Chapter 2: Discord

The iron grip of the cold winter kept everybody locked in their homes and gave Jonathan enough time to heal. He attended Sunday services on his own two feet albeit helped by his trusted crutch, and after a few weeks he settled in his new quarters above the armoury. He saw Bridget a few times when she looked in on him and one last time when she took off the birch bark, but he never saw Molly O’Shea from up close.

Over the next months, until the cold weather broke, Jonathan busied himself looking after the weapons in the armoury, but also appointing his rooms with household goods. His uncle gifted Jonathan some useful furniture to furnish his quarters and the indenture papers of the girl Nelly. That came as a surprise to Jonathan, but he sensed that the girl was happy about the change. She kept his clothes clean, swept the floors and cooked meals for him. In turn, he let her eat with him and gave her a small room of her own that had a sturdy door with a hasp on the inside.

He also began to look around Taunton and the county for a suitable bride. In turn, merchants and yeoman farmers saw him as a worthwhile prey in the hunt for a son-in-law. Thus, he rarely ate his Sunday dinner in his quarters, but usually had invitations.

He also needed to purchase a horse for himself. Horse traders rarely attended the Taunton market and therefore, Jonathan had to ask around among the breeders. Not many of these turned out mounts, for most farmers needed draft horses. One exception was Michael Crawforde, and thus it came that Jonathan approached that man after church.

“Good day, Brother Crawforde,” he offered, doffing his hat at Bridget Crawforde and studiously ignoring her daughter Molly.

“Why, a good day to you, Constable,” Crawforde replied in friendly tone. “I see that your gait is strong again?”

“Why, it is, and I thank your wife for her healing art.”

Bridget nodded with a smile of her own.

“If I may ask you something on this day of rest... ?”

“Of course, my dear Constable. Speak up,” Crawforde replied.

“I am looking for a good mount to get around in the Shire, one that is bred for carrying a rider and not for the plough. Word is that your horses are among the best.”

Crawforde was interested. “Stallion, gelding or mare?” he asked.

“A mare would serve me best I reckon,” Jonathan answered. “I am not the best horseman in the Shire.”

Without even looking, he knew Molly to have a hard time hiding her mirth. Crawforde nodded gravely.

“I so happen to have a sturdy mare that is well-used to carrying a rider. She’s 6 years old and she foaled last spring, quieting her down a little more. Her gait is soft and she’s not easily spooked. I’d like to sell her because she and my other mares don’t get along well.”

“She sounds like the horse I need,” Jonathan agreed. “Mayhap I can come out to your farm and have a look at her? Say, some afternoon this week?”

“Why not tomorrow? We haven’t started the sowing yet, but we may any day.”

“Tomorrow then,” Jonathan agreed and they shook hands. He doffed his hat at Bridget and kept ignoring Molly, knowing it would irk her. Sure enough, he saw Bridget put a hand on her arm, restraining her. It was a small enough victory, but satisfying nonetheless.

Starting out before noon, Jonathan reached Crawforde’s farm a little after their noon meal. He found the yeoman in his courtyard, brushing a sturdy chestnut-coloured mare of just above 14 hands at her withers, with a full straw-coloured mane and tail. She was a pretty animal Jonathan thought. Crawforde looked up when he heard Jonathan’s steps.

“There you are, Constable. I brought her in from the pasture and gave her a brushing.”

“So I see, Brother Crawforde,” Jonathan replied, approaching the animal cautiously. He had brought one of last autumn’s apples and offered it to the horse which crunched it eagerly. “There. You like that?” he asked the horse in a soothing voice.

“She listens to the name Hattie,” Crawforde said quietly.

“Hey, Hattie! You like this?” Jonathan cooed scratching the horse’s head under the ears. Hattie stepped up to him and put her forehead against his chest. “Hey, friends already?” Jonathan chuckled.

“You have a good hand for horses, Brother Constable,” Crawforde said with appreciation. “Let’s saddle her up.”

A few minutes later, Jonathan walked the horse from the courtyard before he allowed her to break into a lively trot. She was a strong animal, carrying his weight with ease, and he even allowed her a brief gallop before reining her in. He returned to Crawforde’s stables in a slow walk, petting the animal and talking to her. In the courtyard he found Crawforde and his stepdaughter Molly. The latter watched Jonathan warily.

He unmounted without difