Chapter 22The Procession

Before Hester Prynne could even wrap her head around what was happening, she heard military music coming from down the street. It was the procession of magistrates and citizens heading towards the meeting-house. They were there for the Election Sermon.

Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale was giving it, like they always did, following a tradition that had been around forever.

Soon, the head of the group came into view, moving slowly and with a lot of fanfare, turning a corner and heading across the marketplace. First, there was the music.

It was a mix of different instruments, maybe not all that well-matched, and played not super skillfully; but it still managed to do what music does for a crowd - make the whole scene feel bigger and more epic.

Little Pearl, at first, clapped her hands, but then she stopped bouncing around for a second. She just stared, like she was floating, carried up on the waves of sound.

But then the sunlight glinted off the weapons and shiny armor of the military company that followed the music, and she was back to her usual energetic self. This group - still around today, marching straight out of the past with a seriously cool reputation - wasn't made up of hired guns.

It was filled with guys who were feeling that warrior vibe and wanted to create a kind of Knights Templar club, where they could learn about war and practice as much as they could without actually fighting.

You could see how much people respected soldiers back then by the way each member of the company carried themselves. Some of them had actually earned their title, having fought in the Low Countries and other battles in Europe.

The whole group, decked out in polished steel and feathers waving over their helmets, was a sight that no modern show can match.

But honestly, the guys who came after the soldiers - the ones with real clout - were way more interesting to watch. Even just the way they carried themselves had this air of importance that made the soldiers’ swagger look kinda trashy, if not totally ridiculous.

It was a time when what we’d call talent wasn't as big of a deal as it is now. But people really valued the stuff that builds a solid, respectable character - a lot more than they do today. They had this deep-down respect for people, passed down through families.

Now, if it exists at all, it's in smaller doses and doesn't carry the same weight when choosing public figures. Maybe that's a good thing, maybe not - probably a bit of both.

Back then, an English settler arriving on these wild shores - leaving behind kings, nobles, and all those intimidating ranks - still held onto that sense of respect.

They showed it to older folks with gray hair and serious faces; to people with proven honesty; to wise people who’s seen a lot; to those who seemed permanent and just... respectable.

So these early leaders - Bradstreet, Endicott, Dudley, Bellingham, and the rest - who were chosen by the people, weren't always flashy. But they were known for being steady and grounded, more than super-smart. They had strength and believed in themselves.

When things got tough or dangerous, they stood up for what was best for the community - like a strong cliff against a storm.

These guys - the new colonial magistrates - really showed those traits. They had strong faces and were built solid. Seriously, the mother country could’ve been proud to see these top dogs from a real democracy join the House of Peers or the Privy Council.

Next up were the magistrates, then the young and seriously impressive preacher. Everyone was waiting for his religious talk for the big day. Back then, being a scholar was a bigger deal than being a politician, you know? Not even considering the deeper reasons - it just offered a ton of perks.

People practically worshipped smart people. That kind of respect could draw in even the most ambitious folks. Even political power - like with Increase Mather - was totally within reach for a really successful priest.

People watching him now noticed something wild. Since Mr. Dimmesdale arrived on the New England shore, he’s never seemed this energetic. The way he walked, his whole vibe - it was different. His step wasn't weak like usual. He wasn't hunched over, and his hand didn't rest nervously on his heart.

But if you really looked at him, his strength didn't seem to come from his body. Maybe it was spiritual, a gift from angels. Or maybe it was the effect of that powerful drink, brewed only in the heat of intense, deep thinking.

Perhaps his sensitive nature was energized by the loud, soaring music, lifting him up on its wave. Still, he looked so lost in thought, you couldn't be sure he even heard the music. His body was moving forward, with a strength he didn't usually have. But where was his mind?

Way off, working overtime to gather a line of important thoughts, ready to burst out soon. He didn't see anything, hear anything, or know anything about what was around him. The spiritual part took over his weak body, carrying him along, unaware of the weight, turning him into something like itself.

Smart people, who’ve gone a little off, sometimes have this ability to put in a ton of effort, throwing all their energy into something, and then just crashing afterward.

Hester Prynne, staring straight at the clergyman, felt this heavy vibe wash over her, but she couldn't put her finger on why; it was just that he seemed so far away, totally out of reach. She’d pictured a moment of recognition between them.

She thought about the shadowy woods, that little hidden spot of solitude, love, and pain, and the mossy tree where they’d sat, holding hands, sharing their sad, intense conversations with the brook’s quiet murmur. They’d really known each other then! But was this the man?

She barely recognized him now! He was moving with this confident air, wrapped up in the music, surrounded by all these serious, respected elders. He was so untouchable, both because of his status and because of this wall of cold thoughts she saw in him now.

Her heart sank with the feeling that it had all been a dream, that there could be no real connection between them.

And that’s just how a woman thinks sometimes - she could barely forgive him, especially now, with this sense of doom closing in, getting closer, closer, closer !

