The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “Nell, did you leave anyone behind in England?” Mary asked when they leaned against the ship’s railing. It was a glorious spring morning. The ocean was as placid as a puddle after a heavy rain and the sky a deep blue, its perfection unmarred by even a single cloud. Even the sailors seemed to be in better spirits and called out a greeting to the two young women as they came up from the bowels of the ship. Master Harrington had tipped his hat to them and smiled, wishing them a pleasant stroll.

  Nell turned to look at Mary, her expression thoughtful. Mary thought she might not answer, but she did, her voice surprisingly quiet. “I have parents and two younger brothers.”

  Mary tried to hide her astonishment by fixing her gaze on a seagull that swooped down to the water and came back out with the hapless fish flapping in its beak. “If my parents were still alive, I’d never leave,” Mary finally replied, hoping the sentiment wouldn’t upset Nell. “What decided you to go, then?”

  “An offer of marriage.”

  “Was the man so awful?” Mary asked, wondering why Nell would need to cross an ocean to get away from someone who wished to marry her.

  “No, he was wonderful, handsome, and kind. I’d known him all my life and always thought I’d marry him when the time came.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mary said, searching Nell’s closed expression.

  Nell sighed and turned away from Mary, staring out over the tranquil sea. “My ma was sixteen when she wed. Da said she were all rosy cheeks, riotous curls, and a smile as could coax out the sun on a gloomy day. He’d never seen anything so beautiful as her when he stood up next to her in church.”

  Mary remained silent, waiting for Nell to continue.

  “My ma is thirty-four now. Her hair, what’s left of it, is all gray. She’s lost half her teeth and her hands are so raw from doing chores and cleaning fish from morning till night, they look like bloody meat. She birthed nine children and buried six, three of them stillborn. She’s lived a life of unrelenting hardship and crippling poverty and will likely not live to see her fortieth birthday.” Nell sighed and brushed away a tear that slid down her pale cheek.

  “Had I married Toby, a fisherman like my da, I’d have lived my ma’s life. I’d work my hands raw from the time I awoke to the time I fell exhausted into bed. I’d bear children who’d have less chance of surviving than a pup born to a stray dog, and I’d get old before my time, turning into a toothless hag who barely has enough energy to speak to her children at the end of the day for being so careworn. I don’t want that for myself, Mary. I want a chance at a better life.”

  “How can you be so sure you’ll have a better life in Virginia?” Mary asked.

  “There are opportunities in Virginia, Mary. A man can work to better his lot. He can buy land, expand his holdings. What can a poor fisherman do other than pull fish out of the sea and hope he doesn’t drown for his pains? With Toby, I wouldn’t so much as have a bed of my own, much less a home. I’d have to move into his parents’ dwelling, a shack that’s already home to seven people. Toby might love me now, but will he still love me once my looks are gone and my spirit is broken? Will I still love him when he becomes a broken old man who’d rather sleep on a floor smeared with fish guts than lie down next to his wife?”

  “You’re a brave lass, Nell. I’d not have the courage to do what you did.”

  Nell nodded, still staring at the ocean. “Don’t tell the others. They wouldn’t understand.”

  “I think they would, but I’ll not breathe a word. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “I will, and so will you if you stop looking back and face forward. That life is behind us now. All we can do is make the best of the one that’s to come. I think I’d like a moment alone now, if you don’t mind.”

  Mary left Nell by the railing and took a turn about the deck. Master Harrington had forbidden them to walk around on their own, but she needed to stretch her legs and think on what Nell had told her. She admired Nell’s courage and practicality, but she also pitied her. She’d never see her family again. It was as if they had all died the day Nell left England. As she ambled along, oblivious to the lewd stares of the sailors, Mary wondered if a prosperous life was worth such a sacrifice. Would she have been able to walk away from a man who’d loved her all her life? Probably not. She wasn’t as strong as Nell, or as pragmatic. Nell was three years her junior, but she was years ahead of Mary in her thinking.

  Perhaps it’s time I started acting more like a woman and less like a child and tried to forge my own future, like Nell, instead of meekly going along with what life has in store for me, Mary thought defiantly. She’d taken the first step by taking her leave of Uncle Swithin. She’d taken charge, and it felt good. Nell was right; it was time to start looking forward and make the most of what life in Virginia had to offer.

  Chapter 7

  June 1620

  Off the coast of Virginia

  A ripple of excitement ran through the women when they heard the joyful shout, “Land, ho!” coming from above. It wouldn’t be long now until the ship came into port and they would finally disembark and come face to face with their future.

  When Betsy and Mary came up on deck later that day, Mary stared into the distance until her eyes watered but couldn’t make out anything resembling a port, but it didn’t matter. She could clearly see the shore now, and it was a welcome sight. After nearly eight weeks aboard the Lady Grace, she was desperate for solid ground beneath her feet and a decent meal. Mary’s bowels felt leaden after nothing but tack and thin slices of salt pork for nearly two months, her shift was crusted with dried sweat, and her hair felt as if it were moving of its own accord, the thick tresses home to countless lice.

