Chapter Six

DILLARD BEACH MYSTERY UPDATE

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Dillard, September 30, 1678

It was just under a week before the two friends met again, this time at Rebekah’s cottage. The air in the small home was filled with the aroma of spices and fried pork that promised a tasty feast. True to his word, John Rand brought the oysters he had gathered that morning.
“A beautiful harvest got within this very hour,” he declared proudly.
He raised the net bag high so she could see several dozen dark grey shells each covered with irregular bumps. “Some may call them ugly, but I think each a thing of beauty. I only need a spot for my shucking the oysters and they will be ready for your stewpot.”
Rebekah cleared a small space on the sideboard. “Will this do?”
John nodded. ”I am truly eager to share my catch with you, Mistress. Others have told me of your talents with a skillet and pot.”
“I do not know of what you speak.” Rebekah hesitated, smiling. “Who tells such a tale?”
“They say you know the hidden secrets of the garden and your table is not to be outdone. I have kept myself from eating any morsel since last eve, so as not to clutter my mouth.”
Rebekah laughed out loud. “Clutter your mouth?” she repeated.
John blushed. “Is it not true? Are you not the one with special magical powers over stews and roasts?”
“I think they who tell such stories boast too much.” She looked at the net filled with oysters. “Do you have everything you need?”
“I carry my own tool, miss. Should only take a moment or two to have the shells opened.” He turned to the side board and began to work.
Rebekah had cleared the great room and set the table-board on trestles covered with her finest board cloth, a long piece of linen her mother had woven years before. She had been saving it for a special occasion and could think of none more special than this first sharing with John Rand.
She studied her preparations: A large trencher in the center of the table sat waiting next to a full pitcher of small beer and two small wooden cups. Two wooden spoons and a short stack of linen napkins completed the setting. She moved a long wooden bench and set a small stool next to it on the fire side of the table-board. It promised to be a cool night and she wished John to stay warm.
She went back to the hearth and was just giving the steaming broth a turn when John suddenly exclaimed. “Zounds! It cannot be real.”
Rebekah turned to discover John staring down at the sideboard.
“Come close, Rebekah. Ye will not believe your eyes.”
He pointed the tip of his shucking knife at one of the opened oyster shells.
The inside of the shell was luminescent in the hearth light with a surface that shimmered with iridescent tones of coral and green. And sitting in the center of the shell was a large white pearl.
“What is it I am looking at, John?”
“It is a wondrous pearl. One of the largest my eyes have ever gazed upon.” With one flick of his knife he cut through the thin muscle holding the pearl in place, picked it up and turned towards Rebekah. “Open your hand.” She did so and he dropped the pearl into the center of her curled fingers. She stood, staring down at the pearl, a look of wonder on her face.
“I think it beautiful. Have you ever seen such a thing before?”
“Once or twice. But this is by far the biggest I have ever taken from an oyster.”
“How does it happen? How does such a thing find the way inside the shell?” she asked.
“What I know to be true is what the other lads tell me. It starts with a bit of sand that has some way got inside. The oyster does not like the grit and covers the sand with juices to make it smooth. After many months, it has grown in size and becomes the pearl you see here. That is all I know.” He stared down at the pearl. “Keep it. It is yours to hold dear.”
“Is it valuable?”
“I do not know. Some make them into baubles for wearing. As this pearl is such a mighty size, Bekah, it might be worth the trade of a bushel of cornmeal if you took it to market.”
She held the pearl fast in her hand. “You use my name in a manner most familiar.”
“You don’t like it?” he asked.
“I do not mind it, sir. But as for trading the pearl for a bushel? I shall do no such thing. A pearl is too fair a jewel to be bartered away so easily, and as it is a gift from you, I shall treasure it and keep it close.”
“Then I am content.” He moved closer and reached out as if to touch her arm, but she took a step away. Surprised, he filled the awkward silence with a question. “The oysters are ready for the pot. Is there any more to be done before we sup?”
“You can break the loaf if you like and pour yourself a brew, while I see to the rest.”
He pulled the bench further out from the table and sat down. As he slowly sipped at his beer, he looked about the cottage.
“Tell me, what are all these weeds you have hanging from the rafters?”
Rebekah turned from the fire and studied her companion. He sat tall on the bench, his back straight as a ramrod. She could see he had made an effort to wear a clean neckcloth under his leather frock, but his trousers were stained with the day’s work and the soles of his thick boots were badly worn. They had surely seen better days. Still, she was amused at his effort to impress.
“These weeds as you call them, are not weeds at all. They are my harvest of medicinal herbs from the garden and the nearby woods and they are, for me, as your nets are for you. They serve my purpose in the work I do.”
“And what work is that?”
“I work with simple medicines to heal those in pain.”
“Do you work with magic? I hear whisperings.”
“That is foolish talk, sir. Do not believe all that you hear from the gossips about the village. There is no magic in what I do. I use simple ingredients that I grow in my garden or that anyone, including you, can purchase from the apothecary in the village.”
“Do you fix broken bones as well as bruises?”
“My medicines are best for bruises, cuts and swollen fingers. Although I have reset an arm or two. Are you in need of a cure?”
He raised his left hand and gave her a grin. “I’m always in need of a cure. I caught my hand on the rough side of a gunnel just this morning.”
She crossed the room and stood near the one window. “Come closer, so I can see more clearly.” Reluctantly he showed her his hand.
As soon as she touched it, he pulled away.
“Do not be afeared, John. I have a gentle enough touch.”
She examined the wound closely. “You should not be shucking oysters with a hand in this condition. I have an ointment made from St. John’s Wort that will be of some use provided you follow my instructions.”
She looked at him closely. “Will you do so? Or are my words a waste of breath?”
“Heal my hand and I will gladly follow your wise words,” he countered.
“I will hold you to that promise, sir. Now, if you would, stir the stew a bit before it burns while I fetch some ointment and cloths to bind your hand.”
John did as he was told. Steam rose from the kettle as he turned the wooden ladle and stirred the stew.
Over the next few hours, the two friends managed a hearty meal between them and promised to join again in a few days. She, to manage the care of his hand and he, to bring a fresh catch as the makings of a fish dinner.
“I wrap the fish in pastry and bake it as if it were a loaf.” She smiled broadly. “The like of it, I wager, you have never enjoyed.”
“Certain, I am, it will please me well, as does everything about ye, Bekah.” He reached out and gently touched her hand.
Neither spoke in the awkward moments that followed. Rand finally broke the silence.
“There is something I must ask you Bekah, would you be minding if I should kiss you?”
Startled, but not surprised at his request, Rebekah smiled. “I would not run away from it.”
“I take your answer to be yes?”
She nodded slowly. And pulled his face towards her own. “Here is my answer.” She leaned in and let her mouth softly brush his cheek, his chin and finally his lips.
She enjoyed the moment. She had to admit this to herself when later, alone under her bed covers, tucked deep in the corner shadows of the cottage, Rebekah’s mind replayed the evening and again she savored the memory of his kiss. It was not the gesture itself she savored, but the unexpected wave of feeling that had overwhelmed her so that she nearly lost her footing.