“I know, dear.” Her mother held out her arms, and Rebekah ran into their warm circle. “But we shall all meet again—and then we will be together forever.”
Rebekah’s arms tightened around her mother. If only she could hold her close and keep her safe from sickness and death. She longed to tell Mother that each time someone died, the fear of losing her or Father got worse.
Be brave, she told herself. Don’t make Mother more worried than she already is.
Mother sat down on the bench Will and Father had made, pulling Rebekah down beside her. Shadows from the fire flickered on her tired face. “Life is hard here, harder than any of us imagined.” Her eyes glistened, and Rebekah knew she was close to tears. “I do all I can, knowing the next time I go to the common house, one or more will be missing.”
Rebekah had never felt closer to Mother. “Why do our men bury the dead at night?” she asked in a low voice.
Mother held Rebekah so close the girl could hear the steady beat of her mother’s heart. “We dare not let the Indians know how many of our people have died,” Mother said huskily. “Once they realize our numbers are small and that we are so weak, they may become bold enough to attack.”
Rebekah and Mother silently huddled together on the bench until a sound came above the storm. “It’s Will!” Rebekah felt weak with relief. She sprang up and flung wide the door. Father entered, empty-handed and with a set look on his face, but there was no sign of Will. A furious blast of wind sent a cloud of smoke from the fire through the hut.
Father slammed the door shut. “We found no game, but at least we got home before the worst of the storm.” He smiled at his wife and daughter but only with his lips. His eyes held no hint of their usual sparkle. “I’ll change into dry clothing.” He shrugged out of his wet coat and looked around. “Where’s Will?”
“Isn’t he with you?” Rebekah asked, fear filling her heart.
“With me? Why would he be with me? You know Captain Standish didn’t want Will in our hunting party today.”
“But Will left, and the sentry said he was headed toward the hunting party,” Rebekah explained.
“Left?” Father’s eyebrows met in a frown. “When?”
“He went a long time ago.”
“You mean Will is somewhere out in this storm?” Father’s face turned whiter than snow. “Abigail, did you know about this?”
“Nay.” Mother turned to Rebekah. “How could you let him go?”
“I tried to stop him!” Rebekah cried. She covered her face with her apron and burst into sobs. “I’m so tired of trying to be a brother’s keeper! Will won’t listen to me, and I get blamed for what he does!”
Shocked silence filled the hut. Rebekah cried harder. She knew the church elders taught that children should always speak to their elders, especially their parents, with respect. It truly wasn’t fair for her to have to always bear the burden of Will’s mischief—but now she feared she would be in more trouble than ever.
“Daughter, I spoke too hastily,” Mother said. “As did I.” Father picked up Rebekah and hugged her. “We know your brother can be a trial, and you are to be praised for your love and patience. We also appreciate how much you have grown up. It is not your fault he is rebellious. You cannot change Will. All you can do is continue to set a good example. Will must decide for himself how he will behave. Forgive us, Rebekah.”
The humbleness in Father’s voice surprised Rebekah. “I … it’s all right. I know you are worried. So am I.” She buried her face in her father’s shoulder. “I’ve waited and prayed and waited and prayed all afternoon.”
Father set her down. “I’ll get a few neighbors and see if I can find him.” He put his wet coat back on and slipped outside.
The waiting went on, and Mother tried to help time pass quickly by having Rebekah eat some food. Less than an hour later, Father returned. “The storm has increased. We can do nothing until morning,” he said heavily. “Rebekah, go on up to bed.”
She reluctantly obeyed, feeling Father had things to say to Mother he didn’t want her to hear. For once, her curiosity matched Will’s. When she reached the loft, she crouched near the top of the ladder. Spying it might be, but she could never sleep without knowing what Father had to say. She had to listen hard, but she did manage to catch his words.
“I pray to God the rain doesn’t wash out Will’s tracks. I also pray Will is wise enough to remember what he’s been taught, which is to find cover and stay there. If he wanders around, it will make our search a lot harder.”
