Page 65 of Stay with Me

At the first alley, Nicholas ducked out of the traffic with his mount. He hastened his steps into a jog, dodging piles of refuse and animal droppings. The stench of excrement was strong, and he breathed through his mouth.

As he passed by one of the stables he’d used previously, he left his horse before continuing on to a quieter and more respectable business area where the buildings were constructed of stone with glazed windows and tiled roofs.

When he reached the scrivener’s door bearing a sign of a quill and inkpot, he glanced both ways. From what he could tell, he’d made it through the town without anyone taking notice of him. Now he prayed he would find refuge and a warm meal with Walter this night.

He slipped into the workshop to find his friend seated on a stool and bent over an angled table with a parchment laid over it. In the process of dipping his quill into ink, he paused, lettinghis pen rest above the pot before shifting his attention. His eyes widened at the sight of Nicholas standing just inside the door.

“Sir Nicholas.” Walter rose hastily, nearly tipping one of several inkpots spread out around him. “What brings you to my humble abode?” A simple cap hugged his head, leaving only a few strands of his brown hair visible. He wore a dark tunic—one that mostly hid the inkblots that had accumulated there over the years.

Nicholas took in every detail of the room in a sweeping glance. The other two scriveners—both older men—had already left for the day, exactly what he’d been hoping for. Their angular writing tables were empty of parchment and their quills at rest. The weighted sheets of the stiff paper were hanging from lines along the sides of the room, the ink in various stages of drying. The men had been busy writing out legal documents, deeds, wills, and anything else required of them, mostly from the merchant class who lacked the ability to read and write for themselves.

Walter lived alone in the room above the shop, which meant they would be undisturbed. Even so, Nicholas had to proceed with caution before bringing up the code-breaking.

“I have need of your skills. I should like you to draw up a marriage license.” He paused. “For me.”

At the news, Walter’s legs gave way, and he dropped onto his stool, clasping the writing table with his ink-stained fingers to steady himself. Walter stared with an open mouth before allowing a smile to blossom.

The license was just an excuse to visit Walter, since Nicholas didn’t care one way or another if he had an official document. Even if he hadn’t been a hunted criminal, he still wouldn’t have done things properly by having the banns posted for three Sundays. He would have obtained their license from the bishop to avoid the three-week delay. But as he was now married,Walter’s document would serve more as a record of the event than official permission.

“I did not think I would ever behold this day, sire,” Walter spoke reverently. “I am verily astounded and joyful.”

Walter had been like a father to Jane and Eric after their own had passed away when they’d been children. The kind-hearted man had provided for their mother for many years, never once asking anything of her in return even though he’d loved her.

After the attack against Rye by the French, Walter, like Eric, had never been able to return to the scene of so much heartache and loss. For the past five years Walter had been living in Dover, continuing his work as a scrivener in a shop with several other men of his guild.

Unlike Eric, Walter hadn’t wanted Nicholas to grieve over Jane forever, had encouraged him to be open to loving another maiden. Always Nicholas had objected, had insisted that he never would care for anyone the way he had for Jane.

But now that he’d met Sybil, he knew how foolish his declaration had been.

“Sire, this is the best news. Truly.” Walter had a soft-spoken voice, one that Nicholas had never heard raised in anger. “May I ask when the blessed occasion is to occur?”

“It already has.”

Walter’s mouth dropped open again.

“I did not expect to marry so quickly.” Nicholas still wasn’t sure what had prompted him to make such an impetuous decision. But now that it was done, he was relieved Sybil was his and that he need not worry about another man claiming her. “She is unlike anyone I have ever known.”

Walter’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied Nicholas’s face. “I can see it in your eyes. You love her.”

At his wedding, he’d denied such feelings when Beatrice had declared the same thing. But now, with the strength of theemotion that had been churning through him since leaving her behind, he could almost believe Walter was right.

“I feel for her deeply,” he admitted. “’Tis different than what I shared with Jane.”

“You and Jane were both young. Your lives had yet to experience seasoning.”

“But I was with Jane for three years. Surely that would allow forseasoning.”

“Seasoning happens best through fire and heat.”

“Fire and heat?”

“God uses trials and hardships to mature us in ways that nothing else can.”

Had his trials and hardships helped to season and mature him so that now, after all he’d gone through, he was able to love others more fully and completely? Had Sybil’s difficulties done the same for her?

Though the tragedies he’d experienced were terrible, somehow through them he had grown in sympathy, the need to fight injustice, and the longing to help the helpless. Would he have had the burning desire to take up the causes of the people in the Weald if he hadn’t experienced his own pain? In fact, if not for Eric’s crime and subsequent need to seek refuge, Nicholas might not have sought out Devil’s Bend for Eric, might not have met the people of the Weald at all.

For so many years, he’d been blaming God for the difficulties, had even given up respecting God. But what if, all along, God had been using the fire and heat to make him better, stronger?

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