Page 60 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

FIFTY

Virginia Colony

Mary breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind Travesty and she was left blessedly alone.

She’d hardly seen Travesty these past weeks, busy as the other woman was with the harvest. Travesty alternated between hanging tobacco in the shed and collecting corn and stacking it in the corn crib.

Mary’s “exalted” position as the mistress of the house spared her the field work.

She was left in charge of all the chores: cooking, laundering, seeing to the animals, mucking out the barn, tending the kitchen garden, and even chopping wood.

Mary didn’t mind. She welcomed the solitude and breezed through the work, eager for a few hours with Walker.

She’d seen him several times since his declaration of love in the thicket, and their every meeting brought them closer together.

Walker had let go of some of his natural reserve, and Mary, starved as she had been for affection, opened up to him like a flower, eager to please and overwhelmed by the attention he paid her.

Walker was constantly in her thoughts, not only when she longed to feel his arms around her or a quiver of desire struck her like a bolt of lightning, but also when she longed for someone to talk to and laugh with.

There wasn’t much laughter at the Forrester house.

In fact, there was hardly any conversation.

Travesty, tired and disgruntled after a full day of hard labor, barely managed to keep her eyes open long enough to eat supper, and the men, used to the work but having no interest in conversing with the women, ate their meals and went outside, leaving Travesty to rest and Mary to clear up.

Mary washed up and prepared for bed, hoping to be asleep by the time John came back inside.

He’d barely touched her these past weeks, and for that she was grateful.

The thought of him inside her repulsed her now that she knew what love was meant to feel like, and his acrid sweat forced her to turn away and press her nose to the wall, which smelled pleasantly of pine and woodsmoke.

It wasn’t until she’d blossomed under the caress of Walker’s tender gaze that she’d realized how much she actually hated John.

He’d robbed her not only of a chance at a real marriage, but also of choice.

She was bound to him, and she despised her captor.

Mary often woke when John slid out of bed to go to his lover.

Did he really imagine she didn’t know what he was up to?

Or maybe he simply didn’t care. But once awake, Mary’s mind went round and round, unable to find peace.

She stood on a precipice, forced to decide whether she wanted to honor her marriage vows or follow her heart, and she’d never faced a more difficult decision.

Had Walker been a Christian, he might have understood her dilemma, but his mind couldn’t grasp the chains that bound Mary to John.

She was his wife before God. She was a Christian woman.

She couldn’t simply walk off with another man.

But ,unlike her, Walker didn’t seem to feel any moral reservations about stealing another man’s wife and couldn’t even begin to fathom the concept of damnation.

I’m an adulteress. A sinner , Mary had thought as she stared at the low ceiling of the cabin after John had slipped out last night. Every time I go to Walker, I make the choice to betray my marriage vows all over again, compounding my sin. I should repent and beg God for forgiveness .

But when morning came, her dark thoughts evaporated like the morning mist. How could her feelings for Walker be wrong when he made her so happy?

For the first time in her adult life, she experienced joy, and pleasure.

The almost unbearable anticipation of what was to come when she saw him made the chores go easier, and her heart fluttered with excitement as she rushed toward the shack, knowing that Walker would be there, waiting for her.

He always brought her something: a pretty flower, a handful of berries, or an exotic feather.

He’d even made her a beaded necklace, but she couldn’t bring it back to the cabin.

If someone found it, she’d have a lot of explaining to do.

So, she left the necklace at the shack, hidden beneath the fur, to be taken out and admired in private.

Mary had run her fingers over the smooth red and blue beads.

Walker had said they represented her and him.

She was the blue: peaceful, loving, and kind.

And he was the red: hot, passionate, and jealous.

“I can’t bear the thought of sharing you with that man,” Walker had said the last time they were together two days before.

“You’re not sharing me, Walker. You have me, body and soul.”

“You lie next to him every night. He can have you whenever he chooses. He dishonors you with his lies and his unnatural desire for that man.”

“He’s my husband.”

“He’s your jailer,” Walker snapped. “I want to wake up next to you and know that you will be there when the day is done. I want you to be the mother of my children. I want you for my wife.”

“And I want you for my husband, but I can’t have two husbands, Walker.

As long as John is alive, I’m not free. I made vows before God.

” Her words were made ludicrous by the fact that she was lying naked on the soft fur of the cot, her limbs intertwined with Walker’s, her body sated and languid after their lovemaking.

“So, unmake them,” Walker replied with the air of a man who was suggesting the only obvious solution to someone who was too dim to see it for herself.

“How does one do that?”

“The same way one vows to do something, by speaking the words. You tell your God that you are no longer able to honor the vow you made.”

“Or not willing. There’s a difference. ”

“Do you want to be with me, Mary? Yes or no?” Walker asked.

Mary was sometimes taken aback by his direct approach to every situation.

There was no slyness or untruth with Walker.

He said what he meant and did what he promised, and expected others to do the same.

He couldn’t understand Mary’s reservations.

To him, the matter was simple. She was wed to a man she didn’t love, a man who preferred another; therefore, there was no reason not to end the marriage and take another husband, one who suited her better.

Walker was thoroughly confused by the notion of hell and couldn’t comprehend why any God would punish a woman for leaving an unhappy marriage.

Mary gave up on trying to explain this basic tenet of Christianity and tried another tack.

“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 .