Rebekah crept to her bed and buried herself in her blankets under the rug. She lay sleepless, praying for her brother until the first rays of light crept into the sky.
Just as she slipped into sleep, a loud pounding on the door startled her awake. She sat up on her mattress and listened, her heart pounding. After a moment, she recognized Jake’s loud, gruff voice … and then Will’s. With a glad cry, Rebekah leapt to her feet and tumbled down the ladder.
“Look what I found,” Jake was saying.
Mother and Father wrapped their arms around Will. They looked as though they might never let go.
“He’s all right,” Jake said. “Just a mite hungry and cold. I’ll leave ye to yer breakfast now.”
He ducked out of the low doorway. Mother and Father stepped back from Will, and the joy and gratitude on their faces faded into something sterner. “I’ll let your mother get you something to eat,” Father said. “And then, son, you and I shall have a talk.”
That was one talk Rebekah had no desire to hear. She did not envy her brother one bit today.
In the days that followed, Will was unusually quiet and obedient. Rebekah knew he was trying hard to prove to Father and the other men that he had learned from his mistake. She also knew how embarrassed and ashamed he always felt once his rebellious feelings died down. Rebekah felt sorry for Will—but she was relieved to have him safe inside the stockade.
The days slipped past, one after another. More and more people fell ill, but Mother, Father, Will, and Rebekah stayed well. Rebekah began to feel more comfortable in their new home.
Then one cold night in the middle of January, the cry, “Fire! Fire!” echoed throughout New Plymouth. The Cunningham family jumped up from their sleeping mats and snatched more clothes. Even in the dim light of a pine torch, Rebekah could see the terror on her parents’ faces.
CHAPTER 6
Fire
A dozen voices took up the cry. “Fire! The common house is on fire!”
Rebekah and Will raced toward the common house. Rebekah was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. She knew that the common house was filled with the sick, including William Bradford, who had collapsed while working, Governor Carver, and many others. “Please, God, help them!” Rebekah prayed under her breath.
Someone shouted words as she dashed past, but she could not make out their meaning. Cries of terror came from the gathering crowd.
Rebekah put on a burst of speed and caught up with a man running in front of her. Frantically, she snatched at the man’s rough sleeve. “What is it?” she gasped.
“Gunpowder,” the man panted. Sweat and fear covered his face. “Barrels of it. Some open. Stored in the common house!”
“No!” Rebekah’s hand fell away. The new danger threatened not only those who lay ill, but all of New Plymouth. It was far more deadly than the flames that burned the common house’s thatched roof and spread to its walls. If the fire ignited the gunpowder, it would explode. Rebekah and Will exchanged terrified glances.
“Here! You, boy! And you, lass.” A man coming toward them from the common house thrust wooden buckets into their hands. “Fetch water, and be quick about it!”
Rebekah had felt as though she were frozen stiff with fear, but the man’s order released her from her horror. She turned and raced after Will toward the water. Would the spark that set the common house on fire destroy everything they had worked so hard to build? Would it claim victims from th
e rows of sick inside the burning building?
“God, save them!” she heard Will yell, never slowing his pace. He filled his bucket and dashed back to the burning building. Rebekah did the same, being careful not to spill the precious water. When she got there and passed the bucket to eager, waiting hands, a great sob of relief tore from her throat.
The barrels of gunpowder sat away from the common house, safe from harm.
“Who got the powder out?” Will demanded of a breathless, soot-streaked man standing nearby.
The man slapped at stray sparks on his clothing. “God, I reckon.” He coughed. A river of tears poured down his grimy face. “I never saw such a thing.” He coughed again. “Even the weakest among us somehow managed to help! They tottered up from their sickbeds, grabbed those barrels as if they were feathers, and hauled them out.” He mopped at his face and put out a spark greedily burning yet another hole in his already-tattered garment. “We lost a lot of clothing we can ill afford to spare, but praise be to God, no one was killed, at least so far.” A shadow darkened the speaker’s face. As if suddenly aware of his own weakness, he slumped to the ground and lay there panting.
