To Capture Her Heart Read online

  “He is. They will both be anxious for your report.”

  Mary gathered loose tendrils and fanned the back of her neck. “Before you go, what of the women that were kidnapped with Heather Flower? What has happened to them?”

  Jay shook his head. “We don’t know. Heather Flower says she was kept separate from them. She did find out one of the women was killed, though. I know she worries about the rest, but I don’t think there’s much we can do. We were so lucky to get Heather Flower back.”

  Mary smiled. “It was an answer to many prayers, rather than luck, to be sure.”

  Her sons nodded their agreement.

  Ben offered to go to the livery to get Biggs, but they didn’t get out the door before ten-year-old Joshua and five-year-old Jonathan came bounding in. They made such a noise with their greetings that the littlest Horton, two-year-old Hannah, woke from her nap and squealed when she saw her brothers.

  Mary was finally left to rock with Hannah on her lap, such as it was, and gave herself a moment to think about and pray for Heather Flower, Winheytem, and Winnie. Winnie’s eldest daughter, Abbey, was grown and married now, but she’d become like a daughter to her and Barney when Caleb was born. Mary taught her to read in addition to teaching English domesticity. She’d lived with them and took care of each of the babies as they were born until she married James and had a baby of her own.

  James was a recent arrival from England and employed by Benjamin in his carpentry business. The Corchaug people accepted their marriage in stride, the English people not as much. But the love they had for each other soon won the hearts of the tiny hamlet.

  She still came over with little Misha to help take care of the children, and they paid her for her work. Mary had been worried that Winnie needed her more as Winheytem’s health began to fail. But with Heather Flower here now, Winnie would be taken care of. Thank heavens for that, because she’d need Abbey more than ever with the new little one coming soon.

  Hannah grew restless.

  “Sweet one, would you like to go outside and play in the orchard? Mama will sit and you can chase butterflies if you would like. Joshua and Jon are out there. They might help you pick some flowers for me. Come, let’s go out and see what there is to do.”

  She pushed herself up out of the rocker and with Hannah’s tiny hand in hers they wandered through the back kitchen. It was late on a hot afternoon and all of the bread and sweets baked early in the morning were sold by mid-day. It meant she had a rare afternoon to herself and the children—a more frequent occurrence as her belly grew, and a welcome one.

  She settled in the orchard grass and leaned against the tall corner apple tree, its limbs already laden with tiny fruit. Hannah chased after her brothers, who did not want to be caught.

  Heather Flower would be good for Winnie, but would it be a good place for her? She’d lost her husband in a very violent way. And had been kidnapped by those northern Indians. How terrifying that must have been. And terrifying for the other women—she had been there and it was horrible watching as they were dragged away. Mary’s heart was sick. She twisted a stray lock of hair with her finger as she thought of that night and wondered what had happened since. Most likely they were slaves to the Narragansett tribe. But they also could be forced to marry even tortured and killed. Certainly the stories they’d heard suggested that.

  She needed to talk to Barney. Perhaps a rescue was planned. And on the morrow she would need to talk to her sister, Lizzie, and Patience Terry about what they could do for Winnie and Heather Flower.

  Patience was like a sister to her, and she’d almost missed finding that out. Her first friendship in Southold was with Winnie, a Corchaug native, who wisely pointed out that she was judging Patience without even knowing her. Soon the three were close like sisters, and when Lizzie Fanning and her husband Zeke came over from England, their circle of friendship was complete.

  Lizzie worked as a seamstress in her own home, and Patience taught Dame school in her house during the morning hours. She taught little girls mostly, but she had a few of the younger boys, too, and taught them their alphabet, spelling, and a little arithmetic. Both Lizzie and Patience kept two afternoons a week available to meet with Mary and Winnie.

  Mary had spent years striving to keep a small ladies support group together in this wild land. Lizzie, Patience, and Winnie were her mainstays. Certainly they could gather around and support Heather Flower and Winnie in their time of loss. But she couldn’t just ignore that thirteen women had been dragged from their village, one of them murdered, and perhaps none of them ever to be heard from again.

