Saving Marina Page 8

  “Me?”

  She closed her eyes momentarily. “I had nothing to barter for Gracie, so I said I’d take her place if I could heal her first. That wasn’t enough for Hickman. The only other thing I could think of was how Uncle William claimed the man was a farce, so I told him I’d see that his true identity, his past, was revealed to his followers.”

  Still kneeling before her, a smile filled Richard’s eyes. “No wonder he was so startled to see me. If anyone can reveal his sordid past, it’s me.” He laughed then and squeezed her hand. “This is perfect, Marina. Perfect.”

  His smile, the way he said her name, touched her in a way she hadn’t been touched in a very long time—deep inside where the tiniest flickering of hope had fought to stay lit for so long. “How so?”

  “Hickman tried to sully my name as a sea captain years ago. It didn’t work, but it’s an act I’ve never forgotten.” Richard placed a single finger beneath her chin, making her skin tingle as he forced her to look at him.

  Fear overtook her insides, tying a tight and hard knot in her stomach. Marina shook her head. That was why Hickman wanted Gracie. He knew she was Richard’s daughter. “I wasn’t trying to set a trap. I was trying to save Grace.”

  “And you did.”

  Once again she shook her head and had to fight against the tears forming. “No, I haven’t. Not yet. She won’t truly be safe until she’s far from Salem, and she’s still too weak to travel.” Remorse joined her fear. “You shouldn’t have gone to town.”

  He smiled once more before rising to his feet. His hand slipped off hers as he took a step back. “I don’t frighten easy, Marina.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes once again turned as turbulent as a storm full of lightning and thunder.

  “And don’t you fear,” he said. “I won’t allow you to suffer from the repercussions of my actions. Rest assured of that.”

  A will not her own overtook her. Marina bounded to her feet and grabbed his arm. “What have you done?” The dread lumping together in her stomach like cold porridge left in a pot overnight told her there were serious repercussions from his visit to the village. There were others besides Gracie. The prison was full of people she had to help. Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons she had to save from certain death.

  He patted her hand as one might a child. “Not enough,” he said. “Not nearly enough.” He turned around and walked to the window, where he glanced out toward the barn. “Your uncle must have told you Hickman used to live in Barbados and then Boston. There wasn’t a sea captain who would do business with him. Those who did once never did again. Not after being swindled out of their shipping fees.”

  Uncle William had said as much. He also claimed the reason the reverend started telling rumors about her was because she was his niece. It wasn’t. And they weren’t rumors. She was a witch and had known how to stop the spread of smallpox, but no one would listen.

  None of that mattered anymore. What did was that her uncle, Gracie and Richard get out of here as soon as possible. The sourness of her stomach increased, and though she feared the question, she still asked, “Why is John here?”

  “He’s taking your advice.” Turning about, he asked, “You did suggest he should leave the village, didn’t you?”

  “I told him there are other places he could live. He wanted his mother to confess to being a witch so she wouldn’t be hanged. She refused because she knew the church would confiscate her property if she did, leaving John with nothing.” Marina spun around, pacing the area between the hearth and the table. “I was trying to make him see that the church would end up with their property no matter what. If she confessed, they’d take it and let her rot in jail and cast John out of the community. If she didn’t confess, they’d see she hanged and find another way to get the land, possibly by accusing John of witchcraft. That’s what they’ve done to others.” Swallowing, she asked, “Is that what happened? They accused him?”

  “No,” Richard said.

  “Then why is he here?”

  “He made the decision to leave after Reverend Hickman accused me of being the devil.”

  Marina felt as if the bottom of the world just collapsed. As she had several times since his arrival, she questioned why she’d sent him a message. She should have waited until Gracie was better and convinced Uncle William to take the child to Boston. He’d already refused, said he’d never leave her here alone, but he’d have to, eventually. They didn’t have a wagon, but John did. Mind twirling, she stopped her pacing. “Perhaps Grace is well enough to travel in a wagon. That wouldn’t be too tiring and—”

  “Gracie isn’t going anywhere,” he interrupted. “Not yet.”

  “It’s not safe for her to be here. You must see that.”

  “I won’t let any harm come to her.”

  “You can’t stop it,” she said. Why couldn’t he see that?

  “I’m her father. I won’t let anyone ever harm her again.”

  Growing frustrated that his trip to the village had made things far worse, she threw her hands in the air. “Then start acting like her father. Think of her safety first and foremost.”

  The glare in his eyes told her she may have gone too far.

  Chapter Seven

  Once again Richard found himself balling his hands into fists in order to contain the anger overtaking his system. Marina had the tongue of a witch. She most likely could cast spells upon people. However, her victims would have to believe in witchcraft in order for her hexes to work—something he did not. He did believe in evil and knew the most evil creatures he’d ever encountered were not witches or beasts. They were men. Men like Hickman. The man might believe her tale of being a witch, of the ability to cast hexes, whereas he knew it was all mere circumstance. Perhaps, fate even. He believed in fate and in Hickman finally getting his due.

  “I am thinking of Grace,” he replied.

