Newton and Polly Read online

  Praise for

  Newton and Polly

  “Amazing Grace, indeed! Newton and Polly is one of the most powerful love stories I have ever read, wrenching the heart and waking the soul. If you read one book this year, this should be it.”

  —JULIE LESSMAN, award-winning author of The Daughters of Boston, Winds of Change, and Heart of San Francisco series

  “A powerfully moving account of one man’s epic journey from doubt and despair into a world of radiant faith. Newton and Polly is impeccably researched and punctuated with glints of genuine humor…I loved it!”

  —ELIZABETH CAMDEN, RITA® and Christy award-winning author

  “A sweeping tale rife with adventure, love, and God’s relentless pursuit of his own. With her signature depth and detail, Jody Hedlund plunges her readers into a fascinating and powerful story that has gone untold—until now. Set sail with Newton and Polly and become anchored in amazing grace.”

  —JOCELYN GREEN, award-winning author of the Heroines Behind the Lines Civil War series

  “In this story of the lives of John Newton and Polly Catlett, author Jody Hedlund skillfully weaves together the history, romance, and Christian faith that inspired the world’s best-loved hymn. Evocative and illuminating.”

  — DOROTHY LOVE, author of Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Gray: A Novel

  “Jody Hedlund’s historical detail is immaculate, and her storytelling will bring you to tears. Newton’s conversion was truly remarkable, sparking a legacy that has impacted millions of lives. Newton and Polly invites readers into that powerful experience.”

  —SIGMUND BROUWER, award-winning author of Thief of Glory

  Praise for the Christy and ECPA Novel of the Year

  Luther and Katharina

  “Jody Hedlund’s Luther and Katharina is an absorbing and deeply researched look into the life and ministry of a figure in church history I’d previously known only from a few dusty facts. Jody breathes life into those facts with this fascinating and intimate portrayal of Martin Luther’s life. Luther and Katharina is a compelling tale of tested faith, tumultuous church history, and incredible courage against daunting odds—and one of the most unique love stories I’ve read in ages.”

  —LORI BENTON, author of The Pursuit of Tamsen Littlejohn and The Wood’s Edge

  “Complex and emotionally rich, Luther and Katharina gripped me from the very start and never let go. Not even when the final page was turned. The history, the love story, the depth of faith in this novel is masterfully woven by Jody Hedlund.”

  —TAMERA ALEXANDER, USA Today best-selling author of To Win Her Favor and A Lasting Impression

  BOOKS BY JODY HEDLUND

  Luther and Katharina

  The Hearts of Faith Series

  The Preacher’s Bride

  The Doctor’s Lady

  Rebellious Heart

  The Michigan Brides Collection

  Unending Devotion

  A Noble Groom

  Captured by Love

  The Beacons of Hope Series

  Out of the Storm: A Novella

  Love Unexpected

  Hearts Made Whole

  Undaunted Hope

  Forever Safe

  Young Adult

  The Vow: Prequel to An Uncertain Choice, A Novella

  An Uncertain Choice

  A Daring Sacrifice

  NEWTON AND POLLY

  All Scripture quotations or paraphrases are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Apart from well-known people, events, and locales that figure into the narrative, all names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Trade Paperback ISBN 9781601427649

  ebook ISBN 9781601427656

  Copyright © 2016 by Jody Hedlund

  Cover design by Kristopher K. Orr; cover photography by Loïc Bailliard (ship) and Kristopher K. Orr (woman)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by WaterBrook, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  WATERBROOK® and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hedlund, Jody, author.

  Title: Newton and Polly : a novel of Amazing Grace / Jody Hedlund. Description: First edition. | Colorado Springs, Colorado : WaterBrook, [2016]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016022221 ( print) | LCCN 2016027477 (ebook) | ISBN 9781601427649 (softcover) | ISBN 9781601427656 (ebook) | ISBN 9781601427656 (electronic)

  Subjects: LCSH: Newton, John, 1725-1807— Fiction. | Man-woman relationships —Fiction. | Hymns —Authorship —Fiction. | Hymn Writers —Fiction. | Clergy —Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Biographical. | FICTION / Romance / Historical. | FICTION / Christian / Historical. | GSAFD: Biographical fiction. | Historical fiction. | Christian fiction. | Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3608.E333 N49 2016 ( print) | LCC PS3608.E333 (ebook ) | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2016022221

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Books by Jody Hedlund

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Part Two: One Year Later

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Part Three: A Year and a Half Later

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Reading Group Guide

  To my mother:

  Thank you for the seeds of faith you planted in your children.

  Thank you for remaining steadfast during the turbulent storms.

