To Capture Her Heart Read online

  The bright yellow of the weeping willows caught her attention as she started up the path. They, along with the red sugar maples, marked the beginning of the next season when Mother Earth, cloaked in finery, prepared to bed down for the winter to come. This year it would be a welcomed change. To hide away and sleep through the winter appealed to her as much as she figured it appealed to Winnie. Now that was a frightening thought.

  She left the forest and crossed the small meadow leading to Town Street. She passed the Horton house on the left, the small cemetery on the right. The meetinghouse loomed tall and foreboding, and she hurried past.

  She came up to Abigail’s hut and called to her cousin. Her cousin’s whisper invited her to enter. Inside it was dark and smoky but she found her near the fire, nursing her babe. Heather Flower lowered herself to the ground beside her.

  “Aquai, Abigail.” Winnie’s firstborn had been named after the Christian woman who raised her. When James and Abigail’s little girl was born they picked a native name for her. Misha, or Little Rain, named for the drizzly day she was born, rolled off the English tongue with ease.

  “Aye, how are you?” Abigail’s voice was quiet.

  “I will be good someday, but perhaps not today,” she said simply.

  “And my mother?”

  “That is why I have come. To talk to you. I worry for your mother. She does not eat. She pines and wastes away. She doesn’t let me take care of her.”

  “She has spent many years taking care of her children. They have grown and now her husband is gone. I think she does not know how to let others take care of her.”

  “You think she has abandoned this life?”

  “No, she is like the willow by the river. It is the season for her branches to be bare, but her roots run deep and wide. She will survive. Her faith is strong.”

  “While my uncle was sick, we sat for long hours and she told me many stories of when the English first came to Yennicott. She told me the story of Mary and Patience.”

  “Yes, I was fourteen, so I remember it well. She loves them like sisters. Elizabeth too, though she came later.” She put the squirming Misha on her lap, tummy side down, and patted her back. Soon the babe was lulled to sleep.

  “Do you think I should take Winnie to visit at the Horton house again? Benjamin wanted me to. She did seem better the day Sarah was born, and for the week until she was baptized. Should I make her leave her hut and visit again?”

  “There was illness in Southold, but now all is well. The new schoolteacher had the measles on the first day of school. They had to cancel it, and because the boys and even Barnabas and Benjamin were near him when he was sick, they had to stay at Joseph’s house—away from Mary and the babies until they knew they were not sick.”

  “I did not hear from Benjamin and I worried.” Perhaps he was not still mad at her.

  “You should take my mother to visit. It has been too long since she has come.”

  “What do they do at Mary’s?”

  “They mostly sew, but they talk too. It is their time together. They work on breeches, or shirts, and Elizabeth will teach them new stitches too. Sometimes she makes hats.”

  Heather Flower’s hand went to her own black hair arranged in a thick braid. A decorated band of soft leather encircled her head. “My mother brought me many headdresses when she came for the funeral. I like this one.” She fingered the beautiful beads and traced the ruffled edge of the single eagle feather that hung downward to the side of her head.

  “It is lovely.” Abigail’s own headdress was a simple wreath of porcupine quills, the points carefully tucked in and laid flat with a single jingle shell centered over her forehead. “Mary and Elizabeth’s father sold his wool and felt to a milliner in London. Elizabeth always liked to sew, and when she settled here, she thought she would make hats. She’s very good.”

  “Do they have no time for Winnie?”

  She stopped rubbing Misha’s back and looked up, sable-brown eyes wide. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean that. They know she is in sorrow. They wait for her. You should take Mother. I will be at Mary’s later today and can tell her you come.”

  Heather Flower stood. “Nuk. Tell her we come soon.”

  Mary watched with Sarah on her shoulder and Hannah clung to her skirt as Heather Flower and Winnie walked up the flagstone path. She welcomed them into the parlor, then led them back to the large, warm kitchen. When Barney first built their house, he built a fine kitchen, much like they had left behind in Mowsley, but over the years he added an addition along the back of the house with its own entrance. It had a full wall of brick hearth with an oven built in to the side. Two long tables were set across the room, one of which was piled with loaves of warm bread, sweet ginger cakes, and tarts brimming with just-picked apples and cherries.

