To say the newly arrived colonists were disappointed when they saw the Salem settlement would be an understatement—like saying Bishop Laud didn’t much care for Puritans.
Drew’s initial thought was that the pitiful collection of huts and shelters beside the bay had to be the remnant of an earlier encampment. The real colony must be hidden among the trees. But as he disembarked, the truth became evident. This was Salem.
He tried to remember exactly what he had heard about the New World. Maybe he was expecting too much. But the looks on the faces of his fellow shipmates convinced him that they were just as shocked as he.
Governor Endecott and his replacement, John Winthrop, walked past Drew in animated discussion. Endecott had a round face and round eyes with heavy eyelids. He sported a long white mustache that flared at the ends and a long slim beard about two fingers wide that looked pasted to his chin. There was a stern set to his face, and he spoke in a brash tone that displayed his quick temper.
Drew heard only part of Endecott’s explanation to Winthrop, but it was enough to get a picture of a struggling settlement on the verge of failure. Of the two hundred settlers who had arrived the previous year, only eighty-five remained. More than eighty of them had died; the rest had returned to England.
A general sickness had struck the colony in the winter, just as it had at Jamestown and Plymouth. The sickness ravaged the settlement. It was so severe that Endecott set aside his doctrinal differences with the Separatists and sent for Samuel Fuller at Plymouth. Dr. Fuller had an abundance of experience in cases of scurvy, fevers, and various illnesses that usually followed long sea voyages. If it hadn’t been for the doctor’s skills, the entire settlement might have been wiped out.
As the leaders moved out of range, Drew saw Jenny’s shallop approach shore. He went to greet her and steer her clear of the two; he didn’t want her to overhear what they were saying.
Jenny and Drew, along with most of the other new settlers, toured the settlement. Thatched huts of various sizes were scattered along the shore, separated only by mud and mire. The few children Drew and Jenny saw were dirty and wore ragged clothing. They were somber and quiet, with none of the excitement one would expect on the arrival of three new ships. The residents of Salem greeted the newcomers with genuine warmth; there was joy on their lips, but not in their eyes. The sunken and dark eyes of Salem revealed injured souls—they were tired of the hardships, tired from the lack of food, tired of attending the funerals of their friends. The people of Salem were beaten down and discouraged, and a shipload of fresh faces wasn’t about to change that. Last year a similar shipload had arrived; most of them were now buried in the woods.
Jenny’s face, normally innocent and cheerful, was white with shock. She looked as though she were walking through a graveyard and finding a headstone with her name on it. Drew tried to cheer her up, but with little success.
The only positive diversion of the day was the discovery of strawberry plants in full bloom. The fruit was large, red, and juicy. After so many days of salted meat, picking and eating the berries provided some festivity in an otherwise disappointing day. To get her mind off the condition of the settlement, Drew suggested that he and Jenny pick some berries for Nell and take them to her aboard ship to cheer her up.
That first night all the new arrivals slept on board ship, including Governor Winthrop and a native guest. The Indian chief, a friend of Endecott, was fascinated with the large sailing ship and asked if he could sleep aboard the Arbella.
Permission was given, and the Indian slept alone on the deck. On his last night of watch as a crewman, Drew studied the native while he slept. It was more than just curiosity, since Captain Milbourne had given specific instructions to the night watch to guard the Indian. He wanted no surprise guests joining the chief in the middle of the night. The Indian was dark and muscular, and his clothing of skins and shells reflected his habitat. When he first came on board, he was wide eyed and all smiles. After a tour of the ship, he lay down on the deck and slept contentedly. And why shouldn’t he? He wasn’t the one who had just walked away from civilization to live in the wild.
Already, Drew had heard some of the colonists say they were returning to England with the ship. This was no New Jerusalem, it was Hades—the realm of the dead. Drew was quick to agree with them. Had he come alone, it would be one thing. But he wasn’t alone—he was responsible for two women. He’d given his pledge to ensure the safety of Jenny and Nell. He knew Christopher Matthews had never intended for his daughters to live in this … this.… The word came to mind and Drew didn’t want to say it … wilderness. This was a wilderness. He didn’t want to use the word because it argued against him. Wasn’t it the exact word the curate used?
