The Blind in Darkness

by Stephen Lewis

  Governor Peters recovered first.

  “Mistress Williams, what means this creature in this costume?”

  “Why only that the outer can accurately manifest the inner.”

  “That creature beguiled and seduced my son,” Worthington said in an explosion of anger. “I did not know its full nature until just now.”

  Thomas(ine)’s face blanched.

  “I must sit,” she said in her soft woman’s voice. Massaquoit aided her to the bench across from Worthington, who continued to glare at her. She looked at him. “I did marry your son,” she said.

  Governor Peters stood.

  “Constables, we must retire for a few minutes. Guard the door .”

  The constables took positions on either side of the door while Magistrate Woolsey and Minister Davis walked to the far corner of the meetinghouse. There, with heads bowed toward each other they conferred. After a few moments, Governor Peters reached out his long arm and beckoned Catherine to join them.

  “You have seen this person’s private parts?”

  “I have.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Both and neither. A male organ that does not function and a female ones that will never have a babe or suckle one.”

  “Wondrous strange,” the governor said.

  “Not so,” Minister Davis responded, his eyes full of the truth of the idea he had just discovered. “This creature, for creature it is, made from God, comes to remind us of God’s shaping hand, for as all learned men agree, a woman is no more than a partially formed man, and lest we forget, this creature’s bizarre nature, standing as it does between both, reminds us of our creator’s intentions.”

  “All learned men, indeed,” Catherine said, “do believe that. Say you, then, that a woman is almost a man, or is it rather a woman is rather more than a man.”

  “Enough,” the governor said. “We need to resolve these issues.” He walked back to his place at the table, followed by Woolsey and Davis. Catherine returned to a place next to Thomas(ine). She noted that Worthington had been in close conference with Osprey.

  “If it please you,” the merchant said, “the lieutenant would like to offer a statement.”

  Osprey rose.

  “After many untoward and uncivil scenes in his house, Master Worthington, to protect the honor of his son, sent that creature, who was then dressed as a man called Thomas away. Nathaniel protested, so Master Worthington permitted Thomas to stay at Isaac Powell’s farm just until he could leave on the next outward bound ship. Which he did not do, and when he did not, I was sent to have a talk with him. Old man Powell, perhaps misunderstanding my mission, strove to block my conversation, saying the lad was his own to do with as he wanted. He came at me with a knife. I defended myself. Then I tried to grab hold of the lad who escaped my grasp and ran. That is how Isaac Powell came to be dead and my button at the scene.”

  “And the rest?” Woolsey demanded.

  Osprey smiled.

  “It would not do anybody any good to know exactly what happened there, I thought, so I made it out to be an Indian attack, which it like enough could have been, seeing as what happened at Westwood. I had seen what savages do to their dead victims when I was in Virginia.”

  Peters looked toward Thomas(ine) who was leaning against Catherine. She pulled off cap and wig and spoke in her man’s voice.

  “What he says is true.”

  “How came my son to be dead?” Worthington demanded. “I care not for the miserable old sodomite of a farmer. We are well rid of him, however his death occurred.”

  “For that you will have to ask him,” Osprey said, pointing to Mapleton. Then he looked toward Massaquoit. “That savage over there knows well enough I was with him when the boy was killed, and that one,” he indicated Thomas, “was in the tent with ‘em. Those two know, if anybody.”

  Thomas got unsteadily to his feet.

  “Nathaniel wanted me to go away when my sister came. He said he could no longer countenance my company. When I told him that I could not leave, that I must stay with my sister, he became angry. We quarreled.” He switched to his woman’s voice and stretched his arm toward Mapleton. “And then, hearing us so, that one came into the tent with his knife drawn. Thomas tried to protect Nathaniel, but could not. I am certain it was that one. Thomas was stabbed. So was poor Nathaniel. That is all I know.”

  “Lies,” screamed Mapleton rising to his feet. The constable pulled the end of the rope, and jerked him back . “When I came into that tent, they was both lying on the ground bleeding, they was. I had no weapon, I stabbed nobody. I only ran for help.”

  “William,” Worthington said, and Wequashcook stepped forward.

  “I was outside the tent so as to be near Nathaniel as his father had asked me to do. I heard loud voices and saw a knife blade slit the tent. I looked in, and I saw that boy with a knife in his hand. It had blood on it. Nathaniel and Thomas, both of them, were on the ground. Then, as he said, he ran out, leaving them to die.”

  Again Mapleton surged to his feet. This time he had the rope wrapped around his hand, and he managed to jerk himself free. He bolted toward the front door. Osprey raised his pistol with a casual gesture, sighted the running boy. Just as Mapleton came abreast of the lieutenant, he turned his startled eyes. The last thing he saw was the flash from the muzzle. The retort echoed through the meetinghouse and Frank Mapleton collapsed.

  Catherine hurried to his side. It took her only a second to see that the bullet had entered his chest above his heart, which no longer beat. There was not much blood, but he was most certainly dead. She rose to her feet, looked to the magistrates and minister behind the table and shook her head.

  Worthington strode to the body and looked down at it.

  “I will see to this one’s burial.” He pointed at Osprey. “Do you have further use for him?”

