An Acrid Perfume of Witchcraft
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The day after was Sunday, and it had been decided that all the tenants of the pension should leave together for the morning service in Mr. Rollberd's carriage, since the church was a walk far from the pension. Reverend Dimmesdale had preceded them hastily. Hester had put on one of her most beautiful hat, embroidered with red silk, upon her untied black curls, and a very pleasant collaret that enhanced her slim throat beautifully. Her sleep had been disturbed by strange black figures and blazing red threads in the night, and the phantom face of her husband; and yet she managed to look beautiful and fresh. She walked down the stairs and met the rest of the pensioners in front of the house.
"Oh my, how gorgeous you look, Mistress Prynne!" Ann complimented Hester as soon as the young woman climbed into the carriage and sat next to her.
"Thank you dear"
As usual, the male pensioners dared not flatter her, and most females were too jealous of her beauty to do so.
"I hope you do not feel too miserable about your husband's delay, Mistress Prynne", said Deborah, a middle-aged widow, before muttering to her neighbour with a mocking smile: "She really does believe herself in London!"
"I shall see my husband soon enough, but thank you for your trouble" Hester politely replied, even though she could feel the flame of hate burning inside her bosom.
When the carriage arrived in sight of the church, dozens of parishioners were already converging toward the white-painted wooden church, at the sound of the flying bells, like a flock of peaceful sheep gathering at the voice of their shepherd. It was a lovely and comforting sight for Hester –but was it for the joy of Christian concord or the expectation of the desired shepherd, Hester's heart was too confused to be sure. The pensioners got off the carriage hurriedly. Immediately, Hester looked around, searching for him : and him she saw from afar, standing in a grave black gown at the porch of the church and welcoming his parishioners with his warm smile. At this precise moment, he was in conversation with John and Elizabeth. Hester absently gave her arm to Mistress Highaway and pretended to pay attention to the old lady's uttered concern about the stormy sky, as they drew closer. There was something she could read on the reverend's face while he spoke to Elizabeth that had caught her attention –something so fleeting yet so deep –in the way he looked at her. When he listened to her voice, he would not only return her look, as he usually would with everybody else, but also considered her whole face thoughtfully with quick moves of the eyes he maybe was not even aware of. These tiny gestures would have been meaningless to anybody else, but to Hester, who had always been more observant than talkative, this was a language she was confident to decipher: it meant that Arthur Dimmesdale knew Elizabeth in a specific way.
The Warburton couple and the reverend were about to part when Hester and Mistress Highaway reached to top of the stairs.
"Hester!" Elizabeth exclaimed when she saw her.
"You should come inside quickly", said Arthur Dimmesdale as he smiled to the newcomers, recovering –Hester noticed –his usual look. "The rain may fall at any moment now".
The young woman felt a pit of disappointment inside of her. The reverend's way of being kind and attentive to everybody was more tormenting to Hester than if he had been frankly indifferent to her, as it was nearly impossible to discern in his manners any token of preference –safe for Elizabeth, of course. She found it impossible to accept to share Dimmesdale's peculiar attention and deep love for every single one of his sheep, in a nutshell, to accept to be only one soul among others for him. In her eyes, it was just as if she was not loved at all, and she would rather reject her precious share of Christian love, that Arthur Dimmesdale gave wholeheartedly and that was such a rarity in the many communities of men, than be treated like everybody else by the man she desired.
Overwhelmed by these confused feelings, Hester, deeply annoyed, ignored the reverend's courteous salutation and walked past him without a word, leaving Mistress Highaway behind. Such unusual behaviour was so startling for her friends that Elizabeth wondered if she had said anything offending.
"No, Elizabeth –I mean, Mistress Warburton" Dimmesdale comforted her. "But I believe Mistress Prynne would greatly need your company and your good heart at this time."
"What do you mean, Arthur?"
At first, Dimmesdale would not speak, fearing to be indiscreet. When he noticed the conversation had now shifted to some pastoral matter, John wisely considered moving inside and joining the men's benches, to leave Elizabeth and the reverend discuss the secret problem.
"Yesterday night, she received a letter from her husband, telling her he would be delayed" Dimmesdale explained at last.
"Dear Lord... Thank you, Arthur, I will take care of her" She made a move to come inside, but stopped before, as if she remembered something. She turned back to the reverend. Her eyes were bright. "Before that, there is something I want you to be the first among our friends to know…I am with child!"
The minister welcomed the news with an outward joy, yet a diffuse sadness within.
