The Indentured Heart

by Gilbert, Morris

  They arrived in Boston at midday and deposited the couple at the home of one of his friends. “Stay as long as you like, Mr. Brainerd,” Adam had said after he carried the luggage in and stood there at the door with Molly. “I’m in no hurry at all.”

  “You have been an angel in disguise, Mr. Winslow,” Brainerd said with a smile. “Jerusha and I are in your debt.”

  “An angel?” A quick flash of humor swept across Adam’s face, and he shook his head in wonder. “I’ve been called lots of things, sir, but no one ever put that one on me! Send word to my father’s house when you’re ready.”

  Jerusha kissed Molly goodbye, and Adam turned the horses toward the outskirts. The two of them said little as they made their way through the city and down the dirt road. Finally, just before they arrived at the house, Molly said in a quiet voice, “Mr. Adam?”

  “Yes, Molly?”

  “You said Mr. Brainerd is going to die?”

  “I think he is,” Adam answered slowly.

  “He’s not afraid, is he?” Molly turned to look up at him, her thin face tense with strain. “I’d be afraid if I was going to die—wouldn’t you, Mr. Adam?”

  The simple question caught Adam off guard, and he dropped his head as he tried to find an answer. Her own honesty prevented him from making a quick, easy answer. He suddenly realized that with one simple question, she had released something he’d kept buried deep in his spirit—a fear that he’d kept caged within, like a dangerous animal locked in a dark place. Now Molly had loosed the beast. He remembered when Jonathan Edwards had preached about sinners being held over the pit of hell, like loathsome spiders, how he had quaked inwardly with a fear that stripped away every thought but terror. He had almost fallen to the ground, as so many others had done that night. Now he suddenly realized that the fear that had eaten at his heart that night had not vanished over the years. He had only managed to muffle it by shoving the issue into a dark corner of his mind.

  “I’d be afraid, too, Molly,” he said slowly.

  “But you go to church all the time—and you aren’t bad!”

  They were at the front of the house now, and as they pulled up to the iron ring driven into a huge oak, Adam shook his head, saying only, “I guess it takes more than that to satisfy God, Molly. And David Brainerd, he’s sure got something inside him that most folks don’t have!”

  Not wanting to continue the conversation, he jumped to the ground then helped her down. “You can talk about it to Rev. Edwards, Molly—” his broad mouth grew hard, and he said as they went to the porch, “And that’s what I ought to do, too!”

  They were met at the door by Charles, who grabbed at Adam and pulled him roughly inside. His bright blue eyes sparkled and he grinned as he cried, “You Indian, you! Come into the house—and you, too, young lady!” Laughing, he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then laughed louder at her rosy confusion. “I never miss a chance to kiss a pretty lady, Molly. And you’re growing up to be a beauty!”

  Adam allowed himself to be pulled into the parlor, saying little. He saw at once that Charles had grown into a different man, for there was an ease and assurance in him that many men twice his age lacked. He spoke easily of his travels, of meeting important men; and large sums of money seemed small when he talked about them. He was wearing expensive clothes, and a large diamond flashed as he cut the air with his hand to emphasize a point.

  He was charming in a way that Adam knew he could never emulate. There was an easy grace in every move, and as Charles hovered over them, pouring tea into bone china cups, he radiated charm. He let just enough drop in his narration of the venture in Virginia to let it be known that he had become a full-fledged member of Saul Howland’s firm. When he spoke of Winslow House at Northampton, he somehow made the high praise he gave to Adam for his efforts there seem—not unimportant, exactly, but at best a minor side issue.

  Finally he pulled a gold watch out of his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it, then said in surprise, “I’ve kept you too long! I’m beginning to talk like a woman!” He got up, and nodded at the study. “Better go and see Father.”

  “How is he, Charles?”

  “Well, not very well, I’m afraid.” Charles bit his lip in a worried fashion, shaking his head sadly. “His rheumatism is bad right now, you know. Mother does her best, and Aunt Rachel helps out when she can. We’ve had to move him from upstairs and make a bedroom out of the study. Look, I must go now, but we’ll have plenty of time to talk. You’ll be here for several days, won’t you?” He acknowledged Adam’s nod, then smiling down at Molly, he left the house.

