A Place in His Heart (28 page)

She climbed into bed beside him and a biting coldness crept into her soul. Had he not told her he loved her just by giving her the tongs? Perhaps not in words, but was that not what he meant? She put her hand gently on his shoulder, but he did not turn toward her. “I am sorry, my love. I am here beside you, whenever you want to turn to me.”

There was silence as she settled beside his back and quiet tears slid down her cheeks.

January 1640

Christmastide came and went quietly, but by the first of January, winter's cold blast hit Long Island with a roar. Mary and Barney recovered from that horrid night when they had slept side by side, yet so very far apart. Once their winter stores were full, their days had been consumed with helping the rest of the township build homes, and nights became their refuge.

She pulled the green and gold quilt up to her cheeks with a shiver. A ray of pale winter light bathed her face, and her lashes fluttered as she woke. She opened her eyes to Barney's wide smile.

“You are so beautiful when you wake up. 'Tis one of my favorite times of day.”

She smiled back. “You always watch me when I sleep. Sometimes I feel you must lie awake all night just watching me. Not that I mind that, my husband.”

“Sometimes I wake up long before dawn, long before our prayer time, and start my own prayers.” He drew her near to
him. “But when the light starts to fall on your face, I have to pause and appreciate what God has provided me.”

They lay together a long while in silence. Finally she turned her face to his, but he was lost to a place far away. Was it an ocean away? Which memories did he think of now? How quickly he could change.

She drew a breath and opened her mouth to ask, but a gentle tap on their door drew their attention. She welcomed the interruption.

“Mama, it snowed. It snowed! Come look.”

Barney sat up and pushed off the bed. “Now, Benjamin, it will not melt so quickly. Give Mother a chance to don her robe. You don't want her to freeze.”

“Hurry.” Ben trotted back to the parlor. “It's starting again!”

Barney drew on his breeches and handed Mary her robe. He pulled on his boots. “I should gather some wood before it gets too wet.”

She followed him to the parlor and found the boys peering out the window. The diamond panes of glass that replaced the oil paper before winter's grip still brought a smile each time she gazed outside. Huge flakes floated down, much like the papery white doilies her mother used to crochet. Angel tears. Angel tears of joy. She loved the snow and the imagery her mother made up about the snow held a special place in her heart.

She put her arms around Jay and Ben and hugged them close. “'Tis beautiful. I think after our prayers, we should have some porridge and then bundle up and go out to play. I know your father objects, but we've all worked so very hard for so very long. 'Tis time to play, do you not think so?”

Jay squirmed out of her reach. “Mother wouldn't allow us to play in the snow. Too cold—and wet. She said we would get sick. She knew about those things.”

Ben looked first at his brother, then at Mary, his face falling.

Her throat squeezed tight. Had they not shared some very sweet moments? Why must Jay be like this? No matter how many times he turned on her, it still took her aback. “Your mother would be right. You could become very ill, if you overchill and do not take care to properly warm yourself when you come in. But I have played in the snow all of my life. I shall be sure to help you all dry out and warm yourselves. Come help me set the food on the table, and when your father comes in, we shall discuss with him playing outside.”

Ben grinned. “We could have a snowball fight, Joseph.”

Mary tousled his curls. “Oh, yes. Or perhaps make snow angels. I shall teach you.”

She stirred the embers. Jay got up and with a sullen face put out bowls for the porridge. He needed something to cheer him up. Perhaps once outside he could let himself go and have fun.

“Could you please get out a knife as well as the spoons? I think this morning we shall have last night's bread with our porridge, and butter and cheese too. It will do well to have a hearty breakfast before we venture out to the snow.”

“I thought we would ask Father first, before deciding if we will go out?”

“Certainly, Jay, I just want to be prepared. I think your father will find it a grand idea.”

With an enormous thud, the door swung open, hitting the wall. A cold swirl of air filled the room as Barnabas entered with logs askew in his arms. He stamped his feet to loosen the snow that clung to his boots. Cold emanated from him as his
presence filled the room. “It is so bitterly cold out there. Not fit for man nor beast.”

Joseph smiled and looked at Mary, victory written on his face. Benjamin's face fell for the second time that morning. She turned to her husband and straightened. “Why, Barney, you surprise me. But then, look at you. You are but in your robe. What were you thinking? Come put the wood down and stand by the fire. We'll have some warm porridge after our prayers. Once you are warm, I have a question for you.” She winked at Benjamin.

