Read Online Cape Cod by William Martin - Free Book Online

tween-decks. Day and night, the air echoed with the sounds of farting and vomiting and snoring and pissing and coughing, all things that kept a man in this world, no different from the animals. But seldom did the sounds of love break through. To Jack Hilyard, a man was never closer to God than when his hips were joined to his wife’s. The sounds of love should have been as the sounds of morning prayer. But even the Hilyards kept their passion quiet.
    “I did not ask thee for a cushion,” said Anne. “I got a pallet.”
    “You distinctly said, ‘Push me a cushion.’ ”
    “Pray pardon but I did not. And why didst thou wake me?”
    “Thou woke me and asked for a cushion.”
    Kate’s body was shaking with laughter, which felt so good to Jack that he had to move once more.
    “Where on this godforsaken ship at the edge of this godforsaken wilderness would I expect thee to find a cushion?”
    “Right here,” whispered Kate. She rolled her hips. And Jack responded, and Simeon and Anne Bigelow continued to argue. And Jack and Kate moved with each other. And Jack tried to hold his consummation but could not. And Kate tried to hold her cry but could not. And Kate turned her head to her pillow to muffle the noise. And the Bigelows fell silent at the sound. But Jack did not notice, and neither did Kate, because for a few seconds, they took each other to another place, away from the cold and smells, the salt food and sad prayers, the fading hopes and winter-killed spirits.
    Then the cry that Kate stifled became a cough. She sucked it in and tried to hold it, but it shook her body and reddened her face and finally burst out of her. Jack felt it rack in his own chest. He rolled off of her and held her until the spasm ended.
    She wiped her watering eyes with the back of her hand. “ ’Tis no worse than what anyone else has. But what we just done… there’s none who has better.”
    He tenderly pulled her shift over her breasts and stroked her stringy hair. “I’m goin’ to build thee and the lad a proper house, darlin’.”
    “A shelter’ll do, Jack. Then build thyself a whaleboat and build us a future on the backs of them big black monsters out in the bay.”
    “These Saints ain’t whalemen. If they decides to settle where there be no whales, I’ll break away and expect thee to stand by me.”
    “I’ll brook nuffin’ foolhardy, Jack. I told thee that the day of the signin’. But a man of courage, who does what he has to, I’ll take him to me bed whenever he asks.”
    “Thou gives me a strong spine, me darlin’. And a strong son.” Jack looked at the boy, who was sitting up, staring straight at them, eyes wide and curious. When Jack found his voice, he said, “Run along, lad. See what the weather bring for the exploration.”
    The boy looked once more at his mother’s dishevelment, pulled on his breeches, and went out.
    “How much did he see?” asked Kate.
    “Don’t matter. Learnin’ ‘bout the world, he is. And he knows why we come here. There’ll be no fo’c’sles or fishmongerin’ for him. Not here. Not in America.”
    “Excuse me.” Simeon Bigelow poked his head over the canvas, and with a small smile he said, “Wouldst thou have a cushion we could borrow?”
    Kate laughed and began to cough. “More cushions and less cold would do us all some good.”

iv.
    But for the explorers, the day brought only more cold. The shallop, under sail, pounded south through the icy spray. Jack Hilyard’s cloak froze like a board on his back. Myles Standish’s helmet and chest plate had an ice glaze that made him look like a sugar man in the window of a London bakeshop. Bradford, John Carver, Stephen Hopkins, Simeon Bigelow, and the others hunkered down while the waves broke over the bow of the shallop and sent up a mist that rimed their hats, hair, and sword hilts.
    Mates John Clarke and Robert Coppin were in command, as Jones had chosen to remain on the ship and care for his cough. Ezra Bigelow had