Chapter 2

Constance wept as she gazed down at the babe in her arms. Hope fed contentedly from her breast, oblivious of the river of tears baptizing her tiny head. Constance’s father watched in silence from across the room. Samuel, who would have usually averted his eyes at the sight, found he could no more look away than he could stop himself from breathing. He could barely stop from weeping, himself.

Noises in the distance made the two of them start and look nervously towards the door. The door opened. Prudence slipped inside and closed the door firmly behind her.

“They will come soon,” said Prudence. “It is as we feared. The village has become a mob. They will come seeking blood. We are watched. We cannot flee.”

“But she did not do this thing,” protested Samuel. “She swears so before God, and who are they to say otherwise.”

“They will not listen to reason,” replied Prudence. “They will not even wait for a judge. They mean to hang her, this very night.”

“I suspect this is all because of Abigail,” said Constance. “She developed a dislike for me. She was jealous when Symeon chose me for a wife instead of her. She has poisoned the village against me.”

“Are you saying it was Abigail who struck down Symeon in such a cowardly way?” asked Samuel.

“That I cannot say,” replied Constance. “But I am quite certain that it was she who began the story that Hope is not the daughter of Symeon. And it would not surprise me if she stirred the rumor that I am responsible for his death.”

“Abigail must face God in her own time,” said Samuel. “If she has begun this thing out of jealousy and spite then God will judge her. We should pray that she finds peace in her heart before she goes to face Him.”

“Amen,” said the others.

The door to the inner room opened and Constance’s brother and sister emerged.

“It is done,” announced Charity as she gestured to her brother.

Ezekiel shivered and shifted nervously as his family turned their gaze on him. Then he stood up straight and proud.

There was a moment of silence in the room.

Ezekiel walked over to his sister, Constance, and stooped to kiss her cheek. The two of them ignored Hope who still suckled quietly at her mother’s breast.

“You should uncover and unbind your hair,” he said to his sister.

Constance nodded. “Will you help me?”

Ezekiel carefully untied and removed the bonnet that concealed Constance’s hair and draped it over his arm. Constance reached up and removed the finely carved combs holding her hair in place. Then she shook her head and let her hair fall free around her. Ezekiel ran his hand gently through her hair and arranged it to drape down her back to her waist.

“You will have to cut off your beautiful hair,” he said, with quiet determination. “And you will have to bind your breasts against your chest.”

Constance looked down. “They will not bind so well when they are full of milk.”

Ezekiel shrugged. “You must do as best as you can. My clothing is set out on the bed. The shirt should be loose enough to conceal what needs to be hidden. We are the same size and we look enough alike that nobody will see the difference, provided they do not look too carefully. I think that tomorrow our neighbors will stay away long enough for all of you to leave. Nobody will look too closely.”

Constance nodded and then looked up and down at her brother. “That was always my favorite dress. I do not know why but it seems to suit you.”

Ezekiel blushed and ducked his head and smiled. “Thank you.”

Charity forced a thin smile. “If my sister is to walk to her death, then she should do so in her best dress.”

Constance gestured at his chest and whispered “How... ?”

Ezekiel leaned closer and whispered, “Stockings with grain in their ends. And Charity sewed for me a ... foundation garment. It holds them in the right places against my chest. It is quite, ah, novel to have this extra weight on my chest. And the dress feels strange against my legs.”

Constance giggled softly. “But it certainly gives you the seeming of a woman. Only your hair is wrong, but when you put on the bonnet, that will be hidden.”

“My son,” said Samuel, his voice breaking. “Are you certain that this is the right thing to do? It goes against God for you to wear those clothes.”

“I am her brother,” replied Ezekiel. “She is innocent. It is my duty before God to protect her. I can think of no other way to protect her than to go to the mob in her place. I will protect her even unto my dying breath. This is the best way. If God objects to my clothing, well, I shall face Him soon enough and then I shall discover God’s will.”

Ezekiel paused for a moment and looked down. Then he brushed his hand down his dress and stood up straight with a strange smile on his face.

“You all know I have felt a wrongness since I were a child. A wrongness I could never put into words. A wrongness that suggested God had a different purpose for me. I could never be like the other boys in the village, despite my best efforts. Today, standing here in this dress, for the first time I understand the message of that wrongness. This is my purpose. I feel it in my heart. God wants me to wear these clothes. He wants me to walk out through that door as a woman. It is God’s plan that I walk up that hill in the place of my sister, that she may live. Why else would I feel such joy at this terrible time?”