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Elizabeth touched the rock and sighed. She wandered back to the beach, and slipped off her clothes. She lay naked on the sands in the shade of the sumac, until she grew too warm. Then she plunged into the water, splashing herself and lying where the gentle waves could bathe her. Cool at last, she went back up the beach to the sumacs and lay down on her green dimity dress. She wrung the water from her hair and spread the long black curling strands on either side of her to dry. As she lay with her head raised a little by the bank she could see far out over the Sound, and farther to the northeast horizon, as Martha once had. She thought of the day on Heartbreak Hill, and of what Martha had said: “I am made of cobweb that tears at a touch, but you, Bess, have fibre like the great seines that seldom break, yet if they do they can be mended again and again.”

Mended again and again. For what?

“Aye, I know,” she said aloud in answer to a monitory voice. Because of the children - but they would soon be grown, except - this one. She looked down with repugnance at her belly, still flat and taut, at her slender flanks. Because of Robert then - but he no longer cared, or needed her as he had even in his worst madness. Because of property perhaps - the tiny power it had brought, the game of acquisition and increase. But that now was thin and disappointing, tarnished too by her grasping son-in-law. Because of Monakewaygo then - and here like the chiming of a muted bell there seemed to be an affirmation. Yet she could not quite hear its sound, and when she tried to listen more intently there was nothing but the coo-roo-roo of the mourning doves in the rustling trees, and the lap and swish of water.

She lay so still that a sandpiper hopped by her foot and the little hermit crabs scuttled in and out of the seaweed near her elbow. Half drowsing and wholly secure on her island she paid no heed to small noises in the brush behind her, nor the cracking of twigs. Nor saw the shadow of a man fall across the sands.

It was William Hailet who stood rooted on the bank above Elizabeth, gazing down at her.

He had watched her from a distance as she splashed in the water, and been amused by the wantonness of her tanned body and the rich darkness of her floating hair. Always she had had this wanton quality, and he knew that in the past he had aroused desire in her, as he had in many women. True, she had checked him at Plymouth, and thereby made it harder to dismiss her from his mind. That, and the promise of return he had incontinently made. These past years in England, at the mercy of Lord Digby’s weathercock whims, had increased his innate reverence for a promise, which like all debts must be paid.

He still believed himself untouched by her except as any pretty, voluptuous, slightly older woman could arouse a man.

In his eyes, as he came through the bushes to the bank and looked down at her, there had been an amorous challenge, and the light touch of mockery with which he would explain his presence here.

But she lay there on her green gown, naked, beautiful, and defenceless as a child; the long lashes shadowing her sun-reddened cheeks, her soft lips curved down forlornly, her whole quiet face moulded in bitter sadness.

The tenderness which he had repeatedly denied in these years welled up like a spring and dismayed him. He looked away, ashamed. He tried to back off noiselessly before she should be hurt or frightened by his intrusion. His foot twisted on a stone and he stumbled.

She jumped, grabbing her shift from a bush, clutching it to her body. “What is it?” she whispered, staring behind her with huge fearing eyes.

Hallet ran down the bank and knelt beside her on the sand. “Forgive me,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Forgive me.”

Her amazement at seeing him in Plymouth was nothing to this, yet now she felt no impulse of unconsidered joy, as she had then. She clutched tighter at her shift Her eyes turned green, her nostrils flared.

“Flow dare you come here on my land. How dare you spy on me!”

“I know,” he said, agreeing with her resentment. “I didn’t mean to. I’ll try to explain.” He drew away a few paces and turned his back. “Dress yourself, if you wish,” he said gently over his shoulder. “But you’ve no need to be abashed, your body is very fair, I’ve seen none more lovely.”

“My humble thanks,” she said through her teeth.” And for giving me permission to dress.” She pulled her shift over her head and fastened herself into the green dimity gown. “Now, William Hallet,” she said standing. “What are you doing here, and how did you come, since the tide is up.”

“Well, I swam,” he said apologetically. “The distance so short, and the day so hot.”

