With palms upward, Drew shrugged.
“What do I do?”
The Indian didn’t respond.
Drew pointed to the stick, to the Indian, and, taking the Indian by the forearm, led him up to the structure.
He seemed to understand. For several minutes the Indian circled the structure Drew had built, examining it. He grabbed the horizontal limbs and shook the structure. Then he walked to a different spot and did it again. A couple of Drew’s ties came undone. The Indian tied them in a different manner and shook the structure again. This time they held. Getting down on his hands and knees, he stuck his head in the stone fireplace and looked up the chimney. He smiled, pulled his head out, and made the sweeping motions.
“The inside,” Drew said. “Something’s wrong with the flue?”
This time it was the Indian who pulled Drew by the forearm. Taking him to the riverbank, they dug some clay, and the Indian showed Drew how to daub it on the inside walls of the chimney. This wasn’t unknown to the colonists, but it wasn’t always done, and especially this thoroughly. The Indian helped Drew cover not only the interior walls, but the top and the exterior of the chimney as well.
The next day the Indian returned to helped Drew complete the job. The day after that, they began attaching the thatches together. Drew was no longer sole entertainer for the men under the meeting tree and the Indians by the woods. Now it was a two man act, Drew and Sassacus.
Drew’s Indian partner was particularly interested in the British insistence on doors for their wigwams. Although the English had patterned their wigwams after the Indians’, there were two distinct European additions—the chimney and the swinging door with wooden hinges. The Indian huts used a hole in the ceiling of their huts to vent the smoke of their fires and a flap as a doorway. Sassacus seemed to take great pride that he had helped construct a chimney that wouldn’t burn the hut down, and he watched carefully as Drew hung the door.
Nell and Jenny’s wigwam had one other feature that was not common to the rest of the huts. One evening Sassacus pointed to the chimney, fluttered his fingers, let them fall on the thatch, then made the familiar upward sweeping motion. Drew understood. Ashes from the fire could rise from the chimney and ignite the thatches. It was a common problem for colonists and Indians alike. One night Drew came up with an answer.
He went to the Arbella, still in harbor, and bargained with Captain Milbourne to purchase the sails that had ripped during the crossing. He covered Nell and Jenny’s hut with used canvas sails. Sassacus was impressed with the material.
Seeing that he was on to something, Drew returned to the ship and purchased more canvas, enough for his hut and for Sassacus. The Indian escorted Drew to the Pequot village, and for two evenings the building team of Morgan and Sassacus entertained a different audience.
The Ramsdens didn’t see him coming.
Working hours were over, but a building team had just finished their wigwam, and they were anxious to move in. Their new accommodations weren’t much, but they were better than sharing a tent with several other families. Besides, it was home and a new start for them. The furthest thing from their minds was the pain and hatred they had known in England … until their unexpected guest arrived. His presence reminded them of everything they wanted to forget.
Marshall and Mary Ramsden had just deposited an armload of possessions in their hut and were coming back out for more when the door swung open and there stood Drew Morgan.
“Welcome to New England,” Drew said.
Marshall stopped, blocking the entrance. Mary almost ran into him from behind.
“Who is it, Marshall?” she asked.
Marshall Ramsden didn’t say anything at first. His face clouded, and the brands on his cheeks turned bright red.
“Marshall?” It was the voice again. “Is something wrong, Marshall?”
Marshall stepped outside, allowing Mary to come face-to-face with their unexpected guest.
“Oh!”
She clearly had not expected it to be Drew. One hand held on to the door latch; the other flew to her chest. Her look of shock gave way to concern as she looked at Drew, her husband, and back to Drew.
“What are you doing here?” Marshall asked.
It wasn’t a friendly question; more like a line drawn in the dirt daring Drew to step over it.
“There is no reason you should believe anything I say,” Drew began.
“At least we agree on something. Now you can leave.” Marshall’s words lashed at Drew like a whip.
Drew took the hit. He deserved it. He looked at Mary to see if she shared her husband’s feelings. Her face was lined with frightened concern over her husband’s anger and what he might do.
“I’ve come to ask you to forgive me.”
There was no response. No softening.
“I was wrong. I hurt a lot of people. And the worst part was that I didn’t even believe in the cause I represented. To put it simply, I wanted recognition and wealth, and so I worked for the people who could give me those things.”
Drew paused for a response. There was none. Marshall’s arms were folded tightly across his chest. A tight jaw indicated he was struggling to control himself. Mary looked at her husband in fear.
“Like I said, there’s no reason you should believe me. But since we last saw each other, I’ve changed—”
“We’ve heard that story before,” Marshall cut him off. “Our trust earned us these cheek adornments.”
There was no use continuing. Not now anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Drew said. With one last glance at Mary, he turned away.
“Drew.” It was Mary’s voice.
“Let him go!” Marshall yelled.
“Don’t you yell at me, Marshall Ramsden!” She’d always did have a feisty spirit. She spoke again to Drew, “You hurt us more than you’re aware,” she said.
Drew turned back.
“These were nothing,” she held a hand up to the brands on her cheeks, “compared to the pain we felt when you silenced the voice of Justin.”
