The more she spoke, the easier it was, and she savored the pleasure of giving.
Mary got up and poured her more lemonade. “This is all very kind and generous of you, Patience. But I think you are getting ahead of yourself. Why couldn’t you leave your house in Lizzie’s care and she can expand her hat shop? But keep your things stored upstairs. We’d rather believe you and Jeremy shall return. And you shall want those things someday.” She looked at Lizzie. “Am I right, Lizzie?”
“Of course. Patience, don’t be so hasty.”
Mary nodded as she handed Patience a cup. “You know we shall miss you as teacher of our little girls.”
“That is one of the hardest things for me to leave.” An idea occurred to her, and she turned to Anna. “I’ve tried to think of someone who could take over, but no one comes to mind. But if I may leave with you all of my material and supplies, perhaps you could pursue someone to run the Dame School?”
Anna smiled. “Why, yes. I could do that.”
“Then ’tis settled. I shall leave the house and my things in your care, Lizzie. I do like the idea that Jeremy and I shall come back. But truly, if that doesn’t happen, they are yours and Mary’s, and you can decide what to do with everything.”
They ate their crisp cakes and reminisced about the early years. How difficult those days had been, but they, and their relationships, had emerged strong and of good cheer.
Mary at last asked the question she’d been expecting. Most likely it was on everyone’s mind. “When do you leave? We could have a dinner in your honor after church services this Sunday.”
“Harry is planning to leave on Saturday. I shall take my trunks out the day after tomorrow.” She looked away from Mary’s crestfallen face. She knew her friend loved to feed everybody for any occasion.
“I see.” Mary suddenly brightened. “Could we all come to your house in the morning? I’ll bring the girls. And you don’t need to prepare anything for us—I’ll bring the food.”
Gladness spread over her like sunshine in winter. “Oh yes, that would be perfect. I hope everyone can come. I might even put your sons to work loading my trunks in the wagon. Mr. Timms said I could use it, and he shall not even charge a fee.”
“Oh, they shall drive it out for you, Patience. No broken ankles before you leave.”
They spent the rest of the day talking about the ship’s cabin that would be hers for the voyage.
“Lizzie, you did a grand job of finishing the rooms. They are luxurious, and I shall feel like a queen.”
Lizzie lowered her lashes in gratitude of the praise and beamed. “Thank you. They are fit for the queen of hearts, Harry says.” She looked up. “Now I know he was talking about you.” She rubbed Patience’s hand and smiled.
Her friends thankfully avoided the subject of the journey itself. They knew her fear of sailing across the ocean was still there, and though she was conquering it, they must not dwell on it.
But they loved to talk about Jeremy. She admitted to her friends she worried he might not want to see her, and they tried to put that notion to rest. But it was there. It was that tiny piece she’d tried to bury in her heart. It pricked her when she least expected it, and she wished she could take back those awful words she’d spoken. But she could not.
41
November 6, 1665
London, England
The dock on the Thames appeared much the same as the last time Jeremy had seen it. He surveyed the bustle of activity from the deck of The Merrilee. The London backdrop looked as he remembered it, as well, but he had no desire to venture in. A plague infected the city. His first concern was to secure a carriage to take him to Mowsley, and that could prove difficult with the number of people fleeing to the countryside. Most likely, he’d been informed, his attorney had left the city, as well.
The journey from Long Island had been almost pleasant. But a small squall had rolled through and set them off course. It was followed by a week with virtually no wind.
Jeremy had rolled up his sleeves and worked as hard as any of the crew, and he arrived in London with renewed vigor. Now, he said his farewell to Captain Leo Thornberger and expressed his gratitude for the excellent voyage.
Leo used his influence to arrange a coach to pick him up from the dock, which Jeremy appreciated. It was little more than a hackney carriage, but it was adequate to get him straightaway to Mowsley. The only stop would be at The Sugar Loaf to have a bite to eat and drink.
He slept much of the way, waking from time to time to pull back the blind and check the progress and scenery. An occasional oak reminded him England no longer had the thick, lush forests of New England. As the carriage hurried along the road, the stale, thick air of London was replaced with the earthy scent of freshly turned wheat fields. Sheep began to dot the landscape, and he knew he was almost home. He didn’t have a clue what he would find there.
The hills of Mowsley rose in front of the carriage, and he was now wide awake and straining to see from his seat within the carriage. The terrain was bleak, but it was a bleak season. As they climbed, the winter drab made way to blackened ridges, charred by grass fires. His chest grew tight, and he swallowed as the damage to the village of Mowsley became apparent. Most of the houses and shops had suffered damage, some completely destroyed.
The carriage turned onto Dag Lane and bounced along until it stopped in front of the Horton house and mill. Or what was left of it. He climbed out. The driver took his trunk from the top of the coach and deposited it on the ground. Jeremy paid him seventy shillings for the journey. He watched the coachman depart, then turned back to the ruins of his estate.
He left the trunk and walked to what was left of the timber-framed house. It resembled more of a burned-out hulk than the manor house he’d grown up in. He walked up the flagstone path and in through the gaping hole that had once been a door. Most of the second story had collapsed over the stairs and hall. He heard a child’s cry and moaning and made his way through the debris to the parlor.
