A Place in His Heart (24 page)

“Oh, no, never, Barney. I said one of the most. Nothing could ever compare to our wedding dinner.” Her eyes misted. She never would forget. The wedding cake had been the most magnificent she had ever seen or tasted. She pictured the red sugar roses. Forever in her memory.

Forever.
That word again. Barney hated it. Funny how fast her thoughts could spiral downward.

One thought led to another. Jeremy had blurted out at their wedding that Barney would be bringing her to the colonies. He tried to deny it at the time, but his intentions became clear over time. Look at them now. Her brow knit in consternation, her lips pursed.

And, what of Miss Patience Terry? Here she was again. The long months in Massachusetts were difficult, to be sure, but
the Terrys had gone elsewhere and that had been fine with her. Now they were here on Long Island.

“My sweet, whatever has come over you? This is supposed to be a celebration. We are finally home. Does that not make you happy?”

The Terrys and Wells looked over.

She turned away, peering into the woods. “Nothing, Barney. I'm glad to be here. Home. Finally.” She turned back to Barney with a reassuring smile.

April 1639

There was much to learn from the native people. Corchaug meant “Ancient Ones.” They farmed the fertile land for thousands of years before the English immigrants put their feet on the soil, and they were experts at cultivating. Their knowledge of how to use the land had meant survival for the Hortons' first winter.

The Corchaug men hunted with Barnabas, and the women had taken Mary under their wing and taught her to use flint and stones to scrape the hide, making warm deerskin tunics, breeches, and boots. The native women were amazed at Mary's spinning wheel and were eager to learn to make the smooth fiber that flowed from the wheel. They understood few of each other's words, but friendship grew as they worked together.

Despite heavy rains, the foundations of their town began to form as Barnabas labored with the other men. Joseph and Benjamin worked beside him as paths were widened and lots cleared. A dock was built and the first road ran from the landing site on the bay, northward across the plain to the North Sea. They laid the main road at a right angle to the west.

The highest point on the main road was chosen for the village center, and foundations were laid for the meetinghouse. It would be a place of worship as well as the town's meeting place. Although the new colony remained under the leadership of John Davenport in Quinnipiac, now referred to as New Haven, and the governorship of Connecticut, there was much to do in organizing the new congregation and establishing the laws of the town.

Thirteen men formed the core of the governing body and together parceled the land assignments and decided on the closed-field system for land lot. Barnabas was given a large parcel directly across from the meetinghouse on the main road; his standing in the community and the wealth he brought with him secured his position. Property extending out to the sound, thick with white oak, hickory, birch, and sugar maple and bordered by the road that ran north and south, was assigned to him as well. They called the road between the town center and the bluff over the sound Horton's Lane.

With homes to build and crops to plant, clearing the land was a priority. The cornfields planted by the Corchaugs were their salvation, but the English wanted to plant wheat crops and orchards too. Barnabas would be a leader in establishing the community he'd long envisioned, and indeed, his house would be finished before anyone else's. Of that he was sure.

One brisk spring day, Barnabas rolled up his sleeves and hitched Northstar to the wagon. “Joseph, Benjamin, come, we have much to do out on the bluff.” He loaded the sash saw and chip axe into the back. “Gather the chisels and mauls. Get that plane. We'll be downing some timber and squaring it before we bring it back.”

The boys put together the collection of tools and climbed up
on the board placed across the frame. Barnabas took his seat beside them. “There is much to be done here. There will be no slacking.” He grinned as he clicked his tongue to Northstar and urged him forward with the reins.

The wagon bumped along the new road. It would be a short ride, less than 650 rods to the sound side of the island. “We'll need to take care in the trees we choose, sons. The white oak and hickory work well, they are hard. I'll mark the trees we'll cut, but if you have any questions, ask me.”

“Yes, Father. Will Joseph and I get to cut the wood?”

“Yes, son, but you must take care. Your mother will not forgive me if you be hurt.”

“Father, I can almost beat you at arm wrestling, I think I can saw a few trees.” Joseph flexed his arm.

“I grant you that. You're growing into a fine lad. I'm proud of you both. We'll build a meetinghouse that will stand the test of time. Then we'll build our house. I want many generations of Hortons to live in it. We'll build it to last.”

