"I don't think we can get to the Indies soon enough," Jack said as they shivered on deck, approaching another small town along the river.
"Has the captain told you why we're making this last run so late in the season?" Gabe asked Nat.
Nat shook his head. In the week since they left Wethersfield, his father had said very little, showing him no preference and treating him like all the other sailors. It was a fitting punishment for his behavior, Nat knew, though he was curious how long it would last. Would Captain Eaton tell his wife, once she had boarded in Saybrook to share their voyage to the Indies, of their son's disgraceful behavior on All Hallows Eve? Perhaps there had been so little gossip in Connecticut that the news of their banishment had already reached Saybrook, though it was unlikely.
"Ah, perhaps a whim," Gabe said. "Or he might think we'll avoid all the hurricanes if we delay."
"It's possible," Nat mumbled as he climbed higher up the mast to tighten a cable.
"Nat!" Jedidiah stood below him, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, "Captain wishes to see you below decks!"
As Nat climbed down, he caught a better-you-than-me glance from Gabe, but ignored it. Landing nimbly on his feet, he dusted off his breeches and quickly ran a hand through his hair. He knew whatever his father had to say would not be complimentary, but Nat preferred not to be scolded for his poor appearance. Sadly, there was little that could help him at the moment.
"Father…sir?" he said respectfully, entering his father's presence a few moments later.
The captain was sitting at his shabby desk, looking over his ledger and papers. He raised his head to stare up at his son.
"I have been considering the matter carefully, Nathaniel," he said, his voice level and his expression revealing nothing. "I know you wish to have a trading ship of your own some day."
"Yes, sir," Nat said, feeling his pulse quicken. His mind, always ready, drew up an image of himself on his own little vessel. Free and independent, he would sail wherever he wanted, on the most beautiful little ketch that Boston could offer. The name was all that had to be decided on. He never could decide which he liked best…
"We discussed the possibility of my assisting you in the purchase of a ship next year," the captain was saying, interrupting Nat's sudden daydream. "At least, in the initial payment."
"Sir?" Nat prompted, standing up a little straighter.
"You do realize, Nathaniel," his father went on, "that such a step requires a great amount of responsibility and good sense. I'm afraid that, after your little farce in Wethersfield, I cannot say that I have much confidence in your possession of either."
Nat sucked in his breath, feeling as though he had just been punched in the mouth. "I am so sorry, Father. I know there is no excuse…"
"Ah," Captain Eaton said, standing up from his chair and folding his arms. "But would you demonstrate such heartrending remorse if you had not been caught?" Nat was silent. "No, Nathaniel," he went on, "an apology is the best way to start, but it cannot replace a confidence lost. I fear you have much to learn about managing not only a trading vessel, but a life as a grown man."
When his father took that stance and that tone, Nat knew from experience that debating his decision would be futile. "Yes, sir," he said.
"Until I see sufficient evidence that you are ready for a sea captain's life, you will remain on my ship, under my supervision, and abiding by my rules. Any more escapades like that, and you will be made an example of before the entire crew." He raised his eyebrows so very slightly. "Have I made myself understood?"
"Absolutely…sir."
"Then you may go."
Nat turned and left the cabin, somewhat in shock. He would never be rid of the shame of that evening! Why had he not stopped to think before he shared his idiotic idea with shipmates who had so much less to lose? It would be a long time before his father would trust him with anything again. Though Captain Eaton's confidence was difficult to earn, it was easily lost—even by his own son.
Emerging back on deck, Nat ignored the other sailors and moved numbly toward the edge of the ship, looking out over the river. The cold autumn breeze had picked up; they would be in the next town by day's end. Nat could not feel the excitement that usually accompanied such activity. His mind replayed the events of a week ago. He had known what was at stake if he were caught, and he took the risk. Now he understood what was meant by the "folly of youth"! For the life of him, he could not remember why he had thought the gamble was worth it in the first place.
Well, the first thing to be done was to forget about Kit. That was a pleasant enough task—his mind had lingered on her for too long, and look what had happened. It created foolish ideas in his head, leading to disappointment, and because of that, he had done one of the stupidest things in his life. Banishment could not keep him from seeing Hannah, of course, but he was more than willing to let it keep him from Kit!
From that very moment, nothing would interfere with his concerns aboard the Dolphin. Whatever it took for him to regain his father's confidence, Nat would do five times over. More than anything else, he wanted his own ship. His heart yearned daily for the chance to trade his own wares and sail wherever he wanted—to be self-sufficient and free. How could he have been so quick to throw that chance away? Now, nothing could distract him from what he wanted, or lessen his determination to obtain it. He could not make such an error again.
