‘Is he always so contentious?’ said Mercia, as he strode away.
‘No. But where all … this … is concerned, he becomes taken with a harsh spirit.’ She blew deeply out. ‘I suppose he needs it. It drives him to take the risks he does. He probably gets it from his time in England.’
Mercia looked at the palisade gate. ‘England?’
‘I thought that would interest you.’ She smiled. ‘He went all that way to serve in Cromwell’s government, but then the King was restored and he had to return. I think the disappointment is why he behaves so fervently with … our friends. That, and the mundanity of the everyday tasks of government he is charged with in the town. Counting fence posts, placing boundary stones, and the like.’ She shook her head. ‘He is not usually as you saw him today. He is an intelligent man, with little of the pomposity of his father. I would not stand it otherwise.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe he needs a wife.’
Mercia laughed. ‘Well, perhaps when he has calmed a little, we will be able to talk.’
‘I hope so. I am used to his fretting, so it matters not to me.’ She took her arm in her own. ‘But forget that. We have some time to ourselves. Shall I show you my town?’
By next morning Mercia was already quite at home. Clemency invited her and Nathan for breakfast, Nicholas too, and the quartet made a morning of it. That Nicholas was Mercia’s manservant seemed to make no difference to Clemency, for she involved him in her discussions about the town, about America, as much as she involved the others. Come late morning everyone was full on conversation and food; promising to call on Mercia later that afternoon, Clemency bade them farewell so she could set about the errands she had been putting off in consequence of their visit.
While Nathan went to talk with some of the townsfolk – local farming methods, she thought he said – and Nicholas disappeared she knew not where, Mercia kicked off her boots and stretched out in front of the unlit best-room fire, revelling in the lingering smell of woodsmoke that she always enjoyed. After a time she grew restless and she pulled on her cloak to wander the southern way out of town, thinking to investigate the structure she had seen on the hill when they had arrived. As she climbed, the sun lowering in the sky, she thought of Daniel in Hartford, hoping he was well, but confident he would be having a good time.
The structure turned out to be a half-finished fort made of wooden staves planted in the ground. A covered platform above the townward half sheltered a solitary cannon and a mortar besides, the smaller mortar aimed towards the town, while the more useful cannon was pointing at the forest. The open plot had the forlorn air of a halted building site. She sat for a while against the barricade, feeling drowsy in the warm afternoon air from the morning’s feasting. After a time she began to doze in starts, never truly falling asleep but not quite awake either.
Finally she roused herself, or rather an unfamiliar animal did: as large as one of Nathan’s farm dogs, its black and white face made her jump as it peered from atop the cannon, its striped tail swishing against the ironwork. She laughed at her foolishness and walked back down the hill, shaking herself awake with the freshness of early evening. Slinking through the cottage door she heard movement in the best room and smiled as she saw Nathan, knowing the tale of the strange creature would amuse him. But before she could speak he leapt from his chair.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Did you miss me that much?’
‘No. Well, yes – but listen.’ He bit his lip. ‘It is that boy Clemency was treating.’
The distress in his eyes dispelled her good mood. ‘No. Don’t tell me—’
‘I am afraid so. Clemency came to see you just now, to let you know.’ He laid his hands on her shoulders. ‘I am sorry. The boy is dead.’
This time she left by the western gate, venturing along the forest’s edge although the light was fading. Soon she took a narrow path that rose through the trees, until after a short distance the sound of water began to permeate the air, gentle at first and then growing in strength until her destination came into sight: an extended waterfall, tumbling over cascades of worn-away rocks to whirl on stony outcrops below. The faint path climbed further to a clearing at the top, where a silhouetted figure sat alone on a rock, pulling at the long grass growing up around her.
Clemency raised her head as Mercia drew near, forcing a weak smile. Mercia could tell she was deciding whether she wanted company, but in the end she shuffled right, opening up space alongside.
