Free Love's Pursuit by Siri Mitchell Page B

you people hope to do here?”
    Father answered as if he were asked such questions every day. “Live as God commanded.”
    “Aye. ’Tis that which I’ve been told over and over and over again.
    But to what end?”
    “To make here a new Zion. To live as a City on a Hill to which all may come and know of God’s great love.”
    “Even the savage?”
    “Certainly the savage.”
    “Even though he skulks in the wood and wishes you harm?”
    “ ’Tis expected when a man has not had his heart renewed. He is less than he might be. As are all of us. But he is a man. Like you. Like me. He wants only a reformed heart.”
    “And then what?”
    “And then what . . . what?”
    “And then what would he do? Once his heart is reformed?”
    “Live in harmony with his fellow man. Leave behind his heathen ways. He would do what we all must: work for the glory of God.” Father said it as a pronouncement. A conclusion to a matter, and it was taken as such. At least by me. And Mother and Mary and Nathaniel.
    But the captain would not let the matter expire. “Has there been much success? In converting the savage?”
    “Some.”
    “Perhaps more would present themselves if there were some merriment. Some laughter in this City on a Hill.”
    “Small is the gate and narrow is the path, Captain.” Though Mother’s words were pointed, she said them with a smile.
    “Aye, Goody Phillips. ’Tis well known, that. But I must say that your City on a Hill will find itself bereft of citizens if there is no happiness, if no gaiety can be had within its walls.”
    “There is a time for laughter—”
    “Aye. After all the work is done and all the labor finished. In the moment between wakefulness and sleep once one is abed. ’Tis well and good to be about work and to do it earnestly, but is it not said that the master himself took a rest from His labors? Even He feasted.”
    “Aye, He feasted, but it was as He was about His business, Captain. ’Twas always holy work that He was about. And we have our feast days. And corn huskings and stump pullings.”
    The captain threw up his hands. Pulled his pipe from a pocket. Then he rose and walked to the door. “I surrender. Even your merrymaking is couched in work. You have worn me out with all the talk of your labors. Farewell. Work well. For I am certain you will do nothing else this night!”
    He probably never heard it, poor man, over the noisome rains, but we burst into laughter—all of us, Father included—once the captain had taken himself outside to smoke his pipe.
    The next morning after breakfast, Father and Nathaniel went to Thomas Smyth to see about some tools. Mary and I began on the morning’s tasks. As I was kneading dough, the door flew open and Nathaniel came in at a run. “Savages! The savages have come!” He dove underneath our bed, pulled out the drum, and disappeared through the door before we could react.
    He must have started drumming as he ran, for that ominous, imperative beat was heard scant seconds later.
    “To the garrison house!” Mother swept up the child with one hand and grabbed Mary’s arm with the other.
    “But the—”
    “To Wright’s hill. Now!”
    But the fires and the mending and the dough! And what about a blanket for the babe and food for the rest of us? And the Bible and . . . and the captain’s pipe? I could not save everything from the savages, but I could take one thing. I grabbed the pipe from the mantel, concealed it within my skirts and then ran out the door.
    Mother and Mary had already taken to the road along with the portion of the town that was to rally at Wright’s hill. I raced to catch up with them. And then, together, we sped up the hill, passing those less agile or more aged. The door to the Wrights’ was already open by the time we reached it. Several others had gained that fortress before us, but the rest were behind us. We were thrust through a small sitting room and into the kitchen and we did not stop until we reached the