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| 1705 Gardner and Watson home lots at Pettaquamscutt |
It’s been a while
since I last added a post to my Rebel Puritan blog. However, my neglect has
been for the right reason: I’m deep into the manuscript for The Golden Shore, the final book in my trilogy
about Herodias Long and her family. Currently, I’m recreating Pettaquamscutt, the
town where Herodias and her children settled on the west side of Narragansett
Bay. Pettaquamscutt was burned out in King Philip’s War, a sad event which will
be featured in Golden Shore.
Anyhow, I’m back here
as part of a fun historical fiction blog hop, and here’s my thank you to Paula Lofting for tagging me.
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| Rebel Puritan and The Reputed Wife |
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We participants
are introducing readers to our main characters. I’ve written before about
Herodias, in connection with her heroic protest against abuse of the Quakers by
Puritans, as depicted in The Reputed Wife,
and also in her struggle for personal freedom in Rebel Puritan. Now that I’m writing about Herod’s efforts to ensure
her family’s bright future in The Golden
Shore, it’s time to bring readers up to date.
1)
What is the name of your character? Is he/she fictional or a historic person?
Herodias (Long) Hicks Gardner Porter really did scandalize her contemporaries
with her outspoken ways, and also mothered a dynasty. I am proud to be her 8th-great
granddaughter.
2) When and where is the story set?
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| King Charles II |
Seventeenth- century Rhode Island battled for existence for twenty-five years
before King Charles II guaranteed its existence with a royal charter in 1663,
and commanded the Puritan colonies to stop interfering with Rhode Island’s
affairs. Rhode Islanders’ freedom of conscience was also included in the royal charter.
Herodias was whipped and Mary (Barrett) Dyer was hanged in Massachusetts for civil disobedience in defense of
religious freedom. With the new charter, Puritan colonies could no longer punish
Rhode Islanders for their religious beliefs.
However,
the charter did not put an end to Rhode Islanders’ struggles. In the 1660s, New
Englanders are expanding into Indian lands, and tension between Englishmen and
Native Americans is building toward open warfare in 1675.
3) What should we know about Herodias?
Herod has rebuilt her life after youthful impulse led her to marry the abusive
John Hicks in Rebel Puritan. In The
Reputed Wife, Herod reconciled with her oldest daughter, Hannah (Hicks)
Haviland, and has borne seven children with George Gardner. Herod walked sixty
miles to Boston to protest the abuse of Quakers, only to be whipped and jailed
herself. With that abuse ended by royal mandate, and Rhode Island’s future ensured,
Herod’s life should be equally secure.
4) What is the main conflict? What messes up her life?
Herod is still hiding a secret – twenty years ago, she refused to wed George Gardner
because she feared being bound to him. When the opportunity arises to turn her
children’s future golden, but George Gardner holds back, what should Herod do?
5) What is the personal goal of the character?
Ever
since Herod’s father died when she was twelve and she was unwillingly sent to
London by her mother, Herod has craved security. And, though most seventeenth-century
women were essentially their husbands’ property, Herod seeks to control her own
life.
6) Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?
The title is The Golden Shore, and you can read the first chapter below.
7) When can we expect the book to be published?
I wish that I could say this year, but the scope of Golden Shore requires extra time. It will be printed in 2015.
Now
it’s Peni Renner’s turn. Her post will be up in a few days, and you can find it
at:
And
finally, here’s the first chapter of The Golden Shore. Let’s see how much it
changes in the print version!
A
SCANDALOUS LIFE: THE GOLDEN SHORE
Chapter
1
June
1, 1660
HERODIAS GARDNER’S SHOULDERS straightened,
and she turned toward the gallows where Mary Dyer’s trussed corpse swayed in
the breeze coming off Massachusetts Bay. To get to the docks, where Herod and
John Porter could board the first ship headed south from Boston’s Harbor, they
had to pass by her dear friend’s body.
John warned, “Don’t look,” but Herod wanted to
prepare herself. Not only must she cross under the gallows’ shadow; she also
had to ride by the governor who had condemned Mary to die.
The
executioner had tied Mary’s gray skirt around her ankles before turning her off
the ladder. It wouldn’t do to have the woman exposed as she was dying, would
it? But Mary’s garment had come loose and was billowing in the wind.
