The Vanishing Point

by Mary Sharratt

  Summer came in waves of shimmering heat, far more ferocious than winter's cold. Mosquitoes rose in clouds on the riverbank, their bites peppering her skin like a rash. Gabriel taught her to rub bear grease on her skin to keep them off. They put the furs away for the warm months. Mosquitoes whined through the night while they slept with the window wide open.

  Cherries ripened, redder than any apple. She developed a bottomless craving for them, devouring fistfuls of the sweet fruit even though she knew she should be making preserves for the coming winter. She gorged on cherries until she was half sick.

  ***

  Cherry-red, cherry-red, like a slut's own bed. May chanted the hateful words before slapping Hannah hard across her face. She grabbed her by the shoulders. "Will you look at me, you dolt?" May wore her wedding dress, but it was soiled and torn, hanging from her tall frame like a beggar's rags.

  "Hannah!" Gabriel shook her awake. "Hannah, why do you weep? It was just a dream." He cradled her against him, stroking her hair, lulling her back to sleep.

  In the morning, she awoke fuzzy-headed and faint. After getting dressed, she made the fire, cooked the corn mush. Gabriel brought in the goat's milk. When she took her first spoonful, the milk curdled on her tongue. Rushing out the door, she spewed over the porch railing.

  "Hannah." Gabriel held her around the waist until she had stopped. "What is it?"

  "Nothing." She wiped her mouth.

  "Stay out of the sun today. Mayhap you will be better by nightfall."

  When he left to go fishing, she sat on the porch with her head in her hands. She felt so weak, her stomach twisted in a knot. Was it the flux? she wondered. The flux that had killed Gabriel's father?

  A while later, she felt well enough to brew a decoction of bruised mint leaves, which settled her stomach. As the day progressed, she found she could work again, as long as she stayed out of the sun during the hottest part of the day. The sickness visited her only in early morning. The taste of food, however, changed in her mouth. She grew ill at the sight and smell of raw meat. She could no longer stomach goat's milk.

  With her one good dress eaten by moths, she wished she had wool to spin so that she could weave cloth for a new one. She had seen an old loom in the tobacco shed. One day, she sat at May's spinning wheel, gave it a turn. The whirling spokes sent her into a trance. May was the better spinster. She could spin as much in a day as Hannah could in three. May didn't cry as Hannah did now. She never had nightmares that left her weeping and wretched.

  ***

  "You were troubled by your dreams again," Gabriel said in the morning, lying beside her. "Your body does change. You think I don't notice?" He pulled down the sheet, baring her flesh.

  Hannah flushed. Her body had ripened like the harvest; her breasts were full and heavy. Gabriel traced her nipples, which had darkened from pale pink to brown. He stroked the faint line that ran from her navel to her quim. He kept touching her until she raised herself on her elbows and looked at her body, seeing it through his eyes. Though she had always been scrawny as a boy, she was turning into a woman at last, her body growing nearly as lush and abundant as her sister's had been. Rolling over on her belly, she cried.

  "But why?" Gabriel stroked her back with a gentleness that undid her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  "You are not ill," he said. "You know that, Hannah." He looked into her eyes until she nodded. "You know what it is." Taking her hand, he unclenched her fingers one by one, then laid her flat palm on her belly.

  Hannah shut her eyes. "I am afraid."

  "Why? You are a physician's daughter, not some silly ignorant girl."

  It killed my sister. She held her tongue.

  "You are healthy and strong. You thrive in this place. Our child will thrive, too. I promise." Gabriel rocked her in his arms while the weeping racked her body.

  ***

  The weather grew crisp and the leaves turned color. It was time, Gabriel told her, that he went to trade his furs for supplies. The sugar was gone, and they were nearly out of salt to preserve meat for winter.

  "The big ship will be coming in," he said, tying the furs in bundles with rope made from their own hemp. "The pelts, I think, will fetch a good price. Enough to bring home sugar, salt, and nails. And maybe a surprise or two." He kissed her forehead.

