Crow Hollow

by Michael Wallace

  “We need provisions and guides back to English territory. Go ahead, tell him,” he said when she hesitated, her hopeful expression fading into worry.

  There was some back and forth, and Kepnomotok agreed. What’s more, James said, he didn’t want to be led back to the outskirts of Winton. That was too dangerous. He wanted the Abenaki to take them east, through Verts Monts, to emerge in the English colony of New Hampshire. From there, they could make their way safely to Boston. If the sachem could guarantee that, James would give him the great emblem of the English king. Grudgingly, Kepnomoto agreed, but James could tell he was pressing his advantage almost to the breaking point.

  “And one more thing,” James said. “Return the English girl to her mother. There will be no agreement without the child.”

  Prudence stared at him. “Thank you.”

  “He hasn’t agreed yet. Tell him.”

  As soon as she started to speak the words, Laka’s eyes widened. She made as if to run for the door, but Tictok blocked her way while his father demanded a translation. Laka wouldn’t give it. Instead, one of the other Nipmuk women had to tell him what James had demanded. Kepnomotok grunted his answer.

  “He says no,” Prudence said, her voice trembling. “Oh, James. We can make our own way back if we must. Rescind the request for a guide, and maybe he’ll trade Mary for the ring.”

  “You said strength, remember?”

  “But it isn’t enough. He almost didn’t accept the other demands.”

  “We’ll never cross Verts Monts alone. We need that guide.”

  “He won’t do this,” she said. “You ask too much and offer too little.”

  James handed Prudence the ring and reached into his cloak for his purse. He loosened the drawstrings and poured the gold and silver coins into the palm of his hand. “Twenty pounds. Enough to buy two cows, eight sheep, a pair of horses, five bottles of rum, and several firearms.”

  Prudence licked her lips. “Perhaps in England. Here it will buy a good sight more than that.”

  “Good.”

  “But they cannot use the money. No Indians will enter the colonies, not at the moment. It’s too perilous for them.”

  “There are French trappers in Quebec. They’re not too proud to take English gold, I should imagine.”

  “Ah, yes.” She translated.

  Kepnomotok agreed at once. So quickly, in fact, and with his eyes wide and greedy, that it was obvious he’d have agreed to the exchange for far less than that. But James hadn’t made such a generous offer for the benefit of convincing the sachem.

  He had spent the king’s gold to win the confidence of Prudence Cotton.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Prudence waited, shaking with anticipation and worry as Tictok went for Mary. Laka threw herself to the ground, wailing, while women gathered around her, trying to comfort her. Hapamag held Laka in her arms, keening and rocking back and forth.

  The young woman kept crying, “My daughter, my daughter.” She clutched her baby to her breast, as if terrified that they would take him too.

  Laka didn’t appeal to Kepnomotok, who sat with a stony face, refusing to look at her. Among the Nipmuk, at least, tribe members could and did argue with the judgment of the sachem. Even women had that right. Decision-making often had the contentious nature of a New England town meeting, until finally the sachem made his ruling. Even then, the arguing sometimes continued.

  But the status of an outsider, an impoverished petitioner seeking refuge in the protection of a tribe, was more akin to that of an indentured servant in the colonies. Laka, for all her claims to have become Abenaki, was still more possession than free member of the tribe.

  Instead, Laka begged Prudence. “Do not do this. Do not take my daughter, Puda-katan.”

  Prudence was moved by the woman’s grief. How could she not be? And she understood. Both women had lost husbands, both women had lost young children. Laka’s had been killed, while Prudence’s had been taken from her and given to the young Nipmuk widow. For ten months Laka had cared for the child, and now Mary was being taken away from her.

  “Send her away,” James murmured. “You must tell the chief. Laka cannot be here when your child arrives.”

  “I’m her mother,” Prudence said, stubbornly.

  “Will these people think so? Will Mary?”

  Mary. Yes, of course. That frightened look in her eyes when Prudence had grabbed for her. The attachment went both ways.

