The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  Nell reached out and put a hand on Mary’s stomach. “You’re not too far behind me, Mary.”

  “How are you, Nell? You look just about ready to burst.”

  “I am. I can’t sleep. I spend half my time in the privy, and I can barely get out of bed unassisted. I’m ready, Mary,” Nell said with a grimace.

  “Who will assist you when the time comes?”

  “Tom will go for Betsy. She delivered her younger brothers. I do wish there was an experienced midwife here.”

  “Are you frightened?”

  “Yes,” Nell replied in a small voice. “Makes it worse, it being my first.”

  “Because you don’t know what to expect?” Mary asked as she followed Nell into the house.

  “Because I do. I’ve seen my ma birth my siblings. It’s an ugly business, Mary, and a deadly one.” Mary nodded. She was frightened as well, but Walker had assured her she would receive competent help when her time came.

  When they came indoors, Tom was seated at the table, carving something out of a hunk of wood, but he excused himself and went out, giving Mary and Nell a chance to visit.

  “Tom’s making a toy for the child,” Nell explained as she swept up the shavings. She then set two cups on the table and poured them some ale. “He’s already made a cradle. He can’t wait to be a father. How is John taking the news?”

  “The same way John takes everything,” Mary replied, leaving Nell to draw her own conclusions.

  “So, nothing’s changed, then?”

  Mary shook her head. “He’s not unkind to me, but he doesn’t treat me like a wife, Nell. I may as well be another servant. There’s not a word of affection or a moment of closeness between us. We are two people who share a bed, but sleep facing away from each other.” Mary thought it prudent not to mention that John no longer slept with her. It wasn’t her intention to expose John, but simply to leave him.

  “’Tis a shame, that,” Nell said. “I must admit that Tom and I have grown closer, especially during these last months. He loves me, Tom does, and I care for him. This child is a blessing, and I pray there will be more to come.”

  “I’m glad for you, Nell, and I hope life will always be kind to you.”

  Nell took a sip of ale, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You make it sounds as if we won’t see each other again.”

  “Do I?”

  “Well, never mind,” Nell said, refilling Mary’s cup. “The spring is almost here, and it will be the start of a new life for this colony. Come autumn, there will be at least a dozen children in Jamestown, a new generation, and the first to be born in Virginia. Will they still be considered English, do you think, or will they be known as Virginians?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose since they’ll still be His Majesty’s subjects, they’ll be considered English.”

  “Well, that’s for the best anyhow. Who’d want to be known as a Virginian? They’d sound as if they’re savages. My Tom says that in time, the English will drive all the savages out, so we’ll have nothing to fear from the likes of them. Good riddance, I say,” Nell said, her gaze fierce. “An extinct savage is a good savage.”

  Mary didn’t reply, but felt a sudden urge to leave. Several months ago, she would have wholeheartedly agreed with Nell, but she could no longer condone such sentiments. She didn’t know many natives, but they were people just like the English, and they’d been on this land for generations. This was their home. What right did the English have to come and drive them off, and worse, hope for their extinction?

  Mary got to her feet. “Well, I’d best be going.”

  “I might have a little ’un the next time you see me,” Nell said, beaming. “Oh, I do hope I survive the birth.”

  “You will. You are strong, Nell—the strongest woman I know.”

  Nell wrapped her arms around Mary. “See you on the other side, my friend.”

  Mary returned the hug and hurried from the cabin. She would never see Nell again. She’d miss her company, and her support, but it was time to go. If all went according to plan, she’d be gone in a few days’ time, and just like Nell, she was ready.

  Mary was halfway home when she spotted three men walking toward her. She didn’t recognize them, but then she only knew the colonists who went to church in Jamestown. There were over a thousand people in the colony now, and several other churches had sprung up to accommodate the overflow. The men were strolling along, looking for all the world as if they were simply enjoying the fine weather, but Mary noticed the black kerchiefs around their necks and the bulging sacks they carried. Two of them had muskets slung over their shoulders and a third had a wicked-looking knife, the kind John used to cut the tobacco.

