Page 32 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

TWENTY-FOUR

By the time Mary returned to the cabin, the sky had turned an ominous shade of gray and any trace of a breeze had died down, leaving the air still and heavy.

There was an atmosphere of expectation, as if nature were holding its breath, waiting for just the right moment to exhale.

At long last, fat drops of rain began to fall, soaking the floor just beneath the windows.

Travesty dropped what she was doing and dashed across the cabin to affix the leather panels to the windows to prevent the interior of the house from turning into ankle-deep mud.

Unable to concentrate on mending John’s shirt, Mary set it aside and moved to the table.

She was surprised to see Travesty produce two fat rabbits, which she laid out on the flat surface.

“Where did those come from?” Mary asked.

It’d been at least a fortnight since they last had meat, and her mouth watered at the prospect of rabbit stew.

Their diet consisted mostly of corn, beans, cheese, and the occasional serving of stewed fruit, picked from the wild fruit trees Travesty had discovered near the plantation. Meat would be a most welcome change.

“Simon came across some traps in the woods,” Travesty replied. “Set by the savages, no doubt. So, he helped himself.”

“That’s stealing,” Mary replied without thinking.

Travesty gave her a sharp look. “Concerned with fairness toward the godless, are you? They don’t deserve your sympathy.”

Mary didn’t reply. She couldn’t help wondering if the traps were the ones set by Walks Between Worlds.

He had said he’d come to check his traps, but he’d been empty-handed.

Perhaps he’d left what he’d collected on the other side of the creek.

She was still angry with him, but she shouldn’t have called him a liar to his face.

He’d appeared genuinely hurt by the accusation.

Mary watched as Travesty hacked off the heads of the rabbits, sliced their bellies open from neck to tail, and began to clean out the innards.

The Indian had told her his name meant he walked between worlds.

It was a strange name, but it said something about who he was.

She’d known many Marys, Annes, Elizabeths, and Margerys.

She’d never known anyone whose name was utterly unique. Except Travesty.

Travesty grunted with effort as she separated the skin from the lifeless bodies, leaving behind nothing but shiny pink carcasses.

She set aside the skins and began to cut up the rabbits, dividing each carcass into six sections.

Her hands were covered in blood and gore, but she didn’t seem bothered.

Her eyes shone with the prospect of a good meal.

“By suppertime, these will have been simmering in the pot for several hours. The aroma alone will bring the men running back.”

“Won’t they return from the fields now that it’s storming outside?” Mary asked. The rain was still coming down in a torrent, its hammering clearly audible even with the window coverings down.

“Nah. They’ll keep at it. Working in the rain is probably more pleasant than toiling in the hot sun. And it’s not as if there’s lightning. To my knowledge, no one’s been damaged by a little rain.”

“What will you do with the skins?” Mary asked, watching as Travesty carefully washed off the blood and hung the skins to dry after getting the stew going.

Travesty’s head spun around, her eyes flashing. “You can have them, not that you have need of them.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with them,” Mary replied, trying to pacify the woman. She was so easily roused to anger. “I only wanted to know what they can be used for.”

Travesty had the decency to look contrite. “Forgive me, mistress. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I don’t know what’s got into me these past few days,” Travesty said. “I was going to tan the leather and use it to make new shoes. Mine are worn right through.”

Mary hadn’t noticed that there was a cobbler in Jamestown, but perhaps Travesty would make the new shoes herself. Walks Between Worlds had been wearing soft leather shoes that didn’t resemble any shoes Mary had ever seen, but they looked comfortable and seemed to make no noise when he walked.

“Travesty, have there ever been Englishwomen here in Virginia before now?”

“Not that I know of. I was one of the first to arrive on these shores. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Mary lied. Travesty looked somewhat more amenable since her unexpected apology, so Mary seized the opportunity to keep her talking. “Is Travesty your real name?” she asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s unusual, is all. Not the type of name you imagine a mother giving her child.”

“I wasn’t named by my mother,” Travesty replied.

She turned toward the hearth to stir the contents of the pot, releasing the appetizing aroma of cooking meat.

After she finished, she turned back to Mary.

Her expression was wary, but she sighed and allowed her shoulders to relax, as if she’d made peace with whatever emotions were raging inside her.

Travesty sat down at the table and clasped her hands in front of her, her gaze directly on Mary.

“My mother and her brother, Jack, were orphaned at a young age. My mother was the elder and managed to look after Jack. She found employment for them in a tavern. My mother did the cooking during the day and served the patrons at night. Jack helped out in the stable.”

“How old were they?” Mary asked .

“They were fourteen and eleven. They got along fine for about a year, until Jack discovered that my mother was with child. She wouldn’t tell him who the father was, but he suspected it might have been one of the patrons, who was long gone and had no way of knowing he’d left something behind.

Not that most men would care. He’d got what he wanted, and the rest was none of his concern.

It wasn’t one of the local lads, of that he was sure.

It was an isolated place, and Jack had never seen anyone hanging around Holly.

” Travesty let out a deep sigh. “I haven’t told this to no one but my husband, mind,” she said. “I don’t like talking about it.”

“I’m sorry. I had no wish to pry.”

“Hadn’t you?” Travesty retorted. “Well, I might as well tell you the rest of it now. When Holly’s pains began, she went to the stable, where no one would disturb her.

She had no money for a midwife, and there wasn’t one around for miles anyway.

She labored for two days, during which time the landlord came into the stable and beat her black and blue for leaving him without help.

The beating finally brought on the child.

I was born in the dead of night, with just Jack to attend on my mother.

She died before she even laid eyes on me.

This was the worst thing that could have happened, so Jack named me Travesty, for I would always be a reminder of the sister he’d lost.”

“Oh, Travesty. I’m sorry,” Mary said softly and reached for Travesty’s hand, but the woman yanked it away.

“So, twelve-year-old Jack was left with a newborn baby and no employment, since the landlord told him to clear off and refused to pay what Jack and Holly were owed. Jack took me and left. He never spoke of that time, but I know it nearly broke him. He managed to keep us alive, and when I was two, he left me with a family he’d come to know in London and went to sea.

Whenever he came back, he paid Master and Mistress Harkness for harboring me, and he brought me little treats.

He was the most important person in my life, Jack.

Years later, when I married my Stephen, Jack stayed with us whenever he was back in London.

He was there when the Black Death came calling. ”

“He died with the rest of them,” Mary muttered, recalling that Travesty had said her brother had died along with her family.

Travesty nodded. “Yes, he died with the rest of them. I’m the only one left. The thoughtless name he gave me is the only thing I have left of him and the life I knew. I’ve come to like it. It says something of who I am and where I come from.”

Just like Walks Between Worlds , Mary thought.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, mistress,” Travesty said, her voice clear and sharp. “We’ve all had our share of troubles. But I mean to make something of myself in this new land. I won’t be a slave forever.”

“You’re not a slave,” Mary countered.

“As good as.” Travesty gave Mary a look of pity. “But at least my enslavement will end.”

The rain had tapered off while they talked, and a hazy sun now shone through the thin leather covering the window. Travesty opened the windows and allowed the fresh air to blow away the stale closeness of the cabin.

“After a storm, the sun always comes out again,” she said, as if speaking to herself. “The sun will come out again.”