To Capture Her Heart (11 page)

October 17, 1653

Mr. Howell survived the measles under the care of Doc Smith. The fever that raged the first week subsided, and the red rash that began on his forehead and worked its way throughout his body began to recede. Of the boys quarantined in their homes—five had the measles previously and did not require quarantine—only three came down with the measles, and the Horton men and boys were not affected. Doc tended his young patients and they survived too, thanks in part, he said, to their age and hardiness.

The scare of an epidemic shook the little hamlet, but Benjamin knew it put more fear into the people at the Corchaug fort than anyone else. For some reason, when the native people contracted the white man's illnesses, they were much more likely to die. Entire Indian villages were dying from sickness the inhabitants never knew existed before.

He wanted to see Heather Flower. They had not parted on good terms the last time. Doc Smith said after two weeks he
would be in the clear, but he decided to wait another week to be sure. He couldn't risk bringing illness and suffering to her or her people.

School resumed with Mr. Howell, and Benjamin enjoyed watching his little brothers trudging off to school with their hornbooks. They had their future ahead, but what of him? Was he happy where he was in the grand order of things?

He walked out to the Town Road and looked at the elm-lined street. He remembered the day they had waded ashore. There'd been nothing but deer paths when they'd arrived.

He and Joseph had worked hard with their father to build their house. He'd learned much about carpentry and it was a good trade. He was thankful for the good life he had here, but it seemed empty to him unless he had someone to share it with. If it were to be Heather Flower, he would be honored. But if she would not have him, he wasn't sure he wanted to stay here. John Budd talked of moving out west. Joseph and Jane wanted to go with him.

His uncle's words echoed in his mind and he laughed at himself. His brother was always the dreamer. Even Uncle Jeremy said he'd thought Joseph would be the one to sail the seas with him. Yet he could be sailing right now if he'd said yes when Uncle Jeremy had invited him.

Mary called. He turned as she hurried toward him. He'd never leave here. It would hurt her too much, and that he couldn't bear.

“Oh, Ben, there you are. I was going to cut one of the pies and I wanted to know if you'd like a piece.”

“You have to ask? I'm coming right in.” He followed her up the wooden steps and eyed the table. “I'll take that one.” He chuckled.

“Oh, no you don't.” She tapped his hand as he reached toward the nearest golden pie. “How unlike you, Ben.” She smiled as she tsked. “You are always my one to have some manners.”

He stared at her thoughtfully. “Maybe I'm tired of being so predictable.”

“Whatever do you mean? What has that to do with manners?”

“I'm just thinking I'm always the obedient one, the one to do what everyone expects of me. It might just be time to do what I want to do, even if on a whim.”

She picked up a knife and inserted the tip into the center of the pie. As she lifted a wedge, the syrupy apples oozed and she quickly transferred it to a plate. Ben watched as a glob fell back into the pie pan and he quickly scooped it up and popped it into his mouth, licking his fingers.

“Was that a whim? Really, Ben. Here.” She handed him a fork—from a set Uncle Jeremy had brought from France—with his plate of pie.

He stabbed a bite and took his time to answer. He let the flakey pastry crumble in his mouth, releasing the sweet apple and cinnamon he loved. His fork toyed with the next chunk. “Everyone always thought Joseph would take off with Jeremy sometime, but he got married instead. Everyone has always thought I would be the one to marry and settle down. What if I took to sailing? What would you think?”

She stopped the knife mid-slice, her eyes a troubled gray. “You wouldn't do that.”

“That is my point. Mayhap I would.”

“Oh no, Ben. You mustn't think like that. You cannot put yourself at risk just to make a point. There's nothing to prove. We all love you just as you are. And what about Heather Flower? How could you leave when you know she needs you?”

She was the reason he'd thought of this to begin with, if he were honest with himself. “I don't know. I was talking with Uncle Jeremy. He's led quite a life when you think about it. Always full of stories about pirates and storms, shipwrecks and treasures.” He forked the pippin pie into his mouth and chewed while he thought of the tales Uncle Jeremy told him and Joseph as they grew up.

“But at what expense? He's never had a family.”

“We are his family. And he has God. He's happy with that.”

She sat down next to him and pushed at her pie with her fork. “Would you be happy with that?”

The sunshine through the window caught the light in her hair, giving her a rosy halo. He ought not to lie. “Not completely.”

“I'm not so sure Jeremy is either. God is enough for all of us and should come first. It doesn't mean we don't long for someone to share this life with though. I don't believe running from Heather Flower is the answer.”

