To Capture Her Heart (13 page)

November 10, 1653

The scent of fallen leaves spiced the autumn air. Mary put little Sarah in a sling and carried her against her chest as she went bayberry picking. Abbey had the day off and Mary didn't want to wait another day to pick the silver-gray berries. They were plump and ripe—ready to be picked—and she anticipated the scent that would fill their house at Christmastime. She brought a basket with her, and while she sang a childhood song about little lambs and goats to Sarah, she made several trips back and forth to the house until her babe was asleep and her fingers stained and her back ached.

She laid Sarah into her cradle and carried a bucket out to the well. Caleb had hauled water the night before, but with ten baskets of berries, she'd need more. After three trips, she'd filled one of her large cauldrons. She added logs to the fire and gave a nudge with her boot to one that tumbled. She poked it with her fire iron to make it stay. Orange flames licked upward, and while she waited for the water to come to a boil, she spread her berries out across the worn oak table and began to pull the stems off.

This was her favorite time of year. Most of the harvest was done, save some of the pumpkins still on the vines, and the hogs had been slaughtered and preserved for the winter. The labors still to be accomplished before winter's icy grip included soap and candle making. The candles she enjoyed as much as her baking.

The next month all three would keep her busy, but by mid-December the bakeshop would be filled with Barney's crisp little ginger cakes, her fruited cakes, bayberry candles, and bars of soap infused with lavender. She decorated each year with pine boughs and cones and the ladies of the town loved coming to the shop and purchasing her goodies.

It was about as close to celebrating Christmastide as she could come, and it brought back fond memories of the Anglican Christmases she'd enjoyed as a little girl with Lizzie, Mother, and Papa. Even after her mother died and Lizzie got married, her papa had tried hard to keep the traditions a part of their Christmas. Although the colonists to the north of Long Island were firm in not observing holidays, the residents of Southold held less of an ardent view, and certainly Barney had always been more on the indulgent side.

A bell tinkled as Jay and Jane came in.

“I thought I saw you out earlier with your basket and Sarah. Mmm, it smells good in here already.” Jay bent to give her a kiss on her cheek.

“Does it? I hadn't noticed, but I'm glad. You're in time to help me get these to the pot. While they boil, we can set up the candle molds. Sarah will only sleep so long. I have two skimmers so we can skim the wax quickly.”

Jay looked at Jane. “Methinks we are being put to work before we are even bid good morrow.”

Her daughter-in-law grinned. “I'd love to help you, Mother Horton. I love your candles.”

“And you'll have one to take with you for your work.” She patted Jane's shoulder as she handed her a mold. She nudged Jay. “And as for you, good morrow to you,” she teased.

He gave her a hug. “Let's get this done before that demanding little Sarah wakes up.”

“I did not say that. Your sister is not a demanding baby. You were a demanding child, so I know what demanding is.” She hugged him back. How she loved him. He'd been difficult, but she treasured their relationship all the more.

Jane smiled at them. “It will serve him right when he has his own to listen to.”

Mary straightened the last of the molds and handed Jane a skimmer. “Is that soon?” She wished she hadn't asked. Was it not the question she dreaded as a young wife? But Jane seemed to take it in stride.

“Most likely not soon, but one day, Mother Horton. I want to be the first to give you a grandchild.” She beamed.

“My goodness, I'm too young to be a grandmother, don't you agree? I'm still having babies myself.”

Jay scooped bayberries into the boiling water. “You are and we have plenty of time to be the first to make you a grandmother. Benjamin provides no threat, and the other siblings have a long way to go.”

Mary smiled but held back her thoughts about Ben. He might surprise his big brother and be closer to matrimony than Jay knew. Or perhaps she was just too hopeful.

Jay put the wicks spun from milkweed into each mold while she and Jane skimmed the top of the water and dripped the waxy substance into them. He adjusted the wicks each time
they added more. By the time Sarah awoke, the candles were setting outside in the cold and Barney was home.

