The Old Cape House (34 page)

At first Maria didn’t notice the absence of Sam’s chest but as she
looked further under the blanket she soon realized that it was
missing.
Frantic, she shoved things around then screamed, “Where is it?
Where’s the other chest?”

“Maria? What’s wrong? What are you looking for?”

“The chest! Sam’s chest! Flailing her arms in search of the riches she yelled, “It can’t be gone. It must be here somewhere.”

Matthew took hold of her shoulders. “Stop, Maria! Stop!” He
made her look into his eyes. “You must trust me. There’s nothing here but your travel bag and this small chest.”

Shocked, Maria sat against the side of the wagon and whispered, ”Why would Sam take the treasure? Where is it?”

Matthew took his place in the driver’s seat. “We have to get far from Abigail’s house. No one must know that we were ever near it.” He held the reins and warned her, “Stay low. It’s almost dawn. Hide yourself.”

Maria stared, unresponsive, into the night as the wagon rumbled along the roadway. She feared for the next event in her life and how it would harm her. Why was she being punished? What caused the
fire? Did she forget something in the kitchen? Everything she
touches, dies! Her stomach hurt; her chest ached. She could hardly breathe. “My life is over, I want to die. My life is over….” Maria laid her head against the wooden floor, closed her eyes and wished for death.

As the miles rolled by, fate looked mercifully upon Maria and
eased her into a small respite of sleep. The wagon slowed its
approach
to the outskirts of Eastham just before dawn. The silence of its
clattering wheels woke her.

“Whoa!” Matthew ordered the horse as he pulled on the reins to stop the wagon. There was something up ahead in the road.

 Maria sat up and could see another wagon blocking their way; a
horse was lying on the ground to the side. The writhing animal
whinnied in pain, trying to stand. An older woman knelt over a small child. A man stood next to her.

“Hello, do you need help?” Matthew called out.

The man ran over to Matthew with terror in his eyes. “Yes, my
son is hurt!” He spoke in short sentences. “We’ve had an accident…not
sure what happened…something frightened the horse…the wagon
wheel….” His voice trailed off as he looked to his son in the dirt. He
ran
back to the woman who was dressed in black. “Mother, we have
help.”

As soon as the old woman stood, Maria recognized her as the Widow Baker.

“Matthew Ellis! Is that you?” The widow called out.

“Yes, Maam.”

She squinted her eyes and asked, “Who is that with you?”
Unable to see who was in front of her, she changed her tone and pleaded, “Please, we need your help.”

Embarrassed at his helplessness, Matthew answered, “My leg is injured. I don’t know how much I can help.”

He turned to Maria, looking for her assistance.

Maria didn’t move.

Matthew quickly understood her hesitation. She was facing
exposure. The disregard to laws that had been placed upon her now jeopardized her safety. He started to climb out of the wagon, but Maria stopped him.

When the widow saw Maria coming to their aid she growled
with
pursed lips, “Maria Hallett!” Then she screamed and took a
protective position between Maria and the little boy. “I don’t want that witch coming near my grandson.”

Jonathan Baker chastised her, “Mother, please! Stop!” Looking at Maria, he begged, “Can you help him?”

Little Isaac Baker, not more than six years old, lay screaming in a pool of blood. His hand crushed.

Jonathan Baker knelt by his son. Tearfully he sobbed to Maria. “I tried to grab him. He fell to the other side of the wagon when the horse reared.”

 Maria could see the intense pain in the small boy’s face and quickly ran to retrieve Minda’s healing herbs from her chest. The widow and her son watched as she took a small bottle of the special brewed tea that eases pain from a leather pouch. Holding the boy’s head up, Maria poured the bitter drink through his lips. Then she tied a piece from her woven cloths around the boy’s wrist to stop the bleeding. Because of his size, the boy responded to the calming effect of the tea within minutes.

