“Shall I wash your shift?” Travesty asked as she knelt by the water’s edge. “I always wash mine while I bathe.”
Mary’s shift was damp with sweat after the hot ride to the plantation, but she couldn’t remove it in front of Travesty and allow the other woman to see her nakedness. It wouldn’t be proper, so Mary shook her head. “I’ll keep it on.”
“All right. Suit yourself,” Travesty replied. Mary peered at her. Did Travesty regularly bathe in the creek naked? Surely, she wouldn’t risk it with two single men nearby. Mary couldn’t help but wonder how she’d managed all this time. She was a beautiful woman, and still young. Surely the men were well aware of her charms. How had they resisted falling into sin? Or had they?
Mary stepped into the water. At first it seemed too cold, but after a few moments, it became deliciously refreshing. Mary dipped down and wet her hair. It wasn’t as greasy and lank as it had been after months on board, but it could use a proper wash now that she had an unlimited supply of clean water. Mary lathered it with the coarse soap Travesty had given her and rinsed it out twice.
Having finished bathing, she came out and sat down on the grassy bank. A gentle breeze caressed her face and she felt pleasantly cool in her wet shift. She took a deep breath. This place even smelled different from England. There was an underlying hint of rich earth beneath the fecund smell of sun-warmed vegetation. The air was heavier too somehow, moister, and the sun hotter, even in the shade.
“Does it get much hotter than this?” she asked Travesty, who’d finished washing out the skirt and bodice and hung them on a low branch to dry.
“Oh yes. July and August can be brutal. There are days when there isn’t a breath of air, just relentless heat.”
“Do you miss home, Travesty?”
Travesty’s gaze slid away from Mary, her eyes fixed on the opposite bank. “At times.”
“Where are you from?”
“London.”
Mary remained silent, hoping Travesty would reveal more details of her previous life, but the older woman grew quiet and pensive. All in good time, Mary told herself.
“Thank you for washing my things,” Mary said. “I was afraid John would take one look at me and send me packing.”
“Any woman who comes to these shores is welcomed and valued, even the likes of me.”
Mary nodded in acknowledgment, unsure what to say. Travesty was comely, but the wariness in her narrowed gaze and the stern line of her mouth were impossible to hide. Mary wondered if there was a story behind her unflattering name but didn’t ask for fear of being impertinent.
After sitting in companionable silence until Mary’s clothes were dry enough to wear, they made their way back to the cabin.
“Perhaps you’d like to rest for a bit,” Travesty suggested once they were indoors.
“Is there nothing I can help you with?”
“You’ll have your hands full soon enough, mistress. Lay down your head. Today is your wedding day.”
The words startled Mary. She’d quite forgotten she had been wed only hours ago. Nothing felt quite real in this green world where there were no signs of human habitation as far as the eye could see. Mary lay down on John’s bed and slipped into a fitful sleep, dreaming of churning waves, strange men, and leafy tunnels that led nowhere.
Chapter 9
By the time John and Simon returned from the fields, the glaring light of day had been replaced by the golden haze of early evening, and the heat had subsided somewhat, making the inside of the cabin more comfortable. Outside, the night was alive with the trilling of birds and the chirping of insects.
Mary had modestly pinned up her hair, not wishing to look wanton in front of her new husband, but left the cap off. It was her wedding day, after all, so she’d allow herself this one vanity. Travesty, who looked downright sullen, had supper ready and the appetizing aroma of meat made Mary’s mouth water with anticipation. She was surprised to see another pan of cornbread appear on the table.
“Is there no regular bread?” she asked Travesty, wondering if John was partial to maize.
“There’s not much wheat grown here in the colony,” Travesty replied. “We must make do with what we have, and what we have is corn. We’re lucky to have a cow,” she added as she set the table with wooden bowls and spoons. “There’s some as don’t have a cow or a goat, so can’t make butter or cheese.”
“Is there a market?” Mary asked.
