On the day after Master Billington’s execution, I had a headache, which made it difficult to see my way down the hill. Susanna, Elizabeth, and I gathered our children and went to the dock to wave the Gifte off. The Master of the ship had deemed the weather favorable enough to depart but I suspected he was waiting until the verdict was given, and the hanging done, not being one to miss the entertainment, but also wanting to depart swiftly from the crime.
On the way down the hill, we women discussed the execution. Now that he was dead, we spoke more freely of the Billingtons.
They weren’t right, Elizabeth said. The whole lot of them. You could see they would cause trouble.
They signed up for seven years of servitude, Susanna said. I doubt they gave us one single year.
We all agreed. Profane. From London. Who knew what friends they consorted with? Never knew God.
The least godly creatures God has made, someone said. It may have been I.
From soil to sand we went, through a scraggly line of trees, shallowly rooted to the sand.
I scanned the faces for Eleanor, feeling dread that our paths might cross. There was no escaping one another. I would see her at the meetinghouse, the brook, the ovens, the fields. I wanted to delay facing her, though.
A crowd was gathered to see the ship off. Susanna clutched my arm. I knew what she was thinking. Our servants could turn on us. All of them. At any moment. There were more of them than us. It was important not to remind them of this. It was important to bring them to the church. We musn’t let them see how afraid we were.
Susanna, I said, and pulled her hand away.
I whispered, They are watching. We mustn’t be afraid.
And was that them snarling at us?
Hold your chin high. We’ve done nothing wrong.
Susanna adjusted her posture.
The first in line to board the ship was Thomas Weston.
He said the only positive thing that could be said about what he witnessed in our colony.
The Good Wives serve ye well and blessed be they who have such bounty nearby. May God’s light always shine upon you.
Thomas Weston knew what words to speak, but there was not feeling beneath it. Behind him were three newcomers. One couple, one single man. All of whom had intended to make our colony their home. But now they were sending us their apologies. The single man gave an excuse: My mother’s ill, but the couple, when I wished them well, barely smiled. I pressed biscuits into their hands.
It would be good to be unburdened by more bodies to feed, but it was not good for the spirit to know that they did not wish to be among us.
But the threat is gone! I wanted to say. Now we can live as God intended!
What a fool I was back then, thinking the death of one person could end the lasciviousness of others.
A seaman placed a coin on the starboard side. The sails were ready, the anchor was up, and the passengers were below in the tween deck. We said prayers for them, hoped God would grant them a swift, safe journey back to London. I hated to see a ship off, even if those aboard would have given us difficulty. I hoped the ones who had stayed feared God and the gallows. But it proved not to be so.
The sounds of the wilderness had always been among us, but now they appeared more sinister. While tending livestock, making candles, baking, knitting, or weaving, through the oak groves I would hear a sound and wonder, was that a bear or was that a man set against us?
At night the mastiffs and spaniels of our community, each separated in our homes and gardens, called to one another. A lonely call, wanting at night their friends of day. I heard this as I lay in bed, unable to sleep, listening to the breath of my husband and children, and at the community’s edge, the lurking wolves.
William installed a lock upon our door. Susanna’s wreath came down, taken off by her husband, and instead on the door he put two latches. We looked at those who did not attend church with more and more suspicion. Danger was everywhere, we learned, and sometimes the grandest threat was within your own community.