The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “I’ll just nurse Alex while the pies are heating,” Quinn interjected, having no desire to rehash Sylvia’s relationship with Rhys. She secretly agreed that Rhys hadn’t really loved Hayley but had no wish to betray his confidence and feed Sylvia’s curiosity. Quinn left the kitchen and settled on the sofa. Alex was already smacking his lips, ready for lunch. She’d fed him only two hours ago, but he seemed ravenous as he latched on, sucking furiously.

  “You should talk to your pediatrician about starting him on solids,” Sylvia said as she emerged from the kitchen and sat across from Quinn. “He’ll stay full longer and sleep through the night.”

  “He sleeps through the night now, but you’re right, I think he’s ready for something a little more satisfying.”

  Sylvia chuckled. “I wouldn’t call baby food satisfying, but it will make him happier.”

  “I think a steak and ale pie would make him happier,” Quinn joked. The pies really did smell divine, and Alex wasn’t immune to the appetizing aroma. Quinn saw him sniffing curiously at the air once he finished nursing. She buttoned her top and carried him to the bedroom, where she put him down in his cot and turned on the baby monitor.

  “See you later, little man,” she said, smiling down at him. “I expect you to be sound asleep by the time I come back.” And hopefully you’ll sleep long enough for me to visit with Mary, Quinn added silently. She didn’t think Sylvia would stay too long, which was just fine. Their visits were still awkward, and without the adorable distraction of Alex, they had little to talk about.

  Chapter 18

  July 1620

  Virginia Colony

  Mary eased her back and held up her hand to shield her eyes. The sun was blazing in a cloudless sky, the air so thick with moisture she could hardly draw breath, and it was only mid-morning. She leaned on the wooden handle of the hoe and allowed herself a moment to rest. Her linen chemise clung to her body, and her scalp was uncomfortably damp. She’d never experienced anything like this in England, and, according to Simon, the worst was yet to come.

  Mary cast a critical eye over the kitchen garden. She’d weeded and watered it. Now, it was time to go inside and begin the daily chore of grinding dried corn into flour to make bread. Well, the corn could wait, Mary decided. She needed to cool off before Travesty found her insensible in the vegetable patch.

  Mary cleaned the hoe and returned it to its proper place. Tools were precious and not easily replaced. She then turned her footsteps toward the creek. She should have told Travesty she was leaving but was afraid the woman would offer to come along. Mary was grateful for the company, given that she would have spent her days entirely on her own if it weren’t for Travesty’s presence, but at times, Mary thought solitude might have been preferable. Travesty was a hard worker and still shouldered most of the household chores, but there was something in her veiled gaze and the sharp angle of her shoulders that spoke of bone-deep anger.

  And then there was the silence. Mary wasn’t someone who needed to indulge in a constant stream of chatter, but Travesty went for hours without saying a word, fueling Mary’s reluctance to initiate conversation. They each had their routine and followed it. The only thing that seemed to paint a smile on Travesty’s disenchanted countenance was the sight of Simon coming through the door in the evening. It was like the sun coming out after days of rain and lighting up the now-clear sky, except that it didn’t last. Travesty seemed ashamed of her regard and worked hard to hide it, not only from Simon, but from John and Mary as well.

  Mary stopped when she entered the cooling shade of the trees and took a deep breath. Here, in the woods, the air was cleaner and fresher, the harsh glare of the sun blocked by the nearly impenetrable lushness of summer leaves. The wood was filled with the trilling of birds and the stealthy sounds of small animals moving through the underbrush. The creek gurgled invitingly, its sun-dappled surface sparkling like a band of liquid gold.

  Mary stepped out of her shoes, rolled down her hose, and pulled off her cap, releasing her damp hair. The soft grass beneath her toes felt cool and refreshing, and suddenly she knew she wouldn’t be bathing in her chemise. This was John’s land. They had no close neighbors, and Travesty was busy preparing dinner for the men. Who’d know that Mary had taken a dip without the protective cover of a layer of fabric?

