by Jenny Bond
Over the course of two days, as they spun wool, washed, sewed and baked, Tabby discovered Polly was not yet nineteen years of age and had, since she married Jeremy Cool five years ago, delivered four children. They ranged in ages from four-year-old Timothy to baby Olive. They had lived all over Maine and Massachusetts, but had settled on a piece of land in the woods beyond Vassalboro last fall, a place Polly called Harper’s Creek. Here Mister Cool had founded the Colony of the Fellowship of Universal Believers.
Sharing goods, labour and coin with three other families, the group believed that all God’s children would be saved regardless of their good deeds or their sins. And, until God saw fit to do just that on Judgement Day, they decided to shun society. Tabby had heard of such factions before now. The Puritans of the Massachusetts Bay Colony had spread far, but the Dutch and Germans had brought with them a different set of beliefs, spurring the confidence of individuals to break loose in search of freedom, religious or otherwise. Tabby understood this yearning – a longing to tread a singular path in the world.
‘Is Mister Cool a minister?’ Tabby questioned as they knitted stockings by the hearth one early afternoon. It had been a warm day and the fire burned low but, as Tabby checked the shadows cast in the room, it would not be long before more wood was needed.
Henry Senior had turned the ground in the garden that morning and the fresh scent of dirt drifted through the window. It was the scent of spring and it brightened Tabby’s spirit. Sarah was resting with the babies in the other room and Henry Senior had gone into Winslow to buy seeds. Tabby had assured Sarah that she would see to the planting of turnips, carrots and cabbages before she departed.
‘I don’t think so,’ the girl replied. ‘Tell the truth, I’ve never asked him.’
The words were offhand.
Perhaps it was her emboldened spirit or merely the fact that the two had grown extremely familiar over the past few days that prompted Tabby’s next query.
‘But you have been married for five years?’
Polly shrugged and offered a nervous smile.
Tabby saw that no answer would be forthcoming this day. She returned Polly’s smile and the women went on knitting.
Sarah and her baby were in good spirits the following morning. After Tabby completed the planting, it was time for her to leave. Henry Senior was to deliver Polly and Olive to Vassalboro. Tabby’s payment – eight skeins of wool – would make a decent blanket or coat come the following winter. Although it wasn’t usual to pay girls such as Hepsy or Polly, as it was the custom to help each other gratis in the Kennebec settlements, Tabby knew Mister Cool expected his wife to return with payment. Polly hovered awkwardly in the background as Henry Senior gave Tabby the wool. She seemed impatient as Tabby examined the strands between her fingernails, ensuring their quality. She could see that all the while, worry was etching lines in Polly’s pale, freckled brow.
Before they departed, Tabby counted out a generous payment from her bag and into Polly’s small, spare hand, a slender white lily. Olive was swaddled in a sling, close to her mother’s breast.
‘This is for you, Polly. Four shillings. You have done very well. It’s almost as much as I receive for delivering a baby.’
Polly stared at the silver in her hand for some time, as though considering its worth. Nearby, Henry Senior was saddling Abram, and Sarah was admiring Tabby’s work in the garden, Henry Junior in her arms.
Finally, Polly whispered, ‘Thank you for this. Mister Cool would surely be cross if I returned empty handed.’
Her face reddened, seemingly embarrassed by her husband’s lack of chivalry. But then she spoke again.
‘But I was hoping you might pay me by another means as well.’
Tabby took Polly by the elbow, drawing her away from the cabin.
‘I don’t understand.’
Polly groaned quietly, gazing gravely at Tabby.
‘Speak freely,’ Tabby encouraged, sensing the girl’s reticence.
‘Well, it’s just that … I can’t remember a time when I haven’t been with child.’
As Polly fingered the coin in her hand, she related a tale that both saddened and angered the listener. Born in the Virginia Colony, Polly was raised on a tobacco farm, just outside Jamestown. When she was fourteen, Mister Cool had stopped at the farm looking for work. Although already in his thirties, he was charming and humorous, and he spun fine stories about the adventures he had in New France while on expedition there. He told Polly that when he returned to the colonies, he embarked on a career as a performer, excelling as a conjurer and exciting audiences with his sleight of hand trickery.
But it was not only his fingers that were fast-moving and nimble. Cool had a dexterous tongue as well and had impressed Polly’s father with talk of his plans and prospects. So taken with him was he that he agreed when Mister Cool asked for Polly’s hand.
‘What was he doing in New France?’ Tabby asked, interested.
‘He claimed he was on expedition, but I doubt it now that I know him. He is a liar, Mistress. His tongue is as twisted as basket of knotted snakes.’
‘Did you love him?’ Tabby asked.
‘I don’t know. I was just a child. Looking back, I don’t think so. He made me happy because he amused me with his high-minded tales. But I was happy anyway. If I had a choice, I would not have married him. But before I knew it, we were handfast and leaving Virginia, my family and my home.’
Polly explained that within weeks, Jeremy Cool’s true nature was evident. He had no prospects and no plans. Travelling as far as the Appalachians in the west and Le Coude in the north, the couple survived through theft and deception. Still formally unwed, Polly had attempted to run away one night when Cool was occupied playing cards with a group of woodsmen, but he had found her in the early morning asleep in a hollow, covered with leaves. She thought she would be safe there. But once discovered, Cool had beaten her so viciously, so uncontrollably that he was forced to take Polly to a healer, who was also a midwife. It was then she was told she was with child.
Tabby could sense herself growing warmer. Polly’s history was not unusual by any means. It was not uncommon for husbands to beat their wives and keep them bound by hard labour and babies. It was neither acceptable nor moral in Tabby’s eyes and, while she wanted to slice the bawbels off the offenders, she knew her role. Although she might appear manly in her leggings, she was undeniably a woman.
Yet she sensed something more about Jeremy Cool. He was a swindler who had cheated Polly’s family of a daughter and cheated Polly of a life. Tabby would bet pound to a penny that he was cheating those families he was living with as well.
‘And so it has been since. We never married but the children tie me to him. I love them but I cannot have anymore … not to him.’
She paused for an instant and lowered her head as though ashamed of the admission.
‘Mister Cool did not want me to come here when Mister Farnham stumbled upon us and asked for help. It was only the mention of coin that swayed him. But I was glad to get away, if only for a few days. My only reluctance to depart was born from the notion that I could not take my other three children with me …’
Tears made the soft grey of her eyes misty.
‘I’ve heard women talking about teas and the like, potions to stop it happening,’ continued Polly, attempting to compose herself. ‘You seem to be a tolerant woman who is not much taken with God, so I was wondering if you might have something that could help me.’
Tabby looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, contemplating all the awfulness contained within such a short life. She nodded. Striding back towards the cabin, she instructed Henry Senior that Polly would be just a few minutes longer. Her black case was waiting for her on the porch. From it she retrieved a small calico pouch. Checking the contents quickly, she halved the amount into a second pouch then retied the string. She rose and turned. Polly was already there behind her.
‘These are wild carrot seeds. Queen Anne’s La
ce is the plant’s other name,’ she said, shaking the pouch then placing it in Polly’s pocket.
‘You eat them like any other seed, but take just one immediately after lying together. They may cause a slight oppression in your stomach so drink a cup of water or ale each time.’
Polly nodded in understanding as she felt for the pouch inside the fabric of her pinafore.
‘Now remember: you have to eat one immediately after. They are not effective otherwise.’ Tabby warned, pointing to the pocket. ‘They harvest best at leaf fall. Now I know where you live, I’ll call on you on my way back to Moosehead and see if we can find a patch near your settlement.’
Polly let out a huge sigh, as though she had been holding her breath since she left her parents in Virginia.