only book we have.”

  “Well, that’s a good book.”

  “Mr. Tyndale knows all about the Bible. He knows more than the priests!” Heather exclaimed.

  “You mustn’t say that, child. That would offend the priests greatly. What part of the Bible do you favor most, Stuart?”

  “I like the stories in the Old Testament about King David and Samson and the old warriors of God.”

  “Yes, a young man would be drawn to that. Are you interested in fencing and that sort of thing?”

  “Oh, yes! My father’s teaching me.”

  “So he’s teaching you to read the Bible and to handle a sword. That is most intriguing.”

  Heather had brought the food, and for a while William Tyndale ate in silence. Finally he asked, “Do you know the most shameful thing about the Bible?”

  “Shameful? I didn’t think anything was shameful about the Bible.”

  “Well, it’s not about the Bible. More about its current form.”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Tyndale?”

  “I mean it’s in Latin. How many Englishmen do you know who can read Latin? How many Frenchmen, for that matter, or Germans? The only people able to read Latin are the priests, and the pope has said that they are the only ones who are capable of understanding it—which I think is wrong.”

  “I think so too,” Stuart said eagerly. “Why, I understand a lot of it.”

  “Do you? Tell me something you undertsand.”

  “Well, the Bible says that God made everything. That’s the first verse, and I believe that.”

  “Good for you, young Winslow! You’re on your way.”

  Tyndale finished the last of his meal and sat there talking until Heather’s two cousins came in. They were reluctant scholars. Tyndale laughed. “Come on. I must pound something into your wooden little heads.” He put his hand out. “I’ll be expecting to hear more from you about this Bible you read. You know, some day the Bible will be in English, and every farmer will be able to read it for himself. Come back again, and we’ll talk. And I’d like to meet your parents.”

  “Would you come and visit us, sir?”

  “I will do that as soon as I can. You may expect me.” He herded the boys into the next room for their lessons.

  As soon as he was gone, Stuart said, “I’ve never met such an engaging and knowledgeable fellow. You’re lucky, having him as a tutor.”

  “Indeed. The priests don’t like him, though.”

  “I can see why. He’s trespassing on their ground.”

  She stared at him. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a thing people say.”

  Twenty minutes later Sir John came in, and as soon as Heather had explained the presence of the young man, Walsh said, “Oh, yes. Come along. I’ll show you where the hay is. I’ll have my man help you load it.”

  “Sir Edmund said he’d send the money over tomorrow.”

  “That will be fine.”

  Stuart loaded the hay, and it did not take long with the help that he received. He went back then to thank Heather. “It was as good a meal as I’ve ever had.”

  She smiled at him, and he said suddenly, “You’re going to have lots of suitors, Miss Evans. Some day they’ll be lined up just to touch your hand.”

  “Where did you learn such fine sayings? You sound as though you’ve been at court.”

  “Oh, no! I’ve never have been at court. My grandmother tells me they say things like that. In any case, thanks for the cider and for the mutton.”

  “Come back and see us. Mr. Tyndale will be looking for you.”

  “It’s hard for me to get away, but I’ll do the best I can. Goodbye, miss.”

  “Please call me Heather.”

  “Good-bye, then, Heather.” He smiled, hesitated, and then she put out her hand. He took it and felt its warmth.

  “Come back and visit,” she repeated softly.

  “I’ll do that.”

  All the way home he thought about two things—William Tyndale and Heather Evans—in very different lights. She was the prettiest thing he had seen in a long time, and when she got to womanhood she would be a dream. And William Tyndale was a man of the mind such as he had never met.

  10

  Claiborn was puzzled but pleased by the new interest that Stuart took in the Bible. He saw that it was not just the language that fascinated the young man; it was the Scripture itself. Before, he had merely listened, but now he seemed to soak in the Scripture and its meaning. Claiborn had always translated into English, just to be sure that Stuart understood the words, but over the course of the last two months, he found it less and less necessary.

  He was reading one evening with Stuart by the light of several candles. It was late and Grace had gone to bed, but the two had become interested in the interpretation of several verses.

  Claiborn was about ready to go to bed himself, intending to end the evening reading with Psalm 7. Stuart read it in the Latin and then put it into his own words. He had done very well up to the fifth verse, but then he looked up at Claiborn and said, “I don’t understand this next part.”

  “Well, let’s see.
The whole verse says, ‘Let the enemy persecute my soul, and take it; yes, let him tread down my life upon the earth and lay mine honor in the dust.’”