Joseph took the harness off Northstar and led him to a small creek to drink, and Benjamin readied their tools. Barnabas surveyed the timber, overwhelmed at the expanse. “Your ancestors in England once had trees such as this. Mayhap not so tall or in such numbers, but still much more than what exists today. Wood to build with is hard to find there now, and heat in London is mostly by dirty coal. Here we have endless forest. But it's a good lesson to keep in mind. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Very well, then.”

Despite the coolness of the spring day, sweat droplets sprayed freely from Barnabas's forehead each time he swung the axe. Joseph and Benjamin worked equally hard with the sash saw,
with their father taking over when they were more than halfway through the trunk.

By the end of the day they had one pile of logs and one of split timber, hewn and squared. As they piled the beams into the back of the wagon, Barnabas noticed a perfect little hickory.

“Sons, come here. I want to show you a good tree for a maul. Do you see the small size of this trunk? It's as strong as iron. Dig it up by the root and throw it in the wagon. Tonight I will show you how to make a maul. And from the crotch of the branches we'll fashion some hooks and from the limbs we'll cut pegs. We'll need many for our house.”

“Whoopy!” The two raced for the tree.

“Careful, now.” He shook his head. Always in competition they were. But he and Thomas and Jeremy had been the same. Mayhap still were.

As his boys dug the small tree, he stored the tools in a corner of the wagon and fetched Northstar. He arranged the harness, adjusting the collar across the horse's chest. “Good boy.”

He stood back to breathe in the fresh, damp air from the sound. A symphony of sorts played in the wind as boughs bobbed in the breeze and the crash of waves from the beach below mixed with the flutelike trill of the wood thrush and the quick tempo of a marsh wren.

Ann would love this spot. He wandered over to the cliff. If there were any way down, he'd like to hike to the beach. “Joseph, Benjamin—over here.”

They trotted over to the edge.

“Do you see the path through the barberry? I think deer made it. I want to climb down. The timber and brush are thick, but I think once down past it mayhap we'll see Connecticut across the sound.”

The trio climbed down the side, sliding here and there, grasping branches or finding footholds on rocks as they went. At last they landed on the beach, covered in jewel-like agates and jingle shells like they found at the landing site on the other side of the fork.

“You see beyond the water? That's Connecticut, whence we came from on the whaling ship. Beyond that would be Massachusetts.” He turned to see their reaction.

“Father, methinks I like it here much better.” Benjamin glanced up the bluff.

“This will be ours and ours alone. In Winnicunnet it was founded by others, who had noble beliefs to be sure, but as in Quinnipiac, 'twould be like joining a clan. This is ours and our fellow founders'. This is the land God has led us to.”

Joseph stuck out his lower lip. “But Father, what about Mother? Each time we leave a place, I feel further from her. I don't want to, but I do. I had a spot in Winnicunnet where I could go and think about her.”

“Joseph, your mother would have loved this place, that I know. I miss her too. Ask Mary, she will find you a spot here.”

He turned to climb the cliff, back to home. Yes, this was home. He knew that in his heart. He would never leave it. Mary waited and no doubt she'd worked hard all day. He missed his Ann, but he was thankful God had given him Mary. God was faithful.

Barney's energy and zeal amazed Mary and she listened passionately as he described his accomplishments for the day. He liked to explain to her how many things from the old culture they'd brought with them blended well with the new culture of the Indians.

She told him how she combined Indian corn with milk from her English cow to create an English version of the Indian's samp.

And when Barney told her the Horton name came from the Latin word
hortus
, which literally meant “garden” and the Indians were ancient gardeners as well, she found it all fascinating.

“Aye, my sweet, we have always been cultivators. Certainly more producers than consumers.” He looked pleased with himself.

Mary took delight in her family name and endeavored to live up to it by learning everything she could from the Corchaugs. When she met Wauwineta, a friendship grew as strong as any vine. Her new friend taught her how to draw the sugary syrup from maple trees and where to find the wild cranberries, strawberries, and blueberries. She gave Mary gifts of turtle shell bowls, ladles made from gourds, and baskets of split ash. She taught her to catch herring from a canoe and bury it to fertilize the soil. They planted vast fields of corn, hilling them for support and dropping red beans near each stalk so they could climb. Pumpkins and squash were planted to cover between the rows.

After a month of tilling the soil and planting, Wauwineta stood back from their work. “We call Three Sisters Garden, the squash, corn, and beans. They are cycle of life. Complete. Plant the corn first. When it is high to your knee, plant the beans so they climb the stalk. Plant squash so the big leaves cover the dirt, amongst the corn and beans. Mary, you do not pull weeds because they will not grow under the big squash leaves. In hot summer the leaves hold water to the dirt and the bugs will be few. Three crops are ready for harvest together. It is all anyone would need to live.”

