For a moment it looked as though speech had deserted him. "If you bid me to leave, Mistress Powers, I must obey, but I do so with great reluctance. Think well on my words. Do you not put yourself in peril?"
Her words came out in a fervent rush. "Gabriel Washbrook is the kindest, gentlest man I have ever known. He could harm no one."
"So kind and gentle that he leaves you alone in the wilderness?" Banham shook his head.
Hannah clutched the soft tufts of grass that covered May's grave. "I have given you my last word."
"I see I cannot change your mind." He looked away from her, toward the rushing water. "But should you need to flee this place, follow the river through the forest. On foot it might take you a day's steady walking. We are hospitable people and welcome visitors. We turn no one away." At that, he gestured to his men and led them back to their horses. She remained on the grave until the forest swallowed them.
***
The night after Richard Banham's visit, the skies clouded over and burst. Rain lashed the window. A chill penetrated the chinks in the walls. Furs drawn over her, Hannah huddled in bed and prayed that Gabriel had found shelter. Let him come safely home to me. But the more she prayed, the more confused she became. Curling her body tight as a fern frond, arms and knees drawn around her belly, she wondered if she had made a brave stand that day, or if she had just been a fool. Would Richard Banham ride fifteen miles through the forest merely to slander Gabriel? Joan used to say that the devil could take many forms and handsome guises. But would Bessie fawn at the devil's feet? Dogs were wiser than humans in sensing good or evil in a person.
Granted, Richard Banham was no devil, but surely his words against Gabriel were touched and tainted by his father's designs on Gabriel's land. Still, Banham's words kept churning in her head. And his desire to open May's grave and see whether her corpse bore evidence of murder. What if she had permitted him?
Hannah buried her face in the furs. Why had Gabriel made her swear a pact not to speak her sister's name? Did your own husband kill you, May? Am I carrying your murderer's child?
***
When she went to fetch water the next morning, the creek seemed to whisper in her sister's voice, urging her to be bold, hike up her skirts, charge through the water and into the forest beyond where Gabriel had forbidden her to go. The notion came to her that the truth would be revealed only if she could summon the courage to cross to the other side.
The creek was swollen with rain, which made her way difficult, but she waded through, then clambered up the steep muddy bank. Once she entered the forest, she was dumbstruck. Pine, birch, oak, and ash rose over one hundred feet in the sky, their trunks so massive that they would break Gabriel's ax. She recalled the story he had told her of how the Indians took months to fell a single tree, first starting a slow fire, which burned in a ring around the base of the trunk.
The woods around the house and garden were thinned out, with saplings and underbrush growing among the dead stumps, but here the trees were tall and straight, with no low-hanging branches. A man might ride through the forest on a tall horse without having to duck his head.
Heart beating fast, she moved over the mossy ground. Gabriel's traps could be anywhere. She remembered when he had let her hold the bear trap. How could she forget those iron teeth? If she stepped in one, it would snap her leg in half, and then she would die a slow death of bleeding.
Bounding footsteps rocked the ground. She cried out, only to see Bessie charging toward her. The dog barked and jumped on her, muddying her skirt. Hannah bent down to pet her. Then she gathered herself together and resolutely set off, not knowing what she hoped to find. Despite her fears, the forest filled her with peace. Walking in the shadows of those massive trees purified her, wiping away the stain Richard Banham had left. She arched her neck to view the fluttering canopy of gold and red leaves far above her head. Feeling like a child again, she danced in a circle, Bessie nipping at her heels. Gabriel had carved his name on several of the smooth beech trunks, as if to mark these woods as his domain, the vast chamber reserved for him and his wild things.
Why had he excluded her from this beautiful place? Well, she wouldn't allow him to forbid her anymore. Echoing birdcalls drew her in deeper. Bessie sprinted off ahead, then looked back and wagged her tail, inviting her to follow. Hannah sprinted after her, filling her lungs with the pure air.
Bessie led her a few hundred yards, then stopped and barked, her whole body quivering. Hannah stroked the dog's head. "What is it?"
