“I’ll look forward to it.”
Quinn accepted a file folder with a copy of Colin’s findings from Sarita and made for the door. She was grateful Colin hadn’t asked about Jo. She hadn’t heard from Rhys, and although she knew it was too soon to expect any answers, her heart did a flip every time her mobile rang. The best way to distract herself from worrying about Rhys would be to spend an hour in the seventeenth century, and if she managed to get Alex down for a nap when she got home, that was exactly what she’d do.
Chapter 14
June 1620
Virginia Colony
Mary sat next to her friend, her back against the rough wooden planks of Nell’s new home. The walk had taken close to an hour, but Mary hadn’t minded. It was nice to be on her own for a bit and have time to sort through her jumbled thoughts as she followed the narrow dirt road that wound through the woods. At first, she’d been afraid, and peered into the dense forest until her head ached, half expecting to see a band of naked savages come swooping down on her, but John had been correct in assuring her she had nothing to fear and no one would harass her. Once again, he’d suggested taking Travesty along, but Mary had explained to him why she preferred to go on her own. She had no wish to have her visit with Nell spoiled by Travesty’s sullen demeanor and obvious impatience.
John’s irritation with her had been fleeting, but evident enough to prevent Mary from pressing her point. She had no experience of John’s anger and had no way of knowing if he might forbid her to go altogether or even strike her for defying him. He would be well within his rights, a fact that had registered with Mary only after she’d left the cabin. However, rather than insisting, John had shrugged and said, “Do as you will,” and left the cabin without a backward glance. Travesty, who’d come in at that moment carrying a pail of milk, was only too relieved not to have to accompany her mistress and said so.
“I’ve enough to be getting on with without playing nursemaid,” she muttered under her breath.
“Good thing I’m not asking you to, then,” Mary retorted, annoyed with Travesty’s insolence. She could at least make a pretense of treating Mary as her mistress, and not her equal. “If you’ll give me the jar of jam, I’ll be on my way.”
Travesty silently handed Mary the stone jar, which was heavier than it looked, and went back to the milk, which she was about to pour into the butter churn. Mary stowed the jar in her basket and set off.
Once she got over her initial fear, Mary began to enjoy the walk. It was warmer than she was used to, and she was perspiring freely, but the sun shone brightly out of a cloudless blue sky, and the birds sang merrily, making her feel like she wasn’t quite alone. There wasn’t much to see, save never-ending woods and green fields, but it was still a new experience and Mary relished it. She’d been in Virginia for nearly a week, but her impressions were limited to her first sighting of Jamestown and John’s plantation. She hadn’t met anyone besides Simon and Travesty, who were still strangers to her, as was her husband, who seemed to hardly notice her now that she was a permanent fixture in his house. Yet, despite the newness of it all, Mary’s life in England seemed like a distant dream from a long time ago, so her memory of it was blurred and fragmented.
As Mary walked along, she pondered how it was possible to feel so far removed from something you’d known all your life. How long did it take to adjust to something this foreign and unexpected and come to accept it as one’s new home? She supposed she’d find out soon enough. Weather she liked Virginia or not, there was no going back, especially now that she was a married woman. Mary still grappled with that notion, but she reckoned she’d become accustomed to it soon enough. She had no choice. She did look forward to hearing Nell’s thoughts on her new life. Nell’s comments were always brutally honest, but also surprisingly uplifting. She hoped an hour with her friend would help her see her situation in a new light.
“So, how do you find your husband?” Mary asked Nell as she took a sip of cool ale.
“I didn’t find him very pleasing at first,” Nell replied, wrinkling her nose eloquently. “He’d been on his own too long, poor man. No woman to remind him to bathe or wash his clothes. Or clean his pigsty of a dwelling.”
“But you took care of that right quick,” Mary replied, smiling at her friend. Nell wasn’t one to waste time on diplomacy.
“Oh yes. No one will ever accuse Thomas of being handsome, but he’ll be well turned out, or my name isn’t Nell Kirby. Lord, it does sound strange when I say it, doesn’t it?” Nell asked, referring to her new surname.
