A Place in His Heart (31 page)

“I know, Barney. Lizzie said it would take time. She—”

“Nay, my sweet, that is not what I need to tell you. I have struggled so much with this.”

“What, Barney? What happened?”

“There was a babe. A sweet little girl. We did not know Ann was with child, though I thought she might be. I had noticed a thickening of her waist. I waited for her to tell me. Mary, I fear I was wrong to wait. I should have asked her. If I had known she was with child, I would never have let her tend Joseph and Benjamin. They were so sick, it would not have been good for Ann in such a condition.”

“Do you think she knew?”

“I know not, but most certainly if she'd felt a quickening she would have told me. She became very ill. I wrapped her in the red sheets, built the fire. I wanted to call the physician, but she said nay, she did not want to be bled. The next morning she miscarried and then died. I was so stricken with horror at what had happened. There was no time to call a physician or a midwife. My beautiful wife and baby girl were both gone.

“I knew they would not bury our little girl. No church burial for such an early birth. I named her Anne, after her mother, and wrapped her in a blanket to bury her myself. I would have liked to have buried her with her mother, but people would have thought me mad. Instead, I put her in a little grave, under the cherry grove.” His chest convulsed in a silent sob.

“I am so sorry—I . . .”

He breathed deeply, determined to tell her everything. She needed to know. He needed to finally allow her into those hidden places of his heart, those places he had tried so hard to keep
from everyone. “I had just lost my love, and to bury our sweet babe was more than I thought I could endure. I never told a soul. I sent young Joseph, with Benjamin in hand, down the lane to fetch the reverend, and I wrapped Ann in her robe. Her funeral was a nightmare for me and the guilt I felt was overwhelming. I set the blue slate over her grave and promised her I would never forget her, or our love.”

“Oh, Barney, the pain—”

“Pain, aye. The deepest pain anyone could imagine. I thought I could leave the pain in England, but it followed me here. I could not see that I let my pain hurt you, Mary. It was not until you left that I handed the pain to God and put it in His hands. When I saw the blue slate, I knew you not only loved me, but understood me in such a perfect way. It could only be from God. I fell to my knees and prayed that He would give you back to me. God waited patiently for me to surrender my all to Him, and then He led me to you.”

He searched her face, looked deeply into her misty eyes. “I know you have disliked this question in the past . . . but, Mary, are you . . . ?” He placed his hand on her belly. “I must know this, my love. I must take care of you, protect you.”

Her radiance reminded him of the day they were married. “Yes, we shall have a babe. Winnie has told me I am with child. She knows these things. She tells me the babe will come after the summer.” A blush spread across her cheeks, and her eyes, the color of brilliant emeralds, shone as the dark clouds played hide-and-seek with the sugar-cake moon.

Barnabas thought of Ann, their two beautiful boys, and the little girl they never knew. His heart beat wildly, but with joy. He tenderly pulled Mary close, his thoughts of the child they
would have, the love they would share. “You make me the man God intended me to be. I love you, my sweet.”

A single, moonlit flake of snow drifted down to land perfectly on his cheek. Mary traced it with her finger and smiled. “Look, Barney, angel tears. An angel cries tears of joy tonight.”

Writing a novel seems like such a solitary endeavor, and indeed it is as the creative juices flow and the author puts words on paper. But publication is never a solitary venture, for it takes the proverbial village to produce a book. But not just any village.

I've been incredibly blessed by the people God has put in my path. I would like to begin by thanking God, my Father, for His tender care, mercy, and grace.

My mother was the inspiration for this book, and my dad gave me the foundation: a love of family, a love of books, and a voracious appetite to read. When I began writing my novel, he gave me encouragement. Thank you, Dad, for believing in me. My three sweet daughters, Jennifer, Lisa, and Kelly, thank you for showing me what family truly is!

