“Hm, that’s true. Well, he did get what he wanted in the end.”
“So did I. And so will you, Jill. Brian is getting there. Slowly, but steadily.”
“Yes, at the rate we’re going, he’ll pop the question by the time I’m forty. Did you know that if you get pregnant past the age of thirty-five it’s referred to as a geriatric pregnancy?” Jill’s sigh sounded like a deflating balloon.
“Jill, you’re thirty-one. You’re a long way from a geriatric pregnancy. Give him time. He loves you, it’s obvious to anyone who cares to look. I have no doubt you two will end up together.”
“As a wise man once said, ‘There’s many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip,’ Jill intoned theatrically. Had Shakespeare still been alive, Jill would have been a fawning groupie.
“Yes, there is, so hold on to your cup with both hands,” Quinn replied, making Jill laugh. “Brian isn’t going anywhere, even if you subject him to my children. I bet he’ll surprise you.”
“Thanks, Quinn. You always make me feel better about things. Have a safe flight and good luck with Jo. I can’t wait to meet her.”
It was Quinn’s turn to sigh. “What if she wants nothing to do with me, Jill? What if she doesn’t like me? I wish I could just teleport myself there right now because I can’t wait another minute, but then I wish I could put off meeting her until I’m truly ready.”
“‘Time is very slow for those who wait, very fast for those who are scared, very long for those who lament, very short for those who celebrate, but for those who love, time is eternal.’ William Shakespeare.”
“All right, I see where this is going. Parting is such sweet sorrow, but methinks I really must go now before I starteth speaking in iambic pentameter.”
Jill giggled. “See you tomorrow, coz. I’ll come by before you leave.”
Quinn was still smiling after she ended the call. That was how it was with Jill, even when they were girls. They’d start off upset, moaning about their teenage sorrows, but after a few minutes they’d be laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world, their silliness a shield against reality.
A loud whine came from the direction of Alex’s cot and Quinn set aside her mobile and reached for the baby. He pressed his warm cheek against her neck, still sleepy, but ready to fill his belly. “I don’t want to leave you, but I have to go away for a few days,” Quinn whispered into his ear. Alex seemed to sense her mood and whimpered, grabbing a fistful of her hair.
“I’ll be back soon. I promise.” Quinn spoke softly, hoping to comfort him, but Alex began to cry in earnest. “Daddy will take care of you. And Emma.”
Alex wailed louder, but the sound of a key in the lock seemed to quiet him. Did he really understand the sound meant the arrival of Gabe and Emma? Was he that aware at only four months? Alex turned his head toward the door, his bad mood forgotten. Quinn felt him holding his breath as he waited for the sound of Gabe’s voice. “You clever little lad,” she said, holding him tighter as his little body leaned forward in his eagerness to see his father.
“We’re home,” Gabe called out.
Emma burst into the room, her cheeks ruddy with cold. “It’s snowing outside. Rufus loves snow,” she exclaimed. “He had so much fun.”
Alex leaned even further forward, his gaze fixed on the door.
“He knew you were coming,” Quinn said as Gabe walked into the room. “He was waiting for you.”
“That’s because he’s brilliant. I saw that, Emma,” Gabe said as Emma made a face.
“He’s not brilliant. He’s just a silly baby.”
“He’s not silly. He’s adorable,” Gabe said as he reached for Alex, who was smiling at him and holding out his arm. “You’re adorable too,” Gabe said, kissing Quinn over Alex’s head. “All right?” he asked carefully, watching her to see if anything had changed since he’d left an hour ago.
Quinn nodded. They’d spoken at length last night, but it was their lovemaking that had made her feel more balanced. No matter what happened with Jude or with Jo, Gabe would still be the center of her world, and as long as her center was intact, she would remain whole. Her only choice was to take things day by day, or in the case of Jude, hour by hour. She’d spoken to Logan earlier and he said there’d been no change during the night. Jude wasn’t better, but he was no worse, which she supposed was something to be grateful for.
