Saving Marina. Lauri Robinson
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That was a fact she’d witnessed, and the conviction that rose up inside her was stronger than ever. She couldn’t help but wonder what Richard would think if she told him everything.
She spun about. The resentment in his eyes couldn’t be denied, and her shoulders slumped. He’d never believe her. She hadn’t believed it herself, not at first. “For one,” she said, “I’m not of the Puritan faith. I’m a Protestant.”
“You’ve been accused of being a witch because of that?”
“No.”
He lifted a brow, clearly waiting for more of a reason.
Stories of witchcraft had plagued the Old World and still did, for all she knew. There had been a time when she’d been convinced they’d been nothing more than tales that had no basis in being real. That had changed. “Have you read the Bible?” she asked.
“The entire thing?”
Once again, for the briefest of moments, a grin tugged at her lips. He truly reminded her of her brothers. Perhaps referring to the Bible wasn’t the right route. Her brothers had never taken to its readings without serious prodding from their mother.
“I’ve read enough to know what it’s about,” Richard said.
Accepting his answer with a nod, she changed her tack. “From my witness, the Puritans are quick to judge. They believe only a few are selected for salvation, predestined before birth, and although they claim no one knows who the chosen ones are, they instantly condemn others to eternal damnation for the simplest acts. Blame one another for every misfortune that occurs, from a cow dying to a child questioning something they are too young to understand.” She’d seen all these things and couldn’t understand the irrationality the people of the village maintained in such simple maladies. She took a couple of steps, to where a weed grew next to the barn. “Something as simple as this weed could lead to an entire family being exiled.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“I know,” she said. “To us, but to the Puritans in the village, it’s not. It’s a sign of the devil—at least that’s what Reverend Hickman preaches. He’s full of hellfire and brimstone, and the elders quickly followed him, leaving no room for common sense to prevail. His sermons are full of paradoxes that are as confusing as they are frightening. Everything is based on the Old Testament. There are no lessons on the coming of Christ or the forgiveness of sins.”
“You attend his church?”
“No, we’ve never been invited to, but we don’t mind. Uncle William and I have our Bible and our faith.” Not wanting the conversation to revert to her, she quickly added, “I’ve heard about his sermons from others and heard him shouting in the marketplace. It’s frightening to the women and children, especially the young ones, like Gracie, who are so gentle and innocent.”
“How did she come to be with you instead of a Puritan family?” he asked.
“The smallpox epidemic was widespread. Reverend Hickman declared that all of the families affected were agents of the Ould Deluder.”
“Satan.”
She nodded. “Members who’d survived the outbreak were no longer welcome in the village.” The injustice of it had Marina placing a hand over her heart. “Even the tiniest of children. The other men agreed with him, believing when he insisted it was the only way to prevent the disease from spreading, but—”
“But that’s no excuse for allowing children to starve to death.” Richard finished her thought precisely.
“I agree, but few others do. His sermons filled them with fear of the entire village dying from the disease.”
He was pacing back and forth, as if dwelling on what he’d just learned, but he stopped and leveled a stare on her. “If all this happened last winter, where was my daughter before she came here?”
Guilt bubbled inside her. Things might be different now if she’d understood her father’s message earlier. She hadn’t, though, not until seeing the evil in Reverend Hickman’s eyes. That was when she’d pleaded for him to allow her to take the child’s place. To be arrested as a witch, if he let her heal the child.
“Where was she?”
Lifting her shoulders, Marina said, “Everyone believed she’d died along with her mother and her grandparents.”
“Where did you find her?” he demanded.
Marina closed her eyes and pinched her lips together. Reverend Hickman had finally agreed to her request, but she’d seen beyond his words. For some unexplainable reason, he wanted Gracie, and that was when the witch inside her rose up as it never had before. Out of nowhere she’d vowed to reveal the truth behind all his evil actions.
“Where did you find her, Marina?”
Her insides burned, but she couldn’t reveal the truth. There was too much danger in that. “Please just be content with knowing I did and that soon she’ll be able to travel to Boston.”
“Not soon enough,” he growled. “Sitting at the table tuckered her out. I laid her down on William’s bed before coming to find you.”
Concerned, Marina glanced toward the house. “But she is getting better. Yesterday she barely had the strength to sit up long enough to eat.”
When she turned to face him, her heart stalled. The storm in his eyes demanded answers. More answers than she could give. Marina had no choice but to harden her stare in return, refusing to provide any more information. There was too much at stake. If she told him all that had happened, he’d never leave. Not without confronting Hickman. In that sense, too, he reminded her of her brothers. One man couldn’t battle an entire community.
The breath in her lungs rattled as the standoff continued. A duel that consisted of nothing but their eyes, their mental strengths. She brought forth such events in her past. Arguments with her brothers where she’d never backed down from their steely stares and mental challenges. Momentum grew within her as she vowed to not yield until the bitter end. Until she’d won.
Her chin began to tremble, her legs wobble, but by sheer will alone, she kept her stare steady, her mind focused. In truth, it was for him she fought. And Gracie. And Uncle William.
Her win, if she could call Richard’s gaze being the first to drop, held no victory. Nearly exhausted, she let out a sigh as Richard, looking stormier than ever, swung around and marched away. Her reprieve, that of drawing in enough air to fill her lungs, ended abruptly when the barn door thudded.
Hitching her skirt out of the way of her feet, she scurried around the barn. Richard was inside, throwing the saddle over the blanket he’d already laid across the massive horse’s back. Real relief filled her then. Keeping him hidden until Gracie was well enough to travel would have been impossible.
“I’ll send a message to your ship,” she said. “As soon as Gracie is well enough. You can expect it by the end of the week, I’m sure.”
While threading the leather strap through the cinch ring, he said, “There will be no need to send a message.”
“Very well. If you want to return on Saturday—”
His glare stopped her from continuing. Accepting there was nothing more to be said, she stepped outside the barn door and took several long glances up and down the road. There were no wagons, no lingering travelers from the groups who’d made the trek into Salem Towne to watch the hangings, and for that she was thankful. If he hurried, his departure would go as unnoticed as his arrival had been.
Upon hearing the thud of a horse’s hooves, she turned back to the barn, where Richard led the animal out into the sunlight. She waited until he mounted before saying, “Safe travels to Boston, Captain.”
His glower was chilling. “I’m not going to Boston, Marina. I’m going to the village. Where I’m sure to find someone who’ll answer my questions.”