  Barnabas was the town baker, but he was involved with the duties of the township, so much of the baking fell to Mary. Lizzie, Patience, and Caleb all helped when Jonathan, Hannah, and Sarah were born.

  Heather Flower’s stomach rumbled. “Everything smells so good, Mary. Aunt Winnie, does this not make you want to eat?” Hope laced the question.

  Winnie’s color already looked better and there was a light—a tiny little spark—in her eyes that glimmered when they walked in. “Yes. Mary, you amaze me what you do, even with the little ones.”

  Mary smiled and lowered the sleeping babe into a basket padded with blankets. She lifted Hannah into a chair. “Patience and Lizzie have worked all morning with me. Abigail has been here too, to churn the butter and make a corn pudding.”

  Lizzie cut a large slice of savory meat pie and set it on one of the red Staffordshire plates she had brought for Mary from England. Tender bites of rabbit, English peas, and chunks of carrot and wild onions in a thick white sauce filled the pastry. She smiled at Winnie and beckoned her to sit while she dished up a plate for her friend.

  Patience wiped her face and hands with her apron and stepped away from a pot of steaming clams and mussels. “So very glad to see you. Heather Flower, sit here. I’ll put these in a bowl and then I think we are all ready to sit down.” She looked at Mary for confirmation.

  “Yes, ’tis time, I think.” She swallowed hard. A lump formed in her throat as she looked at Winnie and the ladies gathered in her home. For a brief moment she thought back to the first ladies she’d ministered to coming on their voyage from England. She’d brought them lemons to freshen the air and sweeten their breath. How she wished she could have done more. But during those long-ago yesterdays, she needed to be thankful for the lemons, and today thankful for the many blessings God had bestowed on her.

  She picked out a crusty loaf of bread and set it on the oak table. She reached out and the women held hands around the table. Their heads bowed, she gave thanks for good food, dear friends, and the many blessings they enjoyed.

  After the meal, Mary took Heather Flower around the house and pointed out the original part of the home and what Barney had added since they first began living in it. The tour concluded with a walk in the kitchen garden and the orchard with the rows of English apple trees.

  Mary pulled some apples off the cornerstone tree and filled her apron. “I’ll send you and Winnie home with these. This tree was this high when Jeremy brought it over from my papa’s orchard.” She held her hand down to show Heather Flower, and blinked in hopes that she wouldn’t notice her eyes stung with tears.

  Heather Flower admired the cellar door that led beneath the house.

  “Ben built that. I store most of my root vegetables down there and the fruit too.” She saw something in her friend’s face at the mention of his name.

  “Where are the men today? Do they come home to eat dinner? Or do you pack them a meal?”

  “They are eating with Zeke today. They took the boys, and Rach and Ruthie cooked for them. We had quite a fright with a case of the measles. The teacher Barnabas hired became ill the first day of class. He is well now, but we had to isolate everyone. Even Barney and Ben.
But everything is all right. Now they are finishing up in the fields. Jay and Caleb are helping them. Even Joshua. And Jonathan stayed the day with Ruthie.”

  Heather Flower’s face fell a bit.

  “Did you hope to see Ben?”

  “I thought I might. It has been awhile.” She helped Mary carry the fruit and they walked back to the house.

  The apples rolled on the table as they set them down. Mary pointed to a basket high on a shelf and Heather Flower stretched to retrieve it for her. They filled it with fruit and some of the leftovers. “He is fond of you, perhaps too fond, if that can be. I think he hurts when he sees you, and I know he wishes to be more than friends with you. Perhaps you could, in God’s own time?” A grin flickered on her face at the last part.

