To Capture Her Heart (27 page)

“I'll go, Benjamin. You stay and get ready for your wedding.”

He glanced at Joseph, then looked at his father. “You would send Joseph by himself?”

“He would not be by himself. He'll have the troop.”

Benjamin looked at Heather Flower. She hoped her eyes said
stay. He glanced down at his mother and her look definitely said do—not—go.

“All right. I imagine my duties as groom cannot be neglected.” At last he looked at Reverend Youngs. “Joseph will bring him back safe.”

Glad the issue was resolved without involving Benjamin, she was anxious to leave. He walked her to the door with Winnie trailing behind, giving them a moment alone. He bowed to her and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. She liked the warmth of his breath on her hand. The kissing habit from the Old World was quite nice.

Benjamin offered to take them home, but Winnie insisted the walk would do her good.

“Everything will be all right, my child. Joseph will bring back Johnny and we will all celebrate when he is home for your wedding.”

If she told her aunt that she feared it would not be so simple, would her aunt understand? Or was she so counting on this marriage she would refuse to look at all of the implications of Joseph and that horse troop riding back into Dutch territory? And she could not help it—she worried as much for Dirk's safety as Joseph's and Johnny's. Why didn't Johnny just give himself up? New Haven would pay the bond and he would come home. Men made things so difficult.

And Benjamin, dear Benjamin. He wanted to go with Joseph, probably more than anything, except he couldn't hurt Mary. He would never deliberately do something she did not approve of. And Mary wanted this marriage as much as Winnie.

May 6, 1654

Benjamin brought the wagon out to pick up Heather Flower the following Saturday morning, and he helped her load it with her sacks of beads. She also brought her bead-making tools and sacks of shells. On the ride into town she did most of the talking and he listened intently. She liked the idea of helping Lizzie and Patience open a hat shop.

They pulled up in front of Patience's house, where Lizzie and Patience stood out front discussing a new sign. The ladies helped carry the sacks into the house, and Benjamin asked what they planned on naming the shop.

Lizzie looked at Patience with her brow raised. “I don't know. Something that uses both of our names?” She looked at Heather Flower. “And yours too, Heather Flower. You are in this with us.”

Patience immediately protested. “No, Lizzie. It has to be all yours.”

“But we are using your house. And Heather Flower is doing all of the beadwork.”

Heather Flower shook her head. “No, my friend. This is your dream and it should bear your name.”

They wandered back outside as Benjamin chuckled. He pulled a ledger book from under the bench of the wagon and handed it to Lizzie. “This is from Mother. She said you must begin to use it right away and enter everything. She says Uncle Jeremy brings her a stack of these every year, and if you'd like him to bring you some too, she is certain he would be happy to.”

Lizzie ran her fingers over the leather-covered ledger. “This is just like the ones Mary kept for Father. Tell her thank you, Ben.”

“I will do that.” He said his goodbyes and planted a quick kiss on Heather Flower's cheek before he climbed up into the wagon. “When you decide about the name, let me know and I will make you a fine sign.” He clucked at Star and headed home.

“What do you think, Heather Flower?”

“I think Patience is right. I think you must call it Lizzie's Hatterie.”

Patience's face lit up. “'Tis perfect. It shall be called Lizzie's Hatterie then.”

Lizzie's laugh cascaded like tumbling thimbles. “I like it. But it shall always be our store, agreed?” She looked at both ladies until they nodded.

They went inside to figure out which of the front rooms would be the display room and which would be the workroom. Heather Flower sat down at a table with her shells and began to work on creating beads. She chose the inner white part of the shell for pure white beads, and made beads of three different intensities of purple—one almost black, one violet, and one almost blue. The yellow and orange jingle shells made tiny beads for bursts of color.

Lizzie supplied her with some small glass vials that Doc Smith
had given her, and she stored each color of bead in a different vial. She worked through the morning while she listened to the two friends go over the floor plan and storage ideas.

Eventually they settled next to her with mugs of mint tea, and Patience wrote out a list while Lizzie told her everything she'd need. Bolts of wool, silk, brocade, felt, and threads and ribbons of all kinds. Straw was easy to come by, of course, and feathers—they had plenty of those. But she would need needles, pins, thimbles . . . the list went on and on. “And I have a whole box of dried roses in different hues, but we'll need to make more. They've already started blooming. Oh and dyes. I'll need to collect dyes. Indigo and cranberry red are my favorites.”

Heather Flower and Patience smiled at Lizzie's enthusiasm. Patience fixed a small dinner in the kitchen and told Lizzie that the mother of one of her students mentioned she would like a hat.

The three returned to their project refreshed. “I have two orders already. Now let's sit down and this afternoon we will design my first two hats.”