“Do you think Uncle Jeremy is running?” He watched her as she twisted a lock of hair and then pushed it from her brow.

“No, I think the sea has been in his blood since he was a very young lad. Ben, you are much like your mother, but you are a little like me too. Your calling is more in people. Family. Community. Being the light on the hill people come to when the fog rolls in. You must never think it wrong to be predictable. That means you are dependable.”

“But what does that have to do with Heather Flower? She doesn't want me to be her light. She doesn't even know what she wants. Mayhap never will.”

“Oh, she will. She just needs time. Just be there when she is ready to turn from her grief.” She patted his hand and he wished it were that easy. “When Jay was little, he wore his heart
on his sleeve. It wasn't easy for me, but at least I knew what he was feeling. You might not have known this, but I worried more about you when you boys were little. You were careful not to show your hurts and disappointments—always more concerned about everyone else.”

He took a deep breath. “Then it would be all right with you if I did what I want for a change.”

She shook her head. “Do you mean sailing off with Jeremy? That is not what I mean at all. I don't believe that is what you really want. My point was, you are afraid to show your hurt. To spare Heather Flower the discomfort of disappointing you, you would go off and sail the high seas with your uncle.”

With both hands, he ran his fingers through the sides of his hair. “You might be right, Mother.” He grinned at her and was certain there was a merriment in her eyes not there a moment ago.

“The chance to go sailing is always there. The chance to fall in love comes so seldom.”

He ran his fork along the crumbs on the plate and nodded. “Agreed. I am convinced. But in the end, Heather Flower might not be convinced, and I would wager her parents would not be either. Her people are our friends, but they are a proud people. I've heard Wyancombone say his parents fear they are a vanishing tribe. I think they would be against our marriage.”

“Lizzie and Papa were against my marriage to your father. It didn't stop us, and they came around. Trust your heart.”

He stood up, arms folded. “She's not so happy with me right now.”

“I think 'tis best you think about your work and give her the time she needs. You did an amazing thing with that schoolhouse, Ben. There's a lot of building to be done out toward the
Corchaug fort. There is so much to do here. Stay, work hard, and ask for God's blessings. You know what your father says: ‘In God's own time.'”

He laughed. “It's our family motto, is it not?”

“Why yes, it is. And I had the hardest time learning it. Even now I get anxious. I suppose we wouldn't be human if we didn't. But it is so comforting to take things to God in prayer and put my worries in His care.”

“But you know, Mother, God doesn't always give us what we want. Look at Patience. I think she always thought she would get married and have children.”

“God knows our hearts. In our imperfect way, we think we know what we want, but sometimes God has something better.”

A baby's cry interrupted and they looked toward the stairs. “Abbey is with the girls, but Sarah will be hungry. It was good to have this conversation, Ben.” She got up and hugged him.

“And you're right, I suppose. If I joined Uncle Jeremy, it would be running away from finding my purpose, not discovering it.”

She smiled and he watched her hurry to tend to his sisters.

But if his purpose was here, he hoped Heather Flower was a part of it. A man could hope.

October 19, 1653

Dawn's pink light spread across the bottoms of the bunchy gray clouds as Heather Flower picked her way through reeds and marsh to the water's edge at dawn. Shivering, she pulled her thick woven blanket tight about her shoulders. It was three months to the day that her uncle passed to the hunting grounds beyond. Almost six months since her husband had been slain by the ferocious Narragansett.

In the days after her uncle died, her aunt sat in silence, until the time came she could allow herself to weep. They'd walked to the bank of Downs Creek together, arm in arm, their women friends behind them. The wails of grief let loose the pain that gripped their hearts. Now Heather Flower sank to the ground alone, into the cold, wet grass. She pushed away a sharp blackberry vine that bit at her ankles and listened to the hungry fish jumping for their breakfast in the water below.

Her aunt remained in the wigwam, unaware of her requests to take some food or hold her arm to walk with her. Winnie
had responded to Sarah's birth and participated in the feast the day of her christening. But once home she lapsed back into a dazed state.

Heather Flower sat for a while and pulled grass seed from stems, tossing them into the water and watching as they spread out and then bumped about like little boats over the gentle current. A memory of making little leaf boats with her brother came to mind, and she yearned for simpler times. She pulled the leather pouch from beneath the yoke of her dress and looked at the beadwork her mother had stitched.

