To Capture Her Heart (17 page)

She heard footfalls behind her and turned to watch her brother make his way down to the beach. They both sat in silence as the sun sank to the west, casting a silvery glow across the bay. She should be glad to be home, comforted by the familiar and her family. So why did it feel like her heart was somewhere across the bay?

March 30, 1654

Heather Flower sat on the beach, a bearskin blanket wrapped about her shoulders against the brisk March wind, and watched the men prepare their canoes. The northern right whales, done with spawning off the warm southern shores of the Atlantic coast, had begun their annual migration north.

The men of her village were expert fishermen and for generations had paddled out beyond the surf to spear large fish. But the largest was the right whale, given its name from the Basque people of the north because it fed from the ocean surface, swam slowly, and was easy to spear. When it died, the carcass floated.

Occasionally one would beach itself on the shore and die, and the tribe would have a ceremonial feast of the fin and tail, and trade the whalebone and oil to the English. But the whale hunters never waited for the whale to come to them. Their excitement was in the chase.

Wyancombone tossed his bow, arrows, and a harpoon tipped with bone and attached to sinewy ropes into the bottom of his canoe. He was as fine a fisherman as the rest, and he took pride
in his knowledge and skill. When Heather Flower was younger, she had begged her father to let her go on these expeditions, but he said no and she became accustomed to watching them from the beach until they disappeared on the horizon.

She'd heard her brother's stories enough to know they would swarm their canoes around their prey and attack with their weapons until the great fish could struggle no more. The English of Southampton were impressed with the Montauketts' skill and brought in great fishing vessels with offers to the tribe's fishermen to work onboard as crew.

A few of the men had already accepted jobs in return for clothing and sailcloth, and even guns and rum. Benjamin would disapprove of that—the English had their laws regarding the supplying of guns and alcohol to the native people—but the fishing companies were exempt from such laws, so eager were they to hire the expertise of the Montauketts.

The companies sent out two thirty-foot vessels at a time, each reinforced with cedar ribbing and equipped with iron harpoons, four oarsmen, a steersman, and a harpooner. It was dangerous work, even with the protection of the big ships and the additional crew, but not as perilous as hunting in the small canoe. Still, her brother was against working for the white man, even distrusted their motives, and continued to hunt the old way with his own primitive tools. Her father disagreed, though. He said that to have trust was a thing of honor, and that Lion Gardiner was his friend. He said they must learn to work side by side. But he was the first to agree that the commodities the white man had to offer them were things they did not need.

Heather Flower stood up, put her hand above her eyes, and squinted east, into the sun. The canoes were specks where water
met sky. The wind blew sand at her legs and she pulled the blanket tighter before she followed the path toward home. The incessant calling of gulls overhead drew her attention, and she watched a flock as they flew toward Shelter Island.

She came to a curve in the path and skirted a mound of sand leading to a secluded spot that was her favorite retreat. She could sit, out of wind and sun, and listen as others passed by within feet of her without them ever knowing. She pulled her leather pouch out of the neckline of her tunic and emptied out the bone needle, some sinew, and a few beads. She untied her wampum belt and began stitching a row of beads at the end.

As she stabbed the needle through the bead and into the deerskin, she wished her life could be sewn back together so easily. But Keme was not coming back—he could not be stitched back into the pattern of her life. She would sit here and sew until her brother came back.

After killing the whale, they would tow it to the shore, something that could take hours. Once the fins, tail, and mouth bones were removed, the blubber was cut out. It was a long process and one she never stayed to watch. But she always liked to be at the water's edge when Wyancombone's canoe struggled in, dragline taut.

At length she settled back into the sand and fell asleep. She dreamt of Keme and dancing, of flowers and feasting, and for a moment when she woke she thought she heard him calling. But it was her mother's voice that broke through her dream, and she jumped and gathered her needles and pouch before running to the path.

“Quashawam, where were you?” Her face was stricken, though her words were calm, stoic.

“I was beyond the path, Mother. I came as soon as I heard you. Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

Tears sprung to her mother's eyes. “Wyancombone did not return with the men. There are ten missing. They threw their spears into a big whale, but it fought and pulled two canoes over. The water is freezing. Only six men were helped into the other canoes and came home. We don't know what happened to your brother.”

Heather Flower grabbed her mother's hand and pulled her toward the ocean shore. Her father was there, with the exhausted hunting party. He was preparing to leave with his own handpicked rescue party and Heather Flower ran into the surf.

She grabbed her father's hands. “Take me with you, please. I must help you find Wyancombone.”

“No, my daughter. You must stay with your mother. She needs you and you would not be safe out there. I cannot lose my son and my daughter in one day.”

She blinked the sting from her eyes and fell to her knees. “Please. I must go.”

Wyandanch looked from her to her mother. “You must understand. Someday you might need to lead my people. If I am gone, and your brother is gone, it will fall to you to take care of your mother and all of our people. By staying behind, you are strong. Do this for me and your mother.”

She pulled back, her head held high. “Find him, Father. Bring him home.” She waded back to her mother, the icy water biting her ankles. They embraced as they watched the men paddle out to sea. The crowd of villagers gathered round them and together they walked back to the village.