  She untied her skirt and petticoat, unlaced her bodice, and pulled the sweat-soaked chemise over her head. Mary dashed toward the creek before she had a chance to change her mind and feel embarrassed by her brazenness. The cool water embraced her, forcing a sigh of pleasure from her parched lips. She took a deep breath and sank beneath the surface, allowing the creek to flow over her as her hair floated around her head, spreading above her like a lily pad.

  She finally came back up and pushed the wet ropes of hair out of her eyes, but the rest of her remained below the surface, enjoying the cool water flowing over her skin. She looked up at the shafts of light piercing the canopy of leaves and closed her eyes, inhaling the piney scent of the forest.

  This is a perfect moment. The unbidden thought came into Mary’s head. A perfect, unspoiled moment.

  She didn’t have any soap but washed as best she could and rinsed out her hair. It hung nearly to her waist when she finally emerged from the creek and reached for her clothes.

  She hadn’t noticed him at first. He was so still as to appear to be a stout limb of the tree he stood beneath. His gaze was fixed on her, his lips slightly parted, his arms at his sides. Mary froze with terror. Her mouth went dry and her extremities turned ice cold as she backed toward the creek, but then recalled that she was naked. She snatched up her chemise and held it in front of her, her eyes never leaving the man’s face. He hadn’t moved, but she felt the threat as keenly as if he were wielding a knife.

  When the man finally shifted, Mary’s breath caught in her throat and a low scream escaped her lips. She sounded like a frightened animal, sure it was about to die. He held up both hands, palms outward, to show her he was unarmed. It was only once he left the sanctuary of the tree that she realized she’d seen him before. He was the Indian she’d seen on the way to Jamestown, the one with the gray eyes. As he moved toward her, Mary squeezed her legs, afraid her bladder would let go in her terror.

  “I won’t hurt you,” the man said. “You need not be afraid.”

  Mary took another involuntary step back. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. The man spoke perfect English.

  “I will turn around and allow you to dress,” he offered, and turned his back. When she’d seen him on the road to the settlement, he’d worn buckskin breeches, but today he wore only a clout that left his long, muscular legs bare. His hair hung down his back and was almost as long as her own, and his face was devoid of any paint. He’d been carrying a spear, but he’d left it propped against the tree, so he was nearly as naked and defenseless as she was, except that he was a muscular man who could overpower her easily if he chose to.

  Mary hastily pulled on her chemise and petticoat. She fumbled with the laces of her bodice, her fingers clumsy and shaking as she tried to fasten it. She wondered if he’d pursue her if she ran, but she’d have to go right past him to get back to the cabin, so it wasn’t worth the risk.

  He finally turned around slowly. He took in her garments and watched with some amusement as she pulled on her cap.

  “You have beautiful hair,” he said. “Why do you cover it?”

  “You are on my husband’s land,” Mary snapped, striving to regain some control over the situation.

  “How can land and sky belong to anyone?”

  Mary wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she tried a different tack, since he seemed in no hurry to be on his way. “You speak English.”

  “Yes.”

  “What is your name?”

  The man said something quite unpronounceable to her English ears, then chuckled at her stupefied expression. “My name means ‘Walks Between Worlds.’” He hadn’t come any closer or looked like he meant he
r any harm, so Mary decided to give in to her natural curiosity.

  “What an odd name. Why do they call you that?”

  The Indian was about to explain when Travesty’s shrill cry filled the peaceful forest. “Mistress! Mary! Where are you?”

  Mary turned in the direction of Travesty’s voice, partially glad she was no longer alone with this strange man and partially annoyed at the interruption. She really did want to know about his name. She turned her gaze back to him, but the man was gone. He’d melted into the woods as quietly as he’d appeared.

  “Praise the Lord you’re safe,” Travesty exclaimed as she burst through the trees. “I didn’t know what to think when I found you gone. I thought you’d been carried off by the savages.”

  “Has that happened before?” Mary asked, suddenly realizing how close she’d come to this unspeakable fate.

  Travesty shrugged. “Not that I know off, but one must always expect the worst from those heathen devils.”