  Before she could speak to the sachem, Tictok pulled aside the deerskin and stepped into the wigwam. He held Mary in his hands. The child was crying, frightened. She spotted Laka wailing and reached for her. “Nuken!” Mama.

  Prudence, her heart breaking with such a complex mix of emotions she thought she would swoon, moved to the young Abenaki man before her resolve could give out. Mary screamed and grabbed at Tictok. Prudence pried Mary away.

  Laka wailed harder. Tictok, showing no mercy for his wife or concern for his adopted daughter, snarled something at her. He jabbed her roughly with his foot.

  The Nipmuk women on the ground with Laka snapped at him and pounded his leg with their fists. He withdrew, startled, before the familiar haughty look reasserted itself. James was paying the scene little attention, instead completing the transaction. He handed Kepnomotok his signet ring and his purse, heavy with gold and silver.

  Prudence did not allow herself delusions. This terrible scene was her choice, not his, not the sachem’s, not anyone else’s. Hers.

  You have bought her. You have bought a child from another woman.

  Her heart pounding, Mary screaming in her ear and flailing to get free, the women wailing, Prudence could only flee the wigwam.

  Outside, there was no relief. Dozens of Abenaki stood in tight knots, talking amongst themselves. Their voices hushed as she appeared. Whispers of “Puda-katan, Puda-katan” passed through them like wind shaking the bare branches of the surrounding forest.

  Prudence staggered away, pushing through, yelling at them to let her pass. They did. But once she was past, they all fell in behind her, following, their whispers continuing.

  She ran to the banks of the river. It was the only place she could get where she wouldn’t have to be surrounded on all sides, but from behind came the whispers. “Puda-katan, Puda-katan.”

  If the river had been frozen all the way through the center she would have stumbled across to the snowy woods on the opposite bank, but as it was she was pinned against the river with the crowd of Abenaki at her back, her wailing daughter in her arms. Mary stopped to take in a huge, sobbing breath.

  From beneath the ice came the sound of rocks grinding along the river bottom, the gurgling of water churning through icy fissures and chasms, pushing always to the sea. Mary renewed her screaming.

  “Mary, please. I’m your mother. I love you. I came back for you.”

  She kept talking until her daughter had to stop for another gasp. This time Mary didn’t scream, but gave way to a whimper instead. She stared up at Prudence with huge, tear-filled eyes.

  So blue, like Prudence’s own, but with blond hair like Benjamin’s, and his full lips too. Prudence used her thumb to wipe away tears.

  “Do you understand me? Do you remember English?”

  Mary only stared. She had only just begun to speak in phrases last spring, when she was taken from Prudence’s arms, but of course she had understood everything. And at the time, she had already absorbed more Nipmuk than even Prudence had, in spite of the woman’s greater concentration. But if a child’s mind was wide, quick to swallow any new information, it was also shallow. Memories, even language, it seemed, drained away if abandoned. It was clear that her daughter was struggling to remember, as if she could almost grasp some remembered fragment that remained out of reach.

  “I’m your mother. I always meant to come for you. Please, trust me, you will remember me quickly. We will go together, and I will care for you always.”

  “Where is my mama?” Mary aske
d in Abenaki. Those particular words were almost identical to the Nipmuk, and Prudence had no difficulty understanding.

  Prudence hesitated. She spoke in Nipmuk. “I am right here. I am your mother.”

  Mary also understood and took up her wailing again. The whispers behind grew.

  Prudence ignored them and continued to hold her daughter, trying again in English. Once again, curiosity got the better of the child. She stopped struggling.

  “You are so big. Did you know in two weeks you will be three?” Prudence nodded. “I remember when you were born. The midwife felt my belly and said I was carrying you low, and you were going to be a boy. Your papa was going to name you Harold, after your grandfather. Sir Harold was an English baron, a very important man. But when you came, you surprised everyone. You were a girl.”

