Becoming Americans (4 page)

      Evelyn was consumed by guilt. Only she knew that she'd lost the shell with a hole in it, a sure amulet to protect against drowning. For the rest of that day she was hysterical until, finally, Opeechcot brought a dark brew he had concocted that calmed her and let her sleep. When she awoke, her mind centered on the snake and she would periodically scream at her memory of the surprise coiled up in the sewing basket. Any touch upon her skin would bring another scream, and when not recoiling from the horror, now, of serpents, she would remember her mother and sob, "I killed her. I killed my mother!"

      Brinson Barnes returned to his plantation, as planned, with his kinsman and came again the next day with his wife. They brought with them a white hen and her six chicks, which Mistress Barnes hoped would distract the girl. Mistress Barnes tried to soothe Evelyn and to be of comfort to Francis and Edward. But Francis showed a stoic face and, after two days, he told Forrest and the boys to resume the work that must be done. Edward worked in silence, though he confessed to Richard that he thought he'd cried the last tears he would ever shed. He said nothing of the mixed feeling he held towards his sister. It was the moment of her unreasoning hysteria that had killed his mother. Now the girl seemed locked in that moment, and a part of Edward wondered if that weren't justice.

      But life for the rest of them had to go on and, indeed, Harper told his children, if their mother's death was to have a meaning it must be the force for them to push ahead and prosper.

      He was unrelenting to his crew during the next weeks. Evelyn was a constant distraction for him at first, for she seldom relented from her self-torture. Mary Bishop, his only female servant, proved to be of little use. She'd been saved from a life of crime and degradation by authorities that'd picked her up a final time and ordered her to Virginia, but she knew nothing of housekeeping, and had no exposure to the kindness that might have helped poor Evelyn. Brinson agreed to exchange her for a seasoned female servant of his own who was well trained, but who had only two years remaining of her service. Mary still had her full five years ahead and she was strong and healthy, if not too bright.

      Drusilla, the new woman, was both capable and demanding. The boys and the men soon found that any moments spared for rest were not spent within sight of Drusilla. She always had tasks that needed doing.

      Unhappily, though, she was of little help to Evelyn, except to keep the child sedated by the dark brew she, too, knew how to make.

      Opeechcot, alone, could distract the girl. Saving the child's life had given him a sense of protective proprietorship. With the permission of Barnes and Harper he built a hogan near the settlement, and when not busy with the men or boys, he'd be seen smoking tobacco with Evelyn. She would sit by his fire smoking from his long clay pipe, then pass it back. They never spoke, though he would end their sessions by fingering her blonde hair then, placing his hand upon her head, would mumble some strange words. These times would calm her for some hours, and then Drusilla would have to give the child her drink.

      Their daily menu changed when Drusilla came. She made it clear to Francis that, if he expected to maintain the pace of work he was demanding of his crew—if he expected, even, to survive the winter—he'd best worry more about their food supplies and housing, and less about clearing more land than he could handle with a limit of strong arms. She spared no words, since she knew that he needed her right now more than he needed the men.

      The pine thicket that was cleared, he could consider a gift from God, she said. That, and the two acres of oaks the boys had girdled, would grow more tobacco than they could tend. Killing trees should be done in the dark of the moon, anyway. He'd best be concentrating on getting the house built before winter.

      Harper knew, immediately, that she was right, and he redirected energies and priorities. He instructed Billy Forrest to see that a short, temporary pier was built into Pine Haven. A pier waist-high would be enough, just past the small, breaking waves where a low shallop could tie up and unload the building supplies he'd bring back. Then he set off with Opeechcot, knowing that his son and daughter and Richard and Billy would be provided for by Drusilla.

      Billy and the boys worked diligently—their pace had been established. A series of locust poles was pounded into the soft sand to extend thirty feet into the water at high tide. These were connected and braced with a floor on top that they constructed of split oak boards. The work was completed in four days, then Drusilla let them rest.