An enormous thank-you to my editor, Vicki Crumpton. You have a keen insight and attention to detail, wrapped in humor and kindness, and I know how lucky I am! I am so blessed to be able to work with you and the whole Revell team! Lindsay, Erin,
Michele, Jen, Claudia, Barb, Cheryl, and Twila are all fantastic to work with. I love you all!

Thank you to my tenth-grade lit teacher, Mr. Muldoon, for reinforcing my love of story.

I am grateful to Geoffrey Fleming, director of the Southold Historical Society, for his assistance and expertise on the early years of Southold. He regaled the three sisters from Oregon with his tales of buried silver spoons and impressed on us what it means to know your family's story. I'm also grateful to Melissa Andruski and Dan McCarthy, both of the Southold Free Library's Whitaker Collection. Their knowledge and willingness to help me track down elusive information enriched my story and made research a delight. Dan also works in the archives at the Southold Historical Society and has been invaluable in assisting me on my trips to Southold. He continues to send me links and tidbits important to my work. Melissa has been incredible in her enthusiasm and gracious support. Her willingness to assist me in accessing material went beyond the Whitaker Collection. She knew my desire to see (and touch!) the actual oak cask that Barnabas and Mary brought with them on
The Swallow
and met me early on a Saturday morning with the key to the Historical Society's Pine Neck Barn. The loft also housed a diorama of Barnabas and Mary's kitchen. What a thrill—and I was able to use my snapshots of the cask and kitchen for my novel descriptions!

I had the amazing opportunity to study seventeenth-century cooking with the wonderful Alice Ross at her studio in Smithtown, Long Island, and spent the day learning how to bake bread like Barnabas did. We cooked a complete hearth meal—including splitting our own wood—with only the fare and implements that would have been available to the colonists. Thank you, Alice,
for your generous hospitality and the chance to relive what my ninth great-grandmother lived every day!

In 2008, I answered a tiny ad in the local paper that read “Tell Me What You Read” and found myself the office manager for one of the top literary agents in the country! Thank you, Natasha Kern, for teaching me not only what it takes to be an office manager but for mentoring me in the world of publishing.

Not many authors have the opportunity to thank two agents for one book, but I am so honored to have met and signed with Barbara Scott, of the WordServe Literary Agency, and agent extraordinaire! Thank you, Barbara, for your belief in my novel, your friendship, and your hard work. I have such heartfelt gratitude for you!

In 2009, I was fortunate to meet one of my favorite authors, Jane Kirkpatrick, at her book signing in Hood River, Oregon. She would be teaching at Bob Welch's Beachside Writers Weekend Conference in Yachats, Oregon, and they still had an opening. I jumped at the chance to attend and have gone almost every year since. She is truly an inspiring author and speaker. Thank you, Jane, for validating me as a writer and for the wonderful friend and mentor you are!

I'm thankful for the incredible opportunity to learn and be mentored by the industry professionals of the American Christian Fiction Writers, the Romance Writers of America, and Bob Welch and Jane Kirkpatrick's Beachside Writers.

A big thank-you to author and freelance editor Christina Berry Tarabochia—a mentor and friend—for her support and advice.

Through all of this, Tom has been with me. He is my first reader, my friend, and my one true love. Thank you, sweet husband!

For more information about Rebecca DeMarino and her books, please visit
www.rebeccademarino.com
. You may contact Rebecca on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/AuthorRebeccaDeMarino
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Twitter @rebeccademarino
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pinterest.com/rebeccademarino
and
google.com/+RebeccaDeMarino

My mother, Helen Jean Horton Worley, grew up listening to stories about her ancestor Barnabas Horton, and how he'd come across from England on a ship called
The
Swallow
. But the details were obscure, and it wasn't until my brother became interested in genealogy and traced our links back to Barnabas that we discovered our history in Southold, Long Island.

In 1999, I found Horton Point on a map and asked Mom if she'd like to fly out and visit the lighthouse named after her eighth great-grandfather. We flew first to Boston to visit her sister, then drove down through Connecticut and took the ferry from New London to Orient Point. Little did we know we followed almost the same path as the Hortons did in the 1600s!

