“Five already this month.”
“That makes twenty dead in all. That means there’s fewer than twenty men and boys to stand guard, build houses, trade, and hunt food.”
“Standish said that we must bury the next one at night.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t want the savages to know how few we are.”
Gilbert smiled grimly. “They must know that already.” He struck the frozen earth a blow with his mattock, “I’ve been surprised at how Miles has taken his loss.” Standish had joined with John Bradford to become one of the most indefatigable nurses, working all day and ministering to the sick most of the night.
Edward arched his aching back, measured the depth of the grave and said, “Miles is different. He’s a pretty hard fellow—never came up against something he couldn’t handle with a musket until Rose died. I think he’ll not be able to get away from her going.”
“You mean he might become a Christian just to get to be with Rose?” Gilbert asked. “I always hated that sort of thing!”
Edward paused, looked across at Gilbert, then smiled. “I know that. But I’ve come to think that even a poor motive for serving God can turn out well. In Miles’ case, he’ll be thinking at first, I’ve got to be a Christian if I’m ever to see Rose again, but if he keeps at it, sooner or later he’ll develop more than that.”
“Develop what, Edward?”
“Why, a desire to see more than Rose. He’ll want to see God.”
Such talk made Gilbert uncomfortable, and he asked, “Isn’t this deep enough?”
“Ought to do. Let’s get back.” Edward paused. “I’m taking Elizabeth to the ship today. It’s warmer there, and there’s more room in the cabin.”
“Can I help?”
Edward shook his head. “No. I know you don’t like to leave the boy alone too much.” A thought struck him, and he added, “You might bring him on board. He might have more chance there—and his parents won’t object.”
Gilbert added bitterly, “No, they wouldn’t care.” He thought it over, and before they got to the settlement, he had made up his mind. “I think it might be good for him to be there. When are you taking Elizabeth?”
“Right away. Alden and Ellis are taking us in the shallop.”
“I’ll get Tink and we’ll go with you.”
He went straight to the Tinkers’ house and knocked on the door. Thomas Tinker, a thin man with watery blue eyes and a scraggly beard, opened the door. “Wot is it, Winslow? You want to see the boy again?”
Both Tinker and his wife had recovered from the sickness, at least enough to get around. Neither of them had been strong to begin with, and the rigors of the voyage and the sickness had weakened them more.
“I’d like to take him to the ship, if you agree,” Gilbert said. “It would be easier to take care of him there.”
Tinker rubbed his chin with a dirty hand, and turned round to stare at the small form of Tink on the cot. He shrugged and said, “Might as well.”
Gilbert at once stepped inside, and bent to pick the boy up. Tink was awake and gave him a small smile. “Well, Tink, you think you could stand a move?”
“Where to, Mr. Winslow?”
Gilbert wrapped him in an extra blanket against the cold and picked him up. “To the ship for a little while. Say goodbye to your parents.”
Tink looked over at the man and the woman who were watching without much interest. “Goodbye,” he said quietly.
“Mind your manners, boy, you hear me?” Mr. Tinker threatened, then lay back on his bed.
Tink had never been large, but he seemed to weigh nothing now. His eyes seemed large in his face and there was a red spot in the center of each pale cheek. As the cold wind hit his lungs, the racking cough that had plagued him began, and Gilbert pulled the blanket over his face, saying, “You just stay under there for a bit, Tink. And when we get to the ship, I’ll bet we can get cook to fix you up something nice and hot!”
Edward met him, holding Elizabeth in his arms, and they walked down to the harbor together. Alden, Ellis, and two of the other men were at the oars of the shallop, and they rowed them to the ship, helping them up the ladder with their burdens.
The first hold, which had been packed to the bulkheads, seemed empty now. “The Mullins have the cabin next to ours,” Edward said. “But the small one the Hopkins had is vacant. Why don’t you put the boy in there?”
Fuller came out of one of the cabins and looked up, surprised to see them. Then he nodded and said, “I’m glad you brought her here, Edward. Who’s this we have?” he asked. Lifting the blanket, he peered at Tink and smiled. “Well, now, here’s my fine young helper! I shouldn’t wonder but what you’re up and about soon, eh?”
