Becoming Americans (47 page)

      Sarah Alice had heard this story from her older brothers, and was told that her younger brothers exaggerated the situation. On John and Joseph's visits their mother had been fine—except that one time she'd been stricken by the fever. But, even then, she'd recovered. Strong as an ox, they'd said.

      The slight bluff where the house stood had eroded since the house was first built. New pilings had been placed near shore to reconnect the pier to land. Edward eased his craft alongside the repairs he'd made for his mother, and leaped to secure his boat.

      Sarah Alice was lifted onto the small dock and waited. She removed her canvas cover and tried to quickly give some style to her windblown hair.

      Edward led his sister up the little slope as Joseph and Stephen followed. When she saw the house, Sarah Alice stopped. It was a log hut, much like the swamp dwellings of the hog farmers they'd passed on the Carolina Road. A dilapidated shed and outbuildings stood away, near the edge of the woods. Vines and undergrowth were reclaiming the space occupied by an older, collapsing hut. The smell of rotting apples and scuppernong grapes mixed with that of drying fish and boiling tar. Sarah Alice reached for her perfumed kerchief and held it to her nose.

      An old, gray-haired woman came to the door. She wore a ragged rocket worse than any Mary Williams had.

      "Edward, boy, who've you brought with you," she asked?

      "It's Joseph and his boy Stephen, Mother," Edward said. "You remember them."

      "Of course, I do. You think I'm still mad? Come here, boy, and hug your grandma."

      Stephen dutifully advanced and put his arms about the old woman. She smelled like soap and sour milk.

      "And we've brought Sarah Alice, Mother," Joseph said.

      Anne looked at her daughter with some consideration.

      "So, you're Sarah Alice Harrison, are you? They told me you were beautiful and elegant. Did Mary Bourne fix your hair?" she asked.

      Sarah Alice was stunned. Her mother really had gone mad!

      But then Anne Fewox stepped from the house towards her children, and her daughter ran to her, crying.

      "I'm sorry, child. I've live among the rogues and ruffians so long I've become one of them," Anne said. "You
are
beautiful and elegant, and I'm very proud of you. You have the Ware blood. They say traffic slowed on the Rappahannock when my mother stood by the bank."

      But Sarah Alice couldn't stop her crying. The living conditions of her mother were beyond anything she'd imagined. Where was James Fewox, she asked her mother? Who was taking care of her?

      "I've learned to take care of myself, since your father died. Me!" Anne said. "My cavalier is off on adventure with his cronies. Come into the house, children. I'll fill the noggins with plum wine."

      James Fewox, her old cavalier, was more acquainted with the political intrigues of Carolina than he was with work. William Glover, their patron, had gone from being Deputy Governor to Virginia exile. Glover had hired his former bondsman, James Fewox, to return to Bath to act as informant on the whereabouts and activities of his rival, another former Deputy Governor, Thomas Cary—the voice and fist of the dissenters and malcontents in that region. Now, however, under Deputy Governor Hyde—the Queen's own cousin—it was hoped that the dissidents would quieten and accept the Vestry Laws, first passed by the Assembly in 1700. These laws, officially establishing the Church of England and partitioning the counties into parishes—as in Virginia—had been passed, but they were repealed by the Proprietors. They said the Vestry Laws gave too much power to the vestries and didn't allow enough salary for decent clergymen.

      Sarah Alice had heard Commissary Blair explain the proper understanding of these laws to John Lawson. The purpose of the Vestry Laws was not to bring about religious oppression, but merely that all men be taxed for the support of the established church. By setting up parishes, there would be convenient local subdivisions for governmental administration. Charity could be organized for aiding the poor, the sick, and the orphaned. To officially establish the Church of England in the colony meant to bring order.

      "Child, these people want no central order. Not the Quakers and dissenters," Anne said.