“I’m not much used to Forrester yet either,” Mary confessed. “Although it’s a fine name, to be sure.”
“Mistress Forrester does have a nice ring to it. Kirby sounds like a pickle,” Nell complained.
Mary giggled. “Mistress Kirby sounds just fine.”
“Where was I? Oh yes, I ordered Thomas to take a bath, lopped off half his hair—it was halfway down his back, would you believe it? He likely hadn’t bothered to cut it since getting to Virginia—shaved his face, so I could get a proper look at it, and washed and mended his clothes. He’s a different man from the one I stood up with in church.”
“And do you find him good company?” Mary asked.
Nell shrugged. “I didn’t sign on for stimulating company when I agreed to marry a man I’d never so much as set my eyes on. He’s not much used to talking, having been on his own for so long, but he’s coming ’round. What about your husband?”
“He’s very reticent,” Mary complained. “At first, I thought it might be just nervousness and the strangeness of it all, but he seems content with the way things are.”
“And how are things, exactly?” Nell asked.
“The only time John and I are on our own is when we go to bed, and he’s asleep before I so much as wish him good night. At all other times the two servants are about, and although John likes for them to treat me with the respect due to the mistress of the house, he barely takes notice of me himself.”
“Give him time, Mary. He’s not much used to having a wife. Try to draw him out,” Nell suggested.
“And how do I do that?”
“Get him on his own for a bit. Ask about his life before he came to Virginia, his family. Surely, he must miss the people he left behind. Once he gets talking, tell him something of yourself, of who you are. Every relationship needs to start somewhere.”
“That’s sound advice, Nell. Thank you. And how are the other aspects of married life?” Mary asked, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
Nell shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting much, so can’t say I was disappointed.”
“Have you and Toby ever, you know…? Did you know what to expect?”
“Enough to know that big lug wasn’t going to know his way around a woman’s body,” Nell answered, deftly avoiding Mary’s question about Toby.
“How could you tell?”
Nell looked at Mary for a long moment, her gaze searching. “You really are an innocent, aren’t you? With some men you can just tell. It’s the way they look at you, the way they touch you. They know what they’re about, and once they have their way with you, you can’t wait for them to do it again. Given that I’m explaining this to you, I take it your wedding night wasn’t one of those occasions.”
Mary’s cheeks flamed. She hadn’t intended to discuss this with Nell, but she had no one else to ask. She had no mother or sister to guide her when it came to her wifely duty, and she could hardly confide in Travesty. “It was all right,” she answered in a small voice.
Nell’s laugh rang out over the stillness of the sun-drenched yard. “Well, I reckon that’s a start.”
“You think so?”
“Mary, your husband was the pick of the litter in this flea-infested colony, if the other louts waiting for us in that church are anything to go by. He’s handsome, clean, and mannerly. He might not be an experienced lover, but he’s been on his own these many years, with not a woman in sight, if you don’t
count Mistress Calamity, or whatever her name is. He’s probably forgotten what goes where, if he ever knew to start with. Unless they had coin to spare to visit a brothel before they left, these men are as innocent as babes in arms. They’ve learned how to carve a settlement from the wilderness. They’ve mastered growing new crops. They’ll figure out where to stick their cocks,” Nell said matter-of-factly.
“He’s kind to me,” Mary supplied, suddenly feeling disloyal to John. After all, he had given her a wedding present and allowed her to visit Nell, when another husband might have forbidden her to take time away from her domestic duties.
“Ain’t that the truth of it? I asked my Tom if I can go visiting, and he said, ‘There’s too much to be getting on with, me girl. Ye’ve had yer way with me person, now turn yer eye to the ’ouse and beasts. I ain’t had me a proper meal since coming to this ’ere god-forsaken place. Ye need to feed me up.’” Nell’s gruff tone and facial expressions meant to mimic her husband made Mary laugh.