We were amazed at the information about Barnabas that the Southold Historical Society possessed and marveled at the Horton Point Lighthouse, commissioned in 1790 by George Washington. It was built in 1857 on the land originally owned by Barnabas Horton.

We discovered Barnabas was considered one of the founding fathers of Southold and had built the first timber-framed house on eastern Long Island. He was a widower with two young sons when he married Mary and then sailed to New England. There seemed to be much information about Barnabas, but little about the woman who was my ninth great-grandmother.

My mother passed away in 2005, and since then I've made many trips back to Southold, always wondering about Mary. A large slab of blue slate, with a legible epitaph he is said to have written himself, still marks Barnabas's grave in the Old Burying Ground of Southold. I've never found Mary's grave.

I wondered about Mary's motivations and hopes and desires. Why did she marry this man with two young boys and follow him across an ocean, leaving family behind? And so, in the fall of 2008, I began writing my novel.

In my research I found few original documents to base my story on. It is believed that Barnabas and Mary Horton came over on
The
Swallow
somewhere between 1633 and 1638. There are no ship passenger records to prove that and no records for
The
Swallow
. There are no diaries or journals that remain from the first English families to settle Southold—or Yennicott, as it was called in the early 1600s. Indeed, they may have been too busy surviving to record the events as they happened.

The earliest of the Southold Town Records, from possibly 1639 or 1640 to 1651, have been lost for generations. Rev. Epher Whitaker, historian and pastor of The First Church of Southold, wrote in 1881: “In their absence it seems impossible to determine how early in 1640, or it may be in 1639, the first English settlers were living within the bounds of this Town, which has long been noted as the oldest town on Long Island.” He also notes in his book,
History of Southold, L.I.
, that most likely the early
settlers were there many months, perhaps two years, before the official organization of the church on October 21, 1640.

The dates I have chosen for my story are based on the likelihood that the immigrants were in Yennicott a year or two before the township and church were established and because Barnabas and Mary's first child, Caleb, was born there in 1640.

The exact date Barnabas built their house is not known, but the plaque on the corner of Horton Lane and Main Street states early 1640s. It was a grand house and six generations of Hortons lived in it before it was torn down in the 1870s. Barnabas's occupation on one document is listed as a baker, though his family were wealthy land and mill owners in England (another paradox), and for story purposes, I have him build a large house for Mary, with an amazing hearth and oven. Most likely, the original house was small and added on to as their family grew.

The spelling of places and towns was another difficulty, as spelling among even the well-educated Englishmen was subject to phonics and words were spelled the way they sounded. Thus, I found Barnabas and Mary's hometown of Mowsley, England, spelled four different ways, including “Mousely” on the blue slate gravestone. Yennicott is also found as Yennicock, and Long Island could be found spelled with an “e” among other spellings. My editor suggested going with the modern-day spellings, and in the end I'm glad I did!

In addition to definite historical differences, I also had family lore to honor in my story. For example, it's been passed down through generations that Barnabas brought his blue slate with him when he sailed on
The Swallow
. Historians of the 1800s say that was highly unlikely, due to the weight restrictions on the small ships and the fact the cargo was actually people with
few of their possessions. I was intrigued and decided to write that controversy right into my story.

Epher Whitaker wrote in
History of Southold,
L.I.
, “A goodly number of women—faithful daughters, wives and mothers—who have no written record here (Southold), doubtless surpassed in patience, industry, virtue and piety many sons, husbands and fathers whose names are thus known. They shall in a future day and henceforth and forever have their proper and honorable meed when the names, written in the Book of Life, become known to all mankind.”

Indeed, their names shall be known in God's Book of Life. For today, it is my humble desire to give a voice to those courageous women who followed their men across a tempestuous sea to a wild, mostly unknown land.

As I wrote
A Place in His Heart
, I took the sometimes confusing facts, added in some fun family lore, and laced it with imagination. I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it!