  The sigh she let out permeated the air with all the frustration swirling inside him. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her long lashes rest upon her cheeks as if she was hoping to find salvation deep within herself. That too he recognized.

  “No, you’re not,” she then said, lifting her lids to look upon him. “You are thinking of the hatred within yourself.”

  How did she understand what was happening inside him so precisely? Since the minute he’d seen Hickman in town he’d started to recall the brutality he’d witnessed down in Barbados. The slaves whose backs had been crisscrossed with scabs from whippings. The way they’d flinched every time their master had touched the bullwhip that Hickman always carried on his hip. He wasn’t about to tell Marina all that. Or the other things he now recalled. Like how many of those young slave girls had been pregnant—most likely by their master. Hickman’s attempt at blackballing him from the Barbados port meant very little in comparison.

  Those things had angered him back then but not like they did now that he knew how his daughter had been treated, how close she’d come to being in that man’s hands.

  Hickman would pay this time.

  Marina was still looking up at him with pleading eyes. They were as blue as the ocean near the equator, where a man could get lost looking into the depths of the sea, searching for a bottom that was there, somewhat visible yet unattainable. A person could drop a trinket into those waters, watch it fall and settle upon the ocean bed, but no sailor of this world could dive deep enough to retrieve it. He’d witnessed several attempts and had placed wagers on their failures. He’d place those same stakes on anyone who thought they could defy Marina. There was more to her than a normal eye could ascertain. On the outside she appeared to be a woman like the many others he’d encountered, but inside she held a secret that made her different. It gave her strength, too, considering how she’d stood up for his daughter, and that was the part that intrigued him the most.

  As if his silence suggested he needed more of an explanation, she shook her head. “The Puritans are not the kind and loving people others mig
ht think them to be. They are righteous and godly, but also suspicious and unforgiving. Not just with outsiders, but with each other. By angering them further, you may ruin your chances of taking Gracie away.”

  What she had just described was the perfect community for Hickman to easily infiltrate. “Have no fears. No one will stop me from taking my daughter with me when I leave.”

  “That’s my point,” she said sadly. “You may become unable to leave.”

  He was about to say no one would stop him when the door opened.

  John paused in the doorway. His weary glance bouncing around the room said he noted the tension in the air. “I—uh—took care of the horse, Captain, and I led the cow into the barn for the night, Marina. Are there any other chores I can perform? Do ye need wood or water or...?”

  “No, thank you, John,” Marina said, once again moving toward the hearth.

  She’d stirred those beans so often they should be soup by now, but Richard refrained from saying that when he caught how she smiled at John. It was so soft and tender it stung one of his internal organs. A vital one. There was compassion in her eyes, and kindness, neither of which she’d bestowed upon him. Such things had never bothered him before. He’d never known a time when he’d wanted compassion or kindness from anyone.

  The uneven thud of William’s wooden leg echoed against the hallway walls moments before the man said, “Close the door, boy. We have no idea who listens outside the walls of our home. They are everywhere.”

  Having experienced the oppression in town, Richard now understood William and Marina’s fears more. It still surprised him. William was a seaman. He knew the ways of the world and of Hickman. William bowing to the other man’s threats made no sense.

  “They’ve been known to peek through windows, looking for spectral evidence to use against the accused,” William said when he arrived at the table. With a sigh that could have been the result of walking the distance from the front room to the kitchen or from the topic of discussion, the old man sat upon a chair. “Perhaps we could have a cup of cider, Marina? All of us. I believe the captain needs to hear what has been taking place in the village.”

  “I believe I know,” Richard said. Hickman had known Gracie was his daughter and would have been overjoyed to tell him of her death. Marina had truly saved his daughter’s life. Not just from starvation but from the very devil himself.

  “You don’t know all of it,” William said.

  Richard’s gaze was on Marina’s, but hers, tender and full of compassion, was on John.

  The young man’s chin trembled visibly. “They hanged eight people today,” he said. “Eight. And cheered.”

  “Where are the authorities?” Richard asked. He might need them before this was all over. “Why didn’t they put a stop to it?”

  “They are the authorities,” Marina said softly. “Reverend Hickman and the church elders.”

  “No, they aren’t,” Richard argued. “Massachusetts is under English Charter. The people here must abide by the rules set forth by King William.”

  “King Billy has enough of his own issues,” William said. “Sharing his crown with his wife and battling the Whigs and the Tories, the poor fella doesn’t have time to be concerned with a religious sect that separated themselves from his country years ago.”

  Richard had no argument against that. His fleet had close connections to the Royal line of shipping. The reign of William and Mary had served his livelihood well, as had William’s victory over James in the Battle of the Boyne. Still, there had to be some order ruling the colonies. “Who is the governor?”

  Marina had filled three cups of cider and set them on the table before she’d moved to the hearth to tend her kettle hanging over the smoldering fire again. With a wave from William, John sat down, and both men took long swigs from their mugs before William answered. “A new one arrived a couple of months ago, but little good he’ll do. Joshua Matthews went to England and handpicked the poor bastard.”

