A roaring fire beckoned from the shore, and Mary laughed like a child as she lifted her skirt and splashed the last few feet to the small beach. She dropped to her hands and knees, scooped the sandy soil and held it to her face, breathing in the moist earthiness. They had made it. They were here. Praise be to God. Barney picked her up and swung her about.
Jay and Ben attempted to run up and down the shore, only to discover their sea legs would not permit it. They expected the ground to sway like the decks of the ship.
“Boys, come here. Your father wants to say a prayer with us.”
Joined in a circle, heads bowed, Barnabas gave thanks for a safe journey, for their health and the abundant food on the shores of this new land. As the waves gently washed the beach with a rhythmic slap, Barney’s deep baritone rose above with a hymn.
Mary listened in awe as, one by one, all who were on shore joined in and the strains flowed through the men rowing back to the ship until the music reached those still on board The Swallow. As the chain of voices linked, the notes blended in unison, a choir before the Lord.
Men and women worked side by side to feed the fires and prepare the meat. Supper would be a banquet of fire-roasted venison, pheasant, and rabbit. Corn nestled whole in the coals and fresh berries bulged from their baskets. Everyone gathered; only the sickest did not come ashore.
“Mary, I will bring back some of the food to the ship. Some on board will not be able to eat much, they are too ill. But we can make a broth from the meat and bones. Would you gather a meal together before we sup? I’ll ready the boat.”
“Barney, may I go with you? I should like to help where I can. And it would be good to see Goodwife Jennings again and her babe.”
“Nay, not in your condition. You need to gather your strength. I understand you want to be of service, but you must take care of yourself first. Wrap up the provisions, and I shall take them.”
She set to work and sent Jay and Ben to deliver the baskets to their father.
She lowered herself to the ground near the fire and clasped her arms around her knees. The voyage had been rife with starvation, illness, and death, and with the storm much longer than planned. But those who survived were safe for now, and while they landed far north of Boston, Jeremy thought they were very close to the port settlement of Winnacunnet. Hopefully, that was a good thing. She peered into the dark forest that edged the beach. Her shoulders shuddered and she looked quickly out to the shallop. Barney promised he would not tarry. She watched the men who stood guard with their muskets. How could she feel so alone with so many around her? God was with her too. She would never be alone.
Women huddled around the fires scattered across the beach, many with young children or babes in their arms. They nodded their recognition to Mary, but their pain and exhaustion were evident. There would be much to do as they settled in to their camp, but she would not forget her pledge to Jeremy to create a place where women felt they could gather and unleash their emotions. They all shared one thing in common: they’d survived crossing the ocean. They could not give up hope now.
She gazed at the flames dancing through the logs. Papa and Lizzie, what would they be doing right now? Would her sister be mixing her dough, the children tucked warm in their beds? Zeke reading from the Bible? Would Papa be sitting next to his fire, his belly already full, and Cook bidding him goodbye for the night? How she missed them and longed for a home where she could be safe and warm. And loved.
Barnabas gave a full report as to how those on board fared and their appreciation for the feast he brought to them. He didn’t want to share with Mary that Goodwife Jennings’s babe had died. She’d been present for the baby’s birth and she would want to leave the fire and go back to the ship. Mary looked fragile and she needed this time near the fire with some good food.
He watched his wife help the boys fill their bowls. She was a good mother to his children. She had learned much over the years. Pride in her accomplishments filled him. God had been good.
An old familiar ache settled over him. Leaving England should have lessened the pain. But Ann was the one who shared his dream of coming to the New World. How he loved her, and nothing, not even an ocean, would change that.
“Barney?” Mary laid her hand on his arm, but he sat still with no response.
He watched Joseph and Benjamin as they ate. Joseph was in a rare mood, with contentment on his face. Benjamin chattered to no one in particular. He was thankful the boys were so healthy after such a long trip.
