A Place in His Heart (17 page)

He pinched the corners of his eyes to stifle the moisture that collected. He needed to get out of the cabin. He was finally
here. The New World he and Ann talked about. Here without her. He looked down at Mary and pulled the quilt gently about her shoulders and eased out of the cabin.

He made his way to the starboard side and grasped the rail. Staring down at the fires burning low across the beach, the day he met Mary rushed back to him. A day so filled with emotion.

The ship gently swayed and he looked at the water below, then up to the stars that blazed. The early days after Ann died were excruciating. He could not fathom how he'd go on. By the grace of God he'd done it. But it did not feel any easier on this night. No, she should have been here with him.

Late Summer 1637

The first weeks were about survival. Too many were sick from the long voyage and in need of shelter and good food. Tents were built of sailcloth, food scavenged from sea, land, and air. Mary appreciated the fresh venison and duck, but the oysters, shrimp, and lobster—bottom fish of the ocean—rather repulsed her. Fires were tended with a passion.

Soon after that first night, Barnabas and Jeremy encountered a small band of Indians. Though not particularly amiable, the natives did not threaten them. The rugged cove
The Swallow
anchored in was discovered to be close to the tiny English settlement of Winnacunnet, far north of Boston. Because it was built on a protective bay, ships frequently stopped with provisions.

The few hardy residents offered their homes where they had room, and their labor to those they could not accommodate. Together the families harvested corn and prepared beds for the flax that would be planted in early spring.

Barney desired to remain there, waiting for word of Reverend Davenport and Reverend John Youngs. Some of the
families, bound by their indenture to the Massachusetts Bay Company, continued south to Boston. The Terrys, though not indentured, decided to travel to Boston as well. It was embarrassing how much relief it gave Mary that Miss Terry would not be around.

Everyone worked from dawn's first light until the fire was banked late in the evening. But when word came
The
Hector
had arrived safely in Boston Harbor—days before
The
Swallow
anchored—work ceased and a feast was prepared in celebration. Contentment beat in Mary's heart as she watched Barney preside over the festivities. There were times she longed to take over the kitchen tongs, but today she was happy to watch him in command.

Each afternoon as they prepared food, Mary encouraged the women to talk about what they personally thought to be the most difficult part of living in the New World. Nay, 'twas more about surviving than living. She asked them to express their emotions and fears, and their dreams as well. What he dreamt of most was more sleep

Barney set about clearing land with his sons by his side. The small community came together for a log-rolling and then a stone-piling. Soon he began building their cottage. Each night in their tent of sod and sailcloth, he would fall onto the pallet of hickory branches covered in pelts. “A hard day's work makes for a good night's sleep,” he said many a night.

The stormy season would come soon enough and he told Mary he was determined to have his family safely within the walls of their cottage before the first freeze.

“Remember, this will not be the house I've promised you. 'Twill be rough logs quickly put together, and it will be but a tiny cottage. We shall not be here long.”

She snuggled close to hear him as he whispered. The boys slept on their pallets nearby.

“Reverend Davenport sends word he is not finding Boston to his liking, though they have made a great effort to keep him there. He has already sent scouts south to look at another harbor to plant a church and build a township. He has word back the Indians are cordial and amenable to trade. I don't know for certain, but mayhap I will want to go there. Already I worry there are too many people here for my liking, and that all they think about is how to become rich.”

She propped up on her elbow to look into his face.

He continued. “We've come here for a new start, but surely we were richer in England. My focus is the church. It might be we can better serve God if we follow Reverend Davenport. I hear Reverend John Youngs is now in Salem and plans to unite with him. Much is happening.”

“But what about the people here in Winnacunnet? Do they not need a minister of the Word? Why would Reverend Youngs not come to plant his church here?”

“He never intended to plant a church this far north. He will be down in the area of Quinnipiac. Reverend Bachiler, of Old Hampton, will be coming here. As early as next year, I am told.”

A pain built in her chest, an ache for a home, wherever it would be. She wanted to be established, to begin to put down their roots. Perhaps Lizzie and Papa, upon hearing from her the wonders of this new land, would decide to make the voyage and join them. But first they needed a home to bring them to.

