Her Match, Her Mate, Her Master

by Vanessa Brooks

  When she finally broke for a rest, wiping her hot face with the back of her forearm, she looked back at the ship and was surprised by how far she had managed to row.

  “I am only just realising what an amazing woman you are, Mistress Foster.”

  Linnet started, and then squealed with joy, reaching for John, helping him upright. She covered his face with kisses.

  “Steady on, now!” He swayed, holding his head with both hands.

  “Thank goodness you are all right!” Linnet gasped with relief.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” John quipped with a weak grin. He gazed about, frowning. “So, here we are then. I take it we are the only ones blessed with this particular fate?” He arched a questioning brow. Linnet hung her head; her hair tumbled forward in a curtain of honey which screened her face.

  “Linnet?” He reached out a hand and gently raised her head. Her face was awash with tears. She was unable to speak.

  John’s face hardened. “All dead?” he asked, hazarding a guess. “Captain Pettigrew—dear God, not Duncan too?”

  She suddenly spluttered into gut-wrenching sobs, her body folded double, her head dropping onto John’s lap. He gently laid his palm on her head and stroked her hair. Sorrowfully, he sat, thinking about the good men he’d come to like and respect, all so needlessly slaughtered. He wondered how this disaster had come about, and recalled the strange darting light from the ship the other night. He remembered the French song being sung by a man hidden from his view on the deck.

  He looked up at the sky and saw it was still blue; the sun shone and it remained quite warm. The sea looked pleasant and although there was quite a swell, it was reasonably calm. They must make use of this fine weather to row as far as they could. It was their only chance of survival.

  Linnet had subsided into hiccups. John mopped her cheeks with his handkerchief. Holding her face between his, he spoke tenderly, “We will talk of what has happened later, once we are safe. Now, we must row to survive—or rather, you must row. I shall have to rest and then hopefully I can assist you.”

  John pressed his lips against her forehead gently. Linnet nodded grimly and settled herself back on the boat seat to row once again. She found it a relief to do something physical and put all her strength into it.

  After an hour, she stopped, absolutely exhausted, and sitting where she was, she bowed her head, her chest heaving from her exertions. She was disappointed to see the ship still in view even though they were some way from it.

  John watched her sadly. What terrible dangers he had exposed her to, a young gentle-born girl of not even nineteen years. She should not have seen such terrible atrocities. He knew that he would never forgive himself for dragging her into this nightmare. If only he had heeded her wishes, she would still be safe at her home in England.

  Gingerly, John felt his injured head and then stretched, reaching out to touch Linnet’s arm. “I will row now, sweetheart. Can you move over here so that we can switch places?”

  Awkwardly, they shuffled around one another so that John was able to row. The first five minutes were hell for him. His poor head pounded and his arms throbbed with the effort of rowing, but then he managed to find a good rhythm.

  Linnet settled into the bottom of the boat and rested her head on her arms while leaning against the seat. She fell into a doze, and when she awoke, The Tempest was no longer in sight and the sun was low in the sky. John was rowing still.

  “Have you been rowing all this time?” she asked him with concern.

  “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I stop every hundred strokes for a rest. Is there any water? I’m parched.”

  Linnet turned from side to side, looking for the flagon of water that the pirates had given them. She finally found it under the seat and passed it to John. He drank deeply and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I had hoped we were near enough to shore so that we could land before night came but we are farther out than I had estimated,” John said.

  Linnet reached out to take the water from him. “How do we know if we are even rowing in the right direction?” she asked dejectedly.

  John pointed beyond her. “Turn your head and look,” he urged. Linnet turned to see. What she saw made her eyes liquid with relief. For there in the distance lay mountains and, wheeling in the sky, coming from that direction were birds. “Land, oh John, land! How long will it take us to row there?”

  “It’s much farther away than it looks. I can’t say how long but we will get there, I promise you that!” John grimly rowed onward, determined to land the small boat before night fell.