He studied Mary and rubbed her dry, weathered hand. She looked too thin. It would not be good for the babe. He rose to cut off another slab of meat and picked up a juicy ear of corn, roasted golden. He sat down next to her and offered the food. “Here, my sweet. Eat some more. Eat well now, we do not know what tomorrow will bring. Not a good thing for you in your condition.”
“Barney, I am about to burst. I cannot eat another bite.”
She was embarrassed, he could tell, but he plunged on. “You’re not just eating for yourself now. You must think of the little one.”
“Little one?” Joseph looked from his father to Mary.
Mary’s cheeks flushed. “You must not speak like that in front of the children. May we discuss this later?”
“Only if you will eat.” He thrust the plate to her. He looked to his sons. “Your mother is not ready to share this with you. We will give her the time she needs.”
Benjamin looked at his stepmother, wonder in his eyes. “Are you going to have a baby?”
“Barney.” She put her hand on his arm, this time with gentle pressure. “There might not be anything to share. ’Tis not right to bring up such a thing in front of them.”
Barnabas looked into the glow of the fire as he warmed his hands. “You are with child, are you not?”
“I only had the seasickness most everyone had. There is no babe.” She looked from Barnabas to Joseph and Benjamin, her eyes the same soft gray as her simple gown. “I’m sorry, Barney, I know this is not what you want to hear.”
His eyes scanned her belly. “You seemed much sicker than anyone else. I thought you were with child.” He rubbed his forehead with stiff fingers, then gently took her hands. “My apologies. God will give us a child. I cannot imagine not having a houseful someday.” He rubbed her hands, smiled his encouragement. “We are serving God. He will bless us.”
She returned his smile with strength in her eyes. “I pray ’tis true. I pray He blesses us in that way. Whilst I wait for the blessing, I intend to work beside you.”
Later, Jeremy insisted they remain in the cabin that night. He intended to sleep under the stars—close to the fires, musket beside him. Mary and the boys, exhausted from the excitement of the day, settled into their small bed and soon slumbered. Barnabas could not. He sat for long hours on the edge, head buried in his hands as he prayed. His back ached.
He pinched the corners of his eyes to stifle the moisture that collected. He needed to get out of the cabin. He was finally here. The New World he and Ann talked about. Here without her. He looked down at Mary and pulled the quilt gently about her shoulders and eased out of the cabin.
He made his way to the starboard side and grasped the rail. Staring down at the fires burning low across the beach, the day he met Mary rushed back to him. A day so filled with emotion.
The ship gently swayed and he looked at the water below, then up to the stars that blazed. The early days after Ann died were excruciating. He could not fathom how he’d go on. By the grace of God he’d done it. But it did not feel any easier on this night. No, she should have been here with him.
17
Late Summer 1637
The first weeks were about survival. Too many were sick from the long voyage and in need of shelter and good food. Tents were built of sailcloth, food scavenged from sea, land, and air. Mary appreciated the fresh venison and duck, but the oysters, shrimp, and lobster—bottom fish of the ocean—rather repulsed her. Fires were tended with a passion.
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Soon after that first night, Barnabas and Jeremy encountered a small band of Indians. Though not particularly amiable, the natives did not threaten them. The rugged cove The Swallow anchored in was discovered to be close to the tiny English settlement of Winnacunnet, far north of Boston. Because it was built on a protective bay, ships frequently stopped with provisions.
The few hardy residents offered their homes where they had room, and their labor to those they could not accommodate. Together the families harvested corn and prepared beds for the flax that would be planted in early spring.
Barney desired to remain there, waiting for word of Reverend Davenport and Reverend John Youngs. Some of the families, bound by their indenture to the Massachusetts Bay Company, continued south to Boston. The Terrys, though not indentured, decided to travel to Boston as well. It was embarrassing how much relief it gave Mary that Miss Terry would not be around.