‘Nathan told me where you said you would be.’ Mercia looked at her friend. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘It happens.’ Clemency crumbled the ends of a grassy shoot into nothingness. ‘But it is hard to lose someone you have been treating, especially a child.’
‘You made every effort. You cannot blame yourself.’
‘Perhaps.’ She sighed, the unhappy sound fading into the water’s roar. ‘I do not even know why I went to tell you. All I wanted was to come here, to my favourite place, away from people. I did not want to talk to anyone, but I had promised to visit you, and suddenly that promise seemed very important.’
‘You wanted something to hold onto.’
‘I suppose I did.’ A moment of silence when both women stared at the cascades, captivated by the white movement. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
She sat beside her. ‘Very.’
‘This is why the town is called Meltwater.’ Clemency swivelled to face her. ‘When we arrived, in springtime, the ground at the base of these falls and all along the river was flooded from the thawing snow coming from the hills. The meadows further down, near where the town now lies, were so covered in the meltwater it seemed a natural thing to name the settlement for it. A change from the usual borrowing of English town names, at least. Even John Lavington agreed.’ She looked away. ‘It was one of the children who suggested it, I cannot remember who. We thought it apt that one of our youngest should give our community its name. Hope for the future.’ A tear fell down her cheek. ‘But this is no use. You have come to see New England and I have brought you this.’
‘You have brought me nothing but excitement. Two weeks ago I was fighting for my life. Now I am in a new place, with a new friend.’ She took Clemency’s hand. ‘Thank you.’
Clemency wiped away the tear. ‘It has been a while since I had a real friend.’
‘I said the same to Nathan.’
‘I was already a widow when I moved here. What friends I had I left behind, but I wanted a new start. And I never had children. We tried, but I could not …’ She closed her eyes. ‘You are lucky to have Daniel.’
‘He is my light.’
‘And Nathan?’
‘Yes. And Nathan.’
‘Yet you feel guilty, I think, that your husband would not approve.’
Mercia withdrew her hand, shifting on the rock. ‘Will and Nathan were close friends. It has taken me some time to accept that our own friendship could become different.’ She looked again at the waterfall, at the darkening sky, so large. ‘Perhaps if we had never come to America, nothing would have changed. You see, even in adversity there are surprises.’
Clemency slapped her palms on the rock. ‘You are right. Who knows what will happen? Look at Praise-God, last month a happy child, now with our Lord. And my husband, so strong until a consumption wasted him away. Yes, those of us that still live must live. We owe it to those who do not.’
Mercia reached again for Clemency’s hand. ‘We can return here tomorrow, if you like. It would be wonderful to see it in full daylight.’
‘That would be pleasant.’ She smiled. ‘I feel a little better now. I know I did what I could. Usually Winthrop’s medicines work well, but the poor child must have heard the Lord calling and decided to be with Him.’
The women remained at the waterfall a short while longer, talking about their past, their present, as dusk descended around them, the river flowing over the falls in its eternal struggle with the rocks. Then Clemency rose, leading Mercia down the faint path, and they wal
ked arm in arm to the town.
Not much hungry, Mercia soon retired and slept through the night, leaving yet again unread the hard-going book on alchemy Winthrop had decided to loan her for her stay; sometimes, she thought wryly, she would do well to appear less keen. She woke refreshed, stretching her arms into the sunlight darting through the small window of her room. Washing her face in water Nicholas had brought in last night from the town well, she pulled on her brown dress and hurried a breakfast of cold meats before heading outdoors with Nathan.
Immediately a gathering at the central crossroads caught her eye. A number of the townsfolk were assembling, Clemency among them, her grey bodice enhanced by its diamond- and dot-patterned stitching. Two men stood much taller than the rest, evidently on some sort of platform. As they drew nearer, she saw one was Standfast Edwards, the accusing preacher they had met in Hartford, while the other was an older man she did not recognise, bunched tips of thick white hair visible under his well-worn hat.