A longing to return to her home in Montauk set in. She missed her mother and father. Wyancombone came across the bay often to visit. He brought gifts from their parents and always a message from their mother to come home. But she could not admit to him, or her mother, that she wanted to. To return would be to face the death of Keme. She'd rather hide from it.

Her friends who were taken on that awful day would never return home. If they could not, why should she? It was almost shameful that she was safe and they were not. Her skin prickled with contempt at the horrors they must face at the hands of Ninigret and his men.

She ran her hands over her arms and shook the thought from her mind. She must focus on Aunt Winnie. Today she would go into town and visit Abigail. Perhaps she would have advice, something to help bring her aunt out of her grief.

She looked in on Aunt Winnie before leaving and found her sitting by the fire just as before. She pressed her cheek to her aunt's and tiptoed out. A half-grown litter of wolf pups, descendants of Winnie's old Smoke, surrounded her, tails a-wag with eagerness to follow. She admonished them to stay, then shooed them into the wigwam. Their ears flattened and they
whined as they looked at her with sad dark eyes. She almost relented but knew they'd curl about Winnie's feet and keep her company, so she repeated her command.

The bright yellow of the weeping willows caught her attention as she started up the path. They, along with the red sugar maples, marked the beginning of the next season when Mother Earth, cloaked in finery, prepared to bed down for the winter to come. This year it would be a welcomed change. To hide away and sleep through the winter appealed to her as much as she figured it appealed to Winnie. Now that was a frightening thought.

She left the forest and crossed the small meadow leading to Town Street. She passed the Horton house on the left, the small cemetery on the right. The meetinghouse loomed tall and foreboding, and she hurried past.

She came up to Abigail's hut and called to her cousin. Her cousin's whisper invited her to enter. Inside it was dark and smoky but she found her near the fire, nursing her babe. Heather Flower lowered herself to the ground beside her.

“
Aquai
, Abigail.” Winnie's firstborn had been named after the Christian woman who raised her. When James and Abigail's little girl was born they picked a native name for her. Misha, or Little Rain, named for the drizzly day she was born, rolled off the English tongue with ease.

“Aye, how are you?” Abigail's voice was quiet.

“I will be good someday, but perhaps not today,” she said simply.

“And my mother?”

“That is why I have come. To talk to you. I worry for your mother. She does not eat. She pines and wastes away. She doesn't let me take care of her.”

“She has spent many years taking care of her children. They
have grown and now her husband is gone. I think she does not know how to let others take care of her.”

“You think she has abandoned this life?”

“No, she is like the willow by the river. It is the season for her branches to be bare, but her roots run deep and wide. She will survive. Her faith is strong.”

“While my uncle was sick, we sat for long hours and she told me many stories of when the English first came to Yennicott. She told me the story of Mary and Patience.”

“Yes, I was fourteen, so I remember it well. She loves them like sisters. Elizabeth too, though she came later.” She put the squirming Misha on her lap, tummy side down, and patted her back. Soon the babe was lulled to sleep.

“Do you think I should take Winnie to visit at the Horton house again? Benjamin wanted me to. She did seem better the day Sarah was born, and for the week until she was baptized. Should I make her leave her hut and visit again?”

“There was illness in Southold, but now all is well. The new schoolteacher had the measles on the first day of school. They had to cancel it, and because the boys and even Barnabas and Benjamin were near him when he was sick, they had to stay at Joseph's house—away from Mary and the babies until they knew they were not sick.”

“I did not hear from Benjamin and I worried.” Perhaps he was not still mad at her.

“You should take my mother to visit. It has been too long since she has come.”

“What do they do at Mary's?”

“They mostly sew, but they talk too. It is their time together. They work on breeches, or shirts, and Elizabeth will teach them new stitches too. Sometimes she makes hats.”

Heather Flower's hand went to her own black hair arranged in a thick braid. A decorated band of soft leather encircled her head. “My mother brought me many headdresses when she came for the funeral. I like this one.” She fingered the beautiful beads and traced the ruffled edge of the single eagle feather that hung downward to the side of her head.

“It is lovely.” Abigail's own headdress was a simple wreath of porcupine quills, the points carefully tucked in and laid flat with a single jingle shell centered over her forehead. “Mary and Elizabeth's father sold his wool and felt to a milliner in London. Elizabeth always liked to sew, and when she settled here, she thought she would make hats. She's very good.”

“Do they have no time for Winnie?”

She stopped rubbing Misha's back and looked up, sable-brown eyes wide. “Oh, no. I didn't mean that. They know she is in sorrow. They wait for her. You should take Mother. I will be at Mary's later today and can tell her you come.”

