The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  Mary reached the fallen log and stepped onto the wood, eager to get across quickly. From here, it was only a quarter of a mile or so back to the plantation. She was almost at the other end of the log when her foot slipped on the damp bark. Mary wobbled and threw out her arms to steady herself, but the sudden motion made her lose her footing completely. She cried out in alarm as she went over the side and fell into the creek with a loud splash, her woolen skirts instantly soaking up the icy water and dragging her under.

  The creek wasn’t too deep, but the shock of the fall and the frigid water momentarily stunned Mary and she began to sink. Her waterlogged skirts swirled upward, making it impossible to get her bearings in the murky water as the heavy fabric closed in around her head. Mary struggled, trying to push the wool out of her face. Once she managed this small victory, she was able to stand on her feet and push off from the bottom, coming up to the surface, sputtering and dripping water.

  The bank was slippery and steep, with nothing to grab onto to help her haul herself out of the water. Mary reached for the log and hoisted herself up before crawling the last few feet to the bank. Her clothes were sodden, and her hair was plastered to her head. She’d lost one shoe while struggling to get purchase on the muddy bottom and her cloak was torn where it’d snagged on a branch as she fell.

  Mary forced herself to her feet and hobbled along the bank. She was shivering so hard her teeth rattled, but she had to get home. She yelped as she stepped on a pine cone with her stockinged foot. Her one shoe squelched with mud and her wet clothes weighed her down. She’d never been so cold in her life. Mary ran the last few yards before yanking open the door and falling into the cabin.

  “What happened to you?” Travesty exclaimed when she saw the state of her. “Good heavens, you’ll catch your death. Get out of those wet clothes.” She tore the blanket off the bed and came toward Mary, holding it open. “Take everything off and wrap this around yourself.”

  Mary undressed quickly and grabbed for the blanket. The wool felt rough against her chilled skin, but at least it was warm and dry. Travesty pushed one of the benches close to the fire and told Mary to sit down. She did as she was told, while Travesty put some water on to boil and hung Mary’s clothes on the other side of the bench. The fabric began to steam, and the smell of wet wool filled the cabin. Travesty poured some hot water into a basin and set it on the floor.

  “Put your feet in,” she said.

  Mary stuck her feet in the water and sighed with pleasure as a wonderful warmth spread through her. She was still shaking, and her hair was wet, but at least her teeth were no longer chattering. She sat hunched beneath the blanket, her head drooping with sudden fatigue.

  Once the water in the basin cooled, Travesty took it away and gave Mary an appraising look. “You’d best get yourself to bed.”

  Mary didn’t argue. She climbed between the sheets, still wrapped in the blanket. Travesty climbed to her loft and returned with her own blanket, which she used to cover Mary. Travesty seemed to be saying something, but Mary couldn’t hear her over the roar in her ears. Her limbs felt like tree trunks and she shivered violently now that she was away from the fire. She tried to say something but couldn’t seem to get the words out. Her teeth were chattering again, and cold ropes of hair wrapped themselves around her neck, the water soaking into her pillow. Mary pulled the blanket over her head and buried her face in its warm folds. She needed to sleep. She was so tired.

  Chapter 57

  Mary looked frantically from side to side. The cabin was on fire, the flames licking at the thick logs of the walls. She gasped for air, desperate to fill her sizzling lungs. She was panting, searching for a way out, but she couldn’t make out the shape of the door in a wall of fire. She was burning, suffocating, unable to move. She was trapped on the bed, which would go up like a torch at any moment. Mary screamed, or she thought she screamed. All she heard was a desperate whimper. Someone was trying to pin her down, and she thrashed in an effort to save herself.

  “Drink, you stubborn fool,” Travesty said from somewhere above her head. “Take a sip.”

  Mary felt cold water trickle down her chin as Travesty held the cup to her lips. She drank greedily, desperate to douse the inferno raging inside her. A cool compress was applied to her head and she dozed off again, returning right back to her awful nightmare. When she came to again, she heard a different voice.

  “Mary, can you hear me? It’s Dr. Paulson.” Mary tried to nod, and he replied to her kindly. “Good. That’s very good. You’ve been very ill.”

  Have I? Mary thought groggily. Dr. Paulson laid a cool hand on her brow and then took her wrist between his fingers.

  “Continue with the compresses. Make sure to apply them not only to her head, but to her armpits and to the soles of her feet to keep the fever down. Give her this tincture once a day, but try to get her to drink some broth or boiled milk. She needs nourishment.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” That was John. “And the child?”

  Dr. Paulson did not reply, and Mary became agitated, trying to open her heavy eyelids to see his face. The light in the cabin blinded her and her eyes grew moist with tears. She felt as weak as a newborn kitten.

  “Don’t worry about that now,” Dr. Paulson finally said. “I will come back tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. You have been most kind,” John said.

  “I’m a physician, Master Forrester. I’m not doing this to be kind.”

  Mary heard Simon’s smirk. “Shall I take you back to Jamestown?” he asked.

  “If you please, Master Faraday.”

