To Capture Her Heart (15 page)

They all linked hands and Barnabas led them in a prayer.

Benjamin held tightly to Heather Flower's hand. She had not answered him about Van Buren. He said his own prayer that she might come to know how much he loved her. His “amen”
sounded louder than everyone else's and he released her hand quickly. Did he put too much pressure on her? Because if he drove her away, he could not forgive himself.

The discussion turned to the end of the farm year. The big cast-iron soup pot needed to be taken down and scrubbed. A perpetual stew or pottage simmered continuously for the large family, but once a year it came down for a thorough cleaning.

Mary reminded Barnabas that the mattresses needed to be hauled out for re-stuffing before he began preparations for sugaring the maple trees.

Benjamin listened as his mother discussed closing out the accounts for the previous year and doing the inventory like she did every year. His parents made the whole business of living appear easy, but in truth there was hardly a moment when they did not work toward the comforts of their home.

And he was no stranger to the work himself. He and Joseph had worked beside their father since they came to Southold as young lads. Soon there would be a flush of color in the trees and bushes as buds began to open. The seasons would begin afresh, and he hoped Heather Flower would be by his side. But while the farm year was new, the old problems with the Dutch still lingered.

March 7, 1654

Heather Flower sat next to the fire and watched Winnie carve a sumac branch into a spout for collecting
sinzibuckwud
, the maple syrup that flowed from the trees.

Her people had collected the sap since the beginning of time. She knew the art well. It could be done simply by cutting a V into the trunk with a tomahawk and then fitting a sturdy reed into the gash to let the sap run into a birch bucket. But Winnie liked to carve what the English called a
spile
and took pride in fashioning her tools. Most of the winter afternoons had been spent getting ready for the maple drawing season while Heather Flower turned shells into beads and wampum.

Her aunt shaved one end to a point, and on the other end she split the stick in half, removing the top part. She lit a dry twig and carefully burnt the inner core, as the men did in building a canoe, and scraped the ash with a stone. Hollowing out the tapered end was a bit trickier, but she worked diligently until she had bored a hole completely through.

Heather Flower listened as her aunt hummed a song her own mother had taught her and she thought about her youth and how simple it had been. No going back to it though. Time was not like the seasons. Seasons move in a circle. Time only moves forward, as does life.

When would the pain of losing Keme ease? With Benjamin and Dirk both anxious to be by her side, why could she not let them be a comfort to her?

Benjamin was safe and caring and had been there since she was little. He had always treated her with respect and honor. She knew he loved her. He was comfortable, like wrapping a thick blanket about your shoulders and sitting near the fire on a cold March day.

Dirk was in love with her too, but could he really have fallen so quickly for her? He told her he'd never loved before. Did he know what it felt like? Still, he put her safety above his own and he listened to her as she told of her deepest fears, of her deepest longings. Her fears were the nightmares of the past, her longing a dream to live safe and happy, and to share her life with someone, but not lose control of it. She'd never felt more secure or cared for than when she rode with him on Miss Button.

Both men were blessed with rugged good looks. Both were strong and protective of her. But there was no hope for either of them. Not while her heart was bound to Keme.

“Look what you have done.” Her aunt's face was graced with a rare smile.

Heather Flower looked down at a shell she held and found it split in two. She looked up at Winnie and their laugh blended like ripples in a lake. “How forgetful of me.”

“You know, my niece, I think it is time you go back to your mother. To your father. They miss you and it is where you belong.”

Her aunt's face had begun to regain fullness of cheek and a happy crinkle surrounded her eyes. Her voice was stronger than even a few days before. “I can see you getting better every day, Aunt Winnie. I know you are strong and will be fine if I leave. But I do not believe I will be fine. Not there. Not at home.”

“You cannot run from your sadness, my young one. You cannot stay away forever. You must accept what has happened. You must move forward.”

Heather Flower's eyes widened and she rested her fingers on Winnie's arm. “Those were just my thoughts. But I don't know how to move forward. I look at Benjamin and Dirk. I know each would like me to walk with them. I do not know how to decide. I do not know how to choose.”

“Don't choose. Go. Go home. But put away your mourning. Be happy. Live again. You will find love someday. It does not have to be now. Dirk is dangerous for you. The English will never live with the Dutch in peace. It would be like you living with the Narragansett.”

“And Benjamin?”

Winnie turned to the fire and Heather Flower could not see her face. Did she not want her to see? Everyone in the village loved Benjamin, and her aunt did too.

“He would be good for you, this I know. He loves you and would treat you well. But my child, you do not know your own thoughts. You must go home. When Wyancombone visits next, you must leave with him.”

Heather Flower's eyes stung, but she held her head high. “Yes, my aunt. I will do as you say.” How could she go home? It did not seem possible. But Winnie was her elder, and family, and she would do her bidding. It would be another two weeks
before her brother would arrive. Something could happen to change things by then, at least she could hope. But what?

Miss Button picked her way through the icy salt marsh. The days were warming, but nights brought a freeze. Dirk wasn't in a hurry and he leaned back in the saddle. The last time he saw Heather Flower, he'd let her walk away. He wouldn't do that this time.

But he'd pretty much decided if she stayed here in Southold he'd never win her heart. Something needed to change, but the how would need to be left to the Almighty because he couldn't figure it out. Now that was a thought. Depending on the Almighty. He hadn't done that since he was a wee one. He hadn't needed God. He depended on no one but himself. But what was that verse? It kept nagging at him, scratching him under the skin.
Raise up a
child in the Lord and he will not depart from
it?
Something like that.