      When Deputy Governor Daniel had come to office in 1703, he seized upon a new weapon that had been issued by parliament: every public office holder was required to swear an oath of allegiance to Queen Anne and the Protestant Succession. This eliminated the Quakers from their positions in the North Carolina Assembly, and the second Vestry Act was passed in 1704. From that point on, the situation deteriorated until rival assemblies were elected in 1708; elections having been called for by both Glover and Cary, both claiming to be rightful Deputy Governor. Cary's faction seized Assembly control. As president of the Council, Cary displaced Glover, nullified all test oaths that Daniel had instituted—"Damn the Quakers!" Anne said—replaced some local officials with dissenters, opened up the land grant policy, and lowered the quitrent rate in Bath County. The self-styled Governor Thomas Cary and his people held sway until Hyde arrived.

      "Governor Hyde will take control," Edward said. "Most people are tired of the past ten years of bickering and chaos, but the folks in Bath are determined to have their fair say in the Assembly—Brother Richard is among them—and that point's not yet resolved. There's talk of open rebellion should Governor Hyde change things again. For now, peace prevails. Even the Calvinists and baptizers are awed by the presence of a kinsman of the Queen."

      "You all mark my word," Anne told her children that night. They were together and eating her cooking for the first time in years. "All this to and fro amongst the white settlers is going to put ideas in those drunken, angry Indians' heads."

      Stephen's young voice stopped the conversation.

      "It's your greedy traders, Grandma Bourne said, taking advantage of the Indians. Stealing from 'em and pushing 'em off the good land. People are talking religion, she said, but they aren't talking about God."

      Joseph explained his child's behavior to the adults. "Stephen and his brother are allowed to speak their opinions at home. His Grandmother Bourne started that."

      Sarah Alice ignored the bizarre concept of child rearing.

      "But surely, Mother, they wouldn't dare attack the settlers!" she said. "Governor Hyde wouldn't allow it."

      "How would he stop it?" her mother asked. "We're doing the same things here that Governor Berkeley was trying to stop in '76."

      "But the government troops would stop them," the daughter said.

      "Which government, and which troops?" Edward asked.

      Sarah Alice paid little more attention to the political talk. She'd heard enough of that from the Harrison men and their friends. Her thoughts drifted, and she looked about her mother's home. The house in Deep Creek was a palace in comparison.

      Why, she wondered, with all his new prosperity, had not Edward provided a wooden floor for his mother? Sarah Alice hadn't walked on dirt floors since she was a child, except when attending to plantation duties that took her into a slave cabin, or when attending church services with friends of the poorer parishes. It was the first time she'd been inside a log-built house. She'd heard that the Swedes had introduced this form of construction, and she'd been curious as to how people would live in a large animal pen, as she thought of it. The hut was warm, she admitted, but it was crudely assembled. That, of course, was a great advantage of the construction technique; little or no knowledge of carpentry or of joinery was necessary to pile notched logs atop one another. It was the thickness of the trees that kept the room cool in summer, she was told, and warm in winter.

      The hut was a room, twenty feet square. In one corner was the good Quaker bed Sarah Alice remembered from her childhood. It dominated the room. In an opposite corner was a smaller, rough bed frame, the bedding supported by rawhide straps. A third corner was filled by a pine-wood chest—her mother's clothes press and larder. A well-made Quaker table and two chairs sat in the middle of the room, a rough-hewn bench at one side. The fireplace wall was hung with cooking utensils. She recognized the great iron pot that was hanging from its hook, swung away from the low fire, and a betty lamp she'd always hated. The odor and the smoke were irritating. Sarah Alice was accustomed to candles, now, and this old-fashioned betty lamp was from another time. It was an old greasefilled metal dish, with a lip in which lay a linen wick burning just beyond the lip. A handle curved inward over the covered, grease dish and had attached to its end a chain, which terminated in a combination spike and hook for hanging the lamp. They did have one luxury here at Scuppernong; there was plenty of the cleanerburning whale oil. How Sarah Alice hated bear grease! Still, even in remembering, the betty lamp was better than the rush-lights they'd had, because the wick absorbed new grease as it burned, and needed less care. A rush light needed constant attention because as soon as it burned back to the jaws that pinched the dried rush, it went out.

