The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  “Walker, I would be putting you and your people in grave danger if I agreed to leave with you,” Mary said, trying to get him to see sense. “The marshal and his men would hunt us down. He’s a violent man, by all accounts, and would like nothing more than to have a reason to make war on the Indians.”

  “Mary, your marshal would never find us, and he’d have no reason to believe you were taken against your will.”

  “Do you think I can simply vanish without anyone noticing?”

  “My mother’s people vanished one day, and no one came looking for them, not until years later. The English did not make war on the Croatoan when they came. They had no reason to.”

  “This is different.”

  “You are right. It is,” Walker agreed. “The English are here to stay this time. They sent their men to work the land and build a settlement, but now they are sending women. A generation of children will be born here, and they will see it as their home. They will have children, and their children will have children. They will push us deeper into the woods, force us to flee. The English have guns and ships. The English are not our friends, even if they pretend to be. It will not be the loss of one woman that starts a war.”

  “That’s a very grim view.”

  “It’s what I see coming to pass.”

  Mary sighed. She didn’t want to think of the future, but she suspected Walker wasn’t far off in his estimation of the situation. Perhaps it wasn’t the loss of one woman that would start the war, but it might bring it closer, and the war for her eternal soul was already raging.

  “Will you come with me, Mary? You must decide before the winter comes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the mountains up north will become impassable once the snow comes. We won’t be able to reach my village, and if we try, our tracks will be that much easier to follow.”

  Mary sighed, oppressed by the growing heaviness in her heart. She needed time to think. Whatever she chose to do, she had to be at peace with her decision. Walker had nothing to lose and everything to gain. She was the one who’d be condemning herself for eternity.

  “I love you, Mary,” Walker said, sensing her sadness.

  “And I love you. I just wish things were simpler.”

  “Are they ever?”

  “I suppose not. Please, be patient with me.”

  “I will wait for as long as you wish me to. There’s no other woman for me. But, please, promise me you’ll decide soon.”

  And she had promised, seduced by his love for her, but she was no closer to a decision. She longed to be with Walker, but could she face a lifetime of living among people who were as foreign to her as Chinamen and would expect her to give up her faith? She would never be able to return if she found her new situation unbearable. She’d have to adopt the ways of the natives: dress like them, think like them, and worship like them, or she’d forever remain an outcast.

  And she hadn’t been exaggerating when she told him her decision could start a war between the Indians and the colonists. Relations were coolly civil, but there was an underlying tension that could easily explode into open conflict. How would the governor and marshal react to an Englishwoman vanishing into the wilderness? They would never believe she’d gone off on her own and immediately assume she’d been abducted by savages. What would they do if they discovered, as they certainly would, that a native had claimed one of their women for his own? Would Walker’s tribe protect him, or would they sacrifice him to keep peace with the English? She couldn’t bear to be responsible for his banishment or death. And even if they managed to get away and reach his tribe, would the Croatoan welcome her as they had welcomed Walker’s mother, or would they see her as an interloper and a liability? Walker seemed to believe they would accept her, and Mary had to trust him on that score, but her fear of the consequences made her decision even more difficult to make.

  Mary finished her morning chores, washed her hands, and ran a comb through her hair, which she left uncovered. She then made sure Travesty was nowhere near and left the cabin, hurrying toward the woods. She couldn’t wait to see Walker.

  I will decide soon, Mary thought as she approached the shack. But not today.

  Chapter 51

  February 2015

  Ramstein-Miesenbach, Germany

  Having collected his rental car, Rhys made several stops before going to the hospital to see Jo. He bought a bouquet of flowers, the brightest he could find to offset the sterile whiteness of her surroundings, and a bunch of grapes. He also picked up a box of paczki, round pastries stuffed with a fruity filling and dusted with powdered sugar.