  It was fully dark and still they had not reached the shore. The sea began to rise and the waves tossed their small craft from side to side. It was almost as though the sea were playing catch-a-ball with them, only in this case it was catch-a-boat. Linnet was terrified, her teeth chattering, her lungs jarring with each ragged breath. John abandoned rowing as darkness descended. He tried to use one of the oars as a rudder to keep their course true but the sea swelled until it became an impossible task and he gave up. He stowed the oar in the boat alongside its partner. A small sail was folded under the boat seat, and he wrapped it about the two of them so they could snuggle together in the bottom of the boat and attempt to keep warm. They were at the mercy of the elements. All they could do now was pray, which they both did silently, each imploring God for their beloved’s survival.

  After a while, it may have been minutes or hours, they had no way of knowing, it started to pour with rain. The wind gusted and the little boat was thrown about like a bobbing cork. Linnet clung to her husband in terror. John held her tightly and cursed himself for ever bringing her on this wretched voyage. He now believed they were doomed, he expected the boat to pitch over as each new wave buffeted them. How long the storm lasted, neither knew.

  The long night finally passed. They had survived but morning bought no joy. Thick fog had fallen and they had no way of telling in which direction land lay. John dared not row, lest he take them far out to sea by mistake. They lay listless in the boat, dozing, overwhelmed with fatigue. As the day passed, Linnet began to shiver. Soaked to the skin, cold and hungry, she had given up all hope of them ever reaching safety. Finally, she fell into a deep, unhealthy sleep. John roused himself enough to give her the last of their water, dribbling it between her salt encrusted lips before he, too, was overcome and fell into an exhausted slumber.

  Chapter 8

  The first John knew of the following day was a rough shaking of his shoulder. A deep male voice shouted in his ear, “Mister, mister! Wake up, mister!”

  He groaned and tried to push the man away. He just wanted to be left alone to sleep. He felt himself shifted into an upright position. Opening his eyes, he quickly shut them against the brightness and the salt that stung. He rubbed them with the back of his hand, and as he did so, a wet rag was placed into his palm and a deep, calm voice spoke to him. “Use this. It is fresh water.”

  Gratefully, John wiped his eyes and face. At last able to open his eyes, he saw a sturdy arm covered with curled, white-blond hair, holding out a drinking canteen. He drank deeply. Never before had water tasted so sweet.

  “Thank you.” He handed the flagon back, his voice hoarse.

  John blinked and gazed around. He was sitting on the sandy beach of a cove, and his rescuer was a huge blond giant of a man dressed in thick outdoor clothing. At his side was a small blond boy so like him that John surmised that it must be the man’s son. John smiled at the boy then, suddenly, he remembered Linnet. “My wife!” he cried, attempting to stand but the exertion was too much and he blacked out.

  The blond giant sighed heavily and turned to his son. “Peter, go to the cart, un-tether old Bess, and bring her here to me.”

  “Yes, Pa!”

  The boy ran as fast as his thin legs could carry him up the beach to the track where they had left the horse and cart tethered. In the cart, covered in a warm home-knitted blanket, la
y the feverish Linnet. Together, the man and his son managed to get John slung over the horse’s back and up into the cart, where they placed him next to Linnet. Slowly, they set off up the earth track towards the man’s home.

  He wondered what his wife, Sarah, would say when he returned with two more mouths to feed. He frowned, shaking his large shaggy head with a sigh. On the beach, sea birds flew back down, landing on the now deserted shore to scavenge in the surf once again. Undisturbed by man, gulls perched on the wreckage of the small rowing boat, which lay just beyond the tide’s reach.

  They had by now been staying with the family Lammers for a month on their farmstead near Ogunquit, Maine, so named by the Abenaki, the local native Indian tribe. Hans explained the name meant ‘Beautiful place by the sea.’ By this time, John was more than seriously concerned about Linnet. After their ordeal, John had spent a couple of days in bed suffering from mild chills and exhaustion, but with Sarah Lammers’ excellent cooking and dedicated care, he was up and around in no time. Linnet, however, was suffering from fevers and chills and had been extremely ill indeed. Even now, she protested that she was too weak to leave her bed. Sarah Lammers, a shrewd woman, suspected her house guest was stronger than she let on, but after what that lass had been through she wasn’t about to complain, so she kept the knowledge to herself.