"Is it not beautiful, Elizabeth?" He congratulated her. "God has finally blessed your marriage with John."
Elizabeth, feeling his sorrow, imperceptibly took his hand and pressed it in a compassionate gesture, before going inside. Left alone, Dimmesdale painfully sighed, and looked around him. As far as he could see now, the latecomers had arrived. However, he still could see no sign of Mister or Mistress Power. He prayed silently that no woe had happened. As dark thoughts began to worry him, a drop of rain spattered on his cheek. He looked up and saw the black stormy sky before he heard the thunder rolling. Slowly, after checking one last time the surroundings, he withdrew into the church, letting the two parish guards take his place on the doorstep, a musket in their hands.
Hester jumped a little when Elizabeth briskly sat on the bench next to her, bringing with her the fresh morning breeze and the chills of spring on her cheeks.
"Hester" she kindly muttered without preamble, "Would you like to come for luncheon at home after the church?"
"But it's the Lord's Day, surely you want to have a personal time with John"
"What I want to say is" she softly insisted. "We would be delighted to have you for luncheon."
Hester nodded, touched as always by Elizabeth's good heart.
"I shall come, then"
By the time, the Minister had climbed up the pulpit; Hester suddenly felt a burning gaze on her neck. She carefully looked behind and met Jack Firestone's stare. The man stood on the other side of the benches, among the gentlemen, and silently acknowledged her. She nodded back, with a strange sense of uneasiness. She turned away to focus her attention on the minister, who now faced the assembly, his eyes closed in silent prayer. A moment later, he opened his lips:
"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name, Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; Who healeth all thy diseases. Bless the Lord, all ye his hosts; bless the Lord, all ye his works."
He paused, and the assembly kneeled and spoke the prayer of confession. When everybody had stood up again, the minister looked down on them all with a confident smile.
"Brothers and sisters" he called, "Our Heavenly Father heard us, and he forgave! Let us bless the Lord with all our heart this morning. Let his loving mercy and grace heal your soul and cheer your spirits. Some of us today feel joyful. Others are down with sadness. But whatever the gifts or ordeals we have received this week, beloved, let us remember that we have a Saviour who, by his precious blood, has opened us the eternal gates of Paradise, otherwise shut to sinners! That, in him, we have the promise of everlasting Life and bliss, not only in the life to come, but since the very day we converted our hearts, even in our darkest hours. Our Lord is with us, in our joys and sorrows. He is among us this morning, "for where two are three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them", says the Lord! Let us therefore welcome our King with songs of praise! Beloved, never let the enemy steal away your joy!
Someone stroke the first meters of psalm 103. All at once, the faithful opened their hymnbooks and burst into song. The walls of the church rang with the mixed praise of young and aged, men and women, -when all of a sudden, the entrance doors were flung opened. Their panels hit the wall violently, and the stormy wind engulfed itself into the church with such a noisy howl, that the assembly was silent straight away. All faces turned to see Officer Andrew Power standing in the frame of the entrance, damped from head to toes, his face frightful. Outside, the thunderstorm had reached its climax: the rain drew a curtain and the trees crouched under the violent assaults of the wind. The guards entered and closed the door behind, visibly embarrassed.
"I am sorry Good Reverend Dimmesdale!" one of them apologized. "We knew not whether to let the officer in or not!"
Andrew Power slowly went down the ally, turning a fixed and feverish eye on both sides, as a sleepwalker would in seek some nightmarish demon. Arthur Dimmesdale was the first to dare call out to him.
"Andrew Power, I bid you to explain yourself!"
The man shivered violently, as if he woke up from a disturbing dementia, and passively stared up at Arthur Dimmesdale.
"My boy is dead", Power said blankly.
Behind her, Hester could hear Elizabeth's sight of pity. Even the reverend was taken aback by the seemingly indifference with which the father had uttered such dreadful news, and stood momentarily speechless. Andrew Power searched the assembly anew, but this time, his eyes caught the face and shape of Jack Firestone among the men, and would not turn away. Impassioned with anger and fear, he pointed a trembling finger at him, making the man frowned.
"And here is the man –nay, the fiend! –who killed him! Jack Firestone!"
The faithful burst into frenzy as Power tried to go for Jack Firestone, but was grasped round the waist by the parish guards. Firestone remained silent, his jaw clenched with indignation and a slight disgust in the eyes, as all looks now clung to him. Hester realized that he actually hated the man.
"You killed my boy!" Power kept repeating, struggling to free himself, his voice pitching above the rumour of the assembly.
