Captive Splendors (36 page)

While Caleb continued his journey, Wren and Lydia spoke with the women in the settlement and listened intently as one of them gave directions to a thriving berry field. Lydia's eyes sparkled as she made plans to bake pies for that evening's dinner and make preserves for the ship's galley.

“If we pick the berries, will you give us flour?” Wren asked the smiling woman. An agreement was made, and Wren herded Lydia in front of her.

As they walked down a dusty road, Lydia talked all the while about pie baking and said the secret lay in lemon and butter. She fretted that here there would be no lemon for her pies, and was busily improvising a replacement when Wren placed a hand on her arm and forced her to stop in the middle of the road. “Look,” she whispered.

Lydia drew in her breath at the sight of her husband leading Sara into the center of a circle of people. Tears stung Wren's eyes on seeing Sara's unkempt look, her hair in wild disarray, her gown torn and tattered. Sara raised an arm to cover her face, either in shame or from fear.

“What's he going to do?” Wren hissed, fear for Sara alive in her face.

“Oh, no,” Lydia moaned. “He's going to disown her as a sister, and then he'll make his parents come forward and do the same thing. He'll announce to all the people what she's done and how God is punishing her. Oh, Wren, we can't let him do that to Sara. She deserves better. I know,” she said quickly, seeing the tight look on Wren's face, “what Sara did to you, but that's over and done with, and because of that you have Caleb. Always remember that because of Sara you have Caleb. And she no longer has the full mind she once had. You have only to look in her eyes and see the madness that rests there. My pity is for the child she carries.”

“What will happen to her?” Wren asked as she glanced around to see if even one person would intervene in Sara's behalf. No one stepped forward.

“What would you do if a messenger of the Lord stood before you and said he had the answer to Sara's salvation? It's simple, really: Bascom will banish her. He'll take her by the hand and lead her from the circle, and from that moment on, she will belong to no one. She will have to forage for food like a wild animal, and she'll learn to live like one. According to Bascom, that is God's punishment. Sara will go completely mad and eventually die. He did this once before to a poor old soul who had told him she had no more coins to give the Lord. Bascom said she was giving her money to the devil and visiting a local tavern. She eventually threw herself into the river. Bascom prayed for her soul.”

“My God!” Wren exploded. She looked at Lydia and grinned. “Do we wait for him to start his rantings and ravings, or do we snatch her out of that damnable circle here and now?”

“I'll agree to anything if it gets us out of Bascom's sight. Now!” Lydia declared firmly, her head high.

“Will he try to stop us? Perhaps we should arm ourselves with some sort of weapon. Here,” Wren said, picking up two stout sticks. “If he makes one false move, club him.”

“Of course he'll try to stop us. This is a big moment for Bascom. It isn't every day that a messenger of the Lord gets to ostracize his very own sister!” Lydia snatched one of the sticks from Wren, and before Wren could gather her wits, Lydia had marched ahead, waving the makeshift weapon in front of her. Wren had to run to catch up to her. Together they elbowed their way through the tight circle of praying men and women.

Bascom read their intent the moment he spotted the sticks clutched in their hands. “You're not welcome here,” he said harshly, advancing to the center of the circle to stand next to Sara whose manner was docile, as though she were a child waiting to be punished for some trifling, mischievous act.

“As if I care what you think, Bascom Stoneham!” Wren scoffed disdainfully, raising the stick over her head. “We're taking Sara with us. We'll take care of her!”

“Oh, no, you won't! Sinners, both of you! Do you think I would trust my sister to two sinners?” he screamed in outrage as Lydia raised her stick, too.

“The only sinner around here is you for what you're planning to do to your own flesh and blood. If you were truly a messenger of the Lord, you would forgive her, not turn her out to live like an animal in the forest. You're the sinner, Bascom!” Wren shouted to be heard over the mutterings of his flock. “Sara goes with us!”

“Sara stays!”