  Thank you for always praying, always loving, and always forgiving during the darkest of days.

  You exemplified the Father in running to your prodigals with open arms.

  I pray now I will do the same.

  December 1742

  Chatham, England

  “I fear that our wassailing has become a nuisance.” Polly Catlett slowed her steps, her toes aching in the stiff leather of her boots, the damp chill of December finally taking its toll.

  “Nonsense.” Susanna Smith linked her arm into Polly’s and dragged her toward the front door of the tenant farmhouse that stood across the road from the Blue Anchor Inn. “You’ve such a pretty voice. You could never be a nuisance.”

  One of Susanna’s friends, an older Quaker widow who held the beribbonned wassail bowl, knocked on the farmhouse door, while the others in the wassailing group formed a semicircle for th
e singing. A mangy mutt had announced their presence with deep-throated barking that echoed in the crisp cloudlessness of the coming night.

  The fading golden brocade that streaked the sky overhead was all that remained of the daylight but enough to show the frozen rosy splotches on each of their noses and cheeks. Enough for Polly to glimpse tension on the face of the older Quaker widow.

  “This is the last house,” Polly whispered to Susanna, flexing her aching fingers inside her wool mittens. “Then we shall return home.”

  “Of course,” Susanna conceded as the door opened and bright light poured out upon them, illuminating a spark in Susanna’s eyes, a spark Polly knew all too well. A spark that meant something was afoot.

  The Quaker widow stepped away from the door and took her place among other Dissenters in the group who were attired in plain and unadorned garments as was their custom. Earlier, after Susanna had convinced Polly to join her for the wassailing, Polly wasn’t entirely surprised to discover that their company was made up of Susanna’s Dissenter friends. Susanna made no pretense about her strong political views and never passed up an opportunity to gather with like-minded friends whenever she came to visit.

  Although Polly would have preferred to wassail with friends from her own social circle, she hadn’t been able to begrudge Susanna the favor. Nor had she been able to resist an opportunity to sing, even if the group was strange and sober.

  Susanna’s poke through her heavy cloak was Polly’s sign to begin her song. As the open doorway filled with several women, Polly took her place at the fringe of the group and hummed several notes before starting, “A jolly wassail bowl, a wassail of good ale…”

  The others allowed her to sing the first stanza by herself, and her voice lifted clear and pure with the melody of the traditional song. A hush fell over the women who were now stepping out of the farmhouse. As her song rose, even the dog stopped its barking.

  At the Blue Anchor Inn across the road, she could feel the attention of several patrons upon her, men who were either coming to or going from the alehouse. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that one stocky man had leaned his shoulder against the weathered clapboards and was staring at her from beneath the triangular brim of his cocked hat.

  Susanna glanced toward the barn at the rear of the farmhouse and squeezed Polly’s arm. “Sing another verse.” Susanna’s request was met with a murmur of assent from the hefty woman facing them, likely the farmer’s wife with her milkmaids and scullery girls behind her.

  Polly didn’t need much prodding to continue. Her song filled the air, drawing the plump, almost square-shaped farmer away from the barn toward them. With a limping gait, he lagged behind several boys, likely his sons. Polly was warmed with a small measure of satisfaction that her singing could please others so readily.

  Later when she was alone, she would offer prayers of contrition for her vanity, but for now, she was helpless but to release the melody. She sang several more stanzas by herself as the crowd expanded the same way it had at their previous stops. Finally, Susanna and her friends joined in, finishing the song. Together they sang the chorus two more times before offering the wassail bowl to the farmer and then to his wife.

  The drink was no longer bubbling hot as it had been at their first visit. Nevertheless, everyone sipped from the bowl and praised the sweet spiciness of fine ale and roasted crab apple blended with cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger. In exchange for the songs and drink, the farmwife had her maids pass out an apple to each of the wassailers.

  The chatter of the singers mingled with those of the farmer and his family, but the laughter this time was different, louder, more forced. Or maybe Polly was merely unnerved by the young man who continued to lean nonchalantly against the Blue Anchor and stare at her. The other patrons had listened for a verse or two before hustling on their way. But this one hadn’t budged, not even when they’d finished singing. The shadows of the early evening prevented her from seeing his features clearly, but from the glimpse or two she’d caught, he was certainly dashing enough to make her squirm.

  Polly focused her attention on Susanna, who was speaking to the farmer’s wife. “ ’Tis true. We are ahead of the festivities for our wassailing as we’ve not yet celebrated Twelfth Night. But we were in a joyous mood this day and thought to spread our cheer.”

  The farmer’s wife boxed one of the boys in his ear for drinking too long from the wassail bowl. “We won’t complain that you’ve come. Especially since your sister has such a pretty voice.”

