The New England: ROMANCE Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris

  She lifted the edge of the linens and smiled. A feather tick and two straw ticks rested on the taut ropes that crisscrossed the wooden frame. She wondered if Jack had built the bed.

  She let the hearth in the bedchamber cool but started her kitchen fire. Next she took the bucket and opened the door. Looking out at the fresh, early summer morning, she was almost able to chide herself for her panic in the night.

  “It’s a very neat farm you have, Goody Hunter,” she told herself. She wanted to smile at that, but her lips trembled.

  Lucy strode toward the well, determined not to break down again. She was a true housewife now, and she had chores to do.

  The sheep were taking care of themselves in the pasture, but she knew she couldn’t leave them out every night. They would make tempting morsels for wildcats and wolves. She would have to pen them each evening.

  She drew a bucket of water and put the teakettle and a portion of cornmeal on to simmer over the fire, then headed with resolve toward the pole barn.

  One of the oxen lowed as she opened the door.

  “Good morning,” she said, trying to sound confident. She would lead Tryphenia and the calf out first, for practice.

  “Hello.” The deep voice startled her, and she turned in the barn door, her pulse racing as she looked toward the lane. Jack’s nearest neighbor was ambling toward her.

  “Goodman Ellis, you frightened me.”

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Hamblin. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Lucy swallowed hard and stepped toward him. “I was going to try to turn the cattle out.”

  “Allow me to do that.” He eyed her with frank curiosity.

  Lucy wondered if she should just blurt out her new state. Instead, she asked, “Is your wife well?”

  Samuel grinned. “She’s as fit as can be expected. We’ve a new little lady at our house.”

  She smiled. “A girl! Betsy and Ann must be pleased.”

  “Dreadful happy.”

  “My mother, be she still at your house?”

  “Aye. She said she would stay the day if need be, but I told her she could go as soon as I …” He frowned. “I don’t mean to pry, miss, but …”

  Lucy tried to smile, but the strain was too much for her. “I … I saw Jack last night, sir. He … he asked me …”

  “Surely he didn’t ask you to come do his farm work?”

  “Not exactly.” Lucy bit her lip. “He asked me to marry him. I am his wife now.”

  Ellis’s jaw dropped.

  Lucy kept busy all morning. Samuel Ellis permitted her to milk the cow while he tended the other livestock. He showed her how to drive the oxen to the pasture and where Jack kept his tools for cleaning the barn, but he shoveled the manure out for her.

  She thanked him as he prepared to leave, assuring him she could manage all right that evening. He had his own chores to do and his large family to take care of.

  He leaned the pitchfork against the wall. “Perchance I’ll stop by tomorrow to see how you fare, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Ellis hesitated, then pulled off his hat and wiped his sleeve across his brow. “Is there any news of Jack? I don’t wish to distress you, but what I heard last night …”

  “I’ve had no word,” she said, staring at the ground. “I am praying for his acquittal.”

  He nodded. “I shall add my prayers to yours.”

  When he left, she went inside and swept the floor of the front room. Though it was not dirty, a few chips and pieces of bark had fallen from the firewood. She found an apron hanging near the broom, put it on, and sat down to eat her samp.

  Poking about Jack’s pantry shelves, she’d found a good supply of cornmeal and wheat and barley flour. She could bake, but for whom?

  She wandered outside and looked at his garden. The shoots were coming along, despite the rather chilly nights they’d had. Before the summer was over there would be a bountiful harvest of peas, corn, pumpkins, beans, cabbages, carrots, turnips, and beetroot. Near the back of the house was a small herb garden, and she recognized dill, basil, rosemary, and several other plants she and her mother grew at home. She went to the barn and found a stout hoe. Gardening was something she could do well.

  The sun passed the meridian, and still she’d heard nothing. Would anyone come and tell her when her husband was dead?

  The thought of Jack’s predicament made her angry, and she worked with fury. At the end of the last row, she stopped and leaned on the hoe.

  “Dear God, what should I do? Should I seek word of the proceedings? Should I go home to my mother’s to get some of my things and come back here to stay the night? Should I install myself here as Jack’s widow?”