  “I needed to cool off,” Mary explained as she picked up her hose and stuck her feet into her shoes. “Does one ever get accustomed to this infernal heat?”

  “I couldn’t say. I’ve yet to find out.”

  Mary followed Travesty back to the cabin. Having nearly lost her mistress, Travesty was unusually forthcoming. “I don’t know what I’d tell the master if I couldn’t find you. He relies on me to keep you safe.”

  “I can look after myself, Travesty.”

  “I know you can, but I’ve been looking after him for so long, I suppose I think of it as my duty to look after his wife.”

  “So, John has been a good master to you?” Mary asked. She had no reason to think he hadn’t been, but wanted reassurance that she wasn’t wrong in her estimation of the man. Many a master beat his servants. She knew that only too well after spending several years under Uncle Swithin’s roof and feeling the back of his hand against her face or the sting of his belt against her back. She hadn’t seen John raise his voice or hand to Travesty, but he might have been unkind to her before Mary came.

  “He saved me,” Travesty said, her voice soft with reverence.

  “From what?”

  “From certain death.” Travesty wiped her damp forehead with her sleeve and turned to face Mary. “I was one of the first indentures to come out to Virginia. I’d never been out on the water before, much less in a great ship in the middle of a vast ocean. They said I’d get my sea legs after a few days, but I fell ill and stayed ill for the whole of the crossing. I could hardly keep anything down. After a fortnight, I was so weak I could barely raise my head to puke into the bucket.”

  “That must have been awful,” Mary said, knowing only too well how long and difficult the crossing had been.

  “I wasted away day by day. The only thing that kept me tethered to this world was the fear of my body being thrown overboard, my remains devoured by sea creatures. The sailors carried me ashore on a wooden plank when we arrived and laid me down in the church, certain I would die before the week was out. No one wanted to bother with me. They’d have left me to die, had the master not taken pity on me and purchased my indenture contract. Had I died, he’d have lost his money, but he brought me back to the cabin and nursed me back to health. It took weeks for me to leave my bed, but once I did, I swore I’d devote my life to repaying his kindness.”

  “Travesty, how did you come to be here?” Mary asked.

  “I’m not a criminal, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Travesty snapped.

  Mary swallowed back a retort. Innocent people didn’t get sent down to Virginia. Most indentured servants were criminals who’d been lucky enough to escape the noose, so Mary had valid reason to assume Travesty was one such case.

  “I came here of my own volition.”

  “You sold yourself into indenture?” Mary asked, incredulous that anyone would do such a thing.

  “Desperate people do desperate things,” Travesty retorted.

  Mary sighed. That was something she could understand only too well. She’d been desperate to escape, and coming across the world to marry a man she’d never set eyes on, who now held her fate in his hands, was nearly as desperate as selling yourself into servitude. Marriage was servitude, except the contract didn’t expire unless one of the parties died.

  “I was destitute and alone. I had nothing left to lose,” Travesty said with a deep sigh.

  “I felt much the same when I decided to come out,” Mary said, thinking she might finally establish a bond with the other woman, but Travesty’s head shot up and her eyes bore into Mary. Spots of color appeared on her cheeks.

  “Don’t compare yourself to me. You came here knowing you’d be looked after, married to a man who’d consider himself lucky to have you. What have you sacrificed? What have you lost?” Travesty cried angrily.

  “What have you sacrificed?” Mary retorted, infuriated by Travesty’s tone and erroneous assumptions. She knew nothing of Mary’s life or the circumstances that had led her to the Lady Grace.

  “Nothing. It was all done for me. One day I had a home and a family. I had three children and a loving husband who provided for us. We weren’t wealthy, but we were comfortable, and secure.” Travesty blinked away tears. “And then the summer of 1618 came. We were happy for the fine weather. It’d been a cold and bitter winter. The sun shone every day, it seemed—warm, life-giving, beautiful. But life-giving things can turn ugly,” Travesty said sharply. “The days grew warmer, and the golden sun warmed the refuse heaps and brought the flies. There’d been no rain for weeks to cleanse the streets. And then it came, the Black Death. First one case, then another. The city officials sent searchers. Do you know what searchers are?” Travesty demanded, hands on hips.