“When do you think you’ll be back?” Gabe asked, his gaze travelling to her open suitcase.
“I really couldn’t say.”
“Why are you leaving again?” Emma demanded. “It’s not fair.”
“I’m sorry, darling, but it’s only for a few days. It’s important.”
“What’s more important than us?” she demanded as her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I will call you every day, and you can tell me all about school and how Daddy and Alex are doing,” Quinn promised.
“No! I don’t want you to go,” Emma screamed.
“I have to go, but Jill said you can have a sleepover at her new flat. Would you like that?”
“I’d rather have a sleepover with Maya.”
“Maybe we can arrange that once we move into our new house. I’ll ring Maya’s mum and work out the details with her. In the meantime, Jill is looking forward to having you over,” Quinn said in her most convincing tone.
“Does Alex have to come?” Emma asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Alex is too little for sleepovers. He’ll stay right here with me,” Gabe said.
“All right,” Emma conceded. “I suppose a sleepover at Jill’s will be fun. We can play dress-up with some of her weird old-fashioned frocks, and Brian makes pineapple pizza. But you’d better come home soon,” Emma warned.
“I will.”
Chapter 49
After dinner, once the children had gone to bed, Gabe poured them both a glass of wine and they settled comfortably on the sofa. Quinn tucked her feet beneath her and took a long sip, enjoying the full-bodied flavor of the wine. The last two days had been an emotional roller coaster, but despite Gabe’s willingness to listen and offer support, she had no desire to talk about either Jude or Jo.
“Tell me about Mary,” Gabe said, taking Quinn by surprise.
“What? Now?”
“Yes, now. Talking about Mary will allow you to focus on something other than what will happen tomorrow. Tell me what you know so far. It will help. Besides, you’ve hardly spoken about her and I’d love to hear her story.”
Quinn flashed Gabe a grateful smile. He was right, of course. She needed to calm her mind if she hoped to get any sleep tonight. The wine would help, but so would redirecting her attention toward something other than her hapless siblings.
“Mary was not in a good situation,” Quinn began.
Gabe smiled. “I’d be surprised if she was.”
“She was an impulsive young woman, a little rebellious. Those are admirable qualities in our world, but in the seventeenth century…”
“They could be a death sentence,” Gabe supplied.
“Exactly. Mary’s husband, John, was homosexual. He’d consummated the marriage and done his best to fulfil his conjugal duties, but he had no interest in Mary, and his lack of attention was hurtful and confusing. Mary wasn’t prepared to settle for that sham of a marriage.”
“Can’t say I blame her. Although, she’s not the first woman to be duped into marriage with a homosexual man. A wife is the most effective cover in a society where homosexuality is seen as a crime against God. But, given the law of the colony, what could Mary do?” Gabe asked. He refilled Quinn’s glass, but not his own. “I’ll get Alex if he wakes during the night. Don’t worry,” he said, following her gaze. “I just want you to feel relaxed tonight.”
“Thank you. I do feel much better.” Quinn considered Gabe’s question. “There was nothing Mary could do. The only thing that would release her from the marriage was death. If John were to die, Mary would be free to
remarry, and I’m sure she’d have no lack of suitors, being an attractive widow with a sizeable plantation.”
“Could that have happened?”
“I really can’t say. I don’t know precisely when Mary died or who fathered her child. But given her feelings for Walker, I’m not sure she’d rush into another marriage.”
“Walker? Who’s Walker?” Gabe asked.
“Walker was Mary’s name for a Native American called Walks Between Worlds. And this is really interesting: Walker claimed to have been born to one of the women who vanished from the Roanoke colony. He was half English.”
“Is that even possible? To this day, no one knows what happened to the colonists of Roanoke Colony. They simply vanished.”
