Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal Read online

  The work and Mary combined were almost enough to keep him from puzzling about where he was and whether the home he remembered was real. Still, when he woke in the night after the dream about Nieuw Amsterdam, he could not shake those thoughts. Maybe if he could find that cave again, he would have his answers. But going back into the woods by himself, in the winter, did not seem like a good idea. Maybe he was better taking Pyke’s advice and going to Nieuw Amsterdam, but he could not see any way to do that before spring either. It made the nights difficult.

  As October slid into November, which then began to edge toward December, events overtook the careful planner. It was a late November evening, the raw, cold type that warns of snow. Hal crawled into his bed and waited for his body heat to warm the bedclothes. The heat in the inn was enough to keep the temperature tolerable on the third floor, but tolerable still meant chilly. Normally, Hal went to sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. That night, the chill in the bed and the thought of how cold the floor would be in the morning kept him awake. Lying there, he heard a board creak in the hallway, then another one outside his door. That brought him fully awake. Slade had recently entrusted him with the job of checking all the doors for the night, which meant that he was usually the last one to go to bed. There should have been no one in the hallway.

  The door to his room creaked a little as it opened, then closed. Hal alternated between wanting to dive under the covers and wanting to know who was in his room. The latter won out, but his staring was fruitless. The room was pitch black; he could not see anything. He sensed, rather than saw, a presence by the bed. That brought him upright with a jerk.

  “Shh, sweetie,” came Mary’s voice out of the darkness when the bed squeaked. “Don’t make any noise.”

  There was a rustle of something by the bed. Then, he felt a draft as she lifted the bed covers. The chill was momentary. She climbed into the bed right next to him. It took a second before he realized with a shock that she was naked. Everywhere, he felt only soft, warm skin. Then, she pulled him over, sliding under him. Her mouth was on his and she was rocking slowly back and forth, urging him along with her. She was quiet, just a few soft moans no louder than the occasional squeak of the bed. Hal stopped thinking at all. A little while later, he lay back, sweaty and totally spent. He felt her slide out of the bed just as quietly as she had gotten in. From the sounds at the bedside, she had dropped her nightclothes there and was putting them back on.

  “Where are you going?” he called, reaching for her.

  “Shh,” she said. “We’ll do it again soon. But I can’t stay. Someone might hear, or come by. Now, shh.” The door creaked again and Hal was alone.

  Mary did come to his room often after that, although never with any advance warning. One snowy afternoon when there were no guests in the dining room, she put together a small picnic basket and led him out to the barn. They burrowed into a nice pile of hay and stayed there for several hours. It was warm enough and, with the snow coming down, devoid of human watchers. What the horses thought did not matter.

  All in all, Hal was pleased with the situation. Dreams of Nieuw Amsterdam gave way to other types of dreams.

  Then, on the fifth of December, Tom Pyke appeared again.

  6

  The Problem with Mary

  HAL HEARD ABOUT Pyke’s reappearance from John Slade, who spent a good part of one morning talking about rumors of a large party of Swedes headed toward Gap. Hal could not understand what Swedes were doing coming to Gap, but he had stopped asking questions about everything he did not understand. There might, one day, be a limit to John’s tolerance of those questions and it was a bad habit anyway. He settled, therefore, for asking only of Pyke’s whereabouts.

  “Who knows where a woodsranger goes when you don’t see him,” John said. “But him, he’ll be here to trade something, probably needs some supplies, too. It’s an early winter this year.”

  “Will he be up to the inn?”

  John shrugged. “Probably. Father said he could come by, although there are few guests this time of year. He’ll come if there’s any chance of trade. Father actually thinks Pyke is a rather decent sort. Came from a good family back when.”

  “What?” Hal asked. “What do you mean, ‘came from a good family’?”

  “I don’t know,” John answered. “Something nasty happened, I guess. I think Father knows, but he doesn’t talk about it.”

