A Roll of the Bones

by Trudy J. Morgan-Cole

  But Nancy only laughed—a joyous sound that echoed off the rocks and made him want to laugh himself. “True enough, we mortals will always find something to complain over.”

  “And in way, ’tis all of a piece,” Ned added. “Not that scrubbing for Mistress Pike is to be compared to standing trial for your life—but I think that you hate to feel your life is in the hands of another, that you are not free.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes locking his in a serious gaze. “But I have never been free. Nor have you—we were born to serve, and always will.”

  “True enough. But I think the choice of who to serve matters much to you, as it does to me.”

  “You know me well.”

  Ned took a deep breath. “I would be glad to know you better. If I asked you the same question I asked last year, would you have a different answer for me?” His heart knocked against his ribs and his breath came hard. He had not meant to ask her again, not just now—he told himself he would wait for the right moment. But it was she who had suggested walking back to the plantation with him. She had given him the moment.

  He looked for that expression on her face—that amused contempt she had shown him when he had first asked for her hand in marriage. But so much had happened since then. They were neither of them the same people they had been a year ago.

  No mockery: there was another look on her face entirely, one he had long dreamed of seeing. Her eyes met his with such hope, such joy in them—and then she turned away, looking out to sea. “My answer has not changed.”

  He felt it like a blow to the chest. “Still no? After…everything?”

  “This, too, sounds like ingratitude, does it not? After what I have come through, I should be glad to have a husband to shelter me. Glad that you will take pity on me, marry me for the sake of friendship and convenience.” Her words were bitter as the tart little red berries that grew in this land, and she kept her face to the sea.

  “Friendship? Convenience? Is that what you think I offer you?”

  “What else should it be?” Finally, now she turned to meet his face, lifted her chin a fraction. “You forget that I know where your heart truly lies.”

  “My heart?” He put his hand across his chest, a gesture like a player might make, but how else to show her what he felt? “My heart, Nancy—it is all yours, entirely. This is no mere matter of convenience for me, you must know that. I have lost my heart to you long ago.”

  “But—you fancied yourself in love with—with my mistress. Don’t deny it. Do not ask me to be your wife only because you cannot have her.”

  He reached for her then, and thought she would pull away, but she stood still and suffered him to put his hands on her arms, to draw her closer. “Has that thought been troubling you, all this time? That I was still tied to a boy’s fancy?” It was hard, now, even to remember the lad he had been, the apprentice starry-eyed over the master’s daughter. “That is long gone. I have thought of nothing but you, waking and sleeping, since you set foot in Cupids Cove. Friendly and convenient as it might be, I would not ask you to marry me for anything less than love.”

  Her face softened, as if she fought not to cry. He realized she must have held this thought so long—that he was in love with Kathryn, that she was only the poor substitute. If only he could go back in time and cut out those moments in Bristol when he had confessed that fancy to her, slice them from the fabric of his life! “Nancy,” he said again, her name a delight on his lips. “I was a boy then. I dare say I am a man now—would you deny me that?”

  Now, at last, she laughed again. It was the faintest sound, like the ripple of water in the stream below them, quickly stilled. “I would not deny it. You are a man.”

  “And you are the only woman I desire. We can make a life for ourselves here. I said before — we make the choice of who to serve. And we make the choice, too, of whose bed we will lie in at the day’s end. There is no other bed for me but yours. Will you say yes, this time?”

  Her answer was in her eyes and on her face, but still her lips hesitated over the words. Then, instead of speaking, those lips moved towards his, and he gladly opened his own mouth to her kiss. He thought of how he’d devoured that first loaf of warm bread out of the oven after the long hunger of winter. He wanted Nancy like that now: her lips; her body; her vow.

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING THEY CAME, HAND IN HAND, THROUGH the pines and the birch trees onto the cleared ground of Nicholas Guy’s land. Nancy listened as Ned told their master the tale they had agreed upon: that they had lost the trail and decided it was safer to make camp for the night. Master Nicholas nodded solemnly. “We thought as much, when Frank and Daisy returned with the news that you were walking back. I would have come out looking for you if you were not back by now, but as it is, all is well. You saw no one in the forest, man or beast?”