It’s time for God’s people to fly to the wilderness.
His instincts told him to take Jenny and Nell back to England for their own safety. Yet he couldn’t get the curate’s words out of his mind. Did Christopher Matthews really think God’s people belonged here?
As the new governor of Massachusetts Bay, John Winthrop called a meeting for one hour before noon the following day. Every able bodied man and woman was ordered to attend. Only those who were needed to care for the sick were excused. Drew used this exclusion to insist that Jenny stay on board ship. It was better that she not hear some of the things that would be said.
Winthrop arrived wearing worn boots, breeches, and a soiled and frayed shirt. He looked more like a servant than a gentleman of breeding and wealth. He strode to the center of town, one of the muddier spots among the loosely situated huts, and addressed the people.
“I don’t have to tell you that this is not how we pictured life in the New World.”
There were a few nervous chuckles. No one spoke up to dispute the statement.
“But by fall, each of you will have a proper dwelling, and come summer of next year, we will turn this wilderness into a community. I’ll not mislead you. Supplies are low, far below our expectations. We’ll need to plant corn immediately and pray for a sufficient fall harvest. At the earliest possible date, we’ll send a ship back to England for more supplies.”
“I’ll be on that ship!”
The man who spoke up wore a white shirt with a ruff and sported a sharply trimmed, fashionable beard. Drew didn’t know much about him, only that he brought his wife and three sons with him and that his name was Worthington.
“I pray you’ll reconsider, Peter,” Winthrop said.
“I didn’t sign on to live in the mud like a pig,” Worthington replied. “Nor did I bring my family all this way to bury them in the forest!”
Several other men voiced similar sentiments. Winthrop had to raise both hands over his head to regain their attention. He didn’t continue until everyone was quiet.
Endecott was standing next to him. The new governor held out his hand, and Endecott handed him several sheets of paper.
“While sailing here, I asked myself some questions about who we are and what we are attempting to do in this New World. I recorded my thoughts on these papers. Last night, just like you, I wondered whether we had made a mistake in leaving England. Then I reread my writing. Now more than ever, I believe God has a plan for us. And God’s plan is for us to remain here, not to return to England. I read these thoughts to you, hoping they will have the same effect on you that they had on me.”
Winthrop lifted the papers and began reading. Drew looked around him at his fellow colonists. The folded arms, the set jaws, the tight lips told him the governor was fighting a losing battle. Yet he continued.
“I have titled my thoughts, ‘A Model of Christian Charity.’”
Following a lengthy discussion of the scriptural basis of Christian love as it would apply to the new community, Winthrop proceeded to the application of the principles—
Now to make some application of this discourse by the design, which gave the occasion of writing of it. Herein are four things to be propounded: first, the persons; secondly, the work; thirdly, the end; fourthly, the means.
First, for the persons. We are a company professing ourselves fellow members of Christ.… We ought to account ourselves knit together by this bond of love, and live in the exercise of it, if we would have comfort of our being in Christ.…
Secondly, for the work we have in hand. It is by a mutual consent through a special overvaluing providence and a more than ordinary appropriation of the churches of Christ, to seek out a place of cohabitation and consortship under a due form of government both civil and ecclesiastical.…
Thirdly, the end is to improve our lives to do more service to the Lord; the comfort and encrease of the body of Christ whereof we are members; that ourselves and our posterity may be the better preserved from the common corruptions of this evil world.…
Fourthly … the work and end we aim at. These we see are extraordinary; therefore we must not content ourselves with usual ordinary means. Whatsoever we did or ought to have done when we lived in England, the same must we do, and more also, where we go.…
But if we shall neglect the observation of these articles which are the ends we have propounded and, dissembling with our God, shall fall to embrace this present world and prosecute our carnal intentions, seeking great things for ourselves and our posterity, the Lord will surely break out in wrath against us, be revenged of such a perjured people, and make us know the price of the breach of such a covenant.
Now the only way to avoid this shipwreck, and to provide for our posterity, is to follow the counsel of Micah, to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God. For this end, we must be knit together in this work as one man. We must entertain each other in brotherly affection; we must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the supply of others’ necessities. We must uphold a familiar commerce together in all meekness, gentleness, patience, and liberality. We must delight in each other, make others’ conditions our own, rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, our community as members of the same body.