"You need be drunk!" Firestone angrily retorted at last, "How dare you accuse me for your own negligence?"
Hester, panic-stricken, turned to Elizabeth and clasped her hand.
"Mister Firestone is a respectable man! It is so unfair"
"Dearest, the two men are old enemies. This is the curse of our colony."
Governor Bellingham chose this moment to intervene, leaving the first row he had hitherto occupied with his sister, Mistress Hibbins.
"Power, your sorrow deceived you. It is a fact that your son died falling down his horse. Reverend Dimmesdale, Mister Warburton and myself were present right after the accident to see that this horse was frightfully out of his wits. You were yourself compelled to slaughter it a few hours later!
"That murderer bewitched that horse with his black magic!" Power declared, throwing terror over the assembly. "And here is the toy of his infamy!"
He bluntly freed himself from the men's grip and, protecting his hand with an handkerchief, he pulled out from his waistcoat a necklace adorned with a silver medal, and threw it on the floor. Hester could feel cold fingers running down her spine. Firestone's pupils narrowed.
"Speak no more!" a stern voice resounded.
It was Judge Edward Right. He had elbowed his way through the horror-struck assistance. He readjusted his mantle.
" Officer Power, these are utterly serious accusations you are making, and I shall not hear them as long as you are in this scandalous state! The words of a drunken man are worthless."
"I am in control of myself alright, Your Honour!" Officer Power retorted with a trembling voice, keeping his eyes on Firestone. "Be worried about him instead, before he casts another curse of his upon our godly congregation!"
"That is enough! If charges must be pressed, you shall come properly –and sober –at the courthouse tomorrow and follow the procedure. Now, let the Lord's service unfold properly. Gentlemen, take him out!"
The two agents seized the wretched officer, who opposed no resistance, and dragged him out.
A cold silent followed his departure. Firestone, obviously exasperated by the previous scene and the many looks now focused on his person, left his place and turned to the reverend, who silently stood at the pulpit.
"I am sorry, Reverend Dimmesdale, but I cannot stay here any longer.
Dimmesdale nodded.
"I understand"
The reverend waited for Jack Firestone to leave, then he went down the pulpit.
"Brothers and sisters, let not your heart be troubled. No conclusion can be drawn from the words we heard here a moment ago. We shall know further about this affair tomorrow."
He bent forward to pick up the necklace that Power had left behind, laying on the wooden floor.
"Don't!" a voice exclaimed. "It may be enchanted!"
The reverend paid no attention to this warning and took the pendant into his hands. When he had straightened up, he softly rebuked the utterer:
"Do not be afraid of Satan. As long as we do not let him into our hearts, he has no power over us, for we are children of God. Never forget that".
And the minister carried on the service as if nothing had occurred, with an admirably peaceful countenance, so comforting for his moved congregation after the turmoil. After the service, the parishioners lingered more than usual in groups of four or more, while the governor and the judge hastily left before being assaulted by an inquiring crowd. Hester was ready to follow Elizabeth and John to their home, when Mary Blue, one of the young girls she had met the day before at the sewing afternoon, caught her up. She stopped.
"Mistress Prynne! I wanted to give you back the thimble you forgot yesterday at Mistress Jones'!"
"Indeed" Hester remembered, "I had to borrow one to Mistress Highaway yesterday night. Thank you, my dear".
Mary handed over the golden little thing, then walked away hastily.
Dimmesdale's peaceful countenance had only been an outward appearance. This sudden affair had indeed thrown the minister into a maze of theories, calling back various events from his memory he struggled to assemble in a logical way. However, his first impulse was to go to the Power's house as soon as possible. When he had eventually managed to part from his relentless parishioners, who understood not his refusal to pronounce himself on the question, he fell back into the vestry. He had removed his black gown and was reaching for his coat when he realized Mary Blue had followed him inside, alone, and had closed the door behind her. He startled in surprise.
"Mary! What are you doing here?"
It seemed to him the young girl's cheeks were unusually coloured, even though her look and her smile were confident.
"I need to tell you about a very serious matter, Reverend Dimmesdale"
Dimmesdale nervously looked around. He could not possibly afford to be seen alone in this shut room with a young maiden. The consequences could be embarrassing.
"Come with me, let us talk outside", he urged her, opening the door.
"But I do not want anybody to hear me!" she opposed.
"We shall be discreet; but Mary, we cannot speak in the vestry"
"It is about Mister Firestone and Mistress Prynne"
The minister dithered for a moment. Then, he shut the door. It was better if such conversation were kept secret, he judged.
