To Follow Her Heart

by Rebecca DeMarino

“The storm. I told him to reef the sails—we needed to get them rolled in. He went up, but a furious gale snapped the foremast. He was thrown overboard. We did everything we could to save him, but we had a ship to save, too.” He shook his head. “The mast fell across the mainsails.”

  “Oh no, Harry. I tried to get out of my cabin last night. I was terrified. I thought I was going to die in there. But the door was bolted. How did that happen?”

  “I told the boy to do it. I knew you’d come out, and if ye did, ye would have died.” He looked almost angry, if he weren’t so sad.

  “I was so upset. And Joshua Hobart told me I just needed to remember that God would hold my hand.”

  “And He did.”

  “I don’t think so, Harry. I was frightened to death.”

  “Ah, child. He does not say things won’t happen to ye, He just says He will be there, holding yer hand. And see—it worked. Yer safe.”

  “Are we?” She looked up at the broken mast. “What shall you do? How are we going to make it to London?”

  “I have the ship’s carpenter repairing the mast. And we have sails to replace the torn ones. We will make it, don’t ye worry.”

  The ship swayed, and she grabbed onto Mosh. “What if the mast can’t be fixed?”

  He stood and took her arm. “Then we limp into port anyway. We’ll make it, but I’d like ye back in your cabin. I thank ye for the brave front here, but I’d rather have ye safe in yer cabin than me fishing ye out of the sea.”

  She turned at her door and hugged him. “It was a bad night for us, Harry. But don’t worry about me. I shall stay in my cabin.”

  She climbed back on her bed and took out paper and a quill.

  Dear Lizzie and Mary,

  I shan’t go into details, for I do not wish to worry you, but you would never believe the storm we just went through. And Harry was wonderful. I think he saved the ship and us.

  I miss you both terribly, and of course all of the girls. But know that I am all right and surviving. Harry thinks three more days at sea. That could be all the more I can take, or at least would wish to. Mosh feels the same way. The little apple tree is surviving and I shall plant it at Mowsley.

  One thing I have learned: if I can convince Jeremy to come back to Southold, I know I could make the journey across the pond again. That in itself is a miracle.

  Your devoted friend,

  Patience

  P.S. Just writing to you makes me feel better. God knew what He was doing when He gave me you as friends.

  The Annabelle took seven more days to make it to the London port, and limp she did. Patience had been concerned when the foremast could not be fixed, but Harry forged ahead, using the main and mizzen sails to their fullest. They stood on the deck as they sailed up the Thames, astounded by the sight of the city, so blighted by disease. When they docked, word was sent aboard not to disembark due to the high risk of the plague. Her heart ached. The broken mast had added days to their journey. How could she possibly wait another day? And what would Jeremy say when he saw her?

  45

  January 14, 1666

  London to Mowsley

  The pink light of dawn bathed her face as Patience awoke. She lay for a moment in her bed, nestled in the covers, and tried to gain her bearings. The bed swayed. She shifted and looked toward the porthole. The ship. Last night she must have only dreamt she was in Mowsley.

  She settled back into the pillow, scratching Mosh’s ear. In Southold they had heard little about the plague in London. But the news they’d received on the ship yesterday was horrid. No one was allowed into the city. No one was allowed out. Thousands were dying, and the fear of the spread of the disease consumed those who were healthy.

  They did not wish to go into the city. Surely they would be allowed to leave for Mowsley today.

  There was a knock at the door. She climbed from bed and donned her robe. A cabin boy brought in a pitcher of fresh water for her basin. “Does this water come from the city?” she asked.

  “No, miss. We have plenty in the ship’s hold.”

  “Could you please tell Captain Dunning I shall come to call on him within the hour?”

  The cabin boy said he would and closed the door on his way out.

  She washed her face and put on her green velvet gown. She brushed her hair and pinned it and wished for the hundredth time she’d not given the combs back to Jeremy. She gathered her books and her clothing and packed her trunk. She’d be ready when they could leave the ship.

  She and Mosh found Harry on the main deck. He motioned for her to sit on the trunk. “What is it, Harry? Shall we leave soon?”