Wren and Lydia lashed out at the same moment, one cracking Bascom on the head, the other jabbing him in his midsection. He fell on the ground, dazed. Wren reached out to grasp Sara, as did Lydia, before the confused Puritans could take action.

“My God,” Lydia wailed, “she won't move!”

“Then drag her, but get her out of here!” Wren groaned as she bent to pick up her stick to ward off any possible attack from Bascom's followers.

Bascom's followers, however, merely stood there, stunned, their mouths agape. Wren grabbed Sara by the arm, and she and Lydia managed to drag the girl from the circle of speechless onlookers.

“Damnation, Sara, if you don't pick up your feet, I'm going to leave you here!” Wren stopped a moment and tilted Sara's head upward. There was no sign of awareness in her eyes. “You were right, Lydia. She doesn't even know what's happening. Hurry, before that ranting, raving bastard decides to come after us. I can barely understand how you ever married that man and lived with him and still were able to keep all the brains God gave you,” she scolded as they dragged a limp Sara down the dusty road and out of sight.

“We have to rest, Wren. Sara's a dead weight. He won't come after us. I'm sure. And if I'm not mistaken, this is something else that will give Bascom's flock pause about the merits of its spiritual leader.”

Panting and struggling, they managed to prop Sara against a gnarled old oak tree. The moment they released their hold on her, she slid to the ground. Wren grimaced but made no move to lift her. “I'm trying to be charitable. Lydia, I really am, but I don't have the strength to get her back on her feet. What in the name of God are we going to do with her? Don't even suggest taking her back to Caleb's ship. He would kill both of us and ask questions later. He's had all he's going to take from Bascom and his relatives.”

“Sit down, we have to think,” Lydia mumbled. After several minutes of silence, she said, “Maybe the Indians will take her.”

“If that's the best idea you can come up with, you better stop thinking,” Wren grumbled.

“What
are
we going to do with her? If we can't take her back to the ship, then there's nothing we can do. This isn't England, Wren. There is no housing here unless you build it yourself. Somehow, I can't see either of us taking on
that
task. And Sara needs care and constant looking after. For now, we can both do that or take turns, but what will happen when it's time to sail?”

“Maybe your idea of the Indians wasn't so bad after all. A hut is a lot easier to build than a house. All we really need is some sort of shelter that will protect her from the elements. Surely there must be some kind soul who would take pity on her and let her live within the confines of this settlement,” Wren said hopefully.

“Don't count on it. These people are a strange lot. They don't understand that Sara is mind-sick. They fear things like this and say it's devil's work. Whatever we do, we have to do it ourselves. I know in my heart it won't be long before Bascom disgraces himself.” Lydia paused. “I know his appetites for young girls. Saybrook is too small to contain that kind of secret. As soon as he's out on his ear, I
know
Sara's parents will come to her rescue. If only we could find someone to care for her until then. Do you recall seeing that old Indian woman tending a fire when we started out earlier?”

Wren nodded. “She looked as if she was mixing something in a pot. Come to think of it, what's an Indian doing here if all these people are afraid of them? A deal!” she cried excitedly. “Maybe we could lure her away to care for Sara. We could give her all those gems that we won from Farrington. Indians love trinkets.”

“But Caleb was going to return them anonymously to the King,” Lydia fretted.

“The King doesn't need them. His neck is fat enough already,” Wren sniffed. “Besides, I won those gems fair and square in a game of cards. Caleb has no right to make decisions about my property.”

“But you gave them to me and I gave them to Caleb for safekeeping,” Lydia said dejectedly.

“Then we'll just have to steal them back. Where did he put them?”

“In a strongbox in his cabin,” Lydia answered.

“You stay here with Sara, and I'll go back to the ship and get the stones. If I find Peter along the way, I'll send him to you. Don't let Sara out of your sight. See if you can't get her down to the river and give her a good dunking; she smells.”

“Does this mean we aren't going berry picking and won't have any pies for dessert?”

“Perhaps the children will pick them for us if we give them a stone or two. All children like pretties. Or I could give them one of the playing cards with the pictures on them.” She jumped to her feet and scrambled off.