Barnabas put the wood down near the hearth, stacking it on end to let it dry. He put his hands out to warm near the flames.

Mary set the porridge and bread on the table. She brought out two crocks, one of butter and one of strawberries preserved in sugar. Thick slices of cheese and dried venison completed the feast.

Barnabas raised a brow and nodded toward the large repast. “Are we to eat all of that food this morning? Is there a celebration you have not told me about?” He eyed her belly.

Mary blushed. “Yes, 'tis a special occasion. My mother always said the angels among us were crying happy tears when it snowed, and we always went out to rejoice with them. Of course, we need to fill our stomachs well and dress warmly. We wouldn't want to get sick. Do you agree, Barney? May we go out and play?”

“I don't know. It is exceedingly cold.”

“Every winter since we've been in New England, be it Massachusetts or here in Yennicott, we have been working too hard to enjoy ourselves. Our work is far from done, but at least we have our beautiful house over our heads, and enough food stored
to well keep us through even the longest of winters.” Her lip trembled.

He nodded and looked at Benjamin's expectant face and then at Joseph. He could see his eldest son had reservations and he knew whence they came. “What do you think, Joseph? Do you think we should play with the angels?”

Joseph glanced at Mary. “I don't know, Father. We could get sick. Mother always worried about that.”

“Joseph, aye, you are concerned for what your mother would do and that is noble. But, today it is Mary who makes the decisions in caring for our household. Shall we give the snow play a go of it?”

Warmed by the fire, Barnabas picked up the old Horton Bible for their Scripture reading, ending it with prayer. His private prayer was for discernment. He always tried to do what was right, but depended on God to fill the cracks. This was a difficult thing, this family thing, giving honor and love to Ann's memory and honor and love to Mary. It was so very hard to support Mary when he knew Ann would handle it differently, but he knew he must.

They sat down to their porridge, each one silent. Barnabas blessed their food and looked up. Mary rubbed his hand and gave him a smile.

After the meal, Benjamin jumped up, eager to run out to the snow.

Barnabas laughed. “Where are your manners? Please sit back down and ask to be excused properly.”

His son quickly sat down, got the formality out of the way, and shot back up as soon as he received a nod.

Mary called after him, “Remember I said we need to bundle up. We need coats, hats, and gloves on your hands. Do not forget your neck cloth.”

Joseph asked to be excused and quickly joined his brother. Barnabas chuckled. He knew his elder son would not be left behind by the younger, no matter what.

The boys ran out of the house, into the snow ahead of Mary.

She held Barnabas's hand as they watched them plow into a snowdrift. They came up out of the drift with handfuls of snow and immediately started throwing it at each other and then at their father.

He put his arm around his wife and squeezed. “Are you sure they will be all right? 'Tis one thing to have to go out to work in the snow, and work a sweat. But burying yourself in it? I do worry. Will they be all right?”

She smiled and snuggled her head against his chest. “Of course. They are big, strong boys now. Do not worry. I played in the snow all of my life. 'Tis great fun. They shall be fine and they shall sleep well tonight. Now, I must show them the snow angels.” And with that she threw herself into the snowdrift. As she came up she heard the laughter and applause of her husband and children.

Benjamin dove in first to join her, with Joseph only a moment behind. Barnabas took a deep breath. A snowflake landed on his cheek.

February 1640

Three days later Joseph woke before dawn, the labored breathing of Benjamin hot and dry in his ear. “Benjamin, what's the matter? Are you ill?”

Benjamin stared back with dry, red eyes, his mouth slack, and labored breath. Joseph touched his brother's forehead with his fingers and jerked back from the intense heat. As he flew from the bed, a series of deep, rumbling coughs erupted from deep within Benjamin's chest.

Joseph raced into his parents' bedroom. He found his father already in his morning prayers and stumbled as he grabbed his arm.

“Heigh-ho, what is this, Joseph? Pray, what is the matter?”

Joseph's eyes grew large, his mouth opened, but no sound came out. He pulled desperately on his father's arm. Finally his father followed.

“Joseph, you must tell me what is wrong. What has happened? Are you ill?”

He looked back, his mouth still gaping, as he tried to form
words. All he could manage was to shake his head in a slow “No.”

As they entered the bedroom, heat radiated from the bed. The rattle of Benjamin's breath told him just how sick he was.

