To Follow Her Heart Page 3

  It didn’t take her long to know his brother Jeremy was the one. But Jeremy was in love with the sea, and it would have been easier to compete with another woman than with the wild and unpredictable ocean.

  Mary nudged her, and she realized everyone was standing again, this time for the closing hymn. It was too cold and rainy for a dinner on the church grounds, but Mary insisted that she come across the road to her house. She’d cooked the day before and there was plenty.

  Patience filed out with the rest of the parishioners and numbly shook Reverend Youngs’s hand. He was grieving for Jeremy, too, of course—but he needed to be the one to hold them all together. “Thank you for the sermon, Reverend. I—I can’t tell you how unhappy I am, though, to be talking about him in the past tense.”

  “My child”—he’d been calling her that since they’d first come to the island—“I know how distressed you are. I do believe when we have the memorial service and lay the stone, you’ll have some closure. My purpose today was simply to celebrate his life, which ended too soon for those he leaves behind.”

  Her head spun and her knees almost buckled, but she caught herself.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” His words were kind, but it took her a moment to focus on his face. Concerned eyes waited for her.

  She raised her chin. “Yes, I’m quite all right, Reverend. I think I just need a bite to eat, and at Mary’s house that is easy to accomplish, is it not?” She attempted a smile.

  He patted her shoulder as he turned to the family behind her.

  Lizzie waited for her outside. “Mary and the girls went on to the house to set the table. Are you doing all right, Patience?”

  Her chin edged a little higher. “Everyone is asking that, Lizzie.”

  “We are worried about you.”

  “Because I refuse to give up on Jeremy? ’Tis my decision to make, yes?”

  “Of course. Forgive me, we are all upset by this, but we must come to terms with it anyway.”

  They walked in silence the rest of the way, their skirts rustled as they tiptoed through the mud. Thankfully, the rain had stopped.

  “Lizzie, I’m all right. I shall come to terms with it, I shall. But not today, I suppose.”

  Lizzie nodded and pushed Mary’s door open. “Hellooo.” They were greeted by the smell of bacon and cinnamon, and both smiled.

  Mercy ran from the parlor and grabbed Patience’s skirts. Patience picked her up and cooed, “Oh, come here, sweet thing. You are too big to carry, but let me hold you for a moment.” She gave the little girl with auburn curls and big hazel eyes a hug. “Who do you look like?”

  “Mama!” Mercy giggled and batted her thick eyelashes.

  Patience rolled her eyes upward. “And who does Jonathan look like?”

  She squealed, “Mama!” More giggles.

  “And who does Joshua look like?”

  Mercy was beside herself. She could barely squeak out, “Papa!”

  Lizzie shook Mercy’s little foot and looked at the girl with scolding eyes. “All right, enough. We shan’t go through that whole routine. Not while your mother needs help in the kitchen, Miss Mercy.”

  Mercy’s answer was more giggles. Patience set her down, and the three made their way to the large kitchen in the back. The release of laughter calmed her nerves. She might be able to make it through the day, after all. Lizzie always had some concoction to cure ills, but for Patience, Mary’s children always had a therapeutic effect on her.

  Mary stirred a pot on the fire. “Barney and Jon went out to fetch some more wood. We just need to get everything on the tables.” The long, worn oak table they’d hauled over from England, and the shorter one Barnabas had made for Mary as both their family and bakeshop grew. They always seemed to have room for company.

  A warm ham and chunks of cheese and bread were already on the longest table, and to that Mary added a big crock of beans that had simmered all night with thick slabs of bacon. After Barnabas and Jon came in and stacked their logs by the fireplace, they all joined hands around the tables. Barnabas led them in thanksgiving, and they settled while he read from Scripture. He dished up a plate of food for Mary, who sat at the opposite end from him, next to Mercy. He heaped each plate and passed it on until everyone had one.