  “He makes me smile and gives me comfort. I don’t know what I can promise for tomorrow. I don’t know if I can promise anything. It makes me sad my white brother stays away. But it would make me worse to know he is the sad one. Do you understand my words?” She shook her head slightly as if she didn’t believe Mary could.

  “Yes, I do know what you mean. But I think Ben waits in hope that someday you will feel strong and ready for promises. ’Tis how it seems to me.”

  Mary and Heather Flower went out to the front parlor to join the rest of the ladies, but it was clear that Winnie was tired and needed to go home. They gathered capes and food baskets and bid everyone goodbye.

  Mary thought of Ben, sweet as sugar and thinking of everyone else but himself. She ached for him. She prayed for a change in Heather Flower’s heart, that she could be tender to her dear boy. Or if not Heather Flower, some sweet girl to take care of him. Someone to adore him in the manner he deserved. She reminded herself to not be impatient, that God would answer. But she could let God know this was urgent, could she not?

  Heather Flower and Aunt Winnie made their way along the Indian Neck trail. The day was crisp in the sunshine and cold in the shade of the wooded section they walked through. Tall chestnut and hickory trees blocked the warmth autumn rays might have delivered. They stopped to readjust their capes when, with whoops and pounding feet, a young boy came racing from the direction of Fort Corchaug.

  “Whoa, muckachuck. Where do you go like that?” Heather Flower threw out her arm to prevent him from colliding with her aunt.

  “To find you. A man gave me a message to tell you.” He panted and looked at Winnie, then back at her. “He said alone.”

  Winnie stepped closer to Heather Flower.

  “He was one of the Dutch. He said you would know.”

  “You must tell me then. No mind to my aunt. She may hear what he has to say.”

  The little boy’s brow wrinkled like an old man’s, but he continued. “He said you are to meet him by the tulip tree tomorrow as the sun goes down. He said you would know the tree.”

  Winnie gasped. “You can’t meet him. Your father would be upset if I let you.”

  “It is all right. He means well. Nothing will happen to me.” She touched the boy’s sleeve. “Go and tell him, yes, I will be there.”

  Winnie shook her head. “But he is Dutch. This is disloyal to our friends. They consider us family. Heather Flower, don’t do this.”

  The boy hesitated, looking from one woman to the other.

  “This man I owe my life to. Even Captain Gardiner trusted him. I will meet with him and see what he has to say.” She looked at the young messenger. “Go, boy.” She flicked her hands toward him and he ran back along the trail.

  “Aunt, this man does not care for the English, just as they do not care for him. But he does not come to spy. He comes to see me. He has been a friend to me. I will see him, but you should not tell anyone. It would only cause trouble for him.”

  That night she climbed onto her pallet as Winnie brushed sooty ash back into the fire. Her aunt had enjoyed the afternoon and tonight she tended to small chores she’d forgotten of late. The outing had been good.

  Her eyelids were heavy and through half-closed eyes she watched the embers glow from blackened wood. Her aunt agreed in the end that she could meet the Dutchman with the sincere, bay-blue eyes. But trouble played on her heart and mind. His presence would rile not only their friends but her people as well. And put him in danger. So why did she agree to meet with him?

  15

  October 21, 1653

  The tulip tree towered, clad in yellow, its leaves luminous in the slanting sun. Hidden within the edge of the forest of hickory and oak, Dirk kept watch for her. He’d waited most of the afternoon, with the hope Heather Flower might find her way there early. Now he listened as the katydids began their nightly rendition and the evening grew dusky. He strained to listen for footfalls as he pulled the food he’d packed for them from his knapsack.

  Maybe she wouldn’t chance a meeting. Or she simply decided she did not want to see him again. He could be sad if thoughts of Benjamin Horton didn’t clench his stomach at the moment. He tried to imagine if Horton won her heart, how would he feel? How would he cope? Not good thoughts.

  He bit into the crisp little koekje without tasting, stared at the man-hand-sized leaves of the tulip tree as they drifted to the ground, one by one. She came so silently—one moment he was alone, the next she was there beside him, her large, dark eyes even more fiery than he remembered them, the hint of a tiny smile played on her pouty lips.