“You'll stay for supper?”

Jane was quick to accept. “We would love to.”

“Of course, tomorrow I'll be making tallow candles and you're welcome back for that.”

They slaughtered only two sheep a year, and every bit was used. The sheep fat was cut into cubes with hog fat and then rendered. It was a stinky job. No one looked forward to it.

“Is Ben helping?”

Barney took Sarah from Mary. She stirred the pot of stew that simmered in the corner of the hearth. “Yes, he is. And Abbey will be here to watch Sarah and Hannah, so I expect all the boys to help.” She sipped some of the gravy from a wooden spoon, and added some crushed, dried tarragon, stirring again.

Jane took a loaf of bread from the sideboard and began to slice it for their supper. Jay brought out a crock of butter and a loaf of Mary's prized cheese before he went to call in Caleb, Joshua, and Jon. “Where is Benjamin, by the way?” he asked as his brothers filed in and took a seat.

“He's been working over at the tanner's for a couple of days, building a shed for him. We shouldn't wait on him. He could be late.”

They all joined hands and Barney led them in a blessing for their food. As Mary ladled the meal into bowls, he passed them to the table. After everyone was served, they sat and enjoyed their meal.

Jay and Jane were gone when Ben walked in. Barney sat by the fire reading and Mary had settled across from him in her rocker after she'd put the children to bed.

Ben looked tired.

She put her needlework in her lap. “I'm glad you're home.”

“I met up with Johnny on my way home.”

Barney looked up. “What is he up to these days?”

“The usual. He's heading up to Connecticut and wants me to come with him.”

Mary pushed a stray curl from her forehead. “Oh, Ben, no. Don't go.”

He chuckled. “Of course I won't go, but I did talk to him about what he's doing. Sometimes I think there is a thread of sense there. If we are ever going to get the Dutch off the west end of the island, we're going to need the support of a few Connecticut towns.” He sniffed. “Not to change the subject, but it sure smells like Christmas here.”

Mary smiled. “You missed making bayberry candles today, but I pray you are available on the morrow to help with the tallow candles.”

“Ugh. Now I think I'll go with Johnny.” He stood up.

She studied him with a frown.

He gave her the Horton chortle and sounded like his father. “I suppose I'll just make stinky candles. Now, I think I will call it a day. Good night.” He nodded to his father and gave Mary a kiss on the cheek before he headed for his room. She watched him go.

“You cannot protect him forever, you know.” Barnabas's tender tone eased his admonition. “We all go through the fire to some degree. It makes us better people.”

He was right, of course. But Ben was so sweet and vulnerable. She didn't want him to be hurt again. She put him at the top of her prayer list that night. And Heather Flower too.

December 24, 1653

Barnabas hitched Star to the wagon and all of the Horton children piled in, save Sarah. Mary and the newest little Horton stayed in the house, filled with the warm scent of ginger cakes and fruited breads.

It was a snowy day and everyone had their topcoats, neck cloths, and muffs, for the mission to cut the perfect tree could not be deterred by the weather. Each Christmas Eve—except for their first Christmastide in Southold which was devoid of celebration—and with more and more children, they journeyed out to the point on the North Sea. They found the perfect tree to cut and gathered as many boughs as the wagon would hold. The tradition was for Barnabas to drive the wagon back, and Benjamin and Joseph to walk back to the house with the younger ones. This year Jane walked with them and held Hannah's hand.

The forest was draped with thick snow, and Caleb, Joshua, and Jonathan pelted snowballs back and forth as they followed the wagon. Occasionally they lobbed one at Benjamin's back
and he chased after them. At the house Jane took the children in while Barnabas had Benjamin and Joseph help him unhitch Star and haul the tree into the front parlor.

Mary had hot milk and platters of ginger cakes waiting. As the children ate, the men took the boughs and draped them across the mantels and down the center of every table in the house while Mary and Jane lit bayberry candles. Little Sarah's button eyes moved about the room taking in the sights and lights, and she delighted everyone with giggles and coos.

