The Witch of Blackbird Pond (12 page)

Lost in her own thoughts, Kit barely noticed that William's dignified pace was even more deliberate than usual. They had dropped some distance behind the others when a purposeful hand grasped her own elbow.

"Wait a moment. Kit," said William. "Let them go ahead. I want to talk to you."

The quiet resolution in his voice penetrated her racing thoughts. Reluctantly she gave him a corner of her attention. The intent look in his eyes, even in the waning light, warned her of what was coming.

Oh, no! Not after all that had happened! She was tempted to run for the shelter of the fireside and Mercy.

"I didn't mean to speak tonight," William was saying. "But watching those two—don't you envy them their happiness, Kit?"

I can't bear it, she thought in panic. "Not tonight!" The last two words escaped into a half-whisper. William took them literally.

"Tomorrow then. Let me speak to your uncle. You won't need to help me out," he added with unwonted humor. "I am quite capable of speaking for myself."

Kit stood shivering in the damp twilight. This silk dress is not warm enough for New England, she thought irrelevantly. Then she made an effort to gather her forces. William's question was not unexpected after all. She had thought that her answer was all ready.

"Please, William," she whispered. "Don't speak to him yet."

William looked down at her, perplexed.

"Why not? Don't you want to marry me, Kit?"

She hesitated. "I had not thought of getting married so soon."

"Judith is just sixteen," he reminded her.

"I know. But I'm still a stranger, William. There are so many things I have to learn."

"That's true," he agreed. He was silent a moment. "I won't hurry you, Kit," he said reasonably. "The house can't be finished before spring, anyway. I'll wait for your answer."

What her answer would be he seemed to have not the slightest doubt. As they walked on, his hand remained on her elbow with a new possessiveness.

Laughter spilled from the open door. The great barn was glowing with lanterns swinging from the hand-hewn timbers. There was a fragrance of new hay and the warm reassuring smell of cattle. The gaily dressed young people sat in a circle around a vast mound of silk-tasseled corn, and already the husking had begun. Shouts of welcome greeted the newcomers, and the circle shifted to make room for them. To Kit's surprise the husking was fun, enlivened by singing and wagers and jokes that seemed uproariously funny. She was astonished. Wethersfield was not always a dull solemn place! Had her uncle ever been to a husking? she wondered.

All at once a new shout went up. Judith sat with a half-shucked ear of corn in her lap, and from the ruffled silk peeped bright orange-red kernels. Judith laughed and tossed back her head with all her old arrogance.

"I haven't any need for a thing like that!" she said triumphantly. "What am I offered for it?"

Without waiting for an answer, she tossed it straight across the circle into William's hands. There were a few quick giggles, a hush of curiosity. Kit sat helpless, her cheeks on fire, and then the laughter and the cheering left her giddy as William stepped resolutely forward to claim his forfeit.

CHAPTER 14

A
FTER THE KEEN
still days of September, the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth. Before Kit's eyes a miracle took place, for which she was totally unprepared. She stood in the doorway of her uncle's house and held her breath with wonder. The maple tree in front of the doorstep burned like a gigantic red torch. The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, emerald and topaz and garnet. Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her. The dried brown leaves crackled beneath her feet and gave off a delicious smoky fragrance. No one had ever told her about autumn in New England. The excitement of it beat in her blood. Every morning she woke with a new confidence and buoyancy she could not explain. In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.

As the days grew shorter and colder, this new sense of expectancy increased and her heightened awareness seemed to give new significance to every common thing around her. Otherwise she might have overlooked a small scene that, once noticed, she would never entirely forget. Going through the shed door one morning, with her arms full of linens to spread on the grass. Kit halted, wary as always, at the sight of her uncle. He was standing not far from the house, looking out toward the river, his face half turned from her. He did not notice her. He simply stood, idle for one rare moment, staring at the golden fields. The flaming color was dimmed now. Great masses of curled brown leaves lay tangled in the dried grass, and the branches that thrust against the graying sky were almost bare. As Kit watched, her uncle bent slowly and scooped up a handful of brown dirt from the garden patch at his feet, and stood holding it with a curious reverence, as though it were some priceless substance As it crumbled through his fingers his hand convulsed in a sudden passionate gesture. Kit backed through the door and closed it softly. She felt as though she had eavesdropped. When she had hated and feared her uncle for so long, why did it suddenly hurt to think of that lonely defiant figure in the garden?