Travesty scoffed at Mary’s naïveté, but schooled her face in an expression of patience before replying. “’Tis not like home here, mistress. There’s no market day, as such. Most goods come to us by ship. Those who can afford it buy what they require; others do without.” It was clear from Travesty’s aggrieved tone that she was one of those used to doing without.
“What do the ships bring?”
“Cloth, tools, items of furniture, foodstuffs, and livestock.”
“Are there any dogs in the colony?”
At that, Travesty laughed out loud. “What a question!” She shook her head, still chuckling. “No, there are no dogs. The closest thing to dogs out here is wolves.”
Mary was about to ask more questions when the door opened, and John walked in. His hair was dripping wet and his shirt was damp, so he must have washed his hands and face before coming into the house. His boots were covered with mud, and he trailed dirt onto the scrubbed wooden floor.
Mary glanced at Travesty, who stood by the hearth, hands on hips, scowling in John’s direction. John had the decency to look shamefaced, but didn’t apologize to Travesty for mucking up her clean floor. Instead, he smiled at Mary and bowed from the neck, acknowledging her as the mistress of the house.
Mary glanced over his shoulder, her attention directed to the man walking behind him, who could only be Simon. He stood about a head taller than John and looked to be in his mid-twenties. He was a well-made man whose mane of tawny hair fell in gentle waves around his face. His thickly lashed eyes were the color of the sky on a clear summer’s day, and his fair skin glowed as if kissed by the sun. He wore no beard, so Mary got a good look at his full lips and strong jaw. Her breath caught in her throat. Simon was the handsomest man she’d ever seen, and judging by the glint of amusement in his eyes, he was well aware of his effect on her.
“Welcome, Mistress Forrester,” Simon said as he bowed formally to her. “I wish you and the master much joy in your life together.”
“Thank you, Master eh…”
“Faraday. Simon Faraday.”
“Master Faraday,” Mary repeated. She knew she should look away, but her gaze remained glued to the beautiful man who towered over her. Heat flooded her cheeks, and a smug smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he instantly looked away, focusing on Travesty instead.
“That smells divine, Travesty. I hope there’s enough for second helpings.”
“There’s plenty. I’d never let you go hungry,” Travesty rebuked him. She didn’t seem at all impressed by Simon’s good looks. If anything, she seemed annoyed. She sucked in her breath loudly, as if barely managing to suppress her irritation. Perhaps she was still angry about the floor.
The men took their seats at the table, leaving Mary standing awkwardly by, unsure what she should do as the mistress of the house. Travesty preempted her offer of help by asking, “Shall I serve now, mistress?”
“Eh…of course,” Mary replied.
“You’d best sit down, then,” Travesty said as she ladled stew into bowls and set them on the table, serving John first. She pushed a bowl in front of Mary, then served herself. Travesty took a seat next to Simon but left enough room between them to make sure their elbows never touched, even by accident. Her lip was curled with distaste, which seemed to amuse Simon.
John waited for her to settle down before saying, “Travesty, in the future, you’ll serve Mistress Forrester before serving Simon.”
“Of course. Sorry, sir. I meant no offense,” Travesty muttered.
“None was tak
en,” John replied smoothly. He clasped his hands in front of him and bowed his head, waiting to speak until the rest of them followed suit.
After a brief grace, Travesty poured everyone a cup of ale, making sure to fill Mary’s cup before Simon’s, while John divided the cornbread into four shares and handed everyone their piece. Mary watched with interest as the men crumbled their bread into the stew and did the same. The sweetness of the cornbread offset the savory richness of the meat, creating a flavor unlike any she’d experienced before.
“Not bad, eh?” Simon asked her. He grinned at her in a way that was entirely too familiar, but John didn’t seem to mind, or notice. He ate heartily, enjoying the food and the company. They talked of the farm, the happenings in Jamestown, and the newly arrived ship.
“I’ll go into Jamestown on Friday,” John said.
“Wait a few days, John,” Simon replied. He took a deep pull of ale, his gaze settling on Mary for just a moment before sliding toward John. “Give them time to unload. You know they always take off the foodstuffs first.”
