To Capture Her Heart (18 page)

Benjamin looked up to the darkening sky with mountainous clouds threatening more rain and thunder. He shook his head as he thought of the last storm and how Wyancombone had survived it. But his thoughts trailed to Wyandanch, and he prayed father and son would both live to reunite with Heather Flower.

Somehow the ship limped into port, just ahead of the storm. As soon as everyone was debriefed and a wagon could be secured, Benjamin and Jack hitched up Star and brought the two men home. As they turned the wagon down the road into the village, a crowd gathered. He reined in Star in front of Wyandanch's wigwam and crawled off the wagonboard. When the
Grand Sachem himself appeared, new strength flowed through Benjamin's veins.

“I thought we'd lost you, my friend.” He clapped Wyandanch's back and brought him into a Horton bear hug.

“I am too stubborn for that. I see you have my son.” His words came out in short, raspy syllables. “I have his life to owe to you.”

Heather Flower rushed out of the wigwam with her mother and they ran to the wagon. There was fire in her opal eyes.

“He looks rough, Heather Flower, but with the medicine man's help, he will be all right.”

She came to him and he took her in his arms once more, rocking her. “There, it's all right. Everything is all right.”

Jack returned to his work on Shelter Island, but Benjamin stayed for a few days at the invitation of Wyandanch and kept Wyancombone company while he mended, which didn't take long. Soon Benjamin and Heather Flower joined him for walks to the beach, his arm bound to his side. He loved to tell them the story of fighting the great whale, and his plans for someday finding him again and taking him in the hunt. He called him Scar Fish, and said his name was carved in his side.

Each night after their meal Heather Flower worked with her beads in a corner by the fire while he and Wyancombone traded stories of tracking and hunting. Finally the day came for Benjamin to return to Southold, and Wyandanch presented both him and Wyancombone with wampum belts made by Heather Flower. He explained to them they told the story of both his son's hunt and Benjamin's rescue.

Benjamin fingered the beautiful shell beads. Should he tell them how sick he'd been and what little use he was for the rescue? But Heather Flower looked so happy he couldn't say
anything that would diminish her joy. “I watched you working with the beads. Thank you for this. It will be an honor to wear it.”

“No, Benjamin, the gratitude is mine. And it is an honor to present you with the wampum. You have given us back my brother. My family has known much grief. His loss would be too much to bear.”

He glanced around the wigwam. Wyancombone slept and her parents seemed to busy themselves with their backs turned. He didn't miss their intention of giving the two privacy. He stepped closer and pulled her near. “I didn't do much, really. But I'm thankful he's safe and home.” His voice lowered, almost husky. “It's hard to stay away, Heather Flower. You know that I miss you, don't you?”

“Yes. I am needed here, and I know my mother believes this is where I should be. But my heart is in Southold.”

Her last words were like poetry and his fingers caressed her cheek. “That's all I need to know for now.” His lips sought hers in a brief kiss that promised not to be the last.

He squatted next to Wyancombone's pallet and found his slumber to be a ruse. After jesting with him about eavesdropping, they said their fond goodbyes. He said a more formal farewell to Wyandanch and Wuchi and promised to return as he pulled himself into the saddle and tipped his hat to Heather Flower. He guided Star on the path, but when he came to the point where he could cross to Shelter Island, he decided on a whim to ride around to the fork, and check on the property out at Wading River before riding all the way home. He could stop by Southampton along the way and give his thanks to Captain Foster and Mr. Bennett.

The ride home was long, but uneventful. It gave him much
time to reflect on the last few days. He would not have thought it possible, but Heather Flower seemed closer than ever to him and her family as well. Mary had been right. It did indeed seem that this was where he was meant to be, and Heather Flower seemed to be coming to a place where she might be able to love again.

The Dutchman seemed to have disappeared or at least given up, and that was so much the better. He could go home now and start tending the land. He glanced around as he rode, noticing the young green shoots sprouting in every direction. He saw some wild iris in bloom and breathed deeply the fresh scent of the spring air. Mary always had a list of what needed to go into the garden at each turn of the planting year, so he imagined she'd already started one. He hadn't thought about the apple blossoms and wondered if any had opened yet. He'd have to make a point of looking.

As he rode past the Corchaug fort, he noticed the women working the fields. That meant Mary would have him and Joseph out in the garden soon. She'd learned a lot from Winnie and had quickly passed it on to her boys. But it was true the Corchaug way of farming and the rich, fertile soil of the north fork grew the best corn—the best crops—on the whole island.

He was blessed to live here. This was where he belonged. And he couldn't wait for Heather Flower to join him.

April 4, 1654

Wyandanch watched his daughter wander through the village and sit on the bank of the bay day after day and could not bear it any longer. He instructed one of his braves to take Heather Flower and Wyancombone to visit Grissell Sylvester of Shelter Island. Pogaticut was her uncle and sachem of the island. He still lived there but had sold the land to Grissell's husband and three of his business partners in 1652. Nathaniel Sylvester had a large house built for his young bride before they arrived. She'd loved her home, but found it lonely until she met Heather Flower.

