A Place in His Heart (19 page)

“Two days, mayhap three, if we borrowed an ox to pull the cart. The Henrys would let us use theirs, I believe. I have helped Miles enough with his fence. Or mayhap 'tis time to buy a good horse of our own. It seems I borrow a different nag for every journey.” She turned in his arms, and he smiled as he looked down at her.

She reached a hand to his brow and smoothed it. “I know it would be a long journey, but I would not mind.”

“Very well, then. The plan is to meet with Reverend Youngs in a fortnight. Let me see what can be arranged. I will need to get a letter off to Thomas. He built their house to be temporary, so it is small and would not accommodate company. But there must be someone who could accommodate us.”

Mary anticipated the trip with pleasure. She would bake some bread and persuade Barney to bake his ginger cakes. Perhaps she would sew a poppet for Belle. The excitement she felt for the journey reminded her of the anticipation she felt before the trips to London with Papa and Lizzie, though Agawam was not London, she was certain.

Late May 1638

A fortnight later, the Hortons were on their way to Agawam. A large wagon pulled by two oxen—Mr. Henry insisted they take both of his—served as their bed the first two nights.

Finally they pulled in front of the widow Moore's boarding establishment. A hot meal and a comfortable bed, how good that would be. Not quite The Swan, but at least she would not be doing the cooking and cleaning.

Finishing Mistress Moore's breakfast of cheese, butter, and fresh-baked bread, Mary looked up to see Thomas, his wife, and their daughter walking through the door. Her joy at seeing family, the first familiar faces in this wild land, made her breath catch and she clutched her hands over her heart.

Barney jumped to her side and helped her to stand.

She rushed to the arms of her sister-in-law, Belle caught between their skirts. “Oh, my, Jane! 'Tis so good to see you. I have bread to give you. I baked it myself. Do not let me forget to give it to you.”

“Mary, let me see you!” Jane held Mary at arm's length and
gave her an approving nod. “You look well. Barnabas has been taking good care of you.”

Belle grinned at her aunt but hid from her cousins.

Mary bent to her niece. “My, I wanted to pick you up and hold you, but look how big you are. But indeed, not too big for a kiss from your auntie.” She gave the little girl kisses on both cheeks. “I have a treat for you. Uncle Barney baked the ginger cakes himself.”

She handed the bag to Belle and turned to the boys. “Jay, Ben, say hello to your cousin.”

With a nod from their father, they both stepped forward and offered a timid good morrow.

Mary exchanged a hug with Thomas as Barney greeted his sister-in-law.

The rest of the morning Barney spent in meetings with Reverend Youngs until he could join Thomas and the ladies at the riverbank. The children chased each other until exhaustion, then made little boats from leaves and floated them at river's edge.

Thomas turned to Barney. “It was exceedingly difficult to live in Boston. His Majesty kept imposing tax after tax. First it was a tax on anything we traded with the Indians. Now a ship's tax. Can you imagine? We decided to follow William Pynchon up the Connecticut River. The natives gave us land on the east side of the river and a plot to grow crops on the west side. In return, we gave them eighteen fathoms of wampum, along with eighteen hatchets, eighteen knives, and eighteen coats.”

“How much land to build on?”

“Ten acres each.”

“Amazing. Eighteen, eh? What is the significance of that, pray tell?”

“It was a small tribe, eighteen families in all.”

“Aye, I see.”

“You should come here, Barn. Agawam is a beautiful place. Come live with us.” He looked at his sister-in-law as he spoke.

Mary gazed at the water, a breeze caressing her face. She did not care what Barney might decide. Just that he decide where home was to be.

“Nay, brother. I have plans to go to Quinnipiac. And gracious, I have not seen anything here in New England that has not been beautiful. I want to be near a port, and of course Jeremy will be making frequent trips.”

“True. What do you hear from him?”

“We expected him sometime this spring, truth be told. Now that I have the house built, I am anxious to begin receiving supplies from home.”

“Pynchon is the man for supplies. He has just about anything you can have a need for. I shall have him load you up, if there be room in the wagon, of course.”

Mary's attention turned to the business at hand. “Does he have thread? And scissors?”

Thomas chortled.

“Is that yea or nay?” She grinned back at her brother-in-law. It still amazed her how much alike the three brothers' laughs were.

“Aye, I am certain he would be able to get you thread and scissors.”

“My sweet, I will need to meet with the reverend once more. It would be the opportune time for you to seek out this Mr. Pynchon and make your purchases.”

“Oh, yes. Shall you be able to take me to see him, Tommy?”