  A breeze ruffled the young leaves of the corn, mocking her words.

  She heard a sound in the woods and turned toward it. There was no path on that side of the garden, just trees. Maple, hemlock, pine, and birch. An involuntary shiver beset her. Was someone watching her? Was someone biding his time to take over Jack’s property?

  Another sound reached her, and she whirled around, then relaxed. Her mother was coming up the path from the lane.

  “What are you doing here?” Alice called.

  “Goodman Ellis didn’t tell you?” Lucy hurried to meet her.

  “Nay. I saw him return this morning and start his own chores, but several goodwives came to help out with the housework, and Goody Ellis told me to go on home. I didn’t speak to her husband again before I left.”

  “I see.” Lucy swallowed hard. “Then how did you find me?”

  “I came home this morning to an empty house and a cold hearth. Then Patience Rankin comes to my door and tells me my daughter has pledged to marry that murdering Jack Hunter.”

  “No, Mother.” Lucy lowered her gaze. “It’s worse than you think in one way, but better in another. I’m not promised to Jack; I’m his wife now. But he’s not a murderer. My husband is innocent.”

  They stood for a minute, each woman taking the measure of the other.

  At last Alice sighed. “Romance, child. It’s not all it’s rumored to be.”

  “I didn’t do this for romance.”

  “And what did you do it for?”

  “To give Jack peace of mind, mostly.”

  Alice shook her head. “Well, the town will say you’ve done it to get his land and his house and his mother’s fine furniture.”

  “All of which Jack built with his own hands.” Lucy drew herself up tall. “Mother, this is my home now. I’ll be over later to get my things.”

  “Think, child.”

  “I have. All night and all day. If I’m to live out my days as the widow Hunter, so be it.”

  “This is not right.”

  “What Father did to Jack four years ago was not right. This is the best I can do.”

  Alice’s face contorted, and her eyes sparked. “I should have known. I always thought you gave him up too easily. You never complained or sniveled. It was unnatural, if you really cared about him.”

  “Father wouldn’t have stood it if I’d let my true feelings show. I tried to be a good daughter.”

  Silence simmered between them; then her mother said grudgingly, “You were. All this time, even since your father passed, you’ve been good to me, child.”

  Unable to hold back a sob, Lucy raised her apron to mop at the tears that bathed her face. She felt her mother’s hand, light and tentative, on her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “You’re right. I married him for love. We wasted a lot of years, Jack and I, and this was the only way I could have him, in the end. It helps him to know I’m here.”

  Alice nodded slowly, and Lucy thought she saw a glint of tears in her mother’s eyes. “Goody Rankin said they’d likely hang him today.”

  Lucy pulled in a shaky breath. “ ‘Tis what they told him last evening. He forbade me to go today. He wants me here, in case someone tries to take his possessions.”

  “Don’t bothe
r to come home, then. I’ll bring your things over later.”

  As her mother strode toward the path, Lucy gathered her wits and followed her. “You needn’t come back today, Marm.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll need your workbasket, and your apron is filthy.”

  Lucy swallowed hard. “There’s another of Jack’s mother’s aprons in the clothespress.”

  “Still, you’ll want your comb and extra stockings.”

  “Take tea with me later, then.”

  “Perhaps I shall.”

  A movement at the edge of the woods caught Lucy’s eye, and her pulse raced. A dark shadow slunk from one tree to the next. “What’s that?”

  Alice whirled and stared. “Looks like a mongrel.”

  Lucy sighed when she recognized the animal. “It’s Goodman Trent’s dog.”

  “He looks hungry.”

  Lucy and her mother stood still, watching the mutt slink closer, his head drooping.

  “Maylike you should feed him,” Alice suggested. “There’s no one to feed him over to his home. And he might be company for you.”

  Lucy wavered, remembering her fear in the night. “I suppose I can find him something, but I don’t like to waste Jack’s food.”

  Alice winced. “Likely Jack won’t be needing it, child. Give the dog a soup bone now and then, and he’ll stay by you always.”

