Almost Home Read online

  Mary set the book down. “Mother, do you miss the girls?”

  “Oh, aye, Mary.” Mother reached out and, tucking a stray curl under Mary’s cap, brushed her hand across Mary’s cheek. “I know they are safe, and I know they remain with our congregation, but how I miss them.”

  “I miss wee Sarah and Samuel too.” Mary loved Isabella’s children. “Do you think they will remember us?”

  “Their own memory may fade, but Isabella will tell them about us. When they come to America, they will recite everything about you from the color of your soft brown eyes to the way you grabbed their arms and swung them ’round in a circle.”

  Mary smiled at the memory. Even though Samuel wobbled from dizziness when they stopped, he always begged for more.

  Mother leaned back against the sea chest. “God weaves families together. Tis much like the cloth we weave. When we’ve filled the whole warp, we must remove the cloth from the loom, even though it settled there so tidily. We cut the weaving, and the pieces go for many different things and to many different places. One lot of cloth may go for waistcoats. Even if those waistcoats end up far and wide, you can always tell that they were cut from the same cloth. If the cloth merely stayed on the loom, how would it fulfill its purpose?”

  “But ’tis such a hardship to be torn apart.”

  “Aye.” Mother sat quietly, rocking with the movement of the ship. “I remember when my own mother died. ’Twas as if the center of our family had been ripped out and all the threads around the hole unraveled.”

  Mary leaned in closer.

  “’Twas not easy to find my way after that.” Her mother spoke softly, even though no one could overhear in the noisy cabin.

  “Did meeting Father help you get better?” Mary did not know how to say it, but she watched the closeness of Father and Mother, and she saw how they helped each other weather hard times.

  “No. Your father came long after.” Her mother turned toward Mary. “’Tis hard to explain. We say the words ‘cast your cares on the Lord’ so often that we forget to hear the truth in them. But, during that sad time, ’tis what saved me. I learned to take my aching loneliness and my despair to God.”

  “And that made it better?”

  “Not that easily.” Her mother gave a small laugh. “No, Mary, ’twas not that easy—it started out more like wailing at God, ‘Why did you take my mother?’ My hurt was so raw that I shrieked like a little child.”

  Mary hated to think of her mother’s loneliness.

  “Before long, I noticed that when I cried out, God comforted me.” Her mother laughed. “Once I quieted enough to listen, that is. That began my friendship with God. The more I needed Him, the closer He came … ’Tis hard to explain.”

  “I understand a little of it,” Mary said, pausing to let the ideas settle.

  “Are you going to read further?” Mother asked.

  “I need to go for a walk.” The tight space and the close smells often sent Mary scrambling up the ladder toward blue sky. “Where is Father? I don’t hear any firearm practice.”

  “He’s down talking to Elder Brew—I mean he’s down in the hold with the men.”

  Mother stood up as if to change the subject. She took the tiny straw broom and whisked the floor around the feather bed. As she got on her knees to wipe out the brazier, Mary stopped her with a whisper.

  “You can tell me, Mother. I think I know what you set about to say.”

  “Nay, child. Until we are well out at sea, there is too much at stake. You must keep your counsel.”

  Mary knew that meant she could tell no one. She looked over to the other side of the quarters, and she saw that Constance still played with Damaris while Mistress Hopkins rested. Constance did not even know about Elder Brewster, since she came with the English Pilgrims.

  Elizabeth lay next to her tiny cousin, Humility, as the baby napped. The gentle rocking of the ship helped the little ones at naptime. Mary wondered if Elizabeth thought about their friend Fear as much as Mary did. Mary needed to deliver Fear’s message to her father.

  And now Mary knew Elder Brewster hid in some cranny on this ship. Surely Mistress Brewster would take supper to him, would she not?