- for he’d managed to completely disappear from their world while she was stumbling around in the dark, reaching out with her numb hands, and couldn’t find him.

Pearl seemed to pick up on her mom’s mood, or maybe she felt the distance and untouchability around the minister herself. As the procession went by, the little girl was restless, bouncing around like a bird ready to fly. When they’d all passed, she looked up at Hester.

"Mom," she said, "was that the same minister who kissed me by the brook?" "Shhh, sweetie," Hester whispered. "We don’t always talk about what happens in the forest out here in the marketplace."

"I wasn’t really sure it was him; he looked so different," the child went on. "Otherwise, I would’a run right up to him and asked for a kiss, right there in front of everyone, just like he did back in those old, dark woods. What would the minister have said, Mom?"

"Would he’a put his hand over his heart and glared at me, telling me to scram? "What would he say, Pearl? Hester replied. "Just that it wasn’t a good time for a kiss, and that kisses aren’t meant for the marketplace . Good thing you didn’t say anything, silly kid!"

Someone else had the same feeling about Mr. Dimmesdale, but in a way that was kind of wild - or even crazy, like we'd call it today. This person wasn’t afraid to do what most of the townspeople wouldn’t dare; she started talking to the woman wearing the scarlet letter, right out in public.

It was Mistress Hibbins. She was dressed super fancy, with a huge ruff, a fancy embroidered top, a rich velvet dress, and a cane with a gold handle. She’d come out to watch the procession.

This old lady was famous - and it eventually cost her her life - for being a big player in all the spooky stuff that was always going on. So, people stepped aside when she showed up, like they were afraid to even touch her clothes, like they carried the plague hidden in those gorgeous folds.

Seeing her next to Hester Prynne - who a lot of people were feeling good about now - made Mistress Hibbins even more scary, and everyone started moving away from where the two women were standing.

"Seriously, what could anyone even dream up like that?" whispered the old lady, leaning in close to Hester. "Look at that guy! That total saint, like everyone says he is - and honestly, he really looks the part!"

Who’s gonna believe that just a little while ago, he was practically bursting out of his study, chewing on some Hebrew scripture, I bet - just going for a walk in the woods! Aha! You know what that means, Hester Prynne! But, honestly, it’s wild to even think it’s the same guy.

I’ve seen plenty of church folks trailing behind the music who’d totally dance with me when Somebody was playing the fiddle - maybe even at an Indian powwow or with some wizard swapping hands with us! That’s just a tiny detail when you know how the world works. But this minister!

Hester, could you even tell if it was the same dude who you met on the forest path? Ma’am, I’m not sure what you’re getting at, replied Hester Prynne, thinking Mistress Hibbins wasn't quite right.

She was also totally freaked out by how sure she was that so many people (including herself) were connected to... well, you know. "It’s not up to me to talk bad about a smart and godly minister like Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale!"

"Seriously, woman, seriously!" the old lady said, wagging her finger at Hester. "You think I’ve been trekking into the forest all this time and still can’t tell who’s been there? Even without a single leaf from the wild flower crowns they wore while dancing! I know you, Hester. I see the mark."

We all can - it practically glows like a red flame in the sunshine. You're rocking it out in the open, so no need to question that. But this minister! Let me tell you, right here!

"When the Black Man sees one of his own, signed and sealed, and as hesitant as Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale is about admitting it, he’s got a way of making the mark pop out in broad daylight for everyone to see! What's the minister hiding, always clutching his heart like that? Ha, Hester Prynne!"

"What’s going on, Mistress Hibbins?" little Pearl asked, super curious. "Did you see it? "Not important, sweetie! Mistress Hibbins replied, giving Pearl a deep bow. "You’ll see it yourself, eventually. People say, kid, you’re descended from the Prince of the Air!"

"Wanna come with me one night to see your dad? Then you’ll know why the minister keeps his hand over his heart!" She started laughing so loud everyone in the marketplace could hear her. The weird old lady then took off.

By now, the opening prayer had been said in the meeting-house, and Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale’s voice started his sermon. Hester felt pulled to stay nearby. The building was packed, so she stood close to the scaffold of the pillory.

She could hear the whole sermon - a kind of jumbled, flowing murmur of the minister’s really unique voice.

This voice was seriously impressive - like, a real gift. Even if you didn't understand a word the preacher was saying, you could still feel the vibe, you know? The tone and rhythm just moved you.

Like all good music, it was full of feeling, both intense and tender, speaking a language everyone understands deep down. Even muffled by the church walls, Hester Prynne listened super closely, totally connecting with what he was saying.

The sermon felt like it had a whole different meaning for her, totally separate from the words themselves. Maybe if she's heard them clearly, they would have just gotten in the way, blocking out what she was feeling. Now she caught this low, quiet hum, like the wind settling down.

