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A letter from Margaret received on the fourth of July was exceedingly welcome. Elizabeth received it from a Winthrop servant and hurried along the river path to Anneke Patrick’s.

Anneke was shelling peas on the Dutch stoop Daniel had made for her, and she greeted Elizabeth with her usual dimpling smile. “Velcome, Bess! Vat makes you hasten so this hot day? Nothing bad, I hope?”

“No,” said Elizabeth, sitting down beside her friend, and waving the letter. “Good news! From my Aunt Margaret. She confirms what we heard. The Pequots are wiped out. There was a battle at a place down there called Mystic, an Indian town. Daniel was there with Robert, and Captain Underhill, and Captain John Mason that used to be in Dorchester, remember?”

Anneke nodded, her plump rosy face earnest between the white lace wings of her Dutch cap. “So Daniel is unharmed - and Robert? Good, I have been so anxious, so anxious.” She drew a deep breath. “Vat else does the letter say?”

“They killed almost all the Pequots but the chief, Sassacus, Daniel is going to stay down there and chase him a bit longer, with Underhill, but we’re not to worry, my aunt says. None of our men were lost”

“Och, I am happy,” said Anneke. She put down the pan of peas and called into the house, “Danny, Danny! Tell your sisters vader is veil, and the bad Indians are beaten!” There was a joyous whoop, and Danny rushed out.

“There’s more,” said Elizabeth. “My aunt summons me at once to Boston, because forty-eight Pequot women and children are to be landed tomorrow. Captives sent up by boat. They’re to be parcelled out on the Common, and though some have been bespoke already, Aunt Margaret says she and Uncle John will see that I
get
a squaw.”

“Vat for?” said Anneke, puzzled. “Vat do you vant of a squaw?”

“Why, for a maidservant. Maybe I could get you one, too.”

Anneke chuckled, “I vouldn’t have those filthy creatures in my nice clean house. No, Bess, lieveling, I’m used to vork hard always, you are not I hope you get a good squaw.”

She put her arm around Elizabeth and said happily, “Ve must drink a little something for gladness that our men are veil. My good genever from The Hague I’ve been saving, and my special cheese I made from the nanny-goat’s milk!”

Anneke’s kitchen, like Anneke’s person, exuded a sparkling cleanliness which always shamed Elizabeth. Anneke’s aprons were as spotless as her brick hearth. Her copper kettles and pewter dishes twinkled like stars; from her coils of yellow hair, smooth as butter, no strand ever was misplaced. Placid and practical, she understood the effortless management of domesticity, and loved her work, never suffering from the rebellions and spasmodic yearnings which afflicted Elizabeth, who was always calmed by Anneke, and returned from each visit determined to cope better with her own housekeeping problems.

Today, as usual, Elizabeth was defeated. She arrived home hot and tired from her walk, wishing only to sit and contemplate her flowers while indulging in delightful plans for their fixture as medicines and pot-pourris and perfumes. She was greeted by little Dolly Bridges with a gloomily triumphant list of emergencies. The corn-bread in the bake oven had burned to a crisp. The water bucket had developed a leak, making it impossible to haul water from the well, and consequently the huge stack of trenchers, pots, and mugs was still unwashed. Worst of all
,
one of the last precious linen sheets brought from England had torn right down the middle while Joan was making the bed. Elizabeth, who loathed sewing as much as she had at seven, glared at the sheet. lost her temper, boxed Joan on the ear, and set grimly to the unsuccessful conquering of muddle, which like a jellyfish oozed up in a new place as soon as one side was flattened.

Boston Common on the sixth of July presented an extraordinary appearance. A hundred square feet had been fenced oft near the ducking pond, and the Pequot captives put in the enclosure, loosely roped together at the waist. There were about forty young squaws; the older captives had not been sent - arid a handful of children, well grown enough to be of service. Though some of the women were taller and some fatter than others, at first they looked much alike. They were all naked from the middle up, and all wore short doeskin skirts. Their coarse black hair flowed loose. What ornaments or wampum necklaces they might once have had were long since removed. Within the barricade they stood motionless and soundless, staring at the ground, ignoring the milling crowd which surrounded them and avidly discussed their physical points.

All the more prosperous Boston housewives had come, and a sprinkling of men. Governor Winthrop was there too, standing on a little platform near the enclosure, while Elizabeth and Margaret were near him. Behind the platform on which Winthrop stood, a plank had been upended and down its length were nailed the severed hands of dead Pequot warriors, sent from Connecticut.

