The Girl with the Creel Read Free

nor his manservant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbour’s.’
    The gnome-like white-headed figure let his burning eyes circle round his now wide-awake congregation, searching for the nervous, give-away signs of those who had sinned during the week, or were contemplating sinning in the week to come. ‘Yes, my friends!’ he thundered. ‘The Lord can see right into the wicked hearts of those who do not heed His laws, and He has a long memory. They will be punished – if not at the time, at some time in the future – in a way befitting the nature of their sin.’
    His eyes lit upon Lizann at this point, and for the first time in her life she felt herself shrivelling under his concentrated gaze. Had she sinned without knowing it? Was it wrong to dream of being kissed? No, it couldn’t be. What would be the harm in just dreaming? But she’d been praying that the dreams would come true tonight, that Peter really would kiss her.
    The slamming of the big Bible made her jump, and she was glad that the minister had turned his eyes to heaven away from her. ‘Amen,’ he chanted, ‘and may the Lord add His blessings to these readings from His holy word!’ He lowered his head then, revealing a small bald circle at his crown, and the two elders whose duty it was that day sent the collection plates (wooden handled and lined with red velvet) off along the pews, starting at the front rows – more expensive and cushioned with leather – where the most affluent townspeople sat.
    During the uncomfortable silence which lasted throughout this ritual, Lizann took a surreptitious glance around her, unwilling to believe that the Reverend Crawford could suspect any of the people sitting within her range of vision to be in need of saving. None of them could ever have sinned nor would sin in the future, not even Mick … or would he? He was a bit of a lad amongst the girls, or so he made out to her.
    The minister had descended from the pulpit to stand behind the altar, where the elders now laid their heavy burdens. Most parishioners could afford only a silver coin, few as much as a half crown, but there was a sprinkling of paper money, brown ten-shilling notes, pound notes in the different colours of the various Scottish banks, and reclining regally on top – dug up from underneath and strategically placed in full view by the elder on his way down the aisle – one large white English fiver. This, as everyone knew, had been donated by the frail widow of a long deceased skipper of a whaler whose fortune, as everyone also knew, would come to the church when she passed on.
    Lizann often puzzled over this. How could the poor woman believe God was good when He had taken her husband from her as still quite a young man? Not only her husband. According to the huge black marble headstone in the kirkyard, their three sons had been ‘taken to God’s bosom on the same day’, which was a fancy way of saying they’d all gone to the bottom of the sea with their sailing ship.
    The Reverend Crawford let his eyes skim over the money before giving thanks for the bounteous goodness of his flock, and after the last hymn he held his arms aloft to give the benediction. According to their age and ability, the men, women and children stood up quickly, or slowly, or painfully, and remained standing until the blessing was over and he had walked past them on his way to the door.
    The shuffling queue waiting to shake his hand took a long time to reach the heavy portal, but, anxious as she was to find out, Lizann didn’t dare to ask her brother anything until they were clear of the church. ‘Mick, why is it only Thou-Shalt-Nots he goes on about? Surely somewhere in the Bible there must be some Thou-Shalts?’
    Mick cocked his head to the side for a moment and then grinned. ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me, how does that suit