To Capture Her Heart (4 page)

Patience reached out to pat Lizzie's hand. “He has the consumption and that is hard for even us to fight. The Indians don't seem to survive it well at all. And he's older than Winnie, I think. Isn't he, Mary?”

“Yes, he is. It may just be his time. God is the one who knows that. But I hate to lose him too. So sad.”

“We can take her food, and perhaps she would like to come live with one of us. Zeke and I have room, we'd be willing to have her stay with us.”

Mary smiled at her dear sister. “That is good of you, but Heather Flower is here and it sounds like she will be for a time and be able to take care of Winnie. But I do think we should help them both with meals. Heather Flower is mourning too.”

She tapped on the tabletop as she thought, then absently ran her fingertip around the heart scratched into the table with the
J.
For a brief moment she thought about how the table was almost left behind in England. The memento of Jay's initial, scratched when he was just learning his letters, and the heart his mother had drawn around it would have been lost forever.

She drew herself back to the present. “There is something else that troubles me. Heather Flower is home now, but the women who were taken with her are not. I just cannot help but think there is something we could do.”

Both Lizzie and Patience stared at her.

“I don't know what. And I know it grieves Wyandanch. Lion Gardiner surely did his best to bring home Heather Flower and would have brought everyone home if he could have. The natives gave much allegiance to the Dutch until Lion came and offered his protection to Wyandanch. The two became great friends.” She wrinkled her brow. “I don't know what we could do.”

“I don't mean to sound uncaring, but I think it happens much more than we realize with the natives. 'Tis the way of the land here, is it not?” Lizzie's eyes were wide, and she looked from Mary to Patience and back.

“It doesn't sound uncaring.” Mary pushed at the lock on her forehead. “There is some truth there, I suppose, but when I think about what those women are going through, even if they are well cared for, it just maddens me. I want somebody to do something.”

Patience leaned forward. “What does Barnabas say about it?”

“It upsets him. But I haven't asked him what the men of Southold can do about it yet. I wanted to talk to you two first.”

As the three worked on their baskets they talked of different plans, but it only reaffirmed there was likely nothing that could be done. They were curious what Barney and the other men would say.

After they left, and Abbey went home with Misha, Mary confided to Barney her deep concerns, but it was as Lizzie predicted. The men had discussed it, and to send the horse troop out a second time would leave the town vulnerable, whether to the northern tribe or to the Dutch, whose relationship with them was tenuous at best. New Haven had been against the first rescue mission. There would be no second rescue, which would undoubtedly be a bloody confrontation if they tried.

She lay in bed that night in the safety of her home and cried quiet tears for the women who might never see their own beds again.

July 19, 1653

Winheytem lingered for three weeks. Dozing on her pallet, Heather Flower had fallen asleep to the shallow breath of her uncle, taken in sporadic gasps, but woke to silence. Without rising she turned to look at her aunt, who sat rigid next to her still husband. She sprang to their side and put her cheek close to her uncle's mouth and nose. Nothing. Slowly she sank to sit beside Winnie, touching her hand.

Sorrow for her uncle and aunt intensified her own loss, but throughout the day she took care of her younger cousins and tended to her aunt. Winnie sat statue-still by the side of her husband and prayed as her mother had taught her. Her quiet strength touched Heather Flower's heart and she wondered at the power of her God.

“My uncle is gone to the Great Spirit, you no longer need to pray.”

Winnie rocked back and forth. “I pray for his homecoming. I give thanks that he sings with the angels. I pray God gives me comfort.”

Heather Flower moved close to her and touched her aunt's ice-cold hands. Her voice, when it came, was rushed like the wind. “I pray for that too.”

The next day, as the sun came up, six young braves entered the wigwam to carry his body to the burial place, already prepared. Smoke signals sent yesterday morning signified Winheytem was no more. Her father and mother would arrive today from Montauk with her brother, Wyancombone.

Heather Flower shuddered at the thought. Her parents would want to take her back with them. But she pushed the thought away and concentrated on her aunt. “Today you must eat, you must regain strength.” She tucked a mixture of ground corn and water into several corn husks and pushed them into the embers of the central fire. As the little packets cooked, she drew leathery strips of dried venison from a pouch and placed one in Winnie's hand.

It dropped to her lap.