As the days passed on the river, each one colder than the last, Nat threw himself into his work. From dawn to dusk, he was single-minded in fulfilling his many responsibilities on the ship. When the men were at leisure, he found other things for them to do, earning more than a few hostile grumbles behind his back. Gabe was the one bold enough to inquire after Nat's changing attitude, and received the response that all the other sailors had assumed—that their punishment in Wethersfield had made Nat realize how inappropriate his behavior had been for a captain's son and first mate. To the men, this meant Nat had lost the sense of fun that had made him so popular. He was never idle, from the ship's stem to her stern. All day, he thought of nothing but the Dolphin, his father's favor, and the unmade ship he hoped to own the very next year.
Unfortunately, at night, his thoughts took a very different turn.
Huddled under the blanket in his bunk, swaying with the ship's movement over the water, Nat could not keep his focus as well as when he was physically occupied. Although he tried, he could not prevent his mind from wandering back to Wethersfield, and to Kit.
He hated the idea of William Ashby building a house every bit as proud and elegant as his bride-to-be. Kit had said that nothing was certain, but what man would pay so much to build a house for a woman who had not yet agreed to live in it? Why stake so much when so much was in doubt? Ashby must have been sure of what she would answer, and obviously Kit had done nothing to discourage him. She was quite indignant that day at the stocks, when Nat had commented so snidely about the look on William's face.
And still, Nat wondered, as always, why she had come to see him at all. It was not to mock him and revel in his punishment—she would have accompanied her family to Lecture to accomplish that. Instead, she had come furtively. Though Nat had offended her, she fled after reading their sentence. She had offered them food. She had even wept…
When are you going to stop? Nat asked himself. If not soon, then you'll go mad. Forget her, and think about what youreally want. Think about what is important to you, what you can earn. Think of the Indies. Only a few more weeks, and Mother will be aboard, and we'll all sail for Jamaica…or Hispaniola…or Barbados.
But the thought of Barbados reminded him again of Kit, and so he had to think of something else entirely.
It was a long time before he was able to sleep.
The Dolphin and her crew were always able to pick up bits and pieces of gossip at every stop up and down the river. Unfortunately, their latest morsel of news was far from pleasant.
"Ye might want to think about passing Wethersfield," one man said as they unloaded mail into his hands. "There's sickness there."
"Is there," Captain Eaton said, sounding less than concerned. "Is it very bad?"
"Powerful, they say," the man said, a bit too eagerly. It was obvious that the news had already spread in the town and he was grateful for fresh ears to absorb it. "Not a household untouched. Some say it's the Lord's punishment for allowing too much sin in the place. There's a few claim it's witchcraft causing it. No other explanation, really."
Something twitched in Nat's stomach at these words. He turned away to inspect the remaining cargo, but kept listening to the conversation. The man had little else to say about conditions in Wethersfield, but the captain continued to speak with him on other matters. Nat waited as they prepared to sail on, but his father said nothing to him. Soon, his curiosity could hold no longer.
"Will we go 'round Wethersfield, Father?" he asked. A little concern rang in his voice, but Nat told himself that it was all for Hannah's sake, and knew his father would think the same.
Captain Eaton shook his head. "I cannot say. We have a day to decide, if the wind is good. I would hate to deprive anyone of their mail or supplies before winter, but I have no use for a sick crew. I would rather not risk anyone on this ship falling ill, however small that risk may be."
"Perhaps 'tis not as bad as he said," Nat said.
"Perhaps," the captain said. "Maybe the witch will tire of her mischief and heal the town before we arrive." He winked at Nat in a rare moment of levity, but Nat was too anxious about the rumor of witchcraft to appreciate the humor.
Nat well knew the prejudices that existed within Wethersfield. He had warned Kit of them himself, after all. Dear Hannah had long been said to be a witch, though of course they had nothing with which to convict her. Was it possible that the townspeople would accuse her now of witchcraft?
Surely not, Nat thought. Who would dare charge a frail old woman with weakening an entire town? They could not do it, Nat was sure. Even if she could—what an idea!—why would she do such a thing? Hannah had lived many years at Blackbird Pond without harming a single soul, barely drawing attention to herself at all.
Many years…
But there was another who had not lived so long in Wethersfield. All his life, Nat could not recall an unnamed illness there, at least not one severe enough that word of it spread up and down the river. It was also the first autumn that Kit had lived there. An outsider, someone different from the rest, who had quickly won the heart of the town's most prosperous bachelor…no, she was not safe from accusations.
In contrast to the previous week, during the next twenty-four hours Nat felt his insides at constant unease within him. He had lived too long on a ship to know what seasickness had felt like, but he imagined it to be similar to what he felt now. Captain Eaton did not again mention if they would pass by Wethersfield, and Nat reckoned that his position with his father was still too precarious to ask him. But as they drew closer to the town, there was little news about the epidemic's progress, and Nat was somewhat less concerned.