  Their hosts were kindly, down-to-earth farming people, who had settled on their land ten years ago, only months after they had married. Hans Lammers was Dutch; he was brought to America by his father after his mother had died in childbirth in their native Netherlands. This was to be a new start for the family, and although it had been a hard struggle, the tough, honest man had made a good life for himself and his small son. He ran a supply store in Boston and that was where Hans had grown into a fine, strong young man.

  Sarah had caught his eye when she had visited the store with her mother, the local school teacher. Both her mother and her father were teachers and ran the local school in a kindly but firm manner. Sarah’s quiet character, her brown eyes and prettiness attracted the big man, and he had courted her with gentle determination, his polite, calm manner finding approval in the eyes of Sarah’s parents. They were wed, and with the monies given them by both families for their wedding present, they had bought a plot of 180 acres of fertile land and woodland situated near the coast, almost a hundred miles north from family and Boston.

  At first, Sarah’s parents were appalled. They had envisaged a life with Sarah and Hans running and perhaps extending the Lammers’ store, their grandchildren visiting daily, the family all living safely nearby. Peter Lammers was startled but then pleased by his son’s decision to move on and to farm. And it was only after the birth of Hans and Sarah’s son Peter that Sarah's parents finally reconciled themselves to their daughter’s move.

  Hans and Sarah had travelled down with a wagon train of people wishing to build a new life and community near the land Hans had bought. Now a small township was settled some five miles away from the farm’s boundary. The farm was hard work, but both Hans and Sarah loved it. The house was made from the trees cut from their own land and was a spacious, if not large, comfortable log house.

  Downstairs was simply one large open room, with the cooking and eating area to the back of the house. A large black cooking range stood against one wall, and a big, well-scrubbed pine table stood in front of that with six beautifully carved chairs around it. Hans had made them the first winter they had moved into the house. He loved to carve, something his grandfather had taught him as a small boy in the Netherlands. Hans had made the farm house unusual and beautiful with his carvings. All the shutters at the windows were carved with leaves and flower designs. The stairway that ran up the left hand side of the large downstairs room displayed carved animals from the local area, including squirrels, deer, racoons, and even snakes, from one end to the other.

  There was a large stone fireplace on the right hand wall and, on the floor in front of it, a bright circular wool rug, which Sarah had lovingly made. Four carved rocking chairs were placed around the rug, enticing a person to sit and enjoy the roaring log fire that the Lammers generally kept ablaze in all but the hottest of summers. Upstairs were four rooms; Hans had planned for a large family, and neither he nor Sarah ever mentioned the fact that, so far, only Peter had come along. Sarah used the spare rooms for when their respective parents came to visit.

  Of course, to Linnet, used to the large stately houses of England, two extra bedrooms did not merit comment. John had come to an agreement with Hans over payment for their room and board; however, in the first instance, Hans had refused to discuss such a thing. But Sarah’s quiet good sense had prevailed, and a sum was agreed upon between them. John helped Hans with the farm and was learning a great deal about the land from him.

  John remained extremely concerned about Linnet. At first, he had been nearly demented with the possibility that he might lose her, but as time went on and Linnet began to improve, he relaxed, happy to know his beloved wife would live. However, it was now the end of August, and soon it would be too late to travel across land to Boston. Winter could be fierce, and with Linnet’s health so poor, they would be foolish to risk trying to reach Boston before the spring. John had tried to talk to her, but any discussion with him seemed to tire her and she would tell him to leave, asking for Sarah to come to her. The truth was that Linnet was afraid of the journey. She felt safe in the pretty farm house, and Sarah reminded her a little of her maid Lottie, not in looks but in temperament.

