The Winthrop Woman

by Anya Seton

  He flushed, but answered soon. "The times are wretched over there, Bess. The King's march to Scotland came to naught. The people cry out against him. He will not call a Parliament. There's grave fear of civil war."

  "Let them fight then!" she cried. "What's it to you?"

  He raised her work-roughened hand to his lips and kissed the palm. But he continued inexorably. "No matter Lady Bristol's conduct to me I cannot forget my duty to the Earl, nor my affection for his son. Lord George writes he must see me, he is in trouble from a duel, confined to his castle. He writes he has need of a man such as he believes I may now be to help him in certain matters—confidential missions."

  "But you said —" she burst out, "that all you cared for was the land, and yeomanry!"

  "I also said that I must earn money to pay back Mr. Whiting, which I can quickest do by working for the Digbys. Furthermore, I cannot ignore Lord George's plea, nor my mother's."

  She snatched her hand from his. She turned her head and spoke carefully. "Then you'll never come back. I'll never see you more."

  In the growing dawn light he had caught the look of her eyes, before she turned away and made her shoulders stiff and proud. Unwilling, he felt a shock of pain.

  "It's not farewell, Bess," he said. "I'll return. I swear it."

  "What good is that?" she said, holding herself tight. "We can be nothing to each other, and you do not even know where I'm going."

  "I know where you're going. Toby told me. And do you think I couldn't find you anywhere?"

  "Aye, when I am old and wrinkled and forspent."

  By this bitterness he was troubled. He had much experience of light love, but until tonight had never guessed the pangs, nor found a woman who could turn him from any purpose he had set himself. Yet it was not only in Elizabeth that strange new feelings had awakened. A longing to protect and cherish her had subdued his passion despite his first quick male fury at being thwarted. Now he finally spoke uncertainly. "What would you have me do, Bess? Stay near you always, yet gazing from afar? Shall I give up my voyage to England?"

  "Ah, no," she cried piteously, the false anger draining from her. "Forgive me. I spoke like a child. Go, go quickly. Forget me, Will. Forget this night as I shall try to."

  He turned her by the shoulders, lifted her head and pushing back the tumbled black curls, looked into her face. With his great brown forefinger he touched the rose of her cheeks, the dark arch of her brows, the cleft in her chin, the full white curve of her throat. "I'll not forget thee, Bess," he whispered against her mouth as he kissed it. "I'll not forget thee."

  He was gone before she could speak, or cry out to stop him. She heard his quick footsteps on the wooden planks of the pier and then no more as he went up the sandy street. She did not turn to look after him; she sat as he had left her on the dried fish nets, gazing out past the swaying mast of the Dolphin, to the sea where red streaks flamed on the dark distant water to the east.

  The Dolphin sailed at eight that morning, moderately provisioned and with a bundle of trading goods lashed to the deck. Toby had arisen sober enough, and surly. He said nothing of Hallet, and Elizabeth soon saw that he did not clearly remember the night before. She escaped all questioning since none of the sleepers on the shallop had awakened. For this she was grateful, though during the long days and nights of sailing she found no other cause for gratitude. Often enough in her life she had thought herself miserable, but it was never like this. She moved through the necessary duties in a haze, tending the children, emptying the slop buckets, boiling as best she could succotash and salt beef over the tiny fire which was laid on an iron slab in the cookpit. Beneath these surface actions was a gnawing ache that sharpened at night to pain, while she relived those hours on the dock at Plymouth. Lovesickness, she thought at times, taunting herself in an effort to reduce the pain by ridicule. Or lust, what more than that? The lewd wantonness of a gentlewoman; mature wife, and four times mother, flinging herself like a tap wench into the sweaty arms of a common carpenter, then panting, pleading, clinging in a shameless bawdry to this fellow who had not even spoken of love. Thank God sanity and decency had rescued her in time. But no sooner had she thought thus than all her sour triumph fell apart, the pain returned a hundredfold, and burying her face in the pillow so the sleeping Robert might hear nothing, she would weep because she had not yielded. Why had she not gone with him to the beach by the marsh grass and known at least the piercing sweetness of the flesh and its desire assuaged. Surely he could not have left her then, or if he had, she would have known he would return, for the seal would have been on them. These thoughts at night, but in the morning others.

