The Puritans (American Family Portrait #1)

by Jack Cavanaugh

  Drew took her hands in his. “It’s not that,” he said.

  “Good!” Her eyes lit up and she leaned into him.

  “Jenny! Listen to me. Please!” He held her at a distance.

  She shook free; a pouting lower lip appeared.

  “It can’t be like this,” he explained. “We can’t be like this.”

  He knew he was getting through because she was backing away. Tears welled in her eyes. Her lower lip quivered.

  “Jenny, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re the only friend I have left in the world.”

  “Friend?”

  She shouted the word.

  Drew nodded. “You’re my dearest friend. You trusted me when nobody else would, and I’ll never forget that. I love you as a friend, and I always will. But my heart belongs to Nell.”

  Tears turned to sobs.

  “Jenny—” He reached out to her.

  “Don’t touch me!” She slapped his hand away.

  “Jenny, please understand.”

  She backed away from him like she would a wild bear. Her back hit a tree, and she winced from the impact. She was sobbing uncontrollably now. Her legs began to buckle, and she slid down the trunk of the tree.

  “Jenny. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t know what else to say.”

  He took another step toward her.

  Her eyes flew wide open, and she stretched out her hand like it was a claw. Inching her way back up the tree, she said, “I know exactly what you can say.”

  Drew waited for her to continue.

  “You can say goodbye to your last friend on earth!”

  She bolted from the woods. Drew could hear her sobs all the way across the compound. With the hinge broken on the door it took her several tries to get it open, then several more to close it.

  Chapter 25

  Boston Colony’s town meetings and church services were held under a tree, since there were no buildings large enough to hold everyone. Drew would arrive early, a carryover from Edenford. He would greet people as they arrived. They were polite in their response, but not warm. When it came time for the service to begin, Drew would inevitably be sitting by himself.

  Nell and Jenny made it a point to arrive late. This way Drew was already seated, and they could sit on the opposite side of the congregation. Although David Cooper seemed friendly enough, he never invited Drew to join him and his family, which was just as well. Drew didn’t know if he could keep his mind on the church service if he sat next to James Cooper. It was his impression that it might be difficult to think worshipful thoughts knowing the person sitting next to you wanted to rip you apart. Inevitably, there would be an empty zone surrounding Drew Morgan when the service began.

  Reverend Higginson preached quality sermons. They were well-structured, biblical, and profitable, but they weren’t the sermons of Christopher Matthews. They lacked passion.

  When the church services were over, everyone went his own way. They shook Drew’s hand, smiled their Sunday morning smiles, and walked away. Sunday was the loneliest day of the week for Drew. At least on other days, by sheer necessity, the men were forced to work next to him.

  On the last Sunday of October, Drew Morgan brought a friend with him to church, the Pequot Indian named Sassacus. The presence of the dark, nearly naked visitor threw the congregation into a turmoil. The people of Boston had not yet determined what they thought of the Indians. Most agreed that the Indians needed to hear about God, but that’s what missionaries were for. Taking the Gospel to the Indians was one thing; bringing Indians to church was something else.

  The issue was settled when John Winthrop welcomed Sassacus to God’s church under the tree and invited the Indian and Drew to sit with him. Drew shared his Bible with the Pequot and pointed to the words, even though the Indian couldn’t read.

  The Indian held up the lace cross that was in the Bible, the one that had belonged to Nell. Drew pressed it tenderly against his chest to show the Indian that it was one of his dearest treasures.

  Whenever it was time to pray, Drew would motion for Sassacus to bow his head and close his eyes. Inevitably Drew would peek to see if Sassacus’s eyes were closed. They weren’t. Sassacus would jab him good-naturedly for peeking.

  The Pequot Indian became Drew’s regular Sunday guest, as they attended services and then spent the afternoon together. Drew did his best to explain the Gospel message to the Indian, even though he knew little English. In the process, Drew learned some Algonquin words and phrases.

  “Master Morgan, may I have a moment of your time?”

  It was after working hours, and Drew was laying thatches against his wigwam, one of the last to be built in the settlement. He looked to see who was addressing him. It was John Winthrop.

  “Yes, Governor. What can I do for you?”

  The governor of the colony wore a serious expression. This wasn’t going to be a casual conversation. Drew couldn’t help but wonder about the topic. Did it have to do with Nell and Jenny? Or was he going to be asked not to bring Sassacus to the services anymore?

  “Supplies are low,” the governor said. Drew breathed more easily. It was a serious topic, but not a personal one. “We won’t make it through the winter.”

  It was a pronouncement. Not a guess or an estimate but a statement. People would die for lack of food this winter.

  “What can I do to help?” Drew asked.

  “I need someone to talk to the Pequots, to persuade them to sell us more corn. They’ve already sold us some, but we need more, much more.” Winthrop leaned closer. “You’ve developed a friendship with Sassacus. Do you think he would help us buy more corn from his tribe?”

  “He’s a good friend,” Drew said. “I’ll ask him.”

  Sassacus was more than eager to help. He, Drew, and Winthrop bartered with the Pequot leaders for more corn. The Indians kept only enough to get them through the winter. But still the colonists didn’t have what they needed.

