“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
“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.”
