Page 62 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

FIFTY-TWO

Virginia Colony

Once the harvest was in and the haying was done, it was time to start preparing for the winter in earnest, which made getting away unnoticed that much harder.

Mary was once again under Travesty’s watchful eye, and John and Simon went out hunting in the woods nearly every day, which made meeting Walker there more dangerous.

Mary pined for him but was too afraid to put him in danger.

If John or Simon saw her with Walker, they might shoot him, thinking he’d accosted her.

Walker came to her once a week, when she went to the creek to do the laundry, but their meetings were brief and tense.

Mary was terrified of being discovered, and Walker’s patience was running out.

If they were to leave, they’d have to leave very soon.

Every week, Mary told Walker she’d have an answer for him soon, but when the time came, she simply couldn’t bring herself to commit to a course of action.

At least she had a good reason to do the wash so often, so no one questioned her forays to the creek.

Her clothes reeked of smoke and were stained with blood.

Every time John and Simon brought back a fresh kill, they butchered the carcass in the yard and left the preparation to Mary and Travesty.

Large joints were hung up on hooks in the smoking shed, where a low fire had to burn day and night, preserving the meat.

Mary and Travesty took turns feeding the fire or dousing it with wet leaves if it got too hot.

In between their runs to the shed, they concentrated on making sausage, using the washed-out intestines and stuffing them with a mixture of meat, fat, blood, and oats.

The sausages were also hung up in the shed, in preparation for the winter months .

“Do we really need so much?” Mary asked as she stretched her back after mixing yet another batch of sausage filling. She felt tired, queasy, and lightheaded.

“And what do you think will happen when the stores run out, mistress? Think you’ll just go to town on market day and buy what you need?

’Tis not England. The ships will stop coming once the weather turns, and then we’ll be on our own in the wilderness until the first ships come in the spring.

What we make and store now will feed us till then. ”

The idea that no help would come for at least four months gave Mary a panicky feeling. What if they ran out of food? “Has anyone ever starved to death out here?” she asked.

“I’m sure they have, especially during the early years. We must plan ahead and make do. Anything we can preserve, we will.”

“What about foraging?” Mary asked, thinking she could escape and spend a few hours with Walker.

“For what? We’ve already collected all the apples and berries we could find.”

“Mushrooms,” Mary suggested.

“And do you know which mushrooms are safe to eat?” Travesty asked, her voice dripping with contempt. “Do you want to poison us all? If you are so desperate to go to the woods, then just go. You don’t need to make up an excuse.”

Mary balked. Did Travesty know? She didn’t say anything, but Mary wouldn’t put it past her.

Walker had warned her not to trust Travesty.

“I was only trying to help. I’ve never had to prepare for the winter before, living in Plymouth,” Mary retorted.

She knew she sounded defensive, but Travesty’s comment had put her on guard.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly smoking joints of venison in London either,” Travesty replied, “but we do what we must. ”

“Come, and bring a bucket,” John commanded as he threw open the door to summon Mary outside. A deer was already hanging off a stout tree limb, with Simon ready to cut its throat once the bucket was in place to collect the blood, then clean out its entrails.

The sight turned Mary’s stomach, and she bolted toward the nearest bush and retched until there was nothing left in her belly.

Her forehead was covered with a sheen of cold sweat and she panted as she tried to catch her breath.

A cup of water would have been nice, but no one thought to offer her one, so she leaned against the nearest tree and closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose until she felt more normal.

“I didn’t realize John married such a lily-livered madam,” Travesty said nastily. “Come here, there’s work to be done.”

“I can’t—” Mary gasped as bile flooded her mouth again.

She ambled to the privy. Even the suffocating smell of human waste was better than the tang of fresh blood.

Mary shut the door and pressed her forehead to the rough wood.

She normally got her flux at the end of each month, but they were well into October and she hadn’t bled.

She was about three weeks late. Her breasts felt tender, and she experienced strange twinges in her lower belly, different from the pains she normally got on her worst menstrual day.

Mary slipped out of the privy and walked toward the creek.

She needed some fresh air, or she’d be sick again.

The creek sparkled in the autumn sunshine, the water fresh and cool.

Mary wet the hem of her apron and pressed it to her forehead, then her cheeks.

The nausea had receded somewhat, but she couldn’t bear to return just yet.

Mary sat down on the grass and wrapped her arms around her legs.

There was only one reason her courses would be late.

She had to be with child. The thought excited and terrified her.

She had no way of knowing whose child she was carrying, but neither option would make her decision any easier to make.

If the baby was John’s, she’d do it a terrible disservice by going off with Walker.

John’s offspring would inherit the plantation he’d worked so hard to keep going.

Nothing in this world gave a person more status than owning land, and the child deserved the best start in life it could possibly get.

If the baby was Walker’s, she’d be putting it in terrible danger if she chose to remain in Jamestown.

Any indication that the baby wasn’t born of white parents would rouse intense suspicion.

What would Reverend Edison and the marshal do to her if they discovered the child’s father was a native? What would they do to her child?

Mary buried her head in her hands. She had no idea what to do.

Whether the child was John’s or Walker’s, she wanted it with all her heart.

Having a baby of her own to love and cherish was her heart’s desire.

She’d love her baby no matter what, even if she didn’t love its father.

As she laid a hand on her still-flat belly, Mary wondered if she’d know whose child it was once it was born.

The only thing that’d truly give its paternity away would be the skin color.

John was white as milk in places that never saw the sunlight, while Walker was nut-brown, like saddle leather.

Despite the obvious danger, she wanted it to be Walker’s.

She wanted a baby that had been conceived in love, not the result of John’s sporadic assaults on her body.

Mary rested her forehead on her knees as tears of despair rolled down her cheeks.

She had no one to talk to, no one to confide in and ask for advice.

She trusted Nell, but even Nell, kind as she was, would condemn Mary for her actions.

Nell feared the savages as much as anyone and never ventured past her dooryard on her own, terrified she’d be attacked.

To admit to her that she’d willingly lain with an Indian would put an end to their friendship.

Nell would keep her secret, Mary was sure, but she couldn’t risk telling her the truth. She couldn’t risk telling anyone.

Having come to a decision, Mary got to her feet and began walking toward home.

She’d keep the pregnancy a secret from Walker for as long as she could.

If he discovered she was with child, he’d put pressure on her to leave immediately, but she couldn’t bring herself to deny her baby its inheritance or the salvation of Christ. She’d remain with John until the child was born, then if it was obviously Walker’s and she and the child were in danger, she’d take the baby and walk into the forest and away from civilization.

If the child was white, she’d stay with John and have it baptized.

That was the only logical plan she could think of, so she wiped her eyes and adjusted her cap.

She had a child to think of now. Her own desires were no longer relevant.