and set about rubbing the herb on his bruises. The marjoram felt cool on them yet spread a warmth through them. “Some of these are of my own making,” he said. “No, all of them must be. I made them by the life I chose to lead.”
Samuel was gazing at Kane’s back. “But you’re carrying a cross.”
“It is a comfort to me, and it wards off evil.” Kane pulled on his shirt, hiding the tattoo as well as theoccult symbols that had begun to suggest his confusion more than any power. “Just like the crosses you and your family wear,” Kane said, reflecting that the crosses showed the Crowthorns were not fanatically Puritan.
Samuel seemed frustrated not to have more time to read Kane’s history from his flesh. “There were scars,” he protested.
Kane’s hand strayed towards the mark that his cheek still bore. He left it untouched, wishing that the memory it roused could be ignored too, and was glad when the boy indicated his shoulder. “What was that one?”
“An African tribesman made it with a spear.”
“In Africa?” Samuel’s eyes widened as if they were greedy to take in more of the world. “You were at sea,” he said.
“I was a captain,” Kane admitted.
“A sea captain!” The boy seemed almost breathless with awe. “We are to sail for the New World,” he said. “My father had to sell everything to pay for our passage.”
“Then you should admire him more than me, Samuel.” Kane had heard a hint of disappointment in the boy’s voice. “I have been many kinds of man,” he said, “and most of them do not deserve your respect. Let me try and make amends now. We both have our tasks to perform.”
He gripped the boy’s shoulder to hearten him and then tramped across the glade, where water had begun to bubble in a pot over a fire. “Tell me how I may help, Mistress Crowthorn,” he said.
“Everything is done that must be, Katherine,” Crowthorn told her. “You can best repay us by regaining the strength God means you to enjoy, Master Kane. You will dine with us and become yourself once more.”
“As God wills,” said Kane.
NINE
“H oly Lord, I have sinned times without number, and been guilty of pride and unbelief...”
Apart from the eternal murmur of water and the crackle of the fire, Edward’s voice was the only sound in the glade. Like the rest of the family and Kane, he sat on the cold earth, his hands folded in prayer. Despite the open Bible on his lap his eyes were closed as if, Kane thought, he meant to demonstrate that the entire text was contained within him. No head was bowed lower than Kane’s, and yet he was alert to everything around him: Crowthorn’s satisfaction with his elder son, Katherine’s pride in him, a hint of suppressed resentment on Samuel’s part, a glimpse of red at the edge of Kane’s vision, denoting Meredith’s shawl. A twig snapped in the heart of the fire, but Kane did not look up. He was vigilant for signs of danger – too vigilant to misinterpret any sounds he heard. It was no longer just himself that his fate charged him to keep safe.
“...of failure to find Thy mind in Thy word, of neglect to seek Thee in my daily life...”
There was a great deal more to Edward’s prayer, so that Kane wondered if the austere commitment to Puritanism might conceal or even betray a hint of the young man’s pride in his own Godliness. He heard Samuel shift his position on the ground and observed how Edward stiffened his stance, whether to set an example or withdisapproval. In the course of the prayer dusk gave way to nightfall, thickening the dimness between the trees. At last the silent listeners were able to respond, and Kane’s “Amen” was the loudest of all. “Thank you, Edward,” Crowthorn said. “You have kept our souls on the path to God.”
As Edward inclined his head, a submissive gesture that might equally have taken the thanks as his due, Samuel said “When shall I be allowed to say the prayer, father?”
Crowthorn
Samuel was gazing at Kane’s back. “But you’re carrying a cross.”
“It is a comfort to me, and it wards off evil.” Kane pulled on his shirt, hiding the tattoo as well as theoccult symbols that had begun to suggest his confusion more than any power. “Just like the crosses you and your family wear,” Kane said, reflecting that the crosses showed the Crowthorns were not fanatically Puritan.
Samuel seemed frustrated not to have more time to read Kane’s history from his flesh. “There were scars,” he protested.
Kane’s hand strayed towards the mark that his cheek still bore. He left it untouched, wishing that the memory it roused could be ignored too, and was glad when the boy indicated his shoulder. “What was that one?”
“An African tribesman made it with a spear.”
“In Africa?” Samuel’s eyes widened as if they were greedy to take in more of the world. “You were at sea,” he said.
“I was a captain,” Kane admitted.
“A sea captain!” The boy seemed almost breathless with awe. “We are to sail for the New World,” he said. “My father had to sell everything to pay for our passage.”
“Then you should admire him more than me, Samuel.” Kane had heard a hint of disappointment in the boy’s voice. “I have been many kinds of man,” he said, “and most of them do not deserve your respect. Let me try and make amends now. We both have our tasks to perform.”
He gripped the boy’s shoulder to hearten him and then tramped across the glade, where water had begun to bubble in a pot over a fire. “Tell me how I may help, Mistress Crowthorn,” he said.
“Everything is done that must be, Katherine,” Crowthorn told her. “You can best repay us by regaining the strength God means you to enjoy, Master Kane. You will dine with us and become yourself once more.”
“As God wills,” said Kane.
NINE
“H oly Lord, I have sinned times without number, and been guilty of pride and unbelief...”
Apart from the eternal murmur of water and the crackle of the fire, Edward’s voice was the only sound in the glade. Like the rest of the family and Kane, he sat on the cold earth, his hands folded in prayer. Despite the open Bible on his lap his eyes were closed as if, Kane thought, he meant to demonstrate that the entire text was contained within him. No head was bowed lower than Kane’s, and yet he was alert to everything around him: Crowthorn’s satisfaction with his elder son, Katherine’s pride in him, a hint of suppressed resentment on Samuel’s part, a glimpse of red at the edge of Kane’s vision, denoting Meredith’s shawl. A twig snapped in the heart of the fire, but Kane did not look up. He was vigilant for signs of danger – too vigilant to misinterpret any sounds he heard. It was no longer just himself that his fate charged him to keep safe.
“...of failure to find Thy mind in Thy word, of neglect to seek Thee in my daily life...”
There was a great deal more to Edward’s prayer, so that Kane wondered if the austere commitment to Puritanism might conceal or even betray a hint of the young man’s pride in his own Godliness. He heard Samuel shift his position on the ground and observed how Edward stiffened his stance, whether to set an example or withdisapproval. In the course of the prayer dusk gave way to nightfall, thickening the dimness between the trees. At last the silent listeners were able to respond, and Kane’s “Amen” was the loudest of all. “Thank you, Edward,” Crowthorn said. “You have kept our souls on the path to God.”
As Edward inclined his head, a submissive gesture that might equally have taken the thanks as his due, Samuel said “When shall I be allowed to say the prayer, father?”
Crowthorn
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