‘Mercia, Nathan, good morning.’ Clemency waved them across to her place at the back, seemingly recovered in spirits. ‘I was coming to call on you. But as you are here – I am not sure if you will find this interesting. Renatus and Standfast are about to tell us why each of them should be our next minister.’
‘You choose your own preacher?’ asked Mercia.
Clemency nodded. ‘When a new town is settled it is usually by a congregation following their minister, as happened here, although Lavington always claims we followed him.’ She smiled. ‘But whenever there is a vacancy, the congregation picks who they want as replacement. When there is more than one candidate the people assemble to choose.’
‘And you all participate?’
‘In the hearing, at least.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘But today is merely a start, not the choice. So if you would like to listen to two bores debating the Half-Way Covenant then you are in luck. Otherwise I thought a ride into the forest, perhaps further into the hills.’
Nathan was looking at the two men with interest. ‘Would you mind if we stayed to listen for a while? Just a few minutes.’
‘Of course not,’ said Mercia, not quite as enthusiastic. Clemency shrugged, indicating the proceedings were about to begin.
‘Friends!’ John Lavington had pulled himself onto the platform and was declaiming to the crowd, quite the natural. ‘It was a sorry day when the Lord took Minister Mason, but in every loss there are beginnings. We all know how Renatus and Standfast wish to learn, through prayer and approbation, if it should be they to receive God’s blessing to lead our congregation.’ He paused. ‘The choice is not mine, nor the General Assembly’s, nor the King’s’ – here a jeer from the crowd; Mercia looked around for Thorpe, but did not see him – ‘but it is a duty on us to decide who that man should be.’ He lowered his head. ‘No doubt as they preach, they will have words of instruction from the death of poor Praise-God Davison.’
The crowd gasped multiple intakes of breath: clearly not everyone had heard the news. As one they turned to scan their surroundings, but neither Fearing nor Remembrance were present, and so continuing their sweep, they fixed on Clemency instead. Quickly she lowered her eyes, but the murmuring died down as the elder candidate, Renatus, began to speak.
‘First,’ he said in sombre tones, ‘I ask that you join me in praying for the soul of our beloved son Praise-God. Like too many he was not suffered to live long among we mortal men, but he is blessed to be received into the Lord’s embrace so soon. We grant our child to His love and care, knowing we will see him again when our own time is come.’
Bowing his head, the crowd followed in still and shared quiet, birdsong and the rustling of leaves replacing their whispers. When the prayer was over, he continued:
‘Brothers, sisters. You ask why I should be your shepherd. And ’tis well you ask, for the responsibility is great, not least here in the wilds where George Mason led us to the edge of the civilised world, naught but God’s innocent children in the woods beyond.’ Beside her, Mercia heard Clemency gently scoff. ‘Mark how I said led, friends, for a leader is what we need, to bring the gospel to those innocents, and to ensure our own children are educated in the ways of our Lord.’ He paused. ‘I can be that leader for you.’
‘No matter that those innocents may not want to be converted,’ whispered Clemency.
Renatus, head upright, now studied the crowd with searching eyes. ‘I know there are many of you,’ he pursued, ‘who, like me, are discomfited that not all our children are permitted the cleansing of baptism. Should I receive your blessing, I will strive to bring them that right.’
At this, two reactions divided the crowd: for the most part there was nodding, even cheers, but a minority mingled sharp gasps with passion-filled cries: ‘Not in Connecticut!’ Wondering what it was about baptism that inflamed the people here, Mercia looked around. At the crowd’s edge, she noticed some bystanders giving way to a figure making its way through. As the auburn-haired newcomer pushed deeper in, the people parted in two waves, leaving her way open.
It was Remembrance Davison, the young woman staring straight at Mercia’s group. She stood still for a brief moment, then ran screaming towards them. Mercia stepped back, the force of Remembrance’s onslaught palpable even at a distance, as though the fury evident on her face could push back the cold air itself. Beside her, Clemency swallowed but stood her ground. In an instant Remembrance was upon them, arresting her quivering hand in impossible proximity to Clemency’s throat.