  Lucy took a deep breath. “You’re probably right. I’ll see if there’s not a bit of something I can spare.”

  “I’ll be around later.”

  “Mother, if you hear any news of my husband, you won’t spare me, will you? I need to know.”

  “I’ll see what’s noised abroad when I go to the Bemises’ to check on their wee one. I’ll see you soon, Goody Hunter.”

  Lucy smiled through her tears.

  Chapter 8

  There’s no reason you couldn’t keep your school here, should you decide to stay,” Alice said that afternoon, looking about the kitchen at her daughter’s new home. She poured a bit of tea into her saucer and sipped it. “It would be closer for the Ellis and Rowe children, but farther for some.” Lucy picked up half a biscuit, looked at it, and put it down. It was a perfectly good biscuit, light and brown. She’d found that her mother-in-law’s bake oven heated evenly, but her appetite had strayed today.

  Her mother showed no such languor. She took a second biscuit and smeared it with apple butter. “I’d no idea Goody Hunter had such fine tableware.”

  “I never thought to have such,” Lucy admitted.

  Alice held up her knife and squinted at the delicate design cast on the handle. “I’ll not believe her husband bought it for her. Jack must have furnished her kitchen for her when he grew to a man.”

  Lucy sipped her tea. The more her mother came to appreciate Jack, the easier their relationship would be in the future. Just seeing the interior of the comfortable house seemed to have tempered Alice’s opinion of her son-in-law.

  An unspoken knowledge passed between the two women as they waited for word of Jack’s end. Lucy watched the shadows lengthen and listened for footsteps. Surely someone would bring her the news.

  “Of course, you must sell those huge oxen immediately,” her mother said.

  Lucy refilled their cups and offered the plate of corn fritters to her mother.

  “You may even decide to let the property go. We’ve been comfortable together, you and I.”

  Lucy said nothing. Until they knew for certain that it was over, she could not make any decisions that would change things. Jack had asked her to take control of the property when he was gone. Was he dead, even now?

  The thick, burning sensation that accompanied tears assailed her. “I found a wool wheel and a small hand loom in the loft.”

  Alice nodded. “Aye. Abigail Hunter spun wool, and I daresay she wove the gray Jack’s Sunday coat is made from. But I don’t recall her ever spinning flax or weaving linen. If you’re going to continue that, you’ll want your small wheel over here. Unless you come home, of course.”

  Lucy couldn’t meet her inquisitive gaze. “I can’t say yet what I’ll do, Marm. I … need time to think about it.”

  “The Ellises know not to send their children to you until you give the word, and I asked Samuel tonight to send the eldest boy around to tell your other pupils.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lucy rose to remove the dishes but froze when she heard a male voice calling outside. She rushed to the door and threw it open. Captain Murray strode up the path.

  She ran to meet him, not caring that her hair jounced and a few strands escaped her mobcap.

  “What news?” she panted as she jolted to a stop a yard from him. She gazed upward to his somber face, searching for anything other than distress.

  “Your husband be still at the jail,” he said.

  Lucy let her breath out in a puff and wrapped her arms around herself. She stared at the ground and swayed from one foot to the other, trying to absorb his news.

  “Tell me,” she said, raising her chin.

  Murray reached for her arm and turned her gently toward the house. “Come sit down, ma’am.”

  “My mother is with me. Will you join us and tell us all?”

  He guided her along the path, holding her elbow as though afraid she would crumple to the earth. Alice Hamblin stood in the door, watching, but stepped back as they approached.

  “What’s the word, Captain?” the midwife asked.

  “Better than I expected to bring, Goody Hamblin. Young Hunter still lives.”

  “Praise be!”

  He pulled off his hat as he entered, and they sat at the table. Alice fetched a cup and poured the last of the tea into it for Murray. “Have you any sugar?” she asked Lucy.

  “I don’t know,” Lucy confessed.

  “No need,” Murray said. He took a gulp, then set the cup down and wiped his mustache with the back of his hand. “The magistrate arrived midmorning. He heard some petty cases first: pig stealing and slander.”