  “I don’t understand that. It sounds like a terrible thing.”

  “Well, in the verses before, he said, ‘If I have done evil …’ So when a man does an evil thing he is going to have to pay for it.”

  “Well, what does ‘lay mine honor in the dust’ mean? That sounds like a bad thing to me.”

  Claiborn leaned back and closed his eyes, thinking of the possible answers. Finally he opened them and leaned forward, saying intently, “A man’s honor is what he is. It’s his word. It’s what makes him trustworthy. Everything that’s good. That’s his honor. You understand that, Son?”

  “Yes, sir, I know what honor is, but why would he lay his honor in the dust?”

  “David wrote this psalm, and he didn’t say that he himself was going to lay his honor in the dust. Look at verses three and four. Let me just give you the sense of it. ‘O Lord my God, if I have done this; if there be iniquity in my hands, if I have rewarded evil unto him that was at peace with me, let the enemy persecute my soul. Let him tread down my life upon the earth and lay mine honor in the dust.’”

  “I don’t understand it very well.”

  “Why, David was so careful with his honor that he was actually saying to God, ‘If I do a dishonorable thing, you can kill me, you can tread down my life upon the earth.’ He was saying, ‘If I lose my honor, I have nothing left. The most precious thing I have is in the dust.’ That’s a rather sad thing, Son. When you leave the law of God, you take your honor, which is a clean, pure, and holy thing, and you throw it in the dirt.”

  “Why would anybody do that?”

  Claiborn shook his head. His face was full of pain. He said slowly, “Men do that. Remember Judas, who betrayed the Lord Jesus?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He put his honor in the dust. And King Solomon. He started out as a good man, but then he made poor choices. He, too, put his honor in the dust.”

  Stuart was staring at his father. “I would never do that.”

  Claiborn leaned forward and put his hand over his son’s. “Of course you won’t. You’re going to be a man of God, and you’re going to keep your honor bright and clean, because when a man loses his honor, he loses everything. He may be rich. He may have a hundred horses. He may have a castle, but if he has no honor, he’s nothing.”

  “I don’t see how men could do that.”

  “I had a friend once. He’d gone wrong. I asked him how it happened, and he said, ‘Well, Claiborn, I didn’t wake one morning and say, “I think I’m going to be a bad man. I’m going to become a liar and a cheat.” Didn’t happen like that, Claiborn. I gave in on one little thing, and the next time it was easier, and easier the third time. So part by part and piece by piece my honor was gone.’”

  Stuart shivered. “I don’t like to think that might happen to me. It scares me.”

  “It’s always scary to think about losing your honor, but you’re not going to do that, Son.”

  “You never did.”

  “I hope not. Well, you ponder this tomorrow. That’s why we have this Bible. It’s full of wisdom and things we are to watch out for. So that’s what we’ll do, right?”

  “Yes, sir. I hope Mr. Tyndale comes. We can ask him about this.”

  “I’m very anxious to meet him.”

  “He said he’d be here soon.”

  Claiborn suspected that young Miss Evans had drawn Stuart to Old Sodbury as much as the scholar, Mr. Tyndale, but he kept his suspicions to himself. He liked what his son’s few visits to the Walsh household had encouraged within the boy, regardless of what inspired them—a maid or the mind.

  Stuart got up, stretched, went over to his bed, rolled over, and seemed to go to sleep at once. Ah, when I was his age, I could do that too, but not any longer. Claiborn grinned at his own thoughts and went to bed. He’d persuade his mind to slumber; his body was more than ready.

  “… and so my father and I were talking about the seventh psalm, Mr. Tyndale.”

  “What did you decide?”

  “Well, I didn’t understand it until he explained it to me.”

  “You see? It doesn’t take a priest. What did you find out?”

  “He said that when a man does evil things, it’s like taking his honor that’s clean and pure and throwing it in the dirt or in the mud.”

  “A very good translation. I must remember that.”

  “Are you still translating the Bible into English?” Heather asked. She sat across from the two, hovering over Mr. Tyndale’s own worn Latin Bible.

  “Oh, I’ve only done portions, those that capture my interest the most. Someday I’d like to take the whole Bible,” he said, stretching out his arms, “and translate it into English and put it in every home in England.”

  “I doubt they’d let you do that, sir. I hear the king is against such things.”

  “No, I doubt that he’d be in favor.”