  The next day, with the baking done early, Mary prepared for Lizzie’s and Patience’s visit. News spread about Heather Flower, and she intended to talk with her sister and friend about the situation. Winnie always liked to come into the village to meet with them but hadn’t since Winheytem became ill. She’d taught them how to make the sieves and drying baskets from white oak and ash years ago, and Mary would miss having her with them on this workday.

  In preparation for today, Ben had cut the trees the month before, and after quartering each one, he’d split the wood. Each slat was pounded with a mallet and then split again and again until they were thin enough for the baskets. It was Caleb’s job to bind them and weight them down before soaking them in the creek.

  Mary enjoyed the weaving much more than needlework, though she would never admit that to Lizzie. Her embroidery had improved over the years, but it still took every bit of her concentration for her stitches to be uniform and the underside of her piece to be neat.

  She looked in on Hannah—Abbey already had her down for a nap with Misha—and then wandered out to the herb garden. She had built the raised beds with just a little help from Barney. The first flush of lemon balm, pineapple-mint, peppermint, sage, thyme, and tarragon were waving in the gentle breeze, and she plucked some of the peppermint and pineapple-mint to brew teas for her guests.

  As soon as she immersed the leaves into the mugs of hot water, the bell above the door tinkled and Patience and Lizzie arrived together. She hugged them both.

  “My little sister, the kitchen looks so nice and clean.”

  “Abbey helped me. It gets so hot these days ’tis better to get it done early. But we did not put away all of the ginger cakes. We need to eat if we are to work, do we not? And I’ve some peppermint tea. And pineapple-mint, if you’d care for some?”

  Patience took off her cap, and her straight blond hair tumbled down. She took the comb from her hair, twisted her hair in a knot, and secured it. She patted the sides of her hair. “I would love some. Did Barney make the ginger cakes or did you, Mary?” Her crystal blue eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. She was younger than Mary, but still the years had been kind.

  “Barney did—I almost never make them because his are so good.” Her smile faded as they settled at the long oak table and took their refreshment before they set to work. “Jay and Ben said Winheytem is dying. I think we should talk about what we can do to help Winnie when the time comes.”

  Lizzie shook her head and her silky black curls, now laced with silvery strands, danced. Her teary eyes were like violet puddles. “I hate to think Winheytem will not get well. He is such a dear man.”

  Patience reached out to pat Lizzie’s hand. “He has the consumption and that is hard for even us to fight. The Indians don’t seem to survive it well at all. And he’s older than Winnie, I think. Isn’t he, Mary?”

  “Yes, he is. It may just be his time. God is the one who knows that. But I hate to lose him too. So sad.”

  “We can take her food, and perhaps she would like to come live with one of us. Zeke and I have room, we’d be willing to have her stay with us.”

  Mary smiled at her dear sister. “That is good of you, but Heather Flower is here and it sounds like she will be for a time and be able to take care of Winnie. But I do think we should help them both with meals. Heather Flower is mourning too.”

  She tapped o
n the tabletop as she thought, then absently ran her fingertip around the heart scratched into the table with the J. For a brief moment she thought about how the table was almost left behind in England. The memento of Jay’s initial, scratched when he was just learning his letters, and the heart his mother had drawn around it would have been lost forever.

  She drew herself back to the present. “There is something else that troubles me. Heather Flower is home now, but the women who were taken with her are not. I just cannot help but think there is something we could do.”

  Both Lizzie and Patience stared at her.

  “I don’t know what. And I know it grieves Wyandanch. Lion Gardiner surely did his best to bring home Heather Flower and would have brought everyone home if he could have. The natives gave much allegiance to the Dutch until Lion came and offered his protection to Wyandanch. The two became great friends.” She wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know what we could do.”

  “I don’t mean to sound uncaring, but I think it happens much more than we realize with the natives. ’Tis the way of the land here, is it not?” Lizzie’s eyes were wide, and she looked from Mary to Patience and back.