“Father, I don't know what happened. He was fine last night at prayers, was he not, Father? I didn't know he was sick until he tried to wake me. I didn't know what to do.” The words finally tumbled from Joseph in a string.

“You did the right thing, son, you fetched me. Now, go tend the fire. Make a large blaze. We need to keep the house very warm. I shall go to the kitchen to get remedies for the fever. We must relieve it quickly.”

He hurried from the room, crashing into Mary. “Barney, what is wrong?”

He glared at her. “Benjamin is ill. I knew they should not be out in that bitter cold. Wife, what were you thinking?”

Brushing him aside, she rushed to Benjamin, passing Joseph, whose glare matched his father's.

Barnabas continued to the kitchen, trying to recall the herbs and spices that Ann had used for the boys. He searched the shelves, gathering rosemary, feverfew, mustard, and calamint, all grown in the kitchen garden for just such an event. He started back toward the bedroom, but hesitated.

The red sheets. Where were they? He'd wrapped Ann in them to bring down her fever. And a physician, he needed a physician. If he'd only had a physician to bleed Ann, she might still be here. Retreating to the storeroom, he pried open one of the casks that served them so well on their voyage from Old England.

Arms full of red sheets and cloths, dried herbs and spices, he
hurried back to the sickroom. He entered quietly and leaned over his son, wrapping the cloth and sheets about him.

“Barnabas, what are you doing? Does he not need some cooling cloths?”

He turned on Mary. “Pray thee, go out and check the fire with Joseph.” He handed her some of the rosemary sprigs. “And put these into the fire.” He turned back to Benjamin, preparing to apply the mustard seed paste to his chest. “We have no physician here. No one who can bleed him.”

Mary did as requested and found Joseph sitting by the roaring fire, crying. She touched his shoulder. “I am so sorry Ben is sick.”

He brushed her hand off and ignored her.

She went about poking the fire and added the rosemary. “I wish your father would allow me to help. I think Ben needs cooling cloths. Perhaps that is what I should do, prepare some cooling cloths.”

“Why don't you keep out of it? You have done enough. Father knows what to do.” He turned back to the fire, his face hot and wet with tears.

She came closer and laid her hand on his shoulder. “I am so sorry, Jay. I truly did not think our play in the snow would make anyone sick. I love you and Ben so much. I would never want anything to happen to you.”

He shrugged her hand aside, a little more vehemently this time. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

Mary closed her eyes. She prayed Barney did not intend to bleed Ben himself. It was dangerous enough when a physician did it. Her lips trembled. She must help Ben.

Quickly she went to gather as many kitchen cloths as she
could hold. She doused the cloths in the water pail and ran outside with them. A shiver ran through her as she buried them in the cold, then pulled each out and stuffed them with a little snow. She packed more snow into the bottom of the pail, then put the folded cloths in a stack, neatly inside the bucket, and covered them again with snow. Picking up the pail with both hands, she hauled the whole thing back inside and into Ben's room.

Barney looked up at the commotion. “What are you doing? Is that snow?”

“Yes, and cold cloths for Ben's fever. We must cool him.” She set about pulling the first cloth from the pail, carefully tucking a bit more snow into its folds.

His face turned an angry crimson. “Take that out of here now. I want you to leave this room. I will take care of my son. Do not come near him. He needs to be kept warm, away from the elements. And what do you do? You bring the elements to him—the very ones that made him ill in the first place. Leave! Now!”

She could feel the blood drain from her face and left the bucket in her hurry to retreat but decided not to go back. She entered their bedroom and gazed sadly at their bed. So beautiful with its ornate carvings. So sweet of Barney to have cared enough to ask Jeremy to bring it as a surprise. The memory brought a sharp pang to her chest and she crumbled upon the bed. Deep, sad moans surged from within, erupting into wails that could be heard throughout the house. She cried not just for herself and the love lost, but for Benjamin, the young boy who had been her constant friend and loved her like a mother.
Lord, make
him well, I pray.
He was such a good boy. And Barney could not go through another loss.

The hours crept by and as night fell, all remained quiet in the house. She did not dare go to Ben's room. Finally, her sobs gave way to a fitful sleep. When she woke to the morning's meager light, she sat bolt upright, fingering her clothes from the day before. Her mind, as stiff as her fingers, took a few minutes for the reality of the previous day to dawn on her.