The searing pain of Christopher Matthews’ execution burned inside Drew as she spoke.
“We knew the risks when we printed his pamphlets,” Mary continued. “But we also knew that even if we were caught, someone else would continue the printing. We were merely the distributors. You silenced the voice. During Christopher Matthews’ trial, we prayed for a miracle. At Tower Hill we prayed that God would send someone to rescue him.” Tears came to her eyes. “And we heard about the reception the king gave you. It’s hard for us to understand why God would let a godly man like Christopher Matthews die and let someone like you live.”
Drew shared Mary’s tears.
“I’ve wondered the same thing,” he said. “There is no defense for my actions. I don’t deserve God’s grace. All I can say is that through His grace I have been forgiven.”
“A convenient grace, if you ask me.” Marshall’s anger had not dimmed.
“Not only has God forgiven me, but Christopher Matthews also forgave me.”
“It’s easy to put words into a dead man’s mouth.”
“And I have renounced my former desires. My only desire now is to continue the work of the man I killed. That’s why I’m here. Why else would I be here? There is no wealth. There is no glory. Only wilderness, danger, hardship, and a chance to build a community based on the dictates of God’s Word. As God is my witness, I have pledged my life to the success of this endeavor.”
Drew could do no more. Mary left the doorway and stood beside her husband. There would be no forgiveness today.
As he walked away, he looked over his shoulder twice. They remained in the same position as when he left them. Marshall’s arms were folded, Mary by his side.
Several minutes later, Drew returned to the Ramsdens’ wigwam. They weren’t there. Apparently, they had gone to get another load of their belongings. Drew went to work anyway.
“What are you doing to my house?” Marshall dropp
ed the things he was carrying and ran at Drew.
Drew stretched the last of his canvas over the thatched hut.
“This will protect the thatch from sparks from the chimney,” he said while he worked. “Tomorrow, I’ll finish your chimney. The builders don’t usually clay all the way to the top, nor do they clay the outside. They’re taking unnecessary shortcuts.”
“Stay away from my house!” Marshall shouted.
Mary grabbed her husband’s arm. “What he says makes sense, Marshall!”
“No one else has canvas on their houses!” Marshall yelled.
“Nell and Jenny Matthews do.”
“Matthews?” Mary asked.
“Christopher Matthews’ daughters. They came over on the Arbella.”
The next day Drew finished putting clay on the Ramsdens’ chimney.
Nell walked unassisted from the sick hut to her newly completed house. Actually she shuffled, and by the time she traveled the short distance, she was winded. Still, considering the fact that many people didn’t expect her to live, it was remarkable progress.
“Drew built it!” Jenny held the door open for her older sister, as Drew followed behind, ready to catch Nell if her strength gave out.
Nell steadied herself on the doorjamb, then moved to the crudely cut table and bench. Jenny and Drew patiently waited for her to catch her breath. Nell looked at the skeleton structure of tree limbs visible from the inside, at the rough wood fireplace, at the dirt floor covered with straw, and ran her hand along the top of the primitive table.
“It’s nice,” she said. She began to cry.
Drew wasn’t expecting praise. A thank you would have been nice. He wasn’t prepared for tears either.
“Of course, this is just your winter quarters,” he said. “Come spring and I’ll build you a fine two-story frame house. Anywhere you want. You choose the location and I’ll build it.”
Nell fought back the tears. With a handkerchief she dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose.
“Thank you, but no. I appreciate all you’ve done for us, Master Morgan, especially during my illness. But my strength is returning, and Jenny and I will take care of ourselves from now on.”
“Nell! How can you be so rude to Drew?” Jenny moved to his side.
“Drew, is it?” Nell said. “And when did you become so familiar with Master Morgan? What have the two of you been doing while I’ve been sick?”
“That’s unfair,” Drew said. “Jenny is devoted to you. She’s been by your side constantly. I don’t understand your bitter spirit.”
“Bitter spirit? Why shouldn’t I be bitter? Look around you! Because of you we are in this Godforsaken place, living in an animal shelter. I nearly died while crossing the sea. Who knows if I’ll live through the winter? Dozens of people healthier than I haven’t made it. You’ve killed the only male of our family.”
“Nell, that’s enough.” Jenny moved toward her. “You’re tired. You’ll feel better after you’ve rested.”
“Don’t patronize me! I may be weak physically, but my mind isn’t feeble. Master Morgan said he didn’t understand my attitude. Of course, he doesn’t understand! It wasn’t his father who was betrayed and murdered! It wasn’t his family that was wrenched apart! It wasn’t his life that was ruined!”
“Nell!”
Drew intervened. “Let her continue,” he said. “She’s wanted to say this for a long time.”
“What are we going to do to earn a living?” Nell was weeping openly now. “How many fine folks of New England have a need for lace? There aren’t even any looms on which to make cloth! How are we going to survive?”
“I’ll take care of you,” Drew said. “I promised your father I would.”
“Did you? Did you promise him while his cheeks were being branded or while they were cutting off his ear?”
It was Drew’s turn to get angry.
