Hannah
1694
THE TIME HAD COME to put Mayās demise behind her. Living in peace with Gabriel was more important than mourning the past. Indeed she had little leisure for fretting. Daniel claimed all her attention, all her time. His crying shattered her sleep. She dragged herself from bed at dawn, which came earlier as winter lost its grip. She nursed the baby and boiled corn mush for breakfast. When Gabriel left to do his chores, she did hers, the same as before, except it took her at least twice as long, for Daniel had colic and she kept interrupting her sweeping and cooking to tend to his cramps. She lay chamomile compresses on his belly and gave him peppermint gripe water.
Gabriel shared her bed again. They kissed and held each other, but she had persuaded him to wait until Daniel was a year old before she risked another pregnancy.
After the snow had melted and the river and creek began to flow again, free of ice, Hannah hoed the garden for the first time that spring. She pictured the procession of the year: first the crocuses, then the violets and wood anemones, the first tender shoots of lettuce, the apple and cherry blossoms. This season she could watch her son develop alongside the ripening corn and baby goats.
The fuzz on Danielās head grew into ringlets, and the harsh red mellowed into a pleasing chestnut. His eyes remained dark blue. Even with his colic, he kept growing. It made no sense to clothe him in anything but swaddling, otherwise she would be forever sewing new gowns for him. When the boy could sit up by himself, Gabriel lost his awkwardness around him. He loved to carry him on his shoulders and swing him in the air.
āWhich one of us does he take after?ā he asked one night, lying on the furs and holding Daniel aloft. āHe has your hair and my eyes.ā
Hannah held her tongue. It was so plain to the eyeāhow could Gabriel not see it? Daniel was the image of his aunt May, robust and bonny, with her blue eyes and chestnut hair, her glowing skin, her appetite and willfulness. He would grow to be a handful, she thought wistfully. He would be tall and strong, as handsome as her lost sister. If he had been a girlchild, the illusion would be complete. However, she was grateful that he was a boy, grateful that he would never suffer what her sister had suffered.
ā¦
One day when planting seeds in the garden, she sang a ballad that her sister used to sing. If I could be faithful, then I would be true. Mayās singing voice had been as lovely as the rest of her, but Hannah could hardly keep the tune. Still, she sang while Daniel watched from the willow-withy enclosure she had built him on the grass outside the garden. In his pudgy hand, he clutched a wooden rabbit Gabriel had carved. Ruby lay at his side, gnawing on a deer bone. If Daniel cried, she dropped her bone and licked him.
If I could be faithful. Joan used to say that if an unquiet spirit troubled a person, then singing a song could put the spirit to rest. It was like soothing a fractious child. Then I would be true. Moist dirt stuck under her fingernails and embedded itself in the grooves of her palms. To spare her good cotton dress, she wore her oldest clothes while planting pumpkin and Indian squash, potatoes and maize, beans, lettuce, cabbage, and turnips, sweet basil and thyme, heartsease and foxglove, with the seeds she had saved from the previous year. The smell of rain in the air made her cheerful, for the garden wanted watering. Pressing the last pumpkin seed into the soil, she sang a new song.
Three maidens a-milking did go,
Three maidens a-milking did go,
The wind it did blow high, and the wind it did blow low.
It tossed their petticoats to and fro.
It was a bawdy song, one of Joanās favorites. May would have laughed to hear Hannah sing it.
They met with some young men they knowād
They met with some young men they knowād
They were only asking them if they had any skill
To catch them a small bird or two.
Hereās a health to the bird in the bush,
Hereās a health to the bird in the bush,
Weāll drink down the sun, weāll drink down the moon,
Let the people say little or much.
Rubyās barking interrupted her song. Hannah sprang to her feet to see the rider leap off his glossy bay mare. He bent over the withy wall of the enclosure and held out his hand to Daniel. āWhat a bonny boy you are.ā
āKeep your hands off my son.ā Before Richard Banham could doff his hat, she swept up Daniel in her arms. Ruby raced a circle around her and barked.