He entered the woods that surrounded the Indian fort and dappled light scattered from the canopy above. He glanced about, much more aware of what could be concealed in the forest than the open expanse of the marsh.

He came to the glen where he'd last said goodbye to Heather Flower. Across the meadow lay the opening to the trail Heather Flower used to go down to the river. He would wait here until he saw her.

He didn't wait long.

She walked toward the path carrying a birch bucket. She stopped at a bare-limbed maple tree, and he watched a few moments as she pounded a wooden spout into the tree and placed the bucket underneath. After a few long moments sticky
sap started to run. He dropped the reins and walked up to her. “
Hoe gaat het?
How are you?”

She hopped back a step, but her lips betrayed a small smile. “I knew that was Miss Button nickering, Dirk. You do not surprise me if that is what you thought you would do.”

“I couldn't stay away.”

“I wouldn't want you to.” She stepped closer to him.

“It's the season to draw the sap.”

“
Nuk
, yes. I do this for Winnie. There is but a short time we can draw it. Dirk, there is but a short time for us.”

He looked from the sweet syrup dripping now into the bucket to her eyes, so dark and troubled. “What do you mean? Are you all right?”

“My aunt will send me back to Montauk when my brother comes. It will be soon.” She raised her chin as if to challenge his reaction. She would go, that he knew.

An eagle swooped above their heads and both drew in their breath to watch.

“The nest is not far from here,” she said. “They return to the same one every year. They must have eggs by now to watch over.”

“Once the eaglets leave the nest they never go back,
ja
?”

“No, my friend, they do go back that first year. But when they are strong, they leave and never return.”

“Do you think that is what you must do? Return for a while until you're strong and then leave for your new nest?” He tried to swallow, but his throat felt like it was clutching his heart.

Her chin lowered to her chest, and he could see puddles under her closed eyes. He hadn't realized he'd not seen her cry before. How he wished he did not see it now. He grasped her shoulders and drew her into him. His chin touched her soft raven hair and he rested against her.

“I don't mean to make you weep. I don't know what to do, what is best?”

“There is no best. But it is what I must do.” She pushed away and turned from him.

“
Ja
.” No wonder he'd avoided this love thing. It hurt.

With both hands she hoisted the bucket half full with sugary sap. “I want you to meet my aunt and the other people of our village, but I fear for your safety.”

Dirk tethered Miss Button, rubbed her muzzle, and lifted his musket from the saddle. “I've taken care of myself for a long time, Heather Flower. I would be honored to meet your people.” He took the bucket from her and they walked toward the palisade. If Captain Youngs or one of the Hortons showed up, he could be arrested. But the desire to be with her pulled him along.

“Your people do much trade with our brothers on the west side.”

“We've traded for years with the Iroquois Nation,” he said. “They trade further north, their corn for fur pelts. We trade guns for the fur.”

“Our English neighbors do not like our people to have guns.”

“How does that make them your friends then? To have arms means you can defend yourselves from your enemies, the Narragansett. How is that wrong?”

“They say you give our people guns, then fire water, and that is wrong. But they have militia, Dirk. Since the Montauk attack, they have offered to protect us. And they do.”

He shook his head. “What have they done to bring back the women who were captured with you? How did they protect them?”

She stopped at the gate and looked up directly into his face.
Hurt flooded her beautiful opal eyes, but the fire was there too. “Sometimes I feel as sad for their loss as I do for my Keme. I long for them to come home.”

“I know. I share that desire with you.”

He pushed the stick gate open and they brought the sap to the birch bark dwelling where it would be boiled down to sugary crystals. Several women worked over iron cauldrons given in trade by a Southold merchant. Covered sugar buckets lined the walls. At the end of the large room, little girls played with their dolls and twigs, pretending their dollies drew sap. The sugaring season was short, but after the cold winter the community came together in a festive spirit to get the chore done.

Winnie scraped a pot clean and turned for Heather Flower's bucket.

Dirk noticed her irritation at seeing him, but she did not comment—only took the bucket from him with a nod of thank-you.

“I am glad, my niece, you are here for the sugaring. It gives me pleasure.” She lifted the bucket, but Dirk stepped toward her and took over the process of pouring. He held back a grin when she sighed and murmured her gratitude.

“I could stay,” Heather Flower offered. “If you need my help, I would like to stay.”

For a long moment there was silence. Dirk's mind raced back to his earlier thought that it would be better for her to go home, away from Southold, away from Benjamin. He would miss her sorely, but if she had that time to become strong of mind about what she wanted, she might come back to him.

He said “no” at the precise time Winnie said “no.” They looked at each other at the same time too, and he saw Winnie smile.

“Wyancombone will come soon. It is time for you to gather
your things, say your goodbyes. The sugaring is soon finished. You will go home then.”

Heather Flower looked from Winnie to Dirk and back. “I will do your bidding, my aunt, because I know my mother grieves for me. It is time for me to accept the blood of my warrior.”

Dirk set the empty bucket down. He sought Heather Flower's hand as he turned toward Winnie. “I would like to take your niece for a ride on my horse. May I take her away from her duties here? For just a short time?”

Winnie looked at her niece. “You would like to ride?”

“Yes, I would. I won't let us be long. Yes, Dirk?”

“
Ja.
We won't be gone long. I must say my goodbyes.”