She rubbed his shoulder as her mind drifted back to a day when he tried to share with her how Ann felt about coming to the colonies. She would have loved the adventure, the chance to be on the verge of something you could not quite imagine, yet
surely was something grand. Mary wanted to share that with Barney too, but when would they know they were there? How long would this go on?

She buried her face in his shoulder. “I will follow you wherever you go. I do not want to fail you.”

“You have not failed me. If the reverend's scouts find a suitable location, we shall go soon. Do not be troubled.” He reached for her.

Mary scooted close. “I dream of a home, but I want more than anything for you to build your church.”

“John Davenport has many ideas for the church, and I very much want to meet with him when he is ready to establish it. There shall be a legacy for our children and our children's children. All will be well. Take care of yourself and we will have the babe we so desire.”

“I pray for that, Barney. I just pray it shall not take too long.”

Mary lay quietly beneath her husband's strong arm until she heard his heavy, rhythmic breathing. She lifted his arm and crawled from the bed. Heart aching, she needed to walk. She wrapped her cloak about her and picked up her doll. Walking a short distance from the tent, she came into view of their little cottage, almost complete. She sank to the earthen floor of the front hall and drew her knees up to her chin. Leaning back against the wall, she clutched the doll until tears fell in more torrents than the summer squall that had ripped through the night before.

Every time he brought up children, specifically their children, her heart cracked a bit. What would happen if she never bore him a babe? Her forehead dropped to her knees and she brought her arms over her head. In time he would resent her, just like
Papa said he would. Barney expected her to carry his babe and he was patient now because he had much work to do. And Ann. He never stopped thinking of her. She prayed for forgiveness from her selfishness, but truly, she wanted her husband to think of her for once.

Barnabas rolled over and looked about. No Mary. He checked the boys and left the tent. He walked briskly through the dank night air and found himself in their new cottage, somehow knowing he would find her there. There she lay, curled in her cloak. Even her sleep did not prevent the dry sobs heaving from her chest. She held the doll in her arms.

He pulled it up by an arm and let it drop to the floor. Gently, he scooped her up and followed the path back to their tent. Thick clouds parted for a moment and a thin slice of moonlight fell on Mary's face. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable. He remembered his promise to John, to keep her safe. How could he do that when he could not even fathom what troubled her the most? Her hood blew back in the breeze and he pulled it about, tucking it beneath her chin. Keeping the cloak wrapped around her, he set her down on the pallet and lowered himself beside her.

Sleep would not come for him. What was he doing wrong? Why did nothing seem right? But more importantly, what could he do to change it? His prayers were not for himself. Ann still surrounded him, but he prayed he could be the husband Mary wanted. What on earth, dear Lord, did she want?

She woke the next morning to bright sunshine. The storm had moved on. Barney and the boys were gone. Stiff and spent,
she recalled the night before. How had she gotten back into bed? Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. He must have found her in their cottage.

Her mother's silver looking glass lay on the small table and she peered at her reflection. Her eyes were a watery blue. She gave her papery cheeks a little pinch and gently bit her lips to bring color back to them. Donning a pale yellow garden chemise, she brushed out her tumbled mass of hair and secured it into a knot. She looked outside for signs of Barney.

He was up on the frame of the roof, stacking the rocks that would be their chimney. It would be a small cottage, but he wanted a real hearth. “Good morning, my sweet. You have slept in quite late, but I do believe you needed to.” His voice was strained.

“Yes, Barney, I am sorry. You must have put me back in bed?” Squinting upward into the blinding sun, she shielded her eyes with her hand.

“That I did. You worried me.”

“Did you find my poppet?”

“Yes, the doll. You had the doll. That worries me as well, Mary. It seems to me you spend too much time coddling that poppet.”

“Yes, but where is it?”

He looked off to the distance.

“Barney, where did you put it?”

He looked back down at her and she could sense his regret.

Agitation crept slowly into her voice. “I said, where is it?”

“I threw it away. 'Tis gone.”

“What? No! Where? Where did you throw it? I shall retrieve it.”

“You cannot. It's gone for good. Prithee, forget about it.”

Her chest heaved, breath squeezed from her lungs. Tears
burned her eyes but would not flow. She had never been this angry in her life. “By your leave, I shall not forget about it. She was mine. My mother made her for me. How could you? How could you!”