      That night they feasted better than they'd ever eaten in their lives. Even Evelyn had come out of her stupor to participate. All afternoon Drusilla had made the child sit by the open fire and turn the iron spit that speared the chunk of venison left from Opeechcot's last kill, four days ago. When that was done, Drusilla skewered several birds that she'd trapped and cleaned and Evelyn turned the spit, watching the birds roast and drip juices. Sitting over hot coals by the fire, a large pot on legs held a boiling broth of dried corn and herbs, while in a covered saucepan a simmering secret awaited the end of their meal. Drusilla had the boys bring her baskets of the oysters they had stepped around in the water, and when the time came to eat their meal, she brushed away a dying pile of coals that lay beside the fire and uncovered a shallow hole she'd dug and lined with seaweed, covered with the oysters, then covered again with seaweed, finally covering all of that with hot coals.

      They ate till they could eat no more, laughing and talking, occasionally one or all would fall silent, remembering Mistress Harper, then resume the eating and laughing. When they were finished, Drusilla placed two pieces of bread on the trenchers each two of them shared, and lifted the top off of the saucepan. The aroma was like nothing they'd known. The new hen had contributed the egg, but Drusilla had collected the hickory nuts and she'd found the honey in the tulip tree. Evelyn started crying, then stopped, smiling with anticipation. Drusilla ladled her sweet sauce over the bread, and there was silence.

      The next noon, as Billy, Edward, and Richard sat on their new pier chewing on the remnants of the venison and talking over and over the last night's meal, Brinson Barnes's boat rounded the spit of land and sailed into Pine Haven towing the canoe with Opeechcot riding proudly. The boat sat very low in the water, and the three of them knew there was work ahead.

      The sail was lowered and the boat drifted to the pier. Billy caught the line and secured the boat. Francis stepped onto the pier and vigorously shifted his weight, checking the pier's strength. He smiled, pleased with their work, and told them so. James Barnes had returned with the mass of weatherboards he'd split, and greeted his friends as if it had been much longer than the six weeks since they'd seen each other last. They were surprised at how healthy he looked— though he'd gotten dark—and he admitted to the same surprise at their appearances. After a few tankards of beer, they returned to unload the boat.

      Brinson Barnes had remained at his plantation, allowing Francis Harper the use of his boat in gathering supplies. Harper wanted to be swift in returning the boat, so he and his crew worked hard and quickly to unload the timber and to stack it in a convenient location. His first instruction was for them to cover the seasoned wood and prevent it from getting wet.

      Harper and Opeechcot retired early that evening and, by the time the others were awake, Francis and the Indian were gone. Opeechcot was directing him to a plantation on the Piankatank River where there was a source of brick.

      Late the next night, Francis and Opeechcot sailed back into Pine Haven, guided by the light of Drusilla's constant fire. A full moon lit the little pier and the two men secured the boat themselves, as Harper shouted to awaken everybody. Drusilla joined the line of men who passed the bricks one to the other into a neat pile on the high shore. Evelyn cracked nuts for them to eat while they worked, and filled and refilled their tankards with beer.

      As the sun rose from the Bay, making the water glisten and waking shore birds to rustle in the marsh, the boat was emptied and Harper announced to Edward and Richard that they would go with him back up the Piankatank for the second load. The old Indian could rest. He promised the boys that if they reached the plantation on the Piankatank, and could load the boat this afternoon, they'd have the entire next day, Saturday, for play and sleep. On Sunday, they would go to church. Harper was concerned that there'd been no funeral service for his wife, and he was beginning to worry that the authorities might become troublesome over the fact that none of them had attended church to date.

      The late October breeze invigorated them, and they followed the instructions of Harper in handling the small craft. Edward was experienced with sailing since his childhood, so Harper allowed himself an occasional nap until they approached the plantation of Cade Ware.

