The Strange Death of Mistress Coffin (24 page)

Moreover, she had begun to speak of the minister as a kind of personal savior, as one who had exorcised evil presences from her life and substituted the joy of Christian covenant, community, and spirit. Of all such things and changes she had spoken happily, even, it seemed to Browne, distractedly. She was becoming for him a kind of lovely figure diminishing in a dream. Had he himself become too distracted by his own work?

What finally forced him to confront himself on the matter was a three-week sojourn that spring to Strawberry Banke and the Isles of Shoals. To conclude a certain large shipment of wood products to England in the best possible way, to diversify the products of his trade on a more solid foundation, and to extend his company's partnership to fishmongers of London, he found it necessary to oversee the handling and transfer of certain commodities himself.

It was while staying on the islands some ten miles offshore from the Banke that, in a number of idle moments, he had the opportunity to examine his recent life and his true desires. As he thought about Elizabeth Higgins he discovered a sense of urgency and loss.

From his room at an inn on the islands, while watching a
ship take on its cargo, he sat at a tiny table by the window one afternoon near the mid-point of his island sojourn writing to Elizabeth.

As he sought the best way to put things, the words of a song revelers had been singing in their cups at the tavern two nights ago kept ringing through his mind.

A batchelour I have beene long,

and had no minde to marry,

But now I find it did me wrong

that I so long did tarry;

Therefore I will a wooing ride,

there's many married younger,

Where shall I goe to seeke a Bride?

Ile lye alone no longer.

So many sinnes are incident

unto a single life,

That I all danger to prevent

with speed will seeke a Wife;

If I with Women chance to drinke

I'me call'd a Mutton-monger,

But now Ile stop their mouthes I thinke

And lye alone no longer.

O Fate send me a handsome Lasse

that I can fancy well,

For Portion Ile not greatly passe,

though Money beares the bell.

Love now adayes with Gold is bought

but I'me no Money-monger,

Give me a Wife, though shee's worth nought

Ile lye alone no longer.

Yet if she chance to proove a Slut,

a Scold, or else a Whore,

That could not chuse but be a cut,

and vexe me very sore.

A Slut would make me loath my meate

were I halfe dead with hunger,

But I must leave this fond conceate,

And lye alone no longer.

5 June 1652,
Smuttynose Island

M
Y
D
EAR
G
OODY
H
IGGINS
,

You may, or may not, know by now that I have removed myself temporarily to the Isles of Shoals to oversee some shipping. I endeavor to establish some importing of goods such as wine and cloth, etc., through a certain fishmonger in trade for dunfish and others. The opportunity arose quite by chance through my brother's watchful eye. And he believed it essential that I give the matter my immediate attention as a lively prospect.

This is a rocky, windy, and bawdy sort of place that has given me time and cause to think about my own circumstances and about our neighborly relations, which of late neither of us has sufficiently cultivated, for divers private reasons.

From my lodging in the Rose and Sun Chamber, I survey a half dozen ships at anchor about these bright and raucous isles. I have a prospect as well from another window of the brick meetinghouse of this island and a number of fine houses tucked in about it, also the courthouse. This Smuttynose Island looks a prosperous place perched atop the main. Indeed, there are men of modest fortune here, one would think more so than ashore, although some few as I understand it have recently removed to the more comfortable mainland while retaining their holdings here.

As the ships unload and load, come and go, and as the sea gulls call and argue in the passing days, I have often time to ponder and examine myself and my ways. These
same sea gulls, by the by, have begun their annual nesting, I believe, and have turned most boisterous and ill-humored, to the point of attacking the unwary intruder. Just as we human beings, so with God's creatures. For they are sometimes known for their playfulness and spirit, yet at other times they turn morose and ill-tempered and even lash out at whatever they unjustly imagine might in some manner harm them.

So have I seen with the fishermen here whose drying racks surround us. Just at the moment the fishing is prodigious, and the fishermen and their bawds grow daily more exuberant and joyous. Yet nearly a fortnight earlier, upon my arrival, the catch was slim and there were arguments and fights and accusations breaking out continuously.

I am most happy that you have found, through Mr. Vaughan, relief from your afflictions, that unholy visions have turned holy. But there is a great deal on my mind now that I need to say to you with all the directness and honesty I can summon. I set these thoughts down here for fear that I might not speak them as I have resolved to do once I stand again before you. You see, I intend to give these thoughts a degree of irrevocability from which I, however timorous in speaking them before you, now must address when we next meet.

For you see I have not written to relate such descriptions of the turmoils and delights of these seaborne rocks which I temporarily inhabit, but rather to tell you that I can no longer pretend the indifference of mere proximity or even friendship toward you. Perhaps the wild and open beauty of this place loosens my tongue, or pen rather; perhaps my removal from the habits and routines of our lives on land makes me bold, as if I had regained some lost element of my manhood here. I cannot say.

In brief, I would be more than a good neighbor and protector. I would be your constant companion. It has become clearer and clearer to me that I cannot continue
indefinitely to live alone, to deny the common affections of humanity, to flee responsibility for others who are dearer to me than any other woman and her children. “Love makes me write, what shame forbids to speak.”