“It is my Jane's favorite pastime, is that not so, lovey?”

His wife grinned sweetly. “'Tis true, we must go see him.”

The end of the day found them together again, in Thomas and Jane's tiny home, their stomachs full with good food, and contented to be with family.

Mary sat at the table and smiled when Jay and Ben joined the men in a discussion about life in the wilds. She enjoyed looking with Jane and Belle over the trinkets and necessities she purchased from Mr. Pynchon earlier.

“Mama says Uncle Barney filled his casks with gold.” Belle's impish smile lit her face. “Did he, Aunt Mary?”

“Belle! You should not repeat such things!” Jane's cheeks reddened and she shifted on the bench.

Mary laughed. “She says that because we all said that of your papa. The Horton brothers would not leave England unprepared. Your grandparents would not allow it.”

The ladies fell silent and the conversation from the men drew their attention.

“I hear the plague is raging in London once more.” Thomas poked at the fire with a log, then plunked it on top of the flames.

“Aye, I know. 'Tis what I heard from Reverend Youngs. People are leaving the city in droves to escape, he says.” He glanced at Mary with a knowing look. “I dispatched a letter home, inquiring about Mother and Father's health. One to John and Elizabeth, as well. Jeremy will bring news, I'm certain, but he's overdue.”

Mary fidgeted with the sewing scissors in her hands. “'Tis been a long time since we have heard from Jeremy. News comes so slowly. I do hope everyone is all right.”

“I wish we had letters—we can but pray for his safe arrival. The plague has ravaged London before and the people of Mowsley have never had to fear. They are far north, and your father stays home if there be trouble in the city.”

She looked up. “Yes. He knows to take care of himself.”

With much regret they bid their farewells and returned to one more night at the widow Moore's.

The following morning, Mary sang a soft tune as the oxen
pulled them along. It was a jig Lizzie liked to sing to her, and although she normally would not risk singing in front of anyone, today she felt carefree.

Barney leaned in close to listen. “What is that tune, my sweet?”

“A silly old song that Lizzie learned from Mother. Something about little lambs eating ivy.”

“Oh, I thought I did not recognize it.” His chortle mingled with her giggle. “By the by, I have not told you about my meeting with Reverend Youngs.”

Now she straightened, ready to listen.

“He says there is much indecision at the moment regarding the timing of going to Quinnipiac. I was to travel there soon, but he requests I not make the trip until further notice.”

“Oh, Barney, that is so disappointing. How long does he think it might be?”

“He doesn't know for certain, but the possibility of several months to a year is not out of the question.”

She regarded his profile, as he avoided looking at her. He knew she was upset, of course. She wanted to be kind. 'Twas not his fault. “Barney, do you not think we should go to Agawam, then? We know we shall not stay in Winnacunnet. May we not just settle someplace? With Tommy and Jane? We would be with family.”

“Nay, my sweet. That has never been my intention. God has a plan for us. We must stay close to His plan.”

She waited for him to add “in His own time.” Thankfully, he did not. She settled back against the board and closed her eyes. With the boys occupied in the back of the wagon, she could at least fume in silence. Would God forgive her grumbling? She could not face another year of indecision.

July 1638

Mary stayed busy from dawn to dusk with cooking, gardening, and maintaining her household, any of which could be a full-time occupation. The moments of leisure she allowed herself in Mowsley were but a dream. Promising herself time for indulgence, she woke well before the boys. But once up and the fire stirred, it seemed like the day was underway and endless chores demanded her time.

Barney finally traveled to Quinnipiac. He had meetings to attend with both Reverend Davenport, in Quinnipiac since last April, and Reverend Youngs of Salem. He should be on his way home, and hopefully would bring good news that Reverend Youngs was now ready to remove to Quinnipiac. Barney had promised to arrange a land purchase if that be the case.

She rose early that morning to write letters. There was much to do in the fields, but perhaps she would have a few quiet moments to write a short missive to her family.

Dearest Papa,

It is with great love that I write you this day and pray it finds you well and in good cheer. I do miss you, my father, but have found life in New England so occupying that I do not fill my days with sadness, but rather fill them with the work the Lord intended us for.

The apples here, Papa, are the strangest thing. They are so tiny and do not seem much worth the trouble of eating. I am having dreams of the large, luscious apples from our orchard at home and wonder if you could not send seeds, or perhaps small seedlings, with Jeremy?

We will move to Quinnipiac soon and it is my desire that we will finally be at our place of abode, the place we shall call home. Once there I shall plant an apple tree for you.