  Patience sat next to Mercy, with nine-year-old Mary on the other side, Lizzie across from her. Jonathan sat on Lizzie’s left, with Caleb and Abigail Hallock on her right, and then Joshua. Caleb was courting Abigail, and she spent much time with the Hortons. She gave a sympathetic smile to Patience, and Patience tried to return it. Did Abigail know how lucky she was to marry into this family?

  The younger Hortons ate quietly, while the women exchanged pleasantries. Patience picked at her food, moving it from one side of the plate to the other, listening to their chatter. The conversation turned to Jeremy, which of course it would, but wasn’t the talk futile?

  When they began to discuss the ceremony with the gravestone, she shifted in her chair. “Barnabas, have you discussed with Reverend Youngs or your lawyer, Mr. Wells, the notion of putting out a search for Jeremy and his crew?”

  Forks and spoons paused in midair as everyone—save Mercy, who quietly snuck bits of ham to Muffkin, the cat—turned to Barnabas.

  He cleared his throat and looked at Patience. “I know how deeply you grieve, my dear. I do, as well. But where would we even begin to look? Nathaniel said they sent some of the Caribs out in their canoes. There were just small chunks of wood where the ship must have been. It’s sunk. There are no survivors, Patience. None.” His eyes were moist as he searched her face.

  Mary patted her mouth with her linen napkin as her own tears welled. “He would have been the last to try to leave that ship.” She pressed the napkin to her eyes to stop the flow.

  Patience looked at Lizzie, and the alarm in her violet eyes told her she knew what she was thinking. She pressed on anyway. “Were there not ships in Barbados that could have been sent out? English ships?”

  Barnabas shook his head. “I’m told there were, actually. There were warships in the area that delivered troops to St. Lucia. But we would know if they’d found any survivors.”

  Patience scooped Mercy up suddenly, and surprise registered in the little girl’s eyes as Patience moved to the end of the bench and stood up. She kissed Mercy’s little cheek and set her back at her place. “Sorry, little poppet.” She looked up at Mary and then shifted her gaze to Barnabas. “Pray pardon me, but I fear I need to be alone.”

  Barnabas leapt to his feet, and he and Mary both were at her side in less than a moment. “I am so sorry. We are all trying to work our way through this. But I cannot give you hope where there is none. You must know that.”

  Mary hugged her. “Oh, sweet Patience. We want him back too. If there were a ship that would take us to find him, I’d be right with you going on board.”

  Patience’s eyes flew wide. “But does not God give us hope? Are there not seafaring men who would search for him?” She turned to Barnabas before the tears burst forth, and he took her in his arms.

  “I know how you loved him. And he told me you hated the sea, hated him leaving and risking his life. But he did. And it took him. And now we must learn how to carry on and depend on God to do it. God is our hope, Patience. That is true. Would you like Lizzie to walk you home? Would you be more comfortable there?”

  Her eyes had puffed again, of that she was certain, and her throat ached. “I’d rather walk by myself, if you don’t mind. I must skip services this afternoon. I shall be all right, truly. I just need to be alone. Give my apologies to Reverend Youngs, please.”

  She slipped out the door, and they let her go. Thank goodness. She loved them all to death, and they were well-meaning, but they did not understand what she needed. And she didn’t expect them to. She needed Jeremy.

  4

  July 17, 1664

  Boston Harbor

  Jeremy stood on deck, his hands wrapped tightly around the glossy wooden rail. The dark bl
ue water was frosted with glimmering whitecaps, and a salty breeze pricked at his face. A thin, gray line of land lay on the horizon, and he studied it without aid of a spyglass. He didn’t need one. He’d sailed into Boston Harbor many a time and could probably do it with his eyes closed.

  How he’d longed to jump ship as they’d sailed past Long Island. Not even a shallop had gone ashore. The captain did not give a fig about sending word to any authority about his rescue. Or was it capture? Hard to tell from the confinement he’d spent most of his days enduring. He’d been told it was to afford his recovery, but he suspected there was more to the story. And after days of gruel and hard biscuits, he was ready to be on his way.

  Now he could not wait to disembark and make arrangements to travel to Southold. He paced as he formulated a plan.

