Page 79 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

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Virginia Colony

Mary rose laboriously from her pallet, got dressed, and reached for her comb.

She wound her braid around several times and pinned it into place before covering her hair with a cap.

It was time to get breakfast going. She stretched her aching back and tiptoed toward the hearth, mindful of waking Dr. Paulson.

The room was almost completely dark, and Mary banged her knee on a bench on her way to the hearth.

She stifled a cry and hobbled over to the shelf where the tinder and flint box were kept.

It took a while to get the fire going, but once it took hold, Mary stood before the hearth for a few moments, warming herself.

The weather was pleasant during the day, but the nights were still cold, and the glazed windows of the doctor’s surgery were covered with a thin layer of frost. Mary added a bit of water to the congealed porridge left over from the day before and set it over the flames to warm.

Having done that, she threw a shawl over her shoulders and let herself out of the house.

She needed to use the privy desperately.

By the time she returned, Dr. Paulson was already up and dressed. He sat at the table, looking morosely into the flames. “I heard you weeping last night,” he said without any preamble.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed your rest, sir,” Mary replied.

“It is I who am sorry. You have every right to weep for your husband.”

“I weep for the man I loved,” Mary corrected him.

Dr. Paulson nodded, taking her meaning. He never asked any questions or passed judgement on her.

He was a kind man, one who understood the complexities of the human heart.

Had it not been for him, she’d still be in that stinking shed, freezing, and starving half to death, but no amount of kindness could heal her heart.

She grew more and more despondent as the days went by.

She tried to hide her grief from the doctor, but when night came and she was alone in her dark corner, memories of Walker flooded her mind and she stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle her crying.

She felt the loss of him keenly, and the pain of his death gnawed at her insides every day.

She went out to fetch the water, did the laundry outside, and peeked out the window a hundred times a day in the hope of spotting visiting Indians.

If she saw Walker’s companions, she’d go up to them and ask outright what had become of Walker’s remains.

She needed to know that he was at peace and not rotting somewhere in the woods, his body devoured by animals, his bones sinking into the softening earth.

But no one came. The incident had fanned the flames of resentment between the natives and the colonists, and trade seemed to have virtually come to a halt until goodwill could be restored.

“We are to leave shortly,” Dr. Paulson announced as he spooned porridge into his mouth.

“Are we?”

“A ship was spotted on the horizon yesterday. It might be with us as soon as today.”

“Will it?” Mary whispered. She’d known this day would come, but now that it was upon them, she was completely unprepared.

She rested her hand on her stomach. It had grown bigger over the past few weeks, and the baby was more active, cavorting inside her day and night and making her belly heave like a restless sea.

Mary was frightened of the coming birth, but she looked forward to meeting her child.

She would no longer be alone. They would be each other’s family, each other’s support.

She would do anything to give her baby a good life, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness and well-being.

She tried not to envision what her life might have been like had she left with Walker when he’d first asked .

Oh, Walker, what a fool I was not to go with you , Mary thought. I’d give anything in the world to hear your voice again and feel your arms around me. Please, come to me, if only in my dreams , she begged silently . Let me see your face one more time .

By the following day, the new arrivals had begun to trickle in—tired, bedraggled women who looked grateful to be on solid ground again and terrified of what awaited them in this colonial paradise, as Mary and her companions had been when they arrived nearly a year ago.

John’s body had been cut down and buried.

After all, it wouldn’t do to greet newcomers with a rotting corpse.

Exited bridegrooms had already gathered at the church, eager to meet their future wives.

Mary could see Dr. Paulson through the window, conversing with a finely dressed middle-aged gentleman who must be the new physician, come to take his place.

Soon, crates and sacks would get carried up to the settlement: tools, supplies, and letters from home, eagerly received and much discussed.

Mary turned away from the window and sat down on the bench.

If only she could talk to someone besides the doctor, but she had been banned from church and wasn’t permitted to walk outside.

She hoped Nell and Betsy might come to see her, but the marshal had forbidden them to visit and she doubted he’d changed his mind.

Mary sat at the table and rested her head on her folded arms as silent tears flowed.

She felt so frightened and alone now that she was truly on the verge of the unknown.

A kick from within startled her out of her misery.

Then another. It was as if the baby were telling her that she wasn’t alone.

It was there, just waiting to be born. Mary used the back of her hand to wipe her tears and sat up.

“I’m sorry,” she said to her belly. “I will be stronger. I promise.”

She pushed her despair aside and got started on her afternoon chores.

The new physician would stay with Dr. Paulson until his departure, so she had to make sure there was enough stew to go around.

She added a few more sliced root vegetables to the pot and pushed a baking dish filled with cornbread dough into the ashes at the side of the hearth.

Having seen to dinner, she prepared fresh linens to make up a bed for the new doctor, dusted the vials and jars containing various roots and potions, and then went to fetch some water.

The new man would be wanting a bath after his long sea voyage.

Mary tried not to look toward the dock as she fetched the water, but her eyes had a mind of their own.

She set the bucket on the ground and stared off into the distance.

All she could see over the curtain wall and the treetops were the tall masts of the newly arrived ship, the middle mast flying a British flag.

By this time next week, the ship might be ready to return to England, taking her away from these shores forever.