  Mary felt a twinge of unease as the men drew nearer. She had nothing worth taking, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t detain her and try to check for themselves. Mary hoped they would move aside and allow her to pass, but as soon as they approached her, they spread out to block her on three sides—not that there was anywhere to run. On her left was the forest, and on her right an open field. If she ran, they’d catch her in moments.

  The men were smiling at her as though enjoying her discomfort, their eyes glinting with amusement. Mary stood still, meeting their smiles with what she hoped was a stern expression, but her innards were quivering with fear. Up close, she saw that the men were young and fit, but their unkempt clothes and torn hose suggested they had no women to look after them.

  “Good day to you, sirs,” Mary said civilly. “Please allow me to pass.”

  “Good day to you, mistress,” one of the men said. He was broad and stocky, his thick blond hair hanging to his shoulders in greasy sheets. “Where are you bound?”

  “Home,” Mary replied. The men still hadn’t moved, and she was growing more nervous by the minute.

  “And where might home be?”

  “I’m the wife of John Forrester. I live about a mile down the road.”

  “Oh, aye, we just passed your homestead, didn’t we, lads?” the blond man said.

  The other two nodded. They seemed to have no interest in John or his plantation, probably because three men against two didn’t make for good odds, and Travesty could make for a formidable opponent if armed with a hoe or scythe. The man cocked his head and studied Mary with interest, no longer smiling. Mary took a step back as he advanced toward her, but there was nowhere to go. The man standing behind her didn’t budge, so by moving away from one, she moved closer to the other.

  “I don’t have anything of value,” Mary cried, now terrified.

  “Don’t you?” the blond man said. The smile was back, but it was ugly and sly. “I’d say you have something even more precious than corn and beans, Mistress Forrester.”

  He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her toward him, pressing himself against her. The other two chuckled as they watched. Mary felt the bristle of her assailant’s beard against her cheek. He reeked of sweat and onions, and she nearly retched when he brought his face close to hers as if he were going to kiss her. She knew he was toying with her, but she wasn’t courageous enough not to show her fear.

  “Please, let me go,” she pleaded.

  “You heard the lady, Anselm. Let her go,” one of the men said, and the two laughed uproariously.

  “Please—” Mary begged, but he silenced her with a hard, punishing kiss. The man who stood behind her slid his arms around her to cup her breasts. He weighed them in his hands as he ground his stiff rod into her buttocks. “Nice pair of tits on our Mistress Forrester.”

  Mary struggled, but the men had her surrounded. They were fondling her roughly, their hands all over her body. She cried out as Anselm bunched up her skirt and forced his hand between her legs, his fingers probing her in a most intimate way.

  “Please, stop,” Mary pleaded. “I’m with child.”

  “We don’t mind if you don’t.” Anselm laughed mirthlessly and the other two cackled, as if he’d given them permission to be amused. “Hands off,” he sudd
enly barked, and the other two took a step back, surrendering her to their leader. He pushed Mary onto the side of the path, where last year’s grass covered the hard ground, and stood over her. “I haven’t had a woman in six long years, mistress. I don’t care if you’re in your throes, I’ll have you anyway. And then my companions will too.”

  He began unlacing his breeches. The other two were clearly willing to let him have the first go, happy to get a turn at all. They were rubbing themselves, mesmerized as they watched Anselm pin Mary to the ground and free his throbbing cock from his breeches. Mary thrashed, desperate to throw him off her, but he was too strong, and too eager.

  “Quit fighting and I’ll go easy on you,” Anselm promised as he forced his knee between Mary’s legs. “I mean you no harm. I just want to get my stones off with a real woman, not my calloused hand,” he joked.

  He moved his head closer to Mary, his ear only an inch from her mouth. Mary bit him. Hard. Anselm yelped and grabbed at his injured ear, giving her just enough leverage to throw him off.

