by E.B. Brown
Benjamin shifted nervously as he folded his arms over his bared chest, then ran one hand through his unruly ebony hair. Maggie pretended not to pay attention, but she noticed the way he cocked his head and studied her as he spoke to Charles.
“Well, yes, of course. Would ye like to go into town with us, my dear?”
“Business has no place fer women,” Charles said gruffly, his plump cheeks flushed like ripe red berries against his grey pallor. Benjamin made a low chortling sound in his throat and waved the man off.
“Then ye know not my wife, Charles. She is quite clever.” Benjamin spoke slowly, his voice without waver as he stared the other man down.
“So then bring her, if ye must. There is some new ale up at the Ordinary, we mean to try it. I fear that may not please the lady, but –”
“Ah, no worry. Go water your horses, we will be along soon.”
Maggie ducked her head and closed her eyes briefly, feeling her fingernails cut crescents into the skin of her palms as she clenched her fists. She could smell his scent – sweet fresh alfalfa mixed with afternoon sweat, stronger when he slipped a hand under her elbow and pulled her gently to her feet.
“I hope this arrangement pleases you,” he offered. She had no idea how to answer him, or what to say to pacify him, not knowing if he spoke of the impending visit to town or of the state of their hasty marriage.
Benjamin was a confusing matter entirely. She had learned much about him in the few weeks of their marriage, and his honorable and gentle nature continued to surprise her. From what she recalled of her history lessons, life was lonely for English settlers, and with a man to woman ratio of nearly six to one, marriage was a luxury few could afford. She wondered how he had been one of the men fortunate enough to have such money to spend on a wife.
“I have no say in how things are done,” she finally answered after a long silence. She pulled at the edge of her bodice and made a chore of righting it over her skirts, then bent to brush imaginary straw off her boots.
“Maggie.”
She knelt down and began to re-tie her bootlaces. Not yet dissuaded, he knelt beside her and reached out, taking her hands away from the task and holding them between his larger ones. He wore gloves as he often did during the day, but his hands were still warm through the soft leather.
“We have not had much time to know each other, but many marriages start with less than what we have had.” He placed his thumb under her jaw and she moved to turn away, but he tucked her chin between his fingers and met her resistance. “I am not such an awful scag, am I?”
A corner of her lip turned up, his earnest appraisal of the situation and his resultant uncertainty in his own appeal causing her to smile against her better judgment. A flush streaked his neck and he grinned, looking down and then up at her and then back to the ground again like a shy adolescent. She took his proffered hand and stood up beside him, watching curiously, as he ran a hand through his thick black hair. Standing there with the setting sun streaming across his back from the open barn door, his broad shoulders filled out a pleasing countenance and unexpectedly she ached with a pang of homesickness. Perhaps it was his kind disposition, or his gentle manner, or maybe the way his hulking form filled out the doorway, but suddenly it all reminded her of Marcus and a farm of her own that was probably falling apart without her.
“No, you’re nothing of the sort,” she replied.
“No? Well, then, I suppose that is a good start.”
She saw his bright eyes soften as he laughed, but then his laugh slowed as he watched her chuckle. Her throat caught and she swallowed back another laugh, seeing the budding desire in his gaze and trying to think of a way to put him off. When he kissed her she did not object. His attentions were careful, controlled, treading carefully as he asked for more.
“I’ve held ye at night in the darkness,” he said softly, “and I’ve felt yer body beside mine. I wonder, is it different then, when I can see ye like this in the light?”
She swallowed hard when his fingers drifted down her body. His hand brushed over the side of her breast, his thumb caressing her gently. As his lips traced a path down her neck his hand settled lower at the base of her spine. He pulled her close, and she could feel he was eager to answer his own questions.
No, she thought. Not here, not like this. She could abide his attention in their bed, when darkness settled and the candles were snuffed. Then she could imagine he was another, and somehow, it eased her despair. In the muted daylight of the barn, however, there was no protection from the truth. She froze at his touch and put her palm flat against his chest.