"What is there about Mister Firestone and Mistress Prynne?"
"Yesterday, we met Mistress Prynne at Mistress Jones' for the sewing afternoon. She remained three hours or so, but then she said she felt tired and wanted to go home. The rest of the girls and I remained for another hour before packing our things. At that moment, I found Mistress Prynne's thimble, which had rolled, under the seat. I would have handed it over to Mistress Warburton, as I knew she is a good friend of hers, but she had left earlier than my friends and I. So I told them I would go on my own to the Highaway's pension to bring it back to Mistress Prynne, as she might have need for it later –She works very late at night, you know…"
"I know" Arthur Dimmesdale replied without thinking.
"Well, on the way to the pension I had to walk past Mister Firestone's house –I usually avoid the place and rather make a detour when I am alone, because it is always so quiet and isolated, but it was sunset and I knew I had to be home before the night. But as I drew close, I saw Mistress Prynne leaving Mister Firestone's garden. I was so surprised, because she had told us she would go home – and not just that, but she also held a rose from his rosebush, and looked much better than when she had left us earlier."
Dimmesdale frowned.
"Why are you telling me this?" he questioned, with a reproachful tone. "Do you fancy spreading rumours around the town? I would never have believed this of you."
When she heard the blame, Mary blushed, suddenly ashamed, but above all panicked in front of those soft eyes rebuking her. Indeed, she feared to lose her adored minister's tenderness. She stammered.
"No…No, Master Dimmesdale, you know I am not like that! I-I just thought…since what happened this morning…you might be interested in knowing that Mistress Prynne is a good friend to Master Firestone…and as he is known to be a solitary man, she could be one of the only persons able to help dispel any misunderstanding about him, if questioned."
Arthur Dimmesdale's brow softened, and Mary finally allowed herself to breathe.
"I see."
It is a well known fact that men and women of good heart tend not to suspect evil where evil does not seem to dwell. However, only fools take an appearance of innocence as a token of inner goodness. For, if Mary was young, this young flower already hid the pitiless spines of a grown woman's heart. Indeed, as soon as she had beheld Hester Prynne the day before, Mary had felt the diffuse threat –consciously or not –the young woman's beauty left hovering over the success of her passionate race for the reverend's heart, and was determined to dispel it by any means. Arthur Dimmesdale was no fool, but he could not understand why young Mary Blue should find any interest in tarnishing Hester's reputation; and the seemingly absurdity of Mary's action lead him to give her the benefit of the doubt as to the intention of her ambiguous report, without however trusting the purity of her move, and chose not to inquire further.
Besides, the news of this strange a sudden proximity between Hester Prynne and Firestone, was not a surprise for him: indeed, this impression had haunted him greatly the evening before, after he had seen Firestone's rose on Hester's bosom. The idea troubled him and displeased him. Indeed, if Jack Firestone, physically and by his situation, was fitted for marriage, the minister had never heard of any women he would have approached in a perspective of courtship. However, what displeased Dimmesdale the most was Hester Prynne closeness to Firestone after the foreboding events of the morning. He was convinced it would bring her no good to stay around the man. Truthfully, he did not want her to be implied in anything unfortunate relating to him. And as the pastor of his soul, he resolved to warn her.
"Thank you, Mary", he said. "Go now, your parents are waiting for you."
"Good day, Master Dimmesdale" she replied with a charming smile, bending slightly her head on the side and blinking in soft movements. She left with the light steps of a fairy, swinging her slim hips under the skirt in gracious movements. Arthur Dimmesdale stood still for a while, as he watched her move away. He was puzzled, for something had just occurred within him – a small twitch deep inside he could not explain. Alas, all the more unarmed and vulnerable are men, though not insensitive, to womanly seduction, as they cannot discern the subtlety of their coils. He shrugged to himself and took his hat. It was now time to offer his condolences to the Power –a very painful mission.
Elizabeth's home was warm and welcoming, in the freshness of the April spring. The hearth was joyfully lit, and the furniture delicately chosen and arranged. The trace of love was everywhere, thought musingly Hester. This was a happy home.
Elizabeth had cooked fish from the river with sweet potatoes and carrots. The smell was delicious to Hester's nose, however neither Hester not the couple had the humour to fully appreciate the meal. The memory of the morning scandal that had stricken Boston made the tragedy of the Power family harder to bear still. They said grace quietly, then sat and slowly began to eat.
"I cannot believe Andrew Power accused Firestone of such shameful deeds" Hester eventually declared, as she remembered Jack Firestone's tender attentions since they had met. "He is my landlord and has always seemed very decent and respectable in every way."