  Captain Stone appeared at his side. “Good morrow, Captain Horton. I pray the exercise on the deck is beneficial?”

  “Yes, I believe so, Captain. When do you expect us to be ashore?”

  “I’ll send a party ashore immediately. You will, of course, be detained until the governor has relayed his wishes regarding your interrogation.”

  “Does aghast mean anything to you, sir? For that is what I’m feeling at this moment. How can you even presume that I would permit you to detain me once we are ashore? You’ve taken precautions whilst we are at sea, and though it has pained me to endure it, I would do no less if it were you on my ship. But I have no business in Boston without my ship, and I will make haste to be on my way as soon as possible.”

  “Soon is not possible, I’m afraid. It is not I who detains you, Captain Horton, but the governor himself. Governor Bellingham shall be here posthaste to discuss your predicament. Governor Winthrop of Connecticut shall accompany him. Good day, sir.”

  Captain Stone withdrew, and Jeremy watched as he strode to the stern and disappeared into the great cabin. He leaned back onto the rail and strummed his fingers on the wood he’d polished just a few hours earlier. He wouldn’t go against the orders of the captain, but he didn’t have to like it either. He proceeded to his own cabin—not much more than a cell—and sat on the bunk to await his summons to speak to the governors. John Winthrop the Younger was an acquaintance, and that was in his favor. All would be well.

  He closed his eyes and pictured Patience. Her long blond hair pulled up, and sparkly blue eyes that danced whenever she saw him walk into the shop. She was the picture of elegance, save for a few wisps of hair that were forever escaping. And she was not averse to pushing up her sleeves and doing the work a husband would do, if she had one. When he was in Southold, he made sure her woodpile was split and stacked, her home in good repair, and her crops planted or harvested—depending on the season. He was in Southold but once a year, sometimes twice. Why had he thought what he did for her amounted to much?

  He heard a commotion on the deck, and he sprang to his feet and dug his fingers through his hair. One tap on the door and Captain Stone came in.

  “Captain Horton, may I present Governor Bellingham and Governor Winthrop?”

  “He’s lost a few pounds, but I’d know this man anywhere, Stone.” Winthrop stuck out his hand. “Horton, so good to see you alive.”

  Jeremy clapped his back. “Governor, I am particularly glad to be alive. And thankful you are here to vouch for me and straighten out this mess.”

  Governor Winthrop turned to Governor Bellingham. “The Hortons and I go way back. This is Barnabas’s brother.”

  The Massachusetts governor studied Jeremy for a moment. “Pray, forgive us. You’ve given us a start, I’m afraid. And the good Captain Stone has followed the Crown’s protocol, as he should. Please be our guest for supper. You as well, Stone.” He furrowed his brow. “Join us at five o’clock on Wednesday.”

  Jeremy started. “Wednesday? I should think it would be today, sir.”

  Governor Bellingham shook his head. “That gives me sufficient time to make arrangements for your travel. I expect you shall want to leave for London as soon as possible?”

  “Long Island, actually. I was expected there weeks ago, and I gather the news of my death has traveled there, has it not?”

  “No doubt, no doubt. I believe we received the news from Nathaniel Sylvester, and he, of course, would have informed your brother. I sent him a note of condolence myself, and I expect he’s read it by now. It was a terrible tragedy for the crew and their families.” Winthrop frowned, but then his eyes brightened. “I’m thankful you survived. I would like a full report, of course, at supper. It shall be written up and sent on to the Crown.”

  “Most certainly.”

  As soon as Captain Stone left with the governor, Samuel brought him a clean linen shirt and a pair of dark blue breeches. He pulled the clothes on. A sash held the shirt in, and he looked much like a pirate. “All I need is a handkerchief around my head and the captain’s gleaming sword.”

  A grin split Samuel’s face. “I can get ye the kerchief, but the sword never leaves the cap’n’s side.”

  “No doubt.” He grunted a chuckle. “I know you hear much, and most likely speak little, eh?”

  “Might be.”