“Please, not here,” she whispered.
He looked up and his hands stilled. She closed her eyes in relief when he pulled away.
“Oh, Maggie,” he said, caressing her cheek. He gently kissed her lips without pressing for more. “I’m so sorry. I – I should not have – I’m sorry. Here, let me help ye up.”
She took his hand and let him haul her to her feet. He brushed the straw from her hair and straightened her dress, then squeezed her hand.
Feeling more than a bit deceitful, she looked toward the house and held a hand to her ear.
“Do you hear that? I think it’s Charles calling, we’d better go inside,” she insisted. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the house, her chest heaving as she tried to slow her breathing. Although he protested, he followed anyway, and for that, Maggie was quite grateful.
*****
Maggie tapped the granite mortar against the side of the pestle, the dried herb remnants falling into a fine dust in the cup. Finola glanced over her shoulder as she often did while they worked, nodded approvingly, and then moved back to her place cataloging the various jars along the wall shelves.
She spent as much time as allowed with Finola, and although Benjamin did not entirely approve of her working with the healer, he did not move to stop their visits, so it was all Maggie could do to get there fast enough each day after church.
Maggie rose from her stool and went searching for the loose goldenseal she had brought, and realizing she left it in her gathering basket, she went into the back room to find it. She heard the door open as she rummaged through the basket, knowing it was most likely Benjamin come to fetch her as usual. When she still had not located the wayward bunch of plants, she let out a frustrated sigh and kicked the wall with her boot toe.
“Ah, Maggie, there ye are!”
She glanced up at Benjamin and forced a smile to her lips.
“I think it might be sprained,” she lied, rubbing the joint with a grimace.
“Ye surely invite accidents, if I may beg yer pardon for saying so,” he smiled. He offered her his arm, and she took it, letting him lead her out into the great room where Finola still hummed away as she worked on her inventory. The older woman appeared engrossed in her task, but she raised an eyebrow at Maggie when Benjamin bent to examine her ankle.
“It does not appear too damaged. Can ye walk on it, or shall I carry ye home?”
Maggie choked on her reply when Finola rolled her eyes skyward.
“No—no! I’m fine, Benjamin, I can walk just fine,” she muttered.
Benjamin placed her hand firmly in his elbow and nodded to Finola on the way out with a smile. Maggie’s teeth clanked together in the back of her mouth and she cleared her throat to muffle a groan.
It was not that he was unkind, or even that he was not pleasant to be around. In fact, as much as she would admit to herself, he was good company, and he certainly was a handsome young man. There were several women still unattached who had arrived on the same ship Maggie supposedly sailed on, maidens and young widows alike, and Maggie noticed the stares Benjamin garnered anytime he happened into town. He commanded a presence, from his broad shoulders and thick strapping arms to his twinkling blue eyes and boyish grin. Still showing remnants of an unsure youth in his chiseled face, but with the swagger of growing self-assurance, he would be irresistible to any
lucky young woman. Had they met in another lifetime, Maggie had no doubt he would have turned her head, but fate being what it was, there was nothing of her heart left for anyone but her child.
Benjamin took care in leading her back to the Towne square, where the wives served a hearty mid-day meal to the men. She did not want to join them, but being they were in town for the day they could not refuse the offer Alice made.
She stumbled and Benjamin caught her, a grin on his lips at her scowl. She resisted the urge to simply lift her skirts above her heels instead of kicking through the heavy skirt, but she tried not to embarrass Benjamin in front of the other townsfolk.
A group of braves was tying their horses outside the Ordinary and she spotted Chetan among them, flanked by Makedewa. She had no objection to seeing Chetan and would like to ask how his son fared, but knowing she would see Makedewa as well put a damper on things. She had not seen either of them since the night Nemattanew abducted her, the memories of that time in the village beginning to feel like the whispers of a dream she meant to return to.