  “I have butterflies in my stomach,” Mary said, using an expression she’d heard from someone once. It had caught her fancy, but she hadn’t had an opportunity to put it to good use until today.

  “That ain’t what I would call it,” Betsy replied with a giggle. “If I don’t move my bowels soon, I think I’ll explode. I just hope my handsome new husband isn’t standing too close to me when it happens. Lord, what I wouldn’t give for a slice of freshly baked bread smeared with butter and a thick cut of roast beef with buttered peas and parsnips, followed by a dish of syllabub all to myself.”

  “Is that what you normally ate at home?” Mary asked, stunned. She’d never known the delights of roast beef or the exquisite sweetness of syllabub on her tongue. The most luxurious meal she’d ever had was a stew flavored with bits of meat and a slice of stale spice cake.

  Betsy rolled her eyes. “Of course not, you silly goose, but a girl can dream, can’t she? Mayhap I’ll marry a rich planter and get to eat succulent meat and pudding every day of my life.” Betsy grinned hugely, making Mary laugh. “But at this moment, I’d settle for a cup of broth and a bowl of hot porridge. My teeth are aching from grinding those rock-hard biscuits and my belly is desperate for anything that ain’t cold and stale.”

  “You think they’re expecting us?” Mary asked, squinting at the wild-looking shoreline in the hope of seeing anything resembling a town. All she could make out was thick foliage.

  “They must be. Surely a ship on the horizon is not an everyday occurrence in these parts.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Mary complained.

  “Me neither,” Betsy replied. “Come, our time’s up.”

  Mary and Betsy returned to their cramped space to allow the next pair of women to come up for some air. Mary sat down and leaned against the wall. Now that they were close to the end of the voyage, she felt like she couldn’t wait another day to set foot on land, and all the other women seemed to share her impatience. Everyone was restless and sharp with each other, desperate to finally discover what lay at the end of their journey. Only Nell seemed calm. She was curled into a ball, sleeping peacefully on her cloak, as if the next few days were of no consequence to her.

  True to his word, Master Harrington had provided the women with buckets of
rainwater, bits of lye soap, and a copper tub for washing their clothes. They had to be economical and take turns, but it was better than nothing. Since Mary had been the last to board, it had been decided she’d be last to wash. Mary didn’t think this logic particularly fair but decided not to argue. If she washed last, she’d be the freshest by the time they disembarked. She watched Jane wring out her clothes and hand them to Alice and Rose, who were about to go up on deck. Master Harrington had allocated a spot where the women could hang their clothes to dry, and since Jane could hardly go up in her shift, she had to ask others to do it for her.

  “’Tis your turn, Mary,” Jane said, pushing the tub toward Mary. “There’s no more water left, but Master Harrington said you may draw some from the barrel on deck.”

  Mary poured the dirty water from the tub into a bucket and went up on deck. She tossed the water overboard and filled the bucket with clean water. She was practically tingling with anticipation as she came back down and began to remove her outer garments. She was going to keep her shift on and wash beneath it, but Nell, who’d woken up, offered to use her cloak to screen Mary from prying eyes.

  Mary used a wet rag to cleanse her body, then washed her hair, careful to allow the water to run off into the copper tub. She then used the soapy water to launder her shift and stockings. There wasn’t enough water to wash the rest. Her shift went in first, followed by stockings. Mary soaked the shift for as long as she could, then carefully scrubbed at the fabric, fearful the threadbare linen would come apart in her hands. She washed her cap as well, then asked Faith and Patience to hang up her things on deck while she sat wrapped in her cloak to cover her nakedness. She used the comb to brush out her hair. It took a long time, since the comb only had five teeth, but time was something she had plenty of. Master Harrington said they wouldn’t be coming ashore for at least another day. Mary plaited her hair, wrapped the cloak tighter around her body, and sat back down.

  Thoughts of her future home occupied her mind, but she had no wish to voice them for fear that others would make snide comments or disabuse her of the idea that she might have a real home. What would it be like, her husband’s house? The prospect of having something to call her own was almost more exciting than the promise of marriage. In her experience, husbands didn’t spend much time at home. It was the domain of the wives, and she hoped she’d be able to make their house pleasant and comfortable, if it wasn’t already.

  Mary wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. Eager as she was to get off this ship and begin her new life, she would miss Nell and Betsy. She’d never had an opportunity to forge close friendships, so having the support and endless good humor of the two women had made the voyage not only bearable, but almost pleasant. She hoped they’d be able to see each other once they were settled, but since she had no real notion of how large the colony was, she dared not hope they’d be close enough to each other to visit.

  It took another full day for the ship to finally dock, and several more hours until Master Harrington came down to fetch the women. Dressed in a clean shift and stockings, her hair brushed, neatly plated, and pinned up beneath her cap, Mary felt as ready as she’d ever be to meet her future husband.

  “I’ll miss you, Master Harrington.” Betsy’s tone was playful, but there was a tremor in her voice. She was clearly scared witless of what awaited her on shore.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same,” the quartermaster replied. “I’m more than ready to discharge my duty and see the back of you.”