  Rhys drove to the medical center, parked the car in a spot designated for visitors, and made his way inside. He had to admit he was nervous. He hardly knew Jo Turing, and since Dr. Stein had expressly forbidden him from upsetting her, he could hardly spring a long-lost twin sister on her or ask about what had happened in Afghanistan. They could always chat about mutual acquaintances, since they were bound to have a few, but that conversation would only get him so far, and this was his last chance to prepare Jo for Quinn’s imminent arrival.

  Dr. Stein met Rhys at the nurses’ station and smiled at him warmly. “Mr. Morgan, good to see you again. Jo is awake and in good spirits. I think she’s looking forward to your visit.”

  “May I offer her a pastry?” Rhys asked, opening the box to allow Dr. Stein to examine the contraband.

  “Only if you offer me one as well,” she replied with a wicked grin. “I’ve been on call for the past twenty-four hours and I’m desperate for a sugar rush.”

  “There’s plenty. Please, help yourself.”

  Dr. Stein reached for a pastry and took a bite. She rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “Delicious. Thank you. Ask the nurses to page me if you need anything. No more than fifteen minutes, please.”

  “Understood,” Rhys replied. Fifteen minutes was a long time to make small talk.

  Jo was propped up by several pillows, her face pale in the morning light that streamed between the slats of the plastic blinds. Her eyes lit up when Rhys walked into the room and she smiled, making Rhys’s heart turn over with a sudden realization that her smile was exactly like Quinn’s: warm, impish, and genuine.

  “Rhys, thank you for coming to see me. Are those for me?” she asked, noticing the flowers. There was a catch in her voice, as if no one had ever brought her flowers before.

  “I thought the room could do with some brightening up.” Rhys had borrowed a vase from the nurses’ station and filled it with water, setting the bouquet on Jo’s nightstand.

  “Oh, they’re gorgeous. Thank you.” For a moment, Rhys thought she might cry.

  “In my opinion, these are so much better than flowers.” Rhys handed Jo the box of pastries.

  She opened it and inhaled the mouthwatering aroma. “Mm. You’re right. I’ll have one now and save the rest for later. Would you like one?”

  “No, I’ve already indulged. I have a weakness for pastries, but I prefer baking them myself,” Rhys confessed. “It’s something of a hobby.”

  “Funny thing, that. I’m exactly the opposite,” Jo said, smiling again. “I prefer instant gratification.” She took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring it.

  “Jo, is there anyone I can call for you? Charles Sutcliffe?” Rhys suggested.

  “There’s no need, but thank you for offering.”

  “Surely there must be someone who’s worried about you.”

  Jo’s face clouded and she looked away, staring at the window, the pastry in her hand forgotten. “Sadly, no.”

  “What about your brother and sister?” Rhys persisted.

  “Especially not them.” Jo turned back to face Rhys, her dark eyes searching his face. She looked like a woman desperate to find an answer to a question that had been haunting her for some time. “You know her, don’t you?”

  “Whom do you mean?”

  “You work with her. You produce her program.” Jo spoke rapidly, breathless with anxiet
y.

  Rhys sat back in his chair, completely taken aback by Jo’s sudden intensity. “Jo, Dr. Stein asked me not to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset. Please, answer me. Do you know Quinn Allenby?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Did she send you?” Jo whispered, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Oh, please say she did.”

  Rhys nodded and reached for Jo’s hand. “She did, Jo. She raised hell to find you.”

  “Really?” Jo’s voice was barely above a whisper, but a light shone out of her eyes, a light of life-altering hope.

  “So, you know about Quinn? You got her letter?”

  Jo nodded. “I received it the night before I left for Kabul. I tried to reply. I must have scrapped a hundred different versions, but I just couldn’t get it right. It was such a shock. Such an unexpected gift. I was terrified of cocking it up, so I decided I’d just meet with her once I got back. I had to do it face to face, because no words could express what I was feeling. I couldn’t get to sleep that night. I must have watched a thousand videos on YouTube, anything that featured Quinn. I feel as if I know her face as well as I know my own. Rhys, what is she like?” She looked like a lovesick teenager, hoping for any sign of interest from a boy she liked. Jo was desperate for affirmation that Quinn was the woman she hoped she’d be.