“I have stopped the bleeding, and he seems calmer. You’ll have time to get him safely to the midwife, but you must hurry.” Maria stood and handed the small bottle to Jonathan. “When he wakes, give him sips of this to ease his pain. Move him to our wagon. You’ll have to come back for yours. And the horse?” she asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t do any more than put it out of its misery,” he
said.

He cradled his son with loving arms as he placed the little boy
behind Matthew in the wagon. The Widow Baker climbed in next to
Matthew in the front on the bench, and Maria sat near the boy in the
back.

Jonathan Baker walked over to his wagon to fetch his rifle.
Patting his horse goodbye, he stood and released a bullet into its head.

May 4, 1717

EASTHAM – CAPE COD

WHILE THE MOON WAS STILL IN ITS WANE,
the sun rose in
the opposite end of the sky as they entered Eastham. Maria lay on the floor next to Isaac. Jonathan Baker sat to the side.

Matthew looked over to the Widow Baker. “I pray I don’t need
to
worry about your silence regarding Maria’s presence here today?”
He hoped that she would understand the necessity of secrecy.

The widow shifted in her seat. “I fully appreciate the fact that
she has given aid without malice to me and my family.” Looking straight ahead, she added, “Rest assured I will remain quiet.”

Jonathan responded from the rear, “I will do the same.”

***

The midwife, Lucinda McNeely, opened her door upon hearing the wagon.

Widow Baker called out, “Lucy, we’ve had a terrible accident. My little Isaac is hurt bad!”

Jonathan jumped out and scooped the boy into his arms. He
carried
him past Lucy and into the house as Maria hid herself under a
blanket.
The widow scrambled out of the wagon and followed behind her
son.

Lucy called to Matthew, “Is that you, Matthew Ellis?” Wasting
no time with further conversation, she shooed everyone into her
house without approaching the wagon where Maria hid.

Matthew flicked the reins to leave. The Widow Baker watched
him drive away from behind the half open door of the midwife’s house.

***

Over the next hour, Matthew’s wagon passed through the more
populated areas of Eastham. He was trying to figure out what he
should
do next while Maria lay hidden from anyone’s sight. As individual
houses came into view, he sensed the beginnings of the day in each
household. Fires in open hearths, biscuits baking, and sounds of
family life all filtered through the chilled morning air. The newness of the spring season filled his senses with hope. Would Maria come away
with him? He imagined the two of them married, loving and
enjoying each other as they went about their days.

Maria slowly lifted the edge of her covering to see how far they were on their journey. “Matthew, is it safe for me to come out?”

“Yes, we’ll soon be at your house.”

She threw back the blanket, knelt down and rested her forearms on the bench next to him. She watched the road go by under the horse’s feet.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her, hoping that she would be
agreeable to his wishes of coming with him.

“My heart is so heavy. I don’t know what to feel.”

He placed his hand on hers.

Maria pulled it away, turned her back to him and sat down on the floor of the wagon. She rubbed her face and slumped forward.

His heart sank. He didn’t know what to say to her.

Matthew pulled the horse to a stop in front of the McKeon
house. It
looked uninviting and desolate, just as before–neither one of them moved.

Still unsure of the fate of his leg, Matthew cautiously stepped from the wagon. As he put his weight on it, he discovered that most of the pain had subsided, and it was thankfully not broken. He took
this as a good sign. He unloaded Maria’s chest and travel bag into
the house, then limped back to Maria, who was still sitting in the back of the wagon. I can’t leave her in this awful place, he thought.

He held his hand out to her, and she took it, her face showing no
emotion. With Matthew’s help, she climbed out of the wagon. He
placed his arm around her waist. “Maria, you don’t have to stay
here. Come with me.”

As they walked together to the door, he felt her body next to his.
He didn’t want to let go of her. He waited for her to speak her
answer, but she said nothing. Dejected, he turned to leave.

 “Matthew, wait!”