  "How long will you be gone?" The inside of her mouth tasted like sour goat's milk.

  "Not long. A few nights, a week at most."

  "A week?" she echoed. "But you are only going to Banham's Landing, are you not?"

  "No, Hannah. Not Banham's Landing. I will have nothing to do with them. I am going to Anne Arundel Town."

  "Let me come with you."

  "Hannah, there is no room in the canoe for you and all the furs. And you know it is not safe for you to make such a journey in your condition."

  "You think I am safe left here alone?" Her heart raced.

  "Safer here than anywhere else. The dogs guard the place. I will leave you with my father's musket. And my knife." He unbuckled his belt with the sheathed knife and handed it to her. "You know how to use a blade, Hannah. Woe betide the fool who crosses your path."

  How could he make light of this? "I wish I could go with you." She touched his face. "In Anne Arundel Town we could finally be married."

  "You forget the banns." Pulling her against him, he stroked her hair as he always did when he wanted to soothe her.

  "Once you are there," she pointed out, "you could ask them to post the banns, could you not? In two months, we might go together to be married."

  "I said before that such a journey would put you in peril. I can ask the minister if he can spare a traveling parson to come our way and perform the ceremony. It might take many months, even years. This is how it is in the backwaters. Do you think we are the only couple to live together without blessing of the clergy? Some have three children or more before they get their minister. You know I love you, don't you, Hannah?"

  "But it is a sin. You know it well. Our child shall be a bastard." Her own vehemence shocked her. Something inside her was changing—it was more than just the child growing in her womb.

  "A sin, you say." His face darkened. "I have given you my entire love and devotion. God has blessed us with a child. How can you call that a sin?"

  "It's wrong."

  "You don't mean what you say." He spoke passionately. "When did you suddenly get to be so pious, Hannah?"

  "We should have waited until we were married. I should have mourned her for a year. You know it's wrong. We don't even dare speak her name."

  He stared in disbelief. "It was you who started it all. Do you forget?" Betrayal shot through his voice. "I was willing to leave you alone, but you said that you cared for me."

  "Stop." Turning from him, she walked blindly toward the garden. She didn't need him to remind her that she had brought this on them both. She had betrayed her sister more deeply than Gabriel ever could. Hadn't she forced him into divulging May's infidelity? Because of her prying, he had made her swear the pact not to mention May. He and May hadn't chosen each other, but Hannah had chosen to covet her sister's widower and wheedle her way into his bed.

  Foxglove grew at the garden gate, its poisonous flowers pink as a baby's face. Remembering May's first letter, she sank to her knees. Most of all, I long to plant the Foxglove, for it reminds me of Home. She had given May the seeds.

  When she heard Gabriel's footsteps behind her, she expected him to take her arm, raise her to her feet. But he didn't. He was in a temper. She could tell from his unsteady breathing.

  "God has been kind to us, Hannah. Is it not an even greater sin to be ungrateful for all our blessings?"

  With some effort, she struggled to her feet. From the look on his face, she saw that her words had wounded him deeply.

  "All our happiness," he said. "Would you call that a sin?"

  His face blurred. Her stomach was tight and her head swam.

  "Do you regret it?" he as
ked her. "Do you wish yourself back?"

  "Gabriel, no." She wished she had something to hold on to, to keep herself on her feet. "No, I..."

  "Hannah." He caught her before she could fall. "Are you not well?" He held her as if they had never quarreled. "Tell me it isn't one of your attacks."

  "No," she said in panic as her mouth filled with the taste of iron. Then it passed and her heartbeat returned to normal.

  She must have frightened him, though. He was in tears.

  "I shouldn't go," he said. "What if you have one of your fits while I am away?" He looked at her with such love.

  She drew a deep breath. "Gabriel, you must go."

  She hated to have him think of her as a weak and helpless woman. If she had a fit alone or with him standing by, it was all the same. When the fog came over her, she was beyond his reach and help. The trip was no frivolous mission, she reminded herself. Without sugar and salt, they might not survive the winter.

