A Place in His Heart (29 page)

“No, Winnie, I cannot. I know you shall not understand, but I cannot. You and I have talked much about how I try to honor Ann's memory. About how I love Barney with all of my heart, and I do. But the truth is, I shall never fill all of the expectations he has of a wife, because Ann filled them so perfectly. No matter how I try, I cannot reach his heart. I want to be loved by him. But in truth he hates me. Joseph does too.”

“But Mary, you have told me you knew when you married him that he did not love you in that way. He needed a mother to take care of his children, and to give him more children. You told me all of those things. How has it changed?”

“It has not. I thought it had when he gave me the tongs, but it has not. And now Ben. I—I cannot speak of Ben. My heart will break. I pray God will let him live. Did the medicine man go to the house? Will Ben be all right?”

Winnie kicked at the snow, scattering shells underneath. “I do not know that. There is more, though. Tell me.”

“Jay hates me. He wishes he would never see me again. There have been times when I truly thought we were becoming friends. He is so much like his father, it would be very hard for me to not love him, and I have prayed fervently that God would heal his hurts. Winnie, I know how terrible this sounds, but God does not listen to my prayers.”

Winnie scanned the skies and offered her hand. “Come, I will take you to my home. You are welcome, my friend, to stay as long as you need to. But let us move quickly, the storm is coming in. There is snow in the clouds.”

Mary took her dear friend's hand. Each cold muscle and frozen joint protested as she stood. The rough muslin of her wet garden frock clung to her ankles. Grateful for Winnie, she allowed her friend to lead her to the Corchaug trails, through Calves Neck, toward the hut, with Smoke by their side.

Winnie turned to her. “It will be noisy inside with children. We will eat a meal, and then after they are asleep, we will talk again.”

She nodded, but looked away. “I do not really want to talk.”

“We must, but later.”

The children were excited to see her, but knew of her sorrow and allowed her to sit while Abigail helped Winnie prepare a samp. With plenty of cornbread to round out the meal, everyone ate heartily. As Winheytem and Abigail put the younger children to bed, Mary and Winnie settled down next to the open hearth, smoke spiraling upward to the opening in the thatched roof.

“You were not finished talking when the storm came in. You must tell me all that bothers you, Mary. I know you love Barnabas and his sons. I need to know why you cannot go home. It is not Joseph and Benjamin. Tell me.”

Smoke curled at her feet and she absently stretched her hand to rub his ear. “Barney blames me that Ben is ill. He is afraid Ben will die like Ann did. And he might. Barnabas hates me. He would not let me help with Ben. He really does not want to see me again. He has always wanted me to have many, many children, and I think he has come to resent that we have none. The sad thing is, when we moved into our house, he gave me the tongs. I thought he loved me then. I so wanted to believe it, but 'tisn't true. Truly, I suppose I never know what to believe with him.”

“He told you he resents you are not with child?”

“Nay, but I see him looking at me in that way. He is looking
at my stomach. I know what he is thinking. He is disgusted with me. Disgusted that he ever married me. If I go back to England, perhaps he could take a wife that shall give him children.”

“He has been looking at you in a strange way?”

“Yes, but then he is always wondering when I will have his child.”

Winnie studied her friend's stomach. “Mary, I see your waist thicken. I see the flush about your face. I know what Barnabas sees. Do you not know you are with child?”

She followed Winnie's gaze and ran her fingers across her gown. “I wish I were. I used to pray about it all the time, but it was too painful to keep hoping. 'Tis been some time since my monthlies, but you know that happened on the ship too. I believed I would have a babe, but I was wrong. 'Twas nothing. It made me feel so sad.”

“On the ship, things were hard and you were very sick. But, Mary, I look at you and this time I think you have a child. Let me feel your stomach. I know these things well.” She ran her hands over Mary's stomach.

“You—you think I am with child? How could that be, after all of those years?”

Winnie smiled at her friend with understanding and patience. “You say you don't believe God hears your prayers, but you forget what Barnabas has taught. God answers prayer, but in His own time.”

“'Tis true that Barney speaks of God doing things in His own time. But Barney hates me now, and I have left Jay and Ben when they need me the most. How could this possibly be God's time?” She tenderly rubbed her stomach. “Winnie, this is not good. I do not know what to do. This would be awful timing.” Mary cradled her stomach. Smoke laid his chin in her lap.