Winthrop was dressed in his most ceremonious suit of rich black satin, topped by the old-fashioned lace-edged ruff he still wore. His broad black beaver hat was garnished with silver braid and a glittering buckle - the sumptuary laws naturally did not apply to the Governor. His tricoloured baldric supported the great sword of state. He was flanked by his new halberdiers, Vane’s guard having proved insolent and been dismissed; and his expression was definitely complacent. It was apparent to Elizabeth that Uncle John was very glad to be back in office.

He raised his arm, and his watchful drummer beat a tattoo, thus silencing the throng. Winthrop then said, “Before proceeding with this afternoon’s business, I shall offer a prayer to the Almighty that he may continue to shed blessings on us.” He went on to thank God for having exterminated the Pequots, and for having sent them these captives. It was God’s manifest purpose that the captive Indians should now labour for their new owners, and be Christianized as well. He trusted that they would profit by sight of the row of mangled hands to realize the wickedness of their warlike folly and that the Christian God alone could save them. It was a joyous day for the captives, did they but realize it.

They obviously did not realize it. Elizabeth looked at the dark, sullen faces, some tattooed, some scarred, and felt from them an actual wave of hatred, which dismayed her. She began to wonder if, after all, a Pequot squaw would make a good maidservant.

The other ladies of Boston apparently had no misgivings. The instant Winthrop stepped off the platform, indicating that the constable should take charge, there was a beldam of
greedy cries, while the would-be owners nearly stampeded the barricade. Some grabbed the hair of the squaw of their choice, some called frenziedly, “That big one. That one, I want that one!” There was also shrill dissension when two ladies picked on the same squaw.

“Gentlewomen and good wives!” shouted the constable over the hubbub. “Ye can’t have ‘em like
that
! Some is bespoke. The large one over there,” he gestured to his guard, who hauled the squaw in question to one side, “she goes to Mr. Stoughton. That little one with the three marks on her belly goes to Lieutenant Davenport. Mrs. Calacott has been allotted that one; them two heathen boys and girl’re going to Salem.” As he eliminated several more and tied around their necks red strings with labels of ownership, there were groans from the disappointed housewives. “Now fur the rest,” said the constable pompously, squinting at a list “I’ll call off the names in order o’ consequence to take their pick. First, Mistress Winthrop, our Governor’s lady!”

Margaret, who did not need a squaw herself but had promised to get one for Mary Dudley in Ipswich, said, “Oh dear, they all seem so fierce. That one, I guess - “ She pointed nervously to one of the youngest. The Indian girl was duly tagged.

The constable continued reading from his list: Mrs. Cotton, Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Dudley the elder, Mrs. Endecott, Mrs. Saltonstall, ail of whom made a choice. He had finished with the gentry on his list and was moving down into the goodwives when Winthrop, who had been watching benevolently, suddenly turned to Elizabeth and said, “Why, the constable’s left you out! The best ones are nearly gone. Halt!” he cried.

The constable stopped anxiously. “Aye, Your Worship?”

“Where’s Mistress Feake’s name?” said Winthrop, “She ranks long before those you’re reading.”

“I - I didn’t know, sir - “ stammered the constable, who was newly appointed. “Her being of Watertown, n’ wi’out special word I was told to take them from t’other towns last.”

“Never mind,” said Elizabeth hastily. “I don’t think I want any of them.”

“Nonsense,” said Winthrop, stepping forward. “Your aunt says you need a servant, and I shall certainly not have my niece slighted. I’ll pick one for you.” He stepped up to the barricade, and pinched a fat brown arm. “This one seems solid, and healthy, you shall have her, my dear.”

“No!” cried Elizabeth. Not again should her uncle foist his own choice on her. She ran up to the fence and grabbed a handful of hair at random. “Her, I’ll take her.”

There was a ripple of astonished laughter from the other waiting owners and Elizabeth saw the reason for it as her squaw turned around. The Indian had but one eye. In place of the right one there was a red pulpy socket. The right side of her face was hacked with hideous purplish scars which ran down her neck and ended in a crisscross pattern on the distorted right breast.

“Oh, Bess!” Margaret cried ‘She’s the worst of the lot She’ll frighten the children I”

Herself appalled, Elizabeth hesitated, though noting that the squaw was quite young, and lithely muscled, her skin smooth and golden brown away from the mutilations. Then the squaw made a

curious motion with her hands like an unconscious plea, the left eye looked steadily at Elizabeth, and though it seemed expressionless, some dilation of the pupil conveyed suffering and intelligence. Why, it’s a human being! Elizabeth thought. She, like all the others, had viewed these mute, dark-skinned bodies as cattle, to be selected on the grounds of use. “I’ll take
her,” she repeated firmly.

