Caleb's Crossing by Geraldine Brooks Page A

family left Great Harbor. Because of what I had overheard regarding him, I felt conscious as he greeted me. But I also felt inclined to take more notice of him than I might have done. I observed him as we walked toward the house (which was indeed a fine one—easily the finest yet built on the island—of two full floors and an attic). He and his father and brother put off their soiled smocks and hung them on a peg rail. We sat at board in a large and sunny room with not less than four diamond-paned glass windows, and, yes, a handsome wainscot.
    I decided that Noah Merry suited his name. He had a ready laugh and a mop of yellow curls that he wore rather too long, so that he tossed them back out of his eyes when he spoke. This mannerism was part of a general restless animation of his person, and as he helped himself to his young stepmother’s excellent seed cake, his stream of good-humored banter was as uninterrupted as the flow of the brook that plashed and glinted outside the windows.
    We were still at board when two young Wampanoag presented themselves at the door. Jacob Merry rose and welcomed them and, somewhat to my surprise, as I thought we were the only English household that did such a thing, offered them a place at board while Sofia Merry heaped their plates with seed cake and poured each a tankard of small beer.
    As part of the bargain that had been struck for the farmland, the Indians were to have their corn ground at no cost and to have certain youth instructed in the ways of milling. Merry explained that these two youths had been chosen by their sonquem to learn the trade, “and likely millers they are, the pair of them.” Father nodded approvingly at this. “Wisely done. This is exactly as we should be going on, as the settlement grows beyond Great Harbor. If they see a benefit in our presence, then we will have a true commonwealth of interests.” He turned then to engage the youths, who seemed a little shy of him, in pleasant conversation in their own tongue. I listened to their account of themselves and their village with half an ear while pretending to be fully absorbed in talk with Sofia Merry and her stepsons.
    I had a tankard, which was sweating from the coldness of the beer, raised to my lips when one of the young men, whose name was Momonequem, asked father if he happened to have any English remedies with him, for there was a sickened man in their settlement.
    “He is not one of us. He is Nahnoso, sonquem of Nobnocket, come to parlay with our sonquem, and we fear if it goes ill with him his people will say our pawaaw cast a spell on him. Our pawaaw has tried to heal him, and, failing, sent for Nahnoso’s own, Tequamuck, who we deem the strongest of the pawaaws. But for all he has danced and chanted, he has not been able to spear out the sickness.” At that moment the wet tankard slid from my hand and clattered onto the board, slopping its contents.
    I got up, in agitation, and helped to mop my spill. I heard father say to Momonequem that he had brought no medicines save some salve and bandages and that he did not think he could be of help in such a grave case.
    I could not contain myself. “Do you not think you should see this man, at least?” I said. “I’m sure the Merrys have aught for a poultice, if that be what is needed. If nothing else, you could pray for him … and if you can help him, where the sorcerers have failed, it surely would further the mission.”
    Father answered, “Perhaps I…,” and then he broke off and looked at me strangely. “Bethia, how is it that you…?” He glanced up at the Merrys, and decided that this was not the time or place to pursue the matter.
    He turned back to Momonequem and said he would go with them and do what he could. I acted as if it were natural to assume I was to go also, and asked Sofia Merry to show me what she had in her herb store that she might spare me. Even though the damage was done with father, I thought it best that I not speak