  Mary watched Mistress Brewster and the boys all that afternoon. She could not keep herself from thinking about Elder Brewster, hidden away on the ship with half his family left behind in Holland and the other half so close he could probably hear their footsteps. Mary understood the ache of having your family scattered to the wind, but to be all alone, with no one …

  Fear’s words would surely comfort her father. And during his time of enforced solitude and hiding, his daughter’s message would mean even more.

  Mary could relay Fear’s words to Mistress Brewster and ask her to pass them on to Elder Brewster. But the message meant so much to Fear. She chose Mary to deliver it to her father. Passing off the message to someone else, even Fear’s mother, seemed careless.

  When Mistress Brewster finished kneading bread, she slipped out of the cabin. Mary trailed at a distance. Just as she was about to follow through the doorway into the smaller quarters next door, she bumped into a great furry pile.

  “Wo-o-of.” The sound vibrated as if it came from deep in a cave.

  Mary knew she’d disturbed one of John Goodman’s dogs. As cramped as the Pilgrims were, John brought this immense mastiff and his friendly spaniel along on the trip to America. Twas a good thing the dogs behaved so well. That mastiff weighed as much as Mary, if not more.

  Early on, when some of the men argued that there would be no room for the dogs or that John should lodge them with the livestock, he simply looked at the men for a long time and silently gestured with his open hand toward their wives and children.

  “As if he equates our families with his dogs,” sputtered Master Martin, practically quivering with indignation.

  But no one argued—and a good thing it was, for the children loved to play with the dogs. Ofttimes Mary looked over to see one of the little boys curled up, sleeping against the mastiff. Everyone needs to find a comforting place, even if ’tis cuddled into a mountain of a dog.

  But for now, the dogs foiled Mary’s plan. Why am I so determined to find Elder Brewster? True, she always admired him. Quiet, confident, and strong—that is how Mary would describe him. Thinking of Elder Brewster made Mary realize how she missed Fear. Mary knew ’twas why she longed to see Elder Brewster. The message from Fear needed to be given to her father.

  As Mary sat stroking the soft fur of the mastiff, she saw Mistress Brewster come back to her bunk. Mary looked down and noticed a dusting of flour on the deck leading toward the door down into the hold. Mistress Brewster had been kneading dough before she went down.

  Mary stood up and followed the almost invisible flour trail. It brushed down the ladder and through one storeroom and into another. It stopped right at the edge of a stack of ale barrels.

  Mary wedged herself in the crevice and began humming a psalm. When no one seemed to be around, she whispered, “Elder?”

  No answer.

  “Elder, ’tis me, Mary Chilton.” She whispered, hardly making a sound. “I promised Fear I would deliver a message for her.”

  Still no answer. Mary heard a scratching sound. Could it be scurrying rats? No. Mary caught a rhythmic pattern to the scratches. Aye, the elder hid here.

  Mary hummed another snippet of song. In the middle, she whispered Fear’s message. “As we left Holland, Fear asked that I tell you she loves you.” It sounded like the psalm-singing the Pilgrims did, with the words being spoken and then sung. Mary hummed another line of the song before she delivered the next part. “She reassures you that she shall care for things in Holland.”

  Mary stood up and walked around the cramped storeroom just in case someone watched. She set about humming and said, “Fear commits to walk with our Lord. She longs to follow to America as soon as you send word.”

  Mary turned to go toward the ladder.

  “Thank you.
God grant thee well, Mary.”

  The words were so faint she could barely hear them, but, having delivered the message, Mary felt a new lightness. There, Fear. We’ve mended the weaving of the Brewster family just a little. May God comfort you as He comforted your father.

  Angry words swirled around the ship.

  Captain Jones stomped up to the wheel, still yelling. “I shall lose my ship. And for what, I ask you? For a pious bunch of psalm-singers and their stowaway leader!”

  The bosun warned the sailors. “Leave Master Jones be, lads. Ye don’t want to cross paths with the captain in this kind of mood.”

  One sailor—the one who had first yelled at Mary and her friends—could not bear to leave it alone. “Throw ’em overboard, Cap’n!” he yelled up to the quarterdeck. “Throw the whole lot o’ them puke-stockings overboard.”