“He doesn’t look like he’s been starving to me,” Mary replied, recalling Tom’s round belly straining against the buttons of his ill-fitting doublet.
“That’s because he’s been subsisting on corn mush and jugs of ale.” A happy smile tugged at the corners of Nell’s generous mouth. “I’m glad you came, Mary. It’s so nice to talk to a friend. I mean to make the best of my situation here, but I can see it won’t be easy. I’ll be most grateful for a bit of company now and again.”
“I’ll come as often as I can,” Mary promised as she rose to take her leave. “I best be getting back though. There are chores to be seen to.”
“If I had me a servant, I’d put my feet up and pretend I’m a great lady,” Nell said, lifting her nose in the air in imitation of a lady of leisure.
“In John’s house, I think it’s Travesty who’s the great lady. She’s got the airs of one.”
“Is that her real name?” Nell asked.
“Must be. Why else would anyone call herself something that brings misfortune to mind?”
“Funny, that,” Nell said. “Well, I’m glad my mother didn’t call me something peculiar like that.”
Chapter 15
Mary took Nell’s advice to heart and decided to try it out that very evening. She waited until John stepped outside after supper to smoke his pipe, as was his custom. Simon often joined him, but tonight Simon went directly to his loft to get some rest after a long day. Mary left Travesty to clear up after supper and followed John outside, taking a seat next to him. The scent of tobacco enveloped her, but she made no move to rise; she was used to it from years spent working in the tavern. John’s gaze was fixed on the sky, which was a violent shade of pink streaked with slashes of gold. The sun had just slipped below the tree line and it’d be fully dark within the hour, another day gone.
“Tell me something of your family, John,” Mary invited. She didn’t dare touch him without being invited to or sit too close for fear of overstepping some unspoken boundary, but conversation was something she could initiate.
John looked surprised by the question. “There isn’t much to tell. I’m one of four children. My mother died when I was seven,” he said without much feeling. Mary supposed he could barely remember his mother, much less miss her. “An ague took my father when I was nearly eighteen. My oldest brother, Peter, inherited the mill and the house. While Jacob and I would always have work and food enough to feed our families, we’d never have anything of our own, so we decided to try our luck in Virginia.”
“You must miss him terribly.”
“I do.”
“You said there were four of you,” Mary prompted.
“I have a sister.”
“Older or younger?”
“Older.”
“What’s her name?”
“Marge. Her name is Marge,” John barked. Mary drew back with a start. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“I-I’m sorry,” Mary stammered. “I didn’t mean to offend. I only wanted to get to know you a little better.”
John looked instantly contrite. “It is I who am sorry. I’m just tired, Mary. After hours spent in the field, baking in the hot sun, all I want to do is enjoy a few moments of peace. I’ve no wish to talk about the past.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Mary got to her feet and returned to the cabin. John had apologized, but his rejection stung her. Surely a few moments of conversation wasn’t too much to ask for. He gladly conversed with Simon most nights when they sat outside, side by side, sucking on their pipes. Of course, the men could always talk about the crops and what needed doing the next day, but she was still hurt. How was she to establish any sort of relationship with her husband when he had no interest in talking to her?
Mary sat down on the bed, removed her cap, and used her comb to brush out her tangled chestnut tresses. It took a long time, since the comb was so small and narrow, but it was the only thing she had to hand, and the repetitive motion soothed her.
John finally came in and put his pipe in its place on the mantel. He watched Mary for a few moments.
“You have lovely hair, Mary,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Have you no proper comb?”
“’Tis the only thing I own,” Mary replied. It didn’t surprise her that John hadn’t noticed her lack of personal possessions, given that he barely looked at her at all, but she was still hurt by the implication that he’d married a woman with nothing to her name.
John nodded but said nothing further about the comb. “I’m going into Jamestown tomorrow. Do you still wish to come?”
