Saving Marina

by Lauri Robinson

  “We’re leaving today,” Richard said.

  William was the only one to respond. His thick gray brows were drawn down, his frown more prominent by the deep wrinkles surrounding his eyes. “Aye, Captain. It is no longer safe here.”

  Richard had to question if it had ever been safe. He’d never been a man to fuel himself with guilt, but if possible, he’d whip himself for allowing his child to experience the life she had recently. If he’d known five years ago the terror Grace would live through, he’d have taken her with him back then. There was no salvation in the fact he couldn’t have known.

  “You’ll need a wagon,” Marina whispered softly. “None of them is up to walking that far.”

  “Then I shall acquire a wagon.” He was in the front room before his feet stalled and an iota of sense penetrated the anger and frustration surging inside him. Leaving the house unattended right now would be insane.

  Damn it. He was a man of action, but not having the resources, the men who usually stood at his side, stifled his abilities. That was foreign to him, and infuriating.

  He spun around and all but stumbled into Marina. Her blue eyes, so full of sorrow and pain, inflicted yet another bout of incompetency. He’d never lacked the skill or power to protect what was his, to overpower the enemy, yet at this moment in time he felt as if he stood on a gangplank with his hands tied behind his back.

  “John has a wagon at their farm, if the church hasn’t already seized it,” she said softly.

  “I can’t leave you unprotected,” he said. “Not right now. Hickman’s sure to be watching and will see me leave.”

  “We can lock the doors and—”

  “It’s gone beyond locked doors and windows, Marina.” He didn’t stand a chance, outnumbered as he was, not with two injured men, a small child and a woman who thought she had more power than she did. Digging into the crevices of his mind, he searched for ideas, for past experiences that might help. A tale he’d once heard from a shipmate came forward. The sailor had claimed to have been surrounded by natives on an island near Africa and barely escaped with his life. “I’ll have to wait for the cover of night,” he acknowledged aloud. “And set traps around the house, to prevent anyone from getting close during my absence.”

  “What sort of traps?”

  A tingle raced up his neck, and a hint of elation crossed his mind. A woman who not only thought she was a witch but one who everyone else thought was a witch was precisely the weapon he needed. One that could prove more powerful than cannons or guns. Enticed, he reached out and took her hands. “Witch traps.”

  Her fingers folded around his, soft and warm, yet she shook her head as if confused. “Witch traps?”

  He nodded. “The people here are petrified of witches.” Her frown was so deep he chuckled slightly and acted upon an overwhelming desire. Planting a tiny kiss upon one drawn brow, he whispered, “Go see to the others. I have some planning to do.”

  Marina desperately tried to gather her thoughts, but the touch of Richard’s lips against her forehead made it impossible. His dark eyes, which moments ago had been black with rage, were now a glistening brown and twinkling with mischief. That only increased her utter confusion. “I’ve never heard of witch traps,” she told him.

  His smile was as conniving as it was genuine. “Neither have I. Go now.” He released her hands. “I’ll let you know the supplies I’ll need shortly.”

  “What sort of supplies?”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I know.” He moved to the desk where Uncle William kept old logbooks and worn-flat quills.

  She was still shaken by all that had happened but, as unfathomable as it seemed, wasn’t full of fear or dread. There was anger because of John and Uncle William being injured and raw fury for Gracie being frightened so terribly, yet a wholesome belief Richard would save and protect them whatever might come overrode all of that. She used to feel that way, years ago. Protected. Safe. When her father and brothers had been alive and always at hand. Not even telling herself that in the end they hadn’t been able to protect their family lessened the strong confidence Richard had somehow instilled.

  She hadn’t meant to tell him about Gunther earlier. It had just happened and, considering what he’d told Hickman, must have convinced him she was indeed a witch.

  All of that left more questions in her mind than she could tolerate right now. Pushing them aside, she walked to where Richard sat. “Did you steal John’s mother’s body along with Elizabeth Pullman’s?”