“Oh, God,” Lydia groaned as she watched Wren disappear around the bend. She shrugged. Somehow or other, she knew they wouldn't have to pick the berries or bake the pies. Somewhere in the settlement there was a person who was just waiting for Wren to make him a target for her conniving ways. Lydia could taste the pie already, even though there wouldn't be any lemon juice to add the finishing touches.

On her walk through the small settlement Wren stopped from time to time, carrying on low-voiced conversations and waving her arms for emphasis. Lydia would have her pies.

Back on board the ship, she hurried to Caleb's quarters and searched out his strongbox. With a steady hand she dexterously worked a hairpin into the lock, and soon the pouch of gems was in her hand. Better hers and the old Indian woman's than the King of England's. He had enough jewels and would never miss these.

An hour later she was dragging an unwilling Indian woman by the arm to where Sara sat propped up. It looked as though Sara hadn't moved since Wren had left. Lydia verified this wearily.

“Now comes the hard part,” Wren said. “We have to communicate to this woman that we need a shelter and want her to take care of Sara. How are we going to explain that Sara is . . . is . . . isn't right in the head?”

“She already knows,” Lydia grimaced as the Indian squatted down and peered at Sara with bright shoe-button eyes. The woman tapped her head and then shook it vigorously. Lydia grimaced again. “I think that means she's not interested.”

“I think you're right, Lydia. But we have to convince her that the most important thing in the world to her is taking care of Sara. Maybe if we tell her about the baby, she'll feel differently.”

“She'll feel differently, all right,” Lydia said sourly. “Try. You don't have anything to lose.”

“Damnation, Lydia, I don't know how to converse with an Indian!”

“I trust you. You'll think of something; you usually do.”

“Madame,” Wren said imperiously, “we need your help.” She gestured with her hands to indicate they wanted a hut. She pointed to the woman and then to Sara to show she wanted her to care for the not-too-bright girl.

The old woman shook her head and uttered one word. “Loco.”

“A temporary state of affairs,” Wren continued. Then she made a cradle with her arms and rocked back and forth, pointing to Sara.

The Indian woman still shook her head and held up two fingers. “Loco,” she said.

“There's nothing to do but show her the gems and see what she does,” Wren grumbled. She withdrew two emeralds and a shimmering ruby and held them out in the palm of her hand The old woman's eyes lit up and she cocked her head from side to side. First she looked at the stones and then at Sara, as if she were weighing the worth of both.

Lydia and Wren held their breath, waiting to see what she would decide. The gems won out and she reached for them. This time it was Wren who shook her head negatively and again made motions for a place of shelter. After much gesticulating the old woman scurried off and returned sometime later with several long branches and some sheets of bark. Deftly, she set about erecting them into a makeshift shelter. When she finished, she held out her hand for the gems. Again Wren shook her head and pointed to Sara. With no wasted motion the old woman had Sara up off the ground and in her arms. She dragged her under the shelter and both girls clenched their teeth and winced at the thump they heard. This time when she held out her hands Wren placed the gems in her dark palm.

Dramatically, Wren dusted her hands and laughed. “We did almost a day's work. Convincing that woman to take care of Sara was more work than cheating Farrington for the jewels. If anyone deserves berry pie for dessert, it's us.”

“There seems to be some commotion going on,” Lydia said as they neared the center of the settlement. “All the people have stopped what they were doing. Look—even Bascom is paying attention to the man who's speaking. It must be serious if Bascom would interrupt his prayer meeting!”

“Then let's see what it's all about,” Wren said, pulling Lydia by the arm.

“Do you always have to be in the thick of things? Peter is there; he can tell us what's happening. Why don't we just wait here and let him come to us?”

“That won't do. I like to hear things firsthand. Walk faster, Lydia, before we miss something.” Wren quickened her step.

“Whoever the man is who's doing the talking, he certainly is dressed for society and not this wilderness. Wren, he must be someone important.” Her own curiosity aroused, Lydia matched her steps to Wren's long-legged stride.