Mary dug through her trunks and pulled out every red ribbon and scrap of red fabric she could find to decorate the boughs. Tomorrow Barnabas would tramp out to the woods again and find her some holly berries.

Barnabas watched his family and a gladness welled from deep within. He led them in his deep baritone, singing “God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.” He finished the evening with a reading from Luke.

On the morrow they would begin gift giving. They would exchange little gifts each day for the twelve days of Christmas, ending on Twelfth Night with their final and best gift. He loved watching Mary help their small children make surprises for their siblings. Most often the gifts were made from sticks or jingle shells or pretty agates.

She made marchpane candy to surprise the youngest children, in special molds Joseph carved for her, and she bought oranges from the ships to stud with cloves for the older ones.

Barnabas's gift to her this year was a cast-iron Dutch oven with legs so that it could stand inside the hearth. He planned to give that to her on Twelfth Night.

Joseph took Jane home and Benjamin put Hannah and Jonathan to bed while Mary tucked Sarah in her cradle. She had
drifted off hours before and slept like an angel in her mother's arms. Barnabas came up the stairs and met Mary at their door. He took her in his arms. “Ah, my sweet. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

She tilted her pretty face up to him, her green eyes wide. “Why no, Mr. Horton. But have I told you lately how much I adore you?”

His laugh escaped before he could think of the sleeping children, and she put her finger to his lips.

January's snow continued and by mid-month a harsh winter storm hit. Benjamin counted two sheep dead and spent most of the day searching for a lost calf. He found it, limp and half frozen, and brought it to the barn. Mary gave him an old quilt and he bundled the little fellow and fed it warm milk through an old glove with a hole punched into a finger.

Mary worried about Patience, and his father sent him out to check on her. He made it there and found her warm and safe. Mary had sent him with loaves of bread and sugar, and after he freed her cellar door from a tall bank of snow and brought up a ham, he headed for home.

He was trudging up the flagstone, almost to the door with the wind blowing sleet full into his face when he heard a cry. Or was it a wolf howl? He stopped, frozen snow pelting his mouth and eyes. The sound carried to him once again on the edge of the wind. It was a woman's cry and not from his house.

With great effort, he turned back around and walked to the road to try to gain perspective on the direction. He heard it again and knew immediately it came from the Tuckers' house. Anna. There was something wrong with Anna.

He tried to run but the force of the wind and sleet made it impossible. He could barely see their house. Finally he found his way to their door and pushed it open. Anna was on the floor, bent over Charles who lay there motionless. She looked up with terror in her huge eyes. “I think he's dying, Benjamin. We need the doctor. Can you go get him?”

He rushed out the door and fought through the storm. He plunged his way toward Dickerson Creek. The doctor had to be there or they wouldn't make it back in time. Thankfully Doc Smith threw open his door as he pounded. He grabbed his bag and followed him back to the Tuckers' through the violent snowstorm.

When they came inside, they found Charles sitting halfway up in his wife's lap. After a thorough examination, Doctor Smith told him his heart was weak and he'd need to take care, limiting his activities. He prescribed a cordial and helped Anna get him into bed. She cried when they left, but the doctor squeezed her hands and reassured her Charles would be fine if he would but take care of himself.

Benjamin feared that was not the whole story, and he worried for Charles in a way he never would have imagined. Anna needed Charles and he prayed for God to watch over the Tuckers that night. He wondered about Heather Flower and Winnie and prayed for their safety in this storm, but they'd been through weather like this before, and as long as they stayed safe in their wigwam they would be fine. But Anna and Charles's troubles were a different kind of storm—one that would not melt or go away.

Barnabas shoveled through five-foot drifts as he cleared a path to the meeting house. As soon as the storm abated, Rev
erend Youngs had called the meeting. Barnabas and William Wells sat up front with the reverend. Joseph and Benjamin sat in the Horton pew as the rest of the men filed in to their own designated seats.