Mill workers, many with families, sat or lay about, hunger etched on their faces. It felt like a stone lodged in his chest, so painful it was to look at them, helpless and living among the ashes. They were dressed in rags, most likely the same clothes they’d worn the day the fire raged through.
He left the house through the back door. The sight of the tiny cottages, scattered between the house and the mill, burnt to ash, renewed the pang in his chest. They’d served as wicks to the fires that had raced so easily through the wheat fields and pastures and up the line of buildings from one end of the estate to the other.
As he looked at the path of destruction, he was astounded the house had survived at all. The mill was but rubble.
He found a man hauling water up from the stream on the far side of the property. He was hunched over the bucket, his face gaunt. He grasped him by the shoulders. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you. I am Jeremy Horton. What is your name, man?”
He looked overcome and barely got out words. “Henry, sir.” He set the bucket down.
“Henry, are you the only one strong enough to haul water? Are you doing everything yourself?”
“I am trying, sir. ’Tis been hard. So hard. Before the fire, a couple of the men died of the plague. I was certain we’d all be sick and die. But after the fire, no one has been ill. But now we starve, and ’tis hard to know which is worse. The mill is destroyed. I didn’t know what to do. All the homes are gone, and I brought the people into the manor house. I am sorry for that, sir.”
Jeremy looked around at the drifts of ash formed by the cold north wind. “Don’t apologize. You have done what needed to be done. Winter is coming, and they needed shelter. It’s not adequate in its condition. But it’s only by the grace of God we have any place at all for them.”
“We’ve been starving, Mr. Horton. The parish in Mowsley has tried to provide, but after the first couple of months, they just had no more.”
“I saw the damage in Mowsley.” He rak
ed his fingers through his hair. “Then food is the most immediate concern. I sent word to my attorney to send my funds, but I’m told he most likely left the city due to the plague. I do have some means, though, and I’ll need to ride into Saddington to see if I can purchase provisions there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Horton. You are indeed an answer to prayer.”
He hoisted the bucket. “I take it, if you are hauling water from the stream, the well was destroyed?”
“Aye.”
“Do we have anyone who needs to see a doctor?”
“Most who were burned died. A few still might if their burns don’t get treatment. But mostly hunger is our worst problem right now.”
“And the horses? A wagon? Do we have any of those things now? I haven’t even looked for the barn.”
Henry shook his head and tears came to the man’s eyes. “The barn is gone. The livestock, too, except for a few horses that were down at the river when the fire came through. Old Nell is the only one you can ride.”
All those years growing up here—playing in that barn as a youngster with Thomas and Barn, and later riding the estate with Father and his brothers. Burned to the ground. For a moment, no breath would enter his lungs. At long last, he sighed. “Very well. Thank goodness for the horses. The saddles, bridles? All gone?”
Henry nodded.
“I’ll ride to Mowsley and see if I can get a wagon, then I’ll go out to Saddington.”
They trudged toward the house. “We are going to have to figure out a way to rebuild the cottages. That house won’t provide enough shelter when the temperatures plunge.” Before he left he asked Henry to build a fire in the kitchen hearth.
He found a man in Mowsley willing to sell a wagon, but he paid a good penny for it. At last he was on the road to Saddington. Mowsley, though suffering from the fires and the loss of crops in the fields, suffered even more from the devastation at the Horton estate. He’d always known how much Mowsley depended on the Hortons, but the full impact had not hit him until that day.
At the Saddington markets, he found bolts of coat cloth, linsey-woolsey, and linen and asked the tailor to make a variety of clothing articles and sizes for the people at his estate. Some of the shopkeeper’s discards would keep them clothed until he could pick up the new garments. He loaded the cart with bread, cheese, butter, salted meats, pippins, and currants. He bought a cow and tied her to the back of the wagon. He could not believe how much better he felt on the way back to the burned-out mill, having accomplished so much for his workers.
But with the satisfaction came the memory of what he’d left behind. How good it would be right now to have Patience by his side. Why did he not ask her one more time? Why did he let her tell him no? If he’d gone back to her that morning, would she have come with him? Because he’d had no choice whether he could stay or go. And he found it compelling that, so many years ago, Barnabas had gone to the New World, led by God, and now Jeremy was returning to England, once again most assuredly led by God. If Patience could see the destruction here, he knew she’d understand. She always cared so much for people in need. And those little girls in her school. She adored them and taught them and cared for them so very much. She would take these women and children in her arms in a heartbeat and have such compassion for them. He knew that.
He stopped the horse in front of the house and took an armload of food up the walk. He was not prepared for the children who stood and stared with empty eyes when he walked in. How accustomed he was to seeing the healthy, bouncing Horton children crowd around him and beg for treats. He set his packages on what was left of the kitchen table and bent down with a loaf of bread and handed out chunks like they were sweets.
He took inventory of the utensils and crockery that had survived. There wasn’t a lot, but the kitchen was probably the least damaged by the fire.