“By the time they fully unload, all the tools will be gone. We need a new scythe.”
“Can’t Will Garrity fix the one that’s broken?”
“I don’t believe so. The blade’s rusted through.” John set down his spoon and looked at Mary, his gaze thoughtful. “Would you like to come into town with me, Mary?”
“Oh yes. Thank you, John, I’d love to. Perhaps I’ll see some of the women from the ship.”
“I saw you talking to the redheaded lass. She wed Thomas Kirby. His plantation is adjacent to mine. Ours,” John amended with a shy smile.
“Is it really? But I haven’t seen any other houses.”
“It’s about two miles south of here.” John made a gesture with his hand, pointing toward the Kirby property.
“That’s not very far,” Mary said, wondering if John would object to her visiting Nell.
“Travesty, do we have any strawberry jam left?” John asked.
“You make strawberry jam?” Mary gaped. She’d never tried it but imagined it to be a decadent treat.
“There are wild strawberries in the woods,” Travesty replied. “I pick them when they’re in season and make jam. ’Tis a lovely thing in the dead of winter to have a taste of summer on your tongue. I have one jar left.”
“Well, why don’t you accompany the mistress to the Kirby plantation one of these days and bring them the jam as a wedding gift? No harm in being neighborly, is there?” John asked, giving Mary an indulgent smile. “Would you like that, Mary?”
“Yes. Thank you, John. I would love to see Nell.”
“It’s settled, then. And Travesty, maybe you can show Mary where to pick the berries. Sounds like she likes jam.”
Mary felt a pleasant warmth spread through her belly. John wasn’t nearly as handsome as Simon, but he was kind and considerate, a rare quality in a husband, by all accounts. And the promise of seeing Nell made her feel less alone in a place where she was still a stranger. They’d have much to talk about, but the visit would be made uncomfortable by Travesty’s presence. She’d have to find a way to discourage her from coming along. She didn’t expect it would be too hard. Travesty didn’t strike her as the visiting type.
After supper, Travesty quickly cleared up and climbed up to the loft after wishing them a good night, and Simon retreated to the barn, where he slept, leaving the newlyweds alone. Mary stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, her gaze glued to the floor, unsure what to do.
“Shall we go to bed?” John asked.
Mary nodded. Now that the moment was upon her, she felt nervous and self-conscious. Did he expect her to disrobe in front of him? John noticed her discomfort and turned his back, giving her a little privacy. Mary quickly undressed and climbed into bed, taking the side closest to the wall.
John removed his breeches and hose, but left his now-dry shirt on, and climbed in next to her. He blew out the candle, but left the leather blind open, allowing a fresh breeze and a beam of silver moonlight to stream into the room.
The night was full of unfamiliar sounds and scents. In Plymouth, the smell of the sea laced with the stink of rotting fish and spilled ale wafting up from the taproom was a constant companion. The mattress she’d shared with her cousins stank of dried urine, stale sweat, and unwashed hair.
Mary closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The night air smelled of something sweet and fragrant, like honeysuckle, and the linen on John’s bed must have been freshly laundered and aired. The man next to her smelled of musk, hot sun, and tobacco smoke, not an entirely unpleasant combination.
When John’s hand slid beneath the coverlet, Mary braced herself for his touch, but he reached for himself instead. She lay still, staring at the ceiling as John stroked himself, his breath growing more ragged by the minute. His eyes were closed, but his face was tense with concentration, and he grimaced as if in pain. Mary peered at him from beneath her lashes. What was she to do, pretend to go to sleep, offer to assist him, or just lie there quietly until he finished whatever he was doing?
Just when she thought he wasn’t going to touch her at all, John rolled on top of her, pushed up her shift and positioned himself between her legs. She tried not to squirm as he attempted to penetrate her. It took a few tries, but eventually she felt the length of him inside her. It was intrusive and uncomfortable, especially once he began moving in a sort of rhythm, but the act was over before she had time to reconcile herself to what was happening. She felt an unfamiliar wetness between her legs once John finished and withdrew. He looked like he was about to say something but seemed to change his mind. He gave her a chaste peck on the lips instead, then rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and was asleep in moments, his breathing even and his face relaxed.