  “No, I don’t believe we had them in Plymouth.”

  “No, you likely wouldn’t. The searchers went to houses where there’d been a death to assess the cause. Some were savvy enough to pay off the searchers, to turn them from their door with the verdict of consumption or fever. But my Stephen was too honest, too naïve. When my brother, who lived with us, took sick and died, Stephen allowed the searcher to do his job. By the end of that day we were locked in, quarantined for forty days, all of us together in one room. They put a watcher outside our house to make sure we didn’t escape.”

  “I’m sorry, Travesty,” Mary said, only now understanding the horror of what Travesty must have endured.

  “My youngest, my only boy, was the first to go, followed by Stephen, then my two girls. I can’t even bring myself to utter their names for fear I won’t be able to recover. They all died within the first ten days, and I was left to watch them rot. Oh, the carts came to take away the dead, but I couldn’t bear to part with them. I couldn’t bear to be left alone. They were taken eventually, to be dumped into a pit and swallowed by the earth, without so much as a word from a minister or a wooden cross to mark their graves. I spent the rest of the time alone in a house that had been full of life only a fortnight before. And then I was put out in the street. I had no money to pay for rent or food. My husband was gone, and I had no way to earn a living, other than to whore.”

  “So, you sold yourself into indenture?”

  “It was better than selling myself to countless nameless men. I thought I’d have a chance here.”

  In a colony full of unmarried men who’d give anything for the love of a woman, Mary thought. And of all the plantations, you had to end up at one where the master couldn’t be seduced.

  “I thought he’d marry me,” Travesty said, smiling bitterly. “I thought he’d elevate me from the pit of hell my life had become, but no, he had no interest in me, despite everything I did to make him happy. Instead, he married you.”

  Mary bowed her head and stared at her folded hands. Why had John married her? He could have just as easily wed Travesty. She was still young enough to bear children and warm his bed, if that was what he wanted, although she had her doubts on that score. Mary raised her eyes to Travesty’s still-beautiful face.
No, he wouldn’t have married Travesty. She was a sensual woman, even Mary could see that. Travesty had been married, had known the love of a man. She’d have expectations of a husband, she’d make comparisons. John needed a blank page, a woman who hadn’t been touched, a woman who wouldn’t know the difference between an ardent lover and a man who braced himself for the act that was supposed to come naturally to him. They’d been wed for over a month, but he’d only touched her twice during that time, and both times had been swift and impersonal, just another task to be performed before finally going to sleep.

  “You will be free to marry once your contract is up,” Mary said. She knew that was inadequate consolation, but it was better than nothing.

  “Oh yes, won’t I just? That’s five years from now, and I will be thirty by then—old, used up, and barren. It’ll be too late for me, and I’ll be lucky if anyone wants me since I’ll be starting anew with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

  “I’ll help you, Travesty. I won’t let John send you away with nothing.”

  Travesty’s eyes narrowed in scorn. “If anyone can help me, it’s Simon, not you. You have no say in anything, you foolish girl. No say at all.”

  With that, Travesty turned on her heel and stomped toward the cabin, her back ramrod straight, her head held high. Mary followed on her heels like a dejected puppy. Travesty was right. Mary had no say in anything, and likely never would. She wasn’t sure what Travesty thought Simon could do for her, but he certainly had more influence with John than the two women ever would, so perhaps he would put in a kind word for his fellow indenture.

  Chapter 19

  January 2015

  Kabul, Afghanistan

  Rhys held on for dear life as the Jeep bounced over the rutted road. He wasn’t sure if the craters were the result of nonexistent maintenance or past explosions that had gouged out chunks of asphalt as they tore off entire sections of walls from the grim-looking buildings that lined the street. Despite the damage, the buildings were still inhabited, and people carried on with everyday life in the sections that had been left undamaged.