Almost Home by Wendy Lawton

Author:Wendy Lawton [Lawton, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-57567-572-5
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Published: 2003-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

John Alden, summon all the men to assemble in the Great Cabin,” Elder Brewster said. “Include everyone from Master Martin to the servants, Saints to Strangers.”

Mary and her mother watched as the men who had been below deck solemnly lined up to climb to the upper deck and make their way to the quarterdeck. Father’s weakness kept him from joining the men.

“Mother, what do you suppose will happen?”

“I do not know, Mary. What I do know is that we can trust William Brewster. He seeks God in everything.” Her mother leaned against the bunk.

“You look tired.”

“Aye. The voyage takes its toll on us all.” Mother seemed beyond weary.

“But land is nearly within reach; we are almost home.” Mary very nearly repeated those last two words. Almost home. Had she ever thought of America as home before? Could it be that the thin strip of land off the starboard bow was to be her forever home—a place where they could worship as they pleased and till the soil and—

“Mary, you do know that the storm blew us far north, do you not? And that Captain Jones sails south even now to try to reach Virginia?” Mother took a cloth and dipped it in the bucket of brackish water to wipe Father’s face.

Aye, Mary did know.

“Indeed, even when we anchor, Captain Jones offered to allow us to live aboard the Mayflower till we build shelter. He decided not to attempt the ocean crossing back to England until spring.”

“Stay on the Mayflower? Oh, Mother, no!” Mary could not bear to think of staying on the Mayflower for months more. “’Tis cruel to be so close to the end of our journey and yet have to stay aboard.”

“Nothing changes.” Her mother laughed. “From the time you were a babe, we no sooner set out on a journey but you would be asking, ‘Are we there yet?’ Nay, Mary, nothing changes.”

Mary felt impatient from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. How she longed to dig her toes in dirt again, to feel tree branches scrape against her arms, to smell the scent of lilies, to hear the buzz of insects, to taste wild berries …

“Mary?”

“Sorry, Mother. You are right. I am impatient.”

Father turned and moaned, and mother tried to wipe some of the heat off his face. His thrashing uncovered his leg and Mary gasped to see the swelling of his joints and the sores opening on his flesh.

She longed to run away, but instead she took the bucket to dump the lukewarm water and get fresh. On her way downstairs, she saw Constance with wee Oceanus. How can one vessel hold birth and death all at the same time? Death? … Why did I say death?

“How goes it, Mary?” Constance sounded happy as always.

“Truth be told, Constance, I am fair sick of this tiresome ship.”

“Oh, fiddle! This shall be the adventure of our lives. When we have nothing but grizzled gray hair, we shall still be talking about the Mayflower.

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