Crow Hollow (29 page)

Edwins fell to his knees, kissing James’s boots. “You are merciful, good sir. Bless you!”

It still wasn’t enough. The king’s peace must be maintained. Let no one leave this hanging thinking that royal power was weak. That would embolden His Majesty’s enemies, both here and in foreign courts.

James took his sword, grabbed Edwins’s left ear and hacked off a big chunk. The man screamed and fell on his face. James lifted up the bloody chunk of ear for the jostling, craning crowd to see. Then he threw it down, where it landed at the feet of Governor Leverett.

“That your crime will be marked forever.”

“Mercy!” the other condemned men cried from beneath their hoods. “Pardon me too, for the love of God.”

“And me!”

“Please, good sir.”

Only Knapp, who had seen James sever Edwins’s ear, didn’t take up the cry. He met James’s gaze and then clenched his eyes shut. He must surely have seen the hard look in James’s eyes. He knew.

James turned to the hangman. “Now.”

The hangman kicked at the peg and the trapdoor fell open, even while the hooded men were still begging to be pardoned. The sandbags fell first, jerking down on the men’s feet as they kicked suddenly at the air. Their words died with a squeak, and they twisted silently as their necks snapped in the fall.

All except Samuel Knapp. On James’s instructions, the hangman had grabbed the man around the waist as he kicked the lever. Instead of plummeting through the trapdoor, he sagged slowly. The noose tightened, but not so suddenly that it would break his neck. Instead, he gurgled, his eyes bulging, his mouth opening and closing like a fish tossed onto the bank. His feet kicked.

The crowd was silent but for a few crying babies. The rope creaked as Knapp swung back and forth, bumping into the dead men on either side of him. All the while his face contorted in pain and fear.

James forced himself to watch. He couldn’t show weakness. Not now.

At last Knapp stopped kicking. His bound hands kept twitching behind his back for a long moment, and his lips, now turning blue, moved as if still begging for mercy, or maybe praying for his own wretched soul. At last, this, too, stopped. Knapp stared ahead through unblinking, glassy eyes.

James stepped over Edwins, who was still on his knees, clutching his bloody, half-severed ear and looking down at the pool of blood in front of his face instead of up at the dead men. James nearly stumbled coming down the stairs from the gallows. Cooper and Vandermeer came to his side, but he pushed them away.

Two women came rushing up onto the gallows. One wrapped her arms around one of the dead men, burying her face into his chest and sobbing. The other, also crying, but with joy, came to kneel next to Edwins. She was a plain but gentle-faced young woman, a swaddled baby in her arms. She shuffled the child so she could press a handkerchief to Edwins’s ear. She kissed him repeatedly on top of the head.

James looked down at his hand, still bloody from the man’s ear, then bent and wiped his hand on the ground. A stain remained in the snow, which he kicked over with his boot until it was hidden.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
S
IX

Prudence waited at home in front of the fire, reading to Mary from a book of Aesop’s Fables. When feet stomped outside the door to kick snow from their shoes, Prudence sprang to her feet. The Stone children came running. They had not been allowed to attend the hangings. The front door swung open.

It was Anne and the reverend. “What cheer,” they said, but there was, in fact, no cheer in their greetings.

The two parents put off the eager questions of their children and sent them back to their lessons and chores. The reverend went up to his room while Anne set about preparing supper.

Prudence sent Mary off with the other children, then rose to help her sister. Lucy and Alice Branch were no longer living with the Stones. The reverend had sold Alice’s indenturehood, and he had freed Lucy as promised. Lucy had moved to Cambridge to live with a cousin and his wife. The reverend had sold Alice for practical reasons. He was shortly to lose his position and salary at the Third Church; they could no longer afford anyone but Old John Porter.

The sisters worked in silence for a few minutes, mixing the corn meal, peeling turnips, plucking a chicken, chopping its innards to make a broth.

“You don’t have to leave,” Anne said at last. “There is always room in our home for you and Mary.”

And Prudence’s labor, as well. It would be difficult for Anne to manage without the Branch sisters. Prudence felt guilty, but she could not stay.

“Nay, I’ve cowered for too long.”

“People will talk. You know what they say about a woman who lives alone.”

“Let them.”

Anne looked disappointed at this but said nothing.

“Has the reverend secured another position?” Prudence asked when the silence grew uncomfortable.

“No responses yet to his letters, but we have hopes. There is a small congregation in Warwick, Rhode Island, that is anxious to secure a minister. The sum is modest, but they are theologically sound.”

“You’ll move to Rhode Island?” Prudence managed a smile. “The cesspool of New England? Times are indeed desperate.”

“Please, Prudie. Come with us.”

“I already said—”

“I know what you said, and I know what you’re hoping for.”

“Do you?” Prudence asked, surprised. “Am I a window that you can see through me so easily?”

“You were on your feet when we entered, but you were hoping for someone else. Do you deny it?”

“I was hoping,” she admitted, “but with little expectation. He is probably gone already.” To distract herself, she changed course. “Were there many people at the hangings?”

“Most of the town,” Anne said. “Knapp died badly. Drawn across the Common by a horse, left unhooded during the hanging. The hangman held him up as the trapdoor sprang, so he wouldn’t fall and break his neck. He writhed in torment.”

The image did not give Prudence pleasure. She had chosen to stay away, not wishing to feed her hunger for vengeance. Now she understood that she needn’t have worried. Knapp was responsible for the death of her husband and many other murders besides, yet she felt only sickened at the thought of more killing.

“It was no more than he deserved,” Anne added. “And only a taste of what awaits him in the eternal torment of hell.”

“Only God can make that judgment.”

“Pray pardon me, I spoke in error.”

Prudence put a corn meal–dusted hand over her sister’s wrist. Anne gave her a tired smile.

“The others died quickly enough,” Anne continued. “There was some pleading, some cries from family members, but they knew it was just. They all knew. Except James pardoned one man.”

“Pray tell. Which one?”

“Henry Edwins. Docked his ear and sold him into servitude for three years, with the sum to be donated for the care of those who lost husbands and fathers in the war.”

“My heart is glad,” Prudence said. “There has been enough killing. I only wish there had been another way.”

“It isn’t Master Bailey’s fault. The guilt lies here, in the sins of New England. Men fell to greed and avarice. The Lord has scourged us. First, by the hand of the savages, then by the Crown.”

Just then, Mary came running through with one of her cousins, who was carrying a rag doll with broken buttons for eyes and a mouth. Mary still wasn’t talking very much, but she seemed to be absorbing every word out of the chattering older girl’s mouth, understanding it all. It brought a smile to Prudence’s lips.

“You could follow him to England,” Anne said, unexpectedly.

“He hasn’t asked me.”

Anne picked up a turnip and trimmed away the wilted greens. “Have you given him an opportunity?”

“He had plenty.”

“When his mind was engaged elsewhere,” Anne said. “It isn’t now.”

Prudence carried the corn pudding to the hearth. When she returned, Anne studied her with a serious expression.

“Go to the
Vigilant,
” Anne said. “Find him. Ask him to stay. I’ll accompany you to give you courage.”

Prudence stifled a laugh at the earnest look on her sister’s face. “You are serious?”

“I am!”

Prudence’s pulse quickened at the possibility, but then she gave a sad shake of the head. “By now it’s too late. He meant to sail as soon as the execution was done. I won’t chase him to London. That is too much.” She sighed. “I couldn’t do it. Imagine the humiliation when I arrived and he turned me away.”

“He wants you, Prudence. How could he not?”

“You say that because you’re my sister. You have hopes for me, you want to see me healed. You want me to start a new family, to have more children.”

“Is it a sin to wish happiness for my sister?”

“It won’t happen,” Prudence said. “Not with James. You don’t know him. We spoke about many things on our journeys. He’s a good man at heart, but he is young, and hot blood runs through his veins.”

“James turned away Lucy when he could have had her.” Anne picked up the paring knife and returned to cutting turnips. “That is an honorable man.”

How could she explain without making him seem like a scoundrel? If Anne knew how she had given herself to him, she would be disappointed in Prudence and outraged at the liberties James had taken.

“Would he have turned Lucy away under other circumstances? When he was in Paris, and the licentious French girls threw themselves at him, did he turn
them
away?” Prudence lifted a hand to stop Anne’s sputtered protest. “I’m not questioning his character. I know he is a good man. But he isn’t interested in a wife, and I have no intention of following him to be his mistress.”

“Heavens, no!”

“Then we’re agreed,” Prudence said firmly. “It was a fool’s hope all along.”

They returned to silence for several minutes while they got the chicken and vegetables into the Dutch oven and carried it between them to the hearth. Then they returned to clean up the mess left by their preparations.

“Time is running short,” Anne said. “You need to settle this before the
Vigilant
sails.”

“What makes you think she hasn’t already?”

“Because I asked about the tides. They sail at high tide, when they can get over the sandbars.”

Prudence stopped and took her sister by the shoulders. “Why are you so determined? You thought very little of him when he arrived.”

“Because I see what he’s done to you. You left frightened and wracked by evil memories. Since you returned, you’ve changed. You no longer wake at night crying out in terror.”

“Because of Mary.”

“
And
Master Bailey,” Anne insisted. “He healed you, gave you confidence. I was so proud—you’ll never know how much—when you pried out the truth from Lucy, and then when you denounced Knapp. And in front of all of those men. Even the governor. I am honored to call you my sister.”

“But, Anne—” Prudence began.

“Then when James pardoned Goodman Edwins, I saw what kind of man he was. Strong, but merciful. With principles, but not so rigid that he becomes a tyrant. That is the sort of man my sister should marry. He could be a father for your daughter, and a fine one too.”

Prudence turned away. Her heart was bursting. She didn’t want Anne to see her lip quivering, or the tears springing to her eyes.

“Prudie?”

“What?”

Anne turned her around and lifted her chin. “Tell me truthfully, do you have feelings for him?”

