“Barney, what about Northstar?”
“Once I have you and the boys safely ashore, I will come back to bring him in. But there’s time enough to bring everything else.”
The shallop rocked as everyone settled and the women and children huddled to protect each other from the blast of an early winter’s wind.
After a prayer of thanksgiving and praise, the thirteen men sat backward in the shallop and slowly rowed toward land. The distance between them and the shore seemed small, but the water was icy, the wind cold.
Miss Terry sat with her mother. She would be in Yennicott with them. Had Barney and Miss Terry ever met each other in Boston? She shuddered at the thought. She glanced at Miss Terry and found the young woman looking back, her eyes bleak. Mary turned away. Surely she did not think she would exchange pleasantries with her? But her idea of forming another women’s group on Long Island would be complicated if she avoided the Terrys. Compunction nipped at her like the icy wind.
She pulled Ben closer. He seemed so small, though he was growing up. He never seemed to mind when she hovered. Jay surpassed her in height, but she could not refrain from protecting either boy.
Boys. They were practically men. Jay remained awkward with his feelings toward her, but he did show respect and his manners were impeccable. She smiled at him standing there, the apple tree protected in his arms. He went out of his way to be helpful these days. So much like his father.
Ben’s breath billowed out onto the air in frozen droplets and Mary pulled his neck cloth up to cover his mouth and nose. Barney remained watchful that the boys were kept from the elements as much as possible and she was vigilant too. “We don’t want you sick, Ben. Stay warm. Jay, look at the shore. ’Tis beautiful, is it not?” She longed to find his sweet spot, to know how to reach him.
“It looks like Massachusetts to me, ma’am.”
“Yes, I suppose it does. But once we’re ashore—look, I see people on the shore. It looks like the Indians that—”
“Oh Mama, it looks like a party.” Ben cupped his hands and called, “Father, we have a welcoming party.”
“I am certain we do,” Barney said. “They promised Mr. Hallock a feast when we returned.”
Peter Hallock grunted as he raised the oar. “That they did.”
As they neared the shore, Barney and the twelve other men strained to anchor the shallop. Jay quickly stepped up to help and they brought the vessel to rest only a rod from the beach.
Barney clapped his son’s shoulder. “Thank you, Joseph. There will be much work to do here—good to have another man around. The water will be cold, and it will be best to roll up your pants. Take off your boots. Benjamin, you too. Mary, I will carry you ashore. Your skirts will get wet if I do not.”
She smiled at him. He stood there so tall and brave, and she was proud to be with him. He might not love her, but he made his promise to her father good—he took care of her above all else.
Once again they were on the brink of a new beginning. She closed her eyes. Another chance to win his love.
She clung to Barney’s neck, his strong arms wrapped around her, as he slogged through the water. Icy waves whipped about them and she kept her eyes on Ben and Jay as they made their way out front.
“Is that bonfire for us? Are the Indians truly pleased we are coming?”
“Aye, my sweet. The people you see on the shore call themselves Corchaugs or some such thing. They are the ones Reverend Youngs told us about. Do not fear them. They have worked hard and prepared for us quite a bit of land for crops. They’ve harvested corn and stored much of it for the winter. Corn. It’s like our oats, wheat, silver, and gold all in one, is it not?”
He sloshed through the waves receding from the beach. “We shall need to dry out and warm ourselves. Once we’ve eaten, we can make our way inland.” He set her down.
“Look, Ben, Jay—look at the pretty orange and yellow shells.” She bent down and scooped a handful. The delicate shells jingled as she let them fall through her fingers, back to the sand. “What beautiful music.”
Ben combed his fingers through the jingle shells and sand. “There’s hundreds of them. Look, there’s pebbles too.”
The beach glittered in the slanting sun with agates, shiny from the water and beautiful in gray, pink, white, and gold. Oyster, clam, and crab shells lay amongst charred wood. Yesterday’s supper?
A tall man with a long face approached Peter Hallock. He was dressed in colorful bird feathers with bear grease, tinted black, smeared on his face and arms. His appearance would have been frightening had it not been for his large, friendly black eyes. His skin was a burnished brown and his long hair black as a raven’s. He welcomed Mr. Hallock, glad to see him once again, and held out a cup.
Mary was not aware she held her breath until it escaped with a gasp. This was the sachem, the Corchaug chief. The cup was the one they said Mr. Hallock had presented to him during the scouting party.
Mr. Hallock held up the peace pipe the sachem had presented to him on his previous visit. Reverend Youngs approached and the three men exchanged greetings, a mixture of the Corchaugs’ native language and English, as they prepared to share the pipe. All fell quiet.
Out of the silence rose Barnabas’s beautiful baritone as he quietly led the group in song. “Ye people all with one accord, clap hands and eke rejoice. Be glad and sing unto the Lord with sweet and pleasant voice.”
Mary moved closer to him to clap and sing praises. His presence always drew a crowd to him and this day was no exception. He was a pious man who loved his Lord. And people could not help but love him.
