Page 67 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

FIFTY-SEVEN

Mary looked frantically from side to side.

The cabin was on fire, the flames licking at the thick logs of the walls.

She gasped for air, desperate to fill her sizzling lungs.

She was panting, searching for a way out, but she couldn’t make out the shape of the door in a wall of fire.

She was burning, suffocating, unable to move.

She was trapped on the bed, which would go up like a torch at any moment.

Mary screamed, or she thought she screamed.

All she heard was a desperate whimper. Someone was trying to pin her down, and she thrashed in an effort to save herself.

“Drink, you stubborn fool,” Travesty said from somewhere above her head. “Take a sip.”

Mary felt cold water trickle down her chin as Travesty held the cup to her lips.

She drank greedily, desperate to douse the inferno raging inside her.

A cool compress was applied to her head and she dozed off again, returning right back to her awful nightmare.

When she came to again, she heard a different voice.

“Mary, can you hear me? It’s Dr. Paulson.” Mary tried to nod, and he replied to her kindly. “Good. That’s very good. You’ve been very ill.”

Have I? Mary thought groggily. Dr. Paulson laid a cool hand on her brow and then took her wrist between his fingers.

“Continue with the compresses. Make sure to apply them not only to her head, but to her armpits and to the soles of her feet to keep the fever down. Give her this tincture once a day, but try to get her to drink some broth or boiled milk. She needs nourishment.”

“Yes, Doctor.” That was John. “And the child?”

Dr. Paulson did not reply, and Mary became agitated, trying to open her heavy eyelids to see his face. The light in the cabin blinded her and her eyes grew moist with tears. She felt as weak as a newborn kitten .

“Don’t worry about that now,” Dr. Paulson finally said. “I will come back tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor. You have been most kind,” John said.

“I’m a physician, Master Forrester. I’m not doing this to be kind.”

Mary heard Simon’s smirk. “Shall I take you back to Jamestown?” he asked.

“If you please, Master Faraday.”

Mary heard the door close and John’s footsteps retreating.

She sank deeper into the mattress, her body already succumbing to the need for sleep.

She felt as if she were falling, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.

She landed on something soft and clean, and she allowed it to envelop her as she drifted off.

Mary slowly opened her eyes. They were no longer sensitive to the light and she didn’t feel as if she were on fire.

She lay in a tangle of sheets, the blanket about to slide off the bed.

She pulled it back with some effort and covered herself.

She was cold. Mary looked around. It had to be morning, but of what day?

Her stomach rumbled with hunger and she tried to recall the last time she’d eaten, but couldn’t.

She appeared to be alone in the cabin. She tried to raise herself on her elbow, but couldn’t find the strength, so she lay back down, wondering how to get herself to the privy.

A few minutes later, Travesty came in, carrying a bucket. She must have just done the milking. “You’re awake,” she said, setting the bucket on the floor and coming over to check on Mary.

“I need to go to the privy,” Mary croaked.

“Well, that’s a good sign, I suppose. You were sweating so much these past few days, it’s a wonder there’s any water left in you. I’ll get you a bucket. You’re not strong enough to go out, and it’s cold out there. ”

Mary didn’t argue. She didn’t think her legs would carry her to the door, much less to the privy. She tried to get up, but a wave of dizziness overtook her, and she slumped back down, closing her eyes until the vertigo passed.

“Here, let me help you.”

It took several minutes, but eventually Mary was able to return to bed, having accomplished what she set out to do.

“You need to eat something.” Travesty propped her up with several pillows and settled on the side of the bed with a wooden bowl and spoon. She lifted the spoon, but Mary forestalled her hand.

“The baby,” she whispered. “What about my baby?”

Travesty tilted her head and smiled, not unkindly. “Dr. Paulson said the little mite is as stubborn as you are. Anyone would have been laid out in a pine box by now, but not you, Mary Forrester. You’re a survivor.”

“Am I?”

“That you are. Now, stop blathering and open your mouth.”

Travesty began to spoon a thin porridge into Mary’s mouth, and she swallowed obediently again and again.