“Oh, so good to see ye back! We are nearly ready to eat, find ye a seat,” she ordered, shooing them toward the long wooden table in the courtyard. Feeling a distinct rumble of acquiescence from her belly, Maggie was happy to comply and took a seat beside Benjamin on a bench. Aunt Alice joined them at the far end of the table and led them in a short rendition of grace before they all dived in.
“Would you rather rest, my dear? I will take ye in the house if you need so,” Benjamin offered, passing her a basket of soft fresh corn bread. She took a helping and passed it to her left as she shook her head at Benjamin.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said. The last place she wanted to rest was anywhere near Thomas, and in fact, sitting at the same table sharing a meal with him as he glared at her with his beady black eyes was more than enough torture for one day.
“Thank ye, Mistress,” a voice murmured. She tried not to twist around in her seat, but instead settled for shooting Jonathon Pace a look from the corner of one squinted eye.
“You’re welcome,” she said, as demurely as possible under the circumstances. The man gave her the creeps, and she had nothing nice to say to him. She scooted over a few inches closer to Benjamin.
“Jonathon!” Benjamin bellowed, thrusting his arm across her face to clasp warmly with Jonathon. She leaned back away from the two men, her eyebrows raised, and shoved a piece of corn bread in her mouth. She reached over them to grab her mug of cider and hastily downed it, looking longingly across the table at Benjamin’s tall cup of ale.
“Ah, uhm, I will pour ye some ale, dearest, but go easy,” Benjamin said, grinning as he removed his own mug from her hands and filled her cider cup with a splash of ale. She looked down at it and hastily handed it back to him. As much as she would like to, she knew it was bad for the baby no matter what century she was in.
“So Opechancanough passed through Jamestown? Must be a special occasion for him to travel so far from his home,” Benjamin commented. Maggie felt her cider and bread coming back up at the name of the Weroance. Jonathon nodded, taking a bite of bread as he reached for a platter of salmon passed his way.
He offered it politely to Maggie but she waved it off, content with her ration of boiled ham and pickled beets. Along with the fresh bread, the meal would be quite filling, and she knew with more mouths to feed it would be best to pass the meats to the men.
“Yes, he stayed only one day, but he was quite cordial to the new Governor,” Jonathon agreed.
“Was there trouble?”
Maggie swallowed back an over large amount of cider and felt a distinct warmth run from her throat to toes. She hoped she could keep her stomach in check, afraid she would lose her composure in front of all the men. As bad as that would be, it would still be a welcome respite to hearing the two men squawk like a pair of roosters over a pebble of feed at their feet.
“Nay. He brought plenty of warriors with him, no one would dare speak against him. The savage surely is a smart fellow,” Jonathon answered. “But those ones, the ones at the Ordinary now, they were with him.”
Maggie realized he meant Chetan and Makedewa, and her interest was suddenly held. Did they plan to attack soon? She slipped a hand defensively down over her belly. Benjamin noticed the gesture and patted her knee under the table.
“Yes, he is a smart one,” Benjamin agreed. “Perhaps I should speak with the natives about it. Would ye excuse me for a short time, dear? I will return soon.”
She nodded wordlessly. She was surprised he would go talk with the brothers, considering the role he played in Winn’s death. She was doubly shocked to see the braves in town so soon after the disaster, but sure as well it was part of their plan to extinguish the English. A flutter in her belly spoke volumes as she watched Benjamin walk toward the Indians, who were preparing to mount their ponies. Would her son ever know his people, or would they be his enemies, as most of the English looked upon them?
Relieved to see Benjamin clasp arms with both men, she tried not to appear too interested, but she abruptly realized it was all in her hands. Chetan and Makedewa were kin to her child, and she would be damned if she would be the one to break that bond. Perhaps Makedewa would not care to see her, but she was sure Chetan would, and she knew he would pass a message to Teyas who she missed terribly.
She dropped her mug to the table and went to meet them, ignoring the squawk Aunt Alice uttered and the furious glare Thomas sent her way. She cared no more what either of them thought, and she would not be kept silent any longer.
