To Follow Her Heart Page 5

  Or did she feel anything at all? What happens to a love lost? Once it is mourned, does it wither and die, blown away by the wind as if it were dust? Did she still love him, or had he lost her the moment he’d chosen to walk out the door? What would happen when he walked back in? He knew her well. She would fly into his arms and want his promises. He would kiss her tender red lips and tell her he would stay. After the siege on New Amsterdam, he would stay.

  That night he and the scout rolled out their bedrolls under a stand of oak. The branches wove a thick ceiling of leaves above their heads, and Jeremy scooted to the bottom of the roll and closed his eyes to the damp black of night.

  The next morning Jeremy fried some ham over a smoldering fire and they broke their fast with the crispy meat and a handful of dried currants. Cleanup consisted of wiping his small iron pan out with a couple of pieces of bread. He munched the greasy chunks as he kicked dirt over the fire and wrapped the pan in his bedroll all in one smooth motion. With a foot in the stirrup, he swung up in the saddle and studied the trail in front of him while he waited for his scout to mount.

  The forest moved with wildlife, and he thought he’d enjoy the ride if he had more time to hunt, or even just to sit still and listen. But with thoughts of Patience grieving in Southold, there was not a moment to spare. They’d be at the ferry tonight and across the sound before the following afternoon.

  With no idea when the ferry might run, they urged their horses on to make the landing by nightfall. As the sound came into view below, Jeremy scanned the horizon. In the warm glow of the setting sun, he saw the outline of the large, flat barge making its way toward the Connecticut shore. The ferry was large, but still it was tossed about in the water like a cork. He couldn’t help but remember his first time coming to Long Island with The Swallow. Reverend Youngs and Barnabas had called this sound the North Sea, but seagoing captains had come to call it Devil’s Belt. He’d taken the long route around the east tip of the north fork and sailed into the safe harbor of Peconic Bay.

  Still, this would be the shortest way to Southold. They camped that night near the ferry landing, ready to leave at first light. Tonight there were stars overhead, and he studied them with a captain’s eye. Sirius was the brightest star in the sky. How many times had he navigated across the ocean under Sirius’s guiding light? He closed his eyes as he began to drift into sleep. The star became Patience’s porcelain face, surrounded by her halo of yellow hair. He would see her on the morrow.

  7

  July 24, 1664

  Southold

  Patience sat opposite the two sisters in her parlor, the same room that served as the display room of Lizzie’s Hat Shop. They were both dressed in black—Lizzie in a shiny black taffeta and Mary in a more subdued black linen, though it had cream lace at the wrist and neck.

  Patience had chosen a purple gown, edged in white lace. “I am not going to the cemetery. That is much like saying he’s dead. Why should I be there if I do not believe it?”

  Lizzie buried her face in her hands and tossed her silvery curls as she shook her head. “No, Patience. ’Tis not that you must agree. But you need to come out of respect, don’t you think?”

  Mary nodded. “Besides, sweet one, we cannot trust you by yourself anymore. We are worried. What would we have done if you’d gotten on that ship? We could not have come after you.”

  “I should not have wanted you to!” Her face warmed as she said the words. She hated taking such a tone with her friends.

  Mary rubbed her forehead and twisted back the stray lock she found there. “We love you too much to leave you, Patience, so we are taking you with us. I think your dress looks lovely, and it shall make your statement well enough. But you need to be there, and we shall carry you there if we must. Won’t we, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie stood. “Yes, we shall. Now come.”

  Mary rose, and the two took Patience’s arms and helped her rise. “Oh, thank goodness, Patience. Come now, I shall pick out one of Lizzie’s hats for you.”

  She let them fuss over her. The idea of her colorful dress making a statement appealed to her, and she smoothed her skirt while Lizzie tied the sash under her chin and Mary tucked errant wisps of hair beneath the hat. They walked to the church through a dreary shower and joined the small crowd in the cemetery. A spot near the stone had been saved for the three ladies, and her friends stood close while the drape over the stone was removed.

