Hannah stopped short. That meant Cousin Nathan had posted the banns before he had known if her sister would consent to the match.
"Why are you so quiet?" Father asked fretfully. "Read on. Let us hear the rest."
Bowing her head, Hannah obeyed.
Sister, the Dress we sew'd together with Joan looked right Comely, with the Lace and Ribbands and the embroider'd Stomacher, but I fear so great was the Haste with which Cousin Nathan rush'd me to Church, I had no Opportunity to procure a Wedding Bouquet.
Joan shook her head and muttered something indistinct. Father threw her a cross look and cleared his throat. "Read on, Hannah."
Lest any Person envy my new Station as a Planter's Wife, may I say that our Plantation consists of Tobacco Plants struggling to grow amongst the Stumps of fell'd Trees. It is a veritable Wilderness we live in. Let me tell you that I enjoy no Excess of Leisure. With the two Mr. Washbrooks, the seven Indentured Servants, myself, and the Maidservant to feed and clothe, I bide my Days spinning, mending, and cooking. In Truth, Joan would roar in Laughter to hear of my many labours, remembering how oft I shirk'd my Duties at Home. I share my Chores with the Serving Girl call'd Adele. She is just your Age, Hannah, and from the West Indies, born a Slave on a Sugar Plantation. She speaks often of the Cruelty she endured.
Hannah's voice trailed off as she read the rest of the passage to herself, a chill moving through her.
Adele believes in Spirits and Ghosts. It is rumour'd amongst the other Servants that she can work Hoodoo Witchcraft. But worry not. She seems a sweet and loyall Girl and greeted me upon my Arrival with Wild Flow'rs.
"Is there no more?" Joan demanded, swollen fingers tangled in her knitting.
"Read the letter to the end," Father said. Hannah continued.
Cousin Nathan carries himself as if he were some Biblickal King. It is not enough that I address him as "Sir." He would have himself be call'd "Worthy Sir." He oversees Gabriel and the Boundsmen as they fell Trees to clear Land for Planting next Spring. Being from Ireland, the Boundsmen are a musickal Lot. Whilst they work, I hear them singing mournfull Songs in their own Tongue. Sister, come Spring I shall plant the Seeds you gave me. God willing, the Rosemary, Camomile, and Thyme will flourish here. Most of all, I long to plant the Foxglove, for it reminds me of Home. Please give my love to Joan. I miss her terribly. I pray that you and Father are in good Health. Ever yr devoted May
Hannah folded the letter and held it in her lap.
Joan rubbed her wet eyes. "Poor wench. So far away. She's lost to us." She glared at Father. "Planter's wife, indeed. More like a drudge, she is."
Biting her lip, Hannah waited for Father to rebuke Joan for her outburst. Instead he remained quiet for a long while.
"She writes nothing tender of Gabriel," he said at last. "Not a word." Then he crumpled in his chair.
The next morning Hannah sat in her father's study with a freshly cut goose quill in her hand, a blank sheet of paper before her.
Dearest May,
How we all miss you. Joan will never forgive Father for letting you go. The House is quiet as a Tomb with you gone. I am a Year older but apart from missing you, my Life has hardly changed. The Days pass in Dreary Monotony.
Sister, I beg you to tell me of Gabriel. Has he brought you Happiness? How I wish we had at least met him before you sail'd.
I am as healthy as ever, no Fitts or anything to cause Trouble. Given their Age and Constitution, Father and Joan are as well as can be hoped. They send you their Love.
Though an Ocean lies between us, we are ever with you in Spirit. Keep it a Secret, Sister, but every so often Joan reads the Cards to know of your Fortune.
With this Letter, I send more Seeds. Father expects the Feverfew and Artemisia to be of Use in your Household Physick. Joan told me not to forget Heartsease, seeing as you have always loved that Flower. May you and your Husband remain healthy and sound.
Ever yr loving Sister Hannah
***
The unseasonably cool summer dragged on, bringing too much rain, which blighted the wheat and barley crops. The price of flour was higher than it had been in years.
