It was then that they told us they have settled on the spot for our Colony, here where we have anchored. It is to be called Plymouth.
January 1621
They have actually started building a Common House! We can hear the cold ring of the axes—carried clearly in the winter air—and the thick solid sound of a tree as it hits the earth. Even though the women still have little to do save their usual tasks, there is a feeling of progress that infects us all. The men come back on board at night, so weary they nigh stagger, yet once they have bolted their food they sit for hours talking of their plans.
Father works like a man possessed, as perhaps he is. He lifts great logs the others cannot move, heaving them into place across the sawpit where they are cut into thick planks for building. Elizabeth says all the men will catch most fearful chills do they not take better care of themselves. First heavy work that puts them a-sweating, and then a rest period when they stand in the bitter cold, or gather round a fire—burning their faces and freezing their backs. In truth, Christopher Martin confessed tonight that he felt quite unwell, but there are those who think he may be malingering. Since he was deposed from governorship at the start of the journey by William Brewster’s followers he has been at times vexatious, finding great fault with what the others decide to do. Malingering or not, he has a fearful cough!
January 1621 continued
The sailors call it scurvy, and say that they have seen men step from their hammocks announcing that they are in good health, walk a few feet, and fall dead from the disease. Dr. Fuller gives it no name, but does what he can with bloodletting and such remedies as the juice of thyme, which he claims to be excellent for irritations of the chest, and lovage, which is supposed to cure any sort of fever. And yet we are dying! My stomach churns with fear; I flinch at the moaning and gasping, and gag at the dreadful stench.
Those who are taken ill, and there are more each day, are carried from the ship to the Common House, which has at last been built. A few other houses are almost finished, but there is hardly a soul strong enough to work on them. Ours is at least a roof over our heads, although the cruel cold seeps in between the many cracks, and I huddle in it most of the day, staying as far as I can from the loathsome Sickness. Elizabeth, who must give of herself past all understanding, insists on nursing those poor wretches who lie in the Common House, rotting their lives out.
“Someone must do it, Constance,” she says, “and it is woman’s work.”
“Not mine! I will not go near them!”
“Then mind Damaris and Oceanus for me, and feed your father and Giles. I will come back whenever I can.”
“And bring that foulness with you that we may all die of it? I will go back on the ship and stay there!”
“There are those with the Sickness on the ship now too, Constance.”
“But I thought . . . I thought they were being brought ashore!”
“There is no more room in the Common House. The floor is already filled with pallets, without a spare inch to lay another, save when someone dies. Rose Standish died this morning.”
“Rose? But . . . but I saw her just a day or two ago! She was talking to Mistress Mullins!”
“Mistress Mullins is dead too. And her husband lies ill—” Elizabeth bit her lip hard. “I cannot stand here idle, Constance. Look out for the babes for me.” And with that she left the house and walked down the hard-packed dirt path, disappearing into the Common House. I saw the door close behind her.
Father helped Captain Standish bury Rose that night. They dare dig no graves in daylight lest the Indians see, and realize how few we have become. Should they attack us now . . . and yet, if they did, it might be best. It would be an end to all this suffering and filth and cold and fear, for certainly we could not resist them. I said as much to Father when he returned to the house, standing his spade against the wall, where the crumbs of earth from Rose Standish’s grave fell softly to the dirt floor.
“What sort of puling, weak-mouthed woman are you?” Father roared at me. “As long as there is one creature alive amongst us to fight, we will fight! We will fight sickness or Indians, it makes no matter which! Now let me hear no more whimpering from you!”
I set my mouth tight and went to the hearth where I filled his trencher with hot boiled fish, silently handing it to him.
“No, Con. I want nothing to eat,” he said, and lay down on the bed without even taking off his boots.
I stood watching him in amazement. For Father to refuse his food was unbelievable!
“Are you well, Father? Is there aught wrong?” But already he lay drowned in sleep and did not answer.
Sometime deep in the night I heard the thick, choking sound of his breathing, and forced myself to get up from the pallet and go to him. In the firelight I could see his face flushed and red, and his head turning restlessly on the pillow. Ted Dotey heard it too, and came creeping down the ladder from the loft where he and Ted Leister sleep. He stood beside me, squat and gnomelike among the half-shadows, and I was grateful for his nearness.
“He’s got it, Constance,” Ted whispered. “The Sickness. This is the way it starts.”
“What shall I do?”
“Rouse Giles, while I wake t’other Ted. We’ll carry him to the Common House.”
“But there is no room there! Elizabeth said so.”
“There must be a place. With so many dying—”
“No! Don’t take him there! If you do, he’ll die too! I know he will! Leave him be. I’ll care for him.”
“It’s a filthy task, Con. ’Twill turn your stomach! Let us take him.”
I whirled on him and knew that my eyes were blazing. Sounding to myself just like Father, I shouted, “You will do as I say! Leave him be! Now help me get his boots and clothes off. He must be made more comfortable. And get more wood for the fire! I will not have him chilled!”
“Aye, miss,” Ted mumbled, and did as he was bid.
My voice had wakened Giles, although Father had not opened his eyes at all, and he came shuffling sleepily to the bedside.
“What is it?” he asked, yawning. “Is something wrong with Father?”
“He has the Sickness,” I said crisply.
“What are you going to do, Con?” My brother’s eyes were wide with fear.
“Make him well! Fetch me some cool water and a cloth and then go back to sleep!”
“Water? What shall I bring it in?” Giles asked, gaping at me.
“Bring it in your open mouth, you booby,” I snapped, tugging at Father’s boot, “or in your shoe, for all I care! But bring it!”
A moment later the water was there beside me in one of Elizabeth’s wooden tankards, but Giles did not go back to sleep. Instead we sat the night there, one on each side of the great bed. I knew little of what to do for Father, save to bathe him with cool water when his fever rose, and cover him with an extra rug when the shivering took him. When he retched and then spewed, we cleansed his face again and emptied the vile slops. Once he opened his eyes, fixing them hard on me, as though trying to see through thick mists.
“Leave me be, Con, leave me be,” he said. His voice was so weak I could hardly believe it to be Father’s. “Let someone help me to the Common House—away from you and the babies.”
“You will stay here,” I told him.
“Thunder,