  Her throat tightened, and her nails dug into the skin of her palms as she listened to Reverend Youngs laud Jeremy’s life. Quiet tears gathered on her lashes, and she let them fall. After the eulogy, Barnabas’s deep baritone led them in singing the Twenty-third Psalm, but when they sang the words “still waters,” she could not continue. The waters would never be still for her. Had she not prayed all those years for Jeremy to be safe? She’d never liked the sea, but now she would never trust it again.

  A short song service in the sanctuary followed the stone laying, and as she settled in the family pew at the front with Lizzie and Mary, images of all the times Jeremy had arrived into Southold tumbled through her mind. She pictured him the first time she’d seen him after they’d arrived in Southold. She’d been helping Winnie and Mary pick dried corn off the cobs. They sat on the ground outside their huts, looking up as he approached, his trunks in tow. Always bringing his trunks filled with gifts from England or France or the Caribbean. Always with a big grin on his tan face and the sun gleaming on his dark blond hair. Her heart beat now like it had then—fast, with a skip every so often.

  He would not be walking up the path anymore, and the only thing she had left of him was the cold stone in the cemetery. It was a beautiful, large, polished stone the color of the sea in a storm, wide at the base and sloping up to a point like a graceful sail—so befitting of a sea captain.

  The congregation rose to sing the final psalm, but she remained seated, her shoulders drawn forward, her hands clasped in prayer. She allowed herself sobs, so drowned out were they by the notes of the hymn, and she imagined her tears were many enough to course their way to Jeremy and wash over him like the salty waves of the sea.

  He rode down Main Street, his horse winded and lame. His clothes were soaked and clinging, his hair wet and matted under the hat he’d been given. He dismounted and instructed the scout to lead the horses directly to the livery, where he’d find a hot meal and a room at the boardinghouse to the rear.

  Jeremy walked toward Lizzie’s Hat Shop and Patience. Pure, sweet Patience. Surely she lived up to her name. How many times had she waited for him? Waited for him to stay. Waited for him to take her hand in marriage. He prayed she still wanted to hear those vows.

  As he neared the church tower, he heard the music. Almost keeping time with the rain, it sounded like a dirge. Still, the light that poured out from the windows was warm, and he stepped to the ledge to peer in. A sea of black stood with their psalm books in hand, but a splash of light purple huddled in their midst. It was Patience.

  He darted for the door and swung it open. No one turned, but rather all of the heads bowed as Reverend Youngs began a prayer. For him, for his soul, may it rest in peace. His feet did not move, as if fastened to the floor with glue. He was attending his own funeral, and for a moment he had to ask himself if he’d drowned when The Swallow sank, and only dreamt his rescue. His eyes riveted to Patience’s trembling back. Moisture pricked his eyes. He stepped toward her, brushing past the people who stood between him and the woman he loved.

  Everyone turned to stare at him, except Patience. She remained folded in a tearful prayer, oblivious to what people around her were saying. “Is it him?” “Can it be?” “Thank You, Lord!”

  He touched her shoulder, but still she cried into her handkerchief. He lifted her arm until she rose to her feet, and then he pulled her close in an embrace. She sobbed on his shoulder, and he was certain she did not know it was he who held her.

  “Patience. I am so sorry. I am here, do not weep.”

  Her head bob
bed as she took a breath and looked up. Her big blue eyes widened with wonder, her mouth formed an O, and he could not tell if she believed it was truly him. But her words were a balm to his soul. “Jeremy! I knew in my heart if you were dead I would know it. I could just not believe it.” Her arms encircled his waist, and she clung to him as if he’d leave if she didn’t.

  Suddenly the congregation was rejoicing, with claps on his back and hallelujahs. Barnabas and Reverend Youngs rushed to his side, and Mary and Lizzie hugged both him and Patience. When the fervor of the welcome settled into an earnest clamor, the reverend directed everyone to join him in concluding the service with thanksgiving.

  Barnabas joined the reverend at the pulpit. “We were to meet at my house after services for a mug of warm cider, and I want you to know that you are all still invited. Most of all, you, Jeremy.”

