Читать книгу Constance - Patricia Clapp - Страница 16

May 1621

And now we have one more widow, and from her state it seems she will not be long amongst us, and one less family, if family it could be called, there being nary a child. Just a few days after the “Mayflower” set sail for England, Governor Carver was working in the fields with the other men. It was a tremendous hot day—the sun shines far warmer here than at home, I think—and the Governor, being unaccustomed to it, was most likely working harder than was wise. Whatever the cause, he came stumbling from the field and fell upon the ground, complaining greatly of pains in his head. He was carried to his house, and Dr. Fuller came, but in a few hours the Governor had fled his senses, and lay without moving or speaking for three days before he died.

Captain Standish took it upon himself to plan the best burial that could be managed, calling upon all those who can use a gun to stand at attention at the grave and fire a volley of shots. Poor Mistress Carver collapsed and had to be supported home, as her husband had been only a few days before, and she has now taken to her bed from whence Dr. Fuller doubts she will rise again.

All the men met at the Common House, and Father told us it took them only a few moments to choose Will Bradford as the new Governor. I had thought Father might be angry that he was not named, but he says Will is the man for the job, and that he is a sober and just man, filled with patience and charity, but very firm. Father says himself that he may have a deal of charity but that God knows he is not patient, to which Elizabeth only smiles. Since Will is still weakened somewhat from the Sickness (which takes a long time to depart a body), Isaac Allerton has been named to act as Assistant to him, he being healthy and a good friend to Will.

And so our number is one less, and our leader has changed, but the work of planting and building and living goes on, and the world is fair with spring.

The seed that has been dropped so carefully in our fields already shows green promise, far earlier than any of the men expected it to. Father says this is because of the way Samoset, and another Indian, Squanto, taught our people to plant. The corn was placed in tiny hills, with fish in each hill, head down—although how it can matter which way the head of a dead fish lies I cannot see—and then gently covered. Whatever the reason, even I rejoice to see the tiny shoots break through the ground.

Elizabeth had Giles spade up a space about our house, and here she planted her hollyhocks, as well as some herbs and a few other pretties. Do they prosper, they will make the house look less like a square box rearing straight from the earth.

My fear of the Indians, who now stroll openly through our village, has been somewhat lulled by a treaty which was made between our men and a great chief named Massasoit. A few days following his first visit Samoset returned, and announced that this Massasoit and his men would have words with our people. There were nigh sixty of them, and they would not come into the settlement (praise heaven!) but stayed a short way off, where Edward Winslow was sent to talk with them. This he did, and there was a ceremonious exchange of gifts, and a little brandy and a great deal of food (most of it going from us to them and not t’other way about), and at last an agreement of peace was reached, which allows us all to breathe more freely, although I cannot find it in my heart to trust these savage heathens to the full! I asked Father to teach me to shoot one of his guns, but he roared back he would rather face ten Indians with bows and arrows than one female with a gun and a shaking hand, and he would have no part of it. Sometimes I wish I had been born a man!

May 1621 continued

From watching Priscilla and John casting eyes at each other for the past months I had felt sure they would soon be married, but now Captain Standish calls often upon Priscilla, who has been living with the Brewsters. We all see him march up to the doorway, looking like a small red-bearded rooster, for he grew so enamored of the beard he sprouted on board the “Mayflower” that he has never shaved it off. Most of the others have, including Father, because Elizabeth said she would as soon buss a billy goat as a man in a beard. The little Captain knocks sharply at the door, albeit in this mild weather it is rarely closed until the household sleeps, and then stands his musket neatly against the side of the house and enters for an hour’s courting. I could not see what Priscilla could be thinking of, till she and I were set to work together gathering early wild mint for drying, and I asked her straight out how it was with her and John.

“Perhaps I should not pry,” I said, “save that everyone has seen how you gaze at each other. It cannot be a secret.”

“Except to John,” Priscilla said. “I swear to you, Constance, that more than once I have been sure the great dear booby was about to ask me would I wed him, and I am sure, too, that everyone—save John—knows what my answer will be, but he shies away at the last moment like a horse on loose cobbles and mutters that the corn is growing well, or that he has built a new chest for Dr. Fuller, or some other startling item about which I care naught. I am in despair!”

“But Captain Standish—do you consider him?”

“As a husband? Oh, Con, I must consider someone! And the Captain—Myles—has been most courteous and kind.”

“But he is so much older than you, Prissy!”

“Not that much. I am close to twenty-one and Myles is but thirty-six.”

“Why, that’s my father’s age! He is too old for you, Pris—and John is just right!”

“That all may be true, but what am I to do if John does not ask me?”

“Has Captain Standish asked you?”

“No, but he will.” She sounded very gloomy.

“Mayhap not.”

“He will, never fear. And I must marry someone. It is not meet for me to live alone, and I cannot stay with the Brewsters forever—though they are kindness itself to me. Oh, Constance, it is such a puzzle!”

So Captain Standish called upon Priscilla in the evenings, and yet often I saw her walking with John Alden, and on some occasions she would see me, too, and throw me a droll look of helpless fury. And then, with no word to anyone, Edward Winslow and Susanna White presented themselves before Governor Bradford (I find it hard not to call him Will) to be married! It did not seem to me to be a union filled with love and romantic notions as I had always thought ’twould be, but Elizabeth says ’twas a very practical thing, since they were both widowed during the Sickness and Susanna has Resolved and little Peregrine to raise, and she and Master Winslow are of an age and most compatible in mind and thought. But still I think there should be more than that.

In any case this was the first marriage in our settlement, and it must have made Captain Standish feel that if it was not too soon after their bereavement for Master Winslow and Susanna, then it was not too soon for him either. Priscilla has told me what happened then, and I find it comical and yet a little sad, I know not why. Seems that when the brave Captain got right to the point of asking Priscilla’s hand he was no better at it than John, though he must have done it before or how could he have married poor Rose?

“So at last he decided to have someone speak for him,” Prissy said, “and who should the blind ninny light upon but John! I swear ’tis a wonder we look upon Myles to protect us from the savages, for I doubt he could tell one a span away! But John was his choice, and poor John came to me, washed and brushed and wretched and honorable, and asked would I wed with Myles!”

“What did you say, Pris? Whatever did you say?”

“For a moment I knew not what to say! If I said No, I might die a spinster for all the good it would do with John, and if I said Yes—but somehow I could not say Yes!”

“And so—?”

“And so I gathered my courage together and asked John if he was sure that was what he wanted to say, and he turned those great blue eyes on me like a bewildered child and said that was what he had been told to say, and I became so put out with his helplessness that I jabbed my fists onto my hips and stood glaring down at him and asked him why he was too much of a mollycoddle to speak for himself! Oh, Con, I felt like such a brazen wench!”

“And he did? At last?”

“He did. At last! And all as though he was much surprised that I should care for him, and prefer him to Myles! I swear to you, Con, ’tis a miracle that men ever catch themselves a wife!”

“But you are happy now, Prissy?”

“Oh, Constance, I would not think I could be so happy! John says as soon as his house is finished we will be wed. A month or two at most.”

So there will be another wedding in Plymouth, but I never realized how hard a lass must work to get the man she sets her heart on. I wonder will it be the same with me?