“We must
pass by ….” John nodded toward the gallows. “This horse is too tired to make a
fuss, but Endecott is still there. Pull up your hood, keep your eyes on me, and
say nothing. If he remembers you, all hell will be loosed. Hang on.”
Herod tugged
her cloak’s hood over her head, tilting it to hide her face, and then laced her
fingers in the horse’s straw-colored mane. Her heart was racing despite her
exhaustion. Two days ago she and John had set out from Newport, Rhode Island,
headed for Boston as quickly as the inexperienced Herod could ride. They had
hoped to talk Mary into accepting Puritan clemency. Instead, slowed by their
lamed horse, they reached Boston’s gate just in time to watch Mary hang.
John
clicked his tongue at the horse and tugged it through the dispersing crowd. Herod
thought, ‘John must be as sore-footed as this beast. He walked most of the way
from Dedham.’ As they neared the gallows, Herod kept her gaze on John’s back.
His sleeves and green woolen doublet were powdered with dust, and so was his
gray-streaked hair.
Then,
twenty feet to their right, a man called, “John Porter, is that you?”
Herod’s
neck creaked as her unwilling head swiveled. There, clad in somber black, were
three men who still haunted her dreams.
Only two
years ago, Herod put her newborn daughter in a sling and walked fifty
wilderness miles from her home in Newport to Weymouth, Massachusetts. She and her
first husband, John Hicks, had dwelt there for a time, and perhaps some of
Herod’s old friends still did. A pair of Quaker women was sentenced to be
whipped in Boston, and maybe Herod could persuade her friends to help stop it.
Herod made
an impromptu protest in the marketplace, but was then arrested by the militia and
hauled to the governor’s home in Boston. Then, stripped to her waist, Herod was
lashed in Boston’s public square. Now the men responsible for her ordeal stood
just a few feet before her.
Reverend
John Wilson. After she was flogged, that black-cloaked hypocrite had come to
Herod’s dank cell. Under the guise of saving her soul, the preacher sought
words from Herod that he could twist into heresy, or witchery done by Mary Dyer.
A half hour ago Herod had watched him endorse Mary’s hanging.
The tall
man with a plumed hat at Wilson’s side was General Humphrey Atherton. The
militia commander’s eyes were as hard as his polished iron breastplate. Atherton
had tried to tear her infant from Herod’s arms at the whipping post. Certain
that she’d never see Rebecca again, Herod had desperately clung to her. When
the executioner turned his lash on Herod, only her arms protected Rebecca from
the three-corded whip. Herod still lived that battle in her dreams.
The third
man, stout and black-cloaked, was the one who had called to Porter. Governor
John Endecott’s puffy cheeks were flushed with triumph. He said, “Mr. Porter,
what brings you to Boston?”
The white
tuft of hair on the governor’s chin twitched as he talked. Herod couldn’t tear
her eyes away, thinking, ‘Papa’s old billy goat, out at pasture with the sheep.
His beard waggled just like that when he cudded.’
John
answered Endecott’s question, “Business with Mr. Hull.” He led Herod’s mount forward,
but Atherton caught the animal’s bridle. “You needn’t hurry. The excitement is
past.” The general’s full lips twitched at the corners.
Herod’s
bleak mood blazed into fury. How dare Atherton find amusement in Mary’s tragic
death? John gripped her ankle again, but his warning wasn’t necessary. She choked
down her wrath and her eyes dropped to the horse’s neck.
John said
to Atherton, “I was supposed to meet Hull an hour ago, but was delayed by this
sad affair.”
“Sad?”
scoffed Wilson. “Satan’s hand is snatched away from our Godly people, and you
call it sad?”
“It’s sad
to murder a fine woman guilty only of defying your laws, Reverend Wilson.”
Endecott coughed,
and Herod stole another look at him. His mouth worked silently, and then he
asked John, “After you see Mr. Hull, then you return to Rhode Island?”
“Aye.”
The elderly
governor jerked his head toward the masked body hanging from the gallows. “Know
you who that is?”