  “I’m not—” Polly started to explain that Susanna was her aunt, her mother’s youngest sister, but Susanna cut her off.

  “I concur,” Susanna said with a smile and toss of her dark ringlets from beneath her wide-brimmed straw hat. “She does have a pretty voice.”

  Susanna was vivacious even in the fading daylight. Next to Susanna’s ravishing beauty and charm, Polly often felt like a pale golden embroidery thread set against a dark lush tapestry. Although she’d inherited her mother’s fairness, there were times when Polly secretly lamented that her mother hadn’t given her more of the French ancestral heritage, which had apparently been bequeathed upon Susanna to the fullest.

  “If I were making the laws,” Susanna continued, “I’d deem the entire month of December—and not just twelve days—be devoted to celebrating Christmas. But unfortunately, I’m not part of the monarchy.” Susanna peered around the farmyard and beyond to the stretch of road that led away from Chatham into the open countryside.

  If Polly didn’t know better, she’d almost believe Susanna was looking for someone. Her Quaker friends, too, were glancing around more than usual. With the coming of night, perhaps they were merely nervous about the need to return to their homes. Nothing good ever happened after darkness, particularly near the River Medway where dangerous smugglers had become all too common in recent months.

  “Shall we be on our way?” Polly leaned into Susanna as far as the fan hoops on her petticoat would allow. “I vow, it’s time to go before we’re left to wander in total darkness.”

  Susanna lifted one inky brow at her widowed friend, who in turn gave a slight shake of her head as though to tell her “Not yet.”

  The unspoken communication between the Quaker widow and Susanna only made Polly more wary. Something more than wassailing was happening tonight. Of that she was growing certain. Were Susanna and her friends arranging one of their protests tonight? During her last visit, Susanna had secretly participated in passing out pamphlets expressing disapproval of the slave trade and stressing the need for reforms. Polly hadn’t known of the clandestine activities until she found a stack of pamphlets in Susanna’s bag. When she confronted Susanna, her aunt swore her to silence.

  “Perhaps one more song from my dear sister Mary?” Susanna asked, raising her voice along with Polly’s mittened hand. Susanna’s slanted glance told Polly not to question her pretense over being sisters or the use of her given name, Mary, rather than her nickname. Susanna’s squeeze told her to just sing. At the ensuing enthusiasm from the farmer and his household, Polly had no choice but to indulge them in spite of her unease.

  Once the last notes of melody drifted away, she was relieved when the members of their wassailing group tightened their cloaks and with brief good-byes started down the lane toward Rochester where many of the Quakers lived.

  “Needn’t we go the other way?” Polly asked, increasing her stride to keep up with Susanna’s lengthy one. She caught the edge of her flat straw hat to keep it from blowing off her head. Underneath she wore a bonnet-like cap edged in lace, which although stylish did little to keep her ears warm.

  “We shall accompany our friends a short distance before turning around,” Susanna said tersely, with a sharp look over her shoulder toward the farmhouse. They were already on the outskirts of Chatham on the highroad that would eventually wind its way through Rochester and north to London. The road ran close to the bank of the River Medway, and the dampness from the river and
the nearby North Sea made the December air especially biting.

  As they walked Polly’s breath came in cloudy bursts that disappeared into the lengthening twilight shadows. No one spoke, and in the complete silence, their footsteps against the hard-packed, frozen dirt sounded choppy and hurried.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect they were running away from someone. “Why are we so somber—” Polly started, but Susanna cut her off with a harsh shush.

  When they came to a fork in the road, Susanna peered over her shoulder again, her pretty features taut with anxiety. Woods hedged them in, preventing them from seeing the farmhouse and the inn. But sudden shouts from the area whence they’d come drew alarm upon every face in their small group.

  “Hide!” the Quaker widow hissed as she picked up her heavy skirts and broke into the hedgerow between the road and the river.

  Susanna grabbed Polly’s arm and dragged her the opposite direction down the road that led to the nearby hamlet of Luton. “Quickly.” Susanna pulled Polly along at a near run. Polly didn’t resist as a sense of dread rapidly spread through her limbs, chasing away the frigidness that had gripped her.

  Susanna had apparently gotten herself into trouble again. The question was, what kind and how much?

  Polly raced after Susanna until her lungs felt seared with the effort. It wasn’t long before the heavy clomp of horse hooves pounded the road behind them. Without slowing her pace, Susanna veered into the woods, and Polly had no choice but to follow. They stumbled over windfall and low branches, their crackling and crashing suggesting an advancing army rather than two delicate young ladies.