  That was all Hal could get out of John. In any case, the pile of logs needed by Nell Slade’s kitchen put an end to any conversation for a while. He hauled them in through the back door and stacked them in the alcove near the big, pot-bellied stove. That stove gave off enough heat that its immediate vicinity felt like summer, despite the freezing weather just past the door. It was enough that Hal pulled off his heavy wool coat to stack the logs. Mary came over while he was doing that and stood close enough that her hand was touching his waist and thigh for most of the time.

  “Please,” Hal said. “I don’t want to drop one of these on my foot, or worse, on yours.”

  She giggled. “Maybe we can drop something else later.”

  “Jesus, Mary. Mrs. Slade is by the sink.”

  “She’s too busy cursing the eyes on the potatoes.”

  That was wishful thinking, to Hal’s mind. The only thing worse than Old Jack’s displeasure was his wife’s tongue when she was annoyed. Hal beat a quick retreat to the barn as soon as the logs were stacked. John would be waiting with instructions to work on a weakened section of roof, work Hal had no idea how to do properly, but that was better than having Mrs. Slade catching him up close with Mary. He shook his head. Later would take care of later.

  John wasn’t in the barn. Pyke was.

  “Hello!” Hal shouted the instant he saw the woodsranger.

  Pyke closed the distance between them with quick steps. Then he delivered a stinging openhanded blow across Hal’s face. “You fool!” It was not a shout, but the force in the words was clear.

  “What?” Hal’s hand went to his mouth. It came back with a smear of blood.

  “Fool! I said. What in the nine circles of hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m working at the inn,” Hal protested. “That’s all I’m doing. I haven’t stolen anything. I haven’t made trouble for you. Why did you hit me?”

  “Why hit you? How else do you train a stupid child?” Pyke’s face was dark with anger; his hand was raised again.

  “Wait. What? What did I do?” Hal was angry, puzzled and afraid of Pyke all at once.

  “What did you do? As if you wouldn’t know.” Pyke spit on the dirt of the barn floor. “Fuckin’ that kitchen wench is what. Are you going to tell me you don’t know what that is in your pants?”

  “Mary, you mean? How do you know about that?”

  “Fool! Everybody knows about that!”

  “What?” The feeling in Hal’s stomach was now close to nausea. “And even if you do know, what is it to you?”

  This time, Pyke hit him with a backhand slap across the other side of the face.

  “Oh my God!” Hal cried. He tasted blood on the other side of his mouth. “You’re going to give me a concussion.”

  “Give you what? What I should give you is my foot up your arse.” For an instant, Pyke looked like he was set to deliver another blow, then he dropped his hand and shrugged. “You’re right,” he said, the heat gone out of his voice, “it should be nothing to me. If you want to ruin whatever life you have, why should I care? It’s not as though you’re my son. I have my deal with the Slades.”

  Whatever angry reply Hal was going to make, the words died in his throat. It was the expression now on Pyke’s face that did that. It was sadness.

  “O—,” Hal strangled on the word ‘okay’ and managed to replace it with, “All right. Can we begin again? Why am I such a fool and why are you so bothered by it?”

  Pyke turned away, so his face was not visible. “All young men are fools. You are no worse than another, I supp
ose. She’s leading you by your cock and you don’t even know it.”

  Hal could feel the heat rise in his face. If Pyke said that everyone knew about Hal and Mary, did that include John? Did it include Nell and Old Jack? “Leading me?”

  Pyke sighed and leaned back against the stall railing. “This is a barn, Hal. There are animals in the barn. They fuck and you get little animals. Is she with child yet? If not, she will be. Then, she’s got what she wants.”

  Hal mouth dropped open. No words came out. Pyke looked at him for a moment.

  “You truly don’t see it,” Pyke said. “Listen to me, Hal. She is going to be eighteen; her indenture will end. Already a little old not to have a husband but, trust me, there is no line forming at Father Maguire’s door. The man barely has a pot to piss in. Her oldest sister is married; they will get the farm, such as it is. What does Mary do? And, here you are. Strong young man, you work hard enough that Old Jack is not displeased with you, and that says something. A child and a marriage, and you to provide. Not bad for the likes of her.”

