Wide is the Water (2 page)

‘Breakfast in Farnham. We hit the main road here; it'll be quicker.' He shouted to his horses, and the sledge moved forward more swiftly on the firm, ice-covered snow of a well-used road. Even under snow, this country looked lived in, Mercy thought, man-dominated, very different from the wilds and swamps she had got used to in the six years she had lived in Georgia. More like the England she had left. And how strange to find a sudden, homesick knot of tears in her throat at that thought. She was an American now, the wife of an American, and moreover, she had been fighting the English, with all her wits and all her strength ever since they had taken Savannah. Only a year, but it seemed a lifetime.

The driver slowed his horses at sight of the first human figure they had seen, an old man, almost buried in a huge, shabby coat.

‘Paston?' He shook his head. ‘Never heard of ‘em.'

‘Ask for Golding.' Mercy leaned forward to remind the driver of Mrs. Paston's cousin's name.

‘Oh, him.' Something odd in the old man's tone. ‘Look out for the church. You'd see it now if it wa'nt for this danged snow. Turn right when you get to it. A mile down the road, and it's on your left. And good luck to you.' He put his head down and trudged away.

The snow was coming harder now, and the church was merely a darker blur on their left as the driver swung the sledge into its new direction. ‘Not long now,' he said again. ‘Road's good. A mile's nothing. You all right?' he asked anxiously.

‘Oh, yes.' But the last mile seemed endless. They had turned into the wind, and snow was seeping into the folds of her hood, settling in her eyelashes, caking on her mittens so that she could not use her hands to brush it away. It was an extraordinary relief when they turned once more, out of the direct blast of the wind, and she was able to look about her again.

On either side of the road big houses stood well back in the huge lots. Farnham was a prosperous village evidently. Mrs. Paston's cousin, John Golding, must be a wealthy man. It was full morning now, and columns of smoke rising from the chimneys of the first houses they passed spoke of warm kitchens and breakfast being cooked. Hard to decide whether she was more tired, more hungry, or more cold, but at the thought of breakfast she concluded that hunger was the worst.

‘Are they expecting you?' asked the driver.

‘I don't know. My husband wrote, but there was no way we could hope for an answer.'

‘Bad times,' he said. ‘Send by sea, the British take the ship. Send by land, they're out from New York and stop the coach. I just hope your friends have heard. Thing is, I can't see smoke. I hope they're home. I don't want to scare you, miss – ma'am,' he corrected himself. ‘But there's plenty people cut and run inland after the British raid on Connecticut and the Penobscot affair last year. They reckoned the British might take the same kind of revenge round here for Penobscot that they did on those Connecticut
towns for attacking their ships in Long Island Sound. Well, here we are.' As he turned his horses off the road, the sledge crunched into deeper snow. ‘No one's been here for awhile,' he said. ‘But that's no wonder, this weather. We New Englanders reckon to be able to hold out on our own for weeks in the winter if we must. Ah. Someone
is
home.' He pointed with his whip to a thin trickle of smoke rising from the chimney at the end of the house. ‘Now you'll be all right.' He had been wondering what in the world he would do with her if no one was there? ‘You stay dry in the sledge while I rouse them.' He stopped the sledge as close as he could get it to the house and plunged through deep snow to the front door.

It swung open as he approached, and a slight girl in black greeted him eagerly. ‘Thank God you've come at last.' And then, looking beyond him to Mercy in the sledge: ‘But it's not Dr. Frobisher. Who in the world?' She swayed and caught at the doorframe.

‘Easy there.' He reached out a hand to steady her.

‘Don't touch me!' The scream brought Mercy out of the sledge, plunging through the snow, grateful for the sea-boots Hart had made her wear.

‘What's the matter?' she asked the frantic girl, who was shrinking against the door jamb as if terrified that the driver was going to assault her.

‘Make him go away.' Her eyes were huge with terror in the thin white face. ‘You come in. Make him go away. I'll tell
you.

Mercy and the driver exchanged a quick glance. ‘I'll wait in the sledge,' he said. And then, elliptically: ‘Indians, maybe? But not here … not in New England.'

‘No, but something. I'll try to find out as quick as I can. If they need a doctor, maybe you could go?'

‘Sure will. We all have to help each other these days. You just find out what's up.' He returned to the sledge, and the girl let out a great shuddering sigh of relief and reached out a hand to pull Mercy into the house.

