He found Standish at the meetinghouse conferring with the elders.
Billington went to the group—Winslow, Bradford, and Standish—with a pile of beaver pelts over his shoulder. They looked at him with surprise.
I belong here as much as you, Billington thought to himself.
He lowered his head down to Standish’s height and addressed him. May I speak with you?
Go on, Standish said.
Privately.
Billington knew three men against one would not be in his favor. Where one could be sympathetic or negotiated with at least, the third would point out what the other two forgot.
Standish placed his eyes upon the pelts and raised his eyebrows.
Very well then, Standish said, and motioned toward the stairs.
Billington could have spoken to Bradford. This may have been a better move, but it was Bradford he had first been so quickly dismissed by.
Standish and Billington went upstairs to the loft. The two men sat on two upturned crates. All of this prolonged the anticipation and Billington’s agitation. He shouldn’t have needed to do this. He set down the pelts and gathered his hands, pinching the skin betwixt his thumb and forefinger.
Billington said, I’d like to purchase the land adjacent to mine.
He hated that he was uncomfortable, sweating, not steady in his voice.
Standish smirked.
With what funds?
Billington motioned to the pelts. He lifted his cloak and opened the purse of wampum and sterling.
I did not know you to be a skillful trapper. What crime did you commit to get this?
Billington scowled.
Of course you accuse me thus.
Standish said, In any case, the land was given to a man who arrived this morning. John Newcomen.
Billington had worked hard to find these funds and as he saw it, if he were a puritan, he would have been able to trade openly with the Indians anyway, so what he did to get this was not a crime.
Tell him it was a mistake, Billington said.
I can’t do that, Master Billington. He’s working the land as we speaketh.
Why not purchase—and at this, Standish spoke of a low land with rich soil, which he described as the most fertile, with the most potential. Lies.
I want the land next to mine, not some marsh that even the deer do not visit. I want the land my son was owed.
Funds obtained illegally are no good here. Did you trade with the Indians to get this?
Prove that is what I have done.
Standish smiled. He put out his hands, palms up.
The proof, Master Billington, is sitting before me.
And there again was Standish’s smirk and then a laugh.
Trading with Indians is, as you know, a punishable offense. Thank you for confessing thus.
I did no such thing. This was true, he had not confessed. He liked the way saying this suggested he had not traded.
Billington, when we prove those pelts came from the Indians, which we will prove, you will be tried for committing a heinous crime against the colony.
Billington heaved the pelts back over his shoulder.
You, Shrimp, are a crime.
Standish stood. If I were you, I would apologize.
He shouldn’t have said it, but he did, and he would not apologize. Billington would reach for Shrimp, he would, or Shrimp would spring at Billington and not be punished, and then Billington would no longer have the pelts, the wampum, the land, or his freedom. Instead, Billington rushed down the stairs and out of Shrimp’s presence before the man—and his own desires—could catch him.