Then it would rise, getting sweeter and stronger, until it felt like it was wrapping her in this huge, awesome, serious atmosphere. And even when the voice was powerful, there was always this undercurrent of sadness.

It was like a cry of pain, a whisper or a scream from people struggling - it touched something in everyone. Sometimes, that feeling of sadness was all you could hear, barely audible, sighing in the quiet.

But even when the preacher's voice got loud and commanding, when it just burst out - when it was at its biggest and strongest, filling the church and spilling out into the open air - if you listened closely, you could still hear that same cry of pain.

What was it? It was the ache of a human heart - heavy with sadness, maybe even guilt - pouring out its secrets, whether it was about feeling bad or just heartbroken. It was basically asking for understanding or a fresh start, constantly, in every voice, and it always got it.

That deep, constant feeling is what made the clergyman so powerful.

Hester just stood there, frozen, at the bottom of the platform. Even if the minister hadn’t kept her, she'd have been drawn to that spot anyway. It was where she started her life of shame, basically.

She had this feeling - hard to put into words, but it was heavy on her mind - that everything before and after this moment was tied to it. Like, this one spot was what made it all connect.

Little Pearl had wandered off from her mom and was having a blast in the marketplace. She brightened up the serious crowd with her sparkly energy, like a bird with bright feathers lighting up a bunch of dark leaves - you know, half-hidden, super vibrant. She moved in a wavy, but sometimes jerky way.

It showed how energetic her spirit was, and today it was extra bouncy because her mom was stressed. Whenever Pearl spotted something that caught her eye, she zoomed over and kinda claimed it as hers - but she totally kept control of her own movements.

The Puritans watched, and even if they cracked a smile, they still thought the kid was, like, a demon baby, because of her crazy beautiful and unique vibe, and how much she bounced around. She ran up to a Native American and stared him down - he realized she was even wilder than him.

Then, with total confidence but still keeping a bit of distance, she zoomed into a group of sailors - those super tanned, wild dudes of the ocean - and they just stared at her, amazed, like a piece of seafoam had turned into a little girl, with a soul that glowed like sea-fire, flashing out from under a ship’s bow at night.

One of those sailors - the shipmaster, who’d talked to Hester Prynne - was totally smitten with Pearl’s look, and tried to grab her for a quick kiss. It was as impossible to touch her as catching a hummingbird, so he pulled a gold chain from his hat and tossed it to the kid.

Pearl immediately wrapped it around her neck and waist, and it just fit her. You could barely picture her without it. "Your mom’s that woman with the scarlet letter," the sailor said. "Wanna give her a message from me? "If the message is cool, yeah," Pearl replied. "Okay, then," he said.

"Tell her I talked to that creepy, hunched-over old doctor again, and he’s gonna bring his friend - the guy she knows - on board. So, your mom shouldn’t worry about anything except herself and you. You’re gonna tell her, witch-baby?"

"Mistress Hibbins says my dad is the Prince of the Air! Pearl yelled, grinning mischievously. "If you call me that bad name, I’m telling him on you; and he’s gonna chase your ship with a storm! Darting around the marketplace, the kid went back to her mom and told her what the sailor said.

Hester’s strong, calm spirit almost crumbled when she saw this dark, scary look of a certain doom. It showed up right in their path - a smile on its face - at the exact moment they thought they might finally escape their mess.

Her head was spinning from the crazy news the shipmaster gave her, and then another thing hit her. Loads of people were there, from the surrounding area. They'd all heard about the scarlet letter, and tons of wild, made-up stories had made it sound super scary.

But none of them had actually seen it before. After they’d run out of other stuff to do, they crowded around Hester Prynne, being really pushy. It was harsh, but they couldn't get too close, staying a good few yards away. They were stuck there, like, repelled by the weird symbol.

The sailors were also checking it out. Seeing the crowd, and figuring out what the scarlet letter meant, they pushed their sunburnt, kinda shady faces into the mix. Even the Indians were affected, giving Hester a cold, weird stare with their black eyes.

They probably thought whoever wore that fancy badge must be a big deal back home. Finally, the townspeople showed up too. They were kinda bored, but they were feeling what everyone else was feeling, so they drifted over.

They stared at Hester, maybe bothering her more than anyone else, with their knowing looks at her old shame. Hester recognized the faces of those women who’d been waiting for her when she came out of the prison seven years ago.

Everyone except one - the youngest, the only one who’d shown her any kindness. Hester had made her a burial robe after she died.

It was the last minute, and she was about to toss the burning letter away. But somehow, it had become the main topic, everyone was buzzing about it. It just made it sting even worse than it had since she first read it.

Hester stood in that circle of shame, feeling totally stuck. Her sentence felt like it was burned into her forever. Meanwhile, the respected preacher was looking down from the pulpit at a crowd who were basically under his spell. The minister in the church!

Hester, with the scarlet letter, in the town square! Who would have ever guessed they shared the same kind of burn?