“Good!”
“No, it would be divisive. It wouldn’t do at all.”
“Then what? Where will you go?”
“I’m not sure. God is not finished with me, I’m sure. I may become a teacher at a college. Write some books, perhaps.”
He was so calm that Adam marveled, but he was still angry enough to say, “I despise those cowards who fought against you!”
“You mustn’t say that, Adam! Jesus said, ‘If you have aught against any, the Father will not forgive you.’ ”
Adam said no more to Edwards, but as he left, Mary was waiting for him. She took him off to the small parlor, and he told her of his anger. He did not notice that she was saying nothing, nor did he see that she was nervously twisting her handkerchief into a rag.
Finally he ran down, and started to rise, saying, “Well, it will come out all right somehow.”
“Adam . . .!”
There was such a strain in her face that he sat back down, thinking that she wanted to talk more about her family’s disaster. She sat there, looking very small in the large chair. Finally she bit her lip and said, “Adam—I’ve got something to tell you.”
He stared at her, noting that she looked more miserable than he’d ever seen her. Suddenly he knew.
“It’s Timothy, isn’t it, Mary? You wouldn’t look so miserable if I were the one.”
“Oh, Adam!” she cried out, throwing herself at him and clinging to him as she had done when she was ten years old. Sobs racked her body, until finally she had no more tears. Drawing back she mopped at her eyes, then said pitifully, “How could I do this to you? I’ve loved you all my life!”
Adam felt nothing, but he knew the pain and loneliness would come later. He was not in the least angry, and discovered to his surprise that he had known all along it would be this way. He patted her shoulder, saying, “You must never grieve about this, Mary. It wouldn’t be fair to Timothy.”
That set her off again, but he said firmly, “Come now, I want to see you smile. I may have lost a wife, but I’ve still got a friend, haven’t I?”
She could not stop crying, so he left. He was so much in shock that he got a mile down the road before he realized that he’d forgotten his horse. Going back, he mounted and went straight to Judge Dwight’s house. There was a determination to finish the matter as much as possible, so he was glad to find Timothy at home.
There was a look of alarm on the big man’s face as he opened the door, but Adam said, “I haven’t got a gun, Timothy. I just came to wish you well.”
Dwight stood there, his vast body filling the room, a sad look on his good-natured face. He looked at Adam, and a heaviness filled his voice as he said, “I wish it hadn’t come to this, Adam.”
Adam mustered up a grin, and put his hand out. It was swallowed by Dwight’s huge fist. “You’re the one for her, Timothy. I just told her I couldn’t afford to lose a friend like her—and that goes for you, too. All right?”
“Adam—I guess you know . . .” He tried to put his feelings in words, and finally said, “Looks like the world is breaking up for you. I know you’re taking it hard about losing your place—and it hurts about Brother Edwards—and now this.”
“It’s been a bad month, Timothy,” Adam agreed. “Guess I feel like the folks inside Jericho when the walls started falling down.”
Timothy Dwight stared at him, started to say something, then seemed to change his mind. “I started to give you some good advice, maybe quote some scripture. But that’s apt to get on a man’s nerves, ain’t it, Adam? Never could stand to hear somebody preaching at me about trusting God when I was hurtin’ and he wasn’t!”
Adam grinned, and turned to go. “Got to get back. All the best to you and Mary.”
“Wait,” Timothy said quickly. “You got to move off your place? Where you goin’? You can get a place close around here, Adam. Everybody knows what a good man you are.”
“They know Seth Stuart has made that place a farm,” Adam shrugged. “I’m just a blacksmith.”
“But what you going to do? Where you goin’, Adam?”
Adam considered the question, then looked up at Dwight and said directly, “Why, I’m going to get drunk, Timothy.”
He wheeled and left, and Timothy Dwight sighed and said under his breath, “Well, under the circumstances, I’d say that’s not a bad idea, Adam!”
Adam had not been serious about drinking. He had just used it as an excuse to get away from Dwight. He rode back home, and for the next two days he kept to himself.