  “It doesn’t sound uncaring.” Mary pushed at the lock on her forehead. “There is some truth there, I suppose, but when I think about what those women are going through, even if they are well cared for, it just maddens me. I want somebody to do something.”

  Patience leaned forward. “What does Barnabas say about it?”

  “It upsets him. But I haven’t asked him what the men of Southold can do about it yet. I wanted to talk to you two first.”

  As the three worked on their baskets they talked of different plans, but it only reaffirmed there was likely nothing that could be done. They were curious what Barney and the other men would say.

  After they left, and Abbey went home with Misha, Mary confided to Barney her deep concerns, but it was as Lizzie predicted. The men had discussed it, and to send the horse troop out a second time would leave the town vulnerable, whether to the northern tribe or to the Dutch, whose relationship with them was tenuous at best. New Haven had been against the first rescue mission. There would be no second rescue, which would undoubtedly be a bloody confrontation if they tried.

  She lay in bed that night in the safety of her home and cried quiet tears for the women who might never see their own beds again.

  4

  July 19, 1653

  Winheytem lingered for three weeks. Dozing on her pallet, Heather Flower had fallen asleep to the shallow breath of her uncle, taken in sporadic gasps, but woke to silence. Without rising she turned to look at her aunt, who sat rigid next to her still husband. She sprang to their side and put her cheek close to her uncle’s mouth and nose. Nothing. Slowly she sank to sit beside Winnie, touching her hand.

  Sorrow for her uncle and aunt intensified her own loss, but throughout the day she took care of her younger cousins and tended to her aunt. Winnie sat statue-still by the side of her husband and prayed as her mother had taught her. Her quiet strength touched Heather Flower’s heart and she wondered at the power of her God.

  “My uncle is gone to the Great Spirit, you no longer need to pray.”

  Winnie rocked back and forth. “I pray for his homecoming. I give thanks that he sings with the angels. I pray God gives me comfort.”

  Heather Flower moved close to her and touched her aunt’s ice-cold hands. Her voice, when it came, was rushed like the wind. “I pray for that too.”

  The next day, as the sun came up, six young braves entered the wigwam to carry his body to the burial place, already prepared. Smoke signals sent yesterday morning signified Winheytem was no more. Her father and mother would arrive today from Montauk with her brother, Wyancombone.

  Heather Flower shuddered at the thought. Her parents would want to take her back with them. But she pushed the thought away and concentrated on her aunt. “Today you must eat, you must regain strength.” She tucked a mixture of ground corn and water into several corn husks and pushed them into the embers of the central fire. As the little packets cooked, she drew leathery strips of dried venison from a pouch and placed one in Winnie’s hand.

  It dropped to her lap.

  Food was the last thing she thought of in her own grief as well. She understood. But she remembered the day the Dutchman, Dirk, gave her the hard biscuit and a few dried berries. She swallowed without tasting, but how grateful she was for the nourishment. She was grateful for the Dutchman too. She was grateful for life.

  Heather Flower bent to fan the fire with a feathered turkey wing. The hot sun already baked the hut, but there was much to do. “Abigail will come with her brothers and sisters. Barnabas and the children are coming, Aunt. Mary will stay in—it is too close to when the baby comes. And my family will soon be here. There will be many to feed. I’m going out to grind corn for samp.”

  With no answer, she slipped out the door to gather corn from the bin and hauled it to the scooped-out tree stump that served as a mortar. She poured handfuls into the bottom of the bowl and ground it with a heavy stick. Sweat and tears stung her cheeks, and she brushed at them with her arm as she worked. Her mother’s words came to her: “Busy fingers, busy minds.” She’d tell her mother she was needed here, to care for Aunt Winnie. The Corchaug fort would be a place of safety where she could heal. To go home would be to languish in her sorrow.

  Lost in her thoughts, she was barely aware of the creak of wood and wheels as the wagon pulled up. The Great Blacks, each with a star on its forehead, stamped their feet and tossed their heads at the harness to announce their arrival.