  “None at all, sir,” Ned said. “We were quite safe. And though ’twas a matter of necessity, you need have no fear for Nancy’s virtue, for she has pledged to wed me as soon ever as we can sail down to Cupids Cove and persuade the minister to marry us.”

  No fear for my virtue, Nancy thought, for she had given it up willingly—the first time with a little trepidation, the second time joyously and with laughter, on a rough woolen cloak laid atop the moss and under the stars. The roots and rocks underneath Ned’s cloak had poked into her back and made sleeping uncomfortable, but there had been very little sleeping, after all. The night had been warm, and it had been easy to shed clothes, to bare skin, to touch and taste and begin a discovery they would have a lifetime to continue. Ned’s touch had erased the memory of George Whittington’s harsh and brutish hands: where Whittington had sought only to take from her, Ned wanted to give, and she was glad to give pleasure to him as well.

  The only thing that troubled her on this golden morning was why she had waited so long to say yes to Ned Perry, when she could have known this simple, uncomplicated happiness months ago.

  But perhaps it would not have been the same, she thought, back in Cupids Cove. With a quick kiss and a handclasp they parted to their day’s work, already both thinking of the night ahead. Back in the settlement, surrounded by people and wagging tongues and suspicion, she could not have found this same joy in their union, she was sure. All her memories of the cove were tainted, now—she did not want Reverend Leat, who had so recently believed she might be a witch, to perform her marriage ceremony, save that there was no other Christian clergyman along this whole coast. She felt no need of prayers or vows save the ones she and Ned said together. But she knew Kathryn would take pleasure in standing as witness at their marriage, and she looked forward to telling Kathryn of this—though not all of it.

  The men were hard at work finishing the walls and roof of the dwelling-house, while Daisy and Nancy fed the goats and chickens and then turned the salt fish on the flake. They cooked the noon meal over an open fire, and Daisy talked of how the hearth in the house would soon be done and the house almost ready to move into. “Master says ’twill be just like our house back in Cupids Cove, with sleeping chambers up above, and all our own beds with proper hangings like himself and the mistress have—one for me and Tom, and one for Bess and Frank and the baby. And now I suppose there’ll be one for you and Ned too.”

  “Yes, we’re all paired off like partners at a dance,” Nancy laughed. How the thought had troubled her once, that everyone must pick a partner, and now she could think only of the delights she and Ned would enjoy behind the curtains of that bed. Someday, perhaps, they would have babies and a little cottage of their own, here near the main house. This would be her life: this plot of land with its view of the shining sea, Ned for her husband, good folk like Daisy and Tom, Bess and Frank to work alongside of, and Kathryn always nearby. It was a thousand miles from any life she had ever expected to live, but she could not now imagine wanting any other.

  They gathered and ate together, and then Ned and Frank went off into the forest with Master Nicholas to cut more wood. Tom stayed to work
on the house while Nancy and Daisy weeded the small garden plot. The few carrots and turnips the men had planted when they came up at the end of May to clear the ground would not yield a great harvest this year, but it was a step towards living off their own land, and Nancy went to it with a will despite how tired she was—she’d not, after all, slept much the night before, though she did not confess that to Daisy while they pulled the tough, deep-rooted weeds from the thin soil.

  “There’s a ship out there,” Daisy said, standing up to stretch and pointing out to the water.

  “Is it the Indeavour?”

  “No, ’tis too big. One of the fishing ships, mayhap.”

  Nancy stood up, too, working the knots out of her back as she did so. The ship was indeed a good-sized carrack of the type that had brought them from England, much larger than the Indeavour. It was also closer to shore than the vessels of the fishing fleet usually came: they would have no reason to put in at Nicholas Guy’s plantation. After a moment, she realized it had dropped anchor and already put out a boat. Men in the boat—four of them, she thought—rowed towards the beach.

  “Daisy, run and get Tom.” It might be a fishing ship. It was still too far away to see the colour of the flag.