Mary stared at her new husband, her eyes filling with tears of disappointment. She had no experience of men, had never even been properly kissed, but although John hadn’t hurt her, their coupling seemed entirely devoid of any feeling. John hadn’t kissed her or even looked at her. The men at the tavern always made lewd comments when she served them, their suggestions growing bawdier as drink loosened their tongues. The things they’d said had made her blush, but she knew the sentiments were based on experience. There was one man in particular who came in nearly every night. He’d followed Mary outside one night, pinning her against the wall of the tavern, his hot breath on her neck.
“I’d like to suckle those lovely breasts,” he’d panted as he ground his swollen cock against her belly. “And then I’d like to stick my tongue inside your wet cunny and taste just how much you want me.”
Mary had kneed him in the groin and fled, but the images he’d planted in her mind had stayed with her for a long time afterward. Did men really do such things? She thought not. Lust was a sin, and married couples were supposed to lie together only for the procreation of children, but those drunken words had stirred something inside Mary. Not until tonight, when she’d felt Simon’s warm gaze upon her, had she thought she’d enjoy any man touching her in such a familiar fashion.
She closed her eyes and imagined Simon lying next to her, his body long and hard, his hands warm and unchecked as he explored her body. Mary felt an odd tingling in her private parts as she imagined Simon’s head bent to her breast, his soft lips sucking her nipple. She slid further away from John and pressed herself against the wall. Her momentary arousal was quickly replaced with shame, her mind furiously chastising her for her ungodly thoughts. John was her husband, for better or worse, and she’d think of no other.
Mary looked at John, whose face was silvered by moonlight. The hollows of his cheeks were lost in shadow, and his lashes fanned out against his pale skin, making him look vulnerable. Mary had to assume that he hadn’t been with a woman since coming to Virginia, and possibly not even before then. He was unused to female company and ignorant of the desires of a female body. They were strangers to each other. What affection could there be between them? They had a lifetime to n
urture their bond and learn about physical love. Tomorrow would be a new day, a day in which she’d begin learning how to be a dutiful wife to John Forrester.
Chapter 10
January 2015
London, England
Quinn set aside the comb with a sigh of frustration. She was eager to discover what had happened to Mary, but the vision became blurred around the edges, a sure sign that Quinn’s mind wasn’t truly in the past. This happened rarely but was a clear indication that she should wait to return to Mary’s story until she was ready to give it her full attention.
At present, her thoughts were firmly rooted in the here and now. She glanced at her watch. Rhys had left for Afghanistan only that morning. It had taken over a week to get his press pass in order, obtain a visa and a yellow fever certificate from the National Travel Health Network, and find an available flight. Rhys had upgraded his mobile plan, so his phone would work in Afghanistan and he could keep in touch with Quinn and his office, but had warned Quinn that he wouldn’t be checking in daily.
“I’ll ring you when I’ve got something to tell you,” Rhys had said. “So, don’t fret if you don’t hear from me right away. Just concentrate on doing your job. I expect to be presented with a riveting story when I get back.” He’d smiled, his eyes warm with affection. “Quinn, I’ll do everything in my power to find Jo. I promise.”
Quinn had nodded, unable to reply due to the lump in her throat. She still couldn’t quite believe Rhys was doing this for her, and felt a mixture of gratitude, guilt, and impatience. She knew it would take time to locate Jo, just as she knew that every day would be an agony of frustrated anticipation until she finally heard something definitive from Rhys.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” she’d said once she was sure she could speak without bursting into tears.
“I never do anything foolish,” Rhys had replied, grinning.
“You just keep telling yourself that.”
“I do. Every day.” Rhys had kissed her on the forehead in a fatherly fashion and promised to stay in touch.
The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6) Page 8
