rules about a woman’s place at a man’s council, she felt frozen, unable to respond.
“Master Fitz-Simmons asked you a question,” Knapp said, his tone demeaning. “Are you going to answer or stand there in contempt?”
Knapp’s rudeness brought Prudence’s courage to a boil. She walked down the aisle until she stood between James and the men seated in the pews. “I’m here because of Winton and Crow Hollow.”
The scowl on Fitz-Simmons’s face turned to confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I heard you talking. Master Bailey said something about going west, about finding out what happened.”
“We know what happened,” Knapp said. “I was there, remember?”
She turned on him. “So was I. You seem to forget that.”
“Prudence, please,” Stone said. “I beg you. Now is not the time.”
“And at Crow Hollow,” she continued, “when you were as brutal as the savages themselves. How about the Nipmuk village? What did you do there? That’s the part they wouldn’t let me see.”
“Do you want particulars, is that it?” Knapp said. “I can share every ugly detail, though it would make you faint from the horror of it.”
Her fists clenched. “I don’t easily swoon, Goodman Knapp.”
He snorted. “You’re a woman. You have no idea.”
“Leave her be,” James said.
Knapp glared at him. “You know nothing about the war, so I would suggest that you shut your mouth.”
“I’ve read the widow’s account, and that’s more than enough. The hardships she endured while you strutted around, ordering men about, slaughtering unarmed Indians—you are a coward in comparison.”
“This man is a knave,” Knapp said. “Bind him, stick him in the pillory. Then flog him and send him back to England on the next ship.”
“Will you guard your temper, for heaven’s sake?” Fitz-Simmons said to Knapp. He turned back to James. “We’ve all read the widow’s account. What of it?”
“You haven’t read it all,” Prudence said, “so you don’t know everything. The reverend does, though he refuses to accept it. And now Master Bailey knows too. That’s why I came back.”
“I do?” James said. He glanced at Peter, who was wiping the perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief. The Indian gave a confused shake of the head.
An ugly misgiving settled into her belly.
“The papers. The missing chapter from my narrative. Didn’t you read it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The worry in her belly became a writhing mass of snakes. She had mistaken his message during services. Her pages must still lie undisturbed within the pockets of his cloak. He had not invited her to meet him on the Common because he had read her narrative. Rather, for some other reason she couldn’t guess at.
James’s cloak was lying on the pew between Stone and Fitz-Simmons, with the man’s dagger sitting on top of it. If she pressed the matter, had him bring out her unpublished chapter, one of them would surely confiscate the pages.
“Then why are you going to Winton?” she asked.
“I’m not.”
“I thought you said—”
“I said no such thing. I said I need to know what happened, but I have no intention of setting off into the godforsaken wilderness myself. Boston is cold and dreary enough as it is. No, I intend to speak with knowledgeable parties, yourself included, and get to the truth that way. Then I’ll return to London.”
But . . . but then why did he have the Indian with him? It wasn’t so Peter Church could speak directly to the Nipmuk? Was it only to goad the good folk of Boston with Quaker heresies to trump up grounds for the Crown to interfere, as Anne had claimed?
“So you see, it was a simple misunderstanding,” Stone said. “Now run home and help Anne with supper. There’s a good girl.”
“Before she goes, I want to see these papers Widow Cotton mentioned,” Fitz-Simmons said. “What are they?”
“It’s nothing,” Stone said, his tone a little
“Master Fitz-Simmons asked you a question,” Knapp said, his tone demeaning. “Are you going to answer or stand there in contempt?”
Knapp’s rudeness brought Prudence’s courage to a boil. She walked down the aisle until she stood between James and the men seated in the pews. “I’m here because of Winton and Crow Hollow.”
The scowl on Fitz-Simmons’s face turned to confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I heard you talking. Master Bailey said something about going west, about finding out what happened.”
“We know what happened,” Knapp said. “I was there, remember?”
She turned on him. “So was I. You seem to forget that.”
“Prudence, please,” Stone said. “I beg you. Now is not the time.”
“And at Crow Hollow,” she continued, “when you were as brutal as the savages themselves. How about the Nipmuk village? What did you do there? That’s the part they wouldn’t let me see.”
“Do you want particulars, is that it?” Knapp said. “I can share every ugly detail, though it would make you faint from the horror of it.”
Her fists clenched. “I don’t easily swoon, Goodman Knapp.”
He snorted. “You’re a woman. You have no idea.”
“Leave her be,” James said.
Knapp glared at him. “You know nothing about the war, so I would suggest that you shut your mouth.”
“I’ve read the widow’s account, and that’s more than enough. The hardships she endured while you strutted around, ordering men about, slaughtering unarmed Indians—you are a coward in comparison.”
“This man is a knave,” Knapp said. “Bind him, stick him in the pillory. Then flog him and send him back to England on the next ship.”
“Will you guard your temper, for heaven’s sake?” Fitz-Simmons said to Knapp. He turned back to James. “We’ve all read the widow’s account. What of it?”
“You haven’t read it all,” Prudence said, “so you don’t know everything. The reverend does, though he refuses to accept it. And now Master Bailey knows too. That’s why I came back.”
“I do?” James said. He glanced at Peter, who was wiping the perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief. The Indian gave a confused shake of the head.
An ugly misgiving settled into her belly.
“The papers. The missing chapter from my narrative. Didn’t you read it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The worry in her belly became a writhing mass of snakes. She had mistaken his message during services. Her pages must still lie undisturbed within the pockets of his cloak. He had not invited her to meet him on the Common because he had read her narrative. Rather, for some other reason she couldn’t guess at.
James’s cloak was lying on the pew between Stone and Fitz-Simmons, with the man’s dagger sitting on top of it. If she pressed the matter, had him bring out her unpublished chapter, one of them would surely confiscate the pages.
“Then why are you going to Winton?” she asked.
“I’m not.”
“I thought you said—”
“I said no such thing. I said I need to know what happened, but I have no intention of setting off into the godforsaken wilderness myself. Boston is cold and dreary enough as it is. No, I intend to speak with knowledgeable parties, yourself included, and get to the truth that way. Then I’ll return to London.”
But . . . but then why did he have the Indian with him? It wasn’t so Peter Church could speak directly to the Nipmuk? Was it only to goad the good folk of Boston with Quaker heresies to trump up grounds for the Crown to interfere, as Anne had claimed?
“So you see, it was a simple misunderstanding,” Stone said. “Now run home and help Anne with supper. There’s a good girl.”
“Before she goes, I want to see these papers Widow Cotton mentioned,” Fitz-Simmons said. “What are they?”
“It’s nothing,” Stone said, his tone a little
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