  Prudence spit on her thumb and used it to wipe some of the dirt from Mary’s cheeks. “I was happy, I had secretly wanted a daughter. We could have our Harold later. But then you wouldn’t take to nursing. They worried you wouldn’t thrive—sometimes children die when they are wee infants, and everyone told me not to name you. Not for two weeks. Your papa was sick with worry. He wouldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t even sit down.

  “I loved you so much,” she continued. “If you passed away, I didn’t think I could live. I prayed, I prayed so hard. ‘Please, Lord, let this child live. I will teach her to honor thee always. But please, don’t take her away.’ I knew in my heart that God wouldn’t take you from me. And he didn’t.”

  When Prudence stopped, she sensed someone standing right over her shoulder. She turned, expecting to see one of the more bold Abenaki, but it was James. He was watching her with his mouth down-turned and his eyes full of sorrow.

  “I can’t leave her,” she told him, pleading. “Please don’t ask me.”

  “Prudie, no. I would never ask that. She is your daughter. She belongs with you.”

  “Then why are you looking at me like that? James, you must stop, I cannot bear it. Please, I beg you.”

  He took her in his arms, with Mary between them. The child was now still. Very, very still, with barely a sniffle. A long, shuddering sob worked its way up from deep inside Prudence’s bosom.

  “The chief gave away the child,” James said. “He didn’t hesitate. She is ours to take where we will.”

  “They are slaves, the Nipmuk women.” Her voice shook. “Mary was property.”

  “How could it be otherwise? They were strangers in a strange land. It is the way of all mankind.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Where two people live together, only one can rule. French and English, Indian and European, Puritan and Quaker.” He was saying this not to her, but almost as if speaking to himself. He pulled away and studied her face. “We must go. Quickly now, before you lose your will.”

  She found her courage. “I won’t lose my will.”

  A wail sounded from the direction of Kepnomotok’s wigwam. They turned to look. Laka threw herself onto the icy ground, surrounded by other women. Soon, the others had blocked the woman from view. Those standing closer to the English, some no more than an arm’s length away, studied Prudence with sharp gazes.

  She swallowed hard and squeezed Mary to her breast. The child began to cry again.

  “Yes,” she said. “We must leave at once.”

  To Prudence’s dismay, it was Tictok who was chosen to lead them east through Abenaki lands. The young warrior wore a hard expression as he hoisted a leather satchel on a cord, which he tied around his shoulders. He refused to look at James, and when Prudence tried to speak to him, he only grimaced and turned away.

  The Abenaki had fit Prudence with one of the slings women used to carry their young children while they planted corn or plucked caterpillars from their crops. Mary was too big for the sling—normally, a child of three would walk about freely—but they had many miles to travel. She would never be able to walk so far.

  At first it seemed as though Mary would settle into the rhythm of the journey. Her wails subsided as they left the tumult of the village. Prudence spoke to her quietly, telling stories about Mary’s father, about the child’s first year in Winton. Of course Mary wouldn’t remember the way she’d run screaming from an overly aggressive rooster, or the time her father had captured a green frog at the millpond and put the squirming thing in her hand.

  But she did seem to recognize her mother’s voice. And when Prudence sang her the nursery songs that she’d used to soothe her daughter during their captivity, it was as if something was stirring deep in Mary’s mind. Old memories, called forth from dusty corners. After a couple of hours, Mary drifted off to sleep.

  But she woke a short time later, sobbing in Nipmuk for her mother. And she did not mean the woman now carrying her away from the village. It was enough to break Prudence’s heart.

  Be patient. Mary has suffered her own traumas.

  Prudence fell farther and farther behind the two men as they followed a deer path over hills and through meadows. James offered several times to take a turn carrying the child, but Prudence was reluctant to release her daughter for any reason. Eventually, she had no choice. Her aching back and shoulders took great relief from releasing their burden.

  James couldn’t figure out the loops and knots of the child sling, so she helped him fix it in place. Tictok tossed down his satchel, crossed his arms, and watched with a look of sneering disbelief. Men did not carry children. Not Nipmuk men, and apparently not Abenaki, either.

