Ferryland, February 1649
A ship of sail drifted into the pool. It was so unusual to see a three-mast vessel during deep winter, Sara threw a shawl over her shoulders and ran out to meet it. Snow covered the ground, stark white against the deep grey sky and almost black sea. Manned by hardy souls, only a few fishing boats plied the grand banks this frigid day. The air smelled like it would snow soon.
A thin layer of ice crusted the snow. Each footfall broke through to powder, wetting her feet and ankles. The mansion’s front door slammed and soon David reached her side. He took her arm and guided her over the snow. They came to the hamlet where the snow had been trodden down.
Sara and David walked by the tree that struggled to live these many years. With this winter so frosty, she hoped it would still bud in spring.
While shouts from the ship rent the air, sails were furled and rear davits released a small boat. Men climbed down rope ladders as a rope chair swung over the rails.
“Oiy, give us a moment.” A man descended onto the rowing boat, followed by another. Their voices skimmed across the water to Sara and David.
A woman was helped to a bench. “Thanks to thee.”
Sara’s heart skipped a beat. “Is that Frances?”
David regarded the boat. “If so, woe and misery have struck.”
Soon the rope chair swung over the rails again, this time with young lads shouting with delight and kicking their legs.
Sara’s pulse quickened, for the woman looked like her sister. Sara’s gaze scaled up the hull to the ship’s rails. She did not see William.
“That is not Frances,” David stated. “She would not travel in the depths of winter without William.”
Only calamity would force her sister away from William and the Isle of Wight, which she had come to love. “I fear the worst, Husband.”
“Aye.” He put his arm around her shoulders as if to buoy her up in the face of tragedy.
Sara leaned into his strength, knowing this arrival would affect them greatly.
The rowing boat pushed toward them, its keel slicing through thin ice. David ran down to help bring the boat to the shore. Sara followed, more convinced than ever that the passengers were her sister and nephews. Her heart thundered in her throat. Something terrible had happened. She ran onto rocks, slippery as the devil.
“Get thee back, Woman,” David cried. “You’ll knock your head on the stones should you fall.”
“As will you, Husband,” she murmured, ignoring him.
He shot her a glance, his face in a mighty frown. When the boat hit the rocks, he worked to pull it ashore. He helped the passengers onto the rocks.
Sara had never met her nephews but knew them through her sister’s letters. The eldest, Nicholas, took after Frances, and the younger, Richard, looked more like William.
Frances walked up to her and pushed back her hood, her eyes full of tears. “He’s gone, Sara. He went overboard during a high tempest.” She slumped to her knees in the snow and wept.
Stunned, Sara knelt beside her sobbing sister and hugged her close. Her eyes filled with tears. “There, there, now. You are here. We will make things aright.”
Frances shook her head against Sara’s starched collar.
Nicholas pressed his hand on his mother’s shoulder.
The younger lad burst into tears. “You will not die, Mamma. Nay, you will not. Get thee up.” He pulled on her arm. Get thee up.”
“Come, Mistress.” David helped Sara and Frances to their feet. “Let us to the house where we’ll give thee burnt claret and a nice meal.”
Sara wrapped her arms around her sister. “Come then. We shall get thee settled.”
Richard continued to wail and Nicholas pushed him. “Quieten thyself.”
Frances rested her head on Sara’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I can endure it.”
Nicholas looked stricken. “Mamma, you must bear it. What will happen to us if you do not?”
“We’ve a new litter of curs in the kitchen, Mister Richard.” David held onto Frances and Sara. They veered off the warn path and onto the earlier footprints in the snow. They trudged to the house. “One is for you.”
The young lad’s face brightened. “For me, alone?” He gazed at Nicholas. “You shall not have it.”
Nicholas shrugged. “I don’t want a cur but a bear with heavy fur.” He shivered. “’Tis cold here. I shall have a bear coat.”
Frances gave a wet laugh as they climbed the stairs to the house. Once inside, a servant took their cloaks. Ten-year-old Davey ran down the stairs and stepped up to them, his green eyes bright with question.
“Welcome your cousins, young Davey,” Sara helped remove Nicholas and Richard’s cloaks and hats. “Nicholas and Richard, this is Davey, thy cousin.”