“Yes, I do,” Mary replied, somewhat mollified. She finished brushing her hair, braided it, and prepared for bed. She thought John might lie with her tonight, since he’d complimented her on her hair, but he quickly undressed and went to sleep, his back turned to her in a silent rebuke. He hadn’t touched her since their wedding night and Mary wondered if he was still cross with her despite his promise to take her into town.
The following morning, Mary ignored her sagging spirits and joined John on the bench of the wagon directly after breakfast. He seemed to be in a fine mood, and she tried once again to draw him into conversation. John didn’t get angry with her, but although he answered her questions patiently, he asked her nothing about her own life before coming out to Virginia. She wouldn’t have had much to tell him if he had, but she wished he’d show more interest in her than he did in his only cow. John asked after the cow’s health every morning, nodding his head in approval when Travesty assured him the beast was well. Mary supposed the cow was worth its weight in gold, but given the state of the colony, so was a wife. There were hundreds of unmarried men and only a handful of women. More were coming, to be sure, but a wife was to be prized and appreciated, Mary concluded defiantly, as the wagon rolled toward the settlement.
“If you had to do it all over again, would you still come to Virginia?” Mary asked to break the silence that had settled over them after John replied to her last question.
“Aye, I would.”
“Even if you knew you’d lose your brother?”
“It was Jacob’s idea to come. He wanted land of his own, and he wasn’t about to get a parcel with his name on it back in England. I’d still be milling grain from morning till night if I’d stayed.”
“What was it like when you arrived?” Mary asked.
“Much the same.”
John’s curt reply put an end to Mary’s questions. She held on to the bench as the wagon rattled over the narrow, rutted road, and looked around with interest. Now that she wasn’t as tired or overwhelmed as she had been that first afternoon, she was curious to see the town and discover for herself what to expect from her new surroundings. She could see the tall masts of the Lady Grace rising above the tree line, the canvas sails furled, the flag proudly flying in the breeze. She wondered when the ship would set sail for England and if anyone would be returning home, having found colonial life not to their liking.
Over
come with curiosity, Mary ignored John’s reticence and peppered him with questions, hoping to draw him into telling her about the inhabitants of the colony. She wanted to know what people did in their spare time, if they had any. Were there ever celebrations or dances? Did folks help each other or did people tend to keep to themselves, protective of their privacy and possessions? Mary also wished to know what happened to those who sinned or broke the law but was too afraid to ask. She’d noticed the wooden stocks mounted on a platform in the center of the settlement, but she hadn’t seen anything more sinister, like a gibbet or a gallows.
Mary leaned forward and peered toward the wide-open gate. Three individuals emerged from the settlement and walked toward the oncoming wagon. At first, Mary assumed they were women, on account of their long, flowing hair, but as they drew nearer, she saw they were, in fact, men. Mary’s eyes flew to John’s face as her heart hammered with fear, but John didn’t seem alarmed by the sight of the Indians. They strolled along at a leisurely pace, talking amongst themselves. Mary stared at the men, shocked. They were naked from the waist up, the skin of their chests and arms brown and smooth where it wasn’t painted a garish red. It was the paint that originally made her think they were clothed in homespun of madder-dyed red and brown. Narrow breeches covered their legs, but they wore some sort of clout around their hips. Vicious-looking knives hung at their sides, and there were feathers and shells woven into their long hair, but only on the left side. The Indian in the middle wore a cloak trimmed with fur and feathers over his bare torso. The other two carried bulging leather satchels slung over their shoulders.
As the distance between the wagon and the Indians narrowed, Mary could now see their faces, which were also painted red in places. Two of the men had raven-black hair and eyes, but the third, the one who was staring straight at her as if she were a curious specimen he’d never seen, had rich brown hair and eyes the color of a stormy sea. The men acknowledged John by nodding and raising a hand in greeting, and John responded by offering a half-hearted wave. The Indian who’d been staring at her averted his gaze when his companion said something to claim his attention. Mary scooted closer to John as the Indians came abreast of the wagon, but they paid her no mind and continued on their way, conversing in their strange tongue.
The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6) Page 11