  “I’ve got to go see my father, Molly,” Adam said. “Come with me.” He guided her to the door leading off the hall, knocked softly, then opened it as his father’s voice called out, “Come in!”

  Miles was sitting up in bed with a large book on his knees. A smile of pleasure crossed his lips as he looked up at his visitors. “Adam! Come in, my boy, come in—and you too—Molly, is it?”

  “How are you, sir?”

  “Why, you can see I’m sentenced to this bed!” Miles’ face was drawn with pain, but then his old eyes sparkled and he said, “I’m like an old bear chained to a log, Adam! Terrible patient! Snap at everyone.”

  Adam sat down in the chair beside his father’s bed, hiding the shock he felt at seeing his condition. Age had fallen with a heavy hand on his father: the once strong, upright frame was shrunken into a smallish bundle of bones. The eyes were sunk back in the sockets, and the skin was dry and fragile—parched like old paper.

  “Tell me about your place, Adam,” Miles urged. He pulled himself up with an effort, and for the next hour Adam told him of the progress at Northampton. Realizing how hungry his father was for talk, he went into great detail on the innovations that Seth Stuart had made, then spoke of the work he’d done at the forge. It was pathetic to see how greedy the old man was to hear of a work that he’d never see.

  Finally, Adam ran down, then grinned. “I’m getting to be quite a talker, Father! But what we’ve done is pretty small compared to what’s happening in Virginia. When Charles was leaving, he told me what great things were happening there.”

  “Hmmm, I suppose so,” Miles shrugged. “But all that’s speculation, Adam. Could all vanish like a vapor. If the French decide to flow into the Ohio Valley, we’ll lose our shirts. Now, your place, why, it’s real! Never be worth a penny less—probably a lot more. I’m proud of you, Adam. Rachel and I both are; you’ve done a fine job!”

  Adam’s tanned cheeks flushed at his father’s praise. He ducked his head, muttering, “Why, that’s kind of you, sir! Most kind!”

  “No, it’s not kind!” Miles snorted. “Just plain truth. We’ll have a meeting now that you’re here. The family has to go on, Adam, and I’ll not be around to see to it.”

  “Sir—!”

  “Don’t be foolish, son.” Miles gave an impatient shake of his head, his voice suddenly strong. “I’m old, Adam. I’ve had a good life—a good life! God has blessed me, and I’m thankful to Him.” Suddenly he reached out and said, “The one thing I’m most grateful for, I think, is that you and I have come closer. We have, haven’t we, son?”

  Adam’s throat tightened, and as he took his father’s thin hand, he could only nod, saying in a choked voice, “Yes, sir—we have!”

  The two looked into each other’s eyes, and suddenly Molly (who had been quietly watching them) saw that despite the many differences in the two men—they were somehow alike. Not in appearance, she thought, but there was the same look in their faces.

  Then Miles seemed embarrassed. He touched the book he was holding, saying quickly, as though to get away from the emotion that had risen to engulf them so unexpectedly, “I’ve been reading Grandfather’s journal quite a bit. You must have it, Adam! Here, I’ve got this one for you—best leather Franklin could find in the Colonies.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Adam murmured, taking the book. “I’ve read some of it.”

  “I
t’s more than a book, Adam. It’s a life, and it makes most of us look pretty small. The Winslows have had some pretty good men, if I have to say so myself!” The old eyes grew warm with humor, and then a light of speculation glowed as he peered at this son who was so unlike him. “I have not been a good father to you, but I have a feeling that you’re going to be the best of us, son!”

  “Oh, sir, not me!” Adam flushed, and said uneasily, “Charles—he’s the one who’ll make us all proud.”

  Miles said nothing, then lifted his head, but as he was about to speak the door opened, and his wife came in.

  “Adam, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to meet you.” His stepmother looked no older than the last time he’d seen her, but there was still a hard-edged expression around her thin lips, though her words were civil enough. “Charles told me you were here. I’ve made up the south room for you, and your servant can have the little room off the back porch.”