āGood day to you, Mistress Powers. I beg your pardon if I have caused you alarm.ā
Hannahās eyes raked past him to see if he had brought any men with shovels, but this time he had come alone. āWhat brings you here?ā
He held his hat in front of his doublet. āI wanted to see if you were well. I would have come earlier had there not been so much snow.ā His clear brown eyes rested on her face. The wind stirred his blond hair. His voice was like silver. āYou look to be in good health. The child has grown into a robust young fellow. And you, I think, were in good cheer before your dog announced my arrival. I did hear you singing.ā
Hannah flushed. āI did not think my voice could be heard above the wind.ā
āI came this day to ask your pardon,ā he said. āMaster Washbrook told me that I caused you much dismay on the occasion of my visit last autumn.ā
Hannah dipped her face, remembering how she had thrown her body on her sisterās grave.
āIndeed,ā he continued, āI remember the instance with shame. I should have shown more respect for your condition.ā
She told herself that she believed Gabriel, she trusted him; he had sworn his innocence. But this young man seemed so good-willed, it was hard to take Gabrielās word against him. Even his father, Paul Banham, had shown her kindness. His father was a rake, it was true, but Mrs. Gardiner, it seemed, had been a willing party. He had never troubled Hannah with unwanted attentions.
Her son stretched out his hand to Richard Banham, showing him his wooden rabbit.
āWhat is the childās name?ā
āDaniel.ā
When Banham smiled, Daniel smiled back, jiggling his legs excitedly against her hips. First he had charmed her dog, now he charmed her son.
āI do believe,ā he said, sobering again, āthat Tabitha, our midwife, might have spoken to you indelicately. She is skilled at her work, but sharp-tongued. I wanted to inquire about your welfare before I left last time, but it seemed immodest to visit a woman in childbed.ā
āYou are kind to think of me.ā Hannah hugged Daniel tighter and smoothed his curls.
āIf Mr. Washbrook is here, I will pay my respects to him, too.ā
Hannah shook her head. āHe has gone into the forest to gather his traps.ā
āA pity,ā he said after a momentās silence. āMy family sent a gift to you.ā He went to his horse, opened the saddlebag, and returned with a stoppered clay jar. āThis is a pot of honey from our bees. My stepmother tells me it is the best thing for soothing a childās raw throat.ā
āI thank you.ā After setting Daniel on the grass, she took the pot from his hands. āI havenāt tasted honey since I left my fatherās house.ā She thought of the two hives Joan had kept at the bottom of the garden.
Daniel looked up at Richard Banham with wondering eyes. She supposed this must be a fabulous event to him, considering that the only two people he was used to seeing were his parents.
āHe is a beautiful infant,ā Banham said. āIndeed, there is something of your sister in him. Forgive me,ā he added hastily as Hannah turned away and set the honey pot on the grass. āI did not wish to make you fret.ā
So he saw it, too. He saw the resemblance that Gabriel refused to recognize. āYou must have met my sister.ā Hannah spoke cautiously.
āFive years ago, I believe it was,ā he said. āThe Washbrooks had brought their tobacco to our landing. Your sister was a new bride then, I think. Everyone said how handsome she was. Her bearing was very proud, yet her face was soft and kind. I remember she delivered a letter to the ship. It must have been addressed to you, Mistress Powers. She told me she had a younger sister back in England whom she loved and dearly missed.ā
Hannah pressed her fist to her mouth. She couldnāt keep it in anymore. She began to sob helplessly.
āMistress Powers,ā he said in alarm, āI had no wish to make you weep.ā
She took a few paces, filling her lungs with air, trying to regain self-control. āDid you come to torment me about Mr. Washbrook again? Is that your game?ā
āDo you think it a game I play with you?ā He sounded hurt.
āHe said he was innocent. He swore he never harmed her. He swore an oath on the Bible.ā
āMistress Powers, please. I did not come here to make trouble. I honor your loyalty to the man. Mr. Washbrook is most fortunate to have won your affection.ā
When she turned to face him, he held out a handkerchief. She took it from him and wiped her eyes. When the fine cambric touched her cheek, she remembered Gabrielās words. He said you were a good woman and I did not deserve you.
āI thank you.ā She tried to give him back the handkerchief, but he waved his hand.
āKeep it.ā
She regarded the crumpled cambric. He probably had more handkerchiefs at home, possibly a whole box of them.