Food was the last thing she thought of in her own grief as well. She understood. But she remembered the day the Dutchman, Dirk, gave her the hard biscuit and a few dried berries. She swallowed without tasting, but how grateful she was for the nourishment. She was grateful for the Dutchman too. She was grateful for life.

Heather Flower bent to fan the fire with a feathered turkey wing. The hot sun already baked the hut, but there was much to do. “Abigail will come with her brothers and sisters. Barnabas and the children are coming, Aunt. Mary will stay in—it is too close to when the baby comes. And my family will soon be here. There will be many to feed. I'm going out to grind corn for samp.”

With no answer, she slipped out the door to gather corn from
the bin and hauled it to the scooped-out tree stump that served as a mortar. She poured handfuls into the bottom of the bowl and ground it with a heavy stick. Sweat and tears stung her cheeks, and she brushed at them with her arm as she worked. Her mother's words came to her: “Busy fingers, busy minds.” She'd tell her mother she was needed here, to care for Aunt Winnie. The Corchaug fort would be a place of safety where she could heal. To go home would be to languish in her sorrow.

Lost in her thoughts, she was barely aware of the creak of wood and wheels as the wagon pulled up. The Great Blacks, each with a star on its forehead, stamped their feet and tossed their heads at the harness to announce their arrival.

The Hortons, dressed in their Sunday clothes, black and somber, out of respect for the passing of Winheytem, waved to her. Caleb was the first to jump down. Heather Flower remembered the year he was born. It was 1640, the year the small group of English, led by Reverend John Youngs, came to Yennicott and changed its name to Southold. They named it after the seaside town of Southwold, England. Barnabas had just finished the house he'd promised Mary.

She knew the story well. The Hortons had been through much persecution in their homeland and God had sent them here in great white-winged canoes and blessed them greatly. Her father accepted them with open arms, as had Uncle Winheytem and Uncle Momoweta, the sachem of the Corchaug people.

Caleb reached up for Jonathan, and Barnabas climbed out after them. Silver among the mahogany of his thick hair gave Barnabas a distinguished look. And indeed, over the years he'd distinguished himself in this town. He worked side by side with the reverend building houses, farming the land, and forming the foundations of Southold's church and government.

Barnabas reached for Hannah. “Here you are, sweetheart.” She was their only daughter after five sons.

With her own babe strapped to her back, Abigail waited for Joshua to jump out and then began to hand down baskets of food to each of the boys. Filling her own arms, she slid down the side. James helped her and gathered the rest of the bundles.

Heather Flower picked up Hannah and turned to Barnabas. “
Aquai
, my friend. It is so good to see you again. And so many new little ones.” She glanced at the wagon again. “Joseph and Benjamin, they will be coming?”

“Benjamin stayed behind to help Joseph with a calf. But they will be here, along with the Budds.”

“Budds?”

“Jane's family. You know them, but you might not remember them.” He walked with her toward the hut. “Winnie, is she all right? Mary wanted to come right away, of course. She was unhappy to be left behind, but it is too dangerous to be out in her condition.”

“Mary's time is soon. My aunt needed time to sit alone. She will welcome you now. She prays to your God and holds on to His strength. Some of that I needed for myself.”

Barnabas stopped and turned toward her. “This must be terrible for you too. Heather Flower, please remember that the God who gives Winnie, Mary, and me comfort is the same God who loves you.”

“I will remember that, my friend.” She said that to appease her aunt's friend. But how could you trust God or man when such terrible things happened? She would not forget the bloody sight of her husband—could she call him husband?—and all the other brave warriors cut down as they celebrated. Celebrated for her.

Before they entered the wigwam, Elizabeth and Ezekiel arrived with their assortment of children and grandchildren. Patience Terry was not far behind. Greetings and food abounded.

Inside, Heather Flower took the towels off the tops of the baskets, revealing a large cured ham and a still-warm roasted turkey. Other baskets held crusty breads, meat pies, corn puddings, and crisp ginger cakes. The smell of beans made savory with onions and sweet with molasses wafted from an iron pot.

Gratitude heaped in her heart. The burden of providing for their many friends would not fall completely on her. In another time, she would have welcomed it and provided with ease, but today she wanted to steal away and let her pain surface. She directed everyone carrying food to the longhouse and awaited the arrival of her parents.

They came with the Corchaug sachem, Momoweta, soon after the first wave of visitors. Everyone hushed as Wyandanch, Grand Sachem of the Montaukett, entered with Heather Flower's mother, Wuchikittaubut, known to all as Wuchi. Momoweta and Wyancombone, followed.