Besides, he reasoned, William Ashby would not stand for such a thing as his beloved being accused of witchcraft. He has enough influence to ensure her safety.
Not that he needed to be concerned at all, of course.
Nat again forced Kit out of his mind in favor of the ship's duties. But one morning, a steady breeze pushing them smoothly through the fog, he felt more restless than usual. The sun was just rising, but it was mercilessly cold on deck where he and Gabe were keeping watch.
"Hopefully the sun will burn away this fog," his shipmate said, glancing all around them.
Nat frowned, looking forward. "Do you smell smoke?" he asked.
"Aye," Gabe answered, squinting ahead of them on the river. "No use in trying to see it through this mist."
Nat didn't answer him. He cocked his head, listening like a hound, sure that he had just seen something—or someone—jump into the water, though it was still too dark to tell what it might be. He dashed to the edge of the ship, and there saw a form in the river, splashing straight toward them. Gabe, close behind him, was the first to find his voice again.
"Man overboard!" he bellowed, bringing several hands scurrying on deck. As a few of them readied a boat, Nat stood frozen in place.
"Help me!" a voice called up. "Wait!" His heart nearly stopped.
"A woman!" gasped another sailor. "We're coming, madam! Hold on!" The men worked faster, grasping the ropes and heaving the boat over the side to lower it into the river.
"I will go," Nat said, leaping inside before anyone else offered. "Gabe, come with me."
"How much would you wager it's that high-and-mighty Barbados girl?" Gabe muttered, already irritated at the idea.
"Someone is in trouble. It doesn't matter who she is," Nat said, though he already knew.
It was.
He stared at her, astonished. "Kit, what are you doing here?"
Gabe did nothing to hide his disgust as they pulled Kit from the water and threw a blanket around her shoulders. She was shaking so violently that Nat feared she would tumble back out of the boat. As barely intelligible words poured out of her, he realized that her trembling was only partly due to the frigid water.
"Nat, they came—after Hannah!" she gasped around her tears. "I got her away—they burned her house—everything! I didn't know—but they torched it—destroyed—stole the goats—said it—witchcraft—we waited—Hannah's—ashore—don't know—"
"Kit, calm yourself," he said, grasping her shoulders. Her words finally broke down into nothing, and she sobbed like a child. Without another thought, he took one of her cold hands in his, holding it tightly. "It will be all right," he said, "just tell us where to find her." Twisting to look up at the ship, he called, "Heave to! We're going ashore a moment!" To Gabe, he said, "We have to get Hannah." The redheaded sailor only nodded.
Kit was finally composed enough to speak coherently. "It was awful," she said. "Everyone has been ill, and Judith and Mercy…Mercy tried to help us, but she has been sickest of all. The people tried to get Uncle Matthew to come with them to catch the witch—they blamed it all on Hannah! Nat, how could they think she had anything to do with it, that she would do anything to hurt them?"
"They're mad," he said, gritting his teeth.
"I heard them," Kit went on, "going toward her house. I got to her before they did, and they burned the place while we hid in the trees. They looked for her, and one man came so close, I was sure we'd be caught. I don't know how long we'd been there—'twas all night, it seemed. When I saw the Dolphin, I didn't know what else to do. Nat, could you possibly take Hannah with you? I didn't think…"
"You did the right thing," Nat said, ignoring Gabe's curious stare.
"There she is!" Kit said, pointing.
It was only then, when they saw the old woman huddled in the marsh, that Nat realized he was still gripping Kit's hand. He let go quickly, concentrating on Hannah.
"Nat!" she gasped when she saw him wading toward her. But when they caught up to her, it was Kit she reached for. "Where is Thomas? I thought he would be here by now."
"He's not here, Hannah," Nat said brusquely. "You're coming on the Dolphin, where you'll be safe."
"Where are we going?" She looked between him and Kit, clinging to Kit as though her life and soul depended completely on the young woman.
"We'll take you to Saybrook, so you can spend the winter there with my grandmother."
Hannah nodded, but a small hesitation as they stepped toward the boat turned into outward defiance. "I cannot go without my cat," she said. "Please Nat, I need to bring her. She hasn't any home, and thee knows her heart will just break without me there."
Nat's throat tightened at the helplessness in her voice. "Certainly," he said, turning away without a pause to march through the foliage.
He stopped at the cottage, horrified at the sight of its smoldering remains. He raked his fingers through his sandy hair. All those bright spring mornings and warm summer evenings spent in the comfort of one small room—gone forever. Nothing remained of the repairs he had made, or the gifts he had given her. A few charred pieces of wood were all that was left of the spinning wheel and the loom. Blackened rocks, the last signs of that welcoming hearth, lay scattered across the grass.