      The land was not so flat here, and the boys could see gentle hills rising in the distance. Huge oaks and walnuts and hickories edged the river. Pigs crunched on the nuts, and cattle grazed on grassy slopes. This was even richer land than where Harper had settled and they were no longer surprised that this land, though further away from the civilization at James Town, had been claimed earlier.

      There was activity and prosperity along the river. Edward and Richard could see men harvesting Indian corn in nearby fields. All the fields were dotted with burned-out stumps. More cattle grazed by the river. From the woods they heard the sound of more rooting hogs. A black man was cutting flax, and there came—faint at first, then stronger—the smell of cured tobacco. Then they saw the chimneys of the planter's manor and out-buildings.

      Cade Ware was a prosperous planter and it was evident. The main house was almost thirty feet in width and sat on a brick foundation. Brick chimneys stood at either end. The cooking chimney covered almost the entire width of the house, then was recessed from the building by nearly a foot when it reached the ceiling level. The other chimney was not so wide, but was enclosed, for heat, within the house. Windows made of leaded, diamond panes of glass were on either side of the heavy door, and tiny, shuttered windows in the rear and by the chimneys were made of scraped sections of horn, allowing some light into the house. Both boys knew the house they were to build wouldn't be so grand, but it was a goal to be aimed at for one day. Smaller houses for the many servants sat away from Ware's house. Those were particularly interesting to Harper.

      Francis Harper's needs had changed since the death of his wife. He wanted better than a hut for his daughter, but he didn't need so fine a home as he'd hoped to build for his wife. Not yet. A sturdy framed house of about twenty feet would be more than adequate for him, his son and daughter, and his female servant. James Barnes, Billy Forrest, and Richard could then share the hut alone. With some repairs, and the addition of a lathe and plaster chimney to the hut, they'd be sufficiently prepared for winter.

      With the permission of Mister Ware, he studied the construction of the houses he would copy. It was a simple plan, but one that could be completed with the men and materials he now had assembled, guided by the carpenter Mr. Ware had found for him. There was a moment of confusion and near-violence when the carpenter insisted on readjusting the price he'd charge, but Harper was in a bind, and he knew how fortunate he was to find a carpenter at all. The man this carpenter was contracted to had died, suddenly, of the flux, now making him available for Harper.

      As Harper finalized his agreement with Coke, the carpenter, the boys were fed by Mistress Ware. They ate by the great fireplace where a young girl was turning a pig on a spit. They ate molasses over corn pone, and large slices of pie made from dried peaches, and drank mug after mug of fresh cow's milk. As the boys ate and looked about the room of cooking utensils and chests and tables and chairs, and tapped their feet on the first wooden floor they'd seen in months, the girl was eyeing them, particularly Richard. She was only nine or ten years old, but had a penetrating stare that he found unsettling.

      "You're not from here, are you?" she asked them.

      "No, we're from Gloucester County," Edward said.

      "That's not what I mean," she said. "You weren't born here, were you?"

      "No, of course not, " Richard said. "We were born in England."

     "Well, I was
born
here. In this house. Before it was Lancaster County, even," the little girl said grandly. "But I'm not from here right now, either. I live in Lower Norfolk County."

      "Where's that?" Richard asked.

      She looked at him as if he'd asked her where the moon was, then she laughed and jumped up, wiping her sweating hands on her apron.

      "Grandmother! Grandmother! They don't even know where Lower Norfolk is!" She ran from the room to tell Mistress Ware the news of their ignorance.

      "Children!" Richard said with disgust, and took another gulp of milk. He was glad that Evelyn wasn't such a foolish child. Even though this girl was a pretty little thing, she'd be a nuisance to be around.

      The child soon returned with reddened, downcast eyes that showed she'd been rebuked.

      "My grandmother says that I must apologize to you for being inhospitable. So there. I have." She sat again by the fire and turned the spit, refusing to look at them.

      "Let me assure you, little girl, that we paid absolutely no attention to your prattling," Richard said as they rose from the table.