Smart Sam
Smart Sam
In theory an unconformist wedding was a simple joining, a mutual exchange of promises before God and man and that was it. But maybe simplicity only works if you’re an ordinary person marrying another ordinary person.
Nothing about the Annesley family was ordinary. Papa took under his wing every young dissenting minister in the London area, helping some of them financially and welcoming them all into his home, day or night. He encouraged, exhorted, and edified, then patched up the rifts when his charges got carried away in their many arguments. He preached to hundreds each Sunday and struggled ceaselessly against the established Church of England.
There was nothing ordinary about the Annesley daughters, either. Susanna heard it constantly, sometimes whispered and sometimes openly—how beautiful they were; too clever for their own good; too indulged in some ways, but their father was after all so indulgent with everyone.
It didn’t surprise Susanna, therefore, that Elizabeth’s wedding could by no stretch be considered a simple affair. True, there were no robed priests or elaborate rituals. The actual wedding was in fact quite plain. But there were people! Every dissenter in Southwark trooped through the polished halls of the great manse, nibbling from the acre of buffet, laughing, jostling, churning, joking. So many strange faces milled about that Susanna was sure half of the rest of London had come as well.
Elizabeth was certainly worth all the fuss and attention. Wasn’t she beautiful! Perhaps Susanna dismissed physical beauty too lightly. There was a clear advantage to a woman’s being so radiant. Still Susanna could not imagine herself as a bride. No, not she; not in the middle of all this hoopla. Susanna stood apart from the racket, on the third step up the staircase, to watch from afar.
Anne came bouncing down the stairs. It never ceased to amaze Susanna that she and Anne and Elizabeth, all sisters, could be so very different—Anne especially. Anne had adjusted her hair and her bodice four times so far that Susanna knew of. She now looked neither more nor less lovely than she had after the other three adjustments.
Anne paused beside her on the staircase. “Sukey, dear! You must go down and mix more with the guests.”
“They look sufficiently mixed without my help.”
“You do have an answer for everything, don’t you. Very well, I’ll mix you myself. There’s Danny!” She waved an arm wildly. “And someone with him.”
Like an obedient lap-dog Danny Foe answered the gestured summons. He had been smitten with Anne once; was he still? He wove in and out among well-wishers, dragging along a rather fair-complexioned chap, a likeable-looking fellow, and drew near the bottom of the stairs.
Anne made her voice as thick and soft as clotted cream.
“Good evening, Danny.”
“Good evening, milady. May I present my fellow in letters and good chum, Sam Westley. Sam, the Anne I’ve mentioned more than once and her little sister, Susanna.”
“So this is Anne.” The young man’s face, both open and appreciative, looked like the sort that would never ever permit an untruth. “You’re supposed to be so good with words, Dan, but you didn’t come close to describing how pretty she really is. And Susanna, is it?”
“Sukey, among the family here.” Danny might as well consider himself family; he came around the manse often enough.
“Sukey. The littlest Annesley. Beautiful women so often have thistledown for brains—act proud of their beauty as if it weren’t simply an accident of birth. I hope you’re not like that, Sukey.”
Susanna felt her mouth drop open and could do nothing to close it. By the time she thought of something inane to stammer, Danny had shoved the brazen Mr. Westley off into the crowd. The two were laughing and talking with others now; Anne and Susanna stood on the staircase alone and abandoned.
The nerve of that brash young man! Susanna’s ears burned hot enough to ignite her cheeks. She thought of half a dozen retorts on pridefulness she could have returned to him, now that he was off talking to John Dunton’s cousin. Anne didn’t seem to notice anything out of the way. She bounded on down into the crowd.
From her vantage point on the stairs Susanna could keep track of that brassy fellow as he moved about the room. Everywhere he went people ended up smiling. How could they be taken in so easily by his insolence? His face, his marvelously mobile face, puckered in a thoughtful frown one moment, then exploded into a delighted grin the next. Obviously the fellow was quite shallow; and he dared to suggest she, Susanna, had thistledown for brains!
Well, he sort of said that—in a way.
Elizabeth’s voice by her ear startled her. “So what do you think of Sam?”
“He’s a shallow boor in need of lessons in manners.”