She swung her feet off the bed and moved toward her door. Barnabas might be angry still, but she would risk that. She had to find out if Ben was all right. She crept to his door and leaned a shoulder against it, pushing, and peeked in.

Still wrapped in red sheets, Ben lay next to his sleeping father. That Barnabas was asleep at this hour told her he had not slept much at all through the night, and his haggard face confirmed it. Ben's breathing was still labored, but at least he was breathing. The cold cloths remained in the bucket, now filled with the melted snow.

As she moved to close the door, Barnabas woke up. He raised his head and nearly growled at her. In a hoarse, hushed voice he said, “I—told—you—to—stay—out.”

Mary quickly shut the door and fled back to her room. In desperation, she looked around and tried to plan what she should do. She remembered the day on the dock when her sweet family, who loved her so much, had courageously said goodbye to her. How she missed them. She'd thought she could leave her family. She'd wanted to do it for Barney. She loved him so and wanted to be the one to take care of him and help him through his pain. But he would not let her. Oh, why would he not let her? Why could she not touch his heart? What was she to do? Give up her whole being? What about her dreams? It felt so selfish asking this, but when would she be loved? She'd left the only ones who'd truly loved her. Except for Ben. He
loved her and now he was dying. Why must she be punished this way? She prayed the Lord would forgive her, but she wanted to go home.

It hurt to know she would never have Barney's love. She had to go. She would not be able to take much, only what she could carry. One change of clothing. Her everyday dress would be enough. She could only bring a bit of cheese and bread. She supposed she would have to beg or work for her food on the voyage back to England.

Not much of a plan, but it would have to do. There must be a ship in port, Lord, there must be. She gathered her clothes, silver mirror, brush, and doll, wrapped them in a sheet, and stole to the kitchen to pack her few provisions.

She bundled a loaf of bread and a slab of cheese. With her cloak about her shoulders, she walked over to the hearth. The kitchen tongs perched on the shelf above. Giving her the tongs had not meant the same thing to Barney that day. He hadn't told her he loved her. He could not.

Jay still sat in the chair by the blazing fire. It was evident he'd kept it burning all night. He eyed her cloak, muff, and small bundle. “Where are you going?”

“I need to go away for a time. Your father is angry with me, and I will be of no use to Ben. I do not expect you to understand, but I beg of you, do not tell your father. Let me just leave.” She looked imploringly at Jay.

“I could care less what you do. I will not breathe a word to Father, nor do we really care where you are off to.” He looked back to the fire, as if he had not stopped staring into it from the night before.

Mary stood there for a long moment. She'd tried over the years to reach out to him, to be the friend he needed, or the mother
he might want, but it would never happen. He would always be in her prayers. She prayed he would find peace.

She let herself quietly out the side door and heard a neigh. Northstar? It would do no good to take him. She set her wide-brimmed hat securely on her head and pulled it close to her brow as she turned down the lane. She turned once to look at the beautiful house Barnabas had built for her and his boys. No one would wave to her. No one would care.

But she would never forget it, nor would she forget the man who built it with his own hands, the man who had stolen her heart for all time. And Ann. Oh, Ann. She'd tried so hard for Ann. She felt like she'd let her down too. But Barney would be happier, and better off without her, she was certain
.

She followed the snow-laden road, the same path the founding party had first walked, to the inlet. Cold, tired, and thoroughly dismayed when she realized there was not a ship in port, she dropped on the beach and knelt, not noticing the pretty jingle shells that now cut into her knees, or the hundreds of agates glinting beneath patches of snow. She covered her face with her hands. Where could she go? She couldn't go to Patience or Winnie. They would say she should go back to her home, to Barnabas.

Hours passed. The wind swept her hat to the water's edge, but she was oblivious to anything but the storm in her heart.

A cold damp nose nuzzled her cheek and Mary wrapped her arms around a wet furry body. She buried her face in his neck. “Oh, Smokey.”

Someone tucked a heavy blanket about her and she looked up into Winnie's comforting face. “How did you know I was here?”

“Barnabas sent Joseph to the fort to ask for a medicine man. He told us Benjamin is very ill and might die. I asked Joseph about you and he told me you had left. I asked him when, and
if his father knew this. He told me Barnabas did not know, and that you asked Joseph not to tell him. Mary, Joseph looked frightened. He thinks he is about to lose everyone. Do you not think you should go home?”