October 1684
From the moment I made the speech to the town council, Mary and I were running out of time, though we did not know it. I was not surprised the motion against the Lenape was passed. I was not shocked when I was removed from the council. But the way Mary and I were cut off, ostracized, was unexpected.
We thought it would pass. That our fellow colonists, fellow townspeople, fellow Christians, would never abandon us. We were wrong. Even those who would have remained friendly, were cowed, and bullied by the domineering Alderman and his like-minded cronies.
I do not know if this was some design to change my mind on the matter, to break me to the common view; or whether it was the actions of a vindictive man, wielding power, and influence in a cruel way. Whichever is true, the result was Mary and I were spurned.
The last time I headed for town I called at the Cooper’s. We had been friends with them from the moment we met on the dockside in Plymouth. They lived a little way up-river from the town, where a strong current turned the water wheel to grind flour. As I approached Anne saw me and ushered the children inside, then followed them herself. When I knocked the door, it was opened the merest sliver.
“Paul is not here, and you can’t be here either,” Anne said.
“Anne, Mary and I are desperate for help. With the birth of William we just haven’t been able to—“ I wasn’t allowed to finish.
“I’m sorry, John. But the Alderman has people watching.” Her eyes glanced left and right and I found myself turning to look, despite the Cooper’s house being well out of sight of town. “If he knows you have been here Paul will be in trouble. Sorry.”
The door closed and I stood for a moment looking at the grain of the lime-washed beech. If our closest friends wouldn’t help, then going to town would also be futile. I headed home.
On the way I tried to piece together the fragments of how Masterson had become so powerful, and in such a short time. It was only a few months since my expulsion from the council, and I was not the only one who disagreed with him. I could find no sense in it and, more pressingly, I was concerned for the low state of our winter supplies.
§
I arrived home to visitors.
Our Lenape friends, Kitakima and his wife Opala, sat on the porch with Mary; William was snuggled against Opala; Kitakima rocked back and forth on my chair, even from distance I could see he was resting his eyes.
Mary spotted me riding up the lane and must have said so, they all watched, Kitakima turning his head and lifting a single eyelid. When I got closer Mary went inside and, as I finished tying the horse up, she came back out with a beaker and jug.
“Pale John, Mary has been telling us of your words in our behalf,” said Kitakima bluntly, eschewing greetings he cut straight to the matter most important to him.
“You look well Opala,” I said. Mary handed me the beaker and I took a mouthful of cool water, then smiled at her. “Thank you.” Only then did I turn to Kitakima. He was still sat on my chair, flexing on the balls of his feet to maintain a gentle rocking motion. “It’s good to see you Kitakima. How are you? Are your sons well? Opala is looking well.” I turned and nodded at his wife, who was grinning. When I turned back, he was in the process of standing and, as he came upright, we clasped arms and shoulders.
He stared at me intently, rubbing my coat between his fingers, before speaking again. “No man may live apart. This cloak is not one cloak, but all the stitches together are the cloak. Why have you not told me what happened with your people?”
When we first met I thought that Kitakima’s speech was affected by learning our language later on in life - he had sent a son to learn English by working as a guide in a colony further north, then had his son teach him - but as I got to know him, and learn some of his language in return, I discovered it was not the case. He spoke the same way in his own language.
“Because our ways are as strange to you, as yours are to us. We weren’t worried about it.” I said as he sat back down.
“But now we speak with Mary, and she is worried, and I don’t see any supplies on your horse after the trip to your town.”
“Well, it wasn’t—“
He interrupted me, “We are friends already Pale John. No need to lie. You have no supplies and winter begins to draw near. I know your custom is to stay in this house all year, but you should consider coming with us when we leave until the spring. If your pale fellow man will not care for you and Mary and your boy, come with us. We will.”
I looked at Mary. She looked surprised, so I guessed this proposal was new to her as well.
“Kitakima, I am not sure what to say.”
“Say yes,” said Opala.
Part One
Part Two
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
text and picture by stuartcturnbull. picture created via openart.ai