  He leaned back and looked up at her thoughtfully. “What do you think?”

  She nodded, having already known the answer. “That was a very dangerous thing to do.”

  “Perhaps, but I understood Oscar’s desire to see his daughter laid to rest.”

  “Why?” she asked. “You don’t even know him.”

  He shrugged. “You yourself said you don’t need to know someone to care about them.”

  “I was speaking of family.”

  “Then perhaps I’m speaking of justice,” he said. “A person knows right from wrong. What’s happening around here is wrong. I want to see it righted.”

  Marina couldn’t say it was kinship she harbored toward Richard right then, but it was something that arose from her very soul. Not certain she had the wherewithal to explore what that meant, she nodded. “I’ll go check on the others.”

  The changes that had happened inside her since Richard’s arrival were profound and unsettling.

  “Where’s Richard?” Uncle William asked as she entered the kitchen. “John needs to lie down.”

  She didn’t have time to respond before Richard appeared and helped John down the hallway to William’s room. “I’ll make a poultice for his eyes,” she told Uncle William. “And one for you.”

  He grumbled, saying he’d be in the front room with Richard, while she unfastened clumps of dried herbs she kept hanging from an overhead beam near the fireplace.

  Gracie climbed off her chair and started carrying the breakfast dishes to the cupboard that held the washing tub. That action made Marina smile.

  “Thank you, Gracie,” she said. “You are such a wonderful helper.”

  While the herbs steeped, she filled the dish tub for Gracie and carried a chair to the cupboard for the child to stand upon. Once she’d wrapped the herbs in cotton batting, she said, “I’ll be right back, Gracie.”

  First she attended to John, whose eyes were swollen terribly, and then she prepared another poultice for her uncle.

  “They got the jump on you,” Richard was saying to William as she entered the front room. “Nothing you could have done.”

  “Those bloody buggers,” her uncle replied. “Knocking a man over the head from behind is just cowardly. Cowardly, I say.”

  “Aye,” Richard answered. “They are a bunch of cowards. Hiding behind tales of witches and lies of children. But...”

  He’d leaned back in his chair and Marina bit her bottom lip at the seriousness of his gaze. Her heart started thumping harder when his eyes met hers.

  “Cowards are usually desperate, and desperate men are dangerous men.”

  “Aye,” Uncle William said.

  Marina tugged her eyes off him to focus on placing the poultice on Uncle William’s injury. “You sit tight,” she said. “I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”

  “I won’t move a muscle,” he said. “My head hurts too bad.”

  “I’ll brew some tea to help with the pain,” she said, patting his shoulder.

  “That would be a blessing, darling.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as her uncle closed his eyes. In all the time she’d known him, he’d never admitted to being in pain. She’d seen the signs, watched him grimace and wince when under the weather, and had made him slow down when he was winded. Her insides sank at how much peril she’d put his life in by moving here. He could have been killed today. She lifted her gaze and once again found Richard watching her.

  “I’ll keep an eye on
him.”

  She acknowledged his offer with a nod before leaving the room. Back in the kitchen, Gracie’s wary eyes twisted her heart all over again. She’d put the child’s life in danger by bringing her here, too. Planting a smile upon her face, she said, “Goodness, but you are a good girl. The best dishwasher I’ve ever seen.”

  Gracie smiled.

  Marina tapped the tip of Gracie’s tiny nose. “I used to help my mother in the kitchen all the time.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, I did.” Although her heart tumbled, Marina kept a smile on her face. Her mother used to tell her that someday she’d do such things with her own daughter. Who would have ever thought being a witch could be so painful. Keeping the pain hidden, she said, “And we used to sing.”

  “I like when you sing.”

  “I’ll teach you the words so you can sing with me,” she offered.

  Gracie shook her head. “I can’t. It’s evil to sing.”

