It was God’s blessing that we were not followed, nor were caught, as I thought it then. When we reached the meetinghouse, the dinner was nearing its decline. Bones and crusts littered the plates. Men and women were loud, leaning into one another—loosened by beer and wine. I saw the room differently upon my return. Teeth gnashed. A dozen seamen were playing cards. One had his head down on the table, already drunk. Candles cried their wax tears.
We often do not know what things mean to us until they are broken.
No one, it seemed, had heard the gunshot. I went swiftly to my husband and relayed the news in a loud whisper.
Where is Joseph? I asked him.
Right here, he said, and extended his hand beneath the table. But under the table were only muddy boots on hairy legs.
Where? I asked, no longer quiet or patient or calm or a governor’s wife. Only a mother.
I pushed betwixt the men’s chairs, betwixt the men’s legs.
Hello there, Thomas Weston said.
Susanna touched my elbow.
Good Wife, she said, and urged me to her table.
There, in the braided basket, was Joseph, asleep. The fear had made me think all would fall away, that I would lose everything in this earthly world and I newly understood how much I cared for the earthly, how much I wanted more than what God intended, if what He intended involved the death of those I loved.
There was a rumbling as Standish started for the exit. The party pressed forward to the doors of the meetinghouse, to see what was the commotion.
Come in, come in, Myles Standish called, standing at the door, ushering forward three servants who had been running toward him. They said they had heard gunfire. Captain Standish had his gun ready and it was the only time I had been thankful to see it.
Just kill it, I thought. Just kill it and don’t get killed yourself, I urged Standish, in my thoughts.
Myles Standish gathered the militia, every able-bodied man in the colony, each of whom took a musket that was leaning against the far wall of the meetinghouse. My husband stepped forward. So did John.
No, I said, for Dorothy as much as for myself, holding on to both of their arms. But William and John both broke free of me.
John picked up the gun. I could see this was his first time holding a weapon such as this and I could see how much he wished to be a pleasing son to his father. And out the doors they went, to defend us, to see what was causing God’s displeasure.