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Mayflower Chronicles: The Tale of Two Cultures

By Kathryn M. Haueisen

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Chapter One
Scrooby, England – 1591

“William, do stop your incessant pacing! You shall wear out the floor beneath us. How can it be that you went off alone to Cambridge, then traveled all the way to Holland, but now you pace among people who have known you since before you could walk?”
William Brewster stopped pacing and turned to look at his younger brother, James. He’d been so deep in thought, he’d lost track of time. “Is it time to go?”
“It is beyond time. You must put on your jacket, and we must go.”
“Yes, I suppose we should.” William pulled back his shoulders and took in a deep breath. With a slight trace of a smile, he added, “I would rather prefer Mary not think I am not coming.”
The Brewster brothers crossed the yard from Scrooby Manor to St. James in a few long strides. A few minutes later William stood at the altar with the priest, waiting for Mary to join them.
The priest studied his prayer book and waited for everyone to be seated and quiet down. Parishioners murmured among themselves. One woman whispered to another sitting next to her, “Weren’t we all proud as peacocks when Sir Davison took our lad with him in service to Her Majesty? But he don’t say much about what brought him home so soon.”
“He’ll talk when he’s ready,” the other woman whispered back. “He came home to a heavy load, what with his mother gone and his father in such poor health. Poor lad’s had more than his share. Some days he looked lower than a thief sneaking away under a bush, if you ask me.”
The first woman nodded. “Such a pity his father didn’t live to see this day. Well, today is a happy day, and I’m glad for it. He deserves to find some happiness in this life. I pray his fortune is better from this day on. Such an intelligent and decent young man to know such sorrow so soon.”
A man seated in front of the two women turned, glaring at them to be quiet. Mary Wentworth seemed to glide down the aisle as she took her place next to William in front of the priest.
The priest cleared his throat and began the service.
* * *
Will I? The priest had just asked Mary if she would take this man to be her lawful wedded husband. Mary thought about her answer as she stood holding William’s hands and gazing up into his handsome face. The few years since he’d returned home from service to William Davison had been full of both hope and sorrow.
She hesitated before answering, not because she had any doubts about William, but because she was still trying to take it all in: that she was really here, standing at this altar at St. James, exchanging vows with this man. Will I? Why yes, of course!
William smiled down at her, his blue eyes bright with excitement and anticipation.
“I will,” she said softly. William squeezed her hands. She squeezed back.
With those two simple words, their fate was sealed. The priest looked past them to the friends and family gathered to witness their vows that sunny June day.
“I pronounce William and Mary to be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
The congregation followed the young couple out of the ancient stone church across the short distance to the Manor House. Mary’s family presented the couple with a beautiful green silk pillow, large enough for them to sit on together by the fire on cold evenings. Prudence, William’s stepmother, presented the couple with a looking glass. Others gave them food items for their pantry. Soon, all were enjoying ale and feasting on the roasted peacock friends had prepared in honor of the newlyweds. The bird’s colorful feathers adorned the platter.
***
The next few days were a blur as Mary moved her few dresses and other personal things into the Manor House. She began taking her turn in the kitchen helping William’s stepmother and the other women with preparations for the frequent guests who spent the night at the manor. The manor’s location on the North Road connecting London and Scotland meant that nearly always at least some of the dozens of guest rooms were occupied.
William seldom spoke of his time away at Cambridge or his service to the Queen’s secretary of state in the Netherlands. He seemed content to come home to assist his father with the bailiff and hosting duties for the Manor House. Now that his father was gone and he was the bailiff, he seldom had time to dwell on those days traveling with Secretary of State Davison.
Yet Mary sensed William struggled with something more than taking over his father’s position in the community. One quiet afternoon a month or so after their wedding, they were together on their usual afternoon walk. With only a few hundred residents in the village, they easily traversed the lanes around Scrooby in a leisurely hour-long stroll. These walks soon became Mary’s favorite part of the day.
Once they were alone, Mary hoped William would tell her more about his brief service to William Davison, yet she hesitated to prod him directly. “I thought you wanted to stay in the Lowlands. Did serving with William Davison not bring you satisfaction?”