“William
Dyer’s wife,” John said, each word emphasized coldly. “Do you not fear his
response? Mr. Dyer is not without influence in Parliament, and ’twas they who
appointed him to act against the Dutch. Sir Henry Vane was friends with the
Dyers, and he won’t look kindly on your foul act either.”
“Vane is
out of favor in Parliament,” scoffed Endecott. “Dyer knew well what would
happen if he didn’t keep his wife at home. We even reprieved the woman last
year. She took her own life today, surely as if she hurled herself on
Atherton’s sword.”
Endecott’s pouched
eyes narrowed. “Carry a warning to your Quakers to keep themselves and their
witchery in Rhode Island. This is
what heretics face in Massachusetts.”
John passed
the horse’s reins from one hand to the other. His voice was silky when he asked
Endecott, “What of the king?”
“Charles?
He’s not king yet. It will never come to pass.”
“The
royalists have risen, and they’ve invited Charles back onto the throne,” John
told the governor. “It’s naught but a matter of time now. Your Puritan brethren
sliced off his father’s head.” John pointed at the gallows. “Will Charles look
kindly on such handiwork when he rules you?” Endecott’s mouth opened, but John
told him, “What if our new king sends a royal commissioner to oversee your
affairs?”
“Bear the
governor’s warning to the Quakers, Porter, and mind that we don’t search your
baggage for their pamphlets,” Atherton sneered. “Is your woman one of them?”
Herod’s head
jerked up, but Atherton and Governor Endecott were looking at John, not her.
“She’s got naught to do with Quakers, and neither do I, gentlemen,” John said,
the cold edge back in his voice again. “I’m off to see Hull. Portsmouth’s court
is in a few days, and if I hope to be there I must sail on the first ship.”
Endecott was speaking, but Herod was
too distracted by a barely-glimpsed movement to hear. There, just behind
Endecott’s shoulder, Mary’s bound feet dangled. The sea breeze lifted her skirt
again, flaring out like laundry on a line. Herod’s mount snorted and flinched
away as Mary’s feet began to move, her toes rotating left, then right, then
left again.
For just a
moment, Herod’s hope flared too. Somehow her friend had survived! Then she
realized that it was no more than the wind, turning Mary like a weathercock.
A man
passing by commented to Endecott, “She hangs like a flag.”
“Indeed,”
sneered Atherton. “A flag to warn all Quakers.”
Somehow
Herod clenched her teeth on her furious reply. Atherton peered more closely at
her, and said to John, “Are you bringing doxies with you now? I haven’t known
you to seek them here, but –”
John’s eyes
narrowed. “Have a care, General. This is my wife’s servant, come to visit her
sister. She’s a widow, and a little slow.”
“Miz Porter
sent me,” Herod agreed, but she dared not look at Endecott. What would he make
of this flimsy story?
“Kind of
you to hire such an unfortunate,” Endecott told John. Then to Herod he said,
“Good day,” in dismissal. She glanced at him under the edge of her hood.
Judging by his dark ringed eyes, the governor was feeling every one of his
sixty-odd years. ‘I hope the plague takes you,’ Herod thought viciously, picturing
the gruesome death suffered by her father when she was twelve. ‘I hope you
rot!’
She would
have cheered to see the governor stagger and fall at her horse’s hooves, but
Endecott merely turned back to the passing crowd, assessing their approval of
the morning’s work.
John jerked
the tired horse forward, and Herod clenched her teeth on bitter words as she
ducked her head to stare at her sunburned hands. Even so, she could see Mary’s
corpse out of the corner of her eye as they passed.
Mary’s face
was still shrouded by Rev. John Wilson’s white neckcloth. As they rode by, the wind turned Mary’s body as though her eyes
were fixed on Herod. Her scalp prickled as Herod murmured, “Goodbye, Mary. I
pray you are with God now.”
Safely
through the gate into Boston, John let the horse stumble to a halt in the
grassy common. The animal eagerly dropped its head to graze. John wiped his
sweaty face on his sleeve, then asked Herod, “Are you well? Can you walk?”
She nodded.
“How far to Mr. Hull’s home?”
“Fifteen
minutes at the most, but I want to let this nag rest while the streets clear. I
hope the soreness will pass before I take it to the hostler, because they will
charge me more if I bring it in lame.”