  The three of them sat for a while longer, chatting, and after Tyndale and Stuart left, Mona, Lady Walsh’s maid, came over and looked out at young Winslow as he mounted his horse.

  “Ain’t he a dream?”

  Heather scolded her. “You ought not to be thinking such things!”

  Mona was sixteen and full of dreams, mostly of young men. Heather was aware that she always found a way to be close by when Stuart visited. She said, “You ought not to be looking at men like that.”

  “Well, I choose to look, and I think he’s the finest man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “He is a fine young man,” Heather murmured.

  Mona said with wide, excited eyes, “Look, the prince has returned.”

  Heather glanced out the door, and sure enough Winslow was dismounting and tying his reins to a post.

  “Hello, I’m back.” He smiled. Heather saw that Mona nearly melted at that smile.

  “Mr. Tyndale got my mind in such a knot. You were going to show me the new ducklings. You forgot.”

  “Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Heather said. “Come along. They’re so sweet.”

  “I hope the turtles don’t get them.”

  “So do I. I hate turtles.”

  “Well, God made the turtles just as he made the little ducks. I’ve never understood that, have you?”

  “We’ll have to ask Mr. Tyndale about that.”

  “I’m going to ask him too why the good Lord made mosquitoes and poisonous snakes. Doesn’t seem quite right.”

  “You’d better not say that to Mr. Tyndale.” Heather was skipping along.

  Suddenly Stuart took her hand. “I can’t tell you, Heather, how much these visits have meant to me.”

  Heather was very much aware of his hand holding hers. She knew he was not flirting with her, that he sincerely liked her. That pleased her a great deal.

  “I’ve enjoyed your visits too, Stuart.”

  When they reached the pond, they admired the ducks that were paddling along in a line behind their mother like a small armada. They talked for a long time. It seemed that they could always find something to talk about.

  “You know,” she said, “I never could talk to anybody as I talk to you, Stuart.”

  “Well, I was thinking the same thing. Usually I’m tongue-tied when I get in the presence of a pretty girl.”

  “I’ve wanted to ask you something, Stuart, but I’ve waited until now so as to know you better.”

  “Go ahead. I probably don’t know the answer, but try anyway.”

  “What do you want to do, once you’re a grown man?”

  The question seemed to stump Stuart. He ran his hand through his auburn hair; she saw that it had tiny flecks of gold in it. He rubbed his jaw and frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked finally.

  “Well, you must think God has some reason for putting you here.”

  “Why, I never thought about it. I just do what I have to do.”

 
; “No, there’s more to it than that.”

  “Well, what has he got you here for?”

  “To fall in love. To get married. To have children. To be a grandmother. To grow old with a man who I love.”

  Stuart had never heard this idea phrased exactly as this girl had put it. He studied her thoughtfully. She had the clearest skin he had ever seen—it shimmered in the sunshine—and bright, clear eyes. “Well, I expect that will happen. You’re certain to marry your choice of man.”

  “And you?”

  Again Stuart thought hard. He said, “I’d like to be where things are happening.”

  “Not Stoneybrook?”

  “Nothing ever happens there. I work with birds. I help with the plowing and the harvest. I’d like to be in a battle. I’d like to be in the king’s army as my father was. Be a king’s man.”

  “Do you think you ever will be?”

  Stuart suddenly laughed at himself. “Not a chance, Heather. Not a chance. I’m the son of a poor man.”

  “You never can tell.”

  “I believe I can. Anyway, have you started learning Latin yet? You said you wanted to.”

  “Mr. Tyndale’s teaching me. He thought it was wonderful that I wanted to learn.”

  “Perhaps we can study together if I can visit more.”

  “Oh, yes, please do! Come back every chance you get.”

  The two stood there for a moment and then they slowly walked back. As always, they talked all the way there. Before he mounted his horse he lifted his hat and said, “Good-bye. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Good-bye, Stuart.”

  As she watched him go, Mona came out. “Did you see them blue eyes?”

  “Mona, you’re so silly!”

  But all she could think of was his eyes. The color was beautiful, yes, but it was the tenderness she saw within them that had captured her.

  Claiborn sat down beside Grace and took her hand in both of his. “Are you unwell?”

  “On the contrary. I’m feeling wonderfully well. Just a bit … distracted.” She looked at him and smiled a secretive smile.

  “Why are you laughing at me?” he demanded.

  “Because you’re about to get the shock of your life, and I want to see how you’ll handle it.”