She asked Keme's mother to build up the fire and instructed
an elder brave to put up a smoke signal after she sent their fastest runner to carry the news to Momoweta. She pulled her mother to her near the fire and listened as the medicine man began a chant. The wait began.

All night they clung to each other. At dawn's first light Benjamin arrived with Jack, a young Indian brave who lived on Shelter Island. He was called Jack by the Sylvesters, and Abooksigun by his people, and was a good friend of Wyancombone.

“How did you know?”

Benjamin swung down from Star, but his eyes never left hers. “I saw the smoke signals. I knew something was up. I came through Shelter Island, and Jack said he would come with me. When we came ashore, we talked with some of the boys that were playing along the path. They told us about Wyancombone and your father.”

“There is nothing we can do but wait.”

“No, I think we can do something. I'm going to ride to Southampton to get a whaling ship dispatched to look for them.”

“Benjamin, I feel as lost as my brother. We must bring him back.”

“We'll take a full search party out.” He stepped close and brought her into his arms. “We'll find him.”

He nuzzled the top of her head and she looked up. His mouth lowered to hers and they shared a tender kiss. In that moment she knew if anyone could bring her brother back, it would be Benjamin. He was always there when she needed someone.

“
Nuk
. Thank you, my friend.”

She watched him leave, urging Star to a full gallop, Abooksigun close behind him.

How long could Wyancombone survive in the water? Could someone have found him and picked him up? She had so many
questions. What frightened her most, of course, was she knew the answers to her questions.

Mr. Bennett granted the ship and crew required for a full search. Benjamin and Jack sailed with them, and as the wooden hulk, seeped in whale stench, pitched and slammed against the sea's surface with the impending storm, Benjamin gripped the rough rail. How could he have thought for a minute he might long for the sailor's life?

As the ship lurched one more time and the rain began to pelt, his stomach revolted and Jack grabbed him as he heaved over the side of the ship. More miserable one could not be. Jack pulled him down the hatch and they settled onto a trunk tied to the planks of the lower deck. Benjamin lowered his forehead to his knees and tried to get a grip on his stomach. When he felt in control, he sat up.

Jack handed him a rag and he wiped his face. “Some hero I am.” They both chuckled.

“Your heart and mind are both trying—it is only your stomach that does not know how to follow.”

“You are so right. Has anyone said if they think we are near where Wynacombone and the other men were lost? And has anyone seen Wyandanch?”

“Not yet. I don't think we are anywhere close.”

He closed his eyes and a moan escaped. His stomach clenched and he pressed the rag to his lips, willing his insides to be still. He drew in a breath to clear his head.

The storm picked up and sent waves over the rail, washing everything in their path across the slanted deck. They both stayed below, with Jack coming close to being as sick as he was.

All he could think about was Wyancombone, Wyandanch, and himself all lost at sea, with no one there for Heather Flower. Why had he not stayed with her once he had the ship commissioned? And if Van Buren was as in love with her as he'd like to pretend, where was he? He needed to survive this, for Heather Flower. Please, God, help him survive.

Hours passed with Jack and Benjamin heaving, their clothes waterlogged, and each clung to anything that seemed to be bolted down. Late in the afternoon the wind abated, the sun sent streaks of light between the clouds and the ship bobbed like cork on a placid lake.

Benjamin raised his head and found Jack sitting up rubbing the back of his neck. “I think the worst is over.”

“If we're lucky, everything is over.” Jack clutched his stomach.

Benjamin stood up, his legs feeling like the straw Mary used to stuff Hannah's little poppets. “Let's go find out if anyone knows where we are.” They climbed the ladder to the top deck. A few sails were torn, but the oarsmen were at work righting their course.

He listened as Captain Foster gave them a briefing on their location and the plans for the evening. The captain mentioned food and Benjamin's mouth soured. “I, for one, can forgo a meal, Captain.” He turned to Jack, but as he did, a commotion on the starboard side brought all of them to the rail.

A man with a telescope pointed far out to the west. “I see something. It could be a piece of shipwreck, or even the whale, but we need to go and look.”

All eyes were on the dark spot in the water. Benjamin caught the man's arm. “May I look?”

“Of course.”

He took the scope and trained it on the dot. “I think I see something moving on it. Let's get on with it. Go, men.”

The oarsmen struck their paddles to the water with great strength and the ship plowed through the water with speed. As they came up alongside, they discovered the battered canoe of Wyancombone, who lay in the bottom, a broken arm held close to his side, and one other hunter who had also survived. Benjamin and Jack helped lower men into the canoe, and Heather Flower's brother was quickly lifted into the ship, along with his companion.

“Easy. Be easy with him.” Benjamin helped the men lay him down on the deck. Jack ran below to find dry blankets. Wyancombone was incoherent, but he looked like he would survive with some fresh water and his arm set.

The other man suffered from exposure, but otherwise seemed in one piece. He described the ordeal of wrestling with the whale with the harpoons in its side, but fighting them all the same. When the canoes began to roll, he thought they were all dead. But he'd managed to get back in and pulled Wyancombone in after him. He'd worked for more than an hour trying to save the other two men, but they drowned. He was certain the whale had survived, as a northern right whale would have floated if dead.