Herod swung
down from the saddle with John’s help, groaning as her trembling legs
protested. She dared not speak of Mary yet, so she said, “Those men – I scarce
believe we spoke to them. I thought that they would send us straight to jail.”
“They
didn’t recognize you, and a good thing that was. Those are the blackest-hearted
bastards I’ve ever known. Wilson and Endecott claim they are doing God’s work –
Gah! As for that arrogant popinjay Atherton, he is naught but Endecott’s
minion.
“Remember
when I took you up the Pettaquamscutt River?” John’s abrupt change of topic
drew a sigh of relief from Herod, and she nodded. “My partners and I own the
west side. The east bank is a lovely neck of land, and we sought to buy it from
Kachanaquant –”
“Kachana … who?”
“Bless
you.” Herod eyed John in bewilderment. He winked, and said, “Kach-oo. Bless
you.” Despite the grim events of the day and Herod’s weariness, she chuckled.
“Kachanaquant.
He is one of the chief Narragansett sachems, but he’s not the leader that his
grandfather Canonicus was. Humphrey Atherton spirited Kachanaquant up to Boston,
got him falling-down drunk, then sweet-talked him into ‘giving’ Atherton the
whole neck in trade for baubles and another keg of liquor. Atherton and his
friends are dividing the land, and calling it Boston Neck, and Massachusetts is
using it to lay claim to the whole Narragansett region. Connecticut claims
everything from their line to Narragansett Bay, including the land Hull and I
bought two years back.
“My
partners and I are buying land from
Kachanaquant fair and square, and I need John Hull’s signature on the deed, but
I also came here up to consult with him. If anyone has influence with the
Puritans, it’s John Hull.
“That’s Rhode Island’s land, Herod, chartered to
us near twenty years ago by the king! I don’t know how we’ll ever get those
claims settled, and Parliament refuses to help. All I can tell you is that if
Humphrey Atherton ever comes on my land, I’ll set my dogs on him.”
“Can I
watch?” Herod asked. “That man helped the hangman whip me two years ago, and he
tried to take Rebecca from me. I bit him.”
“You bit Atherton?”
John grinned broadly for the first time that day.
“To the
bone. Can I watch your dogs bite him too?”
“I changed
my mind,” John laughed, pleased that Herod’s thoughts were diverted away from
Mary’s hanging. “No dogs. Instead, I’ll catch him in an ambuscade and you can
take the first shot. Even if we only see him skulking on the other side of the
river on his own land, Humphrey Atherton is a doomed man.”
“I just
pray that Endecott is with him,” Herod said grimly.
John left
Herod at a dockside inn to dine and rest. He told her he would go to the docks
to see about a ship, then meet with John Hull. “My partners and I are buying
the rest of that river valley I showed you, and much more land. I need presents
for Kachanaquant and his wives, and money from Hull.”
“How much?”
Herod knew that John wouldn’t mind her asking. He often told the Gardners of
his cheap Narragansett land, inviting George to buy some at a bargain price.
When John brought her home to Newport after her whipping two years ago, he
detoured to show her a beautiful riverbank and ridgeline he had bought for the
price of a milking cow. Ever since, Herod had begged George to buy acreage; if
not for himself, then for his sons. Maybe this time George would agree.
“The rest
of the western riverbank, and much more. Bottom land, miles of prime pasture,
oaks fit enough for a ship’s keel and pines tall enough for her mast. Twelve
square miles for one hundred thirty-five pounds.”
When John
left Herod at the inn, she was wondering how she could persuade George to buy
that land. Then the inn’s serving girl placed a steaming bowl of chicken stew with
Indian meal dumplings before her, and Herod forgot everything but her hunger.
*****
It wasn’t
long before John returned. He hustled her out through the inn’s door, telling Herod
that he’d sped through his business with John Hull. “A ship came from England
two days past, and is bound for ports south of Boston this afternoon. The captain
has room to spare since he left most of his passengers here.”
John had
already paid for beds in recently vacated cabins, and Herod promised him a
firkin of goat cheese in return. He thanked her, adding, “We’re in luck! I’d
been hoping to be back in Portsmouth for town meeting a few days hence. If the
wind stays fair, I’ll get there with a day to spare. We will dock at Newport
first, but it’s an easy walk to Portsmouth.”