āIāve no wish to vex you as I did last time,ā he said. āBut my conscience moves me to repeat my offer. Would you let me take you and your son back to my fatherās house? Your little one will have a playmate. My stepmother has a boy only a few months older than your Daniel. In truth, my sisters are silly, empty-headed creatures, but I think you would like my stepmother. She is lonely and longing for companionship. You would make her very happy if you accepted our hospitality. She wanted to come with the midwife this winter, but she was feeling poorly.ā
Hannah looked to the woods where Gabriel was collecting his traps.
āDo you ask me to abandon Mr. Washbrook?ā Daniel started fussing. Soon she would have to nurse him.
āAbandon is a very strong word. Let me speak plainly. You believe Mr. Washbrook to be innocent. I grant you that we have no solid proof against him. Let me say for argumentās sake that I share your conviction in his innocence. I would still make you this offer. Would it not be best for you and your son to live in society again? The almanac forecasts much rain this summer. In our climate, that means contagion.ā
He stopped abruptly. āHave you heard of the diseases we have here? The flux and the fevers?ā
Hannah nodded.
āLast year we were lucky. I did not hear of many outbreaks, but I fear this summer will not be so kind. If you and Mr. Washbrook should both fall ill, what would happen to your child?ā
Hannah remembered Mayās description of Cousin Nathanās high fever and shakes that had culminated in his death. āWe have the bark of cinchona.ā
āAnd if you are both too weak to make the remedy? Of course, you must know that small children are at the greatest peril to disease.ā
She hugged Daniel tighter and kissed the top of his head.
āI do not think Mr. Washbrook would begrudge you for wanting to live amongst others again, especially for the health and safety of the child. He could visit you whenever he wished.ā
All she had to do was say yes. She could go into the house to nurse Daniel, then pack a small satchel. For an instant, it seemed within her graspāshe in her good cotton dress, seated with Mrs. Banham at the tea table. If the lady had a new baby, she couldnāt be as old as her husband. She might be close to her own age. It would be such a joy to have companionship, to confide her thoughts and worries about Daniel to another mother. To lead a regular, civilized life, no longer isolated in the wilderness like some outcast.
Gabriel would come back from the woods to an empty house. She could find a piece of paper somewhere and write him a letter, leave it beside the pot of honey. My dear Gabriel, I have gone to live with the Banhams. It would be like stabbing him in the heart. How could he bear such a betrayal?
Richard Banham seemed to sense her discomfort. āPerhaps you wish to discuss the matter with Mr. Washbrook first. If you wish, I could return tomorrow.ā
She shook her head. āNo, sir. I know he would be against it. He would not want me and the baby to live in your house.ā There seemed no point in varnishing the facts.
Banham let out his breath. āThe man does cling to his grudges.ā
Hannah dropped her head. She wondered what would happen when Gabriel lost his leasehold. It would happen eventually, even if the Banhams bore nothing but goodwill toward them. The rents on the land had not been paid since 1690, the autumn her sister had died. Regardless of all the furs Gabriel had collected, they could not afford to keep the plantation. They were squatters.
āIs there nothing I can say to convince you?ā He was certainly patient, almost as if he were paying court. Immediately she blushed and pushed the ridiculous notion away. Richard Banham would never court a woman like her. No doubt his father would find him some highborn virgin whose portion included several hundred acres.
āNo,ā she said. āI am wed to him in my heart even if not in a church. My place is beside him.ā Her ringless hand moved up and down Danielās back. She had left her pearl and ruby ring in the Bible box lest she muck it up with garden dirt.
Young Banham bowed. āI shall leave you in peace. But if you will pardon the liberty, I shall pay you another visit in the summer to see how you and the child fare.ā Clapping his hat back on his head, he mounted his horse.
Hannah raised her face to the bruised sky. āTravel home in good speed, sir, before the rain comes.ā
He waved to her before trotting back into the woods.
The clouds seemed low enough to touch the treetops. Hannah imagined them opening to drown her. Heavy rain would make the bay mareās hoof prints vanish; Gabriel would never have to know Richard Banham had come to call. She would hide the honey at the bottom of her trunk and dole it out only if Daniel had a cough.
ā¦
Rain lashed the roof. Stirring the soup of beans, onions, and salt pork, Hannah prayed that the downpour wouldnāt wash out the seeds she had planted. Their winter provisions were nearly gone. This summer, I fear, will not be as kind as the last. Richard Banhamās words lingered in her mind. She imagined the rain pelting his gold...