A Place in His Heart (18 page)

Barnabas almost fell from the roof as he tried to scramble down. But he was too late. She had already run from him.

He pried the lid from the oak cask and gently removed the doll. He would never have thrown her doll away. It meant too much to her. He only wanted to make a point. What was he thinking?

The paths made by the Indians were numerous, some quite invisible unless one already knew they existed, but he knew her favorite. It wound through berry bushes and past a grove of oak to a gentle stream. No doubt she chose it and he would find her there, in a heap. Remorse at his own harsh words drove him down the path, praying as he went that she would forgive him.

The reeds danced in the breeze as he scanned the opening. Nestled in their midst, he found her curled up, lying very still. He'd almost tripped over her. Her face was buried in her arms; her hair entwined with the damp grass. He scooped her into his arms. She turned toward him, eyes wild and wet.

Her arms flailed against his chest. “Put me down. I do not want to look at you. I do not know why I ever came here with you anyway. You have lied to me from the start. You never explained your intentions coming to this awful place and you made decisions that should be mine to make. You threw away my doll! You are vile! I want to go home. I pray thee, let me go home.”

“Forgive me. It was not right of me, not right at all. I don't know what possessed me to speak to you in that way. Here is
your poppet.” He held the doll up. “I would never destroy it. I know how much you treasure it. It was unconscionable of me to say the things I did. Do you forgive me?”

She grabbed the doll and hugged it to her chest. “Did it even cross your mind that my mother made the doll for me? That the memories and keepsakes I treasure of my mother are just as important to me as the keepsakes you have of Ann? Of all people, I would think you could understand family and the things that keep us tied to them.”

She looked wide-eyed from his face to her doll and pressed it to her cheek. Her body wilted against him as if the last ounce of her strength left her.

He ran his fingers down her temple. “There now, let me take care of you, Mary. I have not done well. I can, by God's grace, do better. Come let me take you to the tent where you can rest.”

Her voice sounded dry and rough. “I miss my family so very much. Papa and Lizzie I can hope to see someday. Mother will not come back to me, though. I have so few pieces of her—I cannot bear to lose what I do have.”

Barnabas bent to gently kiss her forehead. “Aye, I understand, I do. I will not do this to you again, you have my promise. You do know, my sweet, you will see your mother in heaven again someday, do you not?” He started up the path, toward their home.

Mary hugged Barnabas's neck and nodded. “You can put me down now, really you can. I shall be all right.” He set her down and held her hand as they continued up the trail.

She hiccupped as she tried to speak. “Barney, you will see Ann in heaven too.”

“True and that gives me comfort. And I will be waiting there for you too.”

A shy smile crossed her face. “You told me that once before. How does that work?”

“I do not know. 'Tis one of God's mysteries. I do not believe there will be any grieving up in heaven, so I know I will be waiting there for you with a kiss.”

He looked down at her as they approached the clearing to their home site. “I know I am not the husband you hoped for, but I do care about you. Please believe that. I may not always act like it, but I do. I despise myself when you are unhappy. I truly want to see you smile.”

Fall 1637

Fall gave scant relief from the humid heat and summer thunderstorms, but no one complained. The reality of spending over two months on a ship, crossing the Atlantic through high seas and storms, spoilt food, and rampant illness gave the Hortons and their neighbors an appreciation of how horrendous living conditions could be.

And there was much to do to ready for the winter and not much time to ponder it. They worked hard during the fall months to prepare their shelter and their food stores and to ready the ground for the spring planting.

The stories about abundant forests and wildlife were true, and there were expanses of salt marsh, too, covered in cordgrass that offered protection for mussels and birds. Mary pulled the grass to make mats and busied herself gathering eggs and mussels for their meals. She delighted in her discovery of purslane growing amongst the grass. She'd missed the salads they enjoyed in England, and this wild, leafy green made a tasty substitution.

Late in October, when the chill of the night took a decided
turn from just crisp to bone-chilling, Barney swept Mary off her feet and carried her into their cottage, the boys close behind them, wide grins on their faces. It was small, but Barney had built a loft for the boys. The hall contained a hearth, large for the size of the room. The clapboard siding—hewn from the logs with the help of the townspeople—was topped with a thatched roof, but the chimney and hearth were of stone.

