I won't join her on the other side. She went to heaven, but my sin will banish me to hell. I shall never be with her again, not in this world, nor in the next.
Hannah bore down and bellowed. The stranger's face hovered above hers. Please let this woman give her one word of kindness and hope. One scrap. May had never been this wretched. She'd had Adele.
"Push, or the pain never end. Push." The woman seized her shoulders and pressed her up against the bed frame.
But she could never push hard enough. The torment just went on and on. Something stretched her so wide that she tore. The woman's big hands disappeared between Hannah's thighs. She kept shouting at her to push, push, push. Hannah cried as the woman pulled the misshapen thing out of her. It was covered in blood, in white and yellow muck. She closed her eyes and thought of the broken cradle filled with stained rags. A cold blue baby buried in the dirt.
"Now you have a son. Jesus have mercy on you both."
She opened her eyes to see the midwife cutting the cord. Hannah moved her arms toward the bloody wriggling mass. The woman pulled him up by his feet and slapped him until he wailed.
Hannah's eyes moved around the dark room. "Where is Gabriel? Where is my husband?" She had no right to call him that, but the word slipped from her before she could stop herself.
The woman muttered under her breath before turning to Hannah. "Why, of all men, you choose him?"
Silenced, Hannah could only shake her head.
"Once I meet your sister, May. Everyone love her but him. He break her spirit. Now they say he kill her."
Hearing those words from the woman who had pulled the baby from between her thighs was more devastating than any rumor voiced by Richard Banham. The midwife regarded her with such pity, as though she had been beguiled by the devil himself.
At that, the woman took the baby to the other side of the room where Hannah couldn't see him. She heard the sound of water splashing in a bowl.
"What are you doing? Bring me my baby. I want to hold my baby." It was hard to get the words out of her raw throat.
"You should give the child away," the midwife said, "to decent folk who fear the Lord." She washed the baby and put him somewhere out of Hannah's sight. Then the midwife returned to the bed, closed her fist around the cut cord still lying on Hannah's thigh, and pulled. "Now you push." She drew a bloody sac from between her legs. Afterward she pressed a cup to Hannah's lips, a decoction of herbs that sent her falling into a muffled sleep.
***
She dreamt that someone was pushing a pillow over her face, holding it down until she couldn't breathe. Voices broke through the fog. The midwife, Gabriel, and another man were shouting, their words fuzzy and indistinct. Gabriel's rage left her in a cold terror.
She couldn't see anything beyond the curtains that enclosed the bed. Somewhere the baby cried feebly. She struggled to get up, but the fog clutched her, dragging her down. It must have been powerful physick the woman had given her. Soon she left her body behind and traveled through the air, weightless as a ghost. She tried to find her baby, but a powerful wind sucked her in its current, dragging her back across the ocean. She was in her father's house, except it had grown bigger in her absence, sprouting doors, rooms, corridors, staircases, entire wings that had never been there before. It was night. A draft blew out her candle as she wandered, wondering if she would ever find her way back to the daylight world.
***
"Hannah."
Sun shone on her face. Someone had drawn back the bed curtains. Someone stroked her unwashed hair. Her eyes focused on Gabriel's drawn face, his red-rimmed eyes. When he kissed her dry lips, a tremor went through her. She remembered the shouting—or had she only dreamt that?
She wanted to ask him where the baby was, but her lips were too numb to form words. Her throat was too dry. Gathering her strength, she lifted her head from the pillow, but Gabriel pushed her back down.
"You must rest."
She wet her lips with her swollen tongue. "The baby."
"The baby is fine," he said. "We have a fine son."
He raised a cup to her lips. She shook her head, but he wouldn't take it away.
"Hannah, you must drink."
He tipped it into her mouth. To her relief, it was pure water, no more of the herbal brew that had turned her into a wandering ghost. She drank it down.
"Bring him to me," she said hoarsely.
"You're too weak. Just rest. Don't you worry about the baby. You must sleep."
"Bring him to me." Then she stopped short. "Or did they take him away?"