Everyone worked from dawn’s first light until the fire was banked late in the evening. But when word came The Hector had arrived safely in Boston Harbor—days before The Swallow anchored—work ceased and a feast was prepared in celebration. Contentment beat in Mary’s heart as she watched Barney preside over the festivities. There were times she longed to take over the kitchen tongs, but today she was happy to watch him in command.
Each afternoon as they prepared food, Mary encouraged the women to talk about what they personally thought to be the most difficult part of living in the New World. Nay, ’twas more about surviving than living. She asked them to express their emotions and fears, and their dreams as well. What he dreamt of most was more sleep
Barney set about clearing land with his sons by his side. The small community came together for a log-rolling and then a stone-piling. Soon he began building their cottage. Each night in their tent of sod and sailcloth, he would fall onto the pallet of hickory branches covered in pelts. “A hard day’s work makes for a good night’s sleep,” he said many a night.
The stormy season would come soon enough and he told Mary he was determined to have his family safely within the walls of their cottage before the first freeze.
“Remember, this will not be the house I’ve promised you. ’Twill be rough logs quickly put together, and it will be but a tiny cottage. We shall not be here long.”
She snuggled close to hear him as he whispered. The boys slept on their pallets nearby.
“Reverend Davenport sends word he is not finding Boston to his liking, though they have made a great effort to keep him there. He has already sent scouts south to look at another harbor to plant a church and build a township. He has word back the Indians are cordial and amenable to trade. I don’t know for certain, but mayhap I will want to go there. Already I worry there are too many people here for my liking, and that all they think about is how to become rich.”
She propped up on her elbow to look into his face.
He continued. “We’ve come here for a new start, but surely we were richer in England. My focus is the church. It might be we can better serve God if we follow Reverend Davenport. I hear Reverend John Youngs is now in Salem and plans to unite with him. Much is happening.”
“But what about the people here in Winnacunnet? Do they not need a minister of the Word? Why would Reverend Youngs not come to plant his church here?”
“He never intended to plant a church this far north. He will be down in the area of Quinnipiac. Reverend Bachiler, of Old Hampton, will be coming here. As early as next year, I am told.”
A pain built in her chest, an ache for a home, wherever it would be. She wanted to be established, to begin to put down their roots. Perhaps Lizzie and Papa, upon hearing from her the wonders of this new land, would decide to make the voyage and join them. But first they needed a home to bring them to.
She rubbed his shoulder as her mind drifted back to a day when he tried to share with her how Ann felt about coming to the colonies. She would have loved the adventure, the chance to be on the verge of something you could not quite imagine, yet surely was something grand. Mary wanted to share that with Barney too, but when would they know they were there? How long would this go on?
She buried her face in his shoulder. “I will follow you wherever you go. I do not want to fail you.”
“You have not failed me. If the reverend’s scouts find a suitable location, we shall go soon. Do not be troubled.” He reached for her.
Mary scooted close. “I dream of a home, but I want more than anything for you to build your church.”
“John Davenport has many ideas for the church, and I very much want to meet with him when he is ready to establish it. There shall be a legacy for our children and our children’s children. All will be well. Take care of yourself and we will have the babe we so desire.”
“I pray for that, Barney. I just pray it shall not take too long.”
Mary lay quietly beneath her husband’s strong arm until she heard his heavy, rhythmic breathing. She lifted his arm and crawled from the bed. Heart aching, she needed to walk. She wrapped her cloak about her and picked up her doll. Walking a short distance from the tent, she came into view of their little cottage, almost complete. She sank to the earthen floor of the front hall and drew her knees up to her chin. Leaning back against the wall, she clutched the doll until tears fell in more torrents than the summer squall that had ripped through the night before.
Every time he brought up children, specifically their children, her heart cracked a bit. What would happen if she never bore him a babe? Her forehead dropped to her knees and she brought her arms over her head. In time he would resent her, just like Papa said he would. Barney expected her to carry his babe and he was patient now because he had much work to do. And Ann. He never stopped thinking of her. She prayed for forgiveness from her selfishness, but truly, she wanted her husband to think of her for once.