  Alice’s eyes shone bright and eager. “I heard tell Sarah Wait threatened to take Rebekah Castle to the courts for slander.”

  “Yes, but His Honor threw them both out,” Murray said with a wry smile. “He told them to tend less to their neighbors’ business and more to their housewifery. At last they brought Jack out.” He eyed Lucy warily. “Be you ill, Goody Hunter? Ye look pale.”

  Lucy made herself take slow, even breaths. “Nay. Please proceed.”

  Her mother came around the table and placed one hand on Lucy’s brow. “Perchance you should lie down, child.”

  “If I’m ill, it’s from anxiety,” Lucy said, “and the captain can remedy that. Pray go on, sir.”

  Murray nodded. “Well, they brought Jack out, and the magistrate called a hearing.”

  “A hearing, not a trial?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes. The magistrate said the accused should have counsel. Rutledge said we haven’t a lawyer in town, and His Honor said to send to Falmouth and get one. He heard Dole and Rutledge give evidence, then Goodman Swallow—”

  “Jacob Swallow?” Alice cried. “What has he to do with the matter?”

  “He found Trent’s body,” the captain said. “ ‘Tis a crucial bit of testimony. He told how he saw the ax lying there on the ground next to Trent.”

  “Did he say it was Jack’s ax?” Lucy hated the way her voice trembled.

  “Nay, but Dole and Rutledge did.”

  “Did they make my husband testify?”

  “Nay. The magistrate told him he’ll have a chance to speak for himself at trial. He will hear the case when he comes next.”

  Lucy pulled in a deep breath. “And when will that be?”

  “The next new moon.”

  “Nearly a month!” Alice wrung her apron between her hands. “Lucy, daughter, ‘twill be weeks afore you know the outcome of this!”

  Lucy smiled. “But this is good news, Mother. The magistrate didn’t sentence Jack. He even said he’ll have a chanc
e to prove his innocence.”

  “I thought it was all settled last even.” Alice raised her eyebrows at Murray.

  He shrugged. “So it seemed. But cooler heads prevailed this day.”

  “Praise God,” Lucy whispered.

  The captain stood and offered her his hand. “It gives me pleasure to see the joy in your face, ma’am.”

  “I’ll warrant there be some who aren’t so happy,” Alice noted.

  “Aye. But they will have to abide by the magistrate’s word.”

  “I must go to Jack.” Lucy jumped up and fumbled with her apron strings.

  “Surely not tonight,” her mother said. “It will soon be dark.”

  “Wait until daylight,” said Murray. “I told Jack I’d see you this eve and let you know.”

  “All right. I thank you for that, and for coming.”

  “It’s nothing. Now let me bring your livestock in and feed them for you, and I shall be off.”

  Lucy rose early the next morning. Her heart felt light as she went about her kitchen chores. She was not a widow. Not yet. By God’s grace, she had a month at least to be a married woman. She would show her husband that he had not made a bad bargain in choosing her.

  She went out to the barn to tend the stock but stopped short in the path. The barn door was unlatched. Surely the captain had closed it tight the evening before. Cautiously she pushed the heavy wooden door inward and peered inside. Nothing seemed amiss. Tryphenia gave a prolonged moo, and the calf bawled.

  Lucy shook off her unease and went in, stooping for the milk bucket.

  After she had milked the cow, she turned the cattle out to grass. The bigger ox, Bright, gave her a start when he changed course outside the fence. But she ran around to his far side and yelled, “Get, now!” To her amazement, he obeyed and waddled through the gap in the fence. She hastened to put up the rails that made the gate, before Bright could change his mind.

  She found only two eggs, which surprised her, as she’d gleaned six the previous day. Two hens were brooding, and she left their nests undisturbed but took her two eggs and half pail of milk to the house.

  She sang as she moved about the snug kitchen, baking seed cakes and stewing some dried pumpkin with spices. She found that she did, indeed, have sugar—half a large cone. Would the jailer let her take her husband sustenance? If not, she would appeal to Stoddard’s wife.