  Linnet assumed, quite wrongly, that John had sent word ahead to Boston, and daily she expected to be told that a coach had arrived to collect them. She had no concept of how wild and rugged the country was in the Colonies; her expectations were based on her knowledge of life in England. When she was well enough to sit up and think rationally, she found that she harboured a deep resentment towards her husband—so much so, that when he entered her room so full of vigour and vitality, she felt an overwhelming rage towards him. She tried to stay away from him as much as she could. Being young and confused, she had no idea why, after feeling so much love for her husband when on board the ship, she should now have developed such an intense dislike of him.

  The family and John were sat around the table, finishing super that night. Linnet had taken her supper on a tray in her room. Hans was quietly filling his pipe with tobacco while Sarah cleared the dishes from the table. Peter was chatting excitedly once again about his discovery of the small boat wrecked on the beach and of finding the two bodies, who had turned out to be John and Linnet. He was just getting to his favourite part of the story, where he had run to tell his father about his discovery, when the bell upstairs could be heard tinkling yet again. Sarah sighed heavily. Since Linnet had recovered, she had been ringing that bell all day, off and on. She set aside the plate she had begun washing and started towards the stairway.

  As she passed her husband, he put out his arm and held her back. Surprised, Sarah glanced down at him. Hans shook his head. “Nee, leave her,” he commanded. “The girl will come down herself if what she wants is urgent.”

  Sarah looked dubious. “But she has been so very ill, Hans.”

  He nodded. “She has indeed, but she is better now and only a sickness of the soul remains; so leave her, Sarah. Only she can heal the rest.” He patted his wife’s bottom. “Coffee would be nice.”

  Sarah flushed; she wished her husband wouldn’t be so familiar with her in front of their guest. Glancing at John, she found him looking at her with kind understanding in his eyes.

  “Hans is quite right, Sarah. You must not wait on Linnet anymore. You have been wonderfully kind, and I am in no doubt that she owes you her life.” He held up his hand as Sarah denied this. “There is something troubling her,” he told them. “I like the way Hans described it, as a sickness of the soul. God knows, she has seen some horrible things, enough to turn a man’s stomach, let alone a young girl of eighteen.” John fell silent, frowning. Hans put a comforting hand on hi
s friend’s shoulder.

  “Peter, you go now and fetch some water for your mother.” He nodded at his small son, who was listening round-eyed to the adults’ conversation.

  He wriggled crossly on his seat. “Not yet, in a minute, Pa,” he whined.

  Hans took his pipe from his mouth and regarded his small son steadily. An awkward silence fell, until Peter reluctantly got up to fetch the bucket from his mother. She smiled at him fondly and ruffled his hair, but Peter jerked away as if he had been scalded. “Mind your manners, son.” Hans’s deep voice held a warning. Peter flushed and reached up to peck his mother’s cheek with a brief kiss before grabbing the pail and running out of the house.

  As soon as the door had banged shut behind him, the room filled with laughter. “That boy!” said Sarah, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

  “He is a lovely lad. You should be very proud,” John told her, chuckling.

  Hans looked thoughtful and said, “He is becoming spoiled. He needs brothers and sisters.”

  An awkward hush fell as Hans realised what he had said, but into the hush came a frantic jangling of the bell upstairs.

  John stood up, it seemed an opportune moment to leave. “Excuse me, Hans and Sarah. Thank you for a delicious dinner. I will see to my wife’s needs and then retire. I shall bid you both a good night!”

  Hans slapped John’s shoulder. “Good night, my friend.”

  As John disappeared up the stairs, Hans turned, took the dish cloth from Sarah and scooped her onto his knee. Holding her face between his large callused hands, he kissed her soft mouth. “Ach, you know I didn’t mean that as it sounded. There was no criticism meant. I love you and our son. Both of you are all I need.”

  Sarah nodded. “I know, I know.”

  She laid her head against his chest and they sat in companionable silence until young Peter banged back indoors again, struggling with the heavy pail of water.