On Wednesday the final straw came. A man drove up to the front yard, talked to Molly, then came to find Adam at the shop. “Hello,” he said as he entered. He held out his hand, a big man with buck teeth and a shock of black hair that fell over this eyes. “Name’s Royal Taylor. You’re Winslow?”
Adam took the man’s hand, nodded, then asked, “You’re the new owner?”
“Sure am. Just stopped by to see what your thinkin’ is on this thing.”
“My thinking?”
“Why, yes.” Taylor seemed surprised. “Didn’t your cousin tell you what I said?”
“No. I haven’t talked to him.”
“Well, I been talkin’ around, did some before I bought the place and some after. Winslow, everybody I talked to said what a good thing you made of this place.” Taylor took off his hat and pushed his hair back. “I got to have me a man, see? I won’t be here much, and I told your cousin to ask you to think on it.”
“Stay on here?”
“Sure! Why not? I ain’t a hard man to get along with. I reckon we can agree on the money.”
Adam leaned against the forge, his face still, while Taylor waited. Finally Adam shook his head. “I’m grateful for your offer, Mr. Taylor, but I’ll be moving on.”
Taylor did not protest. He stared at the young man, then said, “Sorry to hear it. Been sort of countin’ on it.”
“You don’t need me,” Adam said quickly. “Seth Stuart is the one you’ve got to have, Mr. Taylor. I do the forge work, but Seth—he’s the farmer. You ask around, then talk to him. Folks around here will tell you he’s a good man.”
“Sure,” Taylor nodded. “I already heard that. Guess I’ll talk to him.” He put out his hand and said, “You stay around here long as you like, Winslow, you hear?”
“Mighty nice of you—but I’ll be moving on soon. You’ll find Stuart in the east pasture, I think.”
All that day Adam walked around the farm, avoiding Stuart, who was taking the new owner on a tour. He had several jobs started on the forge, but knew that he’d never finish any of them. All day he roamed, and every foot of the farm brought some sort of memory: here he had to pull the ox out of the mud hole; there was the thicket where he’d shot a panther eating the carcass of the colt; there was the deep hole in the creek where he’d caught his big catfish.
It was long after dark when he returned, and the lamp was still burning in the kitchen. He looked around, then went to the cabinet and pulled out the jug of whiskey. Everybody kept whiskey; even preachers sometimes took their pay in it. He sat down, poured a generous amount into a cup, and stared off into space.
He thought about his father, then drained the cup. Filling it to the brim, he thought about Rachel, then drained it again. He was not a drinking man, and the powerful liquor went to his head. He sat there thinking of his life, and somehow it didn’t add up. He’d come to nothing.
How long he sat there, he could not have said, but the jug was half drained and his head was swimming when he heard a voice say, “Adam?”
It was a hard job just lifting his head, and he had to blink his eyes and strain to see clearly. “Molly—zat you, Molly?”
He concentrated on focusing his eyes, and when he saw her face, he blinked and said, “Late—you’sh be in bed.” He knew that his tongue was thick, so he pronounced every syllable carefully, the way a drunk will do. “I—am—having myself—a—party.” He was proud of having said the words right, and gri
nned at her.
“Yes, I see you are.” She sat down across the table and put her chin in her hands.
“Wouldja lika drink?” he asked, peering at her owlishly.
“No, thank you.”
“Everybody—Molly—gotta’ believe—in something, right?”
“That’s right, Adam.”
He peered at her, then said solemnly, “Right—I believe—I’ll have a drink!”
She said quietly, “Maybe you’ve had enough.”
He considered her words thoughtfully, then said, “No, I doan think—so.”
She watched him try to pour, but he missed the cup. The clear liquor ran onto the table then to the floor. He sat there staring at it, and she got up and mopped it up with a cloth from a rack.
She came to his side of the table and asked, “Mary chose Timothy, didn’t she, Adam?”