I now have prospects and income enough to make us comfortable. Yet I suffer the greatest apprehensions that I may have delayed for too long, that some one of your suitors might through his persistence and attractions have won you, or at least captured your affections sufficiently to insure the future bond between you. Nor am I comforted by the thought that your liberation from these darker apparitions and your joy in Christian fellowship might have turned you from me, your friend and neighbor, to an irrevocable degree. I hope, I pray, it is not so.

When I return I will come to you that I might speak my true feelings openly, and that you, after due consideration, might answer mine with your own, whatever they may in truth be. Until then, God keep you, dear woman.

I remain your faithful neighbor,
R
ICHARD
B
ROWNE

When he returned to Robinson's Falls, satisfied with his work but tired and anxious over Elizabeth Higgins' reaction to his admissions, he found that she herself was away visiting relatives who had just moved to Strawberry Banke. He did not know who these people were. His maidservant, who had accepted the message and a note, had no further information.

He opened the note, noticing first that it was brief and written in an unfamiliar hand, understanding that she found writing onerous.

M
R.
B
ROWNE
,

The children and I are to the Banke for a fortnight. Thus we shall not be able to speak to one another when you return. You might foretell how your letter surprised me. For some time I have thought your feelings for me honest. And mine are warmest towards you. And we both know how much I am in your debt. But do we not also know that men and women cannot live together only by such feelings?

I cannot say to you what I feel. I do not want to offend such a dear friend. But as I look at my mourning gown, and as I see the kind of man you are, I cannot foresee a life of constant companionship, as you say, even though you speak so readily of it.

You also speak of suitors, but I have no interest in them. And how would that Christian fellowship under
Mr. Vaughan turn me from another? Christ turns not from others, only from Evil, but turns in love to all His children.

I can say no more until we meet, my dear friend. Let me commend you to the protection of the Almighty.

E.H.

Had he become now just another in the line of suitors competing to win her skill, her labor, and her flesh? None of them, he told himself, could know her even as he did—and she him—nor feel such pangs of tenderness. But of course by now her own feelings toward the Reverend Mr. Vaughan had grown in ways he could not know or understand, perhaps did not even wish to imagine. Had she, perhaps, been incapable of natural warmth toward a man, as the poet said: “Doth carry / June in her eyes, in her heart January”?

And what of Higgins? Wouldn't he, Browne, have to expose the true history of Jared Higgins? Only then might she be able to obtain a bill of divorce from Higgins on grounds of desertion.

When she returned, she did not let him know. He discovered it by the way and he felt certain now that she could not face him, so that he himself began to grow ashamed and hesitant again. He doubted that he would ever regain the courage he had found ten miles out at sea to tell her the truths he had discovered, to claim her back from across the gulf that had opened between them.

It came only by chance that Richard and Elizabeth met, just as by the time it happened, they both knew it would be only chance. As late summer approached, Browne was walking in the wood near the settlement along a well-trodden path, as he sometimes did when he felt as though he needed a change of scene to think. The air had turned clear overnight, cool enough for such an outing, and he felt invigorated.

He had turned to retrace his way and had been heading for
some minutes back toward the point where the path opened upon the settlement when he heard women's voices below him where the stream ran. He stopped and peered downward into the wood, but had to leave the path and descend some twenty feet to see who it was. The woods were open here, but the terrain rolling in its descent, so that he began to recognize the voices before he could see who spoke. His impressions were confirmed when soon before him, just on the opposite bank of the stream, were Elizabeth and her oldest daughter, Jerusha, and son Jared. They all held baskets and wore sacks for collecting wild mushrooms, herbs, and berries. They had not noticed him yet, and he stopped, hesitating between making himself known and quietly returning to the path above. But realizing he might be seen anyway, he called out to them in as friendly a voice as he could raise.

“Mr. Browne!” Elizabeth called out, smiling. “We had been just wondering if we might bring you some of our wild harvest later this day or tomorrow.” Her children smiled and confirmed her.

“It has been a long time,” Browne said. “I had not even known when you returned. But here we are now, finally.” He smiled, spread his arms, looked about the wood. Her laughter seemed a little embarrassed. Jared and Jerusha returned to their work as Elizabeth began to walk toward him. He took a few more steps toward her and added: “Come walk with me a moment, just over here.”

She selected a great tree trunk and tucked her basket and bag within one of its rooty folds. She began to ford the stream on exposed flat rocks. He hurried to give her a hand and she accepted his help warmly.

“And how come you here, Mr. Browne?” she asked.

“Exercise only, good for clearing the mind when there is much weighing upon it.” They began to walk along a slight
ridge that ran roughly parallel to the stream. “Good for one's humors.”

“I see,” she said. “You are troubled in mind?”

“Were you really intending to pay me a visit, with your harvest?”

“We had spoken of it. I believe we will, yes,” she said and looked at him as they walked. He avoided her eyes.

“It has been so long, Goody Higgins,” he said, as if preliminary to some other point, but he stopped.

“On both our parts,” she said.

“Everything would have been simpler, as before, had I not written to you. I made a fool of myself?”

“I was,” she said, “taken unawares, of the strength of your feelings I mean.” She paused and turned her head to glance at him. “There should continue such feelings of friendship between us, even tenderness, as you say, but I had not thought of marriage, Mr. Browne.”

“Then I fear I am more than once unwise,” he said. “Mr. Cole advised me to court you as if my life depended upon it.”

“Would he meddle in privy matters?”

“He meant it only in the most helpful spirit.”