The Captive Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Why, it’s you, Mr. Winslow. Come in! Come in!”
    The three men entered, and Matthew made the acquaintance of Asa Goodman, his wife, Ruth, and their two daughters, Chastity and Faith, ages sixteen and eighteen respectively. He was shown to his room, a small one on the second floor, containing little other than a bed, a desk and a washstand. As they came down, he saw his uncle making for the door, but he stopped long enough to say, “I must make another call, Matthew. Mr. Goodman will lay out your duties.” He left with Pastor Gifford, and Matthew spent the next hour explaining to Ruth Goodman that he had just eaten and could not hold another bite.
    As he sat at the table, sandwiched between Chastity and Faith, he told them about America, but had great difficulty convincing them that elephants were really not a danger to the population. All the family had been reading travel books, and they hung on his every word as he told them of the Indians;the girls were especially avid for blood-curdling stories about their savagery. Matthew knew of none, but they were so pitifully anxious that he invented several to satisfy them.
    He escaped to his room as early as possible; removing a small book from his pocket, he sat down at the desk and dipped a pen into an ink bottle, then began writing:
    The year of our Lord, 1659, 6 August, Bedford.
    My first night in Bedford, and I have purposed to keep this journal a record of my new life—and to be as brutally honest as a man can be!
    My poor mother! Shall I never see her face again? I fear not. And I shall carry the picture of her face that last time on the Fortune to my grave! How much capacity we have to hurt the ones we truly love!
    If there is such a price then, to my leaving home and parents, I resolve to make it worth the candle! The future is a book whose pages I may not read, save one at a time. The times are troubled. Fear is already in the air. Bunyan, Gifford, my uncle—all are like men standing on the brink of an awful chasm, blindfolded, not knowing what lies before them, but convinced it is a dark day for England—for the Puritans, at least!
    And what will I do? Little enough, I suppose. Perhaps I will be a dry and dusty man of business like Asa Goodman. At any rate, I am here, and it is an adventure—I will not be bored to death!
    But Matthew was, in fact, terribly bored after the excitement of living in a new land wore off—which was about one month. Bedford was, he admitted ruefully, much the same as Plymouth. He soon learned his duties with Asa Goodman, and since his uncle had left for London two days after depositing him in the small village, there was no one to talk to. Oh, Goodman was not a hard driver, but he had no thought of anything except business. Pastor Gifford was a man of wit, but he was a busy man, ranging far in his pastoral duties. He enjoyed the meetings on Sunday, thinking Gifford the bestpreacher he’d heard, by far, but the days grew long and the nights grew lonely.
    He wrote a bitter note in his journal:
    I might as well have stayed in Plymouth! When Uncle Edward returns, I will make him send me to London or somewhere else on some sort of business. I will be bored out of my head with this place if nothing turns up this week! Please, God, Give me something to do in this place!
    The day after this plaintive prayer, Matthew sought out John Bunyan in desperation. “Take me with you next week when you go to preach!”
    Bunyan gave him an understanding look, then nodded. “Bored with it, are you, Mr. Winslow? Well, it’s a small village. Nothing exciting now. Let’s see, I go to Elstow next Sabbath. It’s my old home, and there’s a goodly congregation with no real pastor. Would you like to go there?”
    â€œYes! Tell me the time and the place, and I’m your man, Bunyan!”
    The tall tinker laughed and punched Winslow on the arm, “Well, you might be a help. Can you