Adam slammed the jug on the table and asked pugnaciously, “Well—why not! He’s—good man! Make—her good—husband.”
The room was whirling and he suddenly felt very sick. He got up to head for the door, but the room reeled, and he fell headlong to the floor. The jug broke as it fell, and as he started to throw up, he was aware that someone was holding his head, trying to help him.
When he opened his eyes, he knew that he’d been asleep. A shaft of sunlight hit him a blow that made his head pound. His mouth was dry as dust, and he had the most terrible taste in his mouth he could remember. He was still on the floor, but a blanket was over him, and somehow a pillow was under his head. He threw the cover back, sat up, and almost cried out, so great was the pain that struck him in the back of his head.
“You might want to wash up and change clothes.”
He squinted up, and there was Molly looking down at him. He got to his feet, holding on to the wall, and then he ducked his head and went to the porch. He stripped off his stained shirt, washed in the basin, then put on the clean shirt she hung on the peg beside the washstand.
He walked slowly back into the kitchen and she had a cup of cold tea poured for him. He took it, stared at her, then drank it down. It felt good in his parched mouth, but made his stomach roll.
“You’ll feel better after awhile.”
He stared at her, then tried to smile. “That’s good. I’d hate to think I’d feel this bad the rest of my life.”
“You’d better try to eat something.”
He shuddered at the thought, but when she fixed him a soft boiled egg, he ate it and to his surprise felt better.
“Sorry to be so much trouble.”
“You had it coming,” she said. “Most men would have been drunk long before this.”
“I hate drunks,” he said quietly.
“You’re not a drunk,” she insisted. “You got drunk, but you’re not a drunk.”
He sipped at the cold tea and said, “Mary’s going to marry Timothy.”
“I know. You told me.”
“I did?” He tried to remember, but couldn’t. Then he said, “I’m leaving, Molly. But you can stay here.”
“I’m leaving, too.”
He stared at her. “You can’t leave! Your time’s not up.”
“You going to have me put in jail?”
“Of course not!” He looked at her, and his head hurt. “Where you going?”
“I don’t know—where are you going?” she shot back, then smiled at his confused look. “I want to talk to you, Adam—about Charles.”
“I don’t want to hear it!”
“Will you get that mulish expression off your face?” she said sharply. “You’re acting like a child!”
He shuffled his feet, and looked into her eyes. “What do you know about all this?”
“I know a lot more than you do, Adam Winslow,” she said pertly. “You were so set on feeling sorry for yourself that you went off pouting. Well, I want to tell you what you’d have heard if you’d been sensible enough to listen to Charles.”
“He’s a crook—and so is Saul!”
“I guess they come close, but now that you’ve finally come to see that, you can take care of yourself.”
He stared at her, then stated humbly, “You knew it all along—so did Aunt Rachel. I was just too dumb to see it!”
“Not dumb!” Molly said sharply. “You—are—not—dumb! Can’t you accept that? You trusted your family, and that’s not dumb. But it would be if you didn’t keep your eyes open from now on.”
He sat there admiring her. She was wearing an old robe he’d seen a thousand times, but there was a light in her clear eyes and he could not bear the thought of not seeing her. “All right. Tell me what Charles said.”
“Charles said there’s a man named Tom Cresap, an old man that all the Indians trust in the Ohio Valley. He came to some of the richest men in Virginia and said he’d get the Indians to trade with them and nobody else—so ten of them formed the Ohio Company of Virginia. One of them is a man called John Hanbury, a rich London merchant who markets the furs, and he’s a good friend of the King!”
“How do we fit into all this?” Adam asked.
“Why, Charles has been making friends in Virginia, and some of them are in the company—there’s Lawrence and Austin Washington and George Fairfax, the richest man in Virginia. Anyway, they petitioned the King for 200,000 acres of land on the south bank of the Ohio and they offered to build a fort at their own expense. They had to agree to settle at least 100 families on that land within seven years, and then they’d get another 300,000 acres.”
“That’s 500,000 acres of land!” Adam exclaimed.