A fire, built by the natives, roared on the beach and all moved closer to warm and dry themselves. Clams, oysters, and parched corn wrapped in husks were half buried in the ashes. An elk roasted on a wooden spit alongside rabbits and turkey. Mary remembered their first feast in Massachusetts, and how the men hunted all day and labored to make clearings and build fires before the women and children could come ashore. They had learned from the earlier settlers that the Indians had been helpful to them at one time, but that had changed up north.
To be welcomed on the shore by the Corchaug people, so friendly, so eager to help, gave her hope. She prayed it would always be so. She sat near their fire, hugging her knees. Barney and the boys settled beside her. Contentment draped her like a warm, thick quilt. This truly felt like home.
Three hours later, full from their meal, the party tramped up the narrow path. All carried the few belongings they’d brought with them.
They passed the inlet on the left, with the forest to their right. Tall white oaks stood guard alongside chestnut groves, and the forest was silent, save for the crunch of boots on brittle ground. Tall shrubs with leathery leaves and berries covered in a whitish wax filled in the dense woods.
Relieved the Terrys were far behind, Mary looked around in awe. An early snow had fallen the night before and the mosaic of snow on brown trees and gray rock looked breathtaking, like an art form just waiting to be discovered. “Look, boys. See the pattern in the snow and tree roots? It looks like a fawn.”
Ben quickly picked up on the game. “I see rabbits—over there, where the snow is draped over the rocks.”
As the sun continued downward, the long shadows cast over the trees, rocks, and snow created myriad animals. Each took a turn pointing in delight. Jay saw a fox, and Barney, his musket in hand, pretended to aim at an elk.
Mary hugged her belongings closer to her. “Do not shoot that pretty picture. I want it to stay just like that in my memory forever.”
“Forever is a long time, my sweet. Nothing lasts forever.”
“Oh, Barney, you do not mean that.” But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. He was thinking of Ann, of course. “I mean, we are fragile beings, of course, but in our hearts and minds memories are for a lifetime. They are a gift from God, I believe. Surely, you would agree?”
“Nay, I don’t think they are a gift from God.
We have painful ones to deal with as well, and I don’t believe God would inflict that upon us. I prefer to forget. That is easier.”
Jay regarded his father with a long look. “Well, my memories of Mother make me sad, but I should never want to forget her. She wouldn’t want to be forgotten, Father, would she?”
Ben looked from Jay to his father and waited for the answer.
“Forgive me, boys, please. I shouldn’t have said it. Sad, sweet—no difference—memories follow us, that I’ve seen. Does not matter whether they be happy or not. I suppose you have to pick and choose. For me, they all haunt me. I’d prefer to forget.”
Jay glanced at Mary first, and then returned his father’s look. “He’s not an easy man to live with, is he?”
“Nay, he is not, Jay, I shall give you that.”
Barney stopped in front of Jay, his face serious except for a tug of his lips and a wink of his eye. “Heigh-ho, now, son. Are you so grown-up you are now testing me?”
Mary and the boys could not suppress their laughter. He doubled over as well, and she could see he loved the fact his little family was joining in the fun together, even if it was at his own expense.
“Yes, Father, and it will be an arm wrestle tonight.”
“You are on, my son. You showed your strength well today and worked like a man. Just remember, I have done this for years.” He nodded at Ben and grinned broadly at Mary.
Mary stopped. “Look—the clearing.”
The rest of the founders were far behind, many with small children. Some of the Indians had forged ahead to show them the way. As they entered the clearing, the Corchaug men had already stacked the wood for a large fire. Pits had been dug into a small slope, and tree poles, branches, and bark gathered.
Mary eyed a grassy spot and hurried to it. “Here, Barney, may we claim this? ’Tis where we shall call home until you build us our new house.”
“Mayhap we should wait until the others are here. We will draw straws, I am sure. I do like that spot, though. It would be perfect.”
She put her belongings on the ground where she hoped they could stay. “Of course, that would be fair.”
Barney requested the boys help the Indians build the fire. It would be dark soon and would only get colder. With one large central fire continually burning, the family groups would feed their fires off of the main one.
Both the immigrants and the native people worked side by side. The Indians had dug cavelike pits and showed the Englishmen how to cover the opening with sticks, bark, and moss. Sailcloth finished the huts and would help protect throughout Long Island’s long, harsh winter. Additional pits, dug deep and lined with branches and reeds, would store and protect their provisions.
All of the women tended the blazing bonfire. The Corchaug women put together corn, squash, and beans into a stew, while the English women speared rabbits and turkeys onto long sticks and arranged them over the flames.
The celebration began, and after sharing the meal, the Corchaugs presented Reverend Youngs and Peter Hallock with deerskins on which they had drawn out a map of the area. They would have lots eighty rods to the west from where they now camped, to build their permanent homes.
Mary savored the meal. “This is one of the most delicious feasts I have ever had, I think.” It was beans in what the natives called samp, but it tasted like a delicious vegetable stew.
Barney put his arm about her shoulders and drew her close. “What now? And our wedding feast was not? Have you forgotten so quickly?”
“Oh, no, never, Barney. I said one of the most. Nothing could ever compare to our wedding dinner.” Her eyes misted. She never would forget. The wedding cake had been the most magnificent she had ever seen or tasted. She pictured the red sugar roses. Forever in her memory.