So shall we keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. The Lord will be our God, and delight to dwell among us as His own people, and will command a blessing upon us in all our ways, so that we shall see much more of His wisdom, power, goodness, and truth, than formerly we have been acquainted with. We shall find that the God of Israel is among us when ten of us shall be able to resist a thousand of our enemies; when He shall make us a praise and glory that men shall say of succeeding plantations, “The Lord make it like that of New England.” For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us.
Winthrop lowered the papers.
“Our task is not an easy one,” he said. “Winter is near at hand. And if Plymouth Plantation and last winter in Salem are any indication, some of us will not survive. But dying for a dream is not a vain thing. The sacrifice we make—whether that sacrifice comes through living or dying—will be the foundation of a new community. A community that will be a blessing to our children and our children’s children for ages to come. Each family must decide for themselves. As for me, I choose to live here and to send for my wife and family to join me at the earliest possible date. England holds nothing for me but persecution and the sword. I would rather battle the elements of the wilderness than to battle the bishops of England. For the glory has departed from old England; it is just beginning in New England.”
Some were unmoved; they chose to return to England. However, John Winthrop won many converts that day. One of them was Drew Morgan.
The first order of business was to find a new site for the settlement. Salem lacked the resources to accommodate the numbers of people that were coming in the second wave of settlers. Scouting parties were sent up the Charles and Mystic Rivers in search of alternative locations. The reports that were brought back divided the party. They couldn’t decide on a single location, but there wasn’t time to debate. Crops had to be planted and houses had to be built. So, against John Winthrop’s pleas, the colonists founded several community sites.
Sir Richard Saltonstall founded Watertown, four miles upstream on the Charles River; William Pynchon founded Roxbury; Mattapan was settled and renamed Dorchester by Roger Ludlow; Deputy Governor Dudley established Newtown; Increase Nowell presided over the base camp at Charleston; and John Winthrop established Boston.
Since survival was the order of the day, every person had a job. Some were appointed to provide fish for the community. These fishermen divided into teams, and two shallops were kept on the waters at all times. Competition was encouraged between the fishing teams. The community would need to put up mounds of salted fish if it was going to survive the winter.
Other teams were formed to build shelters. Nothing fancy for the first year, just enough to get through the winter. The shelters to be built were called English wigwams, fashioned after the houses of the Pequot Indians. Tree limbs were stuck in the ground around a rectangular base. The tops of the limbs were then bent toward the center top of the structure and tied together. Horizontal limbs tied to the vertical studs provided stability. Each house had a door at one end and a fireplace at the other. The structure was covered with bark or thatches. Furniture consisted of a four legged table and a bench made from the trunks of trees.
The women who were able did fieldwork in the mornings and went to dig at the clam banks at low tide. The rest were appointed to nursing details under the direction of Mr. Skelton, the minister, who was also in charge of the food stores. It would be his responsibility to provide daily rations fairly.
Mr. Higginson, the other minister of the colony, was given the specific task of praying and preparing a strong word for Sundays, teaching the colonists what it meant to serve God and one another.
The colonists would meet every morning for daily work assignments, break at noon to eat, and work to four hours past noon. The rest of the day they were free to take care of the needs of their families.
Work was well under way when the Talbot finally reached port on July 2, twenty days after the Arbella. The first of the second wave of ships, the Mayflower and the Whale, had reached port July 1, and by July 6 all of the ships had safely arrived.
It didn’t take long before Winthrop’s prophecy of death for some colonists was fulfilled. On the day the Talbot arrived, Winthrop’s second eldest son, Henry, was drowned in a fishing accident. And in August Lady Arbella fell ill and died; her husband, Isaac Johnson, died a month later. Their deaths had a profound effect on the colony.
Nell, on the other hand, began to show some improvement. She had been moved off the ship into one of several English wigwams built in Boston to house the sick. Her waking hours grew longer, and the grayish cast to her skin gave way to a rosier tone. Jenny and Drew were at her side on the day the Talbot reached harbor.