Then she caught the reek of feces, old blood, and rotting flesh. Flies swarmed through the air, a few landing on her face. She slapped them away. She and Bessie stood on the lip of a shallow ravine. On the bottom lay the trap, which held a severed animal paw in its steel jaws. The animal had gnawed through its leg to free itself. A trail of congealed blood led to a dead lynx. She wondered how long it had lain there. Flies gorged themselves on the decay. A few crows picked at the bloody stump.
Hannah attempted to walk away when her knees buckled, pitching her face-first on the ground. She pulled herself up and vomited, thinking of the furs Gabriel had taken to trade, the furs that warmed her on cold nights. If Gabriel were here, he would not be retching. He would be in his element—this was what he did. He would calmly walk down the ravine, take out his skinning knife, and go to work. He would take the pelt and leave the rotting flesh behind for the crows and wolverines. After cleaning the blood off the fur and tanning the hide, he would present it to her. "Spotted lynx," he would say, inviting her to stroke it, and she would tell him how beautiful it was. She would close her eyes and rub her cheek against it.
Bessie shoved her muzzle in Hannah's face, whining softly. Hannah wiped her mouth on her fist, then hugged the dog.
"Come on, girl," she said. Bessie led her back.
21. Cold Clay
May and Gabriel
November 15, 1689
NOVEMBER WAS THE MONTH of slaughter. Adele lit a bonfire outdoors, over which a cauldron of water seethed. Warming her hands in the rising steam, May watched Peter and Jack hold a struggling pig while James cut its throat. Blood laced James's shirt, spattered his face and bright hair. The squealing was frightful, yet she would not allow herself to look away. She could no longer live in ignorance of such things. At home Joan had kept a swine in the garden, fattening it over the summer, then butchering it in autumn. Joan had done it herself, letting May spin and stitch like a lady, sparing her the bloody work. But now Adele was going to teach her how to cut a pig apart. If Nathan ever granted Adele her freedom, the task would fall on May as mistress of the house.
Releasing the animal into the dark red pool pouring from its gash, James stood up, red blade in hand. Blood ran down his face. May took the clout from her waistband.
"Here." She handed him the clout and stood beside him while he wiped himself clean.
"I thank you, mistress."
She had learned that his given name was Seamus. The Irishmen had names in their own language; Nathan had given English names to all except Finn, James's younger brother. Patrick was Padraig, Jack was Sean, Tom was Tomas, Peter was Peadar, Michael's name in his own tongue was pronounced Mee-hal. Nathan had wanted to change Finn's name to Fred, but no one would call him that. On the last warm day of that year, May had by chance seen young Finn swimming naked in the river. How he had blushed before diving deep beneath the water to hide his embarrassment. Later she had teased him, saying they called him Finn on account of his graceful swimming.
While she, Adele, and the Irishmen were busy with the pig slaughter, Gabriel was off with his dogs, checking his traps. May thought he was shirking his duties, but James said it was better to have him take his dogs far away so they wouldn't go into a frenzy over the fresh meat. Nathan lay in bed, weak from ague. Last night May had laid compresses on him and made him drink a decoction of willow bark.
Patrick and Finn tied the stuck pig's hind legs together and hung the animal upside down on a pole stretched betw
een two trees. Finn placed a bucket beneath the pig to catch the remaining blood.
Adele pointed to another pig, which had been hanging upside down for over an hour. "This one, he is ready. Bring him to the fire."
Tom and Michael each took one end of the pole, carried the pig to the cauldron, and plunged it into the boiling water. After a few minutes, they pulled it out and hung it back up.
Adele touched her arm. "You watch, May. I will teach you." The girl worked over the hide with rosin to strip off the hair. Then she took the long knife from James. "Fetch me the bowl," she told May.
When May returned with the wooden bowl and set it beneath the pig, Adele slit the animal's belly. May's hands twitched as the intestines tumbled out in a slimy mass. The smell was enough to make her retch.