"We must be more frugal," Father told Joan, instructing her to bake only once a week. He economized by eating very little. By the time winter set in, his paunch had melted away and his cheekbones sprang from his face.
"You mustn't grow too thin," Hannah scolded. "We aren't such paupers that you must starve." It shocked her to see him looking so old and feeble.
He dismissed her remarks with a flick of his bony hand. "The ancients taught us that corpulence breeds all manner of disease." He cast a pointed look at Joan, who remained resolutely stout.
***
June 1691 passed with no letter from May. Father hardly spoke, hiding himself in his herb garden. His ascetic diet left him constipated, obliging Hannah to administer purgatives once a week. To cure his ill humors, he applied leeches to his skin.
"The unhealthy blood must be drawn out," he told his daughter. "The teachings of Galen would have it so." Still, his melancholy clung to him like a heavy cloak he could not throw off.
Whenever she could slip away, Hannah spirited herself to the marketplace in the next town, ears pricked to any gossip from Bristol Harbor. Had the ship carrying May's letter sunk to the bottom of the ocean? One of Father's patients said he had heard rumors of Atlantic squalls.
In the late hours when Father's snores rattled the beams, Joan laid out the cards. "We must not give up hope," she whispered to Hannah. "I keep turning up the eight of clubs. A message is on its way."
However, she kept drawing the eight of spades as well, which made her curse. She refused to tell Hannah what it signified.
***
In August the letter arrived. Hannah read it aloud, too anxious to remember to censor it for Father and Joan.
I write with Mournfull News. The End of Summer here is the Season of Fevers and Sickness. This Climate breeds Contagion. Just after Harvest, Cousin Nathan was taken with Ague, shaking and shivering all Night. He complained of High Fever and Fearsome Pain in the Head. The Disease is called the Flux and the only Remedy comes from the dry Bark of the Cinchona Tree. We begged this Medicine from our nearest Neighbours. Father, you must believe I tried my best. I gave him Decoctions of Cinchona thrice a day, as well as Willow Bark and Mint. I lay cool wet Cloths on his Brow and Chest. I went down on my knees and prayed to God, but all in vain...
"What blasphemy does she write?" Father interrupted, his voice querulous. "Does she dispute the mercy of God?"
Hannah sighed. "Surely she wrote in a moment of sadness. I doubt that she intended to be heretical." Clearing her throat, she read the next line, then stopped abruptly.
Cousin Nathan did die.
Hannah waited for the grief to grip her, yet it left her untouched. She had never met the man. As far as she was concerned, he was the faceless stranger who had arranged for May's marriage and exile.
But Father's head sagged. Something glinted in his eyes. "Let us pray for his soul." Hands folded, his lips moved, but no words were audible. At last he gave her permission to read on.
Adele and I dressed the Body. The Men dug the Grave. As we must wait a long while for a Clergyman to come our Way and perform the Funeral Rites, we did for ourselves. Gabriel read from The Book of Common Prayer. In Faith, Nathan Washbrook was quarrelsome and over-proud, yet I miss him. I have been troubled by Nightmares of late and think ever on Adele's Stories of Ghosts, even tho' I know Father would think it Wicked of me to succumb to Superstition.
Hannah flushed and looked at Father. His eyes were shadowed.
At least I can send the two Hogs Heads of Tobacco to pay for your Passage. Pray, come when you are able. Tho' I miss you sorely, it would be a Great Sin to wish you to sail soon only to ease my Loneliness. May God grant Father a long and robust Life. Hannah, at long Last, I do have some Good News to impart. Soon I shall be a Mother. The Babe shall be born in a matter of Weeks, and my Belly has grown th
ick as a Vicar's. In Truth, I am a little frightened of the whole Matter. If it weren't for my good Adele, I would stow away on the next Ship Home to you. If I bear a Son, I shall name him after Father, and if I bear a Girlchild, I shall name her Hannah. Ever yr loving May
The letter ended at the bottom of the paper, the words squeezed as close together as could be. When Hannah looked up from the page, she saw Joan hobble out the back door, hands clasped to her face. Hannah was about to follow her when Father took her arm.