Judith's voice interrupted her groping thoughts. "Hurry up, Kit," she called. "That's the third group of people that've gone past the house. They say there's a trading ship coming up the river. If we finish the washing we can watch it come in."

Kit's heart leaped. "What ship?'

"What does that matter? It will bring mail, and perhaps some new bolts of cloth, and maybe the scissors we ordered from Boston. Anyway, it's fun to see a ship come in, and there won't be many more this fall."

An odd confusion, half eagerness and half reluctance, tossed Kit's spirits to and fro. She was minded to stay at home and help Mercy, even as her feet hurried her along the path beside Judith. But the moment they rounded the bend in the road she forgot her uncertainty. There was the
Dolphin
coming up the river with all her sails. The curving tail of the prow was chipped and dull, the hull was battered and knobby with barnacles, the canvas dark and weathered, yet how beautiful she was! In a surge of memories. Kit could almost feel the deck lifting beneath her feet, and a longing almost like homesickness caught at her throat. How she would love to sail on the
Dolphin
again! Forgotten was the smell of horses, the motionless waiting, the sudden terror of gale and lightning. She remembered only the endless shining reaches of water that stretched to the end of the world, the vast arc o£ the milky way, and the scouring rush of salt wind that blew back her hair. What would she give to stand on the deck of the
Dolphin,
facing down the river, toward the open sea and Barbados!

The
Dolphin
rounded to, her top sails were furled, and with a great creaking of lines and shudder of canvas, she came to rest alongside the Wethersfield dock. The onlookers crowded forward as bales and barrels and knobby bundles were passed over the sides into their eager hands. Kit and Judith stood a little aside, enjoying the bustling scene. The excitement of the crowd seemed to be contagious. When Judith spoke, Kit was surprised to find that her own lips were strangely unmanageable. A queer trembling made her clench her fists tight. She could not turn her eyes away from the deck of the ship.

At last she glimpsed a fair head emerging from the hatchway, almost hidden behind a vast load. It was some time before Nat Eaton, carelessly scanning the busy wharf, caught sight of her. Then he raised one hand in the briefest possible greeting. Kit knew how Nat could be when he was absorbed in the ship's business. She waited, pretending an interest in each bit of cargo that came over the rail. Gradually the citizens of Wethersfield claimed their orders, the merchants from Hartford counted off the barrels of nails and oil and salt and only a handful of idlers still stood about.

"Come on, Kit," urged Judith. "There's nothing more to see."

No, Kit had to agree, there was not the slightest excuse for lingering further. With a little shrug she turned away, and immediately she heard his voice.

"Mistress Tyler! Wait a moment!" She whirled back to see Nat bounding over the rail. He came toward her with his light buoyant step, carrying under his arm a bulky package wrapped in a bit of sailcloth.

"Good day to you, Mistress Wood," he greeted Judith respectfully. Then he turned to Kit. "Would you be kind enough to deliver a bit of cargo for me?" The words were acceptable enough, it was the indifferent tone that was bewildering.

"'Tis a length of woolen cloth I picked up for Hannah," he explained, holding out the package.

Kit took it reluctantly. "She'll be waiting for you to come yourself."

"I know, but my father is anxious to be off. Lose this wind and we'll be delayed here for days. Hannah might need this. If you can spare the time from your fashionable friends."

Kit's mouth opened, but before she could speak he went on.

"An interesting cargo we had this trip. One item in particular. Sixteen diamond-paned windows ordered from England by one William Ashby. They say he's building a house for his bride. A hoity-toity young lady from Barbados, I hear, and the best is none too good for her. No oiled paper in her windows, no indeed!"

She was taken aback by the biting mockery in his voice.

"You might have mentioned it, Kit," he said, lowering his voice.

"There—there's nothing definite to tell."

"That order looks definite enough."

While she searched for something to say she knew that his eyes had not missed the hot surge she could feel sweeping up from the collar of her cloak to the hood at her forehead.

"May I congratulate you?" he said. "To think I worried about that little bird. I might have known it would gobble up a nice fat partridge in no time." Then, with a quick bow to Judith, he was gone.

"What bird? What was he talking about," panted Judith, breathlessly keeping up with Kit's sudden haste. Her head turned away to hide her angry tears, Kit did not answer.

"Honestly, Kit, you do know the oddest people. How did you ever meet a common riverman like that?"

"I told you he was the captain's son."

"Well I certainly don't think much of his manners," observed Judith.

To Kit's relief a distraction awaited them at home. Rachel stood in the doorway peering anxiously up the road.