  “Oh my God.” Hal felt like he needed to sit down. “And how does everybody know?”

  “The girl talks. People listen.”

  “And you think the Slades know? They haven’t said anything, haven’t done anything.”

  “Old Jack and Nell are practical people, Hal. They may figure that if you marry Mary, that will keep both of you working at the inn. That would be good for the Slades. Is that what you want, Hal? What happened to going to Nieuw Amsterdam?”

  It occurred to Hal that he had not been thinking of any of such complications. Had not been thinking at all, really, not beyond flirting with Mary and hoping she would come at night after the long day’s work was done. “Marry her? I’ll have to do that?”

  Pyke fixed him with a long, hard stare. “As opposed to leaving her with a bastard? Let’s call the other what it is.” Pyke was quiet for a moment. “You could. Tom Maguire might want to do something but I doubt he can. She has no brothers. But you can’t stay here like that. The Slades won’t have it, scandal under their roof. Not a chance. You would need to leave this town, I would think. Probably eighty miles from here to Nieuw Amsterdam. I’m sure you could do that much on foot in not too many days, but the weather is bad. You would need money for food and shelter, and more when you get there. Have that?”

  Hal shook his head. He spent as little of his pay as he could, but he had not been able to accumulate much yet.

  “Then your best hope is that she’s not pregnant. That, and you stop taking chances you have no business taking. You think on that.”

  • • •

  Hal thought for a while after Pyke left. Long enough that he sat down to do it, never mind that the barn floor dirtied the seat of his trousers. Was Pyke right? He didn’t know. Didn’t see any way that he could find out either. John was too young. Mary, well he could hardly ask Mary. There was no one else he trusted to give him a good opinion, one that he might literally bet his life on. As the thoughts churned through his head, one remained constant. He had to reach Nieuw Amsterdam. Nieuw Amsterdam was the promised answer to Magicals, the promise of home. It was not as though he completely believed his memories anymore—well, not really, not in the light of day, not with the world around him telling him every day that they were fantasies—but he held tight to the thought of his real home. He still hoped someone could tell him how to go there. Pyke had practically said that someone in Nieuw Amsterdam would know. Anyway, if he did not go, it would be the same as giving up. He was not ready to do that. So, that meant he had to put a stop to his relationship with Mary.

  How was he going to do that? Hal had never had a serious relationship before this. There was no way to end it from a distance. He thought of writing her a note but then realized he did not know if she could read. He was going to have to tell her face to face. That was enough to make him wish the whole affair had never happened. Enough to make him wish the man with the hatchet had split his head that night in the Water Gap. Being dead seemed like an attractive alternative just then. He put his head in his hands and moaned.

  • • •

  Predictably, Mary did not take his announcement well. She was holding a bucket filled with the dirty water that had been used to clean the dishes and utensils. She threw it into Hal’s face. Then, she swung the bucket and hit him across the ear. Nell Slade started screaming at them before the water even hit the floor. Hal had assumed, mistakenly, that because she was also in the kitchen Mary would not cause a scene. Not only was he mistaken in that, Nell seemed to take the view that anything that could upset a woman that much had to be a man’s fault. Most of the screaming was directed at Hal. It was Hal who had to mop the floor, although Nell’s presence prevented any further disturbance of the peace while he did it. Even worse, when that was done, Hal had to go back into the freezing November weather to do his work, soaked to the skin though he was. The only solace, he thought, was that Mary had not had a bucket of scalding water.

  That night, he decided to pull the chest that held his meager possessions in front of the door to his room. The chest might not hold much, but the wood itself was heavy. The precaution was unnecessary. There was no attempt on the door that night.

  If Hal thought that his problems were over the next morning when Mary brought his food to him at the table in the kitchen, he was mistaken again. She dumped it all in his lap. Mrs. Slade yelled at him for being clumsy, the result being that he went to work in the cold with wet pants and no breakfast. How long, Hal wondered, could a woman stay angry?