The doorway flew open, and David and James Cooper crowded into the wigwam. They had heard Nell was close to death. They hadn’t heard that Drew Morgan was in New England. The cobbler was dumbfounded; James was furious.
Drew stepped outside with the two Cooper men and related the events that brought him to the New World. When James ordered him to return to England with the Lyon when she sailed back for supplies, his father told him to calm down, that God had a purpose for everything and that it was evidently God’s plan that Drew come to Massachusetts. From his tone, Drew sensed the cobbler himself wasn’t too pleased to find him in the colony, but there was nothing that could be done about it now. James was unconvinced.
Two other people weren’t happy to see Drew Morgan as they disembarked—Marshall and Mary Ramsden. They were married now. When Drew knew them she was Mary Sedgewick and he an idealistic Puritan printing illegal pamphlets in Colchester. They still wore the brands on their cheeks. Marshall had let his hair grow so it was not as noticeable that his left ear was missing. When they saw Drew from a distance, their expression wasn’t hostile, but then neither was it friendly. They turned and walked a different direction.
Drew was less angry with God now. It was as if God had repented and was now answering his prayers. Nell was regaining her health. The Talbot had safely deposited its cargo of Edenford folk on the shores of Massachusetts. And although the settlement was far inferior to what he had imagined, every day showed progress, and the more the people worked together, the closer in spirit most of them became.
Drew was one of the most diligent in the colony. He worked the various jobs he was assigned each day; then at four o’clock, while less industrious men spent time with their families or chatted under the meeting tree, he built a wigwam for Jenny and Nell, not waiting for the team of builders to get around to it. His industrious spirit drew the attention of the other men and became a source of amusement for several Pequot Indians.
Three of them regularly came to watch the colonists work. They would stand on the outskirts of a large wooded area, pointing and laughing. And since Drew was always the last one working, he was often their sole entertainment. He tried not to mind that he was the center of attention for both the colonists and natives. He was aware of how the colonists felt about him— his reputation arrived with the Talbot—but he wondered what so amused the Indians. Were they entertained by his looks or manner of working? Or was he doing something wrong?
The structure of the house was built—the tree limbs were planted firmly in the earth, bent, and tied securely together at the top. The front door frame was installed, and he was almost finished with the fireplace, the hearth made of stones and the chimney built with sticks. The Indians were pointing and laughing at his handiwork. Palms down, they were making upward circular motions.
Drew had had enough. With stick in hand, he walked halfway to the Indians. They stopped laughing. He also had the attention of the men who had gathered under the meeting tree that day. One of them was Winthrop who talked with the men under the meeting tree to sound out the settlement’s mood. As the men watched, Drew balanced the stick in an open palm and motioned with his free hand.
“Come on!” he said. “If I’m doing it wrong, show me how.”
The Indians eyed him suspiciously.
Drew motioned again. “Show me how.”
They didn’t move.
Drew walked a few more steps forward. The Indians took a step backward toward the forest.
“Wait!” Drew said, holding his palm toward them.
He balanced the stick in his open hand again and motioned toward them.
“Help me. Show me how.”
Drew walked slowly toward the Indians. One of the men under the meeting tree spoke loud enough for him to hear,
“Fool! He’s gonna get hisself killed!”
The men were on their feet.
Two of the Indians had retreated farther into the forest when Drew reached them. One stood his ground. Drew held out the stick to him in an open palm.
The Indian looked at the stick, then at Drew. He reached out and took the stick.
Drew smiled and nodded. Motioning to the wigwam, he said, “Show me how.”
The Indian looked back at his companions. They stared at him, waiting to see what he would do.
Drew took several steps in the direction of the wigwam and motioned for the Indian with the stick to follow him. The Indian looked at the stick, then at the wigwam, and followed Drew.
When they reached the structure, Drew pointed to the stick, the chimney, then made the palms down and upward sweeping motions that had so amused the Indians.
The Indian with the stick nodded his head and chuckled; he pointed to the chimney, repeated the sweeping motion, and chuckled some more.
With palms upward, Drew shrugged.
“What do I do?”
The Indian didn’t respond.
Drew pointed to the stick, to the Indian, and, taking the Indian by the forearm, led him up to the structure.