Herod stood
at the rail beside John to watch Boston’s docks and warehouses recede. Last
time she’d done this was two years ago, with John Porter at her side that time as well. However, Rebecca
had been in Herod’s arms, and twelve-year old Mary Stanton was on her other
side. The poor girl only went to Massachusetts to help Herod carry her baby
from Newport, but they were both whipped as Quakers. Herod reached up to rub a
knotted scar on her collarbone – a reminder of the three-corded lash the
Puritans used to whip Quakers.
John was
talking with a well-dressed passenger, and exclaimed his delight when the man said
he’d just come from London. Herod listened to their conversation, too weary to contribute.
She learned
that Prince Charles had agreed to return to England from exile in the
Netherlands, and there would soon be a king on the British throne again. That
news didn’t excite Herod as much as it did John. He turned to say, “Herod, soon
we Rhode Islanders will have a friend in charge, not the stiff-necked Puritans
in Parliament.”
“Parliament
demands a stronger hand for letting the prince return. Charles may not have
much of a say,” replied the man in the expensive leather doublet. It might be
hot inland, but the ocean winds were still cool, and Herod clutched her own
cloak to her for warmth, envying that man his warm clothing.
John began
to reply, and Herod touched his arm. “I’m tired, John. I’m going to lie down.”
*****
After two
days on horseback, fraught with anxiety and sleeping poorly in inns, Herod
thought she would fall asleep in moments. No other woman shared her cabin, so
why did Herod lie awake, even though her eyes were aflame for lack of sleep.
Mary. Mary
kept returning to Herod’s churning mind, no matter how hard she tried not to
think of her friend. She hadn’t spoken with Mary since last fall. What drove
her friend to return to Boston, knowing she would hang? What had gone through
Mary’s mind before her climb to the gallows?
Herod thought
back to their last conversation. Mary said she would lay down her life to shame
the Puritans into changing their own laws. When confronted with the prospect of
hanging a woman, maybe the general court would vote down the bloody laws. If
not, when the Quakers caught Parliament – or the new king’s eye – with news of
a peaceful woman’s hanging, they might step in.
Lastly, the
Puritans were damned by their evil acts, and only repudiating their evil laws
would save them. Mary told Herod, “My life is torture
so long as I hear those damned souls crying out. Jesus redeemed the damned by
his death, my Friends sacrifice themselves for our Lord, and so will I.”
“Perhaps they deserve it,” is what Herod shouted at Mary.
“Those people laughed and lusted when I was whipped. They should burn!”
The same rush of frustration which had gripped Herod then caused her heart to
pound now. Why shouldn’t the Puritans be damned for hanging Mary, whipping old
women, and scarring Herod’s naked back with their lash?
Anger
threatened the mental dam Herod had placed around her grief, so she commanded
herself, ‘Stop! Think of something else.’ Boston receding in the ship’s wake,
finally vanishing behind Dorchester hill. Escaping recognition by Endecott and
the sharp-eyed Atherton. The jail where she had lain with her tiny daughter for
two weeks no longer threatened, and she no longer risked banishment. Now Herod
had left behind the gallows where –
Mary’s
body. Alarm prickled the hairs on Herod’s arms and nape. Murderers and pirates’
bodies would be left to hang for years as a warning, but John assured her that
Mary would be buried by her friends that night. Herod pictured somber-clad men
climbing a torch-lit ladder to cut the rope, tenderly handing Mary down,
swathing her in a sheet before laying her in a secret resting place. And what then?
Herod
remembered Mary’s last words to her: “I will go to eternal joy with God upon that day.”
‘Dear Mary, I pray you were right,’ Herod thought,
and then she finally wept.
I decided to write my own. In 2011, I published Rebel Puritan, outlining the struggle
between conservative Puritans and Anne Hutchinson’s liberal outcasts who settled
in Rhode Island, as witnessed by my most notorious ancestor, Herodias Long.
Poor Herodias had her own struggle, discovering that it is far easier to marry
an abusive man in a patriarchal society than it is to be separated from him. 