Your obedient and loving daughter,
Mary

She had put on a brave front for Papa, but for her sister the façade began to crumble.

Dear Lizzie,

I am weary and missing Barney but wanted to write a short note to you. It seems work is never done. Not a complaint, mind you. If I had more time on my hands I would miss you and Papa terribly. I do, actually, but have no time to give it clear thought. Now that I am reflecting on it, I realize that not only do I not have time, I have no friends either. I miss your friendship. There is a small group of ladies that I have gathered together with the intent of giving support to each other, much like you have always
given me. I hope to do good work with this, but sometimes it feels as if the ladies care more about gossip than surviving this wilderness.

Jay and Ben are schooled by a fine old gentleman, Mr. Baxter. He is well learned, like Barney, and has been marvelous for the boys. Ben continues to be the lovey, but Jay and I still have our moments. Nothing has changed there too much. Some days I think we shall be friends, but the very next day proves otherwise.

I promised Papa another grandchild, but after all of these years I start to doubt if that will happen. I used to cry and such about it, but don't have the luxury anymore. Too much to do.

Barney is a good husband to me, and works very hard, but at times I know he is thinking only of Ann. That is all right, of course, as I have always told him I would never want him to forget her. And that is still true. But there are times when his look is so very far away. I feel an ocean between us and he might as well be as far from me as you and Papa.

I'm sorry, Lizzie, I do not mean to make you sad. I have written you many letters and their tone was certainly more cheery than this. Perhaps I shall not send it. Jeremy was supposed to return last spring, but so far no word. He promised to take my letters back to you and Papa. I hope Papa is well. I have written to him as well, though it is brief, as it pains me to tell him all I have shared with you.

We will be moving soon to Quinnipiac. Barney is there now, purchasing a lot. Please keep us in your prayers as I do you. I pray daily that you, Zeke, Josh, Ruthie, Rach, Hannah, and Papa will come to join us. I have painted a
dreary picture, I'm afraid, but truly all is wonderful and I just miss you more than words do justice.

Your loving and devoted sister,
Mary

She folded the letters carefully and placed them at the bottom of her stack. She wasn't sure if she would send Lizzie's with Jeremy or not. She truly wanted her sister and Papa to come and live in New England.

Where was Jeremy? Had he not told them he would return within the year? It was worrisome, but she also knew he would not put his crew or passengers in danger if it be in his power. She imagined him skirting a storm and waiting it out in the Canaries. She smiled at the thought as she tied a pretty ruby-hued satin ribbon around the letters and tucked them into the sturdy trunk Barney had made for her.

She stirred her fire and set her flat iron pan in amongst the hot coals. She took a slab of salted pork and cut thin strips to fry over the coals. When they were crisp, she placed them on a platter and poured a thin batter of ground corn and water into the grease of the pan. The little cakes were simple, but tasty.

“Mama, you woke me up with the smell. I'm hungry.” A sleepy-eyed Ben peered down from the loft.

Jay pushed past him to scamper down the ladder. “Me too. It smells good.”

“I'm glad you're hungry. We need to eat and then go out to work the garden. Your father should be home today, and I would like to please him with what we've accomplished.”

Mary's hoe hit the hard ground with a thwack as the sun warmed her back. Sweat trickled from her forehead as she raised a sleeved arm to mop it. They had finished weeding the garden, but she wanted to clear a little more space for a few more rows of carrots and turnips. They should start well, even in hot July.

Jay followed behind Mary and raked at the broken ground.

She thwacked once more and felt the reverberations from the wooden handle. Her arms ached. “It shall be good to have more vegetables if we must stay here.”

Jay looked up and rested on the rake. He squinted at her. “Do you think we will?”

“I hope your father has good news about the plans for Quinnipiac, but it seems our plans always get deferred.”

“Mama! Joseph!”

Mary and Jay looked across the field.

Ben charged across with Jeremy in tow. “Look, Uncle Jeremy!”

Dropping their hoes, they ran, stumbling over dirt clods along the way, to greet him.

“Heigh-ho, be careful. Where's Barn?”

Mary tried to catch her breath. “He has not returned yet from Quinnipiac. I expect him any moment. Jeremy, what is wrong? You look poorly.”

He pressed his hands to his eyes. “I am well. It has been a difficult journey.”

“Yes, to be sure. Let's go in and you can sit. Are you hungry?”

“No, Mary, I'm not hungry, but I would like to rest. Joseph, Benjamin, can you be good lads and go fetch my trunk? You'll need to take the wheelbarrow.”

“Yes, Uncle Jeremy. We'll be right back.” Jay glanced at his brother, challenged him with a look, and darted off toward the barrow.