Elizabeth and John shared a silent look. The latter put his fork down.
"You know, Hester, you must not be surprised by the enmity that exists between Firestone and Power. The issue is far from being new."
"John has been living in Boston longer than I have" Elizabeth specified.
"Indeed", John went on, "When I arrived in this town five years ago, the two men already had detestable relations."
"And why is that?" Hester asked.
"As far as I know, it started a year before. You are aware, I believe, that Jack Firestone found a spring under his house a few years ago –the very water of which we drink at this table."
"Yes"
"And the man made a lot of money out of it. That is why Andrew Power, then freshly promoted at the highest grade of his dignity, and probably blinded by pride, insisted that Firestone would sell him the house. Firestone refused without the smallest hesitation. But it seemed that Power was so full of his own importance at the time that he had not even thought of the possibility of a refusal. He offered again and again to give him more money, but Firestone obviously was not interested in his money at all, and kept refusing in return. The affair lingered for weeks, and became a public matter. The entire town soon knew about the issue. When Power finally gave up, the two men had become publicly enemies. Since then, no one ever saw them exchange a single word, and it is rare to see them together in the same room if it is not crowded."
"It is so sad", Elizabeth observed.
" It is hard to believe" Hester said with a tinge of sarcasm, "That a grown man like Officer Power should have problems accepting a refusal."
Neither Elizabeth nor John echoed her disdain. They rather looked very serious and shaken. After a short silence, Elizabeth exploded:
"But still, what could Firestone have ever done to deserve to be accused of this! Witchcraft, sweet Lord! There must be something else!"
"As a matter of fact" John replied thoughtfully, his brow tense, "I am not the only one in town to suspect there is some more ancient quarrel to explain their enmity. However, nobody hitherto has been able to guess what."
"But the judge will need proofs and witnesses, if a trial is to be engaged" Hester objected. "And that should be hard to find."
"I would not be so sure of that" Elizabeth uncomfortably replied. "Hester, Mister Firestone is a very secret man…he lives on his own…"
"So do I" Hester retorted.
"My dear…it is well-known that he knows a secret art. And he is always so polite, but also so very cold and distant with everybody, it is hard to know what he thinks and what he is up to."
Hester was partly surprised by what she heard. Her experience of Firestone's sentimental ability had been radically different, but truly, she had seen how the man was difficult to understand.
"He is not even married, Hester. For a man like him who lacks nothing, you must admit this is curious"
"It may be because his feelings were hurt in the past, or because he is not interested yet in marriage. My own husband, who is no witch, was almost twenty years older than Firestone when he married me –and I was his first wife."
An embarrassing silence followed.
"Still" Elizabeth timidly ventured, "If the boy's death was really linked to black magic…"
"Let us not ponder on it." John intervened. "What good is it to fear what could be? Our Lord has taught us not to worry about tomorrow. And indeed, It may be well that Power will not even press charges against Jack Firestone, but that his words escaped him in a fit of folly following his son's death. Let us change the subject. We have better news, have we not, Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth smiled with a blush, as she had a knowing look with her husband. Hester understood straight away.
"Elizabeth! Are you…?"
The young woman nodded cheerfully.
"I am!"
The day that followed, Hester woke up with a peculiar excitement. Even though her night had been full of strange dreams about Jack Firestone and potions he would give her to drink to heal her frequent faintness, the hope the morning promised was stronger: she kept repeating in her heart that today would be the day to deliver to the reverend his new garment for the Election Day.
Hester had not dwelled on her feelings for Dimmesdale. She had hitherto contented herself with their presence, passively echoing the movements of her heart, as was her passionate temper naturally inclined to. She had not even pondered on the possible consequences of such attraction. Perhaps unconsciously her heart, still immature because of her early marriage with a man she had never loved, and the sentimental confinement imposed on her so soon, eventually found relief in following its wildest impulses. It was furthermore likely that her husband's absence had unleashed such flow of otherwise undisclosable needs to love and to be loved truly.
However, that morning, for the first time, a vague feeling of guilt came and clouded her joy. For a moment, she realized that her feelings would lead her nowhere; that the pleasure and the thrill Arthur Dimmesdale's presence awakened in her heart were not to be encouraged; and that her soul had been married in front of God to another man's soul, even though her feelings had never been chained to anyone's until then. At twenty-three, her heart was as fresh as a virgin's, ungiven and untouched, and created in her the transports of a young girl, but she suddenly understood the danger in which she put her own soul. As for the soul of Arthur Dimmesdale, she could not be sure of anything, since he had never given her the slightest sign of preference, if not of interest (which he gave to anyone).