  Mary scrambled away from him on her behind, her teeth bared as she glared at him, glad she’d been able to inflict pain. She had no illusions—these men weren’t going to let her go, not if she could identify them to the marshal. They were going to use her and kill her. Even if her body were found, no one would know who’d committed the crime. No one would hang.

  Enraged, Anselm threw himself at Mary and pinned her to the ground with his body, shoving his knee between her legs again. He slapped her hard, then again, until her teeth rattled in her mouth. He was cursing at her, but Mary couldn’t make out the words over the ringing in her ears. She swiveled her hips as Anselm tried unsuccessfully to guide his cock inside her with one hand. He grabbed her breast and squeezed hard, making her cry out in pain.

  She heard a strangled cry and then something hot and thick blurred her vision, but she couldn’t wipe it away. Anselm’s body drove the breath from her lungs as it slumped on top of her, heavy and immobile. Mary wiped her face against the linen of Anselm’s sleeve and managed to open her eyes. An Indian tomahawk protruded from the top of his skull, the handle pointing toward the cloudless sky.

  Mary screamed and tried to push Anselm’s body off her, but he was too heavy, and she was pinned to the ground. She heard a swishing sound and watched in astonishment as an arrow lodged itself in the throat of one of the men. He raised his hand in disbelief and clutched at his neck as crimson blood ran over his fingers and dripped onto his shirt. His eyes rolled wildly as he rasped a plea for help, but the second man had no time for him. He fired his musket just as an arrow found its mark in his shoulder. The man roared with pain, but tried to reload his musket regardless, his hands shaking and clumsy. He gave up and threw the musket to the ground just as his friend sank to his knees and then keeled over in the dirt.

  “Walker!” Mary cried as he erupted from the woods.

  Walker hauled Anselm’s body off her and threw it to the side as if it were a corn dolly, his eyes roaming over her to assess the damage.

  There was a look on his face she’d never seen before and she found herself speechless, frightened by the bloodlust burning in his eyes. He was enraged, and murderous. He spun around, aware of danger before she saw it coming. The second man had torn the arrow out of his shoulder and tossed it aside. Blood poured from his mutilated shoulder, but he didn’t seem to notice. His skin had turned a sickly shade of green, but he was shaking with rage, his eyes wild as he looked around for a weapon. He yanked the knife out of his friend’s belt and came at Walker, his teeth bared in an evil grin.

  Walker grabbed his own knife and tried to jump out of the way, but the man lunged with all his strength, knocking Walker to the ground and delivering a vicious stab to his stomach. He raised the knife again, but Walker drove his blade into the man’s groin, taking him by surprise. The man roared like a wounded beast, startling the birds in the nearby trees. They took flight, their wings flapping loudly over Mary’s head. The man wrapped his hands around the handle of the knife and drove it into Walker’s chest before collapsing next to his attacker. He twitched as his life ebbed away, then went perfectly still.

  Mary was beside Walker in seconds. He lay sprawled on the ground, his buckskin shirt shredded by the slashes of the knife. Mary didn’t need to lift the garment to know the wounds were severe. Blood trickled into the dirt next to him, and he’d loosened his grip on the knife, allowing it to fall from his hand. The murderous rage had gone out of his eyes, replaced with pain and shock, and sorrow for what would now never be. His gaze seemed to be fixed on the sky, the blue of the heavens reflected in his pupils.

  “Walker, please, don’t go,” Mary pleaded. “I’ll go for help.”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do for me now,” Walker whispered. His voice was hoarse as though speaking took a great deal of effort.

  “I’ll get Dr. Paulson,” Mary cried.

  “No.”

  “Walker, please, let me help you.”

  “Help me by leaving. I need to know you’re safe.”

  “I’m safe.” Mary took Walker’s hand and laid in on her belly. “He’s safe too. You must live for him.”

