I was much too serious. Yance was full of laughter and fun and great at dancing. Kane O’Hara, who had won a Spanish wife, was a gifted talker, a storyteller, and a man with a ready smile and eyes that twinkled with merriment. Jeremy, my father’s friend and Lila’s husband, was every inch a gentleman. He carried himself with style and knew much of the world. People, and women especially, listened when he spoke.
And I? I talked little and at the dances sat along the wall and watched, more at home in the forest than among people. No doubt I would live alone forever, for what woman would find me attractive? Who would want a tall man with high cheekbones and a face like a blunted wedge who knew nothing but hunting and tracking?
I would think of Diana no longer.
CHAPTER IX
When at last I came to Shawmut, it was to a cove inside of what was called Fort Hill, and I came by canoe with a friendly Indian who would accept no gift for the favor. “There are good men here,” he said, and left me standing on the shore at the foot of a path that led to Beacon Hill.
Here all was still, a peaceful place indeed, with some trees off to the south beyond some sand hills and poor grass. On the ridge of Beacon Hill, before me, there were a few cedars and what appeared to be elms. Only the cry of sea birds gave sound to my hearing, and I walked along in my wet moccasins looking for the house of the Reverend Blaxton, which I heard was close by.
By some he was considered eccentric, for he wished only to live quietly here beyond the reach of too many voices and to walk along his hill, down by the sea, or to read his many books. A good life, I told myself, a very good life indeed.
The path wound along the hill, and no doubt he knew I was coming for some time before I reached his gate. A Pequot woman served to keep his house, and he had a sturdy man who had come to help from time to time. The house itself was of logs flattened a bit on top and bottom to fit more snugly and well thatched with flags, rushes, and sedge from the swamps below the hill and along the shore.
He met me at the door, a grave but pleasant young man of about thirty years. “You are Reverend Blaxton?”
“I am.”
“I am Kin Ring Sackett from Carolina. My brother and I have been searching for the two maids who were lost.”
“Taken by Indians, it was said.”
“Indians are suspected of too many things they have not done,” I said, “nor were any Indians involved in this.”
He hesitated a moment, then said, “Will you come in? I entertain but rarely here.”
“It is a lovely place.” Indeed it was, with wild flowers all about a fine view of shore and bay. Walking up the hill, I had seen a profusion of plants. Blueberry, blackberry, strawberry, and wild grape vines seemed to abound everywhere. “I envy you.”
The comment seemed to please him, and when we stepped inside, it was quiet and cool. The floor had been paved with flagstone, neatly fitted, and there was a fine hearth and fireplace, with a small fire burning, enough to warm some soup.
“From Carolina, you say?” I was looking at his books. “It is far.”
“We are in the western country,” I said, “far out on the frontier. Beyond us are naught but Indians, although we hear of Frenchmen and Spanish wandering there.”
He glanced at me as I stood looking over the titles of his books but made no comment in that respect. “Why have you come to me, then?”
Turning, I said, “For advice, in part. Secondly, not to lead those who follow me too quickly to the house of Samuel Maverick.”
Then, accepting a cup of warm broth, I explained all to him. How Mistress Penney had sent for us and how we had come swiftly to help, how our efforts had resulted in finding the girls already escaped and in company with a black slave who was helping them and escaping himself.
“It is a serious matter, that,” Blaxton said. “I look upon slavery with no favor, but to help a slave escape is looked upon almost as thievery, for you deprive a man of property.”
“Aye, but they did not help him.”
“It will not be seen in that light. They were white. It will be assumed that because he left with them they aided him rather than otherwise.”
He sipped his broth, as I did mine, then asked, “They are with Maverick now?”
“I hope so. I had a brush with those who followed them and tried to lead them down the wrong path. They would have come along swiftly, for my brother Yance was with them.”
“Yance? Yance Sackett?” He smiled suddenly. “I have heard of him. Heard nothing good but much that I admired. Although I am a man of the cloth, the people of the congregation and I do not always agree.” He gestured. “I find it more pleasant here.”
After another brief silence he said, “If they were not taken by Indians, then by whom?”
“There were three white men, men of the sea, by all accounts, and two black slaves, one of whom helped them escape … a fine young man.”
“White men?”
“Slavers,” I said, “and obviously awaiting a slave ship to pick them up. The ship was overdue.”
“You did not see such a ship?”
“There was a ship offshore. She seemed to be coming in. We were at the mouth of the Merrimack,” I added, “a place used by traders and such.”
“I have heard of it. But you only saw a ship offshore. Perhaps it was coming in. You assume very much.”
For that matter he was correct. I sat, turning it over in my mind. It was true, we knew nothing. Even the maids assumed much, and we had only what Henry could tell us and what Diana believed.
“We believe Max Bauer was leading those who tried to intercept us,” I suggested.
He put his bowl down hard on the hearth. “You believe! If you are to mention such men, you must know.”
It nettled me, yet he was right. The girls had been taken away, the girls had escaped, but for whatever we suspected, we could prove nothing. We knew nothing; we had nothing.
“One of the men,” I added lamely, “was seen working on the shore for Joseph Pittingel.”
He smiled, an ironic smile. “You are, indeed, an innocent,” he remarked. “Joseph Pittingel is a man of many interests. He gives largely to the church. He is often called to advise in matters of the colonial administration. I fear the best thing you can do, or the girls themselves, for that matter, is to be still about what you surmise.”
He refilled my empty bowl. “I must speak to Samuel of this,” he commented. “He is a thoughtful and a knowing man. I am afraid the young miss is in trouble, also, this maid of Macklin’s.”
“That she is suspected of being a witch? Surely you put no stock in that?”
“I do not, nor will Maverick, yet there will be others who will, and we must think of them.” He looked at me suddenly. “You have spoken with her. What kind of lass is she?”
“Beautiful,” I said quickly, “and sensitive, but she thinks. She has a good mind, an excellent mind, and far beyond her years in good sense.”
He chuckled suddenly, and I did not know why, but he glanced at me slyly. “It is not often I hear a young man comment on a woman’s mind.”
“She is worthy of comment for her beauty,” I replied stiffly, “but among us a woman’s mind is important. On the frontier a man and his wife are two. They walk beside each other. To survive, the two must work as one, sharing thoughts as well as work. It is not the same, I hear, in the cities of Europe.”
“You must guard your tongue,” Blaxton advised. “Joseph Pittingel is a shrewd and dangerous man, skilled in the usages of power. He can have you deported, sent back to England.”
“Back?” I shook my head. “He could not send me back. This is my home, this is my country.”
He looked at me sharply. “This is your country!” He shook his head as if astonished. “It is the first time I have heard that said. ‘This is my country!’ It has a nice sound, a fine sound, but most of us, you know, are English.”
“I was born here. I have not seen England. To me it is a land far off where a king reigns.”