Gabriel blanched. "No one can take him away, Hannah. He's ours."
Cold tears blurred her eyes. "She said they would take him away and give him to decent people."
"She said that to you? What kind of fiend would torment you like that when you were so helpless?" He tried to stroke her hair, but she shrank from his touch.
"The baby," she said. "I want my baby."
He got up and crossed the room. She noticed that she lay on rough sacking cloth. Someone had laid sacking beneath her to spare the feather mattress. Shuddering from the pain, she forced herself into a sitting position. Now she could see the cradle by the hearth. How could he leave the wooden cradle so close to the flames?
"Bring him to me," she snapped.
"Here he is." Gabriel showed her the blanket-wrapped bundle with the tiny pink face. Hannah tried to take him, but he pulled the baby out of her reach just as the midwife had done. "Lie back against the pillow," he said, "and I will give him to you."
At last she held him and could gaze into his unfocused eyes. His nose was so delicate, like a little shell. She reached into the swaddling and pulled out his hand, counting his fingers. She kissed his downy head. His skull wasn't misshapen at all, as she had first thought. He was clean and rosy, no blood on him. She cradled him so she could feel his warm snuffling breath on her neck.
"We are a family." Gabriel tried to kiss her, but she twisted her head so that his lips grazed her ear.
Why, of all men, you choose him? The midwife's voice would not leave her head. If he hadn't killed May, had he broken her? In how many different ways might he have broken her?
"A healthy son and a safe birth." He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away. "Are you not happy, Hannah?"
She couldn't bear to look at him, only at the baby. She tried to drown herself in those blue eyes that knew nothing of harm or betrayal.
Gabriel sighed. "You are tired."
He returned a while later with a bowl of broth, which she drank down obediently. She needed her strength; if she did not survive, the baby would die, too. Gabriel's eyes never left her face, but she refused to look at him. The only way she could live with her terror and her betrayal of May was by pouring her entire attention on the baby.
"You're white as a ghost, Hannah. That snake-tongued harpy must have frightened you. What else did she say?" When she didn't answer, he let out his breath. "Mayhap you are angry that I left you alone. I brought them back with me with as much speed as I could, but the river was frozen. I went down on foot, and we came back on horseback. But all is well now. You and the baby are well."
When the broth was finished, she sank into the bedclothes with her son. Stroking his face, she decided to name him Daniel, after Father.
"They are gone now," said Gabriel. "I hope we never have to see them again."
The baby snuffled against her chest. Turning her back to Gabriel, she opened her shift and drew the baby to her breast.
"The harpy said three days would pass before the first milk came."
Hannah ignored him. What did he know of such things? He hadn't been able to keep May and her baby alive. It took some time. She had seen women nursing babies on the ship. They had made it look so easy. But what if he didn't latch on to her? Finally the baby began to suckle, drawing a clear fluid from her breast. His greedy sucking allowed her to hope. He would be strong. She wouldn't lose him after a week. If she was a ruined
girl who had betrayed her sister, then at least she had done one good thing. At least she had given life to Daniel. Closing her eyes, she curled her body around his.
"Leave us," she told Gabriel.
He stepped away and closed the curtains. Then she was alone in a warm cocoon with her baby.
She was no longer the old Hannah but a mother animal whose torn body leaked milk and blood. In bed with the curtains drawn against the cold, she lived in twilight. Day and night were all the same to her. She dozed a few hours, only to awaken to Daniel's cry, his tug on her body. His flesh was her flesh. When she held him, she lost track of where her skin ended and his began. When she counted his fingers and toes, she marveled that he had once fitted inside her body and now lived as a separate being. He was a part of her and yet he was his own. She loved him with a ferocity that made her ache. Sleeping with him in her arms, she couldn't bear the thought of anyone taking him away from her again.
***
She awoke to discover her arms were empty. Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed and held little Daniel, looking down at him while the baby stared up with his blue eyes. Something moved over Gabriel's face. He was utterly absorbed in his examination of the child, concentrating on him as though Hannah were no longer there.