"Later we wash them," Adele said, "for to make the saucisse." Bent over the knot of guts, she stirred them with a long stick. Her face was intent, as though she saw something in that revolting mess that no one else could. May wondered if she could read auguries.
"Please bring me another bowl," Adele said at last.
May fetched it. Adele cut out the pig's heart, kidneys, liver, and lungs. "We will bake them in pie with épices and onions," Adele said, as calmly as if she were discussing the weather, even though she held the raw heart in her palm. Joan would dearly admire this girl. And you must become more like Adele, Joan would tell her, if you are to survive in this place.
Adele dangled the pig's bladder in her hand. "On my island, the children they play with this. They blow it up with air." She blew into her cheeks, making them balloon. Her expression was so comical, May had to laugh.
She watched Adele cut away the best joints of meat for roasting that night. May brought another bowl for the scrap meat and the pig's head, which Patrick had sawed off. May cut off the tail and front feet. Finally Adele skinned the animal. The sides of pork went into the barrel of brine the men brought. The skin was left for Gabriel to tan.
"No one goes hungry in winter," Adele said. "This night we cook a big feast. Later we will take some pork from the barrel and hang it in the chimney for to smoke. Then we will have bacon." Fifteen years old, she spoke with the pride of an efficient housewife. May doubted that she herself would ever be as competent. She added wood to the fire before they plunged the next pig into the boiling water. There were still five more pigs to dress.
When they raised the swine out of the cauldron and hung it up, Adele handed May the rosin to strip off the hairs. "This time you try. I will go now to the creek for to wash out these." She picked up the bowl of intestines.
"Wait," May said. "I have heard that you can work magic." She smoothed her hands over her apron to hide her trepidation.
Adele lowered her voice. "Master Washbrook says if I talk of such things, I will get the whip."
"Oh, Adele." May touched her shoulder. "I would never betray you, I swear. My father had a servant named Joan. She was like a mother to me. In faith, I think you are like her. She was wise, and you are wise, too. She could read the future from a pack of cards." May took her clout and wiped the pig's blood from Adele's face. "I do wish to know my future." She laughed. "To know if I have a future."
Adele looked closely at May. "You are not happy here." Eyes shining with sympathy, she took May's hand. If she were any other girl, May thought she would have burst into tears and allowed Adele to comfort her. But she didn't cry, just hung her head. A few yards away the Irishmen sang to drown out the death squeals of another pig. They would not hear her confession.
"He does not care for me, Adele." Gabriel had never forgiven her for the way she had laughed at him on their first conjugal night. Loneliness devoured her. She had come to this shore with a head full of dreams of her new life, and here she was, wed to a boy who hated her. "Mayhap you will think me mad or wicked or both, but pray, can you not charm Master Gabriel into loving me? To make us care for one another as we should?" There was a tremor in her voice, but she chased it away with a hollow laugh.
Adele flashed her a warning look, eyes darting off to the side. May turned to see Nathan leaning on his walking stick. His face was drawn, his skin yellow with ague.
"Sir." The rosin fell from May's hand. "You do not look well. Should you not be abed?" How much had he overheard?
"I go to the creek." Adele snatched the bowl of intestines and hurried away.
May kneaded her bloodstained clout.
"I thought the air would do me good," said Nathan. "But I return now to the house. I only ask that you walk with me, May." He looked troubled. "I fear you and I must speak in private."
The moment has come. He would inform her that he had no choice but to send her back—a parcel of rejected goods. Father's ashen face paraded before her. Hannah's uncomprehending tears. You've let us down, May. She struggled to think what she would tell them, how she could beg their forgiveness for her ultimate failure. The smell of fresh meat and offal made her queasy. Everything reeked of death. But when Nathan held out his arm, she took it. He looked so weak, as though his walking stick could barely keep him upright.
"Let us go slowly, sir," she told him. "Take small steps. We may rest as often as you wish."
"Young Adele spoke the truth," he said. "You do look dreadfully unhappy. I fear that our narrow world has disappointed you."
May kept her eyes on the path in front of them. "We must all bear the travails God gives us, sir."