  “The first thing Governor Phillips did was order the creation of a special court to prosecute the trials. That’s when they decided to start hanging people,” John said.

  “They had to figure out something to do,” William said. “The jails are overflowing.”

  Richard swung around the chair he’d occupied earlier and pulled it up to the table. Sailing was a good life but isolated. Entire wars had been fought during the time he’d been at sea traveling from one port to the other. In some instances he’d been the first to bring news of one country to another; at other times, he was the last to hear of what had taken place during his absence. This was one of those times. He’d never been fully aware of all that was happening in the New World—the area changed daily. He hadn’t taken the time to listen to the gossips at the Boston Harbor. Marina’s note had greeted him as he’d stepped ashore.

  “Being at sea has left me ignorant of many things,” he freely admitted. “Perhaps you could start at the beginning and enlighten me.”

  John nodded, but it was how William looked at Marina that caught Richard’s attention. She shook her head negatively. The action was slight, but Richard knew he hadn’t imagined it or how William nodded.

  “It’s a long story,” the old sailor said. “John will have to help me with certain details.”

  Marina made no comment as she walked around the table and entered the hall. Richard dug his heels into the floor to push back his chair to follow, but a hand fell upon his arm.

  “Listen up, Captain,” William said, “for it is a sordid tale.”

  Marina entered the room Gracie slept in, and despite his desire to follow her, Richard turned his attention to William. He’d figured out a few things, but his gut told him there was more. Much more, and Marina held a secret that was at the heart of it all. To know what that was burned inside him.

  “You know about the epidemic,” William started. “It took many lives, but the way I see it, Hickman used it to his own benefit. Most ministers are provided a salary and a place to live, but Hickman demanded more. From the time he arrived, he ordered a large home built and for the villagers to provide him and his family with food and wood and most all other necessities.”

  “Including my mother’s brass candlesticks,” John said.

  When Richard glanced toward the younger man, John bowed his head.

  “There’s no shame in speaking your mind in my home,” William said. “Tell him what happened, John.”

  “They’d been my grandmother’s, those candlesticks,” John said, his voice wavering slightly. “Upon entering our home for the first time, Reverend Hickman took them, declaring my mother needed to provide them as an offering to the church. Mother didn’t protest, but she cried after he left.”

  “Hickman did that to many families,” William said. “Flat-out stole from them under the guise of church offerings. I’ve never been in the village church, but I’d wager those candlesticks of John’s mother are in Hickman’s home, not the church. He also demanded the deed to the new parsonage and surrounding land.”

  Richard didn’t need to ask why. Greed filled Hickman’s very essence. “Why didn’t the people protest, put a stop to it?”

  “Because from the moment he hit the pulpit, Hickman has spouted about the devil overtaking the villagers. He shouts that they shouldn’t covet personal possession and chides families for not producing a baby each year. If a spouse dies, he insists the man or woman remarry immediately. He claimed the pox was brought upon them because their congregation is dwindling. There are no more ships full of Puritans arriving from the old country. He’s even blamed the villagers for that. Spouted off about how they’ve let the devil into their lives. He promises it will all change, but only if the people follow his every order.”

  William’s words had hit Richard’s nerves like a hammer. On the one and only visit he’d made to the village years before, Sarah’s father had said he could return on one condition—if he impregnated his wife upon each visit. That had galled him and m
ade what Earl insisted—that he was nothing more than a stud—too real.

  He’d refused those conditions and had done the one thing he’d never do again. He’d begged. Begged Sarah to leave her family. She’d refused, said she couldn’t disobey her father. Thus, he’d never returned. He’d put a glitch in their plan, though. By sending merchandise regularly, Sarah’s family couldn’t claim he was dead, and divorces were unheard-of, so Sarah had been unable to marry again.

  “When folks started dying of smallpox, Hickman started claiming their property as that of the church. He said the loss of members was a financial burden the church couldn’t bear. If a husband died and the woman survived, as in the case with John, his mother had to either turn over her assets or remarry immediately because women are not allowed to own property. She refused to do either, claiming the property had become John’s upon his father’s death. It’s a good chunk of land and borders Hickman’s. Younger children were deemed orphans and set out on the road. Taking one in was akin to inviting the devil to live in your home.” William took another drink of cider. “When people started to protest, again, like John’s mother, they were accused of witchcraft.”

  As unbelievable as it might sound to some, Richard could fully accept all William had said. “Accused by Hickman,” he said aloud. More as confirmation in his own mind than anything else.

  “No,” John said. “By Hickman’s daughter and niece. The very girls responsible for my mother’s death.”

  Richard saw something in John then that he hadn’t noted before. Hatred. The young man was at a rebellious age, a time when a man desired his life to be his own. He forged onward, breaking away from any claims that might hold him back. Hatred could be a dangerous weapon for a man at that stage of life.

  The other danger, from what he’d witnessed and experienced, was women. For most, this was also a stage in life when a man craved a woman’s body in ways he might never again. When that happened, many men also discovered their greatest weakness. Marriage had broken many young men’s rebellious streaks.