“Walker told Mary how his mother and older brother came to live with the tribe, and his story sounded plausible. He said his mother’s name was Elizabeth Viccars, and his half-brother’s name was Ambrose. I checked against the names of the colonists who settled on Roanoke, and both Elizabeth Viccars and Ambrose Viccars appeared on the list. Besides, Walker’s appearance suggests that he was, indeed, of mixed race. Because of his English mother, Walker was something of an oddity among the natives. It seemed they trusted him and treated him like one of their own, but he never truly felt like he belonged. He saw a kindred spirit in Mary, and she found his sensitivity and kindness hard to resist.”
“I can’t imagine that a liaison between them would end well, given the time and place they lived,” Gabe speculated. “The governor of the colony would never allow a British woman to marry a native, even if she were free to marry again, unless Mary simply ran off with him.”
“I agree, but what I don’t understand is how Mary wound up in that cave in Cornwall. She would have left Virginia some time in her third trimester. Why did she leave? Where was she going? What happened to force her to return to England, and who paid for her passage? And who hid her coffin in that cave, and why? There are so many unanswered questions.”
“And you don’t really want to find out, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Whatever happened to her was awful. She was a young woman who’d known very little happiness in her brief life, and to see how she ended up breaks my heart. Something truly unexpected must have occurred.”
“How do you mean?” Quinn suspected Gabe knew exactly what she meant, but he wanted to keep her talking, to keep her mind on Mary and off Jo. And she appreciated the effort.
“Mary would not have returned to England unless she was widowed and had no wish to remain in Virginia.”
“What makes you think Mary left Virginia alone? She might have been traveling with her husband. Also, you’re assuming Mary was already pregnant at the time of her departure, but there’s nothing to support that,” Gabe replied, his tone thoughtful. “It’s possible that she returned to England with John and became pregnant here. You did say John consummated the marriage, so it’s entirely plausible that she could have conceived with him. Or, she might have remarried and been expecting a child with her second husband.”
“That’s an interesting theory,” Quinn said. “I haven’t considered that. I need to go back and search for any mention of Mary or John Forrester in Devon and Cornwall between 1620 and 1625. Given Colin’s age estimate of Mary’s skeleton, she wouldn’t have lived past that.”
“No, that doesn’t seem likely. Is there a record of colonists who died in Virginia during that period? Perhaps it would shed some light on Mary’s marital status at the time of her death.”
“Yes, there should be a record. If John Forrester died before 1625, then I’d be able to establish a credible timeline of Mary’s actions.”
“I think you need to get some sleep,” Gabe said, pulling Quinn to her feet. “You have a big day tomorrow.”
“Yes. I do. Will you hold me until I fall asleep?” Quinn asked, suddenly feeling like a frightened child.
“As if you even have to ask.”
Chapter 50
September 1620
Virginia Colony
Mary breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind Travesty and she was left blessedly alone. She’d hardly seen Travesty these past weeks, busy as the other woman was with the harvest. Travesty alternated between hanging tobacco in the shed and collecting corn and stacking it in the corn crib. Mary’s ‘exalted’ position as the mistress of the house spared her the field work. She was left in charge of all the chores: cooking, laundering, seeing to the animals, mucking out the barn, tending the kitchen garden, and even chopping wood. Mary didn’t mind. She welcomed the solitude and breezed through the work, eager for a few hours with Walker.
She’d seen him several times since his declaration of love in the thicket, and their every meeting brought them closer together. Walker had let go of some of his natural reserve, and Mary, starved as she had been for affection, opened up to him like a flower, eager to please and overwhelmed by the attention he paid her. Walker was constantly in her thoughts, not only when she longed to feel his arms around her or a quiver of desire struck her like a bolt of lightning, but also when she longed for someone to talk to and laugh with. There wasn’t much laughter at the Forrester house. In fact, there was hardly any conversation. Travesty, tired and disgruntled after a full day of hard labor, barely managed to keep her eyes open long enough to eat supper, and the men, used to the work but having no interest in conversing with the women, ate their meals and went outside, leaving Travesty to rest and Mary to clear up.