He seemed to understand. For several minutes the Indian circled the structure Drew had built, examining it. He grabbed the horizontal limbs and shook the structure. Then he walked to a different spot and did it again. A couple of Drew’s ties came undone. The Indian tied them in a different manner and shook the structure again. This time they held. Getting down on his hands and knees, he stuck his head in the stone fireplace and looked up the chimney. He smiled, pulled his head out, and made the sweeping motions.
“The inside,” Drew said. “Something’s wrong with the flue?”
This time it was the Indian who pulled Drew by the forearm. Taking him to the riverbank, they dug some clay, and the Indian showed Drew how to daub it on the inside walls of the chimney. This wasn’t unknown to the colonists, but it wasn’t always done, and especially this thoroughly. The Indian helped Drew cover not only the interior walls, but the top and the exterior of the chimney as well.
The next day the Indian returned to helped Drew complete the job. The day after that, they began attaching the thatches together. Drew was no longer sole entertainer for the men under the meeting tree and the Indians by the woods. Now it was a two man act, Drew and Sassacus.
Drew’s Indian partner was particularly interested in the British insistence on doors for their wigwams. Although the English had patterned their wigwams after the Indians’, there were two distinct European additions—the chimney and the swinging door with wooden hinges. The Indian huts used a hole in the ceiling of their huts to vent the smoke of their fires and a flap as a doorway. Sassacus seemed to take great pride that he had helped construct a chimney that wouldn’t burn the hut down, and he watched carefully as Drew hung the door.
Nell and Jenny’s wigwam had one other feature that was not common to the rest of the huts. One evening Sassacus pointed to the chimney, fluttered his fingers, let them fall on the thatch, then made the familiar upward sweeping motion. Drew understood. Ashes from the fire could rise from the chimney and ignite the thatches. It was a common problem for colonists and Indians alike. One night Drew came up with an answer.
He went to the Arbella, still in harbor, and bargained with Captain Milbourne to purchase the sails that had ripped during the crossing. He covered Nell and Jenny’s hut with used canvas sails. Sassacus was impressed with the material.
Seeing that he was on to something, Drew returned to the ship and purchased more canvas, enough for his hut and for Sassacus. The Indian escorted Drew to the Pequot village, and for two evenings the building team of Morgan and Sassacus entertained a different audience.
The Ramsdens didn’t see him coming.
Working hours were over, but a building team had just finished their wigwam, and they were anxious to move in. Their new accommodations weren’t much, but they were better than sharing a tent with several other families. Besides, it was home and a new start for them. The furthest thing from their minds was the pain and hatred they had known in England … until their unexpected guest arrived. His presence reminded them of everything they wanted to forget.
Marshall and Mary Ramsden had just deposited an armload of possessions in their hut and were coming back out for more when the door swung open and there stood Drew Morgan.
“Welcome to New England,” Drew said.
Marshall stopped, blocking the entrance. Mary almost ran into him from behind.
“Who is it, Marshall?” she asked.
Marshall Ramsden didn’t say anything at first. His face clouded, and the brands on his cheeks turned bright red.
“Marshall?” It was the voice again. “Is something wrong, Marshall?”
Marshall stepped outside, allowing Mary to come face-to-face with their unexpected guest.
“Oh!”
She clearly had not expected it to be Drew. One hand held on to the door latch; the other flew to her chest. Her look of shock gave way to concern as she looked at Drew, her husband, and back to Drew.
“What are you doing here?” Marshall asked.
It wasn’t a friendly question; more like a line drawn in the dirt daring Drew to step over it.
“There is no reason you should believe anything I say,” Drew began.
“At least we agree on something. Now you can leave.” Marshall’s words lashed at Drew like a whip.
Drew took the hit. He deserved it. He looked at Mary to see if she shared her husband’s feelings. Her face was lined with frightened concern over her husband’s anger and what he might do.
“I’ve come to ask you to forgive me.”
There was no response. No softening.
“I was wrong. I hurt a lot of people. And the worst part was that I didn’t even believe in the cause I represented. To put it simply, I wanted recognition and wealth, and so I worked for the people who could give me those things.”