Mary gazed at the field they had just readied. “'Tis amazing.
You know how to make the land really do most of the work for you. Wauwineta, may I call you Winnie?”

“Winnie, yes.”

“Winnie, where did you learn to speak English so well?”

“My mother taught me. She lived with white people when she was a little girl. They were not mean, but they kept her from family, her Indian family. I learned very well before she died.”

“You did indeed learn well. I am sorry your mother died. Mine did too, when I was very young.” How much alike they were. Mary looked forward to spending time with Winnie to share not only methods of gardening or cooking but of their lives, hopes, and dreams.

She sorely missed the wheat and oats they left behind in England, but learned to depend on the crops that Winnie taught her to grow in order to feed her family. In return, Mary shared her knowledge of cooking on a hearth and milking the cows. She churned butter and produced cheese to the Corchaug woman's amazement. Together they made delicious corn chowders and puddings, corncakes, and breads.

Mary explained to Winnie about the wheat, oats, and honey that were staples of their diet in England and told her Barney's brother, Jeremy, would be bringing beehives and seeds on his next visit. She promised to teach her how to gather the sweet honey and told her, when the wheat and oats were planted, she would bake beautiful white bread.

July 1639

The days passed into weeks and summer's humid heat pressed in. Men, women, and children labored from early light to the time they crawled onto their pallets. Mary took pride in her accomplishments, though Barney was too busy to notice. Not that she minded. Everything he did was for her and his children. But his constant concern over whether she was with child or not seemed to have been forgotten for the time being, and she found that a blessing.

One day Winnie appeared from the meadow, Smoke by her side. “
Aquai.
Friend. Your thoughts are lost today.” Initially, it was frightening their Indian friends kept wolves as pets, much like they might a dog. But this one, with his thick gray fur and blue eyes, was loyal and protective of Winnie. He seemed to know she welcomed the English immigrants and quickly adopted them as friends.

Mary sat under an ancient chestnut tree, pulling dry corn kernels off the cob. She stretched a hand toward Smoke. “You startled me. Come here, you sweet thing.” She looked up at
Winnie with a grin. “Yes, my thoughts are lost, I should say. Winnie, you express yourself very eloquently. You meant I am lost in my thoughts, did you not?”

“It is not easy to think two languages. We struggle to understand. Did you not?” She grinned at her friend and squatted, picking up a cob of corn. “Why do you look sad?”

“I am not sad. I'm collecting my thoughts. That means, I'm thinking about my situation—about how things are working out. Where are all of those children of yours?”

“Abigail watches the young ones. She is fourteen, a woman. But your thoughts? Where are they?” Her smile revealed deep indentations in her cheeks. She was a tall woman with thick, raven-colored hair and her eyes were the color of ripe olives.

Mary returned the smile. She treasured the time they spent together and appreciated the help Winnie always gave, often without being asked. More times than not, it was wisdom rather than physical labor that was offered.

“You shall not let me get away with it, shall you? I was thinking of Barney. He is working very hard. He works on our meetinghouse and church most of the day, but he has started to clear the land for our house too, and cut the timber. He works such long days and is so very tired when he comes home. We barely talk.”

She paused and studied Winnie. “Perhaps 'tis a good thing, because I was growing weary of him reminding me I am not yet with child. It distresses me so. He wants to have many, many children. I love Jay and Ben, but I want so much to have Barney's child. I think then, he might love me.” She leaned back against the tree. “I've worked very hard to be a good wife to him. I've thought more than once he was ready to pass the tongs to me. But nothing has worked.” She peered at Winnie. “That was a lot to say. Did you understand me?”

“What tongs do you want?”

Mary laughed. “Of course. 'Tis the kitchen tongs I want. I use them to manage my fire and many other cooking chores. But they are not mine yet. They are Barney's. Usually when a young English girl marries and comes home to her husband's house, she's presented with the tongs. She is then mistress of the house.” Her smile fell like the corn from the cob.

“Aye. And I understand more. I watch you. You are not happy.” She looked straight at her.