She raised her head and examined him with anger. Aye, his white shirt was clinging wet, so were his brown breeches and dark hose. The wetness revealed the thick muscles of his big body. His lank colourless hair was darkened by sea water. His brown face was longer-chinned than she remembered, and bonier. A common rustic’s face, rough-hewn, uncouth, except the grey eyes which responded to her scrutiny with a faint smile.

“Fm waiting,” she said coldly. “For what reason did you suddenly feel the need to track me down, even to my private island? Or was it not to find me you came here?”

“Aye, of course it was. I’ve come on horseback from New Amsterdam, where I landed some days ago. I had converse with George Baxter, Kieft’s secretary. I inquired for you, as I did from Captain Underhill once before when I sent a message saying I hadn’t forgot, Bess. Nor had I.”

“And I sent one back, saying that I
had
forgot, if you mean our foolish dalliance in Plymouth. Also it seems that years at a time go by between whiles that you remember.”

“And yet - ” he said slowly, “I missed my ship in New Amsterdam waiting until Underhill returned with your message.”

She glanced at him quickly, then down at the sand. “What other message could I send?” she said. “And why are you here today?”

“Because my association with Lord Digby is now finished for aye, and my debt to Mr. William Whiting of Hartford is finally paid off. I’ve thirty pounds in my purse, a horse, and a provisional land grant from Governor Kieft for a farm on Long Island. I told him, however, that I wished a look at Greenwich before I decided where to settle. Baxter says that Kieft thinks it a good idea. He wishes this border town strengthened by more settlers, since most of its territory is owned by two weak women, Elizabeth and Anneke Feake.” He paused, with a half-smile, “So I came to see one of them today.”

“I see,” she said evenly. “You think to buy some of my land.”

‘
^:
It might be. That’s what I told the young man whom I found at your house a while ago. He seemed very eager to discuss the matter, and disinclined to tell me where you were.”

“My son-in-law, Thomas Lyon,” she said through tight lips. “How then did you find me?”

“I was well directed by a fiery-topped moppet, who has a smile as enchanting as I remember that her mother had, though today I’ve no way of judging. Your daughter pointed out the white sands and said that’s where you’d be.”

“Could this business of yours not have waited until I came back?”

“It could, to be sure, but having started any enterprise I like to see it through.”

There was a silence. She felt his gaze as she stood rigidly on the sand, her head turned toward the sea. I roust not be a fool again, she thought, nor let that gentleman’s voice and the strength of that big body bewitch me as they have before. I shall be chill and stern, bid him swim back as he came, leave me in peace. But the words of dismissal could not quite be commanded.

“What did you really come for - ” she said. “To see me or to buy fine cleared land?”

“Both,” he answered promptly with his usual frankness. “But now that I
have
seen you, ‘tis more one than t’other.”

She was reminded of the nakedness he had seen, and that her hair was flowing down her back like a goose girl’s and that her feet were bare. She blushed.

“Sit down, Bess,” he said. “I assume you don’t swim, since earlier I confess I watched you romping in the water, like a sea nymph. So we must wait until the tide runs down again. Let’s chat in comfort.”

“I came here for solitude,” she said. “There’s nothing to stop
your
going back to the mainland.”

“No. And I will if you really wish it. I want only your good.” The bantering note had left his voice, and its sincerity startled her. It was long since anyone had thought particularly of her welfare - not since Daniel died.

She sat down on the bank in a tentative way, slipped her feet into her shoes and began to braid her hair. He did not encroach on her, he sat on a driftwood log, breathed deeply of the salt air and sighed with the same sensuous pleasure she often felt herself. “There’s content in this place,” he said. “I do not marvel that you come here.” He picked up two yellow jingle shells and, frowning down at them, chipped them idly together. “Bess, you’ve had heavy troubles since I saw you last Baxter told me and today - I saw your husband.”

“Robert’s somewhat better,” she said quickly. “And for the rest I don’t want to think of them, not here on Monakewaygo, “ ’Tis not fitting.”

He smiled, touched by the youthfulness of this, yet himself aware of a mystic charm here, an other-worldliness and peace. She looked very young, sitting so primly, her hands tight-clasped together, and the long loose braid hanging down to her lap.

What man has ever looked at me like that? Elizabeth thought, seeing in his eyes amused tenderness and understanding. A thickness came into her throat, and she said very fast, “I know nothing of
your
life in these years, have you - ?” She stopped short as he burst into laughter.