Wyandanch presented Heather Flower with a deep purple and crisp white wampum belt, six fathoms long, in gratitude of her safe return. Her parents were given a seat of honor next to Winnie amidst the bustle of activity, and she sat close to them. “My place is here with my aunt in her time of grief, Mother. I am hoping you understand her need and mine.”

“We grieve for our daughter like my sister grieves for her husband, my child. You will come home with us. I will take care of you.”

Wyandanch cleared his throat and a hush fell across the room.
“Your mother pines for you, my Flower, but I agree with you. Stay. Take care of our Wauwineta. She needs someone like you, and it will make you stronger.”

Wuchi looked at him like he'd gone mad but abided his words. He had spoken. She took a small leather pouch from her neck. Hanging from a leather strap and adorned with tiny colored beads, it held a set of whalebone sewing needles.

Heather Flower's eyes flew open. It was the gift her mother gave her on her wedding day.

“Wyancombone found this by the water the night you were taken. I thought it was all I had left of you from that day. My daughter, wear this and remember you have a mother who waits for you in Montauk.”

“I thought of this each day the Narragansett kept me. I didn't know how I lost it or if they had taken it from me. I only knew it was gone. Thank you, Mother. I will wear it and use it and remember the mother who loves me.”

The arrival of Joseph with his family and Benjamin brought relief to the tension. To Heather Flower it brought escape. As she slipped out the door, Benjamin followed her.

“I was hoping to have the chance to talk to you,” he said. “I was visiting with Mother and she told me you are coping, but I wanted to see for myself. How are you?” His gentle hands held her shoulders at arm's length.

Her face warmed as she met his gaze. His baby blue eyes held something more than concern. There was a pleading in them and she was not ready for this. “Benjamin, my friend, I need to walk.”

“I'll go with you.”

“No, I need to walk alone. You are the truest friend. But I hurt inside and I want to be alone with my hurt.” She pulled
away and he let her go. She didn't look back. His sad face would have been more than she could bear.

Miss Button shook her thick black mane as if to urge Dirk forward, but he held her in. He watched from the little hill as Heather Flower broke from Benjamin and walked toward Downs Creek. Just as he'd suspected. When news had come back from the Isle of Wight that the daughter of Wyandanch did not return to Montauk but had proceeded to Southold, he'd been certain it had something to do with the Horton brothers. The younger one in particular.

He had half a mind to go after Benjamin, but instead he followed his heart. Leaving Miss Button tied to a willow, he found the trail she'd taken. Long, thorny arms of blackberry bushes ripe with fruit grabbed at his ankles and long hanging limbs of hickory lashed at his face as he made his way down the little-used trail.

If she wished not to be found, she'd picked the perfect path, but it was too late for him to worry about intruding. There she sat by the water's edge. She'd heard him long before he'd seen her and her look was none too happy.

“I heard you were here.
Hoe gaat het?
”

She did not respond.

“
Ja
, I see, you are not well. Is it Mr. Horton? If it is, I will talk to him directly.”

Heather Flower stood. Her eyes were damp, a furrow on her brow, and she clutched her thick braid like a rope. “It is not Benjamin. It is no one.” She blinked and he could see a slight tremor of her chin.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“It is not you either. Stay. Sit by me for a moment.”

They both sat in the shade on a large boulder that projected out over the water. He was careful not to sit too close. And he hesitated to say anything. He waited for her.

The
klee-klee-klee
of a sparrow hawk as it swooped in on its prey broke through the silence, and he tried to concentrate instead on the movement of the river below, slow and drifting. But he couldn't brush the thoughts of Benjamin away as easily. He'd been hoping after a time he could come to see Heather Flower, and she would be stronger and healed since the death of her husband. Now he wondered if he should have remained close, to protect her from the likes of Horton.

“I have told you little of the day my husband died.”

His head jerked up, he chose his words carefully. “You don't have to, if it's too painful.”

“It was a very happy day for me. My friends and my nieces surrounded me and we gathered flowers to put on my hair and my dress. My mother decorated my dress with quills and feathers, and the darkest purple shell beads she owned.” Her fingers went to the pouch hanging from her neck. “She gave me this and Keme wore a necklace of bear claws.”

“Keme? Your husband?”

“He would have been my husband.” She looked away.