  Mary heard the door close and John’s footsteps retreating. She sank deeper into the mattress, her body already succumbing to the need for sleep. She felt as if she were falling, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. She landed on something soft and clean, and she allowed it to envelop her as she drifted off.

  **

  Mary slowly opened her eyes. They were no longer sensitive to the light and she didn’t feel as if she were on fire. She lay in a tangle of sheets, the blanket about to slide off the bed. She pulled it back with some effort and covered herself. She was cold. Mary looked around. It had to be morning, but of what day? Her stomach rumbled with hunger and she tried to recall the last time she’d eaten, but couldn’t. She appeared to be alone in the cabin. She tried to raise herself on her elbow, but couldn’t find the strength, so she lay back down, wondering how to get herself to the privy.

  A few minutes later, Travesty came in, carrying a bucket. She must have just done the milking. “You’re awake,” she said, setting the bucket on the floor and coming over to check on Mary.

  “I need to go to the privy,” Mary croaked.

  “Well, that’s a good sign, I suppose. You were sweating so much these past few days, it’s a wonder there’s any water left in you. I’ll get you a bucket. You’re not strong enough to go out, and it’s cold out there.”

  Mary didn’t argue. She didn’t think her legs would carry her to the door, much less to the privy. She tried to get up, but a wave of dizziness overtook her, and she slumped back down, closing her eyes until the vertigo passed.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  It took several minutes, but eventually Mary was able to return to bed, having accomplished what she set out to do.

  “You need to eat something.” Travesty propped her up with several pillows and settled on the side of the bed with a wooden bowl and spoon. She lifted the spoon, but Mary forestalled her hand.

  “The baby,” she whispered. “What about my baby?”

  Travesty tilted her head and smiled, not unkindly. “Dr. Paulson said the little mite is as stubborn as you are. Anyone would have been laid out in a pine box by now, but not you, Mary Forrester. You’re a survivor.”

  “Am I?”

  “That you are. Now, stop blathering and open your mouth.”

  Travesty began to spoon a thin porridge into Mary’s mouth, and she swallowed obediently again and again. She fel
t full after a few spoonfuls, but she needed nourishment for her baby, so she forced herself to eat. She had just about finished all the porridge when John and Simon came in, bringing the smell of cold and pine with them.

  “The wagon is hitched,” Simon said.

  “I’ll stay back from church and look after Mary,” Travesty said.

  “There’s no need,” Mary replied. Her voice was hoarse, but she made herself heard. “Go on, Travesty. I will be fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” Travesty snapped. Mary wondered if she were trying to avoid going to church, but it wasn’t her concern. She just wanted to be left alone for a few hours.

  “I feel much improved. I just need to sleep.”

  “Leave Mary some food and water, Travesty, and get yourself in the wagon,” John commanded. “I won’t have you put in stocks for missing church.”

  Travesty sighed with irritation but didn’t argue. She set down a muslin-covered plate and a cup on the trunk by the bed. “Buttered bread and a cup of ale for your dinner. Don’t try to get up,” she admonished.

  “I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Mary reassured her.

  “I’m glad to see you feeling better, Mary,” John said awkwardly.

  Mary gave him a watery smile. “Thank you, John.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief once everyone left. So, it was Sunday. She’d fallen in the creek on Tuesday. She’d been insensible with fever for four days. Mary brushed the tangled hair out of her face and sank deeper into the pillows. She was no longer fevered, but she had no strength to even sit up, so she closed her eyes and rested her hands on her belly. Her baby had survived. It was a miracle, and a sign. Surely God didn’t condemn her for her actions if he’d allowed her and her child to live. Mary was smiling as she sank into a deep, peaceful sleep.

  The hand on her cheek was gentle and loving. “Mary, wake up.”

  Mary forced her eyes open. She was still tired, but whoever was trying to wake her was quite persistent.

  “Mary.” Walker was leaning over her, his eyes filled with worry. “Mary, can you hear me?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes. I was ill.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw the beads in the shack and came to find you. I heard your husband talking to his man. He thought you were going to die.” Walker’s voice caught on the last word. “I was desperate to see you.”

  “How did you know I’d be alone?”

  “I saw them leave. I’ve been watching the house for days.”

  “I fell in the creek. I slipped.”

  “My poor love,” Walker said, stroking her hair. “I wish I’d known sooner.”

  “Did you go home again?”

  Walker shook his head. “I was needed by Chief Opitchapam. There was a meeting of the chiefs of the Tsenacommacah tribes. There are some who are in favor of war. Opchanacanough, the chief’s younger brother, wants to drive the English from these shores before more people come and force the Powhatan to abandon their ancestral lands. The chief wanted my opinion on the motives of the English.”

  “What did you tell them?” Mary asked.

  “The truth. More ships will come. The English will take more land and drive the Indians deeper inland.”

  “Are you in favor of war, Walker?”

  “I’m in favor of living side by side with the English, but given what I’ve seen and heard, I’m not so sure that’s what the English want. We have a peace, but it’s a fragile one.”

  Walker reached for the cup of ale and helped Mary drink. “You are so pale, like a white dove. Why were you looking for me? Did you miss me?” he asked, smiling happily.