Rebekah bit her lip, understanding only too well what the man meant. The fire and gunpowder had been cheated of their victims. But from the looks of those who had staggered from the common house and stood shaking with chills, their efforts could bring more death to the settlers. She had nursed enough patients on the voyage across the Atlantic to know how people looked when they were seriously ill.
All through the night, Rebekah and Will continued hauling buckets of water to the common house. Everyone was fighting the fire, but the people who were sick eventually collapsed in the snow. Rebekah noticed that Mother was busy helping them get up and leading them to small homes where at least they could stay dry. Father was pouring water on the roofs of nearby homes to keep them from catching fire.
Finally, the fire was put out. As the tired group looked at the steaming roof, they knew even more work lay ahead. The roof needed to be repaired and the common house cleaned before the sick could return to their shelter.
Will and Rebekah looked at each other. As she wiped her nose with the handkerchief a Dutch friend had given her so long ago, Rebekah said, “Will, don’t you sometimes long to be back in Holland where at least we had time to play with friends?”
“Do I ever,” Will said. “And we weren’t so tired or hungry, either.”
Rebekah let go of her gloom with a determined shake of her head. “Well,” she said, “we certainly can’t go back now. And if we’re going to survive, we need to keep working. I’d best go help Mother cook up some porridge for everyone.”
Sickness and death continued to haunt the colony. Sometimes, Rebekah hated the New World, with its cold and hunger. What good was it to be free to worship as they pleased when so many people in the colony lay sick and helpless? How many more would they lose in this harsh land?
Rebekah was especially sad when Captain Standish’s wife, Rose, died. She had grown to admire the gruff captain as she saw him work among the sick with Elder Brewster. “After what I’ve seen him do,” Will confided to Rebekah one day, “I’ll never call him Captain Shrimp again.”
The Cunningham family was alarmed one morning when Will woke up flushed with fever. Having seen so many people die, Rebekah was terrified her brother would be next. For days, she did everything she could to help Mother take care of Will. She helped with the cooking and washing, and she stayed by Will’s side every chance she had, wiping his forehead with a cold wet rag. “God, please help my brother get better,” she prayed over and over beneath her breath. She did not think she could bear to lose Will.
When Father, Mother, and Rebekah were so tired they could no longer keep their eyes open, Jake stayed at Will’s side. The sailor’s big hands proved surprisingly gentle as he wiped Will’s hot face with the cloth dipped in cool water. Jake also managed to secretly bring Will small portions of food. The family never asked, but they suspected Jake saved it from his own rations.
Finally, Will was able to get up, although he was so weak he could barely walk across the room. His eyes looked enormous in his thin face, and his freckles stood out as if painted on his nose and cheeks.
The first afternoon he was able to sit up, Will peppered Rebekah with questions about what had been happening. “At least there hasn’t been any trouble with the Indians,” he said.
Rebekah sniffed. “Depends on what you call trouble. No one can leave any kind of tool lying around or it mysteriously disappears. One of our men went out for ducks and saw Indians coming this way. The men working in the forest left their tools and came back after their guns. When they got back, both the Indians and the tools had vanished.” The corners of Rebekah’s mouth turned down. “Now the Indians are getting bolder. One day they stole tools from some of our people who left them just long enough for the midday meal!”
“We need our tools or we can’t cut wood and make crops,” Will protested.
“Don’t judge them too harshly,” Mother told the children. “This was their land before we came.”
“It’s ours now. The king gave it to us,” Will protested.
Mother sighed. “I wonder how we would have felt if someone came to our house in Holland and told us it no longer belonged to us. The king means nothing to the people who were born here across the ocean.”
“Elder Brewster said it’s for their own good,” Father spoke quietly. “He says when we tell the Indians about God and Jesus they will be happier.”