Forever. That word again. Barney hated it. Funny how fast her thoughts could spiral downward.
One thought led to another. Jeremy had blurted out at their wedding that Barney would be bringing her to the colonies. He tried to deny it at the time, but his intentions became clear over time. Look at them now. Her brow knit in consternation, her lips pursed.
And, what of Miss Patience Terry? Here she was again. The long months in Massachusetts were difficult, to be sure, but the Terrys had gone elsewhere and that had been fine with her. Now they were here on Long Island.
“My sweet, whatever has come over you? This is supposed to be a celebration. We are finally home. Does that not make you happy?”
The Terrys and Wells looked over.
She turned away, peering into the woods. “Nothing, Barney. I’m glad to be here. Home. Finally.” She turned back to Barney with a reassuring smile.
25
April 1639
There was much to learn from the native people. Corchaug meant “Ancient Ones.” They farmed the fertile land for thousands of years before the English immigrants put their feet on the soil, and they were experts at cultivating. Their knowledge of how to use the land had meant survival for the Hortons’ first winter.
The Corchaug men hunted with Barnabas, and the women had taken Mary under their wing and taught her to use flint and stones to scrape the hide, making warm deerskin tunics, breeches, and boots. The native women were amazed at Mary’s spinning wheel and were eager to learn to make the smooth fiber that flowed from the wheel. They understood few of each other’s words, but friendship grew as they worked together.
Despite heavy rains, the foundations of their town began to form as Barnabas labored with the other men. Joseph and Benjamin worked beside him as paths were widened and lots cleared. A dock was built and the first road ran from the landing site on the bay, northward across the plain to the North Sea. They laid the main road at a right angle to the west.
The highest point on the main road was chosen for the village center, and foundations were laid for the meetinghouse. It would be a place of worship as well as the town’s meeting place. Although the new colony remained under the leadership of John Davenport in Quinnipiac, now referred to as New Haven, and the governorship of Connecticut, there was much to do in organizing the new congregation and establishing the laws of the town.
Thirteen men formed the core of the governing body and together parceled the land assignments and decided on the closed-field system for land lot. Barnabas was given a large parcel directly across from the meetinghouse on the main road; his standing in the community and the wealth he brought with him secured his position. Property extending out to the sound, thick with white oak, hickory, birch, and sugar maple and bordered by the road that ran north and south, was assigned to him as well. They called the road between the town center and the bluff over the sound Horton’s Lane.
With homes to build and crops to plant, clearing the land was a priority. The cornfields planted by the Corchaugs were their salvation, but the English wanted to plant wheat crops and orchards too. Barnabas would be a leader in establishing the community he’d long envisioned, and indeed, his house would be finished before anyone else’s. Of that he was sure.
One brisk spring day, Barnabas rolled up his sleeves and hitched Northstar to the wagon. “Joseph, Benjamin, come, we have much to do out on the bluff.” He loaded the sash saw and chip axe into the back. “Gather the chisels and mauls. Get that plane. We’ll be downing some timber and squaring it before we bring it back.”
The boys put together the collection of tools and climbed up on the board placed across the frame. Barnabas took his seat beside them. “There is much to be done here. There will be no slacking.” He grinned as he clicked his tongue to Northstar and urged him forward with the reins.
The wagon bumped along the new road. It would be a short ride, less than 650 rods to the sound side of the island. “We’ll need to take care in the trees we choose, sons. The white oak and hickory work well, they are hard. I’ll mark the trees we’ll cut, but if you have any questions, ask me.”
“Yes, Father. Will Joseph and I get to cut the wood?”
“Yes, son, but you must tak
e care. Your mother will not forgive me if you be hurt.”
“Father, I can almost beat you at arm wrestling, I think I can saw a few trees.” Joseph flexed his arm.
“I grant you that. You’re growing into a fine lad. I’m proud of you both. We’ll build a meetinghouse that will stand the test of time. Then we’ll build our house. I want many generations of Hortons to live in it. We’ll build it to last.”
Joseph took the harness off Northstar and led him to a small creek to drink, and Benjamin readied their tools. Barnabas surveyed the timber, overwhelmed at the expanse. “Your ancestors in England once had trees such as this. Mayhap not so tall or in such numbers, but still much more than what exists today. Wood to build with is hard to find there now, and heat in London is mostly by dirty coal. Here we have endless forest. But it’s a good lesson to keep in mind. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Very well, then.”
Despite the coolness of the spring day, sweat droplets sprayed freely from Barnabas’s forehead each time he swung the axe. Joseph and Benjamin worked equally hard with the sash saw, with their father taking over when they were more than halfway through the trunk.
By the end of the day they had one pile of logs and one of split timber, hewn and squared. As they piled the beams into the back of the wagon, Barnabas noticed a perfect little hickory.
“Sons, come here. I want to show you a good tree for a maul. Do you see the small size of this trunk? It’s as strong as iron. Dig it up by the root and throw it in the wagon. Tonight I will show you how to make a maul. And from the crotch of the branches we’ll fashion some hooks and from the limbs we’ll cut pegs. We’ll need many for our house.”
A Place in His Heart Page 20