John Locke - Now & Then
“Don’t be so skittish, child. There’s no one ‘round.”
“There’s always someone around,” Abby said. “The river crossing is just yonder. Pray, you must not speak of these things, even lightly.”
“I’ll say no more when you talk less of the posting.”
“But this must be discussed! He’s your husband, not your owner. He can’t just sell you in the town square!”
Hester started to say something, but changed her mind. She looked at the stained chamber pot in her hand and sighed. Ten years earlier she’d been known throughout the colony for her beauty. Now, more often than not, her hair was a tangled mass of mud-soaked curls. She rubbed her shoulder absently and winced. A horrific fungus had taken over her right shoulder and begun a steady progression across her upper back. On hot days like this, her afflicted skin cracked open, releasing a milky liquid that stuck to the fibers of her fustian smock. Hester had to continually lift the fabric from her skin or risk forming a scab that would have to be torn away later.
Abby noticed her discomfort. “Has your condition worsened?”
Hester frowned. “Faith, child, I’m common indeed to suffer before you. What a sorry complainer I’ve become.”
“You’ve become nothing of the sort, though I know not how you maintain your sanity. You’ve had a hard burden from the day we moved here.”
“Not so hard compared to others,” Heather said, making the sign of the cross on her chest. She looked around before whispering. “Know what I wish?”
“What?”
“That I could uncover my shoulder and back so the sun could heal it.”
“Surely you’d be seen and forced to bear the consequence.”
“Aye, child.”
The constant burning and itching was impossible to get used to, and had thus far eluded home remedy. Though her well-formed body continued to draw looks from the men of St. Alban’s, Hester’s face and neck had turned ash-gray from drinking a potion of colloidal silver forced upon her by her husband, and that, along with the heavy scar tissue framing her eyes, and her thrice broken nose, added years to her appearance.
Hester studied Abby’s face carefully before shaking her head. “Being sold to a new man is a way to better things for me.”
“But—”
“You’ve seen my life, you know how he is.”
“I do know,” Abby said, gently. “But you could divorce him.” She looked around to make sure he hadn’t come up on them. He hadn’t, but she whispered anyway. “You could divorce him and take me with you.”
Hester laughed. “And how many women have you seen in North Florida Colony with money enough to divorce a husband? As for taking you with me, I cannot, as you’re the purpose for the sale.”
There was a slight delay before the horror registered in Abby’s face. Hester softened her tone. “Abby,” she said. “Look at you. Even in these conditions, you are far the fairest maid in the colony. I do not wish you to think ill of me, abandoning you to such a harsh man.”
“Yet how can I not?”
“I have a plan.”
“What plan?”
“He will show you a softer side. Of this I’m certain. You won’t remember, but when he took us in, he was tolerant, even kind, at times. Of course I was young and pretty then. These days I vex him constantly, with my limp, my face, and frailty.”
“’Course I remember,” Abby said. “It was only a few years past. But he’s the one caused your limp! Your ‘face and frailty,’ as you put it, is a consequence of his constantly boxing your nose and eyes and cuffing your ears.”
Hester dabbed at the light sheen of sweat on her forehead. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“Truly? And what will I understand? How you let that swine of a man cuff you about and rut you day and night as if you were a crippled sow?”
Hester’s eyes blazed for a brief moment, and Abby hoped to receive a sharp rebuke or slap across the face. Any such response would show that her mother retained a measure of spirit. But the fire in Hester’s eyes quickly died, leaving behind only an apathetic stare. Instead of lashing out, she shrugged and said, “We suffer for our children, not ourselves.”
Abby frowned. “And what is that presumed to mean?”
Hester turned and started walking toward the creek. Abby followed, waiting for a response. She watched her mother scoop a handful of sand from the water’s edge and dump it in her chamber pot. Abby sighed, and did the same. They swirled the sand around the inside of the pots with their fingers, scrubbing and grinding it against the hardened fecal deposits. Then they rinsed the pots in the creek and inspected them.
Abby said, “Fine. Don’t tell me. But why can we not just leave this wretched man and his poor excuse for a house?”
“Leave? Has your brain been seized by vipers? Where would you have us go, child, Sinner’s Row?”
Abby knew her mother was right. There weren’t many pleasant options for women in North Florida Colony in 1710. She lowered her eyes and said, “I like not the way he looks at me.”