  From below, he could not see the angry cloud building on the face of the ship’s master.

  “We got their money.” The sailor spat in the wind. “They just be cargo, and when cargo gets troublesome a body needs to toss it overboard. Let ’em be food for the fishes.”

  “Bosun,”—the captain clipped his words, as he looked hard at the sailor—“take Mr. Stubbs to the poop deck and explain the care we take with our cargo, no matter how troublesome.”

  Despite the captain’s reassurance, the sailor’s words frightened Mary.

  That morning had started out so fair. She and her friends had walked on deck early. As they rounded the galley, they caught sight of Deacon Carver, Master Martin, and Elder Brewster walking into the captain’s quarters.

  “Was that Elder Brewster?” Elizabeth shook her head as if she were dreaming. “How did he board the ship in the middle of the ocean?”

  “Shhh, Elizabeth,” Mary said absently. She heard the captain bellow. What will he think of this stowaway?

  “What is happening?” Constance looked confused.

  The yelling had continued behind the closed door while Mary told Constance about Elder Brewster. The door slammed open, and the captain stomped out of the cabin.

  Not long after the sailor’s outburst, Elder Brewster and the other men made their way onto the deck, greeting everyone warmly. Mary and the girls followed as he climbed down into the main cabin and grabbed both Love and Wrestling in a huge bear hug. Mistress Brewster’s smile wiped all the worry off her face.

  “I see they did not manage to throw you overboard, William,” his wife said, laughing like a girl.

  “’Twas not for want of the idea,” the elder said with a laugh. “But we are well on our way, and Captain Jones does not have a choice if he hopes to make landfall before winter. The English will be well pleased that I vanished. As long as I stay out of Merrie Old England, they will do nothing to bring me back.”

  Mary’s father put an arm around Elder Brewster’s shoulder and said, “By God’s grace, William Brewster, you are safe. ’Twas a worry how much longer your secret could have been kept from the crew, much less curious passengers.”

  Mary blushed, but Elder Brewster smiled directly at her and winked.

  “Aye, but some of those curious passengers brought God’s own comfort to a lonely stowaway,” he said.

  Elder Brewster bent his knee, and all the Pilgrims did the same. Right there in the close quarters of the tiny ship, they prayed and sang psalms of praise.

  As they gathered topside for their Sabbath service, Mary flinched to see the profane sailor by the name of Stubbs, hanging back, grinning and making slashing gestures across his throat toward the children. Because of his own strength and brawn, he enjoyed taunting the weak and the sick and frightening the children.

  When Elder Brewster spoke with him about it, he cursed and swore even more bitterly. Mary remembered his earlier suggestion that all the passengers be thrown overboard. He told the elder that when they were tossed to the fishes, he would “make merry with what they had.”

  Strangely enough, there was only one crew member to die at sea—and it was that grinning sailor. He was perfectly fine in the morning, going about his work with a whistle and a swagger, and by afternoon he stumbled onto the deck, clutching his stomach. He died right there on the ship. The captain held a burial at sea.

  The prosperous winds and fair weather continued a few days longer. It was not long after the captain noticed a wall of black on the horizon that the pitching and rolling of the ship intensified. Many of the passengers became violently seasick. Elizabeth, Mary, and Constance helped those who were sickest. Before long the air in the tight cabin soured from the sickness. Mary climbed down to the storeroom to get water. The cooper, John Alden, helped fill her bucket from one of the barrels.

  “Be sparing of the water, Mary,” he said. “We have precious little.”

  “I need to soak rags to wipe faces.”

  “Take the bucket for now, but we may have to use salt water if ’tis not for drinking. Because we lost the Speedwell, we have many more passengers than we planned.”

  As Mary climbed back up the ladder she had to loop her left arm around the ladder and hang on tight. The ship tossed and fell violently. Keeping the water from sloshing out of the bucket and keeping her own balance at the same time took concentration, and she could only do it one step at a time. As she moved into the main quarters, she could hear the bosun yelling orders into the howling wind up on deck.