As soon as they got the patients into bed, Gilbert pulled Fuller off to one side. “Edward and I will have to work during the day, but we’ll stay with them at night.”
Fuller shrugged his burly shoulders. “Some of us will be here. Mrs. White will have her baby any time now, so I’ll not stray far. The Mullins are both low, so Priscilla will be here—and some of the other women. I’ll see he’s not forsaken.”
“Has Captain Jones said when he’s leaving?”
Fuller stared at him, then shook his heavy head. “No, and I thank God for that! Half his crew is down now, and the other half is on the verge of mutiny. Think what it would be if all these sick people were dumped ashore right now!”
Gilbert nodded, and left to go see Hinge. He passed through the forecastle, filled mostly with seamen, sick on their bunks and poorly cared for. One of them, a sailor named French, lifted a thin hand and whispered feebly, “Mr. Winslow—a drink of water!”
Gilbert went to him at once, and was shocked at his appearance. He had been a muscular fellow with bright black eyes, but now he was a skeleton with cloudy eyes sunk in deep cavernous sockets.
“Why, French, I’m sorry to see you like this!” He picked up a pewter pitcher, saw it was empty and said, “I’ll fetch you some water right away.”
He went directly to the galley and got the little gnome of a cook to warm some broth for Tink, and added, “French wants some water.”
Hinge nodded at a water barrel, and said, “It’s a shame the way there ain’t nobody to take care o’ them chaps.” He stirred something into a black pot, and added, “One of ’em died last night, went out cursin’ his mates, but they didn’t not a one of ’em stay with the poor chap when he went out!”
Gilbert filled the pitcher with fresh water and made his way back to French. “Here we are—let me help you sit up.” The man had not been cared for in any way, and the stench from his soiled clothing and filthy blanket struck Gilbert like a blow. He forced himself to smile, however, and the poor fellow gripped the glass, drinking in noisy gulps.
“Thankee! Thankee, Mr. Winslow!” he gasped as he lay down.
Gilbert looked around the room, taking in the six other seamen who were lying in the room, some in hammocks some in bunks. “You’re in poor shape here, French,” he said. “Who takes care of you?”
“Why, nobody. Them as can takes care of themselves. ’Course, Mr. Fuller he come by yesterday, I think it was. But he’s mighty busy with his own sick folks.” A sadness rose in the haunted eye of French, and he mumbled, “We already lost five men—and I reckon as how I won’t be here long.”
Gilbert forced himself to smile and speak heartily, “Now, that’s not like you, French. Cheer up! I’ll see if something can’t be done for you. A little care and you’ll be fine!”
“You think so, Mr. Winslow?” The little encouragement brought tears to French’s eyes, and he turned his face to the bulkhead, mumbling, “Thankee!”
Gilbert went at once to the Great Cabin. Finding Captain Jones inside, he said directly, “Captain, your sick seamen are not being cared for.”
Jones put down the pen he was writing with and stared at Gilbert, his eyes frosty. “Are you telling me I’m remiss in my duty, Mr. Winslow?”
&n
bsp; “I didn’t say that; you’re a busy man, but the men are in bad shape.”
Jones got up and went to stare out the window. He said suddenly, “I know it—but there’s no way I can force the men to take care of them.”
“I can do a little, with your permission.”
“Certainly you have it,” Jones said at once. Then he came back and sat down in his chair. He toyed with a compass, then looked up with a strange expression in his eye. “You may have an opportunity to be a nurse to them on the way back to England.”
“You still intend to take me back with you?”
“I don’t know!” Jones leaned back, and suddenly there was a light of humor in his gray eyes. “I don’t know anything that a captain of a vessel should know. I don’t know why I’ve stayed in this frozen land so long; don’t know why I’ve given our food and beer to a bunch of fanatics. Don’t know why I’m having trouble making up my mind about you.” He grinned and summed up: “Don’t know much do I?”
