Long after the nightly chores were completed, the last dumpling eaten, the last dish washed and put away, the last candle wick pinched and extinguished, Mercy lay in her bed with eyes that refused to close. Her mattress made from straw rested upon a frame of pure maple carved by her father's own gentle hands. The bed was a four posted bed, with finials that nearly reached the eaves. It came complete with built in drawers below to house Mercy's petticoats and coifs, and as a show of affection for his only child, Ellsion Proctor had carved "Mercy" into the headboard surrounded by elegant carvings of hummingbirds and wildflowers.
She snuggled beneath the quilt her mum had made from scraps of material leftover from the garments she hand stitched for the men and women of Plymouth. Mercy could hear the snap and crackle of the embers from the evening fire and the creak of the wooden rocking chairs that sat side by side in the sitting room, strategically placed for the ease of hand holding. Mercy heard the comforting and familiar tamp, tamp, puff, puffs as her father filled and smoked his pipe. She visualized her mother rocking quietly, dozing with a cup of tea in her hands. But tonight, the silence was broken by whispered conversation. This was a departure from the ordinary for Ellison and Rose Proctor, for their love was a quiet one of respect and the ability to communicate with only a touch or a glance. An abundance of words were not necessary between them. But tonight they talked. A lot.
Overcome with curiosity, Mercy crept from the warmth of her bed, careful the straw did not rustle too loudly beneath her shifting weight. She padded across the wooden planks to the door of her room which was slightly ajar to allow the light from the night fire soothe her to sleep. The sitting room was down a short hall directly across from the dining area and just off of her parent's sleeping quarters. Mercy could not see her parents, but the cracks and knotholes in the wooden planks of the house allowed her to hear, even their hushed whispers quite well. Mercy sat down on the cold floor, drew her knees up and pulled her nightdress down and over her icy toes and listened.
They were discussing the ship. The newly arrived ship in the harbor. The one she had wasted so much time today pondering. Why would that ship interest them? "It won't be long now Rosie, that is what the brethren say." Rose took in a shaky breath. "I'm fearful dearest Ellis. Fearful of the unknown, the wilderness, What if what we are facing here with the church of England is nothing compared to what we shall face there? What of the Natives? What of Mercy? She is so young, a child yet." Ellison patted Rose's hand and grasped her fingers. "Now, now Rosie, do not fret, our God is with us and our people are strong in their faith and in their resilience. All is well, and we shall be free at last."
Mercy listened with dry mouth, unaware that she had scarcely taken a breath since approaching her doorway. She was sure of one thing, their conversation had something to do with that horrid vessel. Try as she might, she could not conjure a reasonable explanation for their whispers or her mother's obvious distress. Secrets. Their family had never held secrets, but tonight, Mercy was painfully aware of a secret that she was yet to be a part of. Mercy comforted herself in a secret of her own. One she held close to her heart, shielding it like a precious jewel, waiting for the perfect opportunity to unveil it.
She tiptoed to the drawers under her bed, opened one and retrieved her Geneva Bible. It was worn, torn pages mended by melted wax, the binding held together by string. Mercy struck a match and lit the candle by her bed hoping that her mother would not see the light and come to scold. She picked up the candle stick and held it over the Bible as she quietly rustled the delicate pages to the place of her secret. Finally, she found it. Tears trembled on her lashes as she read in a whisper.
The Acts of The Apostles
Chapter 2, verses 38-39
"Then Peter said unto them, repent, and be baptized everyone of you in the Name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. For the promise is unto you and to your children and to all who afar off, even as many as the Lord our God shall call."
Mercy's hand trembled as it did every time she read this passage. What was this that was so powerfully described in the Holy Scripture? She wanted to know more about it, but who to ask? The Puritans were very private in their interpretation of scripture and relied solely on the elders of the church for explanation, She had a feeling deep in her heart that this setting of scripture had never fully been explored, experienced or explained. She wanted to understand! She wanted this gift! She would, somehow, someway have this Holy Ghost spoken of by Peter. As if in response to her cries to God, an ember from the candle sparked onto the page of the old Bible and flamed.
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