As if the short time they had known each other would be sufficient, not to speak of their absence of solitary interviews, to develop such feelings! Arthur Dimmesdale knew more about her than Hester about him, but she was the one to love him. Besides, the man was so secret about his life! She had heard of his Oxford education and the early devotion by which he had distinguished himself. As for his age, he could not be much older than her. Hester craved for months to know more about him and to share more with him. She longed to have a precious place in his heart, but at the same time, she loved him too much to wish him to fall into sin by a forbidden liaison. If he was unable to return her guilty feelings –a possibility she wanted and rejected at the same time –Hester thought she would fain content herself with his friendship –she would be his Mary Magdalene, and he would be her Christ and Master. But anything would be preferable to his indifference.
As she shook those painful thoughts inside her head, a brush in her hand, facing the mirror, Hester realized a slight blush had risen to her cheeks. She put on her hat and turned swiftly to seize her sewing-box along with the finished garments that rested on the bed. She took them in her arms and tenderly stroke their soft texture. She had put so much love into their confection, more than she would have put for one of her own. It was as though these garments destined to belong to Arthur Dimmesdale, were already his. And in Hester's mind, a strange identification had already been done between them and the minister, as objects belonging to a loved one bear the mysterious presence of their proprietary. A similar phenomenon makes so painful the sheer sight of a dead loved one's belongings, filled with a ghostly life. Hester Prynne therefore considered silently her work, and even took it to her lips for a brief instant, before folding it slowly and with so many precautions, on her arm. Then she left the room.
It had been agreed by common consent that Arthur Dimmesdale should try on the garments and Hester adjust them in Mister Highaway's study, unoccupied since his recent departure for England for a business. Mistress Highaway had proposed herself to be present, without needing to precise why, since it was not appropriate that two young people of both sexes and not related by blood or marriage should be left alone together in a room, especially for an activity requiring physical proximity.
As usual, Hester's heart jumped within her bosom when she saw him, and all her previous doubts vanished, leaving only the pleasure of the moment. "After all, we are not doing anything wrong" she tried to convince herself, "And Mistress Highaway is present". However, while the minister tried on the garments behind the screen, by a strange coincidence, old Mistress Highaway, probably soothed by the mechanic gestures of the needlework she had brought with her, fell asleep in her seat.
When Dimmesdale returned from behind the screen, wearing the doublet, gorgeously embroidered with gold thread and pinned with golden buttons, the damasked girdle and the laced-fringed mantle, Hester could neither hold a grin of satisfaction at the result, nor refrain from feeling a pang in the heart. Never had Arthur Dimmesdale looked more handsome, draped with that midnight blue dignity. The colours and the silky brilliance of the satin drapery enhanced the grace of his features, his pale skin and his blue eyes and curly black hair. The luxury of the clothing, to Hester's relief, was of the greatest subtlety, residing more in the elegance of the carefully-chosen pieces of abundance and richness opposed to the sophisticated simplicity of the material, and not in a heavy gaudiness of precious threads, cloth and stones.
However, Dimmesdale's first thought was for Mistress Highaway's sudden lethargy; when his first expression of surprise was gone, he looked at Hester, his eyes full of teasing collusion.
"Methinks Mistress Highaway danced much too late last night", he amusingly murmured, deciding on the voice volume that would be used for the rest of the interview.
For the first time in ages, Hester chuckled, as low as she could though, taken by surprise. She had not until then perceived this pleasantly mischievous facet of Arthur Dimmesdale's character. It reminded her of the way charming young gentlemen would try to entertain her in England, where flirting was much more common and natural between the sexes than here. However, when she saw the minister approaching the mirror, she held her breath. She had feared Dimmesdale's reaction, as he might have taken the rich garments as violence to his priestly sobriety; yet the reverend stood speechless in front of the mirror, delicately turning round, coming back and forth and admiring the gorgeous work he had the privilege to wear.
"Mistress Prynne" he said at last, "I am at loss for words. This is magnificent. Thank you..."
His expression was that of grateful wonder as he turned to Hester, such as may be found in boys. But he was a man, and a light glow tainted the young woman's cheeks while she received the compliment.
"What is it that makes you smile so?" he curiously inquired, when he beheld her elated face.
"Sir, I cannot say…It suits your bearing so very well, one could think you were born to wear the garments of a lord."