  It made Adam uncomfortable, the way she said your servant, referring to Molly. Technically it was true, of course, but he was so accustomed to treating her like a young sister or cousin that he never thought of her as a bound girl. He glanced quickly at Molly, noting her pale face, but she said nothing.

  “Why, that’s kind of you, ma’am,” he acknowledged, “but I thought we’d impose on Aunt Rachel.” He made up a story quickly, not wanting his father disturbed over the arrangements: “I’ll be doing quite a bit of business in town, and it’ll be more convenient to stay there. And I wanted Molly to spend some time with her, too.”

  “As you will, Adam.” She looked at Miles, who had missed none of this, and said, “Charles told me you want the family to meet tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish you’d tell me these things, Miles,” she said evenly, and there was an edge in her voice that gave Adam a hint of what his father had to put up with. The old witch! he thought.

  “Sorry, Martha,” Miles said quietly. There was something about the helpless manner in which this strong man lay that cut Adam to the heart.

  “I’ll take Molly over to Aunt Rachel’s, sir.” He got up and Molly followed him out of the room.

  They drove back to town, and when they arrived at Rachel’s house, she greeted them warmly. “Of course you can stay here! You’re always welcome. We just rattle around in this big old barn of a house.” She showed them to their rooms, and when Adam left to conduct some business, she took Molly into her own bedroom and talked with her for over an hour.

  At first Molly was withdrawn, but Rachel was adept at drawing people out, and finally the girl spoke freely. She talked about the Edwards and the Stuarts, of the way she’d learned to read and of the life on the farm. She found herself telling of her life in London—the first time she’d shared it with anyone—and most of all she told Rachel of Adam.

  Rachel sat listening, her heart going out to the young girl, who so obviously leaned on her nephew body and soul. Finally Molly seemed to realize how much of her secret self she had allowed to let slip, and she reddened and grew silent.

  Rachel did not attempt to touch her, much as she longed to draw her into her arms. She merely said, “You’ve done well, Molly. I know Adam is very proud of you—as we all are.” The praise drew the color into the girl’s fine gray eyes, and she drew herself up, giving a rare smile. “Now,” Rachel exclaimed, “let me tell you all about Adam when he was a boy! Did he ever tell you about blowing up almost a whole flock of his father’s pet chickens . . .?”

  * * *

  They all assembled in the parlor. Miles was sitting in the large chair, looking around at his family. There had been much talk of Virginia, the fur trade, the danger of French invasion. Adam had given a brief report on the farm in Northampton, with a touch of heat in the discussion between Saul and Miles concerning some future developments. Saul wanted to spread out, buy more land in Virginia. “This country is filled up, Miles!” he exclaimed. “Can’t make a profit unless there’s room to grow.”

  “You can lose your shirt, though!” Miles snapped.

  “But, sir, don’t you think it’s important to move with the times?” Charles spread his hands eloquently, a smooth persuasion in his whole manner, one which most had found difficult to deny. “After all, Adam’s farm can never get much larger—while those tracts on the Ohio, why, they’ll be worth a fortune someday!”

  “We’ve not seen any great profit yet, Charles,” Rachel said quietly. “Your expenses, as a matter of fact, have been so high lately that it has set the project back considerably.”

  Charles suddenly turned pale, and Adam saw a streak of raw anger flash in his eyes; however, he mastered it, saying smoothly, “You’re correct, Aunt Rachel. I stand rebuked, but let’s look to the future.”

  Adam looked at the faces around the room, and realized suddenly that tension was in the building. Charles, he sensed, had done something that had disturbed the rest of them, but they did not speak of it again.

  Finally Miles said, “Some fools wait until they die to let their family know what they intend to do with their property—but I’m not one of them!”

  His words cast a silence over the room, and he grinned, adding, “Well, that got your attention, didn’t it! But, there’ll be no surprises in my will.” He looked at his wife, who was staring at him suddenly with suspicion, and said, “It’s a man’s duty to see to his wife, and I have done that. William, because of his position in the church, will receive a cash endowment rather than property. Mercy will be given a generous trust fund and a suitable dowry. The rest of the property will be evenly divided between my other two sons.”

