The year was 1684, and the low gray skies of Connecticut stretched wide over fields carved from rock and timber by men who had once crossed an ocean for God. It was into this world—of stony soil, covenant vows, and strict order—that Abigail Tuttle was born. Her cradle, likely a simple wooden trough warmed by linen swaddles and a mother’s calloused hand, rested in a home governed as much by Scripture as by survival. Her parents, Simon Tuttle and Abigail Beach, were heirs to the second generation of New Haven’s English settlers—children of the godly who had followed Rev. John Davenport across the Atlantic to found a “Bible Commonwealth” where righteousness could take root in stone.