“Or I will design a lid for a box with a hinge built into the wood, and I will not buy a single British hinge.”
I knew I had to proceed with care in the words I chose. I heard the longing in my own heart all these years, so afraid people would leave me, that I feared even a momentary distance. Perhaps having lived in war brought the same. “Do you think, because you have seen war, that you cannot rest? That you think all the world must have war now? That perhaps you cannot lay down your sword?”
“I do not like being so fenced by their rules of trade. I am no longer allowed to sell to my neighbors for barter, did you know that? It will get worse, too. I am sure.”
“The speckled hen hatched her clutch today. Twenty chicks.”
“Why are you talking of chickens when I am telling you the business is troubled?”
“Because your home is not troubled. We will overcome this, husband. We are so wealthy. You have provided all this and more, August has filled my shelves with goods to last our lives through, and your business will continue, too. Please sleep peacefully, husband. Please. Your war is over. You are home. I am here.” Even as I said that, I felt amazed at referring to myself as a stronghold for a weary soldier. I wanted him to protect me, not to need my hands for his safety.
Cullah blew upward against his hair. “I am worried.”
After a long time, when I could not think of any good answer, I said, “I love you.” I curled up next to him, and soon enough he was sleeping. I did not. I heard again and again his words “what would you die for?”
*
After Christmas 1758, ice hung from every tree limb, even from the poor cows’ noses as their breath froze within them. With snow a foot deep, one day I went to our larder and took stock of what we had left. Roland came to the door as I made a list, and asked me to come to their house for they still lived in Goody Carnegie’s place. Gwyneth was ill, he said, and wanted me to come.
When I arrived there, Gwyneth told me she had too soon dropped a babe. I wept with her, for it would have been my grandchild, yet it was so early, perhaps less than two months of life. Roland took a pickaxe to the graveyard, and though the ground was frozen solid, with setting a small fire for a couple of hours, he got a hole dug no bigger than a rabbit would use, but it was enough. It was buried in an unmarked grave. I would not let her watch while he did it, for Roland and I agreed it would be better were she not to even see the mark of his moving the ground. I did not know what other women did with such things, but it was done. He told me I might return to the house and make Gwenny some tea while he set the brush about and tossed some snow over the place so it would vanish into the rest.
Snow began anew, so it would not be difficult, I thought.
After a few minutes, Roland came to the house. He took off his hat and coat and sat by the fire, his face an image of despair. He said, “It is snowing more. Would you like us to walk you home, Mother?”
I smiled. Neither of us was comfortable with that title yet, I believed. “That is not necessary. Gwenny needs to rest a couple of days.”
“It would be better if she rests at your house.”
“Certainly you may come. What is the matter, Roland? Ne mentez pas. Je vois que vous êtes inquiet. Something is amiss,” I said.
“J’ai vu un homme dans un cape et un chapeau noir.”
“Roland,” Gwyneth said, “do not speak secretly to my mother.”
I stared into his eyes without looking at her. I believed he was trying to decide whether to tell her. If I knew my Gwenny, she would want information just as I would, and then could make up her own mind how to respond. But she was in a weakened condition and emotional with grief. I said, “He said there was a shadow by the graveyard. It frightened him but it was nothing.”
Roland repeated, “It was nothing.”
“Do you mean the man in the cape?” she asked. “The spirit of a man is there, looking for something or someone. When Barbara, First-Ben, and Grandan died, Brendan and I sometimes went down there. If you walk next to the rocks, a man passes by.”
I heard Roland sigh with relief. “You are not afraid?”
“No. His cloak brushes my side, and he does nothing but keep walking.”
I shared their nervous laughter.
*
The year’s first town meeting was held late in January of 1759. Benjamin had a sore throat so I stayed home. When Cullah returned I waited until the children slept and we were alone in bed before I asked, “What news of the meeting?”
“The king is mad,” he said.
“I meant something I had not heard before.”
“British ships have stopped five traders outside of Boston and commandeered both their goods and their crews. Captains who would not surrender were clapped in chains and their ships sunk. One was killed as he fought back.”
“Do you think August was among them?” I willed myself to dismiss the thought of him killed, though if there was one who would fight back, it would be my brother.
“I know no names of ships or men.”