She laughed lightly at her foolishness, but Dimmesdale suddenly stared at her with such a new and piercing intensity she stopped. As he turned back to the mirror, a concerned brow had replaced the wonder in his expression.
"What a strenuous work...How many days –how many nights have you possibly spent on this work? This order was not the only one you had"
"Neither have I any husband nor children to look after at home, good Sir" she replied softly. "What else can I possibly do to fill my days…or my nights?" She came to him with a piece of cloth in her hand. "May I?" she asked.
And as Dimmesdale, after a hesitation, approved, she carefully plucked around the neck a beautiful collar of pure lacework.
"Ay, this is true" he said, letting Hester fix the gracious broidery. "How long has he been away now?"
"Three months, good Sir"
"You must be missing him very much"
Hester slowly shook her head. Puzzled by her silent honesty, Dimmesdale tried to look down into her eyes, but she would not raise hers.
"In truth, I am not" she confessed with unexpected boldness. "He is old and misshapen. I never loved him. The marriage was arranged against my will."
Hester was startled when the minister, far from judging and admonishing her as she had expected, replied those sincere words:
"I am sorry. I know how much concern for the family's welfare can turn parents into tyrants for their own children. But no one should ever be forced into marrying someone. That should be a crime."
At this moment, Mistress Highaway grumbled something in her sleep and changed her position, a blissful smile on her lips.
"I…I learned this pattern from a French friend of mine, a protestant runaway." Hester said, eager to change the subject. "She told me it was very fashionable among French gentlemen in Montauban. Do you like it?"
The reverend turned to the mirror and his thin pale fingers stroked the piece of art with an evasive tenderness.
"Ay, I do. You have very gifted hands, no doubt", he said. "Never have I seen such delicate and fine embroidery in this place. It makes me think of England".
His voice lowered as he said those words, and for an instant he gazed silently at the white collar in the mirror, but his eyes seemed to be lost in a remote contemplation, a slight smile upon his lips. Hester, trying to hide the tremulousness that this sight raised in her voice, asked carefully:
"Do you miss Old England?"
"God knows I do" he replied frankly. "But it is not a land for us any longer, is it?" His reflection smiled to her, and she timidly smiled back. "This New World is a blessing for us. It is a new Promised Land whereupon we shall build a new nation, faithfully rooted in God's love and Word...a nation where peace and freedom shall dwell. Do you believe in this, Mistress Prynne?"
She looked up and their eyes met. She could find in this stare a scholarly seriousness, the bright sparkle of hopeful youth she had seen before in young men's faces, and which she had never really understood or shared as a woman. It was rare for Hester to be asked her opinion, and the very first time on such a serious matter. However, never had any of her answers been so honest when she replied almost immediately, her trembling fingers delicately caressing the new collar close to his throat, as if to smooth out a crease –but only to feel his living pulse close to her, and his sweet breath on her eyelids.
"If you do, so do I, Sir"
Never had she meant anything so much. She feared her voice might have been too emotional and her gesture unwonted; she turned away from him and pretended to look for her scissors in her box, lest the reverend should find anything on her face that would encourage any of his doubts. Hester had always been a proud and self-confident woman, but with Arthur Dimmesdale she was continuously haunted by the fear to betray herself.
The latter was nevertheless a sensible man; he had been startled by her answer, realising at the same moment his genuine curiosity to know this woman's thoughts: conscious of his misplaced forwardness, and not sure how to understand her words, he somehow deemed them to have been spoken out of convention or boredom, or worse, to please him; which would have been the case with any other women but Hester.
"Pardon me" he said, with a feeling of failure. "These are fruitless scholar chatter. I did not mean to question you"
"You did nothing of the sort, good sir", she said dryly, before closing her box. "And I think you are a noble man and these are noble dreams"
The aversion and the anger she now had for herself grew more and more difficult to bear. She felt the urge to leave the house, and put on her mantle. Dimmesdale walked to the window and picked a small purse.
"If you please", he said, handing it over to Hester. "Here is the money I owe you, but I am afraid the work is beyond the price I expected. I shall give you the rest next month. "
"This is a fair price, good Sir" she replied, without giving a single look inside the purse. "You owe me nothing else."
She took a bow and walked for the door, but Reverend Dimmesdale's tender and tremulous voice called her back before she could reach it.
"Please, Mistress Prynne, look at me."
Hester obeyed half-heartedly; his blue eyes were soft and filled with an infinite kindness and goodness, and his face beaming with sweet concern pierced the young woman's heart with irresistible rays of love, enhancing the very shame she felt.