"I declare," she fretted. "There is no peace for the poor man. Someone came to fetch him just now. Said a rider came out from Hartford with news this morning, and there's a great crowd at the blacksmith's shop. Can you see anything up the road, Judith?"

"No," said Judith. "The square seems quiet."

"I think it is something to do with that Governor Andros of Massachusetts, the one who is determined to take the charter away. Oh dear, your father will be so upset."

"Then let's get him a good dinner," suggested Judith practically. "Don't worry. Mother. The men can take care of the government."

Following them into the house. Kit felt grateful to the unpopular Andros. Whatever he had done, he had saved her, for the moment at least, from any more of Judith's questions.

Matthew Wood did not come home for the good meal they had made ready. Late in the afternoon he came slowly into the kitchen. His shoulders sagged and he looked ill.

"What is it, Matthew?" Rachel hovered over his chair. "Has something terrible happened?"

"Only what we have expected," he answered wearily. "Governor Treat and the council have warded it off for nearly a year. Now Sir Edmond Andros has sent word, three days since, that he is setting out from Boston. He will arrive in Hartford on Monday to take over as royal governor in Connecticut."

"Lay a fire in the company room," he added. "There are some who will want to talk tonight."

One other chance bit of news reached them before nightfall. For all his haste, Captain Eaton had missed the wind after all, and the
Dolphin
lay becalmed just off Wright's Island. Kit took a revengeful pleasure in the thought. She hoped they had a good long wait ahead of them. It would serve Nat right if they sat there till the ice set in. He might perfectly well have delivered his own package. And she would make very sure of one thing. She would take care not to deliver it herself till the
Dolphin
was well on its way toward Saybrook.

CHAPTER 15

"I
T MEANS
the death of our free commonwealth!"

"'Twill be the end of all we've worked for!"

The angry voices came clearly through the closed door of the company room. It was impossible not to overhear. Mercy's spinning wheel faltered, and Rachel's hand, lighting a pine knot, trembled so that a spark fell on the table unheeded and left a small black scar. Frequently in the past month the same grim-faced men had called upon Matthew Wood, but tonight the voices had a frightening quality.

"They must think it a desperate matter to meet like this on the eve of the Sabbath," said Mercy.

"Your father never touched his supper," fretted Rachel. "Do you suppose it would do to offer them all a bite when they come out?"

Kit dropped a stitch for the third time. She had little concern for the colony of Connecticut, but she was seething with curiosity over one aspect of tonight's business. Some time ago William had arrived, offered his usual courteous greetings to the women, and then, instead of taking his place by the fireside, had astounded her by knocking boldly on the company room door. More surprising still, he had been admitted, and there he had stayed, behind that closed door, for the past half hour. Pride could not restrain her tongue another moment.

"What in the world is William doing in there?" she burst out. "Why would Uncle Matthew let him in?"

"Didn't you know?" Judith threw her a condescending glance.

"Know what?"

"William came over to father's way of thinking two months ago. Even before his house was raised, when he had to pay such high taxes on his land."

Now how did Judith know that? Kit stared at her. "I never heard him say a word about it."

"Maybe you just weren't listening." Judith's tone had more than a touch of smugness.

Chagrined, Kit jerked at another dropped stitch. It was true, sometimes when William and Judith were talking about the house it was all she could do to keep her mind from wandering. But she knew she would have remembered anything as important as this. Was William ashamed to admit to her that he had turned against the King? Or did he think she was too stupid to understand?

The voices broke out again. "This Governor Andros says right out that deeds signed by the Injuns are no better than scratches of a bear's paw! We are all to beg new grants for land we've bought and paid for Why, the fees alone will leave us paupers!"

"They can come into our Meeting House and order us to kneel and whine tunes like their Church of England."

"My cousin in Boston actually had to put his hand on the Holy Book to swear in court. I'll shoot any man tries to make me do that!"

They could hear Matthew's voice, cold and steady, never raised or out of control. "Whatever happens," he was saying, "we do not want any shooting here in Connecticut."

"Why not?" broke in another voice. "Should we hand over our freedom without a murmur like Rhode Island?"

"I say defy him!" came a hoarse shout. "Nine train bands we have ready in Hartford county. Nigh unto a thousand men. Let him look into a row of muskets and he'll change his tune!"

"It would mean senseless bloodshed," Matthew said clearly.