  They didn’t stop for more than a few minutes until evening, when they halted in front of a shallow, rocky cave deep in the hills. The bones of animals and the remains of several fires marked it as a regular way station for travelers.

  Tictok disappeared with his bow and arrows to hunt, while the other two lit a fire and gathered wood. The Abenaki returned shortly after dark, empty-handed and disgruntled. He removed three long pieces of pemmican from his satchel—pounded-down venison mixed with bear fat and chokeberries—and handed Prudence and James their own pieces, while he squatted on the opposite side of the fire. Prudence broke off pieces of pemmican and fed some to Mary, eating the rest herself.

  When the girl finished, she held out her hand. “More.”

  Prudence was explaining that there was no more to give, when she stopped, startled.

  “What’s wrong?” James asked. He’d been staring into the fire but now fixed her with a curious expression.

  “She said ‘more.’ In English.”

  Prudence hugged her daughter, who did not respond, but stared into the darkness.

  When traveling in the winter, the Nipmuk had slept all huddled and shivering together, and she was sure the Abenaki followed the same custom. But Tictok and James wanted nothing to do with each other. The Abenaki wrapped himself in his wolf pelt and curled up next to the fire. James and Prudence lay down wrapped in their cloaks, with Mary between them, their snowshoes serving as pillows of a sort. The girl sniffled and cried, but didn’t pull away when Prudence stroked her cheek and sang to her in a quiet voice. Eventually, she fell asleep.

  James was still shifting on the hard ground, clearing his throat, swallowing, and making other noises, so she knew he wasn’t asleep, but he didn’t say anything to her, either. Neither did he reach out and touch her.

  Prudence ached with loneliness. She held her daughter again, a miracle after so many years, and she had whispered a dozen prayers of gratitude in her heart since leaving the Abenaki village. Yet it was not enough. Why was James so distant? She wanted to reach over her daughter and take his hand, but she was afraid of being rebuffed.

  Perhaps he was thinking of her betrayal, when she’d left a note to send back to Boston, to warn that James was attempting to seize the colonial charters. Or maybe he was regretting the night they’d spent together after fleeing Winton. She had taken a terrible risk in offering herself to him. If he loved her, if he would have her, then surely God would understand.

  But what if she meant nothin
g to him? If he thought of her as a trifle, no more than Lucy Branch and her animal passions? For that matter, how could she be sure he hadn’t slept with Lucy and lied about it?

  Prudence shouldn’t have done it. She had been a maiden on the eve of her marriage to Benjamin, and if she hadn’t been married before, she had little doubt that she would have been able to resist offering herself to James. But those passions, once awakened in marriage, were not so easily stilled by widowhood. Even so, she’d managed to convince herself that he loved her, that he would take her to wife. Otherwise, she’d have never done it.

  What a fool you are, Widow Cotton.

  James had taken what he wanted. Now he would sail back to London, colonial charters in hand, the stolen virtue of his New England conquests a delightful memory.

  Stop, she told herself. You will devour yourself from the inside.

  And then Mary whimpered in her sleep, and Prudence pulled her daughter closer, forgetting any other worries.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  By the time they stopped, late on the second day, James was exhausted, and not solely from hiking through hills and dales for mile after mile. He’d barely slept during the night, afraid to relax his vigil against Tictok, who had led them through the wilderness without once shedding his hostile demeanor.

  The Indian was an enemy, and make no mistake. His father may have compelled him to guide James, Prudence, and her child, but the farther from his own village he was, the less likely that anyone would notice if a mishap befell the two English and he came back with the child. After all, Mary was the adopted daughter of his wife, and therefore his own property.

  This time when they stopped for the evening, Tictok returned victorious from his hunting expedition. He had shot a deer and already had it cleaned and dressed, which surprised James.

  “We don’t want to attract wolves,” Prudence explained. “He left the entrails and pelt in the woods, where ’twould distract them.”

  They cooked huge chunks of sizzling venison on skewers made of birch saplings. It was well after dark before the food was finally done. They ate like ravenous wolves themselves.