“Oh hinnie, hinnie-sweet!” he said. “I know what you will ask, since you do each time we meet.”

“Hinnie?” said Elizabeth, puzzled and trying to smile. “Do you call me ‘hinnie’, for you think I’m a horse?”

He shook his head. “Though there’s few things sweeter than
a
saucy little mare, ‘Hinnie’ is ‘honey’ in the North Country, where by the way I’ve spent some time with Digby - fighting.”

“Fighting?” she said slowly. “How so?”

“For the King. Until Digby changed his mind and we changed sides for the nonce, and back again. I found it confusing.” He spoke with curtness, for these memories displeased him. “Wouldn’t you like me to answer what you were going to ask me? I can do it in a border ballad, having learned several to while away cold winter nights of deferred battle.”

“Can you indeed?” she said with dignity, but the corners of her mouth flickered.

“It is called ‘The faire Flower of Northumberland’, and some of the verses go rather like this.” William tilted his head, and watched her as he sang in a rough baritone:

“
‘Hinnie-sweet, I am no foe,’ he said
(Follow my love, come over the strand)
‘By thy bonny face here was I stayed
For thee, faire flower of Northumberland,’

“ ‘Sir, why dost come here for sake of me,
(Follow my love, come over the strand)
Having wife and children in thy countrie?
 - And I the faire flower of Northumberland.’

“
I
swear by the blessed Trinite,
(Follow my love, come over the strand)
I
have no wife nor children, I,
So be my ladye in this islande.

“
I
swear by Him that was crowned with thorn
(Follow my love, come over the strand)
That I never had wife since the day I was born,
And I live a free lord on my own free land.’“

He got up and made her a courtly bow. “Have I answered your question, hinnie?”

He had, though she was unwilling to admit it. When of a sudden her pride dissolved, and she too began to laugh, her eyes crinkling and an unexpected dimple showing in her cheek to match the deft in her strong chin. “It seems I do repeat myself,” she said. “For I must cry again as I did on Boston Common, ‘Will Hallet, you’re fantastical!’ And you read me all too well.”

He glanced at her quickly and sobered. There was greater danger in shared mirth than in shared tears, especially for her who must have been long without gaiety, or her face could not have held the look he had surprised on it when he stood on the bank. Take care, he chided himself, this woman is nothing to you, and you’ll merit hell fire if you increase the hardness of her lot

He picked up the jingle shells, dangled them in his big callused palm. “Shall I tell you something of my travels, Bess?” he said in a courteous formal tone. “Would you hear of England, or the Indies -  Nevis, Christopher, Antigua where I finished business for my Lord Digby and from whence I’ve just returned?”

“All of it,” she said. “You can’t doubt it, but first would you like to see more of Monakewaygo? The secret pool which no one knows of, except me - and the children. ‘Tis very lovely in this westering light.”

She spoke shyly, wondering at herself that she wanted so much to show him the heart of her treasured domain, aware that in this desire there were elements both of testing and of fate.

He rose at once, glad of action, “Aye, let us to the pool.”

She led him inland through underbrush and thick-set trees, fine hardwoods, he thought, seeing the trees with the yeoman’s eye, straight hefty oaks, chestnuts, and elms. Mighty little stuff like this left in Old England. It was hot in the forest, gnats and mosquitoes swarmed about his head, he saw and avoided clumps of the glistening poisonous three-leaved ivy, having been well blistered by this plant in his first years on these shores.

Elizabeth flitted on ahead, a green figure amongst the green leaves. When he could glimpse her face, he was puzzled by its expectancy, a hint of devotional exaltation, such a look at he had seen on the faces of communicants during Mass at Notre-Dame in Paris, where he had accompanied Digby, during one of that volatile lord’s Papist veerings.

She led him over a brown carpet beneath a stand of hemlocks, and stopped at the
edge
of a dark still pond which the hemlocks partly shadowed. “Look!” she whispered. “Hush - ”

A white-tailed doe stood at the edge of the pond drinking. The doe raised her head and stared at them with thoughtful eyes, then she hobbled over to Elizabeth and nuzzled her shoulder.