"Nat," said Kit, panting as she hurried to come up beside him, "this is ridiculous! You can't find a cat here in the dark. Have you forgotten that you're banished from town? If they come back and find us, you'll get thirty lashes at the stocks!"
"If Hannah's heart is set on that cat," Nat said, his jaw clenched, "she will get her cat!" He paused to take a deep breath. "They destroyed everything else she had—she has a right to have that damned cat." But for the moment, all he could do was stand there and stare, filled with rage at the thoughtless beings that had done this. Desperate and powerless, he kicked at the largest piece of wood he could see. That small action did not help, but instead seemed to speed up the tears that had been building in the back of his eyes.
"Damn them!" he cried out, clenching his fists and pressing them to his forehead. "They should all hang!" As though he could see the culprits now, he knelt to pick up a large stone from the ashes and threw it with all his strength into the darkness. Immediately, they heard a rustling in the grass, not far from where it landed.
"There she is," Kit said in a loud whisper. A flash of yellow, and then a resentful meow, and Nat and Kit took off after the feline. Kit reached for her under a bush, and received a defiant scratch on her wrist.
"She's not going without a fight, I suppose," Nat murmured. "Go around to the other side." Forgetting modesty and the frigid air, he removed his shirt to use as a makeshift net. The cat darted out from the bush, but when Kit jumped across her path, she turned around, right into Nat's trap.
"Let's go!" he said, clutching the squirming animal who threatened to rip the cloth into tatters. For a moment, he resented the little beast, but it was worth it when Hannah so gladly received her. The animal calmed in her arms, and Nat almost laughed at the apprehensive expression on Gabe's face. "Come on, then, Kit—Father is about to sail without us."
Kit shook her head, throwing him into confusion. "I just wanted to make sure Hannah was safe."
He sighed, shivering in the water and annoyed at her foolishness. Did she think this was the last of it? She did not know these people. Failing to find the witch they were looking for, they would not stop until they discovered what had happened. If the illness in town did not soon fade away, neither would the suspicions of witchcraft. If word got out somehow that she had helped Hannah escape, Kit would suffer far worse than a day in the stocks.
"You really should come too, Kit," he said, "just until it all calms down. We won't be back up the river until spring. If you come aboard, we can help you find a place to stay in Saybrook, and bring you back on our next trip." He hesitated to give voice to his other idea, but when Kit shook her head again, he knew he had no choice. "Or…you could sail on to the Indies with us."
He knew that last offer struck something deep inside her. She looked up at him, her eyes widening. She swallowed tearfully. Nat relaxed, knowing he had succeeded in convincing her. He stretched out a hand to help her into the boat, but she did not take it.
"I must stay, Nat," she said. "I cannot go with you."
His mouth slowly opened in surprise, and he closed it as he lowered his arm. The relief he had felt a second ago turned back into anger, just as much at himself as at the woman standing before him. How could he have been stupid enough to forget? "Of course," he said coldly. "Do forgive me—I had forgotten you are to be married."
"No, not that," Kit said testily. "'Tis my cousin, Mercy. I cannot go without knowing if she'll be all right. I could not leave them now."
Silenced, he stared at her, realizing how different she seemed from that first day in Saybrook. She had changed so little—dripping wet and trembling from cold, having dove into the water to perform an impulsive act of kindness. Yet the arrogance and defiance was gone from her face…or had they really been there to begin with? Her wide, clear eyes, never concealing a single emotion, were as unguarded as ever; there was not a trace of selfishness in them now. She knew she was losing what might be her last chance to escape from a place she detested, in order to stay for those who needed her.
If he did not turn his back on Kit now and get into the boat, Nat knew he might do something embarrassing. Yet he could not look away from her, and instead took a step closer. He had not realized how much he wanted her to come with them, until she had refused. He had to give her once last chance.
"Kit…"
"What's going on out there?" Tom shouted from the Dolphin. "Ahoy! Where are you?"
"Go on, Nat!" Kit gasped. "They'll hear it."
He climbed into the boat at last, but impulsively reached for her hand where the cat had scratched her. "You will be all right? Go home and get warm—"
"Yes, I will," Kit said. "But please hurry!"
"All right," he said, releasing her to pick up an oar. "Let's shove off," he said to Gabe.
As they approached the Dolphin, a few of the rivermen waved at them from aboard, but Nat ignored them and twisted around in his seat. Kit was still standing by the shore, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth. He could not look away, wondering if this was the last time he would ever see her. Her reasons to stay were noble, but Nat could not help wishing she had come with them. As he lifted a hand in a brief wave, he hoped that the small gesture would convey to her what he was thinking. He mouthed a silent prayer that she would be all right, watched her as she turned away and disappeared into the woods, and wondered why he felt so empty inside.