Every Sunday was a full day of church service. Everyone in town was required by law to attend, so Hester attended without complaint. In truth, the days felt tedious like they would never end with the same repetitive messaging. Hester didn't like sitting still when her hands could be sewing, but she followed the rules and sat still as she was bade.
The furnishings in the church were bare, as unlike the Old Faith, her people didn't believe adornments were necessary in people's conversations with God. The building was made of wood, local oaks still bright brown from their newness, unlike the faded wood and stone structures of her childhood. The only adornments on the walls were readings from Scripture. The large windows down the sides of the building let natural light flood in.
Reverend John Wilson, an elder minister of the church for years with a big white beard, had become less steady on his feet and was looking to step down from his day-to-day duties. His small grey eyes squinted more, unable to see as well as they used to. On that autumn Sunday, Wilson was not all alone at the pulpit.
A new minister approached the pulpit with Wilson. "I will start the day by introducing to thee, Mr. Arthur Dimmesdale, recently arrived from England. He is a well-educated theologian ready to share the word of God with you today. Please welcome, my brother in Christ, as the leader of thy service today."
Gentle whispers spread through the crowd. It was impolite to clap or show any strong response, so his captivated audience leaned forward as Wilson took his much-needed seat to the side.
"Hello, friends. My name is Reverend Dimmesdale, and I am happy to join thee today,” said the younger minister. He dressed in a grave black gown, its somberness relieved only by the white of his collar.
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Hester had never seen a young minister before. Dimmesdale was about her age, not a day over thirty. He had removed his wide-brimmed hat, and his light brown hair was short and matched his eyes. He was tall and slender, holding onto the sides of the podium as he orated to his captive congregation.
He met her eyes once, for a moment, then he smiled faintly and looked away. It felt like a moment especially for her. She immediately dismissed the notion as a young girl’s folly and not something she should expect to be true. He looked over all the new faces before him, she reasoned.
He flipped to a passage in the Old Testament, followed by an explanation of its relevance to the Puritan's daily lives. Entranced as she was by the passion in his words. If he had never talked in front of a crowd, he did not show it, as he felt as natural with his words as if he wrote the book itself.
There was something melancholy about his wide eyes or maybe it was the fact a smile never crossed his face, but his sermon still moved something within her.
The service went well into the early afternoon. Afterwards, people usually left to make their biggest feast of the week while it was still light out, in celebration of the Lord. The peroration of the sermon would be the climax of the whole service. The general impression of the sermon would be that both reason and conscience had been satisfied, and that the new preacher had, in the name of God, concluded with passionate and even vehement pleading to keep their faiths prominent in their deeds and hearts.
When the sermon was thus over, several older members swarmed to the new reverend to learn more of him, and so Hester excused herself and went home. There were endless chores to do, but they were her chores, so she did them happily.
In truth, she felt God's presence in other places than in long church sermons. She felt Him guiding her hard work and leading her to successes or lessons from her failure. She did not generally feel much of anything during the Sabbath, sitting on a hard pew for hours, until that very first week Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale spoke to her.