Patience provided the parchment, and for the next two hours she and Heather Flower sat and watched Lizzie dip her quill and sketch. “Now for Grissell, I think something adventurous with feathers and a beaded band. And for the lady down the lane—something a bit more diminutive, with flowers and ribbon? Do you agree?” She talked as she illustrated her ideas, her pen flying.

Heather Flower commented how beautiful her drawings were and Patience explained Lizzie was inventive and skilled, and very good with her ideas—as she was with most everything she ever set out to do.

“Your beadwork is the same.” Lizzie stopped drawing for
a moment. “Your beads and how you stitch them together are works of art.”

“I will make a wampum headband for Grissell's hat. It will be beautiful with many shades of purple from the quahog shell, and the whitest part of the whelk shell.”

“What's a quahog shell?”

“A clam. I could teach you. It is not difficult.” She made the offer to both of her friends.

Patience answered first. “Benjamin is coming back to build some counters and cabinets for us. Then you could show us how you make the beads?”

“
Nuk
. Of course.”

Before Benjamin came, they moved what furniture they could out of the way and swept and scrubbed Patience's already spotless floors. When he arrived and set to work, they settled at a table in the next room, and Heather Flower got her tools out and the sacks of shells.

She spread her whelk and clamshells, a stone made of pointy flint, her metal drill, sandstone, sinew, milkweed bast, strips of soft deerskin, and bone needles all out on the table. She asked Patience for a bucket to fetch water as Benjamin walked in.

Heather Flower's heart twittered as he stepped close to her.

“Did I hear you need some water? I can get that for you.” He touched the tip of her chin with a finger.

“I will go with you, my friend.” She wanted to share her knowledge of the beads with her friends, but Benjamin was making her forget everything she knew. Lizzie nudged Patience with obvious amusement and the two shared a giggle.

“I would like that very much. But I fear these ladies would be much more interested in teasing us than accomplishing anything else the rest of the day. Where's the bucket, Patience?”

His remark sent them into hysterics and Patience held her sides as she went to fetch it.

While they waited for the water, Heather Flower, with her cheeks a rosy bronze, explained to Lizzie and Patience the history and significance of wampum. The job of making purple and white beads was a highly coveted position for her people, she told them. The women found the shells in the mud or just below the water's surface off the shore and gathered them for the men who were assigned to make the beads. Because she was Wyandanch's daughter, she was permitted to perform that duty as well, as it was work befitting a child of the sachem.

The deep purple from the quahog clamshell was much harder to find, and considered more valuable than the white, which was made from the snowy inner swirl of the whelk shell. Many generations ago the beads were made for adornment. Headbands and headdresses, dresses and leggings, belts and moccasins, and jewelry were all bedazzled with the shell beads.

She picked up a shell and showed Lizzie and Patience where she would cut to make cylinders and disks. Strung on sinew or milkweed bast, they were then smoothed with sand and water. Each polished cylinder was cut and the finished beads were sewn onto soft deerskin, either directly on the clothing or on long strips to make belts, badges, and jewelry, and became wampum. So prized were they that often they were used as barter.

The stories that were told when they were presented at ceremonies became the story of the wampum being given. Soon the wampum was used as a way to record events, including war declarations and peace negotiations. Or ransom like the wampum belt paid for Heather Flower's release. The meaning of a particular piece of wampum was in the story that was told
at the time it was given. That story would be handed down to future generations.

Lizzie's pretty eyes grew wide. “My goodness, I never knew there was such significance. I always thought it was just your way of money. Like our pennies and shillings.”

Heather Flower gave her an understanding nod and a little smile. “In my father's generation they had no use for money. It is a white man's need. But our wampum has become the currency of the white man here. He gives us many things we can use in exchange, then he pays the northern tribes for pelts with it. He assigns a value like his coinage and tells us the purple are twice the value of the white beads. But our wampum is much more important than coins of silver or gold.”

Patience laughed. “I think so, Heather Flower. Our silver and gold means nothing here in the colonies when it comes to survival.”

Benjamin came back with the bucket of water, and while she taught Lizzie and Patience how she formed the beads, she could see him through the doorway as he worked. Every once in a while their eyes would meet and they would smile. He was proud of her, she could tell.

But when she came to the part of drilling the hole, she looked at the metal drill Dirk had given her, and suddenly she did not want to talk about it. She picked up the flint and hoped Patience and Lizzie would not ask about the other drill. She would tell them about the old ways, and long for them herself. Back when there were not so many choices to be made.

By the end of the very long day, the ladies had a counter and cupboards. Lizzie had brought a large looking-glass from En
gland and it now sat on their front counter for ladies to view their intended purchase. Benjamin promised them a sign by the morrow. Now all they needed were the hats.

Lizzie told them while they waited for supplies they could make patterns, and Patience brought out more parchment. From the drawings she'd made of Grissell's hat, they began to sketch pieces, and after cutting out a few and holding them together around Heather Flower's head, they figured the size they wanted for the pattern. It was all great fun and Heather Flower's worries of living in a white man's world seemed silly at this moment. People were just people,
nuk
?

