Powerless to stop such loose talk, I slipped from the room and started for home.
Chapter 6
That night I lay in bed for many hours considering the day’s events. My mind first went to Esther Cooper’s plight, for hers was the most dire. I did not for a moment believe that she had murdered her husband, and the discovery of a vial of poison in her chamber did little to change my mind. Who knew when it had been put there? In a busy household such as the Coopers’, any number of guests or servants could have hidden it. But I could not see any way to help her. She was in gaol, and in the morning the Lord Mayor would have his trial. It seemed clear that the only possible result of such a farcical proceeding would be conviction and execution. I prayed to the Lord that Esther would somehow avoid the terrible fate that seemed so near. I also considered how I might address the rumors that Anne Goodwin was with child. Rebecca Hooke would never allow me to question her, for even raising the issue would bring shame on her household. But I knew that Anne’s mother, Margaret, lived in the city and resolved to speak to her first. If she knew of her daughter’s condition, she might convince Anne to slip away from her mistress and talk to me.
In the morning, I found Martha in better spirits, and with only a little coaxing she agreed to accompany me to meet Margaret Goodwin. The Goodwins lived on the northern edge of the city, in St. John del Pyke, one of York’s poorest parishes. Martha and I walked up Stonegate and the Minster towers came into view, bathed in sunlight. Even after years living in the city, I was struck by the majesty of the cathedral, and I said a prayer that the Lord would see it safely through our wars. The so-called godly complained so long and loud about the beauty of churches, I sometimes wondered if they might be of a different, more barbaric stock than most Englishmen. I was no Papist, but I could not see God becoming enraged over a stained-glass window, silver candlesticks, or a brass reading desk. I shuddered to think what fate awaited the Minster and our parish churches if the fever-brained rebels and their schismatic preachers took control of the city. We turned southeast at the Minster and wound our way through the city’s narrow streets until we reached the square tower of Holy Trinity Church. I pointed it out to Martha.
“I thought Holy Trinity was on the other side of the Ouse, past your brother’s house,” she said.
“York has so many churches, they had to share names,” I said with a laugh. “This one is Holy Trinity, Goodramgate, the other Holy Trinity, Micklegate.” She nodded, and I continued. “There are three parishes called All Saints, two each named after St. Helen, St. Michael, St. Martin, and St. Mary.” She shook her head in wonder. “If you pay attention to the neighborhood they are in, you won’t get too lost.”
“Where I grew up, we made do with just the one church.” She smiled, and I laughed again, relieved that she had recovered from the previous day’s fright. Martha thought for a moment and then became serious. “Hannah said that you had children,” she said.
Her directness took me unawares, and I swallowed hard before answering. “I had two children, both from Phineas. I had a baby boy named Michael. He was born just after I buried Phineas. He died soon after.”
“And the picture in the hall—is that your daughter?”
I knew the question was coming, but a second a wave of sadness rose up in my breast and I fought to hold back my tears. “That is Bridget. We called her Birdy. She died too.” I started to say more but worried that my voice would break. A gentlewoman could hardly be seen sobbing in the middle of a city street.
Martha stopped and turned toward me, taking my hands. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. It is a terrible burden.”
“The Lord has His plans,” I said. “It is not our place to question His will.”
To my surprise, a bark of laughter escaped Martha’s lips. “Begging your pardon, but that is so much shit,” she said. “The Lord has His plans? My God, what nonsense!”
“Martha!” I cried, aghast at her blasphemy.
“I’m sorry, my lady, but I’ve seen many things in this world, and God’s plan is not among them. God wanted your baby to die? That is His plan? If so…” Her voice trailed off, leaving even more profane thoughts unsaid. I cannot say that I hadn’t had similar ideas and I wondered how Martha had come to such awful conclusions. I knew I should pursue the matter and convince her of God’s goodness, but with Birdy’s death still hanging in the air, I could not do so. Martha rescued us from the silence. “Is that why you became a midwife?” she asked. “Because of your son?”