  Rhys smiled widely and covered her hand with his own. “She’s amazing, Jo. She’s smart, and funny, and so generous of spirit. She’s searched desperately for you these past few months. She was convinced you needed help.”

  “I did.” Jo used the back of her hand to wipe away her tears. “Rhys, all my life I felt as if something was missing. I couldn’t put a name to it, it was just this hollow place inside my chest, as if a vital organ had been removed. I thought it must be the lack of knowledge about my birth parents, but I realized long ago I really didn’t care to find them. They’d abandoned me, left me ill and alone, with nothing more than a scrap of paper with my name and date of birth. I have no use for them. But a sister. A twin sister.” Jo’s face was radiant with love.

  “She’s on her way, Jo,” Rhys said softly. “She’ll be here today.”

  “Oh God,” Jo sobbed, overcome.

  “What’s all this?” Dr. Stein demanded as she walked through the door. “I specifically told you not to upset her.”

  “I’m not upset,” Jo moaned. “I’m elated.”

  “You don’t look elated to me. In any case, you need to rest now. Mr. Morgan can come back tomorrow and continue elating you then,” Dr. Stein said sternly.

  “Rhys, please bring her,” Jo begged as Rhys was ushered out the door. “Please.”

  “You have my word.”

  The last thing Rhys heard as she left the room was Jo’s muffled sniffling.

  He returned to the car but didn’t immediately start the engine. Instead, he leaned back against the headrest and stared at the expanse of pristine snow just beyond the car park. So, Jo knew. She’d known for months. That would certainly make things easier for Quinn. Rhys glanced at his watch. His first impulse was to call Quinn immediately, to relieve some of the gnawing trepidation she felt at the prospect of meeting her sister, but Quinn would still be in the air. His news would have to wait until he collected her from the airport later today.

  Rhys started the car and the engine sputtered into life. There was no other word for it. He’d have happily paid a premium for a better vehicle, but this two-door economy hybrid in bright yellow was the only thing he could get. He cringed and pulled out of the parking space. He hoped Quinn would use her time on the flight to learn more about Mary instead of fretting needlessly.

  Chapter 52

  October 1620

  Virginia Colony

  Once the harvest was in and the haying was done, it was time to start preparing for the winter in earnest, which made getting away unnoticed that much harder. Mary was once again under Travesty’s watchful eye, and John and Simon went out hunting in the woods nearly every day, which made meeting Walker there more dangerous. Mary pined for him, but was too afraid to put him in danger. If John or Simon saw her with Walker, they might shoot him, thinking he’d accosted her.

  Walker came to her once a week, when she went to the creek to do the laundry, but their meetings were brief and tense. Mary was terrified of being discovered, and Walker’s patience was running out. If they were to leave, they’d have to leave very soon. Every week, Mary told Walker she’d have an answer for him soon, but when the time came, she simply couldn’t bring herself to commit to a course of action. At least she had a good reason to do the wash so often, so no one questioned her forays to the creek. Her clothes reeked of smoke and were stained with blood.

  Every time John and Simon brought back a fresh kill, they butchered the carcass in the yard and left the preparation to Mary and Travesty. Large joints were hung up on hooks in the smoking shed, where a low fire had to burn day and night, preserving the meat. Mary and Travesty took turns feeding the fire or dousing it with wet leaves if it got too hot. In between their runs to the shed, they concentrated on making sausage, using the washed-out intestines and stuffing them with a mixture of meat, fat, blood, and oats. The sausages were also hung up in the shed, in preparation for the winter months.

  “Do we really need so much?” Mary asked as she stretched her back after mixing yet another batch of sausage filling. She felt tired, queasy, and lightheaded.