May 10, 1654

On Friday Heather Flower and Winnie traveled back to Mary's at her request. The day was beautiful with cottony wisps of clouds in the very blue sky and alive with the music of bird chirps and buzzing insects. They enjoyed their walk through the woods of Indian Neck, and when it broke open to the meadow that edged the town center, Heather Flower picked a nosegay mix of blue iris and crisp white daisies for Mary.

Joseph had ridden out with the horse troop, Barnabas and Benjamin were working in the fields, planting wheat. Lizzie and Patience came to work on the wedding gown. With Joseph gone, Jane joined them.

Mary welcomed them and fetched her pretty red slipware jug decorated with a yellow vine to fill with water and the flowers. She set it on the table in the hall, next to the Bible.

The ladies all sat in a circle, each with a piece of the dress, placing careful stitches as they chatted. Lizzie looked at the sleeve Mary worked on, and she winked her approval. Win
nie worked on the bodice embroidery, and as she finished she handed it to Heather Flower. She stitched beadwork among Winnie's flowers, stems, and leaves.

She listened to the gossip, but her thoughts drifted to Benjamin and she wondered if he'd be coming in for supper before she and Winnie left. Lizzie wanted them to stop at the cobbler so he could make a foot form for her wedding shoes. She'd prefer to wear her moccasins, but she was allowing them to plan it, so she was agreeable to what they suggested.

She caught what Patience said at the very end. “'Tis been a long time since he's been here.”

“It has, but he warned Barney he would stay longer in Mowsley this year. Grandmother Horton is not doing well and he wants to be home if something happens.”

Heather Flower leaned into Winnie with her voice low. “Who?”

Patience giggled with a tinge of pink flooding her porcelain skin. “Jeremy. I was just wondering what happened to Jeremy.”

Lizzie put her fabric in her lap. “Jeremy is Barnabas's brother. Have you met him, Heather Flower?”

“No. I've heard of him. We have not met. He has the ship that brought you here, Mary?”

“Yes,
The Swallow
. He's had some adventures on that ship. And some near disasters. I shall be glad when he is through sailing.”

Lizzie stabbed her needle into the sleeve. “I do not see that happening anytime soon. The last time he was here, I tried to tease him about settling down and getting married. He wasn't having any of it. Not at all.” She sniffed.

Winnie spread the piece she worked on flat. “Why do you think he is that way?”

Patience raised her arms, undid her straight blond hair, and rewound it into a neat bun. She pushed the small ivory comb back into her hair. “He loves his ship. He loves sailing. He always teases me that 'tis hard for any woman to rival that.”

“Do you wish that were not so, Patience?”

The ladies drew silent with Heather Flower's question, waiting for the answer.

“No. Not really. Men who love the ocean do not easily give that up. I'm happy he loves what he is doing.”

“You are right, Patience. That is where his heart is. It has been that way since he was ten or twelve.” Mary placed her work on the table. “I think we shall have a little refreshment, then we should pin this on Heather Flower and see how it's coming along.” Her eyes lit up as she looked at their work.

She brought out a platter of little fruit tarts she'd made for the occasion and set them on a table. With the younger girls taking naps, Abigail, along with Jane, helped her bring out small glasses of cider pressed from pippins out of their orchard.

Lizzie watched as Mary and Abigail served each of the ladies. “You amaze me, Mary. You'd never know by watching you that you were so inept at anything housewifely when you married Barney. I used to think you would never earn those tongs.” Her laughter tinkled.

Heather Flower leaned ever so slightly toward Winnie.

Winnie quickly explained. “It's an old English custom. The new bride gets the kitchen tongs—it means she is head of her kitchen. But Barnabas was a baker and much better in the kitchen than Mary.” Her tone teased.

Mary caught her breath. “Why, that was true, but I learned. Once he let me in the kitchen.” She winked and laughed with the rest of them.

Lizzie broke in. “Yes, you did. But what about Heather Flower, Mary? Will you be presenting her with the tongs?”

Mary looked at her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. “Would you like to do our custom, Heather Flower? It's a very important one to us, but I know you will take good care of Ben no matter if you take the tongs or not.”

“I want to do the customs of my husband. I will take the tongs.”

Jane pulled at a thread and tied it in a knot. “You have a good heart, Heather Flower.”

A smile encircled the group as they finished their refreshment and bent back to their task. She was the daughter of the Grand Sachem, the English called her a princess. It was true she was not required to do much of the labor of her people. But she had been taught and she often helped in planting, harvesting, and preparing food. She would do what Benjamin needed to care for their family.

A stomping of boots heralded the arrival of the Horton men and boys. Heather Flower smiled at Benjamin, and Caleb jabbed at his brother with his elbow.