She felt full after a few spoonfuls, but she needed nourishment for her baby, so she forced herself to eat.

She had just about finished all the porridge when John and Simon came in, bringing the smell of cold and pine with them.

“The wagon is hitched,” Simon said.

“I’ll stay back from church and look after Mary,” Travesty said .

“There’s no need,” Mary replied. Her voice was hoarse, but she made herself heard. “Go on, Travesty. I will be fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Travesty snapped. Mary wondered if she were trying to avoid going to church, but it wasn’t her concern. She just wanted to be left alone for a few hours.

“I feel much improved. I just need to sleep.”

“Leave Mary some food and water, Travesty, and get yourself in the wagon,” John commanded. “I won’t have you put in stocks for missing church.”

Travesty sighed with irritation but didn’t argue. She set down a muslin-covered plate and a cup on the trunk by the bed. “Buttered bread and a cup of ale for your dinner. Don’t try to get up,” she admonished.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Mary reassured her.

“I’m glad to see you feeling better, Mary,” John said awkwardly.

Mary gave him a watery smile. “Thank you, John.”

She breathed a sigh of relief once everyone left.

So, it was Sunday. She’d fallen in the creek on Tuesday.

She’d been insensible with fever for four days.

Mary brushed the tangled hair out of her face and sank deeper into the pillows.

She was no longer fevered, but she had no strength to even sit up, so she closed her eyes and rested her hands on her belly.

Her baby had survived. It was a miracle, and a sign.

Surely God didn’t condemn her for her actions if he’d allowed her and her child to live.

Mary was smiling as she sank into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The hand on her cheek was gentle and loving. “Mary, wake up.”

Mary forced her eyes open. She was still tired, but whoever was trying to wake her was quite persistent .

“Mary.” Walker was leaning over her, his eyes filled with worry. “Mary, can you hear me?”

Mary nodded. “Yes. I was ill.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw the beads in the shack and came to find you. I heard your husband talking to his man. He thought you were going to die.” Walker’s voice caught on the last word. “I was desperate to see you.”

“How did you know I’d be alone?”

“I saw them leave. I’ve been watching the house for days.”

“I fell in the creek. I slipped.”

“My poor love,” Walker said, stroking her hair. “I wish I’d known sooner.”

“Did you go home again?”

Walker shook his head. “I was needed by Chief Opitchapam. There was a meeting of the chiefs of the Tsenacommacah tribes. There are some who are in favor of war. Opchanacanough, the chief’s younger brother, wants to drive the English from these shores before more people come and force the Powhatan to abandon their ancestral lands.

The chief wanted my opinion on the motives of the English. ”

“What did you tell them?” Mary asked.

“The truth. More ships will come. The English will take more land and drive the Indians deeper inland.”

“Are you in favor of war, Walker? ”

“I’m in favor of living side by side with the English, but given what I’ve seen and heard, I’m not so sure that’s what the English want. We have a peace, but it’s a fragile one.”

Walker reached for the cup of ale and helped Mary drink. “You are so pale, like a white dove. Why were you looking for me? Did you miss me?” he asked, smiling happily.

“Yes. I miss you every day. I came to tell you that I’ll go with you to your people. I made up my mind. But what will happen to me if there’s a war with the English? Will I be treated as the enemy?”

“Mary, you will be welcomed and adopted into the tribe. You needn’t worry.”

“But I do. I worry about our child,” Mary said, smiling shyly.

“Our child?” Walker’s hand went to her belly and he splayed it over the tiny bump. His face broke into a joyful grin.

“When can we leave?” Mary asked.

“It’s a long walk to Croatoan lands, and the paths will be snowbound until the beginning of what you call March. You need to get your strength back, Mary. Then you can come to the Powhatan village and stay there with me until we’re ready to go. I will come for you soon.”

“All right.”

Walker leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips soft and gentle. “I love you, Mary. Now, rest and get better. I will see you very soon.” He extracted the necklace he had given her from his pack and slipped it over his head. “I will keep this for you until then.”