William looked away. He wanted to be truthful with Mary, but he also believed it his duty now, as her husband, to protect her. I might be in serious danger. I might endanger her, as well. These are precarious days. I was closely associated with Secretary Davison. Though I am safe enough here for the present, perhaps I have not heard the last of that nasty business.
Mary tried again. “William, dear. You seem troubled. We are one now. Your afflictions are mine as well. Please, do trust me to understand. I beg you to tell me. Not knowing what troubles you tortures me.”
He sighed and looked at her for a long moment before answering. “Ah, well, dear one, then I shall tell you.”
William clasped his hands behind his back, pacing back and forth, looking down at the ground, while glancing up occasionally to confirm Mary was still listening.
“I was rather pleased that Sir Davison chose me, a young man from such a little village, to serve him in his service to Her Majesty. Though it meant traveling far, it was thrilling. Mary, I saw the most amazing sights, and overheard astonishing conversations.”
“You speak of them with such excitement. How could that trouble you?”
“Some events were rather troublesome. Secretary Davison was doomed the day he was appointed to that bloody commission to try Queen Mary.”
“And that is what troubles you? That they beheaded Queen Mary?”
“Not just that. It was what Sir Davison was compelled to do. When they sentenced her, they entrusted Davison with the warrant for her execution. It was his horrible duty to obtain the signature of Her Majesty.”
Mary sat down on a low stone wall. William stopped pacing and combed his beard with his fingers. He sat down next to Mary with his elbows on his knees, forehead resting on cupped palms. He spoke so softly, Mary leaned in to listen. “They declared Parliament should be petitioned to execute Mary.”
Neither spoke for several moments. Finally, Mary said, “Her execution was all people talked about for months, but dear William, what has all this to do with you?”
He couldn’t look up. “Queen Elizabeth signed the death warrant and gave it back to Davison. He took it immediately to receive the royal seal. I went with him and waited while he gave the instructions.”
Mary sat so quietly that William glanced sideways to be sure she was still there. He combed his beard again before continuing. “When it was ready, Davison delivered the sealed warrant to Lord Burghley. Burghley sent it forward to Fotheringhay Castle. They carried out the execution.”
Mary said nothing, but twisted a few loose strands of hair then looked up to see him clenching his teeth. His eyes had grown moist.
“I suppose it was rather fitting they beheaded Queen Mary. Who can count all the Protestants she condemned to their death for the sin of not being Catholic?”
Mary winced. Yet another head severed from yet another neck. In her mind’s eye, she saw Queen Mary’s blood splattered everywhere. She’d heard stories about how the queen had gone bravely and serenely to the chopping block. She gave an involuntary shudder. More senseless violence—because civilized people cannot agree on what the Good Lord meant when He said to go forth and make disciples.
William noticed her shuddering. “Yes, I, too, feel my bowels lurch at the thought of it. When Queen Elizabeth learned of the execution, she feigned indignation. She claimed she had told Davison not to seal the warrant. Perhaps she thought she could have changed the order, or delayed signing it. The signed and sealed warrant arrived at Fotheringhay Castle before she could send another order. Burghley acted on the death warrant that she signed.”
“So, she might have changed her mind and spared Queen Mary?”
“Our queen can be rather fickle at times. I believe she was hoping someone would assassinate Queen Mary and spare her having to order it done. It was a rather delicate situation.”
“I am beginning to feel grateful you are now far removed from all that goes on at court.”
“Yes. It is a bit quieter here, among our crops and cows. In any case, she ordered Davison arrested!”
“And you were loyal to him.” Mary dabbed at tears with the backs of her hands, then stood up.
William nodded, still seated. “I worked for him, so I was without employment. That brought me home, Mary—to the Manor House, and to you. That is rather fortunate, I think.” He smiled at her and stood up. I suppose I should warn her I might yet be in trouble…but right now, I prefer to savor our time together without worrying her.
William embraced her and whispered, “Enough of this. The day is too beautiful to dwell on yesterday’s sorrows. Let us think more uplifting thoughts, and continue our walk. I am here now, where I can be with you. Family and friends surround us. We have one another. The Good Lord has surely watched over my going away and my coming back. That is enough to know for this day.”
 

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