“A baby is never awful, my friend, and I do feel one in your belly.” She placed her hands over Mary's. “God knows what you should do. I will tell you, Joseph was so lost when he came to me for the medicine man. He needs you to be there for him, while Barnabas is taking care of Benjamin. He needs you more than he has ever needed someone. They all need you. God brought you together for a reason.”

“But what if Ben dies?”

“You must not give up hope.”

“Barnabas is so angry with me. I do not think he cares to even know my whereabouts. Joseph told me he does not. Winnie, I want to go home to England, to my sister. I want to go now!”

Joseph and the medicine man rode quickly back to the large house on main street. Barnabas greeted them at the door with urgency.

“Father? Is Benjamin all right?”

“He is very strong, Joseph. He fights a good battle. But I do not know if he will survive.” He turned to the medicine man. “I have done all I can do. I have left him in God's hands. I pray He will favor me and give me my son back. I find I have lost one person today. I pray I shall not lose another. You are a man of medicine and faith. He needs to be bled. I could not do it, but you can help him. Let me take you to my son.”

As the three entered the hot, stuffy room, Benjamin's racking cough shook the whole bed. Barnabas, no longer able to endure his son in such pain, walked to the front hall once more to check on the fire.

He finally settled in the chair by the hearth and stared at the empty chair opposite him as the room grew dark. He was too tired to think of anything, save his son. He could hear the racking cough and the murmurs of the medicine man. He slowly drifted to a fitful sleep.

The following morning a familiar sound awakened him with a start.

“Heigh-ho!” Jeremy's voice boomed as he beat on the front door.

Barnabas jumped and ran to the door. He threw the door open, and the two brothers embraced in a fierce hug, pounding each other's back. “Jeremy, I am so thankful you are here. How did you know?”

“Know what? I told you six months ago I would return.”

“Benjamin is very ill. I don't know if he will make it. I have done everything I can.” His head hung low. “The Corchaug medicine man has been in the room with him all night. We have no physician.”

“Barn—it cannot be. Benjamin? Where is Joseph? And Mary?”

“Joseph is in with him now. I do not know where Mary is.”

Jeremy swung around to face his brother. “What, pray tell, do you mean, you do not know where she is?”

“We argued. It is her fault my boy is sick. She insisted we go out to play in the snow, of all things. She insisted everyone would be fine, it would be healthy for us. Certes! She hauled in snow to put over him when the fever came on. She would kill him. I told her to stay out. I am sorry for that, but my concern has to be for Benjamin.”

“How could you treat her like that? And I've come with great news for her. On my next voyage here, I will be bringing Elizabeth and Ezekiel with the children. I have a letter from Elizabeth for Mary.” He took it from his pocket and pushed it toward his brother.

Barnabas eyed it, but didn't take it. “She has dreamt of that day. I think she never really believed they would come.” He
suddenly grabbed his brother's shoulders, his fingers shaking. “Jeremy, I think she may be with child. She has not told me. She favors the loose garden frocks, so I had not noticed before. But as of late, I think she has a bit of a belly. Surely she's noticed. Why did she not tell me?”

Jeremy carefully replaced the envelope in his pocket. “I would not know. Mayhap, she wants to be certain. You constantly harass her about having a baby and mayhap she did not want your hopes to be dashed. I do think she tries to put having a child far from her thoughts.”

“Aye, but I have tried of late not to do that.”

“She knows you want children. It haunts her. But I have something to show you. Come outside. It was to be a surprise for you, something Mary arranged for, but I think you need to see it.”

“What, pray tell?”

“I think under the circumstances, she would not mind that I show you. You have to know, Barn, she loves you dearly. I would have to say she adores you, brother. And, Lord forgive me, but it does leave me envious. You are a cad not to see the adoration she holds for you.”

Barnabas looked toward Benjamin's door. The hacking cough could still be heard. “Let us go look then. It tears my heart to listen to his pain, but I do no good for him in there.”

The two walked side by side to the road. A sleek, black horse, hitched to a long wagon, turned toward them and nickered a soft greeting, steam pillowing out from her flared nostrils, a faint star visible on her forehead.

He stopped. Starlight. “You brought her.”

“Aye, I said I would. But here, look.” Jeremy pulled the heavy sailcloth back from the cargo.

Barnabas grabbed the wagon board for support and looked
over the side. “Gracious, what is this?” The slab of blue slate, the one he had wanted to bring with him on their first journey to the colonies, lay before him, complete with his own epitaph. The memory of Mary at the cemetery, reading his words, crying at their meaning, rushed in.