“And some of it will be yours,” Molly said. “Saul and Charles used the money from this place—and their own money—to get into the company. So you’ve really sold this place to become part owner of the Ohio Company of Virginia.”
He sat there, trying to take it all in. He had determined never to believe Charles again, but everyone knew the Washingtons and Thomas Fairfax. Those men would not be involved in a crooked deal.
“You’ve got to go to Virginia, Adam,” Molly prodded him.
“Me? Go to Virginia?”
“It’s your kind of place—a man’s world, Adam,” she stated firmly, a wistful smile on her lips. “You can’t stay here—this world is lost. This place, and—and Mary.” She faltered at that, but he did not flinch. “You’ve got to go!”
As Adam sat there considering the possibilities, the thing grew on him. Northampton was gone, as Molly insisted. A new world—a big new world, with big challenges awaited him. He could not think of a single reason why he should not go.
Then he looked at her and said, “I can’t go and leave you here. When will you marry Wells?”
“Not ever.”
He stared at her stupidly, then shook his head. “I don’t understand you, Molly.”
“I told Robert yesterday I wasn’t going to marry him.” She smiled and added, “He wasn’t too surprised. It’s been wrong from the beginning—and he was starting to see that.”
His mouth was open, and he stared at her, then laughed. “I can’t keep up with you, Molly Burns!” Then he asked, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m still bound to you, Adam,” she said quietly.
“You’d come with me—to Virginia?”
She nodded and a smile touched her lips. “I think you have to take me. You can’t just run off and leave a bound girl behind.” She knew it irked him to hear her speak of the indenture.
But this time Adam held his hand out, and she looked up at him questioningly, then placed hers in his.
“It’ll be beautiful in Virginia in the spring, won’t it, Molly?”
She suddenly felt her eyes burn, and her hand trembled in his, but she smiled up at him.
“Oh, yes, Adam! I know it will!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A BALL AT MOUNT VERNON
After four years in the backwoods of Virginia, Philadelphia looked huge to Molly. She smiled at Adam’s excitement as he pointed out buildings he remembered; then
she thought of the letter in her pocket. “Adam, can we post this letter to Mother?”
“Sure—let me have it.”
As he took it and stopped the team long enough to run into a small office, she thought over what she had said to her mother:
14 March, 1754
Dear Mother,
I know I have not written as I should, especially since you have been in poor health. Please forgive me! It is impossible to tell you how life is here—how it has been for the last three years since we left New England and came to Virginia. As I told you when last I wrote, Mr. Winslow has prospered in his trade of making guns. He has a small shop in a small village, and one helper, who with his wife lives with us.
I am well, very well. Virginia is very different from England. It is rather wild, with large tracts of woods like nothing in England. Our lives have been very simple. We work, we go to church, we visit neighbors.
One problem occurred some time back. Some of the women in the village said it was wrong for a woman full grown—can you believe that I am grown up, Mother?—to live with an unmarried man. But the pastor of the local church, Rev. Terry, is very understanding. He shut the gossips down by pointing out that Mr. and Mrs. Tanner live in the house and are adequate protectors. He is very fond of Mr. Winslow.
I must close, for we leave in the morning for Philadelphia—the longest journey I’ve made since we moved here three years ago.
I suppose you remember me as a little girl—and I still remember you with love. You asked in your last letter if I would marry—and you hinted at the possibility of marrying Mr. Winslow. My time of indenture will be up soon, and I will marry, I suppose. But Mr. Winslow gave his heart to another young woman, and when it did not work out, I think he resigned himself to remaining single.
I enclose a small gift. Use it for yourself and for the children.
Your loving daughter,
Molly Burns
She sat with thoughts of sadness over how her mother had endured such hardness. It had been easier after Tom Burns had died, and Molly had been generous with her—for Adam insisted on helping. But London seemed far away, and she thought of her mother and brothers and sisters like characters in a book she had read rather than as real people.
The Indentured Heart Page 19