A Girl Called Samson (6)

“Continue to study Holy Writ,” Reverend Conant responded. “There is no better way to know Him. It is a marvelous gift to have His words. You don’t have to go anywhere. He is right there.”

“But I want to go somewhere,” I confessed.

Reverend Conant laughed, and I loved him for it.

“Proverbs nineteen says the soul that be without knowledge is not good,” I argued. “It is sinful not to educate oneself.” I thought my reasoning sound.

“Proverbs nineteen also says he that hasteth with his feet sinneth,” Deacon Thomas quoted, his cheeks full. “I’d say you’re in trouble, Deborah.” His tone was mild, and his eyes did not even lift from his trencher, and for a moment all was hushed. Then laughter engulfed the entire table.

“Pa got you good, didn’t he, Rob?” Nathaniel chuckled. It was all they ever called me.

“Now stop that,” Mrs. Thomas reprimanded, but her lips were twitching too. “I don’t know why you call Deborah Rob. It is not becoming at all. A woman deserves a woman’s name.”

“Are you a woman, Rob?” Jeremiah lifted his head from his toys, astonished, and the laughter grew.

No, I did not civilize the boys. Not at all.

“I will bring you more books. Perhaps that will help your wanderlust. And here is a letter from Elizabeth. A very long one,” the reverend reassured me when Benjamin and Nat finally rose and left the table.

I snatched it up, begging to be excused, and Mrs. Thomas waved me off while reminding me that there were chores that still needed to be done and to not be long. I rushed to my little room and shut the door behind me, but I could still hear the conversation between Reverend Conant and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas.

“She is headstrong, Sylvanus,” Deacon Thomas said, and I made a note to add that to my list of faults. “And proud. And she cannot always hold her tongue.”

“I only hope she is a blessing to you,” Reverend Conant replied.

“I cannot complain,” Mrs. Thomas said. “Not at all. I don’t know how I ever got by without her. She accomplishes far more—and does it well—than I do in a day. I’ve never seen a person more driven.”

“But driven toward what?” Deacon Thomas grumbled. He watched me with trepidation when he looked at me at all, and he’d hardly said two words to me in the two years I’d lived under his roof.

He was wrong, though.

I could hold my tongue.

I held it more often than not. He would be appalled if he knew all the things I didn’t say.

“She has great energy,” Mrs. Thomas was saying. “She handles the spinning wheel like a master and has a gift at the loom. Nathaniel has taught her how to shoot. He says she is already a better aim than he is. In truth, there is little she can’t do.”

I smiled at that, despite the sting in Deacon Thomas’s criticism, and turned away from my eavesdropping to the letter in my hands. Elizabeth didn’t write as often as I wrote her. I’d written dozens but sent only a few, as to not abuse her kindness or trample on her goodwill, but this letter was delightfully long.

She had lovely handwriting, like geese in formation, winging across the page. I had begun trying to copy it, to train my hand to pattern hers. My writing looked like waves in a brewing storm, rough and relentless. Like me. Funny how a person’s penmanship revealed so much.

April 15, 1772

Dearest Deborah,

You make me laugh, darling girl, and I read your letters with both wonder and glee. It is odd to think we are but eight years apart. In some ways, I feel ancient compared to you, though I am convinced you could instruct me in many ways. I have scoured Proverbs for something to inspire you, but found myself giggling, trying to imagine how you might apply each one.

I read your letters to my John. Even he, a man who has never done an irresponsible thing in his life, had a good laugh when you recounted the episode of the magic breeches. I would have liked to see the Thomas boys being trounced in that footrace. You’ve made me curious about donning a pair and finding a dashing path of my own.

I do hope someday you will experience the joy of turning a gentleman’s head with more than your speed or strength. You have such a fine mind and a strong will, and your character shines through your letters. I suspect you will grow to be a woman who inspires much admiration. Do not be so quick to dismiss the blessings or power of our sex, my young friend. My grandmother told me once that men may run the world, but women rule men. Something to ponder, certainly. You must let the brothers win sometimes, just to encourage them. I find men are more apt to let us play if they believe they will triumph.

Uncle Sylvanus tells me you are the brightest girl he’s ever met. He frets that you are unable to attend school but says there is little any country school could teach you. There is little I can teach you! Still, you must ask me any questions you have, and I will labor to answer them in a way that both instructs and entertains, as you have done for me.

Your constant friend,

Elizabeth

PS Proverbs 31 is my favorite, though I recognize I am at a different juncture in my life than you are. I particularly like this section:

“She opens her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She looks well to the ways of her household, and eats not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her.”