  They walked across the road and up the flagstone path to the Horton house. It was not unusual for the house to be filled with townspeople on occasion, and tonight it seemed the entire town was here. There was always room. Barnabas insisted Jeremy sit at the head of the table in Barnabas’s chair. Mary guided Patience to a seat next to him. She smiled, but there was a quiver to her lips, and her eyes remained riveted on his, as if she thought he might disappear. Indeed, seeing his funeral had the same effect on him—he wondered if at any moment he might be drawn up to Heaven after this last glimpse of earth.

  Mary had prepared his favorite meal—roast turkey with mashed pumpkin, and he realized to be there to share it with them was nothing short of a miracle. After having second helpings, and everyone’s attention, he stood to speak.

  “Thank you all for this warm welcome on my return. I cannot begin to explain to you how much it means to witness your love and concern. At some point, I desire to tell you what happened the day the storm sank The Swallow, but for tonight I have other news that I must share with only a few.” He turned to Barnabas. “May we withdraw to the parlor? Reverend Youngs? Zeke? Benjamin? Could you come with us?”

  The men rose quickly to their feet and followed Jeremy and Barnabas out of the kitchen. “By the by, where is Johnny?” Jeremy asked.

  Reverend Youngs cleared his throat. “I have a new granddaughter, Jeremy. Johnny is at home with his wife and their new baby, Martha.”

  Jeremy extended his hand to the reverend. “Congratulations. Johnny must be ecstatic.”

  “Yes, but he shall be sorry to find he missed your homecoming.”

  Barnabas chuckled. “It was a homecoming of a different sort, was it not?”

  They all chortled as they settled in the parlor. The rain had cooled the days sufficiently to enjoy the fireplace, and Barnabas poked the logs to revive them before he turned to his brother. “Now, pray tell, what’s on your mind for the chosen few?”

  “I shall get right to the point because I fear we are deprived of time. The ship that picked me up was a British gunner. Captain Stone was in command, bound for Boston. I was treated much like a prisoner on his ship, which at this point is neither here nor there. We met with Governor Winthrop, who was most relieved to see that I lived and gave me a hearty welcome. He informed me of a plan from the Crown to invade New Amsterdam. Captain Stone was there to receive orders to join three other gunner ships already poised for attack. It seems the good governor of New Amsterdam will not surrender, though we have heard the people do not support him.”

  Barnabas stood and began to pace, a spot in the oak floorboard creaking each time he passed over it. “So one more ship will make the difference? Or are they to fire when Stone arrives?”

  “Their intention is to take Amsterdam as peacefully as possible, but they will not withhold fire if provoked. What concerns us more, however, is that Governor Winthrop is sending in the Southold Militia as supporting ground troops.” He turned to Reverend Youngs. “Is Johnny prepared to lead the troop?”

  “They meet every week and train. Even with little Martha, he hasn’t missed a week.”

  The fire snapped, and a shower of sparks landed on Jeremy’s boot. He kicked the embers back toward the hearth. “I’ll stop by his house after I walk Patience home. We need to gather the troop on the morrow and begin training in earnest.”

  Benjamin stood next to his father. “Count me in, Uncle Jeremy. But it’s hard to take all of this in. You here, alive, but the troop will be leaving immediately to attack New Amsterdam? There was a time when we’d all jump at the chance. But in the past few years, we’ve learned to live with them. Dirk Van Buren, for one. He did more to achieve peace in these parts than anything Parliament has ever done.”

  Reverend Youngs rose. “He and Heather Flower. What’s to become of them if there’s a war?” He looked at Jeremy.

  “Part of the troop’s mission, as I see it, is to facilitate the safety of those not opposed to the takeover. Dirk and Heather Flower should return to Southold until New Amsterdam is secure. Do you agree, Benjamin?” He was curious about his nephew’s opinion since he’d been engaged to Heather Flower at one time.

  “Dirk might not agree to that—who knows? He might even want to stay and fight with us. But I can’t speak for him, and he needs to be informed. We should make that our priority as we ride in.”