  Daisy was already running towards the sawpit where her husband was shouldering a long board to carry back to the house. “Tom! Tom! Pirates! There’s pirates, God help us!” And Nancy, who had just been thinking what a good, sensible soul Daisy was, stood rooted to her spot watching the boat row in.

  The boat was nearly at the beach now. She thought how empty-headed and silly Daisy was, to raise the alarm when they didn’t yet know that these were pirates. She might be running like a chicken with her head cut off, from some friendly English sailors coming to—what? What would fishermen be doing here on a clear, fine day when they ought to be hauling their lines or making fish on shore?

  Chicken with her head cut off. The chickens. The goats. Nancy looked towards the pen where the chickens scratched about, unconcerned. The goats ranged freely, grazing. The smallest of them was her little pet from Cupids Cove, Petal. Three goats, half a dozen chickens, a few sacks of grain and some other food stores — all that Nicholas Guy had claimed as his due and taken from Cupids Cove with him. No great wealth here to plunder.

  Now there were men in the water, two of them hauling the boat onto the strand. “Nancy!” She heard Tom’s voice coming from a long ways away, or so it seemed. “Get back here, get under cover with Daisy.” But Nancy stood like in a dream where she could not move. What shelter was there to hide in? The unfinished house, the pen for the animals. The men were sleeping under sailcloth on the floor of the house; two of its walls were open to the elements and could provide no safety.

  Nancy stepped backwards into a little stand of pine trees, never taking her eyes from the four intruders. She had heard of the deeds of pirates ever since coming to the New Found Land, but had seen none save for Gilbert Pike and his two servants. Pike was supposed to have given up the bloody business, but who else, outside of Cupids Cove, even knew that Nicholas Guy was planting here?

  These men looked no rougher or more cruel than Pike—perhaps no rougher than any other sailors. The one in the lead was climbing up the strand. Tom strode out to meet him.

  “Who is master here?” the newcomer challenged.

  If only Master Nicholas were here, she thought. If Ned—no. Not Ned. She could not bear to see Ned face down four pirates. She could see Tom trying to hold himself steady. Nancy took a few more steps back, quietly, towards the false shelter of a stand of trees. Daisy must be crouched behind one of the finished walls of the house, or perhaps hiding behind a pile of logs in the sawpit. I should have taken cover with her. Too late now.

  “This is Nicholas Guy’s plantation,” Tom said. “He came here with Governor John Guy, who has a charter from King James to settle this land.” His voice quavered on the king’s name, and the pirate laughed.

  “King James, is it? King James gives away a good many things, so I’ve heard. And would you be Nicholas Guy, little man?”

  “You—you know I am not. Nicholas Guy is cousin to Governor Guy. My name is Tom Taylor, his servant.”

  The pirate now stood in front of Tom, his three men backing him up. Nancy looked out at the ship, resting at anchor. How many more men were aboard her? How many guns? The four men standing in front of Tom all wore swords, and two carried muskets as well. The only gun on the plantation site was Master Nicholas’s musket. Where was it now? In the woods with the master, or somewhere about the place?

  Nancy imagined stepping forward, confronting the men. I am a witch, or was nearly hung for one, anyway. If she truly were a witch she might know a charm to protect her home, the people she loved; a curse to strike down pirates.

  “Well, Tom Taylor, can you whistle and fetch your master for me? For ’tis him I have business with. Our captain claims all this shore, and he’ll have no planters building houses along here.”

  “I—my master holds this land from the king….”

  Now the pirate was close enough to touch Tom, though he did not. One hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. “I’ve told you, laddie, I don’t care a fig for what the king thinks he can grant. The king is not ruler here, nor is John Guy, not on this part of the coast. This is our land. Did you learn nothing last summer from Captain Easton?”

  Our land. Whose land, Nancy wondered. She thought again of Gilbert and Sheila Pike, of their supposed hospitality. Of Kathryn and the baby and Bess, still under the pirate’s roof.

  “I’ve no more time to prattle with serving boys. Is your master here, or is it only yourself and the two women on the place?”