  After Robert arose she would lie on, staring at the deck above and telling herself cold reason. Will Hallet would never return, nor would he had she yielded. For certain at Sherborne Castle there were elegant ladies, very young ones, perfumed and painted, with soft white beringed hands, ladies versed in the arts of "chivalric love." And he, no longer a common carpenter but a lord's intimate, seeing these ladies—who could not help desiring his strength and careless manhood—what memory then would he retain of a tousled plain-garbed woman who had found no better love words than a mealy-mouthed prating of adultery. "I'll not think of him again," she said each morning to herself. "I swear it." And each hour broke her vow.

  Robert, dimly aware of her silences, and that she hardly ate, ascribed this to yearning for the Winthrops or to the hardships of the voyage. He treated her with kindness which she scarcely noted, and helped her with her duties. He was no longer seasick, and indeed felt better than he had in years. As each day brought them further west, he took more interest in their journey and the coastline that they glimpsed at intervals. They rounded Cape Cod without mishap, sailed between Martha's Vineyard and the Elizabeth Islands, then passed Narragansett and the Isle of Aquidneck or Rhode Island so far out to sea that they could barely distinguish the shore.

  Once Elizabeth had thought of begging Toby to stop at Aquidneck so that she might visit Anne Hutchinson, and see how she fared. When she heard Toby tell Robert their position on the third day after rounding the Cape, Elizabeth roused herself and asked how far it was to Portsmouth on the Island.

  "Ye mean where lives that Hutchinson woman now?" said Toby. "'Tis yonder many leagues to the north. Newport's the nearest settlement, but I'd not put in there even if the wind wasn't contrary."

  "William Coddington's settled himself at Newport with others who grew weary of Mrs. Hutchinson ere long," said Robert glancing at his wife. But it seemed that Elizabeth was entirely cured of her perverted interest in the false prophetess, for she asked no more questions and went below to the cabin with a bowl of food for Telaka. The squaw's injured legs were better, she never complained, but she continued intermittently seasick, and still lay on the pallet.

  As the shallop entered the Sound past Fisher's Island they were becalmed for two days. The lug sail hung inert across the mast, or slatted feebly, while the Dolphin wallowed in great oily ground swells. The hot May sun beat down on them, and Toby, frowning, worried about their provisions and said if this kept up they'd have to row; he and Ben on one of the great oars, Robert and Elizabeth on the other, and they needn't think it would be easy. A breeze sprang up next morning, but it blew strongly from the west and the shallop had no means of sailing into the wind. Toby, muttering several robust curses, maneuvered his boat southward until he touched bottom near some oyster beds at the tip of Long Island. He dropped anchor, pulled up the little skiff they had been towing, and jumped in it. "Ben, stay on board wi' the boat," he commanded. "You others, 'cept the squaw and the babies, 'll come ashore and gather shellfish. Uncle, bring your fowling piece."

  Robert stared at him in astonishment. "We're going ashore? Where are we?"

  "I don't rightly know where we are," said Toby gruffly. "I've never been to Long Island, but 'less you don't mind starving, ye best do what I say."

  Elizabeth welcomed this distraction, which interrupted her ceaseless churning. J
oan and Lisbet, wild with delight at being on shore, rolled on the shingle like puppies and plunged in and out of the eelgrass before Elizabeth could make them help her gather mussels and clams. At this task she was none too expert herself, and the disgusted Toby had to show her the good mussels from the poisonous, and the bubbly spots in the mud which marked a buried quahog. And as the tide came in, the lobsters crawled up on the beach and Lisbet got her toe painfully pinched by one. Over the child's shrieks, Toby said to Elizabeth, "Fine family for the wilderness you are. Lotta dunderheads. N' there's Uncle can't even hit a nesting mallard!"

  It was true that Robert's gun had banged out twice and missed. Elizabeth said with apology, "I know, Toby. But we'll learn. Don't be so cross. Shall we make a fire and boil these things?" She indicated the pile of shellfish they had gathered.

  He nodded. "Save all those quahog clamshells."

  "Why?" she asked, amazed that he should burden his boat with such truck.

  "Because ye can make the purple wampum out o' them, something to do of a winter evening, and these are specially fine ones."

  "Wampum beads—like the Indians?"

  "Aye, like the Indians and the Dutch who call it seawant. 'T passes for money down here, ye'll find. Now, Aunt, stop blabbing and hasten. Cook up this stuff whilst I fill the water barrel at the creek."