The first order of business was to account for the livestock dead or missing from the storm and the fences to be fixed. Fines would be assessed if repairs were not made, so Barnabas wanted to be sure that the owners were made aware of those that needed tending.

The toll was high from the storm, but mayhap the damage was not as great as that to the heart of Charles Tucker. He would live, but Doctor Smith advised he would not be able to work. There were some in the town who, with that diagnosis, were put in the poorhouse, but John Budd offered assurance his daughter and son-in-law would be taken care of.

Barnabas moved the discussion to the annual spring burning of the woods next to the North Sea, to control the rattlesnakes that infested the area. Every year it seemed to be a problem to keep the fires under control and the loss of trees to that purpose could not continue. A fire brigade to stand guard was appointed.

William Wells brought up his litigation against the Town Fathers for property out at Indian Neck he claimed belonged to him as restitution for oxen that disappeared, which he claimed the Indians took.

John Budd Jr. stood up and asked for permission to speak. Barnabas granted his request and the younger Budd spoke from his heart regarding the treatment of Quakers in their town. He reminded his elders that most of them had fled religious persecution and that to prohibit those who professed to be Quakers the right to buy land or participate in their government seemed to be repeating past sins.

Barnabas nodded. “Young man, I understand your question. But in fact this is how I view the situation. We left because we wanted to worship in the manner we knew to be right in our hearts and minds, without interference or persecution. We sacrificed much to come here and we toiled long and hard to build our church and our town. If there be anyone who would like to profess to worship as we do, we welcome them. But those that come to preach other ways, or to condemn what we preach, we do not want here. The forest to our west is vast. Let them go find their own paradise to build and teach the way they see fit.”

He hit the gavel to the table and gave the nod to move on, but John Budd Sr. cleared his throat. “Now Barnabas, we've been friends a long time. I cannot sit here and listen to you say what you did when I know your heart. We've had many discussions on this.” His thick-lidded eyes were kind as he looked at Barnabas. “I've heard you say we are all God's children. He loves us all.”

“No one believes that more than I do nor has more compassion for those who suffer because of their beliefs. But we are under the rule and jurisdiction of New Haven. A man must be a member of the church before he may be a citizen of our township. The penalty for living here and preaching a different doctrine is severe. That is why I say, the forest is vast if you cannot live here and abide by the laws of our township and doctrines of our church. Go and seek another place to build your town and worship as you desire. I do not wish to see anyone harmed or mistreated. The Friends are continually in my prayers.” Barnabas picked up the papers in front of him and tapped them on the table. The issue would not be resolved tonight. Mayhap not even with his generation.

A discussion ensued about clearing the road down to Dickerson's so the trappers could bring their pelts to the tanner
without getting mired down in the mud as they maneuvered around the stumps and rocks. A work party was assigned for a day in April.

The matter of trade took up the remainder of the meeting. Salt pork and apples had been their most successful exports to the West Indies and they received molasses and sugar in return. With the growing cattle herds, leather was produced to the point that they could begin selling it to old England, and furs were shipped there as well. Flax remained their most important crop as the ladies produced linen that clothed the entire village. Crops of wheat and barley were in abundance and shipped across the North Sea to New England for a pretty price.

Barnabas looked about the meeting hall. The Lord had taught him much the year they founded Southold. All those years he thought he knew what God expected of him, and if he worked hard enough, the Lord would bless him. He'd tried to prove himself worthy and it was the most exhausting thing he'd ever done.

But he learned that it was by God's grace he was blessed, and nothing he did on his own. There were times he wondered if he would have learned that lesson if Ann had not died, that mayhap that journey was necessary. But no matter. He was in the place God intended, spiritually as well as in the world, this he knew. And God had given him Mary to share it with and to share his heart. God was faithful.