“I thought there were more,” Nicholas said.
“George and Phillip are in the private office, learning the fishing trade,” David informed them then exclaimed, “Sister, you are wet through. Let us to the parlour and afore the warm hearth.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, skirts swished toward David’s private office. He looked up when Frances knocked on the open doorframe.
George and Phillip stood and bowed, showing a leg. “Good day to thee, Aunt Frances,” they said in disjointed unison.
“Good day to thee.” She stepped into the chamber.
David scraped back his stool and stood. He raised his spectacles to his forehead, the ribbons pulled taut about his ears.
Frances seemed weary but her eyes were dry, which relieved him. A sobbing woman always put him at a loss. “Mistress Hopkins. How are your lads this frosty afternoon?” He bowed.
“Playing in the kitchen with Davey and the pups. ‘Tis a brave home you have here. I am surprised.”
David did not understand. He spread his hand. “’Tis a home as good as in England.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Everyone says how savage this New World is. I expected a mean hut and Aboriginals shooting arrows from behind trees.” She shrugged. “Whoever wrote about it must have been elsewhere.”
David harrumphed. “They must have been to the Frenchie part of the world, like Québec, which is indeed of a more savage nature. Lewis started to bring the fort into the proper way of it when we were cast away.” He growled.
George’s eyes sparkled. “Mamma will be annoyed if she hears you talk of those days, Dad. She does not like it when you become vexed.” He smiled at Frances. “Takes quite a long while for him to settle again into his normal joyous mien.”
Phillip laughed whilst David frowned. “Your humour is misplaced, sirrahs. Go and fetch thy mother.”
The lads laughed and thumped each other’s back. “Now, you’ve done it,” Phillip cried. “Someday that satirical wit of yours will break thy tongue.”
“And yours will not?” George pushed his brother and his shoulder hit the doorframe.
“Ouch.” Phillip rubbed his arm. “I shall get thee for that.”
David listened to them tussle toward the kitchen. He grinned at Frances. “They are near men yet still act like young mongrels.”
“You’ve done well with them.” Frances stepped further into the chamber. “I’ve brought you this.” She handed him a sealed letter.
David regarded the king’s great seal and frowned. “His Majesty does not like me.” He slapped the paper against his hand. “Blames me for those rotten pelts, most of which I had bartered for honestly.” His voice rose with the bitter memory.
“Methinks he no longer blames you for fur pelts, Sir David. He has other worrisome things on his mind.”
“The civil wars. What’s he about causing so much anguish among his people?”
“More than that.” She looked away. “His life is at stake.”
He cracked the seal and unfolded the paper, then looked up when Sara entered the chamber.
“What’s afoot?”
He waved the paper. “A letter from His Majesty.”
“Aye.” Frances cleared her throat.
Sara looked surprised. “Indeed? What does he want from us?”
David read the words, the script weak and spidery. Even as the king had abused him, to see this written weakness struck him in the gut. “Methinks, you’ve had an ill time of it, dear lady. Of course, you may stay here as long as you wish.” He reread the letter. “Ah then, thou art Lady Hopkins now.” He smiled. “Well done.”
“His Majesty knighted William in our home, not long afore he was taken away.”
David did not like the timbre of her voice. “What art thou saying, Mistress, ah, milady?”
“I don’t believe we have a king any longer.”
Sara grabbed her sister’s arm. “Do you know this for truth?”
Frances lowered her head. “Nay, I do not.” She flattened her hand over her breast. “But in here, I know it to be true.”
“To disrespect a king is not to be spoken of,” David cried. “No one would do such a thing.”
Frances pulled her handkercher from her cuff and rubbed her nose. “He stayed with us, in our house, you know.”
“What an honour,” David exclaimed.
“How difficult for you,” Sara said.
“Just before they took him away to England, he handed me that letter and warned us to flee. The tide had turned into an ugly world where royalists are no longer welcome.”
“What would they have done with him?” David demanded. The Parliament men were a horrid lot who had caused a great deal of calamity.
“Murdered him,” Frances blurted.
Sara gasped.
David’s heart stilled for a moment as Frances’ words struck deep. He heaved a breath. “That means it is only a matter of time before they come here and take what we have.”