Elizabeth stared at her. “Whatever did he say to you? He’s a ministry student at Mr. Veal’s academy—and apparently one of the best. Writes broadsides and poetry good enough to put himself through the academy on the proceeds. Papa says he’s very deep.”
“That doesn’t help his manners.”
“Oh, he’s extraordinarily honest and open; says whatever’s on his mind at the moment. But I certainly wouldn’t call being honest bad manners; in fact, I think that’s part of his charm.”
“Charm.” Susanna made a noise appropriate to the occasion.
Elizabeth laughed suddenly. “You’re a child, Sukey. You can’t be expected yet to recognize a real man when you see one. You’ll grow. And learn.” And the beautiful bride floated off to greet more well-wishers.
A child, huh? Susanna was certainly old enough to recognize that this was exactly the sort of man she would not marry when she grew up. You could tell by the way he dressed and combed his hair that he was vain. In fact, he shared a good many undesirable qualities with John Dunton. Doubtless, that was why Elizabeth could use the word charm. Elizabeth was blinded to reality by love.
Perhaps Susanna would avoid romantic love altogether. She didn’t want to be blinded by anything.
She lost sight of the churlish Mr. Westley. Might as well go down and mix in, as Anne had urged.
A young man she knew only as Martin stood by the buffet with a sausage in each hand. Martin, Susanna knew, was close to penniless. This was probably his supper—possibly breakfast and lunch, too.
“Susanna!” Martin waved a sausage. “I found the information on Apollinarianism for you. Forgot to bring the paper over, but I will one of these days.”
“Explain it to me.”
Martin paused long enough to swallow sausage. “Apollinaris was bishop of Laodicea somewhere around 350. He claimed Christ was truly a man but He didn’t have human nature like we do. He had divine nature. He had a soma and a psuche but not a pneuma.”
“Then He wouldn’t be a man; not really.”
Martin bobbed his head and wiped his mouth. “Exactly. That’s what they said when bishops met at the Council of Constantinople. Officially condemned it as a heresy.”
“Thank you, Martin.” Susanna considered a moment. “I see that doesn’t follow Socinian thought at all, any more than does Docetism.”
From behind her a familiar voice purred. “The Socinians, Susanna, are Arians. Unitarians, essentially. They deny the total deity of Christ, claiming He’s a created being inferior to the Father. That He lacks the complete God-nature of the Father.” Sam Westley reached around her for a sausage.
Susanna put as much of the north wind into her voice as she could. “Thank you, Mr. Westley, for explaining Socinianism to me.”
Martin giggled. “You missed the beat, Sammy. She is one.”
The eyes in that pliant face opened wide as serving platters. “Reverend Annesley’s daughter? A Socinian? And here I heard that all his girls were smart.”
Susanna’s ears and cheeks caught fire again. “Mr. Westley, you suffer the same problem of self as do so many of these dissenter students. You think you’re the only one who can correctly interpret Scripture. That, you see, is what’s so wrong with the whole dissenting movement—a different interpretation for every person in it.”
Martin talked with his mouthful. “I might add, Sammy, she went back to the Anglican church. She’s not in her father’s dissenting congregation anymore.”
Susanna expected some sort of shock to register on Sam Westley’s face; it was the response dissenters usually made. But no. His face softened, almost smiled. He had the look of a small boy receiving some beautiful new toy.
Mr. Westley abandoned the buffet (that in itself was probably some sort of accolade to her company), took her by the hand, and led her across the room.
He backed her into a corner and leaned with an elbow on the wall. “So tell me, Susanna, why the Socinians attract you.” His eyes, soft and smoky, locked onto hers.
She drew herself up as tall as possible, to counter this sudden feeling of nervous discomfort. “They make sense. Nowhere in Scripture is the Trinity mentioned. It’s an invention. I don’t care to worship an invention. That’s idolatry.”
“You have the loveliest blue eyes.”
She smiled. She had won. “So that’s your answer to my argument. Perhaps you’d like to accompany me to our next society meeting. The Socinians welcome dissenters.”