Benjamin smiled his dimpled smile at his brother. “Hey.”

“Oh, so sorry. I stumbled.”

The ladies laughed at the two and Barnabas shook his head. “Good afternoon, ladies. We cleaned up in the barn. We'll just be going through to the kitchen.”

Mary stood with her finished piece in hand. “We are almost done with this for the day. There are some sweets in the kitchen if you men would like some. We'll have just a light supper.”

Winnie got up and set the bodice piece she worked with on her chair. “We must go, Mary, and we'll stop by and get Heather Flower's feet measured.”

“I'll hitch the wagon and take you there,” Benjamin offered. “Then I'll take you home, if that is all right with you.”

Heather Flower's cheeks warmed, and she looked at her aunt.

Winnie nodded her approval. “We would both like that very much.”

Caleb stepped in front of Benjamin and pleaded with Heather Flower. “Can I come?”

But before she could answer, his brother did. “No, but you can help me hitch up Star. Come on.” Caleb took off at a run for the barn.

As they walked down the flagstone to wait for Benjamin to bring the horse and wagon, Heather Flower overheard Mary ask Barnabas about Jeremy. She turned to Winnie. “Barnabas had two brothers,
nuk
?”

“Yes. His brother Thomas lived up north in Massachusetts. He died of the fever the year Caleb was born.”

“Did he have a wife?”

Winnie nodded. “Her name was Mary Jane and they had a little girl, Mary Belle. They stayed up there and she remarried. I imagine by now Mary Belle is married too. Mary said they received the letter of his passing, and one later about her marriage, but that was the last they heard.”

The wagon pulled up and Benjamin jumped down. He helped Winnie up to the bench first, then Heather Flower.

A short ride down the main road, around the curve to the left, and they arrived at the cobbler, just one lot up from Dickerson, the tanner. Winnie suggested Benjamin wander down to Dickerson's Creek while the willow mold was fashioned around Heather Flower's bare foot.

Later, they bumped down the road toward the Corchaug
fort. After a stew of squirrel and wild onions, Benjamin asked if Heather Flower would accompany him on a walk.

“Shall we walk down to the river?”

Heather Flower looked at the head of the path. She could picture Dirk standing there, watching her walk away. Had he felt the same sorrow as she that day? Or had he been ready to move on without her? It seemed so, since he had not come to meet her at the tulip tree. Not even left a message.

“Yes, Benjamin. It is my favorite place here at Winnie's. There is a pair of eagles that nest there. It is a sacred place.”

Benjamin held her hand and looked up at the treetops as they sauntered down the path. “All of God's creation is sacred, Heather Flower. The eagle is mighty and beautiful, but God knows how many feathers are on every bird and knows the number of hairs on our head. Isn't that amazing?”

“It is so hard to imagine.”

“That is the beauty, Heather Flower. We don't have to. It says in the Bible we just need to have faith. When you look at what He has created, it is easy to have faith in what we do not see.”

“My aunt has been telling me much about your God. I feel He is the same as our Great Spirit, but we did not know He had a Son until the white men came to tell us. Do you think that is true?” She sat now on the grassy slope to the river, her hands folded on her deerskin skirt covering her knees, searching the sky for the eagles.

He lowered himself to the ground a couple of feet from her and looked at her with his baby-blue eyes. “Yes, He sent his Son to us so that we might believe in Him and have everlasting life with God.” He scooted close to her and put his hands over hers. “God knows our hearts, but He wants us to say we believe, not for Him but for ourselves. It's how we are saved.”

“My aunt has told me that.”

“Have you told God you believe in Jesus, that you accept His Son as your Savior then?”

Her heart was full. Tears she wished no one to see trickled down her cheeks. “I have felt emptiness for so long, and I have found it isn't something you or Dirk or even the memory of Keme can fill.”

“It's Jesus who fills that, Heather Flower. The rest of us are just the ones He puts into your life to point you on your way. But it's Jesus who gives us all that we need.”

“I want that. I want what you and Winnie and Mary have.”

“You can have it. Just say it to God.”

He pulled her to her knees and they knelt in prayer. Certainly she'd not ever been this close to the Great Spirit in the sky than she was now, and she called Him by name and asked Him to fill the emptiness in her heart as she gave her life to God.

“The angels are singing hallelujah, Heather Flower.”

Benjamin pulled her close to him and held her tenderly. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. He was a good man and sent to her by God. She loved him like a brother. She prayed now that the love they shared could someday grow into the deep, abiding love of husband and wife. Surely that was what God intended.

But what did God intend for Dirk? He rarely talked about God. She'd heard Benjamin say that the Dutch were here just to trade and make money. And that they did with the northern tribes. But she could feel a yearning in Dirk. He sought God in his own way, she was certain.