  The Hortons, dressed in their Sunday clothes, black and somber, out of respect for the passing of Winheytem, waved to her. Caleb was the first to jump down. Heather Flower remembered the year he was born. It was 1640, the year the small group of English, led by Reverend John Youngs, came to Yennicott and changed its name to Southold. They named it after the seaside town of Southwold, England. Barnabas had just finished the house he’d promised Mary.

  She knew the story well. The Hortons had been through much persecution in their homeland and God had sent them here in great white-winged canoes and blessed them greatly. Her father accepted them with open arms, as had Uncle Winheytem and Uncle Momoweta, the sachem of the Corchaug people.

  Caleb reached up for Jonathan, and Barnabas climbed out after them. Silver among the mahogany of his thick hair gave Barnabas a distinguished look. And indeed, over the years he’d distinguished himself in this town. He worked side by side with the reverend building houses, farming the land, and forming the foundations of Southold’s church and government.

  Barnabas reached for Hannah. “Here you are, sweetheart.” She was their only daughter after five sons.

  With her own babe strapped to her back, Abigail waited for Joshua to jump out and then began to hand down baskets of food to each of the boys. Filling her own arms, she slid down the side. James helped her and gathered the rest of the bundles.

  Heather Flower picked up Hannah and turned to Barnabas. “Aquai, my friend. It is so good to see you again. And so many new little ones.” She glanced at the wagon again. “Joseph and Benjamin, they will be coming?”

  “Benjamin stayed behind to help Joseph with a calf. But they will be here, along with the Budds.”

  “Budds?”

  “Jane’s family. You know them, but you might not remember them.” He walked with her toward the hut. “Winnie, is she all right? Mary wanted to come right away, of course. She was unhappy to be left behind, but it is too dangerous to be out in her condition.”

  “Mary’s time is soon. My aunt needed time to sit alone. She will welcome you now. She prays to your God and holds on to His strength. Some of that I needed for myself.”

  Barnabas stopped and turned toward her. “This must be terrible for you too. Heather Flower, please remember that the God who gives Winnie, Mary, and me comfort is the same God who loves you.”

  “I will remember that, my friend.”
She said that to appease her aunt’s friend. But how could you trust God or man when such terrible things happened? She would not forget the bloody sight of her husband—could she call him husband?—and all the other brave warriors cut down as they celebrated. Celebrated for her.

  Before they entered the wigwam, Elizabeth and Ezekiel arrived with their assortment of children and grandchildren. Patience Terry was not far behind. Greetings and food abounded.

  Inside, Heather Flower took the towels off the tops of the baskets, revealing a large cured ham and a still-warm roasted turkey. Other baskets held crusty breads, meat pies, corn puddings, and crisp ginger cakes. The smell of beans made savory with onions and sweet with molasses wafted from an iron pot.

  Gratitude heaped in her heart. The burden of providing for their many friends would not fall completely on her. In another time, she would have welcomed it and provided with ease, but today she wanted to steal away and let her pain surface. She directed everyone carrying food to the longhouse and awaited the arrival of her parents.

  They came with the Corchaug sachem, Momoweta, soon after the first wave of visitors. Everyone hushed as Wyandanch, Grand Sachem of the Montaukett, entered with Heather Flower’s mother, Wuchikittaubut, known to all as Wuchi. Momoweta and Wyancombone, followed.

  Wyandanch presented Heather Flower with a deep purple and crisp white wampum belt, six fathoms long, in gratitude of her safe return. Her parents were given a seat of honor next to Winnie amidst the bustle of activity, and she sat close to them. “My place is here with my aunt in her time of grief, Mother. I am hoping you understand her need and mine.”

  “We grieve for our daughter like my sister grieves for her husband, my child. You will come home with us. I will take care of you.”

  Wyandanch cleared his throat and a hush fell across the room. “Your mother pines for you, my Flower, but I agree with you. Stay. Take care of our Wauwineta. She needs someone like you, and it will make you stronger.”

  Wuchi looked at him like he’d gone mad but abided his words. He had spoken. She took a small leather pouch from her neck. Hanging from a leather strap and adorned with tiny colored beads, it held a set of whalebone sewing needles.