Heather Flower found the home lovely and the exporting business that Nathaniel ran fascinating. He'd been attracted to the island because of its large stands of white oak, and he produced barrels to use in Barbados for shipping sugar. It had made him a wealthy man and his home reflected his status.

Though his and Grissell's sympathies lay with the Quakers of New England, they attended church services at the meetinghouse in Southold. It was known that many Quakers found refuge in their home, but as long as the Sylvesters did not preach
in their town, the Horton and Youngs families tolerated them. Heather Flower was a friend to all.

Wyancombone, annoyed he could not paddle the canoe himself, rode with his sister to the little island, sheltered on two sides by the north and south fork of Long Island, and to the east by Isle of Wight, Lion Gardiner's island home. Heather Flower helped the brave turn the canoe upside down on the bank, and the three walked up to the house.

The center door had two windows to the left of it and two to the right. A second floor had another set of four windows and a porch chamber used for sleeping on hot nights. It was a large house for the young couple and their first child was already on the way.

The large estate required much help, and some of Pogaticut's family lived in the house to care for it and would help with the babe's arrival in August. Black slaves brought from Barbados, and even Africa, worked on the estate and had quarters within the house as well. Heather Flower was not sure how she felt that they were made to move far from their land to work for the white men. But they seemed pleasant and happy and healthy.

While Heather Flower visited with Grissell, her brother helped with whatever chore Abooksigun—Jack to the Sylvesters—was involved with. Occasionally, they were permitted to go fishing and such they did on this day.

Grissell welcomed Heather Flower warmly, and they walked to the back garden to sit and take refreshment.

“It is good to be away from my home. I find it confining and filled with much sadness, yet my parents forbid me to return to Southold.”

“That's terrible. Why do they not let you stay with your aunt? Especially after what happened to Keme?” She ran her hand lightly over her belly, which was barely there.

“They say it is best for me to come home to get on with my life, but I know it is because of a Dutchman who is in love with me. They fear I would run off with him.”

“And would you?” She smiled at her friend.

“A part of me would. But it is Keme's memory that holds me back. And Benjamin too.” She tossed her head. “I don't know what I want.”

“Ah. You are doing the right thing then.” Her blue eyes danced with merriment.

“What am I doing that is right? Everything seems wrong.”

“Oh, no, Heather Flower, you are here with me. We are friends and friends help friends. You made a right choice. Now, I want you to tell me everything about this Dutchman that makes you want to be with him. Is he handsome?”

“Oh, yes. And Dirk has a kind voice that sounds like the ocean in a conch shell. And he is gentle, like he finds me delicate and breakable, and I am not but it is good. He looks into my eyes like I matter to him more than anything here on the earth.”

“Is he smart?”

“He is. He can track like an animal, like my people. He found me in the middle of dense forest. He saved my life. He is an officer in the Dutch militia, and his men look up to him. Even the men who command him look up to him.”

“And Benjamin? Isn't Benjamin as smart and handsome?”

“Yes. And he cares for me so much. My heart is torn.”

The young niece of Pogaticut came out to take their cups and plates, and Grissell thanked her and told her she and her guest would take a walk and explore.

They walked along a row of boxwoods Nathaniel had planted toward the creek. Grissell told her she had brought the cuttings for the plants from England. She breathed deeply before she
posed a question. “Are you in love with either of them? Like you were with Keme?”

Heather Flower's eyes barely fluttered, barely gave away that they stung with salty tears, and in an instant they were dry again. “I do not know.”

Her friend nodded. “It is too soon to know. You must not think of these things for a good long while. When you married Keme, you were fresh and so full of strength and confidence. You rejoiced in your youth and innocence and celebrated each other. When you lost Keme, you lost all of that. It will take time to rebuild, and you will not ever feel the same way toward another what you felt for your first love, but it does not mean you will not love.”

Heather Flower looked at her friend. “You speak like an old woman. How do you know these things?”

“I don't know. My mother always said I had ideas beyond my years. Perhaps I think like an old woman.” She laughed and the breeze carried it away.

They found themselves where the creek emptied into the bay, facing the north fork. “You didn't know Keme. He wanted to be a warrior from the time he was little. We would run through the woods, and when we tired, we would lay down in the sand by the bay. He would tell me stories he saw in the clouds as they drifted by. There were always rabbits and elk and great hunters in the story. And he would say, ‘Oh, look there! A great warrior and who's that? A girl? Ah, yes, I think he wants to marry her.' He would look over and smile at me and say, ‘Look! Is that you I see in the cloud?' And I would giggle and get up and run and he would chase me all the way home.”

“Was he mad he couldn't catch you?”

“Oh, no. He could have caught me if he wanted to. But when he
grew up, his story came true. He was a great warrior and the Narragansett hated him for that. My father and Keme were the aim of their attack. I was only the means to make them suffer more.”