  “Yes. I miss you every day. I came to tell you that I’ll go with you to your people. I made up my mind. But what will happen to me if there’s a war with the English? Will I be treated as the enemy?”

  “Mary, you will be welcomed and adopted into the tribe. You needn’t worry.”

  “But I do. I worry about our child,” Mary said, smiling shyly.

  “Our child?” Walker’s hand went to her belly and he splayed it over the tiny bump. His face broke into a joyful grin.

  “When can we leave?” Mary asked.

  “It’s a long walk to Croatoan lands, and the paths will be snowbound until the beginning of what you call March. You need to get your strength back, Mary. Then, you can come to the Powhatan village and stay there with me until we’re ready to go. I will come for you soon.”

  “All right.”

  Walker leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips soft and gentle. “I love you, Mary. Now, rest and get better. I will see you very soon.” He extracted the necklace he had given her from his pack and slipped it over his head. “I will keep this for you until then.”

  Chapter 58

  February 2015

  Ramstein-Miesenbach, Germany

  Quinn had expected Rhys to engage her in an analysis of the reunion once they got in the car and exited the car park, but he remained silent, allowing her time to process her feelings. That particular undertaking would take much longer than the drive to the hotel, but it was a start. Quinn’s emotional circuit board was firing on all cylinders. She was elated, weepy, and excited beyond words, but also frustrated and angry. So much time had been stolen from her and Jo. Thirty-one years during which they could have been the best of friends, and the closest of confidantes. Thirty-one years during which they could have been there for each other and continued to nurture the bond that had begun in the womb.

  “You might have hated each other,” Rhys suddenly said, startling Quinn out of her reverie.

  “What?”

  “Your emotions are all there on your face,” Rhys replied with a smile. “Don’t look back, Quinn. What’s done is done. You’ve found each other, that’s what matters. Move forward, build on that.”

  Quinn reached out and squeezed Rhys’s arm. He was speaking from experience and she appreciated his insight. He was moving on from his own tragedy, and she had to as well.

  “Want to grab some lunch?” Rhys asked as he glanced at the dashboard. It was just past noon. Quinn wasn’t hungry, but she could tell that Rhys longed for some company and couldn’t bear to deny him.

  “Just give me an hour, Rhys. I have to call Gabe, and Logan, and then we can go anywhere you like.”

  “Of course. Ring me when you’re ready.” Rhys parked the car and got out with a grimace of pain, which he instantly tried to cover up.

  “I must have pulled a muscle when cleaning off the car this morning,” he said, easing his back theatrically, but Quinn knew he wasn’t telling the truth. She’d seen his careful movements and the way he paled when he took a deep breath. She’d also seen him taking painkillers when he thought she wasn’t looking. Rhys was in pain, and whatever was hurting him was the result of his time in Kabul. Quinn felt a stab of guilt. It was all her fault, and Rhys cared about her too much to tell her the truth and make her feel accountable.

  “Rhys, please tell me you’re all right,” Quinn said, facing him across the bonnet of the car. “I know you’re hurting.”

  Rhys didn’t bother to deny it this time, for which she was grateful. “I’m on the mend. I had a bit of a run-in with some thugs in Kabul. Don’t worry, I was seen to. I’ll live.”

  Quinn smiled, amused by Rhys’s unwavering stoicism. He’d never admit to being in pain or needing help. He’d accept aid grudgingly, as if he were bestowing a great favor. “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “I’m fine. Now, go make those calls before I expire of malnourishment,” Rhys said, ushering her into the lobby.

  “Right. Sorry. You haven’t eaten since breakfast. You must be on your last reserves,” Quinn joked. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Quinn shut the door to her room, shrugged off her coat, and extracted her mobile. She would call Logan, just as she’d said she would, but first, she needed to hear Gabe’s voice. He’d be at work, but she hoped he’d be able to spare her a few minut
es.

  Gabe picked up on the first ring. “Quinn, are you all right, love?” he asked.

  “I’m more than all right. Oh Gabe, I just met her.” Quinn had had every intention of providing Gabe with a measured and descriptive account, but instead she burst into tears at the sound of his voice, overcome by her turbulent emotions.

  “That’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Gabe asked carefully.

  “It is,” Quinn said, sniffling. “Gabe, it was amazing. It’s as if we’ve known each other our whole lives. There was this connection, this bond.”

  “I’m glad it went well. Will you be seeing her again tomorrow?”

  “Of course. I’ll stay for a few more days at the very least. It’d be nice if I could take her home.”

  “When will Jo be released?”

  “I don’t know yet. But she’s doing really well.”

  “Quinn, one day at a time. You have your whole lives ahead of you. No one will ever come between you and Jo again.”

  “That’s what Rhys said.”

  “Rhys is very good at staging the lives of others,” Gabe joked. “I’m glad he’s with you. How is he?”

  “He seems more at peace,” Quinn replied. “He’s still hurting, and will be for some time, but I think he can see a way forward now.” She decided not to mention Rhys’s physical injuries. He wouldn’t want her to.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Have you spoken to Logan?” Gabe asked, his voice gentle.

  Quinn sighed. “Not yet. I rang you first. I needed to hear your voice.”