Heather Flower stood. “
Nuk
. Tell her we come soon.”

Mary watched with Sarah on her shoulder and Hannah clung to her skirt as Heather Flower and Winnie walked up the flagstone path. She welcomed them into the parlor, then led them back to the large, warm kitchen. When Barney first built their house, he built a fine kitchen, much like they had left behind in Mowsley, but over the years he added an addition along the back of the house with its own entrance. It had a full wall of brick hearth with an oven built in to the side. Two long tables were set across the room, one of which was piled with loaves of warm bread, sweet ginger cakes, and tarts brimming with just-picked apples and cherries.

Barnabas was the town baker, but he was involved with the duties of the township, so much of the baking fell to Mary. Lizzie, Patience, and Caleb all helped when Jonathan, Hannah, and Sarah were born.

Heather Flower's stomach rumbled. “Everything smells so good, Mary. Aunt Winnie, does this not make you want to eat?” Hope laced the question.

Winnie's color already looked better and there was a light—a tiny little spark—in her eyes that glimmered when they walked in. “Yes. Mary, you amaze me what you do, even with the little ones.”

Mary smiled and lowered the sleeping babe into a basket padded with blankets. She lifted Hannah into a chair. “Patience and Lizzie have worked all morning with me. Abigail has been here too, to churn the butter and make a corn pudding.”

Lizzie cut a large slice of savory meat pie and set it on one of the red Staffordshire plates she had brought for Mary from England. Tender bites of rabbit, English peas, and chunks of carrot and wild onions in a thick white sauce filled the pastry. She smiled at Winnie and beckoned her to sit while she dished up a plate for her friend.

Patience wiped her face and hands with her apron and stepped away from a pot of steaming clams and mussels. “So very glad to see you. Heather Flower, sit here. I'll put these in a bowl and then I think we are all ready to sit down.” She looked at Mary for confirmation.

“Yes, 'tis time, I think.” She swallowed hard. A lump formed in her throat as she looked at Winnie and the ladies gathered in her home. For a brief moment she thought back to the first ladies she'd ministered to coming on their voyage from England. She'd brought them lemons to freshen the air and sweeten their
breath. How she wished she could have done more. But during those long-ago yesterdays, she needed to be thankful for the lemons, and today thankful for the many blessings God had bestowed on her.

She picked out a crusty loaf of bread and set it on the oak table. She reached out and the women held hands around the table. Their heads bowed, she gave thanks for good food, dear friends, and the many blessings they enjoyed.

After the meal, Mary took Heather Flower around the house and pointed out the original part of the home and what Barney had added since they first began living in it. The tour concluded with a walk in the kitchen garden and the orchard with the rows of English apple trees.

Mary pulled some apples off the cornerstone tree and filled her apron. “I'll send you and Winnie home with these. This tree was this high when Jeremy brought it over from my papa's orchard.” She held her hand down to show Heather Flower, and blinked in hopes that she wouldn't notice her eyes stung with tears.

Heather Flower admired the cellar door that led beneath the house.

“Ben built that. I store most of my root vegetables down there and the fruit too.” She saw something in her friend's face at the mention of his name.

“Where are the men today? Do they come home to eat dinner? Or do you pack them a meal?”

“They are eating with Zeke today. They took the boys, and Rach and Ruthie cooked for them. We had quite a fright with a case of the measles. The teacher Barnabas hired became ill the first day of class. He is well now, but we had to isolate everyone. Even Barney and Ben. But everything is all right. Now they are
finishing up in the fields. Jay and Caleb are helping them. Even Joshua. And Jonathan stayed the day with Ruthie.”

Heather Flower's face fell a bit.

“Did you hope to see Ben?”

“I thought I might. It has been awhile.” She helped Mary carry the fruit and they walked back to the house.

The apples rolled on the table as they set them down. Mary pointed to a basket high on a shelf and Heather Flower stretched to retrieve it for her. They filled it with fruit and some of the leftovers. “He is fond of you, perhaps too fond, if that can be. I think he hurts when he sees you, and I know he wishes to be more than friends with you. Perhaps you could, in God's own time?” A grin flickered on her face at the last part.

“He makes me smile and gives me comfort. I don't know what I can promise for tomorrow. I don't know if I can promise anything. It makes me sad my white brother stays away. But it would make me worse to know he is the sad one. Do you understand my words?” She shook her head slightly as if she didn't believe Mary could.