  He shook his head, his blue eyes serious. “The gentleman from the city council told me I might be issued a certificate, for a fee, and if we can obtain one, then we might be able to find a carriage to rent. If ye are rich enough, ye can leave.”

  “But we aren’t even in the city! Can we not simply find a carriage and go?”

  “He told me they are locking people in their houses even if just one of ’em are sick. And carts come down through the streets at night and the drivers call out, ‘Bring me yer dead.’ ’Tis grim, Patience, and people are afraid. I grew up in London, did I ever tell ye? But I have no desire to walk the streets again. I have the money to get us out. We are safe on the ship whilst we wait. I know how ye are about wanting to go to Jeremy. I’m sorry.”

  She put her hand on Harry’s as she looked out over the filthy city. She’d remembered it from her youth as a busy, fascinating place to visit. Now she could smell its stench even from the ship. “I shall be all right, Harry. We made it through the storm, we shall make it through this. We need to pray, not just for our journey to Mowsley, but for the sick people of London.”

  “Aye, that’s my girl. I’ve been prayin’.”

  Three days later, they were in a coach and on their way, Patience’s four trunks and Harry’s one lashed on top. Mosh lay at Patience’s feet. She pulled back the blind and leaned out the window to catch every bit of the countryside, blur that it was. She looked up at the driver, his thickly trimmed cape flying behind him, and laughed. “Harry, he looks like one of the king’s men up there, and this a royal coach.”

  Harry’s eyes were bright again. “It cost a king’s ransom—it should look like one of his.”

  They stopped at the Sugar Loaf Inn for supper. They ate little meat pies, and then they were on their way and kept a brisk pace through the night. Patience could not sleep, and it was not just the jostle of the coach. She could not quiet her mind about Jeremy. She had been adamant when he left that she would never think of him again. Was it fair now to come to him and expect he would still feel the same about her? Was he even still at Mowsley, or did he find such devastation, no hope of restoration, that he’d left? Or, even more fearsome, had the plague spread to Mowsley? Could he be sick or dead? Not knowing what she would find haunted her.

  She listened to Harry’s gentle snore and wondered how he could sleep. But she was so thankful he was here, for without him she would not have made this journey. She remembered to pray, and though sleep did not come, a peace settled over her like a quilt made with loving hands. No matter what she would find, God was with her. He would hold her hand. She had His promise.

  In the first light, the hills of Mowsley looked like purple folds of velvet. She could see them in the distance as she peered from between the blinds, and the sight made her stomach grow tense. It was an odd layering of emotion. Dread or hope—which was it?—of what she would find at the Horton estate, but also the excitement of seeing the village where she grew up. Would it be very different from what she remembered, like London? Or was it more that she’d enhanced the memories over the years? Sometimes when she’d talked about something she recalled from Mowsley, Lizzie would laugh and say, “Oh, ’twas not that way. You were too young to remember.”

  As the coach climbed the ridge and drew close to Mowsley, her thoughts continued to tumble, until at last Harry woke up.


  “Look, we are coming into town,” she told him. Mosh put his paws in her lap so he could look out. “Not you, silly dog.”

  Harry opened his blind and watched the town grow near, but before they reached the shops, the coach trailed down the road to the Horton estate. A light snow began to fall.

  Her face was out the window, her knuckles white, as she gripped the sash. The road was long leading in, and she strained to see anyone, hoping she would find Jeremy standing as if waiting for her. She drew back as hulking black forms that once were trees and piles of ash where crops once stood in the fields came into view.

  They pulled in front of the manor, and Harry took her hand as she stepped out. She stood with the little apple tree clutched in one arm and Mosh by her side as he helped the driver pull the trunks from the carriage and then paid him for his service. As the carriage pulled away, she took in the full measure of the fire’s destruction. The contrast of a burnt rosebush with a single untouched rose still clinging brought tears to her eyes. Frost glistened like sugar in its dried petals.