  "Gabriel, I am sorry. Of course, I do not wish myself back. I just wish I could be your wife."

  "I will do what I can to see if a minister can travel here."

  ***

  The day before he left, he taught her to load and shoot his hunting musket. "If you are armed, you are as strong as any man." He squeezed her shoulders. "You were never a coward, Hannah Powers. Surely you have no cause to be frightened now."

  Early the next morning, she ignored her queasy stomach and cooked him a huge breakfast of fried eggs, bear sausages, and griddle cakes. She filled his satchel with cornbread and strips of dried venison. She walked with him to the dock.

  "Don't stay away long. Not an hour longer than you must."

  She stood on the riverbank waving until he disappeared from her sight.

  ***

  Hand on the sheathed knife in her belt, she wandered to the creek. Her eyes were raw from the tears she hadn't let him see. She had let him paddle away, let him believe she was self-sufficient and brave. How she wished they could have gone to Anne Arundel Town to be married. The minister would have spoken the blessing over them, absolving them of their sin, putting everything right. But it was futile without the banns. And here she was, alone in the wilderness with a child in her belly.

  In the eyes of the world, she was a fallen woman. In her old village, there had been ruined girls turned out of their homes, forsaken by their lovers, and left to bear their babies alone on the alms of the parish. How she had pitied those poor stupid creatures with their cowed faces and great lobbing bellies. Pariahs, they were, the butt of every joke, the mainstay of the vicar's harshest sermons. Some had even taken their lives rather than live with the shame. At least May had been clever enough to keep herself from getting pregnant until she was married. Hannah cursed herself for never asking her how she was able to keep her belly flat and her courses regular all those years.

  The cold creek reflected a woeful face. How long she stood there gazing she never knew. But the face in the water changed. She saw May at the age of eleven, blue eyes full of mischief. "Come, Hannah, I've something to show you. A secret!"

  Little Hannah raced after her. Cutting across the pasture where the big white bull ignored them, they reached the spring tumbling over mossy rocks. Steep green banks rose on either side, hiding them. This was their special place. First May had to make sure it was safe. Body tensed and stiff as a soldier's, she came to a rigid halt and looked around. "Now!" She pulled her dress and shift over her head and plunged into the moss-colored water. Hannah was right behind her. It took her longer to get her clothes off, for her hands were smaller and clumsier, but soon she tumbled into the stream like a puppy. Water-washed agates caressed her feet. Tendrils of waterweed wrapped around her ankles as if to bind her forever to this secret green place where she could never come to harm.

  The shock of cold water sent her and May leaping, splashing each other until they were as slippery as seals. Arms uplifted, May danced in the water. She was already beautiful, her soft chest sprouting breasts. Each time they played this game, May had a different body, hair appearing where there had been smooth skin before. She let only Hannah see her like this, her sole witness to how her body was changing. Teeth chattering, May reclined in the streambed, submerged to her waist. Her new little breasts hardened, pink nubs stiff and puckered. Hannah looked down at her own flat body. Her sister had powers, that was certain.

  "Look, I am a mermaid!" Keeping her legs and feet together, May wriggled them as if they formed a great finned tail. "Look, I am a water faery!" She rolled in the streambed, staining her skin with green moss. "I am a hungry witch that eats little girls!" Turning her fingers into claws, she chased Hannah over the slick stones, both of them shrieking and laughing, until May caught her around the waist and gently bit her nape like a mother cat. Later, after they had dressed, skin still tingling from the cold water, May let Hannah comb her hair.

  "I am a princess," said May. Hannah believed her.

  The vision in the water shifted. Her sister was pregnant, with a belly like a sack of cornmeal. Sitting down heavily beneath a naked birch tree, May began to sew. She was not making baby clothes but stitching her own shroud.

  Enough. Hannah struck her fist into the water, sending out ripples. What kind of woman was she, staring into the water, her head filled with such darkness? If she kept this up, Gabriel would think she was mad.