  She opened her mouth to rebuke his speech. Toby was never overcourteous, yet it was unlike him to be quite so rude, unless he had been drinking mm, which she knew to be exhausted. Nor was it like Toby to hurry. Her rebuke was never spoken, for from the corner of her eye she saw stealthy movement amongst the scrub pines on the shore behind them. A singing swish zoomed by her ear and a turkey-feathered arrow splattered the sand near Joan.

  "The devil help us," said Toby. "I feared it. Get to that rock!"

  Elizabeth scooped up the children and obeyed without knowing that she moved. Behind a great upended boulder Toby squeezed next her. "Netop! Friend! Netop!" he shouted over the rock, while keeping his loaded musket ready but out of sight.

  Two grotesque painted faces peered through the pine branches. From one issued a furious harangue, completely unintelligible. Another arrow whizzed out and struck the sheltering rock.

  Toby yelled in a mixture of Dutch and German, "We are friends, we mean no harm!"

  The Indians shouted back in their own tongue, and one of them glided nearer.

  "I'll have to shoot," muttered Toby. "Though I can't hit both."

  Lisbet began to cry, a feeble wail. The nearest Indian jerked his head up, listened and laughed. He emerged onto the strip of beach, a young buck with feathered scalplock, naked except for a breechclout. He sidled down the sand, seeking a better aim, fitted an arrow and drew his bow, while Elizabeth, Toby and the little girls crept around the rock to keep it between them and the Indian.

  "Toby," Elizabeth whispered, crouching over her children. "Look that way!"

  They had now exposed themselves to the other Indian who was also taking aim. It can't end like this, Elizabeth thought. She wasn't frightened, she was astonished. Surely death didn't arrive on a sunny May morning, while one was clamming on a pretty beach. It was incongruous, funny—as a two-headed calf is funny. I wonder where Robert is, she thought, if he's watching.

  Robert was not watching. He was a quarter of a mile away in a salt marsh where he had finally shot a duck. But on the Dolphin they were watching, and as the second Indian pulled back his bowstring, a clear angry voice rang out from the boat. "Michashong anum dabanda!"

  The startled Indian's hand dropped from the bow. He stared first at his companion who was obviously also startled, then they both located the voice which continued a flow of indignant command.

  "'Tis your squaw," whispered Toby exhaling sharply, his musket still poised. "They seem to understand her."

  Telaka stood on the deck, clinging to the mast and to Ben who had summoned her. Her scars and her empty eyesocket showed clear in the sunlight, her blue cotton dress was stained and torn, her long black hair was matted, her arms were like trembling brown sticks, but she spoke with a power that daunted the hostile Indians. Careless now of the party hiding behind the rock, they moved to the waterline and shouted back at Telaka, who answered, then presently called to Elizabeth, "Missis—fetch me in boat! Fear not!"

  Toby, his musket under his arm, warily set off in the skiff and rowed to the Dolphin.

  When Telaka came ashore, she disdained Elizabeth's support, and stood proudly alone on the beach. She spoke again to the two Indians, and Elizabeth distinguished the words "Mayn Mianos" and "Siwanoy." The Indians grunted, and bowed slightly. Telaka turned to her mistress. "They are Corchaugs," she said. "Hate white man. This their land. They say you steal their wampum. I say you hungry. Only want food. They know my father, Sachem Mianos. Corchaugs have peace with my Siwanoy tribe."

  "Tell 'em," cut in Toby, "if they'll let us take food and water we'll give 'em white man's knives, or a hoe. As they like."

  Telaka interpreted this, turned back to Toby. "They want to see first. Don't know white man's things."

  When Toby again returned from the Dolphin, Robert walked onto the beach earning a mallard. He stopped dead at the sight of the Indians.

  "It's all right now, I think," said Elizabeth quickly. "There was danger but Telaka stopped them. Don't say anything. Put the gun down."

  The Corchaug braves pointed at the duck, which was certainly very small, pointed at Robert's fowling piece and shook with laughter. They spoke to Telaka, who translated. "They say white man's fire-rod go bang, bang but get nothing. White man stupid."

  Robert flushed, but Elizabeth said, "Well, at least they won't want our guns"

  Telaka nodded. "They not sure what guns can do. Very simple tribe."

  They did, however, appreciate the knives Toby brought, fine sharp English steel with heavy wooden hilts. The hoes, which they had never seen, they disdained. They squatted down, testing and fondling their knives.