Mary could not hold the gaze. She lowered her eyes so Winnie could not see the tears forming. “I was not happy when Barney first told me we were leaving our home in England. He didn't give me the tongs. I was certain he was unhappy with me. And it was so hard on the ship. I was always sick. I worried that Miss Terry might prove an attraction to him. It was a terrible time for me. I thought Barney wondered why he ever married me.”

“Why would that be?” Winnie plucked at the corn.

“He wanted me to have a baby, and it never happened. He still wants that and I've tried so hard to be a good mother to his children—tried to be everything a wife and mother should be. But he keeps asking me if I am with child. I feel like I'm not living up to his expectations. He speaks of how lovely and smart and talented his first wife was. Ann.” She turned so Winnie could not see her wet face, her pain. “That part is all right with me. I know he must speak of her so he doesn't forget his dear wife. I wouldn't want that. But he feels so guilty. He holds himself responsible.” Gentle sobs racked her as she wrapped her arms over her head and buried her face into her skirts.

Winnie scooted close and put her hands over Mary's. “I understand what you say.”

Mary turned her head to the side and peeked at her friend. “I am so sorry, Winnie. I try to be the person women turn to. Now listen to me.” She dabbed at her eyes. “You are such a friend to me. I do not know what I would do without you. Do you mean you understand my words or my meaning?”

“Aye.” She looked proudly at Mary.

“Oh, Winnie, you make me smile even when I am so sad.”

“What do you mean with responsible? What is wrong with Barney?”

“I don't know. He somehow thinks he caused her death. Not really caused it, but if he had taken care of the children when they were ill, she might not have died. I cannot seem to reach him. I do not know why he feels so responsible. He has such sadness in his heart that I do not know how to help him.”

“That is so terrible for Barney.”

“Yes, it is. My heart aches for him and I do pray for God to ease his pain. I know he loved her very much. It makes my problems seem so small.”

Winnie wiped Mary's tears with her fingers. “What are your problems? Is it that you are so far from your land and your people who loved you?”

“You've known me such a short time, yet look how you perceive my heart. Yes, I would say 'tis true. But, if Barney could love me, if I truly believed I met his every desire, I could be content, and I feel God would grant us a child.”

Mary looked over the meadow and the tall white birch. “I was not happy when Barney told me we would leave Massachusetts. But to come to this beautiful place and build the home we have talked and talked about, 'tis where we were meant to be, I am sure. Did you know this land looks so much like a beautiful seaside hamlet in England called Southwold? It looks amazingly
like it, and Barney felt it was a sign from God that we are doing the right thing to be here.”

“It is very beautiful here. We call this Yennicott and the land you build on the Old Village. My father told me it is very important to have your people come here. That you were sent by your God.”

“Yes, I believe we were sent by God. I did not like Massachusetts, and the Indians there were not altogether helpful or even very friendly. But, you see, Miss Terry was not there. I could forget about her. But now we are here, and Miss Terry is too. It just does not seem fair, and I can't understand why God would do that to me.”

“Why do you think your God would not bring her here? She might seek the beauty that is here, as you do.”

“Oh, I would hope it would be the beauty of the land, and not the beauty of Barney.” She hiccupped as she tried another smile through her tears. “Of course, she is here because her parents came, and they came for the same reasons as Barney. They are starting a church in which people are allowed to worship as they want.”

“Why do you worry of her then?”

“She seems so attracted to him. And she is beautiful and seems to hang on his every word. Of course, Miss Terry has known Barney since she was very young. I just think that if Barney loved me, God might grant us a child and perhaps he would not spend so much time with her. He would value me.”

“What do you mean, value?”

“I mean, he would treasure me. Like you treasure Winheytem, and every one of those children the two of you have. Treasure is love and more. Love at its greatest. God gave us that kind of love. I want that kind of love with Barney. He had it once, but I don't know if God grants us that twice.”

“Why not? If Barney lost the greatest love God gave him, why would God not give him a greatest love again? But, I think you fear Barney values Miss Terry instead of you. Barney values people. I see that. And he is handsome. I see that. Many women see what you love in him. But Barney chose you. I know he treasures you. But you do not know Miss Terry. I see her watch you at times. She looks like she would like to be your friend, as I am. Do you understand my words?”

Mary squeezed her friend's hand. “Yes, I do, and you are amazing. I have been worried about Miss Terry and I have not even tried to get to know her. Of course she likes my Barney. Who would not? Thank you, Winnie. I think I know what I need to do.” She stood, brushing the dried leaves and grass from her skirt. “Winnie, you and God will help me with this.”