  “And what do you think will happen when the stores run out, mistress? Think you’ll just go to town on market day and buy what you need? ’Tis not England. The ships will stop coming once the weather turns, and then we’ll be on our own in the wilderness until the first ships come in the spring. What we make and store now will feed us till then.”

  The idea that no help would come for at least four months gave Mary a panicky feeling. What if they ran out of food? “Has anyone ever starved to death out here?” she asked.

  “I’m sure they have, especially during the early years. We must plan ahead and make do. Anything we can preserve, we will.”

  “What about foraging?” Mary asked, thinking she could escape and spend a few hours with Walker.

  “For what? We’ve already collected all the apples and berries we could find.”

  “Mushrooms,” Mary suggested.

  “And do you know which mushrooms are safe to eat?” Travesty asked, her voice dripping with contempt. “Do you want to poison us all? If you are so desperate to go to the woods, then just go. You don’t need to make up an excuse.”

  Mary balked. Did Travesty know? She didn’t say anything, but Mary wouldn’t put it past her. Walker had warned her not to trust Travesty. “I was only trying to help. I’ve never had to prepare for the winter before, living in Plymouth,” Mary retorted. She knew she sounded defensive, but Travesty’s comment had put her on guard.

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly smoking joints of venison in London either,” Travesty replied, “but we do what we must.”

  “Come, and bring a bucket,” John commanded as he threw open the door to summon Mary outside. A deer was already hanging off a stout tree limb, with Simon ready to cut its throat once the bucket was in place to collect the blood, then clean out its entrails.

  The sight turned Mary’s stomach, and she bolted toward the nearest bush and retched until there was nothing left in her belly. Her forehead was covered with a sheen of cold sweat and she panted as she tried to catch her breath. A cup of water would have been nice, but no one thought to offer her one, so she leaned against the nearest tree and closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose until she felt more normal.

  “I didn’t realize John married such a lily-livered madam,” Travesty said nastily. “Come here, there’s work to be done.”

  “I can’t—” Mary gasped as bile flooded her mouth again. She ambled to the privy. Even the suffocating smell of human waste was better than the tang of fresh blood. Mary shut the door and pressed her forehead to the rough wood. She normally got her flux at th
e end of each month, but they were well into October and she hadn’t bled. She was about three weeks late. Her breasts felt tender, and she experienced strange twinges in her lower belly, different from the pains she normally got on her worst menstrual day. Mary slipped out of the privy and walked toward the creek. She needed some fresh air, or she’d be sick again.

  The creek sparkled in the autumn sunshine, the water fresh and cool. Mary wet the hem of her apron and pressed it to her forehead, then her cheeks. The nausea had receded somewhat, but she couldn’t bear to return just yet. Mary sat down on the grass and wrapped her arms around her legs. There was only one reason her courses would be late. She had to be with child. The thought excited and terrified her. She had no way of knowing whose child she was carrying, but neither option would make her decision any easier to make. If the baby was John’s, she’d do it a terrible disservice by going off with Walker. John’s offspring would inherit the plantation he’d worked so hard to keep going. Nothing in this world gave a person more status than owning land, and the child deserved the best start in life it could possibly get.

  If the baby was Walker’s, she’d be putting it in terrible danger if she chose to remain in Jamestown. Any indication that the baby wasn’t born of white parents would rouse intense suspicion. What would Reverend Edison and the marshal do to her if they discovered the child’s father was a native? What would they do to her child?

  Mary buried her head in her hands. She had no idea what to do. Whether the child was John’s or Walker’s, she wanted it with all her heart. Having a baby of her own to love and cherish was her heart’s desire. She’d love her baby no matter what, even if she didn’t love its father. As she laid a hand on her still-flat belly, Mary wondered if she’d know whose child it was once it was born. The only thing that’d truly give its paternity away would be the skin color. John was white as milk in places that never saw the sunlight, while Walker was nut-brown, like saddle leather. Despite the obvious danger, she wanted it to be Walker’s. She wanted a baby that had been conceived in love, not the result of John’s sporadic assaults on her body.