"I fear my son gives you no affection."
She wanted to dart into the bushes so he wouldn't see her face. After her first night with Gabriel, Nathan had returned to his own bed, only a yard away from their marriage bed. Had he spent the past five weeks listening with pricked ears for amorous rustlings behind the closed curtains?
To Nathan, she said, "The boy is yet young. Mayhap in time he will grow used to me."
Nathan clutched her arm. "May I tell you something, dear, that I have told no other living soul?"
"I am honored, sir, that you think me worthy of such a confidence." Her heart thudded as the premonition fell over her like a net. Deep down, she wanted to beg him not to tell her.
"Last night in my fever," he said, "I did dream of cold clay. You know, I think, what that portends."
"Pray do not speak of such things, sir. May God grant you many more years."
"In faith, none of us know how many days we have upon this earth." He spoke without self-pity. "This plantation may not be much, a mere smallholding compared to the Banhams' vast estate, but my dearest wish is that it should not die with me. None of the Washbrooks in England ever owned an acre. You may think I am too proud, but how I wish my descendants might transform this wilderness into a bower of abundance. I cannot entrust Gabriel to carry on for me when I am gone. The boy is too dreamy. At least I may thank God that my son has a strong wife." He cast her a rueful smile.
"Sir, you flatter me. I fear I am not as strong as you think."
"You are," he insisted. "I saw it from our first meeting. When your temper rises, steel shines in your eyes. I think you were descended from some barbaric warrior queen."
In spite of herself, May laughed.
"Forgive me," he said, "for speaking so plainly, but you would make me the happiest man on earth if you gave me a grandchild before I died."
"We must be patient. Gabriel needs more time."
"Forget Gabriel." Nathan's voice chilled her.
May stumbled over a tree root. "What do you say, sir?"
"You are a handsome woman. Any young man would be overjoyed to receive your favor."
"Sir..."
"Your father did write to me in all honesty of your history ere you came to join us here."
She pulled her arm away from him. "Sir, do you seek to shame me?"
Clinging to his walking stick to keep his balance, he managed to smile. "On the contrary, that is why I chose you. Better your blood should run hot than cold like my son's."
He looked so feeble that May took his arm again. "I do not understand."
/>
"Sometimes I believe that Gabriel is no son of mine, but a changeling."
"You treat him with no excess of kindness, sir."
"You think me harsh?" He looked unbearably sad. "I mean well for the boy, I do. He is so like his late mother. Clever as a fox, but willful and stubborn, and a loner at heart. Someone has to toughen him up, prepare him to be master when I am gone. Yet when I try to guide him, he defies me at every turn."
They had reached the porch steps. She helped Nathan clamber up, then opened the door for him. "Get you straight to bed."
Instead he sat in his carved chair at the head of the table. "Would you bring me my Bible, dear?"
She brought it to him. "Anon I must return and help Adele before the meat rots."
"And beg her to work witchcraft over the severed pig's head?" Before she could walk away, he clasped her hand. "Pray sit with me.
Just for a while."
Letting out her breath, she sat.
"Speak the truth to me, dear, and I will speak the truth to you. I have seen looks pass between you and James."
"Sir." She broke into a sweat, scalp itching beneath her linen cap. Her bodice, laced too tightly, chafed against her breasts.
"He is so young and handsome." Nathan's voice dwindled to a whisper. "How could you not desire him?" Head bowed over the Bible, he looked plaintive and vulnerable, no longer the master of them all but a soul snared, in thrall to a desire that he could neither confess nor banish. May had not failed to notice the way he gazed at James, never quite able to mask his longing. She could not see his eyes, only his tears splashing down on the calfskin Bible cover. Raising her hand, she stroked the back of his neck.
"Bless you," he said. "You are a dear child."
They sat a while in silence. It was a curious comfort that she and her father-in-law were both impure, each in their own way. Their secrets united them.
At last Nathan looked up from the Bible. "James has not had a woman in three years. I know he desires you."
May covered her face. "How can you speak to me like that?"
The Vanishing Point Page 19