  "They say you may eat and get water, but leave quahog shells alone," said Telaka. "They wait till you go."

  It was an uneasy meal, and would have been inadequate for the remaining journey, except that while the mess of shellfish—clams, mussels and lobsters—was boiling in the iron pot from the Dolphin, one of the braves suddenly disappeared. He came back soon with a large wild hen turkey slung over his shoulder. He threw the turkey contemptuously down at Robert's feet, and removed the arrow from its breast. "He says you can take this," said Telaka.

  Tire Corchaugs watched each passage of the skiff, until the Feakes were again stowed on board the Dolphin. They frowned, murmuring to each other as Toby unfurled the sail and the shallop moved sluggishly away from shore. The wind was still in the west, but Toby dared not stay within bow shot too long. Telaka advised against it. The Corchaugs were unpredictable. They might decide they wanted more knives, or with renewed hostility might summon the rest of the tribe. There was nothing for it but to get away and hope the wind would change before the boat was driven back east too far.

  At least they had the turkey to supplement the scanty remains of beans and salt beef. As Elizabeth started plucking the bird, she said to Telaka, "Rest now, my dear. I need not tell you of our gratitude."

  "Aye—" said Toby gruffly from the tiller. "'Twas a bad spot ye saved us from. Have some beer." He offered the squaw a pull from his own tin mug, a sacrifice, since the beer keg was near empty. Telaka acccpted, then licking a finger, held it up to the wind. "Chekefuana blow too much," she said. "I will tell him to stop, we need Wompanand to take us to Monakewaygo." She crept unsteadily to the bow, crouched there and began a low chanting.

  "What's all that mean?" said Toby, staring at the squaw.

  "The winds, I think—" said Elizabeth. "Chekefuana is the god of the west."

  "Pah!" said Toby spitting scornfully over the gunwhale.

  Nevertheless in an hour the wind veered. Dark clouds formed, raindrops spattered on the deck, and by nightfall the Dolphin was skimming down
the Sound before a moderate nor'easier. By then Telaka had ceased chanting and gone below to lie on her pallet and retch with seasickness.

  The next day, although it cleared, the east wind held. Toby kept close to shore as they skimmed past tiny new settlements. Relieved at the prospect of soon getting rid of his unwieldly boatload, Toby amiably named these villages as they glided by. That red mountain near the mouth of the Quinnipiac River sheltered a few houses called Roodberg by the Dutch, New Haven by the English, who were establishing themselves there under a minister named Davenport, and a merchant, Mr. Theophilus Eaton. A few thatched roofs further west along the coast Toby could not name, but he recognized Norwalk where he had been with Daniel Patrick, because though there were no English houses, there was an Indian village on one of the little islands.

  The next morning everyone was up at dawn. "'Twill not be long now," said Toby to the excited hovering Feakes. He ran his stumpy finger over a tattered chart he had made. "See that spit o' land ahead?" he said, pointing towards a heavily wooded promontory and glancing down at his chart. "That's called Shippan by the Rippowam Indians, their Sagamore Wascussue lives there, or maybe 'tis Ponus, a great chief in these parts. Don't remember. But there was a couple o' Englishmen from Wethersfield chaffering for land thereabouts when I came by last month."

  "I hope," said Robert anxiously, "the savages down here aren't like those Corchaugs on Long Island. You don't think there's been any danger for the Patricks, do you?"

  Toby shrugged. "Far as I can see an Indian's a varmint, an' I wouldn't trust any of 'em."

  "My tribe is friendly," said Telaka, suddenly appearing in the hatch, her eye darting disapproval at Toby. "Siwanoys friends with Patrick who is good man. Will be friends with Feakes, but not like bad things said of them." She glared again at Toby.

  Toby did not even listen to this speech, for he was busy trimming his sail and steering his clumsy boat as far south as he could get her, to avoid a cluster of humpbacked rocks which showed above the water. They continued down the middle of the Sound, far out because the tide was low, the shadows of rocks and shoals visible. The coastline showed no distinguishing features to Elizabeth, but she was conscious of her squaw's tenseness. Telaka gripped the corner of the hatch and muttered to herself in Indian, obviously naming landmarks. Suddenly she straightened and put her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, an astonishing intimacy. "Look!" she cried, pointing far to the right of the bow. "Look, Missis! Monakewaygo—the white sands!"