‘You killed him!’ she cried. ‘Little Praise! My little Praise.’
‘I tried—’ began Clemency, but Remembrance was not listening. She reached inside her black dress to draw a small pouch from her pockets. Tearing off the thin cord she took out a large pinch of powder, in one movement rubbing the white residue across Clemency’s cheek.
‘Take back your foul medicine, witch.’ Smearing another pinch onto Clemency’s forehead, she flung the remainder into her face. ‘Take it back to whichever devil told you to poison my brother.’
Clemency stepped back. ‘It was – one of Governor Winthrop’s salves. It has worked before. I do not know why it failed this time.’
‘It was not the governor,’ screamed Remembrance. ‘He knows his art. As you know yours!’ She spat a drooling globule of hate into her face. ‘Witch!’
Angered, Mercia wriggled from Nathan’s loose grasp to stand between them. ‘She was trying to help.’
Remembrance broke from Clemency, looking Mercia up and down. ‘My brother is dead.’ She hissed the words, a deep anger twisting them from her soul. ‘What business is this of yours, stranger?’
‘I grieve for your brother, as any woman would, stranger or friend. But—’
‘How do you know what it is like to lose a brother?’
Personally stung, Mercia recoiled from the words. She looked away and noticed Fearing, Remembrance’s father, now at the fore of the staring crowd, but holding back, not intervening. She swallowed, thinking how to respond, but Nathan laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and inched her aside.
‘Miss Davison.’ He moved to stand in front of Clemency. ‘I know what you must be feeling. I lost a young child once. My daughter. She was only two.’
Slowly, Remembrance turned to him.
‘There was an accident with her nurse. The woman who was meant to be protecting her caused her death.’ His chest rose and fell. ‘I blamed that woman for a long time, God forgive me. I wanted her to suffer for it, to lose her own children in place of my beautiful Anne.’
He rubbed at his right eye. Mercia wanted to reach out to him, but she held back.
‘But then I realised, with help, that all my hate was achieving was my own damnation.’ He glanced at Clemency. ‘I have known this woman only a short time. But I can tell she blames herself when the blame is not hers, and that is suffering enough, for it is the blame I realised I was giving myself and which fed my fruitless anger.’
Remembrance looked into Nathan’s eyes, see
ming to notice him for the first time. A spark of feeling flashed into life in the brown pools; she opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged.
‘Remy, I am sorry,’ said Clemency. ‘I returned as quickly as I could with the medicine. It grieves me so that it was not enough.’
The spark of feeling dissipated. ‘Not enough.’ Remembrance glared behind them. ‘No. Not one of us ever gave him enough.’
Now Fearing stepped forward, laying a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. ‘Come, Remy. Let us not waste time with these people. Come back home.’
Remembrance hesitated, the anger rekindling across her face. Then she shook off her father’s hand and fled through the hushed assembly.
With Remembrance gone, the crowd’s eager attention converged once more on Clemency, unheeding of Renatus as he urged them to understand the young woman’s pain. But Clemency’s face trembled, and she looked at Mercia, shaking her head. Without a word she pivoted on her boot heels and stole away. Mercia pursued, barely able to maintain the distance between them, still some way behind as Clemency pushed open her cottage door. But she followed her inside, sitting with her friend until she no longer shook, and she could hold up her head as before.
Chapter Nine
Standfast had taken the podium by the time they reappeared. The younger candidate clearly held stricter views, pronouncing how baptism should be reserved for the children of the Elect. A murmur broke out as the crowd saw Clemency return, but she fell silently in at the back, and deprived of an object of interest the townsfolk turned back to the platform soon enough.
Amery had now arrived with Nicholas, frowning as he took in Standfast’s speech; Kit was with them too, listening intently. Evidently Nathan had told them of the morning’s events; Amery held up his hand at Clemency in greeting, although Kit merely nodded, barely turning to say farewell when the group departed the crowd.
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