I touch my heart and sign, “Thank you.”
Helen signs, “You’re welcome. Stay safe. Be well.”
I turn to Sally and sign, “I heard you helped Bayard. Thank you. George would have been grateful. Were you able to bring your horses from Aquinnah to teach him how to be a good horse?”
“No,” she signs. “Your papa thought his neighbors might consider the presence of our horses and men a threat to your town.”
“Sorry,” I sign, looking downward.
“It’s all right,” she signs with a smile. “Your father is allowing me to take him to Aquinnah, since he likes me best of all.”
I think George would approve. He’d want his horse well cared for. I’m not sorry to see him go to a good home.
I sign, “But how did you know the ways to heal Bayard?”
“Just good sense,” she signs. “Poultices and good sense.”
“Horse sense,” Thomas teases, pulling his hand behind his head to indicate a mane.
Sally shakes her head with a smile.
“Though I like the horses best, I am caring for our animals in Aquinnah too,” she signs. “Papa is teaching me what he learned on your farm, and Mama shows me remedies for their ailments.”
Papa comes up behind me. We walk the Richards family, now including Bayard, to the high road. Papa shakes Thomas’s hand, bows to Helen, and pats Sally on the head. I sign, “Fare thee well.”
As we turn away, I ask, “Thomas will return for the big shearing in March?”
“Perhaps.” Papa weighs the possibility in his hands. “He is considering going off to sea on a whaler.”
“That’s dangerous work,” I sign, remembering the wrecked whaler I saw with Ezra Brewer.
“It is an opportunity for him to greater provide for his family,” he explains. “He’d prefer if Helen and Sally didn’t have to labor in homes like the Skiffes’. It’s more than whales he has to worry about. Even though he is a freedman, he runs the risk of being captured and sold into slavery. And then there’s the question of whether the English captain will pay his Wampanoag crew what he promised.”
I must look distraught.
Papa signs, “Still, the Wampanoag of Gay Head are skilled whalers. I shouldn’t be surprised if we see Thomas Richards again.”
“Good,” I sign, slapping the back of one hand into the palm of the other.
Papa walks toward the house with me. I think there is a part of him that is afraid to let me out of his sight.
“Papa,” I ask, “what should I do when Nancy and her parents speak badly about freedmen and the Wampanoag and treat them unkindly? It’s not right. It’s not fair to treat people as less because they are different. Even Mama has said things that make me blush.”
“Mary,” Papa signs, “you are a good daughter. But you have told lies and spoken with prejudice too. It’s best not to judge others. First look inside yourself. Make yourself the best person you can be. People will be influenced by your example.
“Look at my great-grandpa Lambert,” Papa continues. “If it were not for him, we would not be here in the New World. Because of him, we live in a community where being deaf doesn’t hinder us from living a full life. People were influenced by his example.”
“Yes, but our New World is someone’s old world, isn’t it, Papa?” I sign. “The Wampanoag have lived here for a very long time. What about them? Look how they were affected by Grandpa Lambert’s ways.”
“That’s true. He was not a perfect man. You’re old enough to know that he once worked on a slave ship.”
“Oh no!” I sign.
“I’m afraid so,” Papa signs. “We can’t hide from our ancestors’ misdeeds.”
I interrupt, “But we can make our own choices now.”
Papa nods.
I stand a bit straighter, smile at Papa, and take his hand. While we walk, I let his words settle. “People will be influenced by your example.”
Mama greets us at the door. I think it will take both my parents some time to trust that I am truly home.
Mama and I walk back to the kitchen while Papa returns to the farm. I show her the necklace Helen gave me.
“Did you thank her?” Mama asks, examining it in the light of the window.
I nod.
“Serpentine brings out your eyes,” she signs, making sparks in front of her eyes. “You may wear it.”
My smile turns to a frown when she adds, “But not to church.” I will try to be an example and influence Mama in the future.
“Something smells sweet,” I sign, closing my eyes and lifting my nose to smell the rich cooking aroma.
“A few friends come to visit,” Mama signs. “Everyone anxious see you. We have a little celebration in your honor.”
“Help?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Go room and rest a little.”
At my desk, I smooth out the map of memories. It has had a long journey. New smudges and wrinkles adorn it. I consider that my world exists far beyond the map now.
I lie down for a spell until I feel the vibrations from activity in the kitchen. Our house is alive again, and I take a moment to enjoy it. I twist my hair back, put on my necklace, and go to greet my guests.
Papa is at the door, inviting in Miss Hammond and Mr. Pye. They’ve brought Nancy. She and I embrace, and I take her by the hand and lead her to my new bedroom.
She looks stricken to be in George’s room, until I point out the new blanket and curtains. She walks over to the desk. “You can write now, Mary. Whatever fanciful stories come into your head.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I sign. “My old stories seem too frivolous now. I will have to find another, more important subject.”
“I’m sure you will,” she signs. “And I have my own path to pursue.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She hesitates, then signs, “Uncle Jeremiah visited the