"Daughter, you tremble. You are white around the lips. Tell me you are not succumbing to one of your fits."
"I am fine, Father." Swallowing, she tried to ignore the tight knot in her belly. She thought of the infant clothes that May had taken with her. The letter was dated October 10. By now the child must be half a year old. If all had gone well with the birth. Hannah wouldn't allow herself to think otherwise. May had wide hips. May was strong and fearless.
"Father," she said softly. "You are a grandfather. I am an aunt." She was disappointed that May still hadn't answered her questions about Gabriel. However, she had written the letter in the depths of mourning. Perhaps she feared it would be disrespectful to write of conjugal happiness in the same letter that announced her father-in-law's death. And the letter paper was so small. She wouldn't have been able to squeeze in another word.
"She is troubled in spirit," Father muttered. "And lonely. She said so herself. She needs you. I am keeping you from her."
"Father, don't say such things." Her voice was sharp, then it broke like glass as she started to cry.
"If I were gone," he insisted, "you would be free to join her." He spoke without bitterness or self-pity. As Hannah wept, he drew her into his arms and hushed her. "Tomorrow you will write a letter to her. Give her as much comfort as you can."
Dearest May,
We send you our Love and our Sorrow for your Loss. In this Parcel you will also find a Pound of Cinchona Bark from the Apothecary.
Hannah did not write that Father had sold his telescope to pay for the expensive medicine, which came from far Peru.
God willing, your next Letter will be full of Happy News of the Child. Is it a Boy or a Girl? Perhaps by now, you are expecting your Second Born.
Please give our Love and Regards to your Husband. Though we have never met him, it does seem Strange not to greet him in our Letters.
We are well and think of you every Day.
Ever yr loving Sister Hannah
"I must purify my spirit," Father said. "There is no denying the fact that men of my years die in their sleep." The time, he informed her, was at hand to begin preparing his way for the world beyond.
"Father!" He was so exasperating, she thought. "While you are yet alive, please don't speak of the grave."
Although Hannah upbraided him for eating so little, he held to his course. He prayed and fasted, continued with leeches and weekly purgatives. She watched him grow even thinner, his hands feeble and papery. He was vanishing before her eyes, slowly reverting back to incorporeal soul and spirit. An expression of peace and resolve illuminated his face, as though his eyes saw things of heavenly magnitude that Hannah could not begin to grasp.
***
A damp winter followed, which brought one of the worst epidemics of the grippe in Father's long memory. Weakened from his fasting, Father had little fuel to fight the sickness. Joan's lungs clogged with catarrh. She took a fever and one day could not rise from her pallet. Hovering at the hearth, Hannah made sick food and physick decoctions. Sometimes she thought it was only through dogged force of will that she did not succumb to the grippe herself. Someone had to be well enough to empty chamber pots and administer medicine. Someone had to light the fires each morning, draw water from the well. With Joan too ill to work, Hannah finally learned to cook a decent chicken broth.
The fever would not let Father go. Hannah wrapped his legs in cold wet cloths. His forehead burned and his eyes were glassy.
"May," he said. "May, you are the very image of your mother."
"Father, this is Hannah."
"You will forgive me, won't you, dear May? I don't want to leave this world without your forgiveness."
"Father, I am Hannah." She blinked back tears. "Now open your mouth." She managed to insert a spoonful of broth. Obediently he swallowed. As his eyes focused on her face, she felt a flicker of hope.
"Do you remember well the physick I taught you? What planet rules the sloe bush?"
"Saturn, Father." Cold distant Saturn.
When he opened his mouth to say something else, she slipped another spoonful of broth inside. She succeeded in getting him to consume half the contents of the bowl before his eyes clouded once more. His thin face erupted in a blinding smile.
"Hannah, is it truly you? Are we reunited? It has been so long."
"Father, I have never left your house."
But her words did not seem to reach him. The smile still on his face, he closed his eyes, head sinking back into the pillows. She drew the covers to his chin. Hannah had been her mother's name, too. Poor Father thought he was already in heaven. Setting the bowl aside, she stroked his cool hand, trying to warm it. He slept on soundly.
