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Yorktown, Virginia Colony
Had Merry arrived in Virginia under different circumstances she might have been charmed. The bustling port told of prosperity. Sailors and porters jostled one another with cargoes of Caribbean sugar, British silver, and East Indian teas. The sun graced the town with a loving favor it never seemed to shower on London.
Despite the predawn hour, the breeze held only a hint of coolness and coaxed her cloak from her shoulders for the first time in months. Flowers blossomed in all directions, declaring spring and new hope.
The irony wasn't lost upon her.
She took a half-dozen steps toward a tree with enormous, glossy, dark leaves and large, sweetly scented white flowers. Her physician father had instilled in her a love of all things botanical, along with an understanding of their medicinal properties. What healing powers might these new species contain?
A sailor's calloused hand snatched her up short. "Where do you think you're going? You've an appointment in Williamsburg." He laughed.
She was shackled in line with seventy-three other prisoners and herded through Yorktown and into the countryside. The forced march made her legs and lungs burn. She hadn't had so much exercise in ages. Yet, even the indignity of the manacles could not quite dim her curiosity. Magnificent oaks draped with some sort of feathery, ethereal plant stood like guardians on either side of the road. Was that some sort of moss? Her fingers itched to search one of Father's old books for the plant's name.
The man in front of her staggered, jerking her attention to him. She steadied him with a hand to his elbow while trying not to trip over his floundering limbs. The prisoner behind her thumped into her back.
For the first time since their landing, Merry took notice of her fellow captives. Scant food and the fetid air belowdecks had enfeebled them. Most shambled forward, heads down, faces distorted with filth and despair. She glanced back at the man who had bumped her. His eyes were so glazed he seemed barely aware of his own movement, much less his surroundings.
She had only been saved from the same fate through the friendship of Sarah Proctor. They had grown close in Newgate when Merry nursed Sarah through a bout of malignant quinsy. She missed Sarah's practical company now. But her friend, though a convict, had had money set by. Sarah had paid for them both to share a small cabin and receive edible food. And now she had paid her own ransom, and would not have to suffer the indignity of an indenture. She had offered to pay Merry's ransom as well, but Merry could not bring herself to saddle Sarah with her upkeep, too. Now Merry questioned that decision.
At last a cluster of whitewashed houses, gleaming in the sun, heralded the beginning of a neat little town. Far from the crudeness Merry had expected, the town was built in fashionable style. Large clapboard homes with numerous windows watched over tidy streets. The town felt crisp and new, completely unlike London's jaded urbanity.
Passersby eyed the long file of prisoners, but without the derision they had endured in London. Here they were worthy of neither scorn nor compassion—no more or less than livestock for sale.
They were driven to a market green at the heart of the town. Most of the prisoners collapsed to the ground. They sounded miserable as they gasped for air. The guards had given them no water all morning.
Merry found the six other women from the ship, and they huddled together.
A stream of well-heeled customers flowed around them like water surrounding an island. Despite the warmth of the day, Merry nearly took refuge beneath her cloak. But the guards would only have taken it from her. It was plain they wanted the wares on display, though the scrutiny of the strolling men stripped her to the core.
How had she been reduced to this?
Why?
Her tongue swelled in her mouth and her cheeks burned. Torn between the desire to disappear and the desire to shout her accomplishments, so as to obtain a good place, she trembled and sat still.
For the first time in months she muttered a prayer. A last resort. But she could summon no conviction. And the supplication dribbled away as Merry's grief lodged in her throat.
The heat wilted all but the strongest of the convicts. Dust stirred up by dray horses and carts and a thousand feet rose into the air, clogging her nose and mouth. Merry fanned herself with her free hand, but there was no relief to be had.
An elderly man some ten feet from Merry was the first to faint. Two others soon followed.
A wealthy tradesman wearing a violently purple waistcoat poked the man with his cane. "Weak stock."
His companion nodded as if soaking in words of wisdom.
Merry shot to her feet, irons jangling. Sarah had taught her how to handle importunate men. " 'Ere now, cully, you leave us be, or I'll scratch yer eyes out." She glared at the man with all the impotent fury she had nursed in the last three months.
The man's eyes widened. "How dare you."
"Get." Lips pulled back in a snarl, Merry jerked her head toward the street.
"Hoyden! You'll regret this display." The man led his friend away to the captain. His gesticulations and furtive glances made it clear he was reporting her behavior.
Merry continued to stand, head held high, though her heart pounded in her throat.
The captain stalked toward her. "What's all this then?"
"Sir, that gentleman was most offensive." Without giving him time to offer a rebuke she continued. "Pray tell, do you wish to make a profit on this human cargo?"
The question and her genteel accent seemed to confuse the man.
Merry went on, "I ask because you have done yourself a disservice. These people will be more lively and active if they are given some water. And that can only translate into more money for your coffers. If you wish, I would be willing to draw and distribute the water."
He eyed her for a long moment as if trying to comprehend what fraud she was plotting. At last he gave a short jerk of his head. "Very well. But a guard will go with you."
Merry nodded. It was no more than she had expected.
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