Rebekah was glad the Indians would have a chance to learn about Jesus. But she wondered if the Pilgrims were using that as an excuse to make them feel better about stealing what rightfully belonged to the Indians. The thoughts that filled her head were strange, uneasy ones, and she tried to push them away.
When the Pilgrims who were still living aboard the Mayflower fell ill, Captain Jones insisted most of them be taken ashore. “I can’t risk having my men take your sickness,” he barked. “It’s bad enough we couldn’t leave and go back to England as we planned. We don’t intend to get your consumption and pneumonia.”
Some of those who had been passengers on the Mayflower weren’t much kinder.
“One man fixed meat a few times for a friend who said he would leave him everything,” Rebekah whispered to Will. She knew Father and Mother didn’t approve of telling tales, but she was so angry she just couldn’t keep it to herself. “The man didn’t die right away, and you know what?” Rebekah clenched her hands into fists. “The man who was supposed to be his friend called the sick man an ungrateful cheat! He said he wouldn’t fix him anything more. The sick man died that very night.”
Rebekah’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Why are some of our own people acting this way? How can they, when we so badly need to help each other?”
“From fear.” Will sadly shook his head. “The crew on the
Mayflower is said to be even worse. They snarl at one another like dogs. Jake says they think they’re all good fellows when they’re well. But once sickness strikes, the healthy crew members absolutely refuse to help those who are ill. They are afraid to go in the cabins and risk infection.”
“That’s terrible!” Rebekah exclaimed.
“Well,” Will said, “at least one good thing happened. Remember the boatswain who never missed a chance to curse us and tell us how worthless we are?”
“How could I forget him?” Rebekah rolled her eyes. “He was awful! He never said anything nice about any of us.”
“He has now.” Will took in a deep breath. “The few people from our group who were allowed to remain on board the Mayflower are pitching in to help the sick crew members. Our people refuse to just let the sailors die. Hard as it is to believe, the same boatswain who couldn’t stand us told our people before he died, ‘You, I now see, show your love like Christians one to another, but we let one another lie and die like dogs.’ Can you imagine that?”
Rebekah bli
nked hard. “I’m glad, but I wish he hadn’t died. I hope he knew Jesus.” “I do, too.”
Rebekah felt sadness shoot through her like an arrow. “Not just him, but all the others. More than half the crew is dead. I don’t know if any of them knew Jesus.” A great lump came to her throat. “I hope so.” Rebekah took in a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it out. “Will, do you know what I want almost more than anything in the whole world?”
“Enough food to feel really full?” her brother asked and patted his flat stomach.
“More than that. More than anything except for you and Father and Mother not to die.” Rebekah swallowed hard at the thought. There had already been too many deaths. Some whole families were wiped out, although no girls and only a few boys had died.
“What do you want?” Will asked.
“To have Jake know Jesus. I think maybe he’s starting to. The last time I talked to him, he said, ‘Somethin’ fer a man to think about, how ye Pilgrims are kind to everyone.’ “
“What did you say?” Will leaned forward eagerly.
Rebekah shrugged. “I told him it was ‘cause that’s what Jesus would do if He were here and folks were sick, even folks who cursed Him.”
Will’s face glowed with pride. “Good for you! I don’t think I’d have had the courage to say that, but, oh, I’m glad you did!”
“So am I.” Rebekah grinned, the first real smile that had settled on her face since before Will got sick and worried them half to death.
“What did Jake say then?”
“Nothing.” The disappointment she had felt when she talked with Jake came back. “He just cocked his head to one side and raised a shaggy eyebrow like he does when he’s tired of talking, and then he mumbled that he had to get back to work.”
“Maybe he will think about it,” Will comforted. “I love telling people about Jesus. He’s the best thing in the world. I wish everyone could understand about how much He loves us. If they did, people wouldn’t be so crabby and scared and mean to each other. They would know that God would keep them safe, no matter what—so then they wouldn’t feel as though they had to fight and snatch for the things they want.”
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