  Peters, his face ashen, rose to his feet.

  “This is most regrettable,” the governor said. “Keep your man close by you until we reach a determination. We will hold you to his presence, should we desire it.”

  Worthington nodded.

  “Pick up that trash,” he said.

  Osprey lifted the pouch from Mapleton’s waist, shook it to hear the coins jangle, and then motioned to the constable who had been holding the rope. The lieutenant took the feet, the constable the arms, and they walked out. Worthington watched them leave and then turned to Thomas(ine).

  “What intend you to do with that one? I am of the opinion it had a hand in my son’s murder.”

  Governor Peters shook his head.

  “William seems to place the blame on the dead boy. I am content to leave it that way.” He glanced at Woolsey.

  “That is well,” Woolsey said. “For I fear that dead lad took the truth to the grave with him. Your lieutenant is a dangerous man. We cannot prove he willfully killed Isaac, but the farmer is dead. And now we have seen him act with a rash hand.”

  “The boy you are willing to call my son’s murderer was making his escape.”

  “Rash, nonetheless,” Peters said.

  “I will have him on the next ship to Barbados. My plantation there requires a strong hand to control the Africans that I am now importing.”

  “Good riddance to him, then, say I,” Woolsey declared.

  Minister Davis cleared his throat. He looked at Thomas(ine).

  “As for that one, I would have it live among us, dressed as it is, half man, half woman, to show the Lord’s purpose in the Creation, a woman on her way to being a man.”

  “ Perhaps she can be put into service as a woman,” Peters said, “and so dressed.”

  “I think not,” Catherine said. “Is it not for Thomas or Thomasine to decide?”

  Massaquoit strode forward.

  “If you English cannot decide, I can help. He or she will be welcome among my people with my mother Minneseewa on Munnawtawkit.”

  Relief spread over the governor’s face, a smile widened Woolsey’s mouth, wh
ile the minister’s dropped into a frown.

  “Then it is settled,” Governor Peters said.

  Thomasine got up.

  “Do I not have an opinion?” she asked in her sassy woman’s voice.

  “No,” Peters said, “the matter is decided.”

  “I am content, nonetheless,” she replied.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Thomasine sat at the table and spooned the stew Phyllis had ladled onto her trencher. Phyllis still stood, pot in one hand, ladle in the other, but her eyes on Thomasine.

  “I am sorry to stare,” she said, and moved on to her own place at the table. She filled her own trencher and sat down.

  “I am well used to it,” Thomasine said, in her soprano voice, but now edged with a deep sadness. “I have spent much of my life as a woman, some of it as a man. I did love Nathaniel, in my way, but I could not please him. Either as woman or man. And Master Worthington did not want me to live even after his Nathaniel was dead.”

  “Are you certain you want to leave us?” Catherine asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Thomasine said. “I am willing to try to live among the savages.”

  “If you so choose,” Catherine said, permitting a stern tone to her voice, “you must begin to learn not to use that word.”

  Thomasine reddened, the first blush of shame Catherine had seen on her face.

  “I, more than most, should understand that,” she said.

  Edward’s eyes remained fixed on his food.

  “You can look up, you know,” Phyllis said.

  “I can, but I choose not to,” he replied.

  “This morning,” Thomasine said, “Massaquoit will take me to his mother on that island. Then Edward you do not need to fear looking upon me.”

  “That will please me,” Edward said.

  * * * *

  In his wigwam, Massaquoit sat across his fire from Wequashcook. He stirred the pot of samp with a wooden spoon. Ninigret squatted a respectful distance from the two older men.

  “Why?” Massaquoit asked.

  “I said what I knew. Maybe a little more than I knew. Let the English kill each other. I am content with the result. One English boy dead, one English soldier on his way to Barbados. One English merchant who trusts me and will do business with me.”

  “Ah,” Massaquoit said, “I see, but do you know who you are.”

  Wequashcook sucked the samp from his spoon.

  “Very well.”

  * * * *

  Massaquoit stood with the shallop’s steering oar in his hand while Ninigret hoisted its sail. Thomasine, again wearing her scarlet bodice, green hat and green gown, sat in the stern. She had a small pile of men’s clothing at her feet, leather doublet and breeches, and the cloak she had wrapped herself the night she walked from Isaac Powell’s house to the tavern in Newbury Center. The breeze filled the sail, and the shallop crested gentle swells as it headed out of the harbor. Thomasine sat in silence until the vessel was far enough off shore that the retreating figures of Catherine and Phyllis, who had seen them off, had all but disappeared. She stood up, and with great deliberation tossed first the doublet, and then the breeches into the water.

  “Thomas is not coming back,” she said.

  “It is well,” Massaquoit replied.

  “Then you know?” she asked.

  Massaquoit nodded.

  “I listened very hard to what Wequashcook did not tell me.”

  Thomasine sighed.

  “Thomas did not mean to kill my Nathaniel, but . . .”

  She sat back down and forced a bright smile to her face.

  “I will miss my brother,” she said, “but maybe it is better that he is gone.”

  Copyright © 2000 by Stephen Lewis

  Originally published by Berkley Prime Crime; electronically published by Belgrave House in 2004

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.