  Walker’s smile became dreamy, his gaze unfocused. “Tell him about me. Tell him I loved him.”

  “You’ll tell him yourself. Please, don’t leave me.”

  “My life is a small price to pay to keep you both safe,” Walker whispered.

  “How can you be so selfless?” Mary cried. She was always taken aback by the purity of Walker’s emotions.

  “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres,” Walker rasped.

  “How do you know that?” Mary gasped. Walker had never given any indication that he’d read the Scripture.

  “My mother used to say that to me when I was upset. She said that love has the power to conquer all fears, all hate. Go, my Mary. Go home. Leave me. I don’t want you to see me die.”

  “No, I won’t leave you.”

  “Please,” Walker pleaded. “Do this one last thing for me.”

  Mary kissed him tenderly on the lips and forced herself to rise to her feet. She took one step, then another, until she was walking toward the plantation. Tears streamed down her face, and she could barely see where she was going. She heard Walker’s voice as it carried on the breeze, singing a song that tore at her heart. His death song.

  She stopped walking and doubled over, seized by a pain so intense she couldn’t go on. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The only person she loved was dying, bleeding out on the side of the road, alone and untended. Mary took a deep breath and resumed walking. Before she knew it, she was running for her life. She didn’t care what Walker had asked of her. She was going for help.

  Chapter 61

  March 1621

  Virginia Colony

  Mary sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes downcast. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the men who filled the cabin, their voices harsh and loud, and their stances aggressive and intimidating. They were arguing, throwing out ugly accusations, and pointing the finger at her.

  “Tell us again what happened, Mistress Forrester,” Marshal Craddock demanded, towering over her, his eyes as hard as flint.

  “I’ve told you already,” Mary replied. Her thoughts were like threads that kept slipping away from her, her fingers not nimble enough to grab the ends and tie them together.

  “Please, Marshal, she’s clearly distressed,” Secretary Hunt argued. “Just look at the state of her. Surely you believe her.”

  His words reminded Mary that her gown was still covered in blood—Anselm’s blood, and Walker’s. She laid a gentle hand over the dark brown stain on her skirt. The blood from the wound in Walker’s stomac
h had leaked onto her skirt as she bent over him. “Walker!” her mind screamed. All she wanted was to cower in some dark place where no one could see her. She wanted to cry until she had no tears left, scream till she lost her voice, and rage at the cruel God who had taken away the man who’d saved her from a terrible fate. Walker had died so she could live.

  “I believe Mistress Forrester was there when the attack took place. Whether she was physically molested is unclear. My men and I have examined the scene. There are butchered remains of three colonists. One has a split skull, one took an arrow to the throat, and the third was stabbed in the groin and had half his shoulder gouged out. This attack was perpetuated by an Indian—a blatant attack on Englishmen, on England itself.”

  “Do you have any of the weapons?” Secretary Hunt asked. He wasn’t nearly as incensed as the marshal, his face thoughtful and calm.

  “No. He made sure to remove any trace of his involvement.”

  “Mistress Forrester claims the man who came to her aid was fatally wounded,” Secretary Hunt pointed out. “What became of him?”

  “He was nowhere to be found,” the marshal replied. “Surely this proves he wasn’t acting alone.”

  Mary breathed a small sigh of relief. The Powhatan must have removed Walker’s body, as well as his weapons and broken arrows. They’d have wished to avoid an armed conflict with the colonists but had no way of knowing that there was a witness to what had taken place. Marshal Craddock had been interrogating Mary for two hours, and he was baying for Indian blood, ready to declare war on the Powhatan nation. It wasn’t in Mary’s power to prevent a war, but knowing that Walker’s remains would be treated with dignity and respect made his passing a little easier to bear.

  “Did you know this Indian who came to your aid, Mistress Forrester?” Secretary Hunt asked softly. He made a pretense of being sympathetic, but Mary knew he only wanted to avoid bloodshed. The Virginia Company was interested in profit, not revenge.