  He stood. “I thought you wouldn’t come.”

  “Aquai, Dirk.”

  “Ja, hallo. How goes it with you? Your aunt, she is well?”

  “Yes, she does not forget her husband, but she is learning to be with the living.”

  “And you? You are ready to be with the living?” He stepped closer. She stood tall and proud, but sadness draped her like a veil. How he’d like to take her in his arms, to soothe her hurt.

  “My tears are kept in a tiny place now. I only bid them when I want them.”

  He took her hand and placed a koekje in it. “I suspect that is often. Here, I brought you this. It’s like the ginger cakes you eat, but with almonds.” Should he ask about her family? The Hortons?

  “Nuk. Thank you.” She walked to the tulip tree and lowered herself against the dark gray furrowed trunk. Its roughness caught at her buckskin dress, and Dirk retrieved a blanket from his pack and tucked it behind her. He sat next to her.

  “So tell me about you, Heather Flower. You grew up a princess, ja?”

  She chewed the sweet morsel and swallowed before she answered. “Princess is the white man’s word. But yes, my father is a leader of men, our sachem. Our king, in the white man’s way. So yes, I am a princess, daughter of the king.” The little smile played on her lips.

  “Was your life happy? I mean—”

  She gave him no chance to say what he meant. “I treasure my memories of growing up. I was allowed to run and play with my brother and our friend Keme. We chased through the forests without care, we played in the waves of the ocean on the beach. I helped our mother gather berries and shells and learned to dry the venison my father and brother brought home from the great hunts.” She took the bone needles from her pouch. “Mother taught me to sew. We made beautiful clothing with beads and quills and the feathers of eagles.”

  He stretched his fingers toward the pointed needles and she playfully poked at him. “Do you miss your mother, then?”

  The meadow grew dark and a pond far across the meadow was suddenly astir with a large flock of geese taking flight. They watched them form a V as they continued on a southerly migration. Heather Flower shivered and Dirk helped her wrap the blanket about her shoulders.

  “I do. But I am happy to be with my aunt. I think she has needed me there and I have needed to be there. She grows strong and has good friends in Mary and Patience and Lizzie. I know she will find herself once more and not need me. But I want to stay. I like it among Winnie’s people.”

  He nodded. “And Horton? Benjamin? Do you want to stay for him?” Urgency crept into his voice so he looked away and hoped she di
dn’t notice.

  “My brother used to bring me across the bay in a canoe to Yennicott. I played with Abigail, and my aunt would make us dolls. My uncle made Wyancombone and Joseph and Benjamin little wooden canoes. Sometimes Benjamin would teach me and Abigail to ride his horse. He was good to us.”

  “Is. He still is good to you, ja?”

  “Nuk. The last time I came to Southold I was ten years old. Abigail married James. After that, Benjamin would come to Montauk to visit me and my brother. He has always been very good to me. But he would not be happy to know I am here with you.”

  The hair prickled on the back of his neck and he ran his hand over it. “Why would he care?”

  A flash of light danced in her eyes. “It’s not what you are thinking, my friend Dirk. It is the trouble between the English and Dutch. You don’t seem to fear that you are on English soil.” Her pretty eyes got rounder. “And Benjamin said your people took a ship by force in an English port. Is that true? He said the treaty between you is not good.”

  “The news we hear is not good. The loss at Scheveningen was severe for both sides. There’s talk of a new treaty. No one really wants that. We want to finish what we started. At least in New Netherlands. The ship we took was our own. It should not have been trading in an English port.”

  “That is why I say you are unsafe.”

  “I think Horton must be filling your mind with all manner of ill will toward me.”

  “No, that is not true. Benjamin is a good man.”

  He ignored her last comment. “The fact is we are much more tolerant of the English than they are of us. We were here on Long Island first. We claimed this land. The English kept camping out here on the east end, and we finally gave it to them.”