"What are you doing?" The words slipped from her throat in a panicked gush. What was that look he was giving her son?
"His hair will be red." Gabriel spoke in a slow, perplexed voice.
It was true—shrill red fuzz already covered Daniel's head.
Hannah edged closer. "He takes after me." Without another word, she wrested the baby from him.
Not budging from his perch on the bed, Gabriel watched her sink into the covers with Daniel. The look in his eyes, the graves by the river. As though sensing her fear, the baby cried. Bracing herself, she met Gabriel's eyes, staring him down. He glanced away and ran his hand over his face.
***
The following morning, after Gabriel had left to check his traps, Hannah crawled out of bed. She poured the creek water he had fetched into the kettle and heated it over the fire. With her last precious sliver of soap, she lathered her body and hair. Father said bathing in winter was courting death, but she couldn't bear the smell of her body any longer. She stank like a sickbed. Shivering over the wash pan, she scrubbed herself with a cloth, then rinsed out her soapy hair. All the while, Daniel lay nestled in her bed. She wouldn't think of putting him in that unlucky cradle.
After drying herself, she put on a clean shift and combed out her hair in front of the fire. When Daniel cried, she nursed him in the chair with the carved backrest, which she had never sat in before. She had never seen Gabriel using the chair either. He had told her it had been his father's chair, the master's chair, where no one else was allowed to sit. The backrest made nursing more comfortable. Her milk flowed easily now, her son's appetite summoning nourishment from her body. Yes, he would live. Stroking the red fuzz on his head, she blinked away tears. She didn't have the luxury of fear anymore. She would have to be strong, stronger than she had ever been.
When he was fed and sated, she tucked him back into the bed, then went to the chest of drawers. The top drawer contained her green cotton dress. It was more of a summer dress, from the weight of the fabric, but her old skirt and bodice had worn down to rags. Although her belly had shrunk back since the birth, there was a slackness in her abdomen that hadn't been there before. She was half afraid she wouldn't fit inside her new dress. The fabric was tight around her ribcage and belly, tighter still around her swollen breasts, but the snugness held her up, pulled her loose flesh together to fortify her.
It seemed impossible that she had once imagined dancing with Gabriel in this dress. Sweeping Daniel in her arms, she turned and swirled with him, her strong healthy boy. She would give her life to ensure that he outlived her and Gabriel both.
Having used all the water in the house for washing, she melted clean snow in the kettle and let it cool. Taking out the Book of Common Prayer, she laid it open on the table.
"I baptize thee in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." She dipped her finger in the tepid water and traced a cross on his forehead. She prayed that God would smile upon her child. His soul was innocent and unstained, even if his parents were wretched and lost.
25. Join the Dance
May and Gabriel
December 25, 1689
AFTER THE ENDLESS Bible reading, prayers, and hymns, and after the feast of wild turkey stuffed with apples and walnuts, Peter and Finn pushed the benches against the walls. James and Michael folded the trestle table. Once the floor was cleared, Jack played a jig on his wooden whistle with Tom accompanying him on the spoons, slapping them against his thigh. Reclining in his chair, Nathan smiled expansively and raised his hand as though in benediction. "Ah, let there be music. Let there be joy."
In recent weeks, he had recovered his health and high spirits. It seemed that the prospect of future grandchildren had aided his recovery. May tried not to blush when he peered hopefully at her waistline.
"I never imagined such merriment, sir," she said, pouring him another mug of cider.
The Irishmen performed the dances of their country, showing off their fancy footwork. Nathan clapped in rhythm, as did May, seated beside Gabriel, who did not clap along. His gaze was heavy-lidded. It appeared he had been forced to watch this spectacle too often. She wished she knew what to make of his moods. For about three weeks he had been happy and affectionate, doting on her, but lately he had gone sullen. Still, he had given her a pair of doeskin slippers, soft as butter on her feet. She tried to catch his eye and make him smile, but his gloom was too much for her to bear on this of all days. So she sidled over to Adele.