  Marina bit her bottom lip for a brief moment. It wasn’t her place to impose beliefs upon anyone, especially a child who was not her own, but in this case, she chose to ignore that. To her way of thinking, the Puritans’ idea that singing was evil was as wrong as many of their other beliefs. Besides, Richard wasn’t a Puritan and wouldn’t raise Grace as one. “No, it’s not,” she answered. “God loves to hear us singing, especially little children.”

  “He can hear us?”

  “Oh, yes, all the way up to heaven, he can hear us, and he rejoices in the sound. It makes him so happy the sun shines brighter.”

  “I shall like that,” Gracie said.

  Marina grinned. “I shall, too. While you’re washing, I’ll brew Uncle William some tea.”

  “What about singing?”

  Marina grinned. “We shall sing the entire time we work.”

  She started out with a song she sang to the child at night, but upon realizing most of the words were in Swedish, ones Grace wouldn’t understand, she switched, making up words as they went along. The tune, about a tiny bluebird flying through the clouds, soon took shape, and Gracie picked up on the words and tune immediately.

  The child’s voice filled the room like sunshine and lifted Marina’s spirits considerably. They giggled as they sang and sang as they giggled, and all in all, it put a skip in Marina’s step she hadn’t experienced in ages. It was still there when she carried William’s tea into the front room.

  “Did a flock of magpies take over the kitchen?” Richard asked.

  The smile on his face allowed hers to remain intact. “I don’t believe so, but perhaps there is a happy little wren washing dishes.”

  “I’ve always loved the sound of singing,” Uncle William said without opening his eyes. “It cheers a man’s soul.”

  “That it does,” Richard agreed.

  Once again, Marina’s heart skipped a beat. “Here is your tea.” She set it on the table. “Let me check your head.”

  Uncle William leaned forward for her to remove the poultice. The bump was almost gone, providing her much relief.

  “It still hurts,” he said.

  “I’m sure it does,” she supplied. “The tea will help.”

  William took a hold of her hand and squeezed it firmly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, girl. You’ve saved this old man’s life again.”

  Marina bent down and kissed his forehead, but as she turned to leave, his hold on her hand increased.

  “Did you know, Richard, that the court of Oyer and Terminer won’t imprison a woman with child? It’s called ‘reprieve for the belly.’”

  Richard’s gaze held enough heat that her insides blazed, right below her heart where she knew babies were conceived and grew. That also sent heat into her cheeks.

  “No, I didn’t,” he answered.

  “It’s true,” William said. “Rosemary Washington was one of the first accused, after she’d caught those young girls splattering her laundry with mud. When the court found out she was with child, she was sent home immediately. Fully pardoned.”

  “I believe it,’ Richard said. “Reproducing takes precedence to the Puritans.”

  “Aye, Captain. Even over witches,” William said.

  Her discomfort, the heat swirling inside her, left her at a disadvantage. Marina pulled her hand out of William’s. “I must see to John,” she said, taking off as if being chased by true witch hunters. Those who would see to her demise swiftly and without conviction. Thinking of such things, of infants growing beneath her breasts, was useless and would leave her with nothing but sorrow. Yet she couldn’t stop those thoughts. That of a child with dark hair and eyes, much like Gracie. A child of her own.

  If either Richard or her uncle knew what she knew, neither would have glanced her way. Witches couldn’t have babies. They were infertile. That was why they stole other people’s children.

  Reverend Hickman claimed that was why she refused to turn over Gracie, and she’d agreed. Out of spite, she’d thought, but now she had no choice but to agree. She’d wanted to care for Gracie. Still did.

  Swallowing against the burning of her throat, Marina hurried into the kitchen.

  Gracie, still playing in the dishwater, started singing again, loudly. Marina managed to pull up a smile and sang a few notes while pouring a cup of tea for John. “I’ll be right back,” she then told Gracie.

  The sound of the child’s singing followed her into William’s bedroom, where John lay on the bed.

  “All that singing sure sounds pretty,” he said. “It’s like sunshine.”