“That’s enough, Nell! I tried to steer Bishop Laud away from your father. I tried to rescue him after he was arrested. I’ve thrown away everything I’ve ever wanted in life in hope that someday I might be like him. As for this place,” Drew motioned to the hut, “I agree it’s not much. But it’s temporary. I said you’ll have a nice home by this time next year, and I mean it.”
“What do you know about nice homes?” Nell said.
“I’ll tell you what I know,” Drew said through clenched teeth. “In comparison to Morgan Hall, your house in Edenford had all the attraction of this wigwam!”
There was a pounding on the door that made the whole structure shake.
“Nell? Nell? Are you all right in there?”
It was James Cooper.
The door flew open before Nell could answer.
“What are you doing in here?”
“That’s the same question I wanted to ask you in Edenford, when you came downstairs with Nell,” Drew said.
The red giant seized Drew by his shirt and raised his fist.
“James Abel Cooper, let him go!”
Nell’s remaining strength was fading fast. Yelling at James winded her.
“I’ll take care of him for you, Nell.” James began pulling Drew outside.
“No!” Nell’s voice wasn’t loud, but James was familiar with the tone. He stopped and reluctantly let go of Drew.
“Listen to me,” she said. “Both of you get out of my house. Don’t ever come back.”
“Nell, honey,” James whined.
“If I have to, I’ll get up from here and throw you both out!” Nell said.
“Nell Matthews, I’ve waited for you long enough,” James said. “Your father’s dead and you need a man, if you’re going to survive here. I came to tell you it’s time we get married.”
“Not now, James,” Nell said. “Get out.”
James Cooper poked a huge hairy red finger in Nell’s direction.
“I’m serious, Nell. I’m tired of waiting for you. Either we get married soon, or you can forget about me. If I walk out that door, it’s over.”
“That’s all I ask,” Nell said wearily. “I want it to be over. Walk out the door.”
James looked at her dumbfounded. Seeing she was serious, he slammed the door with an open palm. It flew open and banged against the side of the hut, breaking the top wooden hinge.
He stalked out.
“You too,” Nell said to Drew.
“You can’t mean that!” Jenny cried. “I can understand James, but not Drew.”
“I mean it.”
“This is my house too! And Drew can come here whenever he wants!”
“Not while I’m alive.”
The way she looked, that wouldn’t be long. Pale and shaking, she laid her head on the table.
Jenny looked at Drew.
“Wait for me outside,” she said. “I’ll spread out a blanket for her to rest on.”
Drew’s anger was gone. The sight of Nell on the table took it away. She had said some things to hurt him, but she was tired, sick, and frightened. He wished he would have remembered that before he said some of the things he did.
Drew went outside and maneuvered the broken door closed.
“I’m sorry,” Jenny said, as she took Drew by the arm. “Nell didn’t mean the things she said.”
“Yes, she did. But she’s ill and frightened. And she’s right.”
Jenny snuggled up to him. “Let’s walk to the woods.”
It was early October and the leaves were turning. The sun lowered itself onto the horizon, but not before setting the forest ablaze with color. There wasn’t much activity in the settlement other than routine chores—drawing water from the river, borrowing fire from a neighbor if the coals accidentally went out, minor repairs on the wigwams. After several months, the routine of daily life had provided a small measure of security. There were undoubtedly several men sitting under the meeting tree, watching Drew and Jenny walk arm in arm. But then with news in short supply, there was little else to talk about than one another.
“You did a fi
ne job on the wigwam,” Jenny said.
“It really isn’t much,” Drew said. “It’s sort of funny … I’ve always admired my grandfather and wanted to be like him. He built Morgan Hall and I built a wigwam. Hardly something to brag about.”
“Drew Morgan, you stop talking like that! Was your grandfather in danger for his life when he built Morgan Hall? Did he build it for someone else while he slept in a old tent?”
“Well, no.”
“If you had his resources, I daresay you could build a house much more grand than Morgan Hall. And if he had what little resources you have to work with here, I doubt if he could have built anything finer!”
“Kind thoughts. Thank you.”
They were just inside the wooded area when Jenny pulled Drew behind a tree.
“No, Master Morgan,” she said. “Thank you!”
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.
Drew didn’t know what was wrong with him. He loved Jenny, but he loved Nell more. It was wrong for him to bring Jenny here. Wrong for him not to break away from her immediately. But she felt so good pressed against him. She was warm and eager for his embrace. She gasped for air.
“Drew darling, I’ve wanted to thank you like this for days, but there just hasn’t been time when we could get away.”
She came at him again.
“Jenny,” Drew tried to stop her.
She grabbed the back of his head and pulled with all her might. Though he resisted, his mouth smashed against her teeth.
“Jenny, no!” he managed to say, their lips still pressed against each other.
She didn’t listen. Reaching behind his head, he grabbed her hands and freed himself.
“No! This isn’t right!”
In his desire to be firm, he spoke harshly. Jenny stood in front of him with a hurt look on her face.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” she demanded.
“This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
A playful look crossed her face.
“Well, Master Morgan,” she purred, “aren’t you the shy one?” She reached for his shirt and played with the collar. “You surprise me. I didn’t think you would be so prim and proper.”
The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1) Page 40