“Heather Flower, you must not blame yourself. Stay with us for a while. We have plenty of room and I crave your company. You would be between the two worlds that trouble you so much right now. You would see Benjamin when we journey to church on Sundays—but you would not need to talk to him. Unless you wanted to. But it will give you the time you need.”

She watched the choppy waves as the breeze picked up across the water and pictured herself once again forced to lie in the bottom of Ninigret's canoe. Helpless. She felt helpless now, and Grissell's invitation tempting. She wasn't sure if her parents would agree, but she would plead with them if need be.

“I do not want the power of what Ninigret did to me to keep its hold. I want to be free again. I will come to you after a moon. I must sit at my parents' feet and give them my respect. Then I must tell them it is time for me to stand again.”

Grissell looked surprised at her decision, but it was the right one.

They walked back up to the house and Grissell took her up to her room and showed her pretty frocks that Nathaniel brought back from his travels for her. She insisted she had too many and that her husband would have more for her when he returned from his trip to France. She asked her to pick one. Her buckskin dresses and leggings were so much more comfortable than the stiff fabrics of the colorful dresses, but still it was fun to try them on, and she picked a lovely purple gown to take home.

“It bothers me I have nothing to give you, my friend.”

“You have given me the gift of your visit. The gift of yourself. You do not know how I long for company.”

“But I hear you have many visitors.”

“Oh, yes, we do—but not women my age. Not women who talk with me about handsome, charming men and love lost and found.” Her giggle was infectious and both laughed at what they knew they enjoyed talking about the most. “I love a good romance, even if I'm advising against it.” They were lost in laughter again and it felt good.

Wyancombone and Abooksigun returned with a large catch of cod, and they cleaned the fish and fried it in a cast-iron pan over the fire. Grissell had a cook, but when Nathaniel was gone, she sometimes enjoyed preparing meals herself. She'd become quite proficient in the kitchen when she'd lived with her sister and brother-in-law, the Coddingtons.

The meal was delicious. “That was good fish, Grissell. Thank you. And thank you for the dress. We should go now, before the sun sets.”

As they walked down the path to the canoe, the wind picked up in earnest, and fat, cold drops of rain pummeled them.

“You cannot go in this weather. Come, stay with me tonight. We shall sit by the fire and tell stories. It will be such fun and you will stay safe. Your parents would not want you to cross the water now.”

They hurried through the storm back to the house and huddled by the fire to dry. Wyancombone stretched out on a pallet across the room, but Grissell loved telling scary stories, and Heather Flower stayed up listening until they were both too frightened to sleep. Her friend settled into telling her the story of her life and how she grew up in England and, at age fifteen, came across the pond to Rhode Island as the ward of her brother-in-law. She soon met Nathaniel and they wed.

With thoughts of flowers, sweet cakes, and promises of true
love swirling, she curled onto a bolster and pulled the quilt Grissell had given her about her shoulders. As the embers glowed, she fell asleep. But her dreams were not of flower girls or feasts, but of war and terror.

In the morning, with the sun shining, Heather Flower and Wyancombone paddled home. She'd said her goodbyes to Grissell with sadness. Washing in the pretty floral basin that morning, she'd known she would not be back to stay. They were worlds apart, and even Grissell could not change her life. She must face her fears in her own world. Alone.

Dirk lifted the saddle over Miss Button's withers and settled it on her back. She looked around at him and nuzzled his elbow. “It's all right, girl. This will be an easy trip. Long, but easy. Just some mapmaker that needs escorting and showing around.” He tied his musket and knapsack to the saddle and patted her flank.

The horse outfitted for the mapmaker, a tall, white gelding with a few years on him, stood patiently waiting. He'd picked Cotton for this trip because he knew Nicholas Visscher was not much of a horseman. He lifted the saddle to his broad back. “There, steady now, old boy.”

He adjusted the cinch and picked up the knapsack and tied it to the back of the saddle. The army treated their mapmakers like royalty, so he figured he'd be doing most of the physical work on this trip. But he had to admit he admired Visscher. He came from a long line of Dutch mapmakers, and his work was worthy of masterpiece status.

Visscher walked out with the governor and tied two long cylinders to the pommel of his saddle.

Dirk stretched out his hand. “Hallo. I'm Lieutenant Dirk Van Buren, and I'll be your guide, Mr. Visscher.”

“Hallo to you. It's Nicholas, and thank you very much. I appreciate you giving time to assist me.”

Dirk nodded toward the governor. “I do as I'm requested, with pleasure.”

After a farewell that bordered on ceremony, the two departed with a salute. Not much was said during the first four hours of the ride, and Dirk had plenty of time to think about what he'd like to accomplish on this journey. He didn't need maps to travel, but he respected the men who could put on paper what he could see and feel instinctively. And he looked forward to observing Nicholas at work.

The journey was almost identical to the rescue trip for Heather Flower, and he found his mind preoccupied with thoughts of her, so when his charge finally broke the silence, he was almost grateful.