"If you ever feel the need, come and speak to me at church" he timidly offered. "It is my duty to look after my parishioners. I would do my best to help you find in God the comfort you need, and to see you smile."
"I am doing fine, your reverence"
"You do not have to conceal your feelings to me", his tone sounded more like a prayer than a reproach. "I can see you are hurt. Besides, Elizabeth told me my women parishioners have not given you the love and kindness worthy of Christians. I may well remind them of this"
Hester did not answer immediately. She could not reasonably explain the other women's sense of rejection, but it has always been so even before she left Europe, as soon as she had grown a beautiful woman. The hatred and jealousy of her sex had more than once disserved her and isolated her from the collective activities, and her unpopularity grew all the more that she would attract male sympathy in her solitude. But it had not been so clear to Hester that her beauty might be the reason for her loneliness, until she had felt its full blow in the New World, since it was the first time she was left on her own, deserted by both family and husband, more than ever in need of a thoughtful friend or a sympathetic ear.
"Sir" she eventually replied, "I certainly am grateful for you kind-heartedness, though I wish we had rather kept this a private matter"
"Fair enough" he said, even though he did not look much convinced. "But if you have the time, there is something else –a serious matter, I am afraid, I would like to discuss with you."
Not knowing what to expect, and her imagination running wild in her head, Hester uneasily tightened her grip around her sewing box. Arthur Dimmesdale himself seemed to be looking for the better way to approach the subject.
"I heard that you were somehow…close to Master Firestone. Am I wrong?"
Hester stared at him, and could hardly conceal her bewilderment.
"He is my landlord" she cautiously replied. "And has always been very obliging to me. Why is that?"
"I suppose you are aware of what fragile situation he happens to be in, since yesterday?"
"I have had the occasion to notice how much Officer Power's words usually precede his thoughts."
Dimmesdale frowned.
"I know he has wronged you, Mistress Prynne, but I have good reasons to think that this time, Andrew Power will not look to make amends for his words."
Dimmesdale vividly remembered his strange conversation with the troubled man two days before. Since Sunday morning, the minister had understood that Andrew Power had been suspecting witchcraft for a long time before his son's death. Dimmesdale thus feared the worse in the days to come.
"What does it have to do with me?", Hester asked, still avoiding the Reverend's penetrant stare, but her arms defensively crossed.
The strange shift from trust to suspicion in Hester's attitude escaped not Arthur Dimmesdale; but his inability to understand it slightly shook his self-confidence, and he had to draw more assurance on the reserve of his spiritual authority.
"Hester Prynne, you must know that I speak in your own interest…but you need to stay away from Jack Firestone for a while –the time for the light to be shed on this affair".
Hester's eyebrow trembled. She felt deeply disappointed that Arthur Dimmesdale, the man she so admired, should believe the preposterous accusations uttered by such a fool fellow as Andrew Power. Strangely enough, as it seems reasonable to judge, since Hester had only known Jack Firestone for three months, she was convinced to fully know his innermost nature and that everybody else could only be wrong.
"So you too believe Master Firestone is a witch", she concluded, eventually looking him in the eye.
"I believe nothing", Dimmesdale bluntly corrected, beginning to lose his nerve. "But if an investigation is to be lead –which is, unfortunately, utterly probable –it is best for you to give the officers no reason to knock at your door."
This time, it was Hester's own pride the reverend had offended.
"Well" the young woman impatiently replied, "I thank you for your concern, Master Dimmesdale; but as a grown woman, I am able to look after myself and my frequentations."
Their raising tones eventually woke Mistress Highaway up, but neither Dimmesdale nor Hester paid attention to her, and the old lady was too surprised and afraid to intervene to manifest her renewed presence.
"Precisely!" the minister angrily maintained. "You are a lonely woman, your husband is far away, and you have no family here to defend your interests! Your situation is extremely delicate, and you cannot afford to be involved in anything regrettable. Trust me, Mistress Prynne, it would be very ill-advised of you to do otherwise!"
"If you allow me, Reverend Master Dimmesdale" Hester said coldly, showing her desire to leave.
Arthur Dimmesdale breathed deeply.
"Go, and God bless you as he blessed your skilful hands"
Hester quickly bowed and left the room.
"Women!" Dimmesdale sighted with exasperation, as he watched the young woman moving away.
"If I may, good Master Dimmesdale", ventured Mistress Highaway's small voice behind him, "These garments made by Mistress Prynne are a wonder to the eye!