The girl fingered May's sleeve, marveling over the delicate embroidery. For Christmas, May had decided to wear her wedding gown, the finest thing she possessed. Adele had threaded green ribbons in her hair and curled her locks with iron tongs. The girl wore a band of dark gold velvet around her throat. May had found the velvet ribbon in her trunk. No doubt Hannah had tucked it in as a surprise, but the color suited Adele better. Instead of her usual workaday smock, Adele wore May's russet Sunday gown from home. They had taken in the seams and shortened the hem. The dress transformed Adele from a child to a young woman, the fitted bodice showing off her slenderness. Adele kept looking down, smoothing the skirt with her hands. May imagined how the full skirt would swirl out if Adele allowed one of the men to give her a turn around the floor.
"Do you dance?" she asked.
Adele shook her head.
Nathan laughed. "In this house only the men have ever danced. Adele refused every invitation."
The girl did not smile.
May touched her hand protectively. "Leave her in peace, sir." She whispered in Adele's ear. "But the music is cheerful, do you not think?"
She clapped her hands to the thunder of dancing feet. It was intoxicating to watch the men leap so high that their heads nearly touched the ceiling. They, too, were decked out in their best—Nathan had given them their new clothes for the coming year. She and Adele had sat up late stitching the breeches and shirts. Of all the dancers, James was the most graceful and jumped the highest. His eyes kept meeting May's. She had to blink and look down to her lap lest she give herself away.
Glowing with exertion, he stepped forward and bowed. "Will you dance, Mistress Washbrook?"
Did he presume too much? She turned to her husband. "Mayhap Master Gabriel wishes to claim the first dance."
Before the boy could protest, she pulled him to his feet. They had a turn around the floor, her steps weightless in the new slippers, but Gabriel dragged his feet like an old gelding. Had no one ever taught him to dance a simple reel? "This way," she tried to instruct him, but it was hopeless. When the song ended, he threw himself back on the bench and looked as miserable as ever. Did he expect her to placate him by forgoing the dance altogether? They had little enough festivity in this godforsake
n place. She certainly wasn't going to allow him to spoil her Christmas.
When in a pleasant temper, Gabriel could be so sweet, and as long as he remained sweet, she enjoyed giving him pleasure. It was a comfort, after all, to share a bed with another body, to stroke his smooth chest in the dark, feel his heart beneath her hand. But her husband did not move her the way James did. If she wanted to conceive a child, she needed a lover who could stir her passion to its depths. A man and not a boy. She would not allow herself the humiliation of a barren marriage.
Her duty to her husband put behind her, she let James take her hand. Tom played a fast tune. The room blurred as James swung her in his arms until she was weak with laughter. How she longed for him. In dark midwinter with snow on the ground, it was difficult to find a place for their trysts. Lately they met in the tobacco barn. Afraid that someone might burst in, they had taken their privacy by lying together in an empty hogshead. Dancing with him, she struggled not to kiss him with her cider-sweet mouth.
Beaming at them both, Nathan clapped to the tune, which went faster and faster until she was too dizzy to stand. James's arm around her was the only thing that kept her upright as she panted.
"Not fair to keep the lady to yourself." Patrick took her hands, his eyes traveling over her bosom. In the wild dance, she had lost her neckcloth. While they danced to a slower tune, he gripped her too tightly, but she was too happy to care. Then Peter cut in. Since she liked him better than Patrick, she smiled and watched the color spread over his cheeks.
"Happy Christmas, Mistress Washbrook," he stammered. Laughing, she looked at Nathan. "Do you wish to put a stop to this, sir?"
"Christmas only comes once a year," he replied, raising his cider mug. "For one night, let us be merry."
After she had danced with Peter, James claimed her again. He turned her around and around. As they spun, the faces of those watching seemed curiously disembodied. Nathan grinned and drank his cider. Adele gazed at her with solemn eyes. Then Finn led her in a country jig. Clumsier than his brother James, he kept stepping on her feet. She danced with James, Peter, and Michael in turn until her hair came loose from its ribbons and combs. When Patrick tried to cut in, she pulled away and called for James.
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