She silently practiced the Paspahegh words she knew in greeting, and finally decided that a simple How are you would do just fine.
“Kulamalsi hach?” she said as she approached. She noticed Benjamin appeared distressed, and for that she was sorry, but she hoped he would understand why she needed to speak to the brothers.
“Fire Heart,” Chetan greeted her, bending his head toward her in respect. Makedewa grunted and crossed his arms, but it was an acknowledgement and for that she was grateful. She wondered briefly why Chetan used the name Winn had often called her, the sound of the English version quite different than she was accustomed, but still the words stung her.
“Maggie, I was about to return to ye, there was no need for ye to fetch me,” Benjamin laughed, placing his hand on the small of her back. She noticed his voice tremor and ignored it, too eager to speak to the warriors, but he took her hand firmly and turned her back the way they came.
“But Benjamin, I only want to talk to them.”
“Good day, brothers,” Benjamin said curtly, forcibly guiding her away. She shook her head and shoved him, unable to tolerate his behavior when she only wanted to say a few words to them. Was this how it would be, whenever she wished to see them?
“No! I need to talk to them!”
“We wish happiness for you in your new marriage, Red Woman.”
Maggie balked at the sound of Makedewa’s cold voice. She turned back and saw Chetan glare at him and make a low barking sound as she had often heard an irritated warrior make, but Makedewa had her attention now and a sneering grin stretched across his face.
“And we will have a feast in honor of your child. May the Great Creator bless you and your husband.”
“What?” she whispered as the ground seemed to drop beneath her feet. She struggled to remain standing at the hate in his voice and the menace written on his face. He clearly despised her, more than he ever had, and by his words she suspected he thought Benjamin was the father of her babe.
What did it matter? Winn was gone. She could never go back to the Paspahegh village. Her child would never know a father other than Benjamin.
“Let us go,” Benjamin insisted. This time she let him lead her.
*****
Benjamin seemed distracted the rest of the afternoon. The conversations between them were a mere barrage of polite responses, and when it was time to retire she was happ
y to put the day behind them. If he were sore at her for speaking to the warriors, she would gladly leave him to his sulking. She readied herself for bed and sank down into the deep feather mattress, her mind just as weary of the day as her growing body.
Maggie placed her hand on her taut rounded belly. Just a bulge, easily hidden under her skirts, but soon it would be more apparent and she dreaded anyone else knowing her condition.
Benjamin cracked the door and entered the room. He stared wordlessly at her now, and she could see his round blue eyes stained bloodshot, his shirt unbuttoned and skewed about his neck. He watched her as he undressed, shedding his waistcoat and shirt and stepping out of his tall boots.
“Benjamin, I am sorry if my speaking to the braves upset you,” she began, but he cut her off by raising one hand and a firm shake of his head.
“No, wife. I am not upset with ye.”
She inhaled as he approached the bed, working the clasp of his buckle to shed his breeches. A wisp of strong brandy, and the telltale remnants of sweet pipe smoke clung to his clothes, and she realized he must have taken his enjoyment before he came to bed. His hair was wild, frazzled in a mop that looked as if he had been running his fingers over his scalp, in his eyes a strange hollow look that reflected some sadness yet undisclosed. Perhaps he would only talk and fall asleep, as he usually did when he drank.
He slid under the quilts and pulled her gently to him, and she let out the breath of air she had been holding.
“Ye are my wife, by the King’s law,” he said softly, his breath hot against her neck.
She made no answer, frozen into helplessness as she lay in his arms. He seemed to need no response, as soon his breath grew shallow and the gentle snores of his inebriated sleep filled the room, and she was content to see his attentions distracted for the evening.
CHAPTER 33
Snow was still falling when Winn awoke. Although he could see the dark clouds overhead through the smoke hole from remnants of the last storm, he was warmed from the layers of furs that covered him. The fever had passed days ago, but his muscles still ached as if they had no strength and it was the most he could do to roll onto his side. He could only roll onto the right, lest he risk tearing open the healing wound to his left chest.