For nearly an hour the voices went on, the angry shouting gradually giving way to low tense words that could not be distinguished. Finally a silent, tight-mouthed group of men emerged, with no interest in the refreshment that Rachel timidly offered. When they had gone Matthew lowered himself heavily into a chair.

"It is no use," he said. "We must spend the Sabbath in prayer that God will grant us patience."

Rachel searched for some words of comfort. "I know it is a disappointment," she attempted. "But will it truly change our lives so very much? Here in Wethersfield, I mean? We will still all be together in this house, and surely we will not lose our rights as citizens of England."

Her husband brusquely waved away her comfort. "That is all a woman thinks about," he scoffed. "Her own house. What use are your so-called rights of England? Nothing but a mockery. Everything we have built here in Connecticut will be wiped out. Our council, our courts will be mere shadows with no real power in them. Oh, we will endure it of course. What else can we do? If only we could somehow hold back the charter itself. This man has no right to take it from us."

Not till later, when she and Judith undressed, shivering, in the chilly upstairs chamber, did Kit dare to venture a comment. "They don't seem to realize," she whispered, "how powerful the Royal Fleet is. Once when the Royalists were trying to hold Bridgetown, Barbados, Parliament sent a troopship and subdued them in no time."

"Oh, I don't think there'll be any fighting," said Judith confidently. "It's just that men like Father don't like to be dictated to. But Dr. Bulkeley says the charter was never intended to be as free as they have made it. He thinks the men of Connecticut have taken advantage of the King's generosity."

"So I suppose John thinks so too?" Kit couldn't resist adding.

Once Judith would have flared, but her new happiness was hard to shake. "Poor John," she laughed now. "He's so mixed up between Dr. Bulkeley and Father. Honestly Kit, I agree with Mother. I don't believe it will change our lives much. Men make an awful fuss about such things. I just wish it hadn't happened four days before Thanksgiving. It's going to spoil the holiday to have everyone so gloomy."

"I'd be curious to see this Governor Andros," said Kit. "You remember Dr. Bulkeley told us he used to be a captain of the dragoons in Barbados."

"Maybe we can see him," said Judith, blowing out the candle and hopping into bed. "If he comes up from New London he'll have to cross the river at Smith's ferry. I'm going to get a peek at him no matter what father says. You don't often get a chance to see all those soldiers in uniform!"

For a good many Wethersfield citizens curiosity got the better of loyalty on the next afternoon. Kit and Judith met a fair number of farmers and their wives traveling along South Road and ranging along the bank of the river. They had a good hour's wait ahead of them, lightened by the arrival of an escort from Hartford, led by Captain Samuel Talcott, one of the Wethersfield men, Kit noted with surprise, who had occasionally joined the meetings in her uncle's company room.

"I'd have no part in greeting that Andros," commented one farmer. "The crabs would pick my bones before I'd do it."

"Look at the fine horse all ready for His Highness! They should have asked me. I'd have found the horse for him all right!"

Captain Talcott sensed the growing anger in the waiting crowd and raised his voice. "There is to be no demonstration," he reminded them. "The governor comes here under orders from His Majesty. He will be received with all due courtesy."

Presently a murmur arose as the first red-coated horsemen appeared on the opposite shore. "There he is!" excited voices cried. "The tall one just getting off his horse! He's getting into the first boat there!"

The ferryboats crossed the wide river without mishap, and the party from Boston stepped out onto the shore at Wethersfield. More than seventy men there were, with two trumpeters and a band of grenadiers. Kit thrilled at the sight of the familiar red coats. How tall and handsome and trim they looked, beside the homespun blue-coated soldiers.

And Andros! He was a true cavalier, with his fine embroidered coat, his commanding air, and the wealth of dark curls that flowed over his velvet collar. How elegantly he sat the saddle of his borrowed horse. Why, he was a gentleman, an officer of the King's Dragoons, a knight! Who were these common resentful farmers to dispute his royal right? He made their defiance seem childish.

Governor Andros had no cause to complain of his reception at Wethersfield. The people kept a respectful silence. The Hartford escort saluted and showed a praiseworthy discipline. As the band rode out of sight along the road a few fists were shaken, and some small boys hurled clumps of mud after the last horses' hoofs. For the most part it was a somber group that straggled back to their neglected chores. The magnificence of Andros and his procession had shaken their confidence. They all knew that this haughty man was on his way to meet with their council, and that before night fell he would hold their very lives in his hand.