Drew paused for a response. There was none. Marshall’s arms were folded tightly across his chest. A tight jaw indicated he was struggling to control himself. Mary looked at her husband in fear.
“Like I said, there’s no reason you should believe me. But since we last saw each other, I’ve changed—”
“We’ve heard that story before,” Marshall cut him off. “Our trust earned us these cheek adornments.”
There was no use continuing. Not now anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Drew said. With one last glance at Mary, he turned away.
“Drew.” It was Mary’s voice.
“Let him go!” Marshall yelled.
“Don’t you yell at me, Marshall Ramsden!” She’d always did have a feisty spirit. She spoke again to Drew, “You hurt us more than you’re aware,” she said.
Drew turned back.
“These were nothing,” she held a hand up to the brands on her cheeks, “compared to the pain we felt when you silenced the voice of Justin.”
The searing pain of Christopher Matthews’ execution burned inside Drew as she spoke.
“We knew the risks when we printed his pamphlets,” Mary continued. “But we also knew that even if we were caught, someone else would continue the printing. We were merely the distributors. You silenced the voice. During Christopher Matthews’ trial, we prayed for a miracle. At Tower Hill we prayed that God would send someone to rescue him.” Tears came to her eyes. “And we heard about the reception the king gave you. It’s hard for us to understand why God would let a godly man like Christopher Matthews die and let someone like you live.”
Drew shared Mary’s tears.
“I’ve wondered the same thing,” he said. “There is no defense for my actions. I don’t deserve God’s grace. All I can say is that through His grace I have been forgiven.”
“A convenient grace, if you ask me.” Marshall’s anger had not dimmed.
“Not only has God forgiven me, but Christopher Matthews also forgave me.”
“It’s easy to put words into a dead man’s mouth.”
“And I have renounced my former desires. My only desire now is to continue the work of the man I killed. That’s why I’m here. Why else would I be here? There is no wealth. There is no glory. Only wilderness, danger, hardship, and a chance to build a community based on the dictates of God’s Word. As God is my witness, I have pledged my life to the success of this endeavor.”
Drew could do no more. Mary left the doorway and stood beside her husband. There would be no forgiveness today.
As he walked away, he looked over his shoulder twice. They remained in the same position as when he left them. Marshall’s arms were folded, Mary by his side.
Several minutes later, Drew returned to the Ramsdens’ wigwam. They weren’t there. Apparently, they had gone to get another load of their belongings. Drew went to work anyway.
“What are you doing to my house?” Marshall dropped the things he was carrying and ran at Drew.
Drew stretched the last of his canvas over the thatched hut.
“This will protect the thatch from sparks from the chimney,” he said while he worked. “Tomorrow, I’ll finish your chimney. The builders don’t usually clay all the way to the top, nor do they clay the outside. They’re taking unnecessary shortcuts.”
“Stay away from my house!” Marshall shouted.
Mary grabbed her husband’s arm. “What he says makes sense, Marshall!”
“No one else has canvas on their houses!” Marshall yelled.
“Nell and Jenny Matthews do.”
“Matthews?” Mary asked.
“Christopher Matthews’ daughters. They came over on the Arbella.”
The next day Drew finished putting clay on the Ramsdens’ chimney.
Nell walked unassisted from the sick hut to her newly completed house. Actually she shuffled, and by the time she traveled the short distance, she was winded. Still, considering the fact that many people didn’t expect her to live, it was remarkable progress.
“Drew built it!” Jenny held the door open for her older sister, as Drew followed behind, ready to catch Nell if her strength gave out.
Nell steadied herself on the doorjamb, then moved to the crudely cut table and bench. Jenny and Drew patiently waited for her to catch her breath. Nell looked at the skeleton structure of tree limbs visible from the inside, at the rough wood fireplace, at the dirt floor covered with straw, and ran her hand along the top of the primitive table.
“It’s nice,” she said. She began to cry.
Drew wasn’t expecting praise. A thank you would have been nice. He wasn’t prepared for tears either.
“Of course, this is just your winter quarters,” he said. “Come spring and I’ll build you a fine two-story frame house. Anywhere you want. You choose the location and I’ll build it.”