  She looked from the rose to the house and searched the front window for a form, a glimpse of dark blond hair or the familiar frame of Jeremy standing in the doorway. But when the door did open, it was a pretty young lady with dark hair who stood there with a friendly smile. She wore a simple dress and dried her hands on her apron as Patience and Harry approached.

  Patience’s knees went weak, and she looked at Harry to speak for them. Mosh wagged his tail.

  Harry nodded to her and tipped his hat to the young woman. “Good morrow, miss. This is Patience Terry, and I am Captain Dunning. We’ve come a long way from New England to seek Mr. Horton.”

  “Good morrow to you both. Please come in. I am Rose. Mr. Horton is here, but down at the barn this morning. Let me offer you something to drink and a bite to eat, and I shall send Henry to fetch him.”

  As she and Harry followed Rose to the kitchen, Patience peered into the blackened rooms. The smell of stale smoke and charred wood, mingled with the burnt odor of horsehair wadding, assailed her. She was heartened to see the kitchen with fresh flooring, walls, and carpentry.

  Rose placed tall mugs and a plate of bread and cheese on the table and had Harry and Patience sit. She stepped out the back door and talked to a man who was digging. He set his shovel down and left. To find Jeremy, she presumed.

  She was sick at heart and so afraid now of what Jeremy would have to say. Had he forced her out of his mind, determined to move on with his life? Food did not appeal to her. Harry’s hand covered hers, and she looked into his eyes only to see they held the same fear.

  She heard Jeremy before she saw him. He was running to the back door, and soon it was thrown wide. She stood, tears falling freely, a hand to her lips. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and his tallness surprised her as it always did. His sleeves were rolled up, and he had sweat on his brow despite the coldness of the day. His green eyes held a question, but only for a moment, and then he closed the distance between them in seconds.

  He pulled her to his chest and rocked her, his chin resting in her hair. “I don’t believe my eyes. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

  “I have been so afraid. So afraid of losing you, so afraid of crossing that ocean. And I was so afraid that I had hurt you and I would never have the chance to tell you I am sorry and I love you.”

  “I am so glad you came. I’ve missed you, Patience.” He held her back and turned to Harry. “I don’t believe I’m seeing you either, old friend. You sailed The Annabelle, did you not?”

  Harry came to life. “Aye, I did. And she came with me. She did well, Jeremy, Patience did.”

  Jeremy let go of her for a moment and put his hand out. “This is Rose, the caretaker of the house, and Henry is my foreman for the estate. I couldn’t save it without them.”

  Her last doubt was assuaged and her joy complete. He bent to kiss her waiting lips.

  Mosh would not be ignored any longer. He woofed until Jeremy bent down to him. “Oh, Mosh, I should have known you’d come, too.” He rubbed the top of the dog’s head and then stood. Harry, Rose, and Henry had slipped away. “There is so much to do, Patience. The homes of the mill workers were all destroyed, and the barn too. But we rebuilt them. The house still requires much work, and I need to rebuild the mill. Mowsley has suffered too.”

  “Can you take me out to see the damage?”

  “Yes, of course, I’d like to do that. And I’ll take you in to see Mowsley, too.”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her once more. She couldn’t leave his arms again, no matter where he might go.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Did you bring your wedding dress?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “I have the matching combs for it. Patience, I’ve handled things badly in the past. I was so bent on finding out what I was meant to do after The Swallow sank, I didn’t consider your feelings or how long you have waited, and I’m sorry for that. I’ve missed you greatly. But mayhap this was God’s way of bringing us together on His terms. It seems we’ve each discovered something about ourselves and how to trust and depend on God.”

  “I do think, Jeremy, if you’d stayed in Southold, I’d never have gotten on Harry’s ship. You would have, you and Harry would have sailed it, but me? No. I know I wouldn’t have. I was so unhappy with you when you left, but standing here with you now, I am so grateful for your sense of duty.”

  He bent and kissed her, then whispered in her ear, “Will you marry me, Patience? If it cannot be today, then soon. Promise me it shall be soon.”

  Her heart beat fast, and she could not stand, so she let his strong arms hold her. “Oh yes, Jeremy, yes.”