When Barney and the boys carried the old oak table in, a hush fell over the household. Barney set it across two fat logs, and Mary wiped off the dirt and grime with a kitchen rag. Jay and Ben stepped closer to study the
J
scratched in one corner and the
B
on the opposite side, both encircled with a heart.

Tears gathered in the corner of Mary's eyes and she swallowed hard before she turned once again to tend the fire. She threw another log on and kicked it into place with her booted foot. Picking up the fire iron, she rearranged the logs to allow more air and studied the orange flames as they licked upward.

Barney joined her and slipped his arms around her waist. They both stared at the fire, its warm and sumptuous glow fragrant from the fruitwood.

He bent toward her. “Thank you. You were right. The table is important. I was being selfish. Are you all right?” He kissed her behind her ear.

“Yes, Barney. Just a bit overcome. We are all here safely and we are in our home. How I prayed for that.”

“Aye, God has been good to us.”

“It would be all right with me if this is where we stayed.”

“Aye, I know you long to know you are home. This will be home for a time.”

“I'm glad we have the table.” She turned into his embrace. “Barney, we need to speak to Jeremy about bringing the blue
slate. I know how much it means to you to have a gravestone that matches Ann's. We should tell him to bring it at his next sailing.”

“I can wait for the slate, my sweet, until we establish ourselves. There is much going on. Reverend Youngs is in Salem with talk of relocating with Reverend Davenport in Quinnipiac. I'll be traveling there off and on whilst plans are put into place. There is still so much to be decided. I wish I could tell you where we shall be in a few years, nay, even in a few months, but that is for God to show me. Can you be content to know this is home, if only for a little while?”

“There is no choice then. But I have a garden to tend and I told Mistress Browne I would help her plan a wedding for young Emma. I shan't have much time to be discontent, Barney. But I pray we are here through harvest and the wedding.”

She regarded Jay and Ben as they sat at the table and played with their carved horses. “The boys are of an age they can help me when they are not working with you.”

“Aye, they can do that. Now what say I help you with dinner? There is still a thing or two I can teach you about cooking, though I dare say you are most capable.” He picked up a small pot, attached it to the trammel, and swung the lug pole to the back of the hearth. With the tongs he rearranged the logs beneath for added heat. “Joseph and I will go down to the stream and bring back some buckets of water.”

She offered him a kiss and turned to Ben. “Help me grind the corn and be thankful 'tis not beans.”

Later that night, after they had supped on a pottage made up of bits of turkey, corn, and turnips left over from dinner, she sat at the oak table and penned letters. The first one was to Papa, then one to Lizzie. She did her best to sound happy, and in many ways it was true.

She wrote to Lizzie that Patience Terry, although a nuisance on the voyage, had not settled in their small hamlet but in Boston with her parents. She asked her to be sure to tell Ruth and Rachel that the handkerchiefs proved invaluable on the ship, and the seeds her sister had so lovingly prepared for her would be planted in the spring. Jeremy would bring her more, and did Lizzie think the plants from the English gardens would grow in New England as well? She hoped so; they were planning a wedding in the fall for one of the young women who came over on the ship with them.

She went on at length about the abundance of the land, telling them that everything Jeremy had told them she found to be true, but left out description of all of the work and toil it took from sunup to sundown just to survive. She thanked her father again for giving her the dolly, but left out the argument she and Barney had regarding it.

Dwelling on the good helped to lighten her burden, but more than that, she hoped someday her family might come to New England. She hoped by the time they arrived, she and Barney would be settled and able to offer them a more comfortable existence than what they had experienced when they arrived.

She had no idea when these letters might be delivered. Jeremy hoped to be back in the spring. She planned to write from time to time, and when he returned, she would send all of the letters with him. When she mentioned this to Barney, he laughed and reminded her there were other ships that came in occasionally and he would be happy to take the letters for her whenever he was traveling to Boston. She declined. To put them in Jeremy's care and know he would hand deliver them was important to her. After all, letters often did not make it to their destination. She would wait for her brother-in-law.

Jay and Ben were excited to climb the ladder up to their room. It was just large enough for two small pallets, but they said the fact they had their own room—and moreover, they did not share a pallet—was much like living in the turret of a castle.

Mary and Barney slept close that night on their pallet at the back of the hall, thankful to be snug in their new cottage. It was difficult for her to sleep, though, as she thought of her letters to Lizzie and Papa. Sometime during the night she heard the wind whip through the birch and she got up to peek out the window.