  As it turned out, a week was insufficient time to end it. Mrs. Slade would not tolerate any further throwing of water or swinging of buckets in her kitchen, but Hal found only an icy silence when he was there. It also seemed that his portions were less. Even a brief visit from Pyke near the end of the week, with a clap on the back and a “Now you’re showing some sense, boy,” was insufficient compensation for the attitude in the kitchen.

  Given the state of affairs at the inn, Hal was eager to run errands for Mrs. Slade into the center of town. A variety of shops crowded the streets that radiated out from the town green. These sold everything that might be needed, from baked goods to freshly butchered meat to broadcloth to harnesses to beaver pelts. Mrs. Slade’s errands, not surprisingly, usually involved items for the kitchen. He made a daily trip to the bakery, very early in the morning, and another one to the butcher. The baker’s wife, her girth conveying a fondness and recommendation for her own goods, took an immediate liking to Hal. She giggled at his outrageous accent and flirted shamelessly, adding a sticky bun to each order without charge. It all made Hal comfortable and that led to a slip. She tallied the order wrong, Hal corrected her and waved off the apology with, “Don’t worry, it’s cool.” He almost gasped as he realized the wording he had used, his fright made worse by the sudden stare from the woman.

  Then she shrieked with glee, saying, “Hell, no, son, it’s not cool, it’s damned cold!” and added another bun while Hal fought to control his face.

  The conversations he heard in town were, indeed, almost entirely about the weather. It was shaping up to be another cold winter, colder than the one before, which had been colder than the one before that. The only break from the weather-related moaning was a derisory exchange one day among a group of men about a farmer—Simmons, Hal thought the name was—who claimed to have had most of his horses stolen by woodsrangers.

  “Woodsrangers!” one of the men snorted. “Not likely anywhere near here. Can’t mind his own livestock, more likely, and needs a scapegoat.”

  Not all were so sure, but the prevailing view was that Farmer Simmons was half-drunk, if not half-blind, and had got what he deserved. Hal, though, thought of Pyke and of who else might be out in those woods. He shuddered, happy to be on the periphery of the group. If horse thieves were close to town, he did not want anything to do with them. He just hoped Pyke wasn’t one of them.

  It was then two weeks before Christmas and as
cold a morning as Hal could remember. The bright sun outside seemed incapable of warming any surface. The snow from the previous day had yet to be worn off most of the streets in Gap. It crunched when it was stepped on. The fireplaces of the inn wanted stacks of cut logs, but Hal’s mittens proved useless in preventing his fingers from freezing to icicles when he hauled the wood in. Those fireplaces did keep the cold at bay, although it was a close battle, especially on the top floor or anywhere an unshod foot was put to the floor. The cold curtailed Hal’s work outside. While work had to be done at the stable and some siding had to be patched, it could not be done in that weather. It was enough that he had seen to the firewood. Thanks to that, each fireplace roared with flame and was stocked with wood to keep it that way, the cost being frost-reddened ears and nose and tingly fingers.

  When he was done hauling wood, he warmed himself by the fire in the big front room in the company of a silent John Slade. He stole intermittent looks at the boy, trying to discern his mood. They usually got on well, as well, perhaps, as a hired hand could with the owner’s son. In many ways, John could have been Hal’s younger brother; they were only two years apart. While John liked to make fun of Hal’s memory “lapses,” he also seemed in awe of someone who had lived beyond the Delaware, John never having been more than a few miles from the inn. Whatever had gone on between Hal and Mary, a thing now rumored openly around the inn, that was also the sort of thing that fired the imagination of a sixteen-year-old boy. Most of the time, John did act as if Hal were his older brother, but there were other times that John became conscious of his position as the future owner of the English Inn. When those moods were on him, Hal’s casual banter would be met with icy formality. This particular morning had started out to be one of those formal mood days, possibly because Old Jack was out and John felt the burden of all of the responsibilities of running the inn. It made being around John a little uncomfortable, but Hal chose to warm himself in the front room anyway. If he went back into the kitchen, he would have to deal with Mary. The kitchen might well be the warmest place in the inn, but the ice Mary generated made it feel as cold as the outdoors.