Minister John Russell prayed for calm and careful judgment as the meeting ended and stood at the back of the meetinghouse with the elders to say good-bye to each neighbor. Ned was one of the last out and waited by the minister as he locked the door, pocketed the key, and they walked together to his house. The minister’s wife and children and Mrs. Rose, the housekeeper, followed the men.

“You weren’t at prayers earlier today, Ned Ferryman?”

“No, Minister, many of the Hatfield people like to hear your sermon and I ferried them across the river and home again.”

“Who’s keeping the ferry for you now?”

“John Sassamon. He said you had given permission.”

“Yes. He’s a good man, a Harvard man like me. He brought the message from Mr. Pynchon.”

“Aye.”

“Is it all quiet in the town, Ferryman? No natives coming and going on the ferry? No dugouts on the river, no more than usual?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Ned said. “They’re still unhappy about the fish traps.”

Minister Russell nodded. “Tell them if they bring in fish again, we’ll pay a little extra,” he said. “Let’s get things back to normal. No ill will, no rumors.”

“You’ll be hard-pressed to silence the town, they’ll be bound to worry about this news of the Pokanoket. I’m surprised Mr. Pynchon sent a public message, it’s sure to frighten people.”

“Yes, I know. But he had to put us on our guard. I wish people would realize that the Pokanoket, all savages, are given to us as our pupils. We must guide them—not fear them. We should be praying with them, teaching them the word. That’s John Sassamon’s godly work with King Philip. This land has been given to us by God, for us to lead His children out of pagan darkness to salvation. We are to be a light to nations. It’s a mission, Ned. We’re called to do God’s work here.”

“Amen,” Ned said. John Russell was a fervent puritan minister with enough conviction in congregationalism to move his church into unbroken land; so loyal to the old cause of parliament to hide two of Cromwell’s generals in his cellar and give Ned the job of ferryman and watchman at the gate. “I know it’s God’s will that we are here. It’s just that some of us are careless. The fish traps—”

John Russell laughed. “Not the fish traps again!” he exclaimed. “As I said—tell the women we will pay extra for fish for the next two weeks. They can’t blame us for traffic on the river; clearing the forests and making timber is good for us all. They should be grateful!”

The two men arrived at the handsome gate and walked up the path to the front door. “I led the people into the wilderness, to make this new town of saints,” John Russell said honestly. “God called me to find new land for new houses, to lead the children of God out of bondage. It’s His will that has brought us here to make a city on a hill. No savages are going to stand in our way for the price of half a dozen fish traps. No savages are going to threaten us for the sake of half a dozen acres.”

“Agreed.” Ned tipped his hat; but the minister called to him before he turned to walk back to his house.

“Come into the kitchen and see Mrs. Rose,” Mr. Russell said, opening his front door and greeting his housekeeper. “She wants to settle up with you. I think we’re in your debt.”

“It’s nothing,” Ned said, but he followed the housekeeper across the hall and into the kitchen at the back of the house.

“What price did you want for the trout?” the housekeeper asked, taking off her tall black hat and putting it carefully in a cupboard, straightening the flaps on her white cap.

Ned thought of the men hidden in the cellar and the cost to the household, secretly borne for nearly six years. “Have them with my thanks,” he said. “And I’ll bring some more asparagus, when it’s ready.”

She nodded. “Will you take a glass of sassafras beer before you go?”

“Thank you,” he said.

He stood awkwardly as she went into the cool larder and poured them both a small glass. When she came out, she gestured to the two hard chairs either side of the cold grate. “You can sit,” she said.

He raised his glass to her and drank. “I shall have this and go,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to the ferry before dark.”

She hesitated. “I hope you’re safe out there, on the riverside, Mr. Ferryman? Outside the fence?”

“I’m safe enough. And the fence only stops cows. I’m only as undefended as the rest of the town. You know, I’m not very far out, Mrs. Rose. Perhaps one day you will walk out and visit me. I should like to show you my garden, and the asparagus beds.”

She darted him the quick fugitive glance of a woman unaccustomed to smiling. “Perhaps I will,” she half promised. “But not while people say the savages are unsafe.”

“The Pokanoket are miles away, at the coast,” he protested, “and I doubt they are any danger to us at all. I’m just at the end of the lane. You could probably see my roof from your upstairs window.”

“I can see the river,” she agreed.

“Then you can almost see me. I’m on the very edge where the land meets water.”

“But beyond you is the river and the woods beyond that…” She shuddered. “And they are people of the water and of the trees. You can’t see them in the forests and they are silent on the river. I wouldn’t dare to come until we hear they’ve done with visiting around and complaining of us. They have to submit to our rules.”

“After harvest, all this talk will die down,” he reassured her. “There’s no need for them to submit to anything. We’ve all sworn to treaties. It’s probably nothing more than the tribes gathering for a celebration, there’s nothing to fear.”

“I’ll come later in the summer then,” she said. She allowed herself a quick glance at his face, to see that he was still looking at her. “I should like to visit you.”

JUNE 1670, LONDON

Tabs had cleared away the dinner things and gone out for her Sunday afternoon off, so the family gathered in the kitchen. Alinor sat in a chair at the hearth where the embers of the Newcastle coal still radiated heat. Sarah stood on a stool to string up fresh herbs to dry. “How long will you leave these, Grandma?”

“You can see them for yourself next Sunday. They have to be so dry that they don’t rot, and yet not to have lost all their essence. See when you think they are ready.”

Johnnie came through the door to the yard with a basket of fresh-cut mint. “D’you have room for any more?”

His sister made a space on the big kitchen table. “I’ll make some more strings. Is this the last of it?”

“I cut a lot, it was spilling over and choking the eyebright.”

“I need a bigger garden,” Alinor said. “But there’s no room in the yard. Perhaps we could take a little field over the road?”

“Who’d dig it?” Sarah demanded. “Johnnie and I are town children. We’ve got soft hands! And we’re only here on Sundays. Ma is too busy and Tabs wouldn’t thank you for more work.”