“I love him, Anne. With all of my heart.”

Anne embraced her and whispered in Prudence’s ear, “It takes great courage to earn a great reward.”

She was right. Of course she was. And if Prudence marched down to the wharves, only to be laughed at by the dockers and sailors, even if James were to rebuff her in front of them all, what shame was there in that? There were few in New England who didn’t already know her name. Those who didn’t yet, soon would. If she couldn’t handle the scorn, she could always leave.

Still, she was not so brave as to go alone. “And you will come with me?”

“Of course.” Anne cast a glance toward the stairs. “Quickly, before Henry asks me to explain myself.”

The two women took off their aprons on their way to the front door and exchanged them for their cloaks, which hung on pegs. But before they could put them on, the door swung open. James stood in front of the house, cheeks red from the cold, breath billowing. Prudence stood gaping.

“Master James,” Anne said smoothly. She put her cloak on the hook as if she had only just arrived herself, then took Prudence’s and did the same. “What cheer! Pray come in.”

He kicked the snow from his boots and stepped inside.

“Will you be joining us for supper, then?” Anne asked.

“The
Vigilant
sails in thirty minutes. I’m afraid I don’t have time.”

“I see. Well, that is a disappointment. Come in, anyway.” She nudged Prudence.

Prudence caught her breath at last. Her heart was pounding, but she managed to smooth what must have been a dumbfounded expression, slack-jawed and foolish. She took James’s cloak and hung it on the hook.

Anne hurried to feed more wood into the fire, then scooted children away and sent them upstairs. Prudence caught whispered threats from her sister should they dare to return. Old John Porter came in from the back with an armful of kindling, and Anne took this and seated him firmly on the far end of the table, out of the way. Old John took one look at James and sighed, as if knowing that interesting happenings were afoot once more and he would not be able to follow a word of it.

“Pray have a seat,” Prudence told James, pointing to the bench in front of the fire.

When he obeyed, Prudence took a chance and sat next to him, instead of on the opposite side with her sister. Anne looked pleased.

James cleared his throat. “You weren’t at the hanging.”

“I had seen enough death.”

“Yes, of course—I didn’t mean that. Only I wanted to speak with you before I leave.”

“Yes?” She tried not to sound too eager.

“To give thanks. You saved my life. And you did your duty to your king and country.”

“I am the one who should be grateful. I wouldn’t have my daughter if you hadn’t—”

Anne interrupted with an exaggerated sigh, and they both looked at her. “Thirty minutes until the
Vigilant
sets sail. That means Master Bailey has fifteen minutes until he must leave. Is this how you want to spend your conversation?”

“Anne!” Prudence said.

“At least one of you has something to say. I hope both of you.”

“Then why are you interrupting?” Prudence asked. “Couldn’t you go upstairs for a moment?”

“I’m your sister. That wouldn’t be proper.”

“Heavens, what a gossip. You’re as bad as Goody Brockett.”

James laughed, and Anne gave a look of false shock at the accusation. Nevertheless, the awkwardness of the situation was broken, and Prudence no longer felt like she wanted to dissolve through a crack in the floorboards and disappear.

“Tell me why you came,” she said.

“The truth is I—” He smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes?”

“Two hours ago I was speaking in front of a thousand people, and now I can’t seem to summon the words.”

Prudence took his hand. “I hope we desire the same thing. But if not, I would rather we part having spoken everything in our hearts. So if you have returned so you could apologize for your behavior, let me assure you there is no need. I understand you have duties to your king.”

“No, Prudie. That isn’t why I’ve come. But I don’t know how to ask you. I cannot stay in New England.”

“No, you cannot. I knew that all along. How could you become the king’s chancellor if you stayed in Boston?”

“But you swore you would never leave New England, and I would never ask you to go with me to London. It’s a cesspool of sin and vice. The air itself is so filled with miasma that a child like Mary should never breathe it.”

She wanted to protest that she would go with him if only he would ask. Many people raised their children in London, didn’t they? Couldn’t they find a healthy spot away from the river and its sewage, a place where the breezes blew away the soot and the disease? And weren’t there churches, ministers, Godly people to be found?

But maybe that wasn’t what he was saying. Maybe this was his excuse. She glanced at Anne, who wore a worried expression.

“I spoke with Joseph McMurdle,” James said. “Gave him the privilege to deliver my report to London, offer up Fitz-Simmons for the king’s justice. I have no stomach to see the man tortured and killed. McMurdle was to travel to Quebec, but he is eager to take this opportunity.”

She was confused. “Then what, you will travel to Quebec in his place?”

“No, I’m on my way to New York. It is a troublesome little colony, pacified, but the Dutch returned once, and might again. Not as important as combating the French, but I cannot trust it to one man. Vandermeer has his uses, but we need more.”

“But if McMurdle claims your victory in London, and you remain in the colonies, won’t that mean—?”

“Aye. I will surrender my chance at the position of king’s chancellor.”

“Isn’t that your heart’s desire?” she asked.