Mary washed up and prepared for bed, hoping to be asleep by the time John came back inside. He’d barely touched her these past weeks, and for that she was grateful. The thought of him inside her repulsed her now that she knew what love was meant to feel like, and his acrid sweat forced her to turn away and press her nose to the wall, which smelled pleasantly of pine and woodsmoke. It wasn’t until she’d blossomed under the caress of Walker’s tender gaze that she’d realized how much she actually hated John. He’d robbed her not only of a chance at a real marriage, but also of choice. She was bound to him, and she despised her captor.
Mary often woke when John slid out of bed to go to his lover. Did he really imagine she didn’t know what he was up to? Or maybe he simply didn’t care. But once awake, Mary’s mind went round and round, unable to find peace. She stood on a precipice, forced to decide whether she wanted to honor her marriage vows or follow her heart, and she’d never faced a more difficult decision. Had Walker been a Christian, he might have understood her dilemma, but his mind couldn’t grasp the chains that bound Mary to John. She was his wife before God. She was a Christian woman. She couldn’t simply walk off with another man. But unlike her, Walker didn’t seem to feel any moral reservations about stealing another man’s wife and couldn’t even begin to fathom the concept of damnation.
I’m an adulteress. A sinner, Mary had thought as she stared at the low ceiling of the cabin after John had slipped out last night. Every time I go to Walker, I make the choice to betray my marriage vows all over again, compounding my sin. I should repent and beg God for forgiveness.
But when morning came, her dark thoughts evaporated like the morning mist. How could her feelings for Walker be wrong when he made her so happy? For the first time in her adult life, she experienced joy, and pleasure. The almost unbearable anticipation of what was to come when she saw him made the chores go easier, and her heart fluttered with excitement as she rushed toward the shack, knowing that Walker would be there, waiting for her. He always brought her something: a pretty flower, a handful of berries, or an exotic feather. He’d even made her a beaded necklace, but she couldn’t bring it back to the cabin. If someone found it, she’d have a lot of explaining to do. So, she left the necklace at the shack, hidden beneath the fur, to be taken out and admired in private. Mary had run her fingers over the smooth red and blue beads. Walker had said they represented her and him. She was the blue: peaceful, loving, and kind. And he was the red: hot, passionate, and jealous.
“I can’t bear the thou
ght of sharing you with that man,” Walker had said the last time they were together two days before.
“You’re not sharing me, Walker. You have me, body and soul.”
“You lie next to him every night. He can have you whenever he chooses. He dishonors you with his lies and his unnatural desire for that man.”
“He’s my husband.”
“He’s your jailer,” Walker snapped. “I want to wake up next to you and know that you will be there when the day is done. I want you to be the mother of my children. I want you for my wife.”
“And I want you for my husband, but I can’t have two husbands, Walker. As long as John is alive, I’m not free. I made vows before God.” Her words were made ludicrous by the fact that she was lying naked on the soft fur of the cot, her limbs intertwined with Walker’s, her body sated and languid after their lovemaking.
“So, unmake them,” Walker replied with the air of a man who was suggesting the only obvious solution to someone who was too dim to see it for herself.
“How does one do that?”
“The same way one vows to do something, by speaking the words. You tell your God that you are no longer able to honor the vow you made.”
“Or not willing. There’s a difference.”
“Do you want to be with me, Mary? Yes or no?” Walker asked.
Mary was sometimes taken aback by his direct approach to every situation. There was no slyness or untruth with Walker. He said what he meant and did what he promised, and expected others to do the same. He couldn’t understand Mary’s reservations. To him, the matter was simple. She was wed to a man she didn’t love, a man who preferred another; therefore, there was no reason not to end the marriage and take another husband, one who suited her better. Walker was thoroughly confused by the notion of hell and couldn’t comprehend why any God would punish a woman for leaving an unhappy marriage. Mary gave up on trying to explain this basic tenet of Christianity and tried another tack.
The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6) Page 29