  Barnabas spoke up. “I agree. Captain Stone and his warship will be taking care of themselves. We need to take care of our own.”

  Jeremy stood now. “Then it’s decided—the horse troop will meet tomorrow and we’ll begin training. We ride out in one month. Now, I have a lady who is most likely suffering shock at the sight of me, and I must take her home. From there, I will meet with Johnny and discuss our plans.” He bowed and went to seek Patience.

  He leaned in the doorway leading to the kitchen and grinned. The ladies still sat where they were when the men left, ginger cake crumbs on the table in front of them.

  Mary leapt to her feet. “Jeremy, would you like a ginger cake?” Her ever-changing hazel eyes twinkled green.

  “I could not leave without one.” He put his hand out toward Patience. “But make it two. Patience, may I escort you home?”

  She looked as white as the lace on her sleeve, but her cheeks colored as she rose. She swept a tendril from her face and tucked it behind her comb. “Yes, please. I would like that very much.” She smiled at Mary and Lizzie with a look of apology.

  Mary popped several of the crisp cakes into a bag. “No need to feel badly, Patience. You have no idea how happy we are to see you on the arm of Jeremy. ’Tis where you belong.” She looked up to her brother-in-law, and her eyebrows shot up. “You have no idea. She almost went off on a ship to look for you. We were beside ourselves with what to do with her.”

  “I was right, though, Mary, was I not? Here he is, alive and well. Jeremy, I was so afraid you were hurt and could not help yourself.”

  He held his arm out, and she laced it with hers. They started for the door. “I have much to tell you, Patience. You are not far from the truth.” They looked back at Mary and Lizzie and smiled their goodbyes. Then they stepped onto the road. The rain had stopped, and through the dripping trees, sunlight dappled their walk.

  Patience hugged his arm. “Tomorrow you must come and tell me everything. And promise me, Jeremy, you won’t be leaving me again. We’ve been blessed with another chance together. I cannot believe how we’ve been blessed.” Her eyes danced with merriment as she gazed up at him.

  “Patience, there’s so much to tell you. But it shall have to wait.”

  “Wait? Why would we do that?”

  He guided her around a puddle in the road. “I’m here on a mission. The Crown is ready to seize New Amsterdam, and I am to lead Johnny Youngs and his militia into Flushing and beyond to aid the warships that wait in the sound.” He could not look at her face while he delivered this news.

  She stopped and took his arm with both hands. “No. I cannot believe this. Why would we attack New Amsterdam now? And don’t you see the danger of just riding in there when chaos shall be breaking loose? Don’t you see? You ca
nnot mean that you shall go.”

  He looked up as the rain began again. Black thunderclouds mounted high in the sky to the west. “I have to do this, Patience. It is not something I would have chosen for myself. But I have to go. I’ll be back. I promise you.”

  Tears pelted her cheeks faster than the raindrops. “You cannot promise that. You don’t know! I can’t bear to lose you, Jeremy, not again.”

  “You won’t. I won’t let anything happen to me. Now, let me take you to your house.” He put a finger under her chin. “And be thankful I did not drown.” He studied the blueness of her eyes. “You have the most beautiful eyes, Patience. Do you know I think of them whenever we are apart?” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her both hello and goodbye. Why was it always like that? He pulled her close and breathed in her fragrance. He loved the scent of honeysuckle and starch that lingered in her hair, in her clothes. “We have a month together. And I promise—it won’t be this way forever.” But he did not know how to change it. And it frightened him to think he might never know.

  8

  August 27, 1664

  Saturdays were wash days for Patience, and she stood above the tub, the sleeves of her garden frock pushed up to her elbows. Washing clothes and her linens was her therapy, and today proved no different. With each shove of the garment into suds, she thought of Jeremy leaving again with no thought to how she felt. She brushed at a blueberry stain on the sudsy apron, then dipped it again into the soapy water. He could go then, she would not try to stop him.

  He’d promised to come by to say goodbye before the militia rode out, but she almost wished he would not. How much simpler to not see him at all. And she might say something she did not want to say. Perchance he needed to hear it, though.