  “You there! Furl that canvas and wrap it tight. This storm builds, and there be nothing to do but ride it out.”

  Water poured into the cabin from the grating of the hatch.

  “Quick!” The bosun yelled at the top of his voice and, even then, he could barely be heard. “Batten the hatches! Secure the longboat!”

  One sailor yelled down into the main quarters, “Douse all your cooking fires and snuff out your candles. No fire until the sea calms.”

  Another torrent of icy water splashed in from the deck above them. The creaking timbers deafened those below.

  “Tie down anything that will roll,” the sailor finished.

  Mary saw some of the men get up to secure the barrels and boxes, but by now few were feeling well enough to stand. Constance held a whimpering Damaris.

  Elizabeth curled up in the corner of her mattress and moaned.

  Mary struggled to keep her stomach from lurching. What was it about the violent pitching and rolling that made one so sick? Soon the entire cabin seemed to be writhing in the agony of seasickness. One hundred and two passengers, thought Mary, and every one of them sick. The rank air did not help.

  If only I could go up on deck, Mary thought, but the roar of the wind and the violence of the storm made that impossible. She shivered from the intense cold. Not a sliver of light penetrated the cabin, since tarpaulins covered the grate they called the hatch. Mary wondered if this is what it felt like to be sealed into a coffin.

  Time passed. The moans and retching increased with every hour. Mary felt queasy but nowhere near as bad as most of the passengers. An older girl named Priscilla and Mistress White helped Mary wipe faces with water-soaked rags dipped over and over in the bucket Mary had carried up to the cabin.

  Vomit mixed with cold salt water ran across the deck, soaking the mattresses that lay on the floor. Those tending the sick slipped in the slime.

  Dr. Fuller, the Pilgrims’ doctor and surgeon, pulled himself up off his bunk. He made Mistress White go to her bunk because of her condition. “If she falls, she could injure her child and hasten its birth.” He ended up yelling orders over the roar of the ocean.

  He instructed John Alden to go below and bring hardtack back up. Mary helped pass the small pieces of crackerlike bread to everyone. It was so dark she had to locate people by feel. Priscilla and John gave tiny sips of water, wiping mouths as they went.

  “Just eat tiny bites of hardtack and take only a sip of water at a time. Try to get your stomach used to taking food without weighing it down.” The doctor paused, attempting to bring his own stomach under control.

  Mary heard the
creak of bunk ropes over near the Brew-sters. She saw the flicker of a tiny candle flame.

  “Dear friends, let me read to you,” yelled Elder Brewster over the roar of the wind. He paused to gain strength. “I read from the One Hundred Seventh.”

  He cleared his throat. “Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men! And let them sacrifice the sacrifices of thanksgiving, and declare his works with rejoicing.” He paused as the ship heeled dangerously far and a box went scudding across the deck.

  He continued, “They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep. For he commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble.” He stopped reading when a drenching torrent of water doused his flickering candle.

  He lighted it and began again. “They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits’ end. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven. Oh that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men! Let them exalt him also in the congregation of the people, and praise him in the assembly of the elders.”

  He closed his Bible and doused the flame.

  “Lord, we are at our wits’ end,” he prayed. “Calm the storm. Calm our fears. Amen.”

  Someone from the far end of the room—maybe it was William Bradford—raised a weak voice and began a psalm of thanksgiving. Others joined in. The ship still tossed, the fierce winds howled, and the fearful dark closed in around them, but once again the Pilgrims’ hearts remembered their eternal security.

  Aside from fear, perhaps the smells and the closeness of the main cabin affected the passengers most. Normally people bathed at least once a season and washed their linens weekly, but since setting out in July, there had been little opportunity to bathe or wash linens. Cramped as they were, the natural odors that were barely noticed out of doors intensified below deck.