‘Who are you?' she asked, and then paused at the sound
of a faint voice from the back of the house. ‘Coming, Mother. This way.' She pulled Mercy after her down a cold bare hall and in at the open door of what should have been the parlour. ‘Mother fell,' she said as Mercy took in the hastily improvised bedroom and the frail old figure propped by pillows on a cot bed. Mrs. Paston? But Hart had described her as a formidable woman in the prime of life.

‘I've done the best I could,' the girl went on. ‘Couldn't get her up the stairs, so Jed and I fixed the bed for her down here. But she's hurt bad, I'm afraid. Jed's gone for the doctor; on his snowshoes, across the fields. Quicker that way. I wish they'd come. How do you feel, Mother?' She bent to take the old lady's hand. ‘You're so cold. We're out of wood.' She turned to explain to Mercy. ‘Jed went off at first light. I didn't like to leave Mother. But the fire's going out. I've done my best.' She was crying like a child but must surely be in her early twenties.

‘I'll ask my driver to fetch the wood for you.' A quick, anxious glance from the dying fire to the grey-faced, silent figure on the cot bed. ‘She looks bad. Have you sal volatile in the house, or spirits? Anything to warm her?'

The girl shook her head. ‘Cousin Golding locked it all up before he left. Temptation out of Jed's way, he called it, but I reckon it was just Cousin Golding's meanness.' She was sitting by the bed now, chafing the hands of the invalid, who seemed to have drifted off into something between sleep and unconsciousness.

Something very odd about the girl, but no time to think about that now. Mercy hurried to the front door, found the driver waiting anxiously outside, and rapidly explained the situation.

‘Sure I'll fetch you some wood.' He reached into a pocket. ‘And here's something might do the old lady good. British navy rum. If that don't warm her, there's no hope for her. So the Goldings did cut and run?' he asked.

‘I think so. There's just the two women and a boy. Wicked to leave them alone like that.'

‘Yes.' He spit reflectively into the snow. ‘Reckon I'd best stable the horse for the moment.'

‘Oh, thank you, Mr.—' So far he had just been the driver; now he was suddenly a friend.

‘Barnes. Bill Barnes. I'll fetch that wood in right away and get a fire going in the kitchen. You'd best warn the girl I'll be in and out.'

‘Yes. Thank you, Bill.' She turned back into the house, her eyes filling with grateful tears at his instant, practical helpfulness.

The door facing the invalid's room led into a big cold kitchen. Resisting the sudden temptation to forage for food, Mercy dropped her coat on a bench, took down a mug from the big dresser, and poured a generous tot of rum. Back in the bedroom, she handed it to the girl. ‘Get her to drink this; it will do her good. Mr. Barnes will be in with wood for the fire directly.'

‘In here?' The girl seemed to shrink into herself.

‘Of course.' Mercy was still holding out the mug. ‘You don't want your mother to freeze to death, do you? It is Mrs. Paston?' The girl nodded. ‘And you're …?'

‘Ruth.' Once again she broke into those disconcerting, childish tears.

‘I'm Mrs. Purchis, Hart's wife.' How strange to be saying it for the first time here in this desolate New England sickroom.

‘Cousin Hart!' Instead of taking the mug, the girl, Ruth, began to cry harder than ever, and Mercy moved impatiently round to the other side of the bed.

She put a firm arm round the frail shoulders and lifted gently. ‘Mrs. Paston, try to drink this.' Holding the mug to the grey lips, she was relieved when the old lady opened clear blue eyes and looked her over thoughtfully.

Her lips moved. ‘Rum?'

‘It's all I've got.'

‘Spirits!' exclaimed Ruth, but her mother had taken a good pull at the mug. A little of the strong-smelling spirit dribbled down her chin, and Mercy put down the mug
to wipe it away with a corner of the cold sheet.

‘More.' Mrs. Paston's voice was a little stronger. ‘I've got to talk to you. You said – you're Hart's wife?'

‘Yes.' Mercy was surprised and delighted that she had taken this in.

As Mrs. Paston drank a little more, Bill Barnes came quietly into the room with an armful of cut wood and began to make up the fire.

‘Hush.' Mrs Paston stretched out a shaking hand and put it on Ruth's. ‘Hush, child. He's helping us. Hush your crying, child. He'll do you no harm.' She drank some more and this time managed without spilling any. ‘That's better.' The blue eyes studied Mercy throughtfully. ‘Mercy?' she asked. ‘Mercy Phillips?'

‘Yes.' Mercy was beyond surprise.