      That was the old days. Her mother was burning bayberry candles, and Sarah Alice was glad of that. Her mother always liked nice things. Still, the smells of drying fish and boiling tar from outside were nearly overpowering. She lifted her kerchief.

      The small hut was crowded with furniture and with visitors. Sarah Alice looked to her brothers and wondered, again, how they could let their mother descend to such a condition. Edward was wearing new boots of jacked leather and had a new, two-masted sloop. Joseph was talking of building a mill! She listened again when the conversation turned to her and the life of wealth she'd led since leaving Deep Creek. The rising anger towards her brothers turned to guilt.

      "I've always been proud of my daughters as well as of my sons," Anne was saying. "Our Edy has survived tragedy and humiliation, and she remains strong in her love of God and family. She's found love, and from a man who's respectable, now, raiding French and Spanish shipping. She's good to her mother, I'll tell you that. Joseph, you and John and Sarah Alice, in Virginia, have had the comfort of ministers to pray for you, to bless your unions, to baptize your children—even Sister Mary and those poor infants who passed so soon—bless their tiny souls. None among my sons has left the Church, despite being surrounded by Quakers and dissenters in Norfolk and Nansemond and—heaven continue to keep us strong in the faith—from the hordes of dissenters and so-called Presbyterians and baptizers and non-believers in Carolina. Richard married one, but…."

      The heavy door swung open and Robert Fewox entered. Sarah Alice barely remembered him. Young Stephen knew who he was. Joseph rose to greet the man and Edward yelped, "Robert! Welcome home! How do you fare? Tell us of things in Bath!"

      Robert gave his greetings to the visitors, then went to Anne and kissed her cheek, asking, "How are you, Mother?"

      Joseph, Stephen, and Sarah Alice were somewhat surprised at that greeting to their mother. Edward seemed, to them, not to notice. In fact, his attention to this near-stranger was at least as warm as was his attention to them.

      "I'm well, my boy," Anne answered. "How goes it with you? And with Richard and his family? And with your father?"

      "There's turmoil abroad, Mother. And sickness on the road to Bath. We must pray for an early frost to stop the sickness, for the fever has struck all along the road. I fear it will spread if we go long without a killing frost."

      Joseph placed a protective hand on his son's shoulder.

      "The Hainey family were all taken," Robert told his stepmother. Anne closed her eyes for a brief moment

      "Their suffering on Earth is over," she said sadly, "and mine goes on. God delivered me from madness and from the fever, but He keeps me here to face new trials."

      They were all silent with their private thoughts.

      "But, He sends me loving gifts," Anne brightened up. "My lovely daughter and devoted sons." She reached out to touch Robert's arm. "And grandsons." She smiled at them all, her sight resting on Stephen.

      "Gifts!" Joseph cried. "I've something for you from Aunt Mary."

      He searched in his sack, and pulled out a piece of black crepe that covered a curved, rectangular object. Anne opened it and stared at a piece of brass with writing etched onto it.

      "What does it say?" Anne asked everyone.

      "It says, "This cask arrived with the news of the Restoration of King Charles II." Joseph said it, pointing to the letters as if he were reading.

      The old woman seemed to sink into herself for a moment as everyone waited, then she lifted her head, revealing her glistening, beaming eyes.

      "Robert, set our man to roasting a nice pig! I'll bet our Sarah Alice hasn't eaten without a fork since she stopped being a Williams! We'll fatten her up for that Scotsman she's to wed! And for that jarring ride to Bath!"

      "You can't go by the Bath Road, now, Mistress Harrison," Robert said. "You must wait. Or, you might sail inside the Banks."

      "I must get to Bath!"

      Sarah Alice was immediately agitated. She was frightened of the fever, but she was determined not to miss the arrival of Major Dorsey. The captain of his ship wouldn't wait for the fever to leave the interior of the county before sailing on to Saint Christopher and England. Should the fever reach the town, the ship might not even dock! And she couldn't stay in this hovel!