  “I—there’s no women—”

  The pirate glanced towards the trees that did not hide Nancy. “There’s one over there in the trees, and another went hollering back towards the sawpit as we came ashore. We’ll spare the both of them, and you as well, if you all surrender to us before your master returns. I’ve no taste for bloodshed; I’d much sooner take an able-bodied sailor and two fine wenches, along with your animals and stores. When your master gets back, he’ll know that he’s to leave these shores and scurry back down to Cupids Cove. As for yourself, you’ll do better with us than you would trying to scratch a crop out of this soil. You and your women won’t be ill-treated.”

  “You’ll never take me alive—nor my wife, neither!” Tom shouted, his voice breaking as he began to stumble backwards. Nancy saw his goal: he had left an axe plunged into a tree stump not far away. Did he mean to wield an axe against four armed pirates? One of the men in the back raised his musket and kept it trained on Tom as the leader gestured to him to hold his shot.

  “Your wife, is it?” The pirate laughed. “That skinny one over there by the trees?” Tom said nothing and the pirate laughed. “No? Must be the other one then. I hope she’s a bit plumper, and more bonny—that’s more to my liking. That’s right, laddie, go grab your hatchet. I’ll let you think you died in a fair fight. Defending your wife and an innocent maiden, is that it? Is that the death you choose instead of a fine life at sea?”

  The whole thing was like a play, so quiet and staged, only the pirate’s voice ringing out. And then Daisy burst from her hiding place, tore from the sawpit to the tree stump, and grabbed the hatchet. She wrestled it from the stump and swung it above her head, shrieking like a seagull. Oh no no no no no.

  Nancy realized she was saying it aloud, keening and moaning no no no at Daisy, who was screaming and couldn’t hear her anyway. Daisy, who had lost her sister and her husband and had tried to start anew with her sister’s husband. Who had crossed an ocean to scrabble at the rocky soil and wrest a living from the land, and who would not give up one inch of her life without a fight. Daisy Taylor brandished her hatchet and ran full-tilt, screaming, between her husband and the pirates.

  Nancy stood frozen. Everything was frozen, and then everything happened all at once. The gunshot rang through the air and Daisy dropped to the
ground, the hatchet falling useless, blood blooming through the front of her kirtle. Screaming, screaming—but it wasn’t Daisy screaming now, it was Tom and it was Nancy.

  Tom ran to his wife’s side, picking up the axe where it had fallen beside her. He ran towards the pirates, as Daisy had done. Nancy ran the other way, towards the woods. What could she do for Daisy and Tom now? She screamed, “Ned! Frank! Master Guy!” as she stumbled towards the line of trees.

  Shouts and more running feet behind her. She wanted Ned and Master Nicholas to burst out of the forest to save her and also she wanted them to be so far away they could not hear, could not come till it was too late, because the pirates would shoot them like they had shot Daisy—

  She stumbled over a root, tripped in her kirtle. Damn these skirts; they were not made for this country, she’d told Ned only yesterday. Yesterday. Someone was behind, close behind. She braced for a gunshot, for cold steel, but instead as she tried to get up, she was pushed down again, pinned to the ground. The man’s knife was drawn but he held it almost as an afterthought; his weight was more than enough to pin her to the ground with his knee, leaving him with a hand free to put over her mouth. She tried to bite his hand but he pressed harder.

  “Now lass, don’t be a fool, come quietly. Come along, there’s worse fates than life aboard ship.” He twisted, lifted her, and somehow she was on her feet, locked in his grip, unable to pull away or break free. “This will go a deal easier if I don’t have to hold a knife to your throat,” he said, but she kept struggling and shouting. Now she shouted, “Tom! Tom!” There was Tom on the ground, not far from Daisy. His head moved, turned towards her, his lips forming words his voice could not carry. Blood all over his shirt. One pirate led the goats down to the boat, while two more carried the sacks of flour that were supposed to have been their supplies for the next several months.

  When they tried to put her in the boat, she fought harder, and it took two of them to load her in like one of the flour sacks. A pirate held her there, hand over her mouth and a small knife against her throat. “That leaves only three of us to load up the goods,” the leader said with disgust. “This damned woman’s going to be more trouble than she’s worth. Better to kill her and have done with it.”