His heart jumped. She came close to him and placed her hand on
his scarred face. “I’m sorry that Sam did this to you. I’m sorry for
everything. You never deserved this.” She pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear and studied his face for a moment. “I know that you love me and it’s possible that I’m in love with you, too.” She moved her hand over his cheek. “But I can’t destroy anyone else’s life with whatever plagues me.”

She looked up at his face one more time, then kissed him on his cheek. “Go now, Matthew. Find your way without me.”

She ran into the house and secured the door behind her. With her back against the closed door, she swallowed her cries as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Matthew ran after her.

She felt his fist as he pounded on the door. “MARIA! Listen to me! You can’t shut me out of your life again.”

He waited for her to answer. He hit the door again and called
out,
“MARIA! Can you hear me?” Matthew laid his open hand on the
door and tried to feel her presence. Then he whispered through his
tears, “I
will return for you.” No response came from within. He turned
away, climbed into his wagon and drove away.

Maria threw herself down on her bed. She remembered hearing
Sam repeat the same words, ‘I will return for you.’ Her head ached
with
dizzying thoughts of Sam and Matthew. The horrible fire flashed
across her mind. She thought of poor Abigail and could see Matthew’s bloodied face. She beat her hands on the pillow and pulled at her hair, trying to rid herself of the pain and sadness in her head.

After tossing and turning over and over in her bed, she finally
stopped, exhausted. Now she felt empty of all feelings. Her eyes
burned
from the salty tears and the fire’s smoke. She could still hardly
breathe. Maria blew away the mucous that blocked her air passages with the bottom of her skirt, then lay back on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Maria’s cathartic purge helped her sleep so deeply that she
stayed asleep through the next day and into the following morning. When
she finally woke, she lay still, moving only her eyes. She could see
the
rough-cut ceiling over her head, spider webs dancing in the air,
blown by the drafts coming from holes and openings in the old house. Her
eyes traced the familiar log walls and their thick, bumpy mortar.
They seemed to hypnotize her as she followed the white lines joining the
logs together around and around her room. Everything was the
same; it was as if nothing had happened. She was in her house just as before, still bound by a punishing law that forced her to be ostracized from the community.

The sun shone into the one window, making a long rectangular
mark on the dirty floorboards. Particles of dust floated through its sunbeam. The air was heavy and humid. Forcing herself to sit up, she stood to look out the window and wondered what time of day
was it?

Her skin felt sticky, and her arms were spotted with black
smudges. The bottom of her outer skirt was matted into a ball, and her inner skirt was ripped across the bottom. In the silence, she heard the faint bleating of her little goat out in the back near the shed. No need for anything else to suffer on my account. She grabbed a pail as she walked past the hearth.

The small black goat was happy to see Maria and stamped its
feet in the hay as she came near. When she returned to the house
with the full pail of milk that was warm and smelled sweet, she tried to kindle the fire with a piece of flint. She questioned herself about the need of a fire when she had no food but kept striking the flint until it caught its spark. Thirsty, she walked around the chest and travel bag still sitting in the middle of the kitchen and went outside to the well.

As Maria carried the heavy pails that dangled on the ends of a piece of wood across her shoulders, the cool water splashed about her body. It seemed to refresh her, but it also reminded her of her
dirty laundry, a depleted woodpile, and the untilled garden beds.
She breathed a heavy sigh. Almost to the house, she spotted something that looked out of place. She’d never noticed the large basket on the
bench near the open door. She lowered each pail to the ground and
stood the wooden pole against the other side of the doorframe. She scanned the surrounding area but saw no sign of another person. Within seconds her curiosity bettered her caution and she began to inspect what was inside.

A bag of oats and flour were the largest of the items, and nestled between them was a covered jar of ‘starter’ for dough that needed
leavening. On the other side of the basket was a pillar of salt
wrapped in paper and a jar of cider. In the middle of it all, three large biscuits lay wrapped in a cloth and a letter addressed to Maria Hallett.