  “That it is.” She set the tea on the table in order to remove the cool compresses. The swelling near his mouth had slowed, but both eyes were swollen almost shut, and what she could see between the tiny slits showed the whites were bloodshot.

  “I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” he said.

  Empathy welled as she helped him sit up. “And I’m sure your face hurts terribly.”

  Using his elbows to brace himself, he admitted, “It does.”

  Marina gathered the cup and lifted it to his lips. “Here, this will help with the pain.”

  He drank several swallows before falling back upon the pillow with a stifled groan. “Do ye think it true, Marina?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “My mother. That she arose from the dead.”

  Her heart dropped clear to her toes, yet she couldn’t lie to him. Nor could she reveal the truth behind the night’s exploits. “No, John,” she whispered. “I don’t.”

  “Then what happened to her? To her body? Who would steal her?”

  Marina settled the poultices over his eyes again. “No one stole your mother, John.”

  “Oscar Pullman said he was going to get Elizabeth and bury her at their place. Do ye think he took Mother, too? I’d asked him if I could go with him, but I forgot about it last night.”

  Relieved, Marina patted his hand. “I believe that is exactly what happened. Rest assured your mother is buried on her property. But know that is just her body. Her soul is in heaven with the Almighty.”

  “Do ye really believe that?”

  “I do,” she answered. “With all my heart, I do.”

  “I want to believe that, too. I truly do.”

  Marina gathered one of his hands between hers and recited a prayer softly, then offered one of thanks for providing John’s mother the ultimate salvation. She laid his hand back upon the bed and gathered the cup to leave.

  “I don’t understand, Marina,” he said quietly. “How ye can be so close to the Lord, yet claim to be a witch. It doesn’t hold true.”

  John had been the one to tell her that others were talking about what had happened to her in Maine. That had been right before his mother had been arrested. Up until then, she’d remained a silent bystander against the accusations, not wanting to bring more attention to her or Uncle William. However, her warnings about the illness prior to that had already set things in motion. “There is plenty in this world that doesn’t hold
true,” she answered. “I surmise life is like a cobblestone pathway. It’s not always smooth to walk upon. The best we can do is hold faith that we don’t trip and hope our path will once again become smooth.”

  “I can’t imagine what that would be like. A smooth path.”

  She couldn’t, either, but tried to assure him. “Oh, you’ll like when it happens. Your life will be full of promises and sunshine.”

  “Was yer life that way once? Full of promises and sunshine?”

  “Yes, it was,” she said. “A long time ago.”

  “I hope it’s that way for ye again, Marina.”

  The surge of pain that rushed through her was impossible to breathe through. She held the air in her lungs until the hurt diminished enough to speak. “You rest now. Sleep if you can.”

  Turning toward the door, she stumbled slightly when she saw Richard standing there.

  Marina held no delusions that he hadn’t heard her and John talking, and she refused to let the consequences of that affect her. There was no room for any more regrets.

  Richard waited until she pulled the door closed behind her before asking, “He’s not well enough to travel, is he?”

  She shook her head. “His eyes are swollen almost shut. The whites, what I can see of them, are bloodshot. It may be a couple of days before he can see enough to move around.”

  Richard rubbed his head with both hands. Then, smoothing back the hair he’d mussed, he said, “I’ve seen men lose their sight from eye injuries. It’s not a trifle thing.”

  “No, it’s not,” she agreed, attempting to remain detached. It was false, of course. She was greatly concerned about John and Uncle William. And Grace and even Richard. In fact, her worries far outnumbered all else.

  Until Richard reached out and took a hold of her shoulders. That created a selfishness in her that surpassed everything. Her heart started racing and warmth once more pooled beneath her stomach. Visions of kissing him again flashed before her eyes. The thought hadn’t been far from her mind, even with everything else. Then, out of nowhere, the sweet whimper of an infant echoed in her ears.

  She twisted to look into the kitchen, where Gracie still splashed in the tub of water, but she knew the sound had come from inside her, created by the witch within to taunt her already aching heart.