“He has looked at you that way for two full years, though you knew it not till now.”
The way Hester proclaimed it gave Abby pause. “Two years ago I was thirteen!”
“Aye, child,” Hester said. “Now ponder that fact a moment before speaking.”
Abby did. In the colonies, as in Europe, the minimum legal age for marriage had been twelve for girls, fourteen for boys, for as long as anyone could remember. Still, in Abby’s experience, it was outrageous to think of a forty-year-old man rutting a child. Then the weight of Hester’s words hit her and made Abby realize for the first time what had transpired in the man’s house. Her stomach lurched.
“You kept him from me these two years. That’s why you accepted these many beatings and ruts. You were protecting me.”
“Aye, child.”
They embraced and held each other for a long moment. When they separated, Hester said, “It was not your fault I chose a surly man.” Her free hand drifted absently to her face and touched the bumps at the bridge of her nose. “I did what I could to keep him off you these many months.”
“But now?”
Hester fixed her gaze on Abby’s eyes. “Now you’re fifteen, fully bloomed, and his desire to have you exceeds my ability to protest.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “So I’m to be your way out? You’re to have a new husband and I’m to be left here to rut the swine?”
“You’re young and strong and untouched. He’ll be nice to you for the duration.”
Abby was so busy trying to wrap her mind around her circumstance, she almost missed it.
“What duration?”
“Walk with me, child.”
They crossed the small clearing and stood close behind the privy, squinting their eyes against the foul odor. When she was absolutely certain her words would not be overheard, Hester whispered, “When Thomas Griffin buys me, I will set at once to acquire a vial of arsenic from his apothecary which I shall give to you. A few drops in your stepfather’s every meal will do the devil’s work within two months. And you will rise in station, inheriting his house and the proceeds of his business.”
“You cannot be serious. I’d have to marry him for this to be the legal result.”
“That may seem the worst part to you now, but on further reflection, you’ll find it a sound plan to help you become a young woman of property.”
Abby had no intention of reflecting thus. In fact, she had plans of her own, that she had never discussed with her mother. But something her mother had said didn’t sit right with her.
“Why do you think Thomas Griffin will purchase you?” she asked. Then she shook her head with disgust, thinking about her mother being sold off like the family cow.
Hester patted her hand. “Mr. Griffin has always been kind to me, and his daughter needs a mother.” She saw the skepticism in Abby’s eyes, and added, “And there’s more, child, though unseemly it would be to discuss the matter further.”
Abby’s eyes grew wide as saucers and she nearly voiced her outrage. But then she thought of the man she’d met at the river crossing six months ago, and what happened during his last visit.
His name was Henry, and he’d come to her like a gift from above, on horseback, carrying a leather satchel filled with useful things. Fully grown, ten years older than she, Henry was a man of property, and close kin to Mayor Shrewsbury, the wealthiest, most powerful man in the colony, save for the governor himself. He was well-traveled and conversational, with an exhaustive inventory of colorful stories featuring far off lands and remarkable people.
Astonishingly, Henry had managed to show up three of the five times both her mother and step-father happened to be gone. She now knew where her mother had been on those occasions, but how fortuitous for her that Henry always seemed to show up at the most opportune times.
She knew he was the man she’d marry, had known it from first sight. Not because he was tall and handsome, or rich and worldly, but because she could feel his presence from a great distance, even before he emerged from the woods. And not just the first time, but every time! If she could always feel his presence a quarter hour before he arrived, how could this not be transcendent love? The powerful feeling he projected put her soul at ease, calmed her fears, and spoke to her heart.
Henry was coming.
She couldn’t feel him yet, but he’d told her the day. He might miss the target by up to a week, for all plans were subject to weather, and he’d be traveling tricky terrain. But this time when he came to visit, she’d seal the deal. They’d ride off to town, get married, and she’d be free of this wretched life once and for all.
Abby was not ashamed that she’d given herself to Henry during his third visit two months ago. Though he was twenty-seven years old, Henry was unmarried and available. She’d made him swear an oath to that effect before their first kiss. Though she hadn’t expected to be taken so hastily her first time, much less from behind, Abby was pleased to know he shared her feelings of attraction. As for the event itself, she had known only the basics of what to expect, for her mother had spoken few words on the subject of fornication, and most of them only moments ago. But her Henry was obviously versed in the subject, so she put her trust in his expertise, and was at peace with her conscience.