‘I thought he'd marry you. He talked about you. Told me more than he knew, I think.' Something almost like a smile flickered across the white face. ‘I'm glad. You're strong, aren't you, Mercy? I could tell, from the way Hart talked.' And then, her eyes clouding: ‘But where is Hart?'

‘Back at sea by now, I hope. He's captain of a privateer: the
Georgia
.'

‘Oh.' Disappointment showed in every line of her face. ‘But you're strong,' she said again, and when Mercy nodded, ‘Good. Ruth, dear, go see if the man has got the kitchen fire alight.'

‘But …' Ruth stopped crying and looked at her mother with a kind of wild horror.

‘He won't hurt you, no more than Jed does. We've a guest, Ruth. Put the kettle on, make a pot of tea. There's bread in the crock, still, and a little butter. We all need our breakfast. Give the man his in the kitchen.'

‘Mr. Barnes,' said Mercy. ‘He's kind. He won't hurt you, Cousin Ruth.'

‘Cousin,' said Ruth. ‘That's nice.' And left them with one long, anxious backward glance.

‘Good,' said Mrs. Paston. ‘You'll be able to manage her. Give me some more of that rum. We've got to talk, you
and I, and there's not much time. You're an answer to prayer, Mercy Purchis.' Once again she drank eagerly, and a faint flush began to show on her thin cheeks. ‘That's good,' she said, ‘but that's enough. I'm badly hurt, Mercy. I fell stupidly. I was so tired and cold, and Ruth screaming like that. She does sometimes. But you'll look after her, I know. An answer to prayer. Hart's wife.'

Mercy sat down in the chair beside the bed and took a pull at the rum herself. ‘You'll have to explain,' she said. ‘I don't understand anything, Mrs. Paston. Hart said … Hart told me …'

‘That I was a thriving woman with a parcel of children.' The ghost of a sardonic smile flickered across the exhausted face. ‘Well, so I was … So I was. But that was five years ago. Five long years. First Mark, killed that black day at Lexington. And the house burned. Dead … gone … And then, no money. He kept us all, did Mark. It does teach you who are your friends.'

‘You should have written. Told us …'

‘But I did. I'll come to that.' A slow tear rolled down her cheek. ‘It's all over now, done with, decided. No use looking back, and don't you waste my time and strength, Mercy Purchis, with questions I may not have time to answer. I did what I did. For the best.'

‘I'm sure you did.' Mercy proferred the mug.

‘No. I need a clear head for what I have to tell, to ask … You have to understand about Ruth.' A monitory hand stopped Mercy from speaking. ‘Her sister married. Naomi. Her twin. The strong one. He was a good man.' She paused, looking beyond Mercy at something horrible.

‘Was?'

‘He said we'd all go to the West. For a new life. He loved Naomi, loved us all. We were his family, he said. He had none of his own. And Cousin Golding was glad to see us go. He even helped with the expense of the trip. We joined a party … a small party. If it had been bigger … But he was always impatient, Naomi's George. He wanted the world, and Naomi for its queen. Lord' –
suddenly her voice changed, warmed – ‘that was a happy journey. The two of them so in love. Glowing. The other children happier than they'd been since Mark died. Ruth getting over the shock of Naomi marrying. They were close, those twins.'

‘Yes.' She had noticed, once again, that significant past tense. ‘And then?'

‘Indians. Just when we'd camped for the night. Ruth and I had gone down to the stream to wash. She was always shy, my Ruth. We heard it happen: the war cries; the sudden attack; the screams. Then Naomi came, running, screaming, with three braves behind her. We saw it all, Ruth and I. She bit my finger clean through as I kept her quiet. She'd have gone to Naomi's help if I'd let her. And died the same. We lay there, hidden, huddled together, all that night. In the morning a few other survivors came out of the woods. We buried them. All my family. All my children. All but Ruth. The other survivors decided to come back east. They'd had enough. There seemed nothing for it but to come too. Ruth was all right with them. It was when she saw her first strange man that she took on: screaming; hysterics; panic. And nightmares after, and waking screaming again. That's why I was hurrying to her in the dark last night. I'd been trying to teach her to sleep alone,' she explained. ‘I knew I hadn't long. Those hungry years had done for me, even before we went west. I thought I'd see the children settled before I died. Well, I saw them settled. All but Ruth. I've been worried sick what to do for her.' She reached out to take Mercy's hand. ‘I've been a wicked woman. Blaming God for abandoning me in my trouble. I should have known better. He sent you. Hart's wife. He and my Mark were like brothers.'