He wasn’t much of a cook, but he put torn bread and currants into a crock and poured in some fresh cow’s milk to moisten the mixture. He put it into the fire and hoped it would make a pudding. He sliced some ham and put it on a platter with some of the cheese. A few of the women offered to help, but they looked so weak and ill he could not accept.
As the sun went down, he took a walk to view the ruins of the barn and other outbuildings. On the morrow, he would spend some time in Mowsley. He wanted to visit the graves of his parents, and while he was there, he would look at purchasing lumber and nails. He might have to go back to Saddington, but he hoped to put his money back into Mowsley as much as possible.
He pulled his leather jacket close against the cold, and after checking on the house, he continued on for Mowsley. He’d stay at the inn tonight and be back as soon as he finished his business in the morning. As he walked out into the cold air, he heard a laugh. Patience? He turned back to peer into the darkness. A young woman held her child and looked up with a smile. “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve been most kind.”
“Pray, forgive me. I thought I heard someone I knew. Good morrow to you.” He nodded and walked on. Would it always be like that? Would he hear her in a laugh, see her in a smile? He needed to put her out of his mind. There was much to do here. Truly, lives to save. If God wanted him here, He needed to make his way possible, and that meant forgetting Patience. Show me Thy way, Lord.
42
November 1, 1665
Southold
Patience’s house was filled with her friends. Everyone in the village stopped in at one time or another, and she was thankful she’d had her trunks packed before she ever told Mary or Lizzie. As Mary had promised, Patience’s kitchen was laden with food. Meat pies, stews, and roasts. Corn swimming in cream, mashed pumpkin and carrots. Sweets of every kind. Mary and Barnabas had prepared it all.
She was the guest of honor at her own house until a buggy pulled up with someone she was not prepared to see today. Joshua Hobart walked up the flagstone path with Harry on his arm. She ran to the door. “You have made the last day in my house perfect, Harry.” She hugged him and then turned to Joshua for a hug, tears threatening. “I was not going to cry today. And look what you’ve done. A farewell for me is not complete without a farewell for Harry. Thank you so much.” It seemed she constantly thanked this man.
Reverend Youngs delivered a farewell speech to her that was much like a sermon and touched her heart deeply. He talked of the early days when his flock had come with him from England through Massachusetts, and he spoke of her parents and how much they had meant to him. He ended with a prayer and a blessing for her and told her she must give their regards to Jeremy.
Her young charges, in their Sunday clothes, gathered to sing her the songs they’d learned over the years, and then she gave in to fresh tears. Mercy wanted to sit in Patience’s lap whenever she sat down and Little Mary hugged Mosh and asked if they could keep him.
“Mosh wants to come with me, little one,” Patience told her. “He’s never been to England.”
Mercy wiggled in her lap. “May we come, too?”
She hugged her close. “Oh someday, I hope you do. I should like that very much.”
At the end of the day, the ladies gathered close around Patience. Mary stood with something behind her back. “We have something to give you, Patience, as our farewell gift. We hope you still have room for it in one of the trunks you packed.”
She brought it around in front of her and unfolded the quilt the ladies had made with all of their signatures on it. In one corner was a square that read “Southold 1640, M. H.,” and in the opposite corner she saw a square that read “Mowsley 1665, L. F.” In the very middle was the square where she’d written “Patience Horton.” Twenty-five years she’d been in Southold. More years than she’d spent growing up in Mowsley.
Patience took the quilt, carefully, slowly brought it to her face, and breathed in the essence of all the women’s work. “Oh, how I shall treasure this.” She looked at each of the ladies present. “Thank you, each of you. The names on this quilt are held forever in time. A time when we cam
e together to Southold to serve God with our husbands and fathers and were blessed with friendship in the end.”
She spread out the quilt in the parlor, and they all admired their handiwork. “This is the best gift you could have given me.” She hugged Mary and Lizzie and then each of the other women in turn. She opened one of her trunks and tucked the quilt in beside her pink-and-ivory wedding dress.
Caleb and his brother Joshua took Harry and her trunks out to Winter Harbor in the wagon. She hugged and cried until her arms ached and her cheeks chapped when all of her friends left to go home.
Mary and Lizzie stayed behind to clean her kitchen and finally said their own goodbyes. They clung to one another, and finally Lizzie pulled back. “We have one more gift, Patience. They shan’t take up much room. ’Tis something I gave to Mary when she first left England.” She took a small stack of handkerchiefs out of a bag. They had a delicate design of purple and red flowers. Between each were dried sprigs of lavender.
Patience held them to her heart. “I remember these. Thank you. You are true friends.”
They hugged each other over and over, never wanting to let go.
When her friends were gone, she climbed the stairs to her room, and after changing into her nightclothes, she slipped into the bed under the rosebud quilt. She would leave it behind for one of Mary’s girls. The friendship quilt was already packed in one of her trunks. She fell asleep as soon as she closed her eyes and dreamt of the only person in the world who could pull her from this place of her heart.
The last day in her house, it snowed. She followed Mosh out to the garden in her robe and twirled in delight, immune to the cold. Her roses, almost like fabric now, gathered the snowflakes in their petals. She picked one and brought it in with her, tucking it into the basket that held her handkerchiefs.
To Follow Her Heart Page 26