Nell fought back the tears. With a handkerchief she dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose.
“Thank you, but no. I appreciate all you’ve done for us, Master Morgan, especially during my illness. But my strength is returning, and Jenny and I will take care of ourselves from now on.”
“Nell! How can you be so rude to Drew?” Jenny moved to his side.
“Drew, is it?” Nell said. “And when did you become so familiar with Master Morgan? What have the two of you been doing while I’ve been sick?”
“That’s unfair,” Drew said. “Jenny is devoted to you. She’s been by your side constantly. I don’t understand your bitter spirit.”
“Bitter spirit? Why shouldn’t I be bitter? Look around you! Because of you we are in this Godforsaken place, living in an animal shelter. I nearly died while crossing the sea. Who knows if I’ll live through the winter? Dozens of people healthier than I haven’t made it. You’ve killed the only male of our family.”
“Nell, that’s enough.” Jenny moved toward her. “You’re tired. You’ll feel better after you’ve rested.”
“Don’t patronize me! I may be weak physically, but my mind isn’t feeble. Master Morgan said he didn’t understand my attitude. Of course, he doesn’t understand! It wasn’t his father who was betrayed and murdered! It wasn’t his family that was wrenched apart! It wasn’t his life that was ruined!”
“Nell!”
Drew intervened. “Let her continue,” he said. “She’s wanted to say this for a long time.”
“What are we going to do to earn a living?” Nell was weeping openly now. “How many fine folks of New England have a need for lace? There aren’t even any looms on which to make cloth! How are we going to survive?”
“I’ll take care of you,” Drew said. “I promised your father I would.”
“Did you? Did you promise him while his cheeks were being branded or while they were cutting off his ear?”
It was Drew’s turn to get angry.
“That’s enough, Nell! I tried to steer Bishop Laud away from your father. I tried to rescue him after he was arrested. I’ve thrown away everything I’ve ever wanted in life in hope that someday I might be like him. As for this place,” Drew motioned to the hut, “I agree it’s not much. But it’s temporary. I said you’ll have a nice home by this time next year, and I mean it.”
“What do you know about nice homes?” Nell said.
“I’ll tell you what I know,” Drew said through clenched teeth. “In comparison to Morgan Hall, your house in Edenford had all the attraction of this wigwam!”
There was a pounding on the door that made the whole structure shake.
“Nell? Nell? Are you all right in there?”
It was James Cooper.
The door flew open before Nell could answer.
“What are you doing in here?”
“That’s the same question I wanted to ask you in Edenford, when you came downstairs with Nell,” Drew said.
The red giant seized Drew by his shirt and raised his fist.
“James Abel Cooper, let him go!”
Nell’s remaining strength was fading fast. Yelling at James winded her.
“I’ll take care of him for you, Nell.” James began pulling Drew outside.
“No!” Nell’s voice wasn’t loud, but James was familiar with the tone. He stopped and reluctantly let go of Drew.
“Listen to me,” she said. “Both of you get out of my house. Don’t ever come back.”
“Nell, honey,” James whined.
“If I have to, I’ll get up from here and throw you both out!” Nell said.
“Nell Matthews, I’ve waited for you long enough,” James said. “Your father’s dead and you need a man, if you’re going to survive here. I came to tell you it’s time we get married.”
“Not now, James,” Nell said. “Get out.”
James Cooper poked a huge hairy red finger in Nell’s direction.
“I’m serious, Nell. I’m tired of waiting for you. Either we get married soon, or you can forget about me. If I walk out that door, it’s over.”
“That’s all I ask,” Nell said wearily. “I want it to be over. Walk out the door.”
James looked at her dumbfounded. Seeing she was serious, he slammed the door with an open palm. It flew open and banged against the side of the hut, breaking the top wooden hinge.
He stalked out.
“You too,” Nell said to Drew.
“You can’t mean that!” Jenny cried. “I can understand James, but not Drew.”
“I mean it.”
“This is my house too! And Drew can come here whenever he wants!”
“Not while I’m alive.”
The way she looked, that wouldn’t be long. Pale and shaking, she laid her head on the table.
Jenny looked at Drew.