“Oh, that’s not my answer to your argument. Arianism lost out at the Council of Nicea in 325, and it’s been a loser every time it’s popped up since. My answer to your argument is that the word is coined, but the truth it represents is not. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are constantly and consistently given full deity in scores of passages—I’ll bring you a list if you like—and frequently they’re mentioned in the same breath, with correlative conjunctions giving them equal status. You know, I really do like your eyes.”
“Thank you, Mr. Westley. I look forward to receiving your list.”
“Want some notes on the deity and personality of the Holy Spirit while I’m at it? Socinians have a problem with that, too. You’re a lovely girl, Miss Annesley. You’re going to be a stunning lady.”
“Thank you, Mr. Westley. And now, if you’ll excuse me—?” Warmth flooded her face and neck. She lurched forward, eager to get away. But her feet stopped and turned her around to look again at that nimble, open face. “Some information on the personhood of the Holy Spirit would be welcome also, sir, if it’s not too much trouble. Good evening.”
He purred “good evening” to her departing back.
She fled to—to where? She hurried out into the courtyard and kept walking smartly, all the way to the end of the yard. The sweetbriers were nearly done with their blooming now, in late August. Their hips, little green knots on the ends of the stems, would be turning red soon. The English summer, so brief and episodic, was nearly over.
She inhaled deeply, but very little of the sweetbriers’ wonderful aroma was left for her nose to find. Suddenly she didn’t want summer to be over. She wanted it to last forever, just the way it was right now. She didn’t want it trickling through her fingers like this—like dry, loose sand.
“Oh, there you are.” Elizabeth came hustling across the yard. “Why are you hiding out here? Honestly, Sukey.” Elizabeth hugged Susanna’s shoulders tightly. “John and I are leaving now. I wanted to say good-bye.”
“You’re not going away forever, you know.”
“No, but I’m leaving the house forever. That’s frightening, in a way. And exciting.” Elizabeth pushed Susanna back to study her at arms’ length. “Momma’s not very strong. I was carrying a lot of the day-to-day burden. That’s your task now, Sukey. Take good care of her—” Elizabeth was starting to break up “—and Papa—and—” She drew Susanna in close for another tight hug.
“I shall.” Susanna was certain she should also be feeling some extreme emotion, but she didn’t know what it might be. Her other brothers and sisters when they married hadn’t carried on like this.
Elizabeth clung. “Oh, Sukey, I’m so worried about you. You get these strange ideas that you think come from studying, and then you hold onto them so stubbornly.”
“Papa says you fret too much, and I agree. God honors them who honor Him, and I do so. I observe all His rules as carefully as I can. I walk in the light I see, just as Papa so often preaches. I’ll live such a good life God will be proud to call me home to Him.”
“That’s just it. You don’t—oh, I wish Papa would talk to you more about salvation by faith and the failure of salvation by works. I’ll pray for your soul every day, Sukey.”
“Of course.” Susanna pushed free; she was finding it difficult to breathe.
“God bless you, Sukey. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Elizabeth. God bless you.”
And the bride hastened away from house to house, from home to home, from life to life.
So. Elizabeth felt that now it was Susanna’s province to haggle with the fishmongers. That was more or less to be expected of Elizabeth. She was the one who fussed and worried over everyone else; not just over Susanna and her religious convictions but over this household and her own; over the whole world.
Well, Susanna did not in the least feel like taking over the reins of Elizabeth’s worry-cart. This household had servants enough to function without Susanna—without Elizabeth either, for that matter—and Judith and Anne were still at home. Let them haggle. It was Susanna’s province to study, to show herself approved of God unto all good works, to quote Paul in 2 Timothy—not to deal with either fishmongers or worry.
For one thing, she must read up on the Trinity, especially the personhood of the Holy Spirit. If that Mr. Westley returned at all, particularly if he brought his lists, those topics would be at the top of any discussion agenda.
Perhaps Susanna had misjudged the man, based on her first impressions. He was clearly much smarter and deeper than she had given him credit for. Why, he rattled his arguments right off cold, without really even having to think about them at length. But he was still vain. He still thought much too much of himself, as evidenced by the way he so casually brushed aside her arguments in favor of his own.
He had acknowledged at the very first that physical beauty is an accident of birth, something Susanna knew well. That didn’t stop him, though, from complimenting her eyes. She smiled to herself. The man might be vain and prideful, but she did admire his taste.