  The governor dispatched Drew by ship to the Narragansett tribe to trade for additional supplies of corn. Drew asked Sassacus to join him, thinking it would be to his advantage, since both tribes spoke Algonquin.

  Sassacus recoiled at the mention of the Narragansetts. Drew didn’t press the point.

  Days later, to the cheers of the colonists, Drew returned with one hundred bushels of corn. They had enough food to survive the winter, provided the Lyon returned as scheduled.

  “Need some help?”

  Marshall Ramsden stood, hands on hips. He watched as Drew lifted the door to his wigwam into place. Mary stood behind her husband.

  She was smiling.

  “I’d welcome your help!”

  The two men fit the door in the frame with wooden hinges.

  “Is the claying done on the chimney?” Marshall asked.

  “Finished yesterday.”

  “What about the canvas? I see you don’t have it on yet.”

  “There isn’t any more.”

  “You didn’t keep enough for yourself?”

  “I gave you mine.”

  Marshall stood opposite Drew and looked at him a long time. A half-smile stretched to one side of his face as he shook his head and rubbed his chin as though Drew was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

  “I was wrong about you,” he said.

  “You were right about me. I played the fool and hurt a lot of good people, like you and Mary. It’s something I’ll always regret.”

  “But you’ve changed.”

  “By the grace of God.”

  “Pity,” Marshall said. “I was kind of fond of the old Drew Morgan.”

  A puzzled expression crossed Drew’s face.

  “But I’ve come to admire and respect the new Drew Morgan. And I’d like to be his friend.”

  “As would I,” Mary added.

  The three of them hugged at the door of Drew’s newly completed house. The first house he ever owned.

  That night they shared a meal and filled in the gaps since their c
arefree days in Colchester.

  Drew learned that the brands on Marshall’s and Mary’s cheeks had opened many doors for them. Although the general populace of England regarded the marks of Laud a disgrace, some Puritans saw them as a badge of honor and courage. One was a wealthy Oxford Puritan who convinced them to come to the New World. He was an old man who was unable to make the journey himself but wanted to have a part in founding a community where God was King. He told the Ramsdens he couldn’t think of a better way to do that than to invest in a young couple. He would provide the funds and supplies, if they would supply the work and the babies.

  “He really said you were to supply babies?” Drew asked with a laugh.

  Marshall nodded with a wide-eyed smile. Mary grinned and blushed.

  “He’s been extremely generous,” Marshall added. “He has agreed to help me set up a printing press as soon as there is a need for one in Boston.”

  “Your own press?”

  A look of boyish excitement on Marshall’s face revealed his delight.

  “Until then,” Mary said, “he wants us to send him descriptions of life in the colony. He’ll print and distribute them throughout England to encourage others to come to the colonies.”

  “I send him my accounts, but they’re really not good.” Marshall said. “I’m a printer, not a writer. And I feel like I’m letting a good man down.”

  Drew glanced heavenward. “Thank You, Lord,” he said.

  Mary and Marshall looked puzzled. “You’re thanking God that Marshall isn’t a writer?”

  Drew nodded. “Yes, because I know exactly where you can find one.”

  “You’re a writer?” Mary asked. “Please say yes; we’re desperate.”

  “No, I’m not. But I know where you can find one. Right here in the colony.”

  Snow didn’t come to the colony until late November, when it arrived with a fury, far more severe than anything the colonists had experienced in England. With the cold weather came sickness and death. Supplies were rationed and began to run low. The Lyon wasn’t expected until December. Drew knew that Governor Winthrop had sent the ship back with a long list of vital supplies, but he had never given it any thought as to who was paying for the supplies. It was in confidence that he learned that Winthrop himself was supporting the colony with his own money. Never once did he hear the governor make the slightest complaint, even when the colonists began to blame him for not doing enough to stem the tide of hunger and disease.

  When the cold weather struck, Nell’s health held steady. Although she had never fully regained her strength, to Drew’s relief she didn’t regress. It was Jenny who concerned him now. Ever since she ran from him in the woods, she had changed. Her expression was always sober, nothing like the pixie flightiness she was known for. Rarely did she smile; rarer still did she laugh.

  “What did you do to my sister?” Nell whispered.

  She stood in the snow with a heavy wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders as Drew worked.

  Drew had stopped by their wigwam to do some repair work. The canvas had slipped in places. It was late afternoon and Jenny was taking a nap.

  “You’re in no condition to be standing out here,” Drew said. “Go back inside.”

  “I’m not going inside until you tell me what you did to her!”

  And you’re stubborn enough to stay out here too, Drew said to himself.

  “All day long she mopes around. And she won’t tell me what happened! Drew, she’s all I have left! What did you do to her?”

  “I told her I didn’t love her.”

  “Of all the inconsiderate things to say!” Nell hissed. “She’s only a child! Why would you say something like that?”

  Drew yanked hard on a rope. The hut shuddered.

  Nell folded her arms and stared at him. She wasn’t going to leave until this was resolved.