***
If Joan was weak, feverish, and coughing up green phlegm, at least she had full command of her senses. "The door is shut for your sister," she said hoarsely between mouthfuls of broth. "Don't let it close on you."
"What door?" Hannah lowered her voice. "Have you been reading the cards?"
"Her match was made for her," Joan wheezed. She paused to cough into a sodden rag. Hannah took it from her and gave her a clean one.
"Hush, now. Take your broth."
Joan struggled to swallow with her infected throat. "They say love matches are unlucky," she rasped. "But that's just the talk of men who can't think of anything but dowries and..." Her speech subsided in a fit of coughing.
"Let me bring you the coltsfoot syrup."
Before Hannah could leave her side, Joan seized her wrist.
"Listen, dear. You make your own match. For love and affection. Find someone to cherish you."
"I will, Joan." Hannah tried to smile.
At last the older woman's fingers relaxed, relinquishing their hold.
***
Early the next morning Hannah carried wood and kindling up the stairs to light the fire in her father's room. He lay utterly still, a smile glowing on his face. Hands shaking, she turned her back to him and knelt to stir the ashes, uncovering a few embers, then built the fire, fanning the flames until they nearly licked her face. Cheeks smarting, she went to her father. When she touched his hand, it was as cold as the floorboards beneath her thin slippers. The cold crept up her legs, making her shudder.
"Father."
She opened his eyelids and saw the irises rolled back. Sinking to the frigid floor, she began to wail.
***
Father's coffin was so light, two boys could carry it easily. Hannah stood in the wet churchyard and watched them lower him into the freshly dug pit. He would finally rest beside her mother.
Though well-wishers crowded around her, Hannah had never felt more alone. Joan was too ill to attend. People offered kind words and genuine compassion, for there was hardly a family who hadn't lost at least one relative to the grippe. But no confidante stood beside her, no special friend or sweetheart, no sister.
How could he be dead, the man who had fed her with all his learning? As they shoveled dirt over her father's coffin, a few clods of damp earth stained the hem of her good dress. Fist to her mouth, she poured her entire concentration into keeping her spine erect so she wouldn't double over.
***
Hannah paid the rent and funeral costs by selling her father's globe, his clothes, and the furniture she could spare. The barber surgeon offered to buy Father's skeleton and anatomical diagrams. Hannah would never forget the way he stood there with his shoulders thrown back, his hat at a rakish tilt to show off his brand-new wig. She wanted to slap him
for the way he strode through Father's study as if he were the new landlord. If he made a show of expressing his condolences, she knew he was also glad that his only competitor was gone.
Bargaining hard to raise the price, she sold him everything except what he coveted most—Father's books of physick and the leather case that housed the surgical instruments.
***
When spring came, Joan recovered. "I knew my time wasn't up," she told Hannah. "I read it in the cards."
Thin from her long illness, she used one of Father's old belts to hold up her skirts. "Ooh, look at me." Winking at Hannah, she paraded through the kitchen. "Slender as a girl again."
Joan's belongings were tucked neatly into three wicker baskets lined up beside the back door. She was going to join her niece's family who lived in a village south of Bristol. "My lungs and knees are still weak, but I will do for Nancy and look after her children. Poor wench has seven already, with one more on the way. She'll need her aunt Joan, she will."
While they waited for the niece's husband to come fetch her, Joan and Hannah drank cider in the kitchen.
"Remember this," said Joan. "Your father wouldn't want you to squander your youth mourning him. Go to your sister and look after her. Give her a kiss from old Joan."
***
Alone in the empty house, Hannah packed for the journey. She found a wry comfort that it was not a maiden's hope chest that contained her future but her father's heavy old trunk carved with rectangles and stars. Among her father's papers she found the letter from Cousin Nathan asking for her sister's hand for his son. Yet another letter described the beauties of Maryland. She enclosed both letters in the velvet-lined case with her father's surgical instruments. If she had lost her father, she would at least regain her sister. Hannah sat on the bare floor and hugged herself. May had always chosen a life of adventure. Her own adventure would now begin.
The Vanishing Point Page 4