There were no stars, but as she stared at the sky the first few snowflakes of the winter flitted to and fro as they fell through the night. She thought of her mother and angels, smiling and laughing until they cried as the lacy flakes danced. Her mother had always loved the snow, and she had too.

But this first winter—in this wild, wild land—she feared the coming cold and all of the snow it would bring. In this season of her life, the joys she remembered from her childhood, her mother, and her family seemed so far, far away. God did too, even though Barney was certain He held them in the hollow of His hand. She hoped so. On the morrow, she would work harder in hopes of making it so.

Despite her fears for the winter, May of 1638 arrived warm and pleasant, and with diligence Mary attacked the weeds threatening her sprouts. She'd hoped Jeremy would be here with the much-needed plants for her garden. To occupy her, Barney brought her some fledgling carrots and leeks for starters in her garden when he returned from Boston. He fashioned a hoe for her but stifled his chuckles at her attempts to use it.

“What now, have you never used a hoe before, my sweet?”

“I loved to work in Papa's kitchen garden, you know that. But there were not so many weeds. I fear I am overwhelmed. I cannot keep up.”

His suppressed chuckle exploded into an outright guffaw. “Mary, you had a gardener. Whatever weeds you found to pull were an oversight of his.” His look was one of pure delight.

Her face warmed with indignation and she tossed the hoe down. “Why, Barnabas Horton! Do not laugh at me. I know that. I just did not know how fast they could grow. I just cleared this when you were off to Boston.”

He pulled himself together and bowed. “I do apologize—I didn't mean to tease you so. You have worked hard by yourself and accomplished much—I'm amazed by you, truly. I do hope the hoe makes it easier for you and less strain on your back. Let me show you how to use it.” He picked up the hoe and placed it in her hands. Wrapping his arms about her, he guided her movements, working the stubborn rock-strewn ground with ease.

“I like this, Barney.”

“Mmm. I do too.”

“I mean, having you close. 'Tis been awhile. You are gone so much, you know.”

“Mmm. 'Tis what I mean too.” He closed his eyes and nuzzled her hair. “I smell lavender.”

“I made a lavender water to rinse my hair with. Barney, when you decide where we shall live, do you think you will travel less? I have been praying hard for the babe we both want.”

“I pray for that as well. The settlement I told you about to our south, the one that has a port. The Indians who occupy the area have been attacked and harassed by their neighbors and have agreed to sell their land in return for protection. I hope to purchase property so we can make plans for our house, a
timber-framed one. It will take some time, so you and the boys will stay here. I hope to have it done by winter next year. So much depends on Reverend Youngs though, so I but dream at this point.”

“If God blesses us soon with a child, winter would be perfect for our new house. But why must everything depend on Reverend Youngs? Is he not removing to Quinnipiac with Reverend Davenport?”

“He's in Salem for now, but that is the plan. Reverend Davenport does not have a Charter from England for the settlement, but there is fear the Dutch in New Amsterdam will settle it if he does not. So it's with much haste he travels there. The land has inlets that could be quite valuable as ports and it is important we claim them for the Crown.”

“It seems so complicated.”

“But once we are in Quinnipiac, I see little need to travel. An occasional trip to visit Thomas, but we would make the journey together with the children.”

“Oh, Barney, that would be wonderful. I would love to see Jane and Belle again.”

He pulled her closer. “It will be good to travel less, my sweet. I do believe once we are settled and you feel you are truly making a home for us, the Lord will bless us with a child.”

Mary's spine stiffened, her eyes stung with tears she willed not to appear. “I—I pray for that, Barney. I pray 'tis soon. There are times I think if Papa and Lizzie came over, I could accept that God does not give us a child. But I fear they will never come, and I do know how much you desire a child. Do you think He punishes me because I want the wrong things?”

“Nay. The longing in your heart is for family. God would want that for you too. And He may give us the desires of our heart,
but in His own time. We must be diligent and do His work. To be sure, we are in God's will here in Massachusetts, but I know there is so much more to be done. I did not mean to make you unhappy, I only wanted you to know I understand how difficult it is here for you.”

She leaned into him, bringing the hoe to her chest.

He kissed the top of her head, smoothing a strand of her hair caught by the breeze. “Speaking of Thomas, Reverend Youngs tells me he plans to travel to Agawam later next month. He invited me to come. Would you like to come with Joseph and Benjamin to visit Thomas and Jane?”

“I should like to see them. How long a journey is that?”