“Wait, Joseph! Not fair—wait for me!” Ben raced after him, closing the distance quickly.

Jeremy eyed the boys with a sadness Mary could not mistake. “Come, Jeremy, we shall sit a spell. The day is too hot and I am ready for refreshment.”

He followed her in and sat at the old oak table. She set two cups and a plate of ginger cakes before him. “Barney baked these.”

A glint of a smile passed his lips, replaced by a frown.

He was surely tired and hungry. She could tend to that. “You cannot come to a baker's house and not expect to be offered a biscuit or cake, now can you?”

“Ah, true, thankfully, true. Mother always baked the best until Barn took over.” He took a bite of the small, crisp cake and stared at the table. “Mary, I have some news from home, but methinks it best to wait for Barnabas.”

She held her breath as she sat down. Grasping the edge of the table, she thought to ask about his news, but decided against it. “I don't know when Barney shall be here. He said he might make it by yesterday or perhaps this afternoon. 'Tis a long ride from Quinnipiac and the horses he borrows are poor excuses.”

“Aye.”

“Jeremy, there is something I have meant to ask you, and I don't want Barney to know.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, what is that?”

“I wanted to ask you whilst I have the chance. Do you remember he wanted to bring a slab of blue slate with him for his gravestone? I'm wondering if you could bring it. I'm hoping we shall leave for Quinnipiac and build our house.”

“Do you think he still wants it?”

“Oh, yes. He wrote his own epitaph years ago. 'Tis beautiful and I wish to have it engraved on the blue slate, like he did for Ann. I want to surprise him. I know where he keeps the paper—in his Bible. Would you be able to do that for me, Jeremy? Buy the slate and have it engraved?”

“I don't see why I couldn't. Of course, it will take almost a year to bring it back. May I read this epitaph?”

Mary left his side and picked up the old Horton Bible. She opened it with care and turned to the last page. There was the worn and creased parchment. She unfolded the page and held it out to Jeremy. “Barney wrote that.”

She watched him read. “I think he thought it would be a bridge to both the past and future. A link to the slate left behind and a call to the generations to come. Do you not think so, Jeremy?” She looked up at him and met his eyes. Tears. She had not seen tears, nay, even a dampness in his eyes before.

“I will take this with me and bring you back the blue slate.”

“We must not take it from his Bible. I shall copy it for you.”

She pulled out some parchment, a quill, and ink, and sat at the table to write.

Jeremy sat across from her, dark circles beneath his eyes, and a sadness about his mouth. “Mary, I must tell you. Barn might not be the husband you yearn for, but he cares deeply about you. He is a bumbling fool not to show you, but I know he does.”

“He told me that once and I try to believe him, but just as often I feel so far from his heart. But I try not to think of myself. I have much to do for Barney and the boys. Church and the ladies keep me busy. If Papa and Lizzie would come here to live, my life would be very full indeed.” She folded the paper and handed it to her brother-in-law.

“I know.” He looked miserable. “Mary.” His voice was gentle.
“I have much to tell you, but I am weary. Prithee, may we talk in the morning? Mayhap Barn will be back.”

Lord, I don't want to hear what he
has to say. I don't want to hear this
. 'Tis not good, that I know. Please send Barney home
.

“Of course.” She got up and turned to look out the window. The sun's slant sent shadows across the field. The boys needed to be back before dark with the trunk. Would Barney make it home before the sun sank?

“'Tis just a pottage for supper tonight, but there is much of it. And plenty of bread too. I hope that shall be enough?”

“Aye, it sounds very good to this hungry man. I don't want to be a burden.”

She steadied herself on the back of her chair. “You are never a burden. I fear I am tired too. I worked with Jay all day in the fields. I'm sure I was in the sun too much.”

“Mayhap I should go and see if the boys need help.” He stood up and slipped the paper into his pocket.

She let him go, wanting to ask him if there were a letter from Papa or Lizzie, but afraid to ask the question.

He disappeared into the shadows that grew longer as the sun sank.

Dark, rain-laden clouds moved in. She breathed deeply, smelling the moist air. A rumble in the distance sent shivers through her body and she realized how quickly the heat of the afternoon dissipated. She moved to the hearth and nudged the logs, then returned to the window to peer into the gloom.

As if willing him there, the robust figure of Barney astride an ox of a workhorse appeared.

She flung the door open and ran toward her husband, feet scrambling over the ground she and Jay had broken, auburn hair
streaming behind her. Her breath seemed to leave her and she wasn't sure if the words she cried would reach his ears.