  Adam glanced at the faces around the room, and even as shock ran through him he thought, Charles is shocked—he expected more! But the face of his brother was a smooth mask. Charles smiled easily, saying, “Why, that’s just as it should be, eh, Adam?”

  “Yes, it is!” Rachel said strongly. She nodded at her brother, saying, “I approve, Miles. You always did have good judgment.”

  Then suddenly it was over. After the goodbyes Adam drove his aunt back to her house. It was quiet, and the cries of the owls sounded ghostly as he guided the buggy down the road.

  “What did Charles do, Aunt Rachel?” Adam asked finally.

  “Nothing very admirable.” Rachel paused for so long that Adam thought she was finished, but then she added wearily, “Charles didn’t show much originality in sowing his wild oats, Adam. Gambling, drinking—and a very large sum went to a young woman who was quite expert in such things!”

  Adam stared ahead, unable to accept what he was hearing. Finally he shook his head, asking, “Does Father know all this?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “It’s a wonder it didn’t kill him! Charles has always been his fondest hope.”

  “It did nearly kill him—but it made him look more closely at his other son, so it wasn’t all bad.”

  “I’m afraid they don’t like it—my getting a half interest.”

  “No. And I want to warn you, be very careful in your dealings with Charles, and with Saul, too! My son is a good man, but he bends things to get his own way.”

  “No, you’re wrong about that, Aunt Rachel. I trust them to do the right thing.”

  “Well, let me be a little suspicious,” Rachel said firmly. Then she changed the subject. “I like your Molly. She’s going to be a beautiful woman. And she’s bright, too.”

  “She’s all of that!” Adam was glad she liked Molly, and he went on recounting the girl’s good points the rest of the way home.

  When Rachel repeated some of those things to Molly the next day, it brought a glow to her cheeks.

  “But, he’ll always think of me as a bound girl,” she said with a droop in her shoulders. “And he likes small girls—like Mary Edwards—not a big old thing like me!”

  “Adam Winslow is a man, and therefore sometimes quite blind!” Rachel said pertly. Then she smiled and patted Molly on the cheek, and her eyes looked amazingly young in her withered face as sh
e whispered, “One day, Molly, he’ll open his eyes and see what I see!”

  When Adam got home that night, he was taken aback when Rachel said with no warning whatsoever: “Adam Winslow—you can make pretty things, but you’re blind as a bat!” She stalked off, her back rigid, and Adam stood there staring at her helplessly.

  “I think Aunt Rachel’s getting old,” he said finally.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A VALENTINE FOR MOLLY

  For a week Adam and Molly stayed with Rachel, and during that time the girl learned more about the Winslows than Adam himself knew. When Martha was called away to visit her sister in Philadelphia, Rachel came to the country to take care of Miles. Adam was gone a good deal of the time working with a gunsmith named Simms, but Molly accompanied Rachel. There were plenty of servants to do the menial work, so Rachel spent a great deal of time in the sick man’s room.

  Miles and Rachel had not been together much in recent years, and with Martha gone, they enjoyed going back over the old days. When Rachel left Molly there alone, Miles often asked her to read from Gilbert Winslow’s journal, and all through the long afternoons she lived the adventure of Gilbert Winslow and his odyssey on the Mayflower.

  Miles lay there watching Molly’s eyes widen as she read of his grandfather’s duel with Lord Roth, his romance with Lady Cecily North, and his adventures with the intrepid band that planted Plymouth so long ago. “Was Lady North really in love with your grandfather, Mr. Winslow?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I think she must have been, Molly. She sailed all the way from England to America to find him.”

  “And then he fell in love with a poor girl and married her?”

  Miles smiled at her. “Sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it, Molly? But my father told me many times how his mother—who was Humility Cooper, you know—told him she never had a thought that Gilbert would turn from a wealthy and beautiful woman to marry her.”