The salty tears that had been shed so many times for Ann now flowed freely once again. What was this he felt? His heart surged with love for Mary, something he thought would be impossible. Could God do this for him? He knew God was a merciful God, but would God bless him a second time with such a great love as he'd had for his dear Ann? But had he not just lost that love?

He dropped to the harsh cold of the snowy ground, and on his knees began a prayer. “Lord, my Father, I have been so wrong to not see what You have given me. Forgive me for driving her away. I pray, Lord, that You will give my Mary, my love, back to me. I ask Your forgiveness of my sins and, Lord, I also pray that in Your infinite mercy, You will heal Benjamin. Amen.”

Jeremy, kneeling beside him, added his hearty “amen” and clutched Barnabas's shoulders. “We will find her. We must go see about Benjamin. After that, we will make our plans.”

He helped Barnabas to his feet and the two trudged solemnly up the walk to the house.

Before they could enter, Joseph rushed to meet them at the door. “Father, it's Benjamin. His eyes are open, he speaks!”

“Thanks be to the Lord.” He broke away from Jeremy and bounded to Benjamin's room. Joy grabbed Barnabas's heart as he looked at his son, propped up on a pillow, sipping water offered by the medicine man.

Benjamin shivered, and coughs sputtered from his chest as his father gave him a massive hug. Gently, he pulled the red
sheets up about his son's shoulders and eyed the wet cloth that lay askew on his forehead.

Joseph stepped forward. “The medicine man saw the cloths in the pail. They weren't cold anymore, but he said they were cool enough. He said to bathe Benjamin's body with them. He said we must cool him—just like Mary said. I thought since nothing else was making him better, we should try. His fever is gone.”

Pain gripped his heart at the memory of his rage toward Mary and her cold cloths. His son would survive. He knew what he must do. “Aye, I see. Benjamin, you had me so worried. I could not think straight. Are you now cold? Should we get you into dry bedclothes? Do not try to answer. Save your strength.” He turned to Jeremy. “Go and make a broth for Benjamin. None of us has eaten for two days, I believe. We shall all have the broth and bread.”

“Aye, Barn.” He moved toward Benjamin. “You frightened us all. Thanks be to God you are all right.”

“Joseph, I'll fetch some dry bedclothes. You stay here with your brother.” He turned to the medicine man. “You were sent by God and have healed my son. I owe you my life, but I will pay you with food from my pantry and other gifts as you desire. Please, come with me to the kitchen.”

Joseph followed his father to the door. In a low voice he said, “What about Mary? Does she not need to know Benjamin will get well?” The concern in his voice touched Barnabas.

“Aye, she does. Jeremy and I will do what we can. I hope to bring her home. God has been good to us. I hope He will be once more.” He gave his son a clap on the shoulder and Joseph went back to the bedside.

He took a last look at his two sons together. His chest swelled, and he seemed to breathe for the first time since the ordeal
began. He was humbled he had found God's favor. If he could but find it once more.

Jeremy stood over the fire, tending a large pot filled with vegetables and salt pork. Their eyes met but words were not needed. Barnabas turned to the medicine man and, with praise and thanksgiving, loaded a sled with coats and provisions to keep his family through the winter months, and sent him on his way.

“I thank God that Benjamin will be well.”

“There is much to be thankful for there.” Jeremy ladled the broth into a crock.

Barnabas took the bowl, but remained before his brother. Moisture collected in the corners of his eyes. “I must find Mary.”

“I know.” He took the crock once again and set it on the table. He rubbed the wrinkles on his forehead. “She knew I would be arriving soon. I know she was excited about the blue slate. Mayhap she is down at the bay now.”

“Do you think she wants to return to England?”

“She has never quit missing her family. I know she tries to make all seem well, but if she has given up on you, I think it is where she would go. There are not many ships that come to our harbor. Mine is the only one at dock. If she sought passage on
The Swallow
, she would know that I would advise her Yennicott is where God wants her to be. But still, she might decide to seek my help.”

“As soon as I am sure Benjamin is going to be all right, I want to go to the ship. I have to find her. I cannot stop until I do.”

“Barn, we are not thinking this through. Methinks we ought to ask Mary's friends first. Truly she will want to go back to England, but do you think she would go to the harbor first?”

“You're right, of course. I'll send Joseph to the Terrys'. Most likely we'll find her there.”