Henry was coming for her. And soon.
Hester pushed a wisp of blond hair from Abby’s face and secured it behind her ear. The two women embraced again briefly, gave one last look around the clearing behind the slat-board shanty, and went inside the shack to start the dinner pot.
Inside, the heat was unbearable, and Abby’s eyes took it all in: the dirt floor, the worm-wood walls, the leaky roof, the rotten door. As she looked she was overcome with guilt over her mother’s sacrifice. Hester had fended the man off as long as she could, and was willing to be humiliated and sold at public auction to give her daughter a chance at a decent life.
But while Abby loved the idea of killing Philip Winter, she had no intention of marrying and rutting the man in order to acquire his earthly possessions.
Chapter 3
CAPTAIN JACK HAWLEY held the spyglass to his eye and checked the shoreline surrounding Shark’s Bay. He handed the glass back to his Quarter-Master, Pim, and took a moment to study the current. He knew what to expect, having made the Little River trip a dozen times before. It was a challenging bit of work, requiring hours of muscle-aching effort, but he was up to it. The idea of separating himself from the crew when they came to port was an extra precaution Jack had instituted upon being elected Captain. More than one band of pirates had been ambushed and hung by soldiers working on orders from colonial governors, and Jack’s subterfuge allowed him to infiltrate the settlement without creating undue suspicion, in order to ensure his crew would be able to land safely.
It probably wasn’t necessary. Of all their shore stops, St. Alban’s was the least dangerous. For one thing, there was no standing militia. For another, Jack’s men were enthusiastically welcomed for the valuable supplies they generously shared with the town. On this particular weekend, while the crew planned to occupy themselves with drinking, gambling and whoring, Jack was looking forward to spending some quality time with the young girl he’d recently met.
The crew gathered around him on the open deck. No one spoke, though they were itching to hoist sail.
“I’ll take Rugby,” Jack said.
Pim shuffled his feet, ill at ease. “Rugby the cat, Sir?”
“You know any other Rugbys on board?”
Pim sighed. “It’s a glad thing to wish for, but no, there be but one Rugby, as the devil himself can attest.”
“Then that’s the one I’ll take.”
Pim took a deep breath and looked the crew over to see if he could enlist some help. But most would rather jump off the side than go near the hairless, evil-looking cat.
“Mr. Pim,” Jack said.
“Aye, Cap’n?”
“Are you still the roughest, toughest man aboard The Fortress?”
“To my knowledge I still be.”
“And yet you’re frightened at the prospect of getting a little pussy?”
The men sniggered.
“It ain’t pussy in general that scares, me Cap’n, and my beloved Darla be proof of that fact. But this vile monstrosity and me don’t get along so well.”
“Then you’ll be pleased to know this is her last voyage.”
Then men punched each other’s arms and spoke enthusiastically.
“Aye, Cap’n, that’s good news indeed!” Pim said, smiling. He turned and made his way across the deck to the Captain’s quarters.
The symbiotic relationship between the town and pirates began years earlier when Milton Shrewsbury, Mayor of St. Albans, made a deal with the privateer captains: if they agreed to police their crew and confine their shore activities to an area two miles from the town proper, he would construct a Free Zone at the North Port to include a general store, ale house, gambling house, rooming house, and a house of prostitution. While in the Free Zone, the pirates could do as they wished, subject to Captain’s law. The town of St. Alban’s benefitted from the pirates’ trade, of course, but also from the valuable gifts and sorely needed supplies the pirates freely donated.
“Come here, you fargin’ banshee!” Pim shouted from within Jack’s cubicle. The entire crew chuckled as Pim continued cursing Rugby. “Show yourself, you motherless cur! You evil vomitous bitch! Get out here, or I’ll turn your hairless arse into a crossbones, you poisoned pig’s pizzle!”
A pirate caught outside the Free Zone was subject to immediate imprisonment, a mandatory six-month sentence. If, in addition to being caught the pirate had committed a crime, the Mayor could order him hung. By the same token, any St. Alban’s woman found in the Free Zone, a.k.a. Sinner’s Row, could not claim rape, should she be set upon by a drunken pirate or scallywag, subject to the preset rules of the ship’s Captain.