“An unfortunate selection,” said her uncle, but not even Elizabeth’s customary headstrongness could annoy him today. Pie walked back to Margaret, and began to chat with young Mrs. Saltonstall. Elizabeth remained uncomfortably beside her squaw, wondering what to do with her. While she stood there the interpreter came up to them. He was a Narragansett, and had been shipped north from that tribe which had been allied with the English in the Pequot war. He had been taught English by Roger Williams and spoke it well.

“Missis - “ he said. “You want know your squaw’s name, or other matter?”

“Oh, yes,” said Elizabeth. “I want to know all about her.”

The Narragansett spoke for some time, while the squaw listened motionless. There was a pause, and Elizabeth with dismay thought she had got herself a maid not only repulsive but mute. Then the squaw spoke in a rush.

The Narragansett turned to Elizabeth. “She say her name Telaka, which mean, before night - not day.”

“Twilight?” suggested Elizabeth, and the Indian grunted acquiescence. “She speak strange - not Pequot.” He stopped because Telaka burst out with vehemence at the word “Pequot”. The Narragansett held up a hand to stop her, and she became silent, the one shiny black eye looking anxiously at Elizabeth while the Indian translated. “Now I know,” said the interpreter. “She
not
a Pequot. She hate them. They capture her from a tribe far far to the setting sun, where no white men live. Siwanoy tribe was hers, Sagamore Mianos, her father.”

“Was she a chiefs daughter?” asked Elizabeth, astonished.

The Narragansett shrugged. “She
say
so. Pequots very bad to her. Burn her, cut her because she run away. Pequots do this.” He swept up and down Telaka’s ravaged face, neck, and breast with an indifferent hand.

“Ask her,” said Elizabeth, “how old she is, if she’s married and has children.”

Telaka answered this more quietly, and Elizabeth realized that the guttural voice was musical and rather pleasant

“She say,” said the Interpreter, “she not know age, but has seen many winters, mebbe like you, Missis. She was married in her tribe, but her man was killed by Pequots.”

Yes, thought Elizabeth, faintly amused at the “many winters”, I suppose she is about my age, poor thing. “Ask her,” she said finally to the Narragansett, seeing that many other owners were awaiting his help in questioning their new acquisitions, “if she is willing to work for me, and will try hard to be a good servant.”

When Telaka answered this she turned her head away, and Elizabeth saw the thin brown hands clench.

The Narragansett’s mouth twitched in a grim smile as he translated. “She say you look kinder than Pequots, but she no like to be
anyone’s
slave. She say she never lie, she won’t answer more. She say too that she very homesick.”

So, thought Elizabeth wryly, I suppose that means she’ll run away, and I doubt that I care.

The constable put Telaka’s rope in Elizabeth’s hand, saying, “Here y’are, Mistress Feake. D’ye want a guard to help get her home?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Take the rope off her, constable. I can’t lead her about like a cow.”

The constable obeyed but protested. “I fear ye’ve got a bad ‘un, ma’am, have a care she don’t murder you in your bed, I don’t like the look in that eye.”

Elizabeth was not sure that she did either, but the squaw, who had stiffened and sucked in her breath as the constable untied her bonds, watched the rope fall to the dust, then turned in obvious astonishment towards Elizabeth, who put out her hand and said, “Come, Telaka.” Telaka seized the hand and held it between both of hers, a warm, and surely not unfriendly, grip. When Elizabeth began to walk towards the Charles landing where the Feake boat and one of the menservants waited, Telaka followed quietly one pace behind her new owner.

During the weeks before Robert’s return with Daniel Patrick, Elizabeth got used to her squaw, though she never had any certainty as to what Telaka was thinking. Elizabeth made her a black eye-patch, and gave her an old dress of her own to wear. This covered much of her mutilation, so her appearance, though grotesque, was no longer repulsive. The children, after their first startled curiosity, accepted her without question, and indeed in her own expressionless way she was good to them. She made Lisbet a corn-husk doll, and sometimes when nobody was around Elizabeth heard her singing to the girls, strange monotone little songs that sounded like wind in the pine trees. Moreover, she was a good worker. Elizabeth had only to show her once, and thereafter she could perform any task, even the detested sewing. She spoke seldom, but listened much with a sort of concentrated purpose, and at the end of August, Elizabeth realized that Telaka was learning English exceptionally fast, and understood almost everything she heard.