Gilbert met his smile, and said, “Let me know when you decide if I’m going back to hang or not. In the meanwhile, I’ll see what I can do for the men.”
He went back to the galley, got the broth from Hinge, and carried it to Tink. He spooned it down, and the warm food along with the clean warm blankets made the boy so sleepy he dropped off at once in a natural sleep.
Gilbert heard Fuller’s voice rumbling in the Mullins’ cabin and waited until he came out. “How are they?” he asked.
“Bad!” The stark answer came out sharply, and Fuller shook his head. “Don’t expect them to make it. How’s the boy?”
“Like for you to keep him under your eye. He’s sleeping now.”
“The young ones are standing it better than the older people.”
Gilbert thought about that, then nodded, turned to go, then paused. “Those sailors are in poor shape, aren’t they? French said you were in to see them.”
“They’d be better off if the well ones would look after the sick—but they won’t do it.”
Gilbert gnawed his lip, considering the matter. He hated sickness, and except for Tink, had spent as little time as possible with sick people. He wanted to let it drop, but then thought of Miles Standish and the way he had done the most menial sickroom tasks since Rose’s death.
“Well, I thought I’d try to do a little for them, Fuller.”
The doctor stared at him; then turning his head to one side he remarked, “Never would have taken you for such a thing.”
Defensively Gilbert hastened to add, “I’ll be working days, but I’ve got the rest of today and after I get through on shore. I’ll be sleeping here anyway to be near the boy. Guess it’ll not kill me to give the poor chaps a hand.”
“All right. I’ll see to it you get some supplies and a little help.”
Two hours later Gilbert was exhausted. Why, this is worse than digging graves! he thought as he went around the forecastle picking up the filthy clothes and blankets on the beds, emptied the chamber pots, put fresh water in the pitchers, and tried to say a word of cheer to each of them.
While he had been busy with this, Coffin and another seaman had trooped through on their way to the galley. Taking in what Gilbert was doing, Coffin said loudly, “Well, we got us one of the holy ones here today, ain’t we now?”
French raised himself up on an elbow, stared with angry eyes at the pilot, and said, “You let us lie here like dogs, Coffin! Shut your foul mouth!”
Coffin cursed and moved toward French, but Gilbert moved one step, placing himself between the two. Coffin’s hand dropped to the dirk in his belt, but when Gilbert merely smiled at him, he cursed and led the other sailor out of the forecastle.
As Gilbert stooped to pick up some of the soiled blankets, a sailor named Pike raised his voice. “We all thanks you, Mr. Winslow—’deed we do. You’re a real Christian!”
The others were echoing Pike’s sentiment when Gilbert heard the door open behind his back. Expecting Fuller, he was taken off guard when he turned to find Humility standing there.
“Mr. Fuller sent me to help,” she said quietly. Their eyes met, and something stirred in him at the sight of her. The weather had roughened her skin, but the sea-green eyes were still bright and her figure erect as a soldier. He felt a loss, for a wall had sprung up between them. Suddenly he thought back to the time they had stood on the small bridge that arched the canal in Leyden, staring down at the ripples in the water, talking about love.
“Why, that’s good of you,” he said hastily. Then he looked down at the soiled blanket, aware that he had absorbed some of the rank smells of the sick men, and he was embarrassed. “I—I guess I’ll take these blankets to be washed.”
“I’ll help you.” She picked up the rest of the clothes and blankets, then smiled at the men. “Cook is making you something tasty, and the captain says you’re all to have something special to drink for supper. I’ll be back with it soon.”
She turned and Gilbert followed her up on deck. “Just put those things here; I’ll take them to shore tomorrow and see they’re washed in fresh water.”
“They’re pretty filthy.” He looked down at himself, and added, “So am I, for that matter.”
She looked at him squarely, and there was a determined set to her jaw. Leaning back against the rail, she said, “I’m marrying Peter Brown.”
“I see.” He stood there waiting, for he knew she had taken this opportunity to tell him. The ship lifted and fell gently, and there was a salty tang in the wintry air. A lantern hanging on the mainmast cast flickering gleams over the deck, and her face looked like an Indian mask—planed down to simple curves and hollows.