  “Come, Master Harrington, it wasn’t that bad of a voyage, was it? At least ye had something pretty to look at,” Alice purred, fishing for a compliment. She rested her hand on her hip and drew herself up, making her breasts appear fuller. Master Harrington fixed her with a look that seemed to convey that he’d rather look at something he’d scraped off his shoe.

  “It wasn’t bad, as far as sea voyages go. We didn’t encounter any terrible storms, and no one died, which is always a blessing. Now, if you’ll be so kind.” Master Harrington gestured toward the door, inviting them to leave their shipboard home.

  The women followed him like chicks padding after a mother hen. Master Harrington had been their champion, their protector on this voyage, and they were afraid to part from him and go off into the unknown. They lowered their eyes as the sailors ogled them and made colorful comments about what awaited them that night. No one had really spoken of it, but they surely all knew how this day would end, unless some of them weren’t wanted.

  Mary took in her surroundings as soon as she came up on deck. She still held out hope of arriving in a bustling town, but the Lady Grace was the only ship moored at the single narrow dock that passed for the port of Jamestown. There were no houses, no taverns, and no other vessels in sight. There weren’t even dock workers, ready to unload cargo from the newly arrived ship. Everything was green: the water that lapped at the shore, the grass that blanketed every open space, and the trees that grew so close together they offered no glimpse of anything beyond. The air was filled with birdsong rather than the shouts of men and the sounds of a working port.

  The women looked around, their faces a testament to their shock. Where was everyone? And everything? Where was the settlement they’d heard so much about?

  “Follow me,” Master Harrington said and began to walk, following a gently sloping track into the woods. Mary’s legs wobbled like jelly after two months aboard a ship. As the track grew steeper, she quickly tired and found herself out of breath. Betsy panted with exertion as she came alongside her.

  “Where’s Jamestown, Master Harrington?” Betsy cried in dismay.

  “It’s just there,” the quartermaster replied, pointing straight ahead.

  Along with the rest of the women, Mary strained to see something, but all she could make out were more trees. They walked for about a quarter of a mile before emerging into an open space resembling a dry moat; it surrounded a tall wall constructed of thick logs that were whittled to sharp points at the top, like teeth piercing the sky. The only opening in the wall was a wide gate that stood open to welcome them.

  Master Harrington herded his charges through the gate, where a small crowd of onlookers had gathered to stare at the newcomers and call out words of greeting. Mary’s head swiveled, her mouth open in shock. She’d expected the settlement to resemble an English town, but what she saw was a cluster of daub and wattle houses grouped around a central space. Two buildings were readily identifiable: the smithy, standing silent, and the church, which was no more than a large hut with a wooden cross at the top.

  “Welcome, lovely ladies,” someone called out from the crowd. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I wish one of you was meant for me.” A few people laughed, and someone playfully cuffed the young man who’d shouted at them.

  The group of well-wishers consisted mostly of men, their faces hungry and eager as they looked at the newly arrived women. There were two women at the back of the group, but they looked grim and unwelcoming, their gazes narrowed as they appraised the arrivals. A richly dressed man emerged from the biggest house and strode toward the church, pausing briefly to give the women a stiff bow before continuing. A middle-aged woman, who had to be his wife, smiled warmly at the women before shutting the door.

  “Who’s that, then, Master Harrington?” Gwen called out. “Is he my future lord and husband?”

  The women sniggered, but Master Harrington held up his hand. “That’s Governor Yeardley—and his lady,” he added.

  He then shepherded them into the dim confines of the church. Sharp beams of sunlight filtered through the slats in the walls and striped the dirt floor and rows of narrow benches. The two front pews were occupied by men of various ages, their heads turned toward the door, their gazes fixed on the women. The men looked anxious but eager, and some of them made to rise as the women filed in. A clergyman stood at the front, his head tilted to the side as he surveyed the women. The governor stood next to the minister, his plumed h
at in the crook of his arm. He was smiling, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “Master Harrington, good to see you back,” he called out. The quartermaster offered a sweeping bow by way of greeting. “And this time you bring us a precious gift. Please come in. Come in,” he said, speaking to the women for the first time.

  He exchanged a brief look with another man, who stood silently next to the minister. He wasn’t tall and had blunt features and a piercing dark gaze that seemed out of place in a pale face framed by fair hair. A fat pearl earring dangled from his left earlobe and he wore a pristine white ruff and a richly embroidered velvet coat with matching breeches, unlike the governor, whose attire was very fine but more casual. He frowned and turned to Governor Yeardley once it became evident that all the women were inside the church.

  “There are only ten,” he complained. “Captain Robeson was authorized to deliver twelve brides.”

  “I’m sorry, Secretary Hunt, but we were unable to procure two more suitable women without delaying our voyage by several weeks.” The secretary nodded but looked sour as he gazed over the now-nervous men.

  Master Harrington extracted a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of his doublet and handed it to the minister, who unfolded it and scanned the contents, his lips moving as he silently read the names. He looked at the assorted men and called out two names. The two men reluctantly stood, their faces drooping with disappointment.