Page 21 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

FIFTEEN

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.

Overcome 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.

“What are they doing here?” Mary whispered as soon as the wagon passed the men.

“They come to discuss business with the governor.”

“What business could they possibly have?” Mary exclaimed.

“Trade. They likely heard a ship had come in and came to barter.”

“Barter for what?”

John shrugged, uninterested in the conversation. “They trade animal skins for goods that come in from England.”

“What type of goods?”

“Steel, for example. Their weapons are made of sharpened stone, but now they know that steel is more effective. They need blades for their daggers, and they want muskets.”

“Does the governor welcome them into Jamestown?” Mary asked. She was shocked by what she’d just learned but tried not to show it since John didn’t seem the least bit put out .

“The governor would welcome the devil himself if there was profit to be had,” John replied bitterly.

“Is he not an honorable man?”

“Mary, being honorable doesn’t preclude powerful men from growing rich off trade and acquisition. Governor Yeardley is a shrewd businessman and politician. It’s better for everyone to keep peace with the natives and engage them in trade.”