  He held her hand and led her to the front porch. They stood looking at the burnt land that stretched before them. Jeremy put his arm around her. “It will take a lot of work.”

  “It will, but I’ll be here, working right beside you.”

  He kissed her hand. “I like that thought. But first I want to hear all about you and Harry coming across on The Annabelle.”

  “Very well, I shall tell you. But then I want to hear your stories, too—all of them, and thankfully we have the rest of our lives for that.” Her laughter was like wind chimes on the sea. “Now kiss me, Captain Horton. Please kiss me.”

  Epilogue

  July 15, 1680

  Southold

  The summer wind blew her skirt as Mary stood by the grave of her sweet Barney. The heavy blue slate lay over him, with the words he’d written so many years ago etched into the rock. She wiped a tear as she remembered how he’d wished to bring the stone, with the epitaph engraved, with him on their voyage from England to the New World. Had he thought he’d not survive the journey and his name and memory would perish from the earth with him?

  Jay and Ben had stood next to her while Caleb, Joshua, and Jonathan lowered their father’s casket into the ground. Barney’s longtime friend, Reverend John Youngs, had died several years before, so Reverend Joshua Hobart officiated. A hymn sung by their daughters, Hannah, Sarah, Mary, Mercy, and their adopted daughter, Abbey, gave much meaning to the ceremony, as Barney had loved to sing the old hymns in his deep baritone. It was a beautiful service, and now she needed time by herself, next to the husband who had been the love of her life.

  She liked that bayberry grew profusely in the cemetery, giving off a sweet scent, and from his grave she could see the house he’d built for them across the road. It was the first timber-framed home built on the east end of Long Island. Their children had been born in that house.

  He had been a baker, a founding father of Southold, a magistrate, a member of the General Court of New Haven and Hartford, and much loved by the people.

  Two months before, he’d developed a cough that would not abate, and when chest pain and fatigue claimed all of his strength, he took to his bed. A man who was up before dawn to work every minute of the day after spending time in Scripture and p
rayer, he sensed his journey on this earth was drawing to a close. When he asked Mary to bring him paper and pen to write his last will and testament, she knew his call to his Heavenly home was near.

  She loved that he was generous to their sons in the distribution of his vast property, and she was touched that he wanted his Bible to be left to their youngest son, Jonathan. He put much thought into that decision. He provided for their daughters, as well, and because Mercy and Christopher Youngs were just beginning their married life, he left her a feather bed and cooking pots.

  That he appointed Mary executrix of his will pleased her greatly and was his final compliment to her business knowledge and abilities. He left her with the new house, his father’s ivory-head walking stick, the musket he called Old Quart Pot, and the cask they’d hauled together from Mowsley—the one that Lizzie’s children liked to call “Uncle Barney’s Money Pot.” They still believed he’d brought it filled with gold.

  She’d sat by his side during the past few weeks, while his children and grandchildren gathered around him. Friends came from distant places—Dirk from the west end, high-ranking government officials from Massachusetts and Connecticut, and even friends as far away as Barbados. They reminisced about their journeys together and the changes they had witnessed in their lifetimes. The only ones missing were Jeremy and Patience. They were still at Mowsley, and though Mary missed them so, Barney reminded her that they would see them someday in Heaven. In God’s own time. They had laid her sweet sister, Lizzie, and Lizzie’s husband, Zeke, the year after.

  In quiet moments when he slept, Mary sat close, afraid to leave him for even a moment, and ran her fingers over his hands as if she might forget his touch when he was gone. She caressed his cheek and watched his every breath. When he opened his eyes to look at her, she was ready with a smile. At times they talked of the days when he’d taught her to bake, and she told him she’d never make a crisp ginger cake like he did, of that she was certain. In his last few days, she helped him to his chair by the hearth, his white hair still thick, his mossy green eyes as bright as ever. He asked her forgiveness for those difficult early years. But what person goes through life without ever hurting another? He was a human being, after all. He had shown her many times over his love and devotion to her. She told him he’d been forgiven long ago. How she loved that man.