  He measured his words. “But I know you have thoughts. What do you think about what’s going on here? What’s the truth behind why I’ve been kept little more than a prisoner?”

  Samuel’s grin slid from his face. “Why do ye think they’d tell me?”

  He knew something. Jeremy could see it by the sideways look, and his eyes had narrowed to slits. “They haven’t shared the information with you, Samuel, but you’ve heard them talk. They treat you like you don’t understand, but I know different. That makes it all right for you to tell me, does it not?” Lord forgive him, but he needed to know what was going on here before he dined with the governor.

  “This ship will be readied in Boston for an attack on New Amsterdam. They feared if ye were given full use of the ship and dined as a guest ye’d find out.”

  “England is attacking New Amsterdam?”

  “Aye. But no one kin know.” The man’s eyebrows drew together until they were one thick line. Jeremy figured poor Samuel regretted his words at once.

  “I cannot promise you I won’t share what I know, but I can promise you that I shall never divulge where the information came from. You have my word.”

  If Samuel understood, it wasn’t evident, and he scampered from the cabin, knocking over a chair in his haste. He didn’t look back.

  Jeremy looked down. He couldn’t return to Southold dressed like this. Yet he had no coin, nothing to barter for a good suit of clothes. He did have news, however. Very important news. But could he reveal to Captain Stone and the governors that he knew their plans?

  5

  July 18, 1664

  Southold

  Patience rose early to work on the lesson plans for her young ladies. She’d slept poorly since the news of Jeremy, and last night had been no exception. She splashed cold water on her face and slipped into a linen chemise. She pulled her petticoat over her head, allowing the folds to drift down around her legs. Her gray skirt followed, with the panels open in front, and she finished her outfit with a matching bodice, pulling the laces tight at her waist. Her classroom was downstairs, off of the workroom for Lizzie’s Hat Shop, and she took the steps quickly.

  Her girls would make lace-edged handkerchiefs this morning, and she laid a linen square at each place along the wooden table. Little hands needed large needles and thick thread, and she looked through her supply for the right size.

  She set out the samplers her class had begun and smiled at their beginner’s stitches. She never tired of teaching her classes each year. She sighed. Today was bittersweet. Today she would write a note to her students’ parents, explaining she would take a temporary absence. She disliked doing so. She hadn’t missed a day of Dame School since her first class. But her mind would not stop thinking of Jeremy and where he might be and how he might need help. And Mary had said if she needed time, they would unde
rstand.

  After the lessons were ready, she climbed the stairs to her room and laid out a woven valise. Many of her belongings she treasured because they were her mother’s, but the bag recalled the most precious memories. She remembered Mother packing the valise before they left Mowsley, and she could so clearly see her mother clinging to it as they struggled to get ashore the day the shallop brought them to Long Island.

  She layered an extra chemise, a garden frock, a brush, and a looking glass into the bottom of the valise. She picked up the set of ivory combs Jeremy had given her and brought them to her lips. She gently put them in the bag, folded the top, and buckled the latch. Oh, her heart ached. She prayed God would ease her pain, and then she prayed He would ease Jeremy’s, too.

  She stood with her eyes closed, the bag clutched in her hands, until a small voice broke the silence.

  “Auntie Patience?”

  She looked down at her white knuckles as she released the valise and dropped it gently onto the bed. “Why, Mercy, I didn’t hear you come up the stairs. Is everyone here?”

  Mercy grabbed her hand and pulled. “Yes, everyone except Julia. Mama says Julia is sick today.”

  “Oh, sweet one, you will miss her, won’t you?” The two girls were the same age to the month, and they were inseparable.

  “Like you miss Uncle Jeremy?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. She could not explain, so she simply said, “Yes. Let’s go down now. I have a lovely morning planned. You may take Julia’s supplies with you, and when she is better, you may help her make her own handkerchief.”

  “We’re making our own handkerchiefs? That will be fun!” Mercy skipped ahead down the stairs. “Mama, we’re making our own handkerchiefs!”