  ***

  The following day, she pulled the cradle from under the bed. Something awful ran through her when her finger found the crack in the headboard. How could that crack even be there? Who or what could strike solid birchwood with enough force to make that crack? It would be unlucky to lay her baby in the dead child's broken cradle. The crack spelled out a curse. Shoving it back under the bed, she decided she would ask Gabriel to make a new one. He had all winter to work on it. A brand-new cradle lined with rabbit fur.

  Hannah knit her hands over her belly. She wished she had paid greater attention to the lore of pregnancy and childbirth. In truth, it had never interested her as much as Father's herbal medicine and the art of surgery had. Looking back, she could only laugh at her ignorance, thinking such calamities befell other women and would never touch her. Did you believe you could escape a woman's fate?

  Physician's daughter, indeed. She had been playing the fool, bedding Gabriel without once thinking of pregnancy. Perhaps because her body had always been so flat and compact, she secretly suspected she might be barren. Or was it because May had been able to get away with it for so many years? She had wanted so badly to be like her sister. Well, she had gotten her wish. May's lot was now hers.

  What's done is done. It was time to stop acting like a child and face her condition. Opening May's trunk, she took out the infant clothes and their mother's old birthing gown, with its slit up the front to make it easier for the midwife. Just looking at it filled her with dread. May was the robust one, with the wide hips perfect for childbearing. Hannah considered her own narrow pelvis. How was she supposed to survive this if her sister had not? It appeared that May had not worn the birthing gown, for it was still ironed in Joan's precise pleats, a film of dust clinging to the age-yellowed linen. May had refused to put that thing on.

  Hannah tried to estimate how far gone she was, but it was difficult without a calendar. She had suffered her first morning sickness when the cherries were ripe. Now the leaves had turned red and gold. It must be October. Was she five months along or six? She was already showing. Her dress had become so tight, she'd had to let out the seams. When she stood in the sunlight and looked at her shadow, her belly stood out like a hump. Because she was so thin, it looked unnatural, as though she were a child play-acting with a pillow tied around her waist. The belt with the knife Gabriel had given her merely accentuated the belly that protruded beneath it.

  She hung up the infant clothes and birthing gown to air on a rope tied between two trees. They fluttered in the wind like a ghostly mother and her babies, trying to fly away from this lonely place.

  19. Ab
ove Rubies

  May and Gabriel

  October 5, 1689

  "THIS IS ADELE." Cousin Nathan nodded to the barefoot girl.

  "A pretty name," said May.

  The girl couldn't seem to take her eyes off May's dress, even though it was crushed from the boat. May had not wanted to wear her wedding gown on the endless journey upriver, but Nathan had insisted. When you step out of that boat, the servants must see that you are a lady. You must show them at once that you are their mistress.

  When May caught the girl's eye, Adele smiled before her shyness got the better of her and she stared at the ground.

  "A mere slip of a girl, she is," Nathan whispered. "But superstitious like the rest of her kind. She would have us believe she is a voodoo sorceress. I tried my best to set her right, but she needs a mistress to instruct her properly and guide her with a firm hand." He paused to look over his shoulder at Gabriel, who fussed over his dogs.

  "She is barefoot." May's eyes traveled from Adele's naked toes to the Irishmen's shod feet. "Did you provide no shoes for her? It is October, nigh on winter."

  The girl glanced at her so timidly that May wanted to take her hand. She reminded her of Hannah. She looked to be the same age, and Adele's eyes betrayed a secret wisdom, as though she were privy to things forbidden to girls. May thought of how Hannah believed that she didn't know about her helping Father with his surgery. Well, this girl possessed some similar knowledge. Her gaze, though bashful, was not servile. Adele was not backward in the least.

  "She has been given a pair of shoes, to be sure," Nathan replied. "But she refuses to wear them unless snow does cover the ground. No doubt she is accustomed to going barefoot on her native island."

  "Pardon me, sir." James addressed his master. "Shall I carry Mistress Washbrook's trunk to the house?"