“Wait for me outside,” she said. “I’ll spread out a blanket for her to rest on.”
Drew’s anger was gone. The sight of Nell on the table took it away. She had said some things to hurt him, but she was tired, sick, and frightened. He wished he would have remembered that before he said some of the things he did.
Drew went outside and maneuvered the broken door closed.
“I’m sorry,” Jenny said, as she took Drew by the arm. “Nell didn’t mean the things she said.”
“Yes, she did. But she’s ill and frightened. And she’s right.”
Jenny snuggled up to him. “Let’s walk to the woods.”
It was early October and the leaves were turning. The sun lowered itself onto the horizon, but not before setting the forest ablaze with color. There wasn’t much activity in the settlement other than routine chores—drawing water from the river, borrowing fire from a neighbor if the coals accidentally went out, minor repairs on the wigwams. After several months, the routine of daily life had provided a small measure of security. There were undoubtedly several men sitting under the meeting tree, watching Drew and Jenny walk arm in arm. But then with news in short supply, there was little else to talk about than one another.
“You did a fine job on the wigwam,” Jenny said.
“It really isn’t much,” Drew said. “It’s sort of funny … I’ve always admired my grandfather and wanted to be like him. He built Morgan Hall and I built a wigwam. Hardly something to brag about.”
“Drew Morgan, you stop talking like that! Was your grandfather in danger for his life when he built Morgan Hall? Did he build it for someone else while he slept in a old tent?”
“Well, no.”
“If you had his resources, I daresay you could build a house much more grand than Morgan Hall. And if he had what little resources you have to work with here, I doubt if he could have built anything finer!”
“Kind thoughts. Thank you.”
They were just inside the wooded area when Jenny pulled Drew behind a tree.
“No, Master Morgan,” she said. “Thank you!”
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.
Drew didn’t know what was wrong with him. He loved Jenny, but he loved Nell more. It was wrong for him to bring Jenny here. Wrong for him not to break away from her immediately. But she felt so good pressed against him. She was warm and eager for his embrace. She gasped for air.
“Drew darling, I’ve wanted to thank you like this for days, but there just hasn’t been time when we could get away.”
She came at him again.
“Jenny,” Drew tried to stop her.
She grabbed the back of his head and pulled with all her might. Though he resisted, his mouth smashed against her teeth.
“Jenny, no!” he managed to say, their lips still pressed against each other.
She didn’t listen. Reaching behind his head, he grabbed her hands and freed himself.
“No! This isn’t right!”
In his desire to be firm, he spoke harshly. Jenny stood in front of him with a hurt look on her face.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” she demanded.
“This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
A playful look crossed her face.
“Well, Master Morgan,” she purred, “aren’t you the shy one?” She reached for his shirt and played with the collar. “You surprise me. I didn’t think you would be so prim and proper.”
Drew took her hands in his. “It’s not that,” he said.
“Good!” Her eyes lit up and she leaned into him.
“Jenny! Listen to me. Please!” He held her at a distance.
She shook free; a pouting lower lip appeared.
“It can’t be like this,” he explained. “We can’t be like this.”
He knew he was getting through because she was backing away. Tears welled in her eyes. Her lower lip quivered.
“Jenny, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re the only friend I have left in the world.”
“Friend?”
She shouted the word.
Drew nodded. “You’re my dearest friend. You trusted me when nobody else would, and I’ll never forget that. I love you as a friend, and I always will. But my heart belongs to Nell.”
Tears turned to sobs.
“Jenny—” He reached out to her.
“Don’t touch me!” She slapped his hand away.
“Jenny, please understand.”
She backed away from him like she would a wild bear. Her back hit a tree, and she winced from the impact. She was sobbing uncontrollably now. Her legs began to buckle, and she slid down the trunk of the tree.
“Jenny. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t know what else to say.”
He took another step toward her.
Her eyes flew wide open, and she stretched out her hand like it was a claw. Inching her way back up the tree, she said, “I know exactly what you can say.”
Drew waited for her to continue.
“You can say goodbye to your last friend on earth!”
She bolted from the woods. Drew could hear her sobs all the way across the compound. With the hinge broken on the door it took her several tries to get it open, then several more to close it.