Resignation and despair settled over the household that evening, as though, Kit thought, it were the eve of that Doomsday that the minister warned of in Sabbath Meeting. There was no company to look forward to. William was a member of the militia in Hartford, and John had sent word that he must care for two of Dr. Bulkeley's patients while the doctor attended the session. In Matthew's scowling presence the others scarcely dared whisper. Kit was thankful when she and Judith could escape to the cold sanctuary of the upstairs chamber.

They had been fast asleep for some time when they were startled awake by the thudding of hoofs in the road below and the whinny of a horse suddenly reined in. There was an echoing rap of a musket against the door.

Matthew must have been awake and waiting, for before the rapping ceased they heard the bolt slide back. Instantly Judith was out of bed with Kit scrambling after her. Snatching heavy cloaks to pull over their nightclothes, the girls flung open the chamber door. From the opposite room came Rachel, still fully dressed. The three women crowded together on the narrow stairs. To Kit's astonishment the man who stepped through the door into the light of Matthew's candle was William.

"It's safe, sir!" he burst out, before the door was shut. "The charter's safe, where he can never lay a hand on it!"

"Thank God!" exclaimed Matthew reverently. "You were at the meeting, William?"

"Yes, sir. Since four o'clock. Sir Edmond got a stomach full of talking this day. The speeches of welcome lasted near to three hours, before he could get in a word of business."

"And the charter?"

"It was there, all the time, in the middle of the table in plain sight. Sir Edmond made a long speech about how much better off we were all going to be. It got dark, and finally he asked for lights. Before long the room got hot and full of smoke and when someone opened a window, the draft blew out the candles. It took quite a few minutes to get them lighted. Nobody moved. Far as I could see everybody stayed right in their places. But when the candles were lit the charter had disappeared. They looked high and low for it, all over the room, and never found a trace."

"Was the governor angered?"

"You'd have admired him, sir. You couldn't help it. He sat there cool as an icicle. He knew the paper wasn't going to be found, and he wouldn't stoop to ask a question about it. As it was, he could afford to ignore it."

"Aye," said Matthew grimly. "He had the power in his hands without it."

"Yes. Governor Treat read a statement, and they all signed it. The Colony of Connecticut is annexed to Massachusetts. Governor Treat will be appointed Colonel of Militia."

"And Gershom Bulkeley?"

"They say he will be appointed a Justice of the Peace for his loyalty."

"Hmm," snorted Matthew. He thought the news over for a moment. "The charter," he insisted, "do you know what happened to it?"

William hesitated. For the first time he acknowledged the presence of the three women by one brief embarrassed glance up the stairs.

"No sir," he answered. "The room was dark."

"Then how do you know it is safe?"

"It is safe, sir," said William positively.

"Then we can hold up our heads," said Matthew, taking a long breath. "Thank you for coming, my boy."

When the door was shut behind William, Matthew turned to the women on the stairs. "We can praise God for this night," he said. "Now get to bed, all of you. And remember, if there is any talk about this, you have heard nothing—nothing at all, do you understand?"

"Can you sleep now, Matthew?" asked his wife anxiously.

"Aye," agreed Matthew, "I can sleep now. There are hard times ahead for Connecticut. But some day, when the hard times have passed, as they must pass, we will bring our charter out of hiding and begin again, and we will show the world what it means to be free men."

The two girls crept back into the cold chamber and climbed shivering into bed. As Kit lay wide awake in the blackness, some distant shouts, a snatch of raucous, unrestrained singing such as she had never heard before in Wethersfield, sent her mind back to the days of her childhood. She surprised Judith by a sudden giggle.

"I know where the charter went," she whispered. "The spirits took it."

"What are you talking about?" Judith was almost asleep.

"I just remembered it is All Hallows Eve. This is the night the witches are supposed to ride abroad on broomsticks, and the spirits do all sorts of queer things."

"Nonsense," said Judith. "We don't hold with saints' days here in New England. Besides, William knows perfectly well where that charter is. I could tell he does."

Snubbed again, Kit fell silent and listened to that unaccustomed shouting in the distance. She felt curiously elated. She knew she had overheard an account of serious insubordination to the King, yet in her heart she was glad that her uncle had known this small victory. Now perhaps they would have some peace in the house. No, it was more than that. Tonight she had understood for the first time what her aunt had seen in that fierce man to make her cross an ocean at his side. There was a sort of magnificence about him, even without the fine uniform that made Governor Andros so splendid. Lying there in the dark, Kit had to admit it—she was proud of him.