Barnabas rolled over and looked about. No Mary. He checked the boys and left the tent. He walked briskly through the dank night air and found himself in their new cottage, somehow knowing he would find her there. There she lay, curled in her cloak. Even her sleep did not prevent the dry sobs heaving from her chest. She held the doll in her arms.
He pulled it up by an arm and let it drop to the floor. Gently, he scooped her up and followed the path back to their tent. Thick clouds parted for a moment and a thin slice of moonlight fell on Mary’s face. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable. He remembered his promise to John, to keep her safe. How could he do that when he could not even fathom what troubled her the most? Her hood blew back in the breeze and he pulled it about, tucking it beneath her chin. Keeping the cloak wrapped around her, he set her down on the pallet and lowered himself beside her.
Sleep would not come for him. What was he doing wrong? Why did nothing seem right? But more importantly, what could he do to change it? His prayers were not for himself. Ann still surrounded him, but he prayed he could be the husband Mary wanted. What on earth, dear Lord, did she want?
She woke the next morning to bright sunshine. The storm had moved on. Barney and the boys were gone. Stiff and spent, she recalled the night before. How had she gotten back into bed? Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. He must have found her in their cottage.
Her mother’s silver looking glass lay on the small table and she peered at her reflection. Her eyes were a watery blue. She gave her papery cheeks a little pinch and gently bit her lips to bring color back to them. Donning a pale yellow garden chemise, she brushed out her tumbled mass of hair and secured it into a knot. She looked outside for signs of Barney.
He was up on the frame of the roof, stacking the rocks that would be their chimney. It would be a small cottage, but he wanted a real hearth. “Good morning, my sweet. You have slept in quite late, but I do believe you needed to.” His voice was strained.
“Yes, Barney, I am sorry. You must have put me back in bed?” Squinting upward into the blinding sun, she shielded her eyes with her hand.
“That I did. You worried me.”
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nbsp; “Did you find my poppet?”
“Yes, the doll. You had the doll. That worries me as well, Mary. It seems to me you spend too much time coddling that poppet.”
“Yes, but where is it?”
He looked off to the distance.
“Barney, where did you put it?”
He looked back down at her and she could sense his regret.
Agitation crept slowly into her voice. “I said, where is it?”
“I threw it away. ’Tis gone.”
“What? No! Where? Where did you throw it? I shall retrieve it.”
“You cannot. It’s gone for good. Prithee, forget about it.”
Her chest heaved, breath squeezed from her lungs. Tears burned her eyes but would not flow. She had never been this angry in her life. “By your leave, I shall not forget about it. She was mine. My mother made her for me. How could you? How could you!”
Barnabas almost fell from the roof as he tried to scramble down. But he was too late. She had already run from him.
He pried the lid from the oak cask and gently removed the doll. He would never have thrown her doll away. It meant too much to her. He only wanted to make a point. What was he thinking?
The paths made by the Indians were numerous, some quite invisible unless one already knew they existed, but he knew her favorite. It wound through berry bushes and past a grove of oak to a gentle stream. No doubt she chose it and he would find her there, in a heap. Remorse at his own harsh words drove him down the path, praying as he went that she would forgive him.
The reeds danced in the breeze as he scanned the opening. Nestled in their midst, he found her curled up, lying very still. He’d almost tripped over her. Her face was buried in her arms; her hair entwined with the damp grass. He scooped her into his arms. She turned toward him, eyes wild and wet.
Her arms flailed against his chest. “Put me down. I do not want to look at you. I do not know why I ever came here with you anyway. You have lied to me from the start. You never explained your intentions coming to this awful place and you made decisions that should be mine to make. You threw away my doll! You are vile! I want to go home. I pray thee, let me go home.”
A Place in His Heart Page 14