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Authors: Sam Thomas
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party, about a dozen in all, at the front door. Naturally enough, Susan was the focus of attention, and I joined in. After a few minutes, we all made our way to St. Helen’s. Susan wrapped a beautiful veil of French lace around her face and head, proceeded up the aisle, and knelt near the communion table. There, the minister blessed her and read from Psalms, and she made a gift of thanksgiving for surviving the perils of childbirth.
After the ceremony ended, the joyful company returned to Susan’s home for the festivities that always followed a churching. There were meat and wine aplenty—clearly Francis was a better merchant than I had thought!—and we were very merry. The servants took care of Susan’s daughter and saw to it that no wineglass went unfilled. Soon enough, the talk turned to the more tawdry doings of our neighbors. Mary Hudson announced in a voice just loud enough for everyone to hear that one of her neighbor’s servants was with child. As she’d hoped, the news of an illicit pregnancy drew everyone’s attention.
“Well, at first it was nothing I could be sure of,” Mary said, feigning reluctance to tell her story. “She wore her skirts in such a way that hid her condition for many months.” The women knew what kind of woman tried to hide a pregnancy and shook their heads in disapproval, but they laughed raucously when Mary added, “But like the little bastard himself, the truth will come out eventually!”
“Who is it?” one of the women called out, and many others echoed the cry. “Tell us!” Mary had warmed to the task but coyly refused to answer.
“All I can say is that she is as wanton a wench as I’ve ever seen. You could tell by the way she looked men in the eye that she was no maiden. I have an eye for that sort of thing, you know. It was only a matter of time before she allowed some apprentice or soldier to get under her skirts.”
The company laughed at the girl’s foolishness. We all were listening attentively, but I did so not just as a neighbor and gossip, but as a sworn midwife. Once I knew the mother, I could press her for the father’s name and at the same time make sure that she had a midwife when she delivered her child. Despite the danger, too many pregnant maids hid their condition and gave birth like wild beasts, in secret and without help. To my surprise, Mary steadfastly refused to name the mother, which made for a poor ending to the story.
“What do you mean, you won’t tell?” challenged one woman, drunk and surly. We all were in our cups by this time, and the women became frustrated with Mary’s obstinacy. Gossiping made for good neighbors, but only when done well—one could not promise to reveal secrets and then renege.
“There’s no servant at all,” called out another guest. “Or perhaps there is, and it’s your servant who is with child.” The women were quite taken with this idea and prepared to make Mary the object of their cruel sport. If the game continued, she would be forced to expel her maidservant just to maintain her own reputation. Luckily for Mary, our hostess intervened, taking her arm and steering her into the kitchen. The company quickly lost interest in Mary’s story and set their sights on a neighborhood widow who had just married a younger man. I followed Susan and Mary into the kitchen.
“Susan,” I said, “I need to speak with Mary in private.” She nodded and slipped back into the parlor with the other women. I crossed the room and put my hands on Mary’s shoulders. “Mary, as a midwife, I must know the name of the servant who is with child.” To my surprise, her eyes filled with fear. “Mary, she is the one who has sinned against God. You are not in trouble—tell me her name.”
“I … I said too much already,” she stammered. “I am not even sure that she is with child. Please.”
Now my curiosity was piqued, and I continued to press her. I grasped her wrists, leaned close to look into her eyes. To my
After the ceremony ended, the joyful company returned to Susan’s home for the festivities that always followed a churching. There were meat and wine aplenty—clearly Francis was a better merchant than I had thought!—and we were very merry. The servants took care of Susan’s daughter and saw to it that no wineglass went unfilled. Soon enough, the talk turned to the more tawdry doings of our neighbors. Mary Hudson announced in a voice just loud enough for everyone to hear that one of her neighbor’s servants was with child. As she’d hoped, the news of an illicit pregnancy drew everyone’s attention.
“Well, at first it was nothing I could be sure of,” Mary said, feigning reluctance to tell her story. “She wore her skirts in such a way that hid her condition for many months.” The women knew what kind of woman tried to hide a pregnancy and shook their heads in disapproval, but they laughed raucously when Mary added, “But like the little bastard himself, the truth will come out eventually!”
“Who is it?” one of the women called out, and many others echoed the cry. “Tell us!” Mary had warmed to the task but coyly refused to answer.
“All I can say is that she is as wanton a wench as I’ve ever seen. You could tell by the way she looked men in the eye that she was no maiden. I have an eye for that sort of thing, you know. It was only a matter of time before she allowed some apprentice or soldier to get under her skirts.”
The company laughed at the girl’s foolishness. We all were listening attentively, but I did so not just as a neighbor and gossip, but as a sworn midwife. Once I knew the mother, I could press her for the father’s name and at the same time make sure that she had a midwife when she delivered her child. Despite the danger, too many pregnant maids hid their condition and gave birth like wild beasts, in secret and without help. To my surprise, Mary steadfastly refused to name the mother, which made for a poor ending to the story.
“What do you mean, you won’t tell?” challenged one woman, drunk and surly. We all were in our cups by this time, and the women became frustrated with Mary’s obstinacy. Gossiping made for good neighbors, but only when done well—one could not promise to reveal secrets and then renege.
“There’s no servant at all,” called out another guest. “Or perhaps there is, and it’s your servant who is with child.” The women were quite taken with this idea and prepared to make Mary the object of their cruel sport. If the game continued, she would be forced to expel her maidservant just to maintain her own reputation. Luckily for Mary, our hostess intervened, taking her arm and steering her into the kitchen. The company quickly lost interest in Mary’s story and set their sights on a neighborhood widow who had just married a younger man. I followed Susan and Mary into the kitchen.
“Susan,” I said, “I need to speak with Mary in private.” She nodded and slipped back into the parlor with the other women. I crossed the room and put my hands on Mary’s shoulders. “Mary, as a midwife, I must know the name of the servant who is with child.” To my surprise, her eyes filled with fear. “Mary, she is the one who has sinned against God. You are not in trouble—tell me her name.”
“I … I said too much already,” she stammered. “I am not even sure that she is with child. Please.”
Now my curiosity was piqued, and I continued to press her. I grasped her wrists, leaned close to look into her eyes. To my
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