“You love him?” he asked finally. He did not miss the quick response that swept her face—not disgust, but distrust that hardened the soft green eyes.
“I respect him; he’s a good man.”
“You could say that of Mr. Brewster or Mr. Bradford, I dare say. Is that enough for you—respect?”
“It’s better than what I got from you!” she cried out, and despite her intention to keep her emotions under control, anger raced through her as she faced him. “I got love from you, didn’t I? Kisses and promises that made my head swim! Oh, what a fool I was!”
He bowed his head, taking the force of her wrath as he would submit to a rightful judgment. But he could not let it all go.
“All right, I was wrong—I’ve admitted that. But I want to tell you two things, Miss Humility Cooper.”
“What could you tell me that I would possibly want to hear?”
“When I first met you, it was all a hoax. All I wanted to do was to use you.” He paused and their eyes locked, and he said intently, “But later on, after I got to know you—it wasn’t all pretense.”
She laughed harshly, then said mockingly, “Oh, don’t tell me that you really fell in love with me! I’m not as gullible as I was then, Gilbert!”
He shrugged and said, “All right, think what you will, but I’m telling you the truth. The other thing, Humility, is that even if I am the world’s greatest hypocrite and liar, that’s no excuse for you to run away from love.”
“You don’t know what love is!”
“I know one thing—love is not cold!”
A streak of anger ran through him, and he caught her wrist as she turned to leave. “You can’t bear to hear the truth, can you? But you’re going to hear it this once!”
“Let me go!”
He ignored her struggles and taking her other arm, held her fast. “Rogue I am and will probably always be, Humility—liar, traitor, manslayer! But I tell you this one thing, when I kissed you on that bridge, it was not treason! It was the beginning of something I’d never known. I’d kissed other women, some as beautiful as you, but there’s something in you that held me!” He forced himself to speak quietly, but there was an intensity in his blue eyes that held her fixed in his grasp.
“You are a woman of God,” he continued. “But you are flesh and blood, as you found out when I
kissed you. Can you deny it?”
She whispered, “You taunt me with that?”
“No! You were honest then—but you are not now.”
“I am!”
He shook her like a reed and said passionately, “You are not! How can you be honest and marry a man you don’t love? Marriage is not spirit; it’s flesh and blood, Humility! And you were more honest then than now.”
“It’s a lie!” she whispered. “I don’t want that sort of thing!”
He suddenly pulled her closer, saying, “You’re afraid of love—that’s why you’re afraid of me right now!”
She braced herself against him, her face pale in the flickering yellow light. Desperately she cried out, “I’m not! I’m not afraid of love—nor of you either!”
He had no hopes, but he had a strong memory of her from the past, fragrant and clear as a flower. He would never have her, but he hated to see her turn into a dry-lipped, sour woman. He pulled her forward until the soft curves of her body pressed against him, and whispered, “Is this what you’re afraid of, Humility?” and then he gathered her closer until they made one shadow on the deck.
She uttered one short cry before his lips silenced her, and she beat at his back with her fists, but she might as well have beaten on the huge rock in Plymouth Harbor. Furiously she struggled, kicking at his legs with all her might, but he swung her around and trapped her against the rail so that she could not move.
His lips were hard against hers, and there was no gentleness in him. His muscular arms pulled her even closer and she stopped struggling. Her hands rose involuntarily and rested on his neck, and she was aware of nothing but the pressure of his lips and the warmth of his body against hers.
Then he lifted his head, and whispered, “Never be afraid of what you’re feeling right now.”
She came to herself with a jerk, and her cheeks flushed as she pushed him away. With a trembling voice she said, “You’re stronger than I am—that’s all you’ve proved! You think all you have to do is touch a woman and, no matter who she is, she’ll fall in love with you!” She was close to tears, but she bit her lip and made herself say coldly, “I’ve asked you to leave me alone, and you take advantage of me the first chance you get. Is there no honor in you, Gilbert Winslow?”
The Honorable Imposter (House of Winslow Book #1) Page 26