  He faced her directly.

  “Jenny was hoping there could be more between us. I have deep feelings for her, and I told her so, but not romantic feelings.”

  “You told an impressionable young girl you have deep feelings for her? And then you tell her you don’t love her?”

  “Am I on trial here?”

  “I just can’t understand how you can be so brilliant one minute and so insensitive the next!”

  “You think I’m brilliant?”

  “No, I think you’re insensitive.”

  “Nell, I didn’t want to hurt her.”

  “For someone who doesn’t want to hurt people, you seem to be quite good at it.”

  Drew swallowed the anger that was rising in his throat. This wasn’t the most pleasant conversation he’d had recently, but at least it was a conversation with Nell.

  Drew measured his words with care.

  “Like I said, I tried not to hurt her. Enlighten me. How should a man tell a woman he doesn’t love her, in a way that won’t hurt her?”

  Nell didn’t have a ready answer for him.

  “That’s only half the problem, though,” he said.

  “Oh? What’s the other half?”

  “Not only is she upset that I don’t love her; she’s also upset because I told her I love you.”

  Nell rolled her eyes. “Why would you tell her that?”

  “Because I do.”

  “Anything that was between us once is gone. It died with my father.”

  “Aren’t we a people who believe in the resurrection of the dead?”

  Nell’s mouth fell open.

  “Drew Morgan! You have the nerve! Is nothing too low for you? You would use God to manipulate me?”

  “Of course not! I pray for you and Jenny every night. My prayers and desires are sincere.”

  “You would spend your time more profitably if you confined your prayers to yourself.”

  “I will decide for what and for whom I will pray, thank you.”

  “And since we’re talking about your unwanted intrusion into our lives—”

  “I thought we were talking about my love for you.”

  Nell let the comment pass.

  “—I’ll have you know we no longer need your help. We are perfectly capable of supporting ourselves.”

  “Doing what?”

  “It just so happens that I have been asked to record our colony experiences for publication in England. Master Ramsden and his wife, Mary, live on the other side of the meeting tree by the forest. He has employed me to write descriptions of colonial life for which I will be paid. Quite handsomely, I would add. So it seems that God has chosen to take care of us poor, helpless Matthews girls without your help.”

  Drew smiled. “Congratulations. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  The Lyon didn’t arrive in December as scheduled. Nor did it come in January. The corn supply was exhausted. The clam banks had been stripped clean. There were no more ground nuts to scavenge. The colonists in Massachusetts Bay prayed that God would extend their meal and oil like He did for the poor widow in the Old Testament. However, they didn’t have a prophet like Elijah; they had only a governor who feared that the Lyon had met disaster on the sea.

  Winthrop sought counsel from the two resident ministers, John Endecott, and other leaders of the colony, including Drew Morgan. Some suggested sending relief expeditions to Plymouth Colony, seeking help; others thought they should approach the Indians again and take by force what they needed, if the Indians wouldn’t barter for it.

  Winthrop listened to all the suggestions and carefully weighed them. His conclusion was to declare a day of fasting for February 6. On that day they would place themselves at God’s mercy as they never had done before.

  On February 4, the governor distributed the last handful of meal in the community barrel to a poor man on the verge of starvation. Parents gave their last bit of food to their children while they went to bed hungry. It looked like by sheer lack of food the day of fasting would begin a day earlier than announced.

  February 5 dawned cold and without promise. As the colonists prepare
d themselves for the worst, the Lyon sailed into harbor, laden with provisions!

  On her way back to England she had come across a dismasted ship. She had towed the crippled ship to port, which accounted for the delay in her return to the colony. The Lyon’s hold was filled with wheat, meal, peas, oatmeal, beef, pork, cheese, butter, suet, and casks of lemon juice for those who suffered from scurvy. Governor Winthrop canceled the day of fasting and instead ordered a day of thanksgiving. Surely, this was a sign from God! He had answered the prayers of His people and provided for their needs, just as He had done for the Israelites in the wilderness!

  It was a day of dancing and hugging and merriment as the colonists celebrated God’s provision. For generations afterward men would sit before the family fires and tell their children of the goodness of God and how He poured out His blessings on the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

  Twenty-six additional colonists from England joined the festivities. Among them was the highly respected minister Roger Williams.

  Drew celebrated as joyously as the rest of the colony, laughing and carrying on, until something happened to cut his celebration short. While all around him people were dancing and singing, Drew saw something that chilled his heart.

  In Boston’s bay a shallop bobbed up and down as it approached shore. It was one of many that day. All the others brought provisions and supplies and renewed life for the people. Not so this shallop. On board this one was the unmistakable profile of death.

  Drew watched with mounting fear as the shallop carrying Eliot Venner touched the shoreline.

  Chapter 26

  The colony’s festive mood stretched into the spring and summer months. As the days grew warmer and the ground dried, a fresh determination and stern resolve permeated the colony. The completion of new building projects added to the sense of anticipation. Each frame structure was a confirmation that a town was being carved out of the wilderness. Families would live in homes, not thatched huts. Businesses would be erected where men could ply the trades that required skill and training.