Читать книгу Constance - Patricia Clapp - Страница 15

April 1621

Today the “Mayflower” left us. I think there was not a soul who was not on the shore to see it go, and not a soul who did not feel his throat tighten when the great anchor broke water, the ship turned slowly, and the sails suddenly filled with wind until—like a bird leaving the ground—the “Mayflower” skimmed out onto the sea, her beak pointing for home.

When I recall how anxious Captain Jones was a few months ago to have us ashore and settled, so he could be rid of us and on his way back, it seems strange that he should have lingered so long. But his crew suffered the dreadful Sickness just as we did, and many of them died—just as we did. The others lay for a long time weak and nigh helpless, and to have put them to the task of sailing a ship in winter storms and blasts would have been foolhardy. So the “Mayflower” has lain at anchor until now, and I had become used to seeing it there, familiar and solid, a link with home.

As she slipped away from us with the sun glinting sharp on her metal, Governor Carver bade us all gather at the Common House to pray for the ship’s safe passage. I sat there looking round me at the few who make up this little world—so many less than when we started. Francis Eaton and Isaac Allerton and Will Bradford and Captain Standish and Edward Winslow have all lost their wives since we landed, although Susanna White is the only widow. There are the orphans, dear Priscilla Mullins, and Mary Chilton, little Sam Fuller and Bess Tilley, and there are those many other children with but one parent left to them. A handful of young men and boys—John Alden, John Howland, Father’s Two Teds, Giles, John Cooke, a few others—and an even smaller handful of young women. Less than fifty of us now, fifty people to make a life for themselves and for those who will come after.

As we left the Common House, all of us subdued and thoughtful, I walked beside Elizabeth, taking Oceanus from her to carry him home. We could still see the “Mayflower,” a tiny dot against the sea and sky. I felt a ninny, but I could not stop the tears that came hot to my eyes as I watched it, tears that would not be dried by the warm spring wind blowing soft against my face. Elizabeth put her hand under my arm and we went up the hill together, neither of us speaking. As we entered our house she said, “Lay Oceanus in his cradle, Constance, and let us try our hand at a plum pudding.”

I looked at her, surprised, the tears still sharp in my eyes. “A plum pudding?”

“Yes. We may have to make shift with a few things, but you will find a cluster of dried plums in my box. I fancy we can manage.”

“Dried plums!” My mouth watered at the thought of a dish that would in any way resemble the plum puddings Elizabeth had made at home. “I did not know you had any such—”

“I have been keeping them for some occasion, and mayhap this is it.” She laid her hand against my cheek—a thing she rarely does. “Thou art a good child,” she said. “Now dry thy eyes, and let us get to work.”

The pudding was monstrous good!