Flight of the Sparrow by Amy Belding Brown

Author:Amy Belding Brown
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-06-01T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Josiah and Henry offer to take Mary to Boston, where she will finally reunite with her husband. The squire lends them his wagon and two horses to draw it, and Mary arranges herself on the wide seat, tucked securely between her brother and brother-in-law. She tries to provide what comfort she can to Henry, who is miserable with grief. He cannot rid himself of the horror of having buried Elizabeth unknown. For three months he had held to the hope that she was alive among the Indians, and the destruction of this prospect devastates him.

They pass many signs of Indian raids—barns and houses lying in charred ruins, fields left unplowed. Josiah plies her with questions. Did she know that Indians were carrying out these depredations against good and gentle English people? Was she aware that they butchered people as if they were swine at harvest time? Mary shakes her head, though she vividly recalls the celebratory dancing around the circle fire after a battle. How she took pleasure in the wild drumming. She examines her heart for the shame that should stalk there, but feels only numbness and a general lack of sensation. She is as one dead, being carried through a foreign land.

As they draw near Boston, she recognizes the long stretch of gray salt marsh on their left and Gallows Bay on the right. Yet the town seems unfamiliar and strange. She pulls the blanket tightly around her although the sun shines brightly and the air is mild. Josiah repeatedly assures her that Joseph is eager for their reunion. Yet she keeps wondering why he did not accompany Squire Hoar to the ransom site. Why did he not, at the very least, go to Concord and meet her there?

She shifts to find a more comfortable position on the seat. The rhythmic creaking has chafed the backs of her thighs even through her thick skirts. Her hand strays to her pocket, where she finds her Bible and her needles and scissors, still secure, ready for when she might need them again.

The rock fortifications and Boston Gate loom up ahead, the towering wooden gallows standing just outside the gate. It is late afternoon. Mary is aware of a constriction in her chest as they ride through the gate, as if she is bound with heavy rope. She tries to dismiss the feeling, for there is no sense to it. She is not a prisoner or a slave. She is seated between two people who love her. She should feel free.

Yet her heart pounds frantically. Foolishly. Her face feels raw and sore though the breeze is gentle. There are few people abroad—an old man driving five swine along the road, a woman sitting in her doorway, three children running through a field, laughing.

She thinks suddenly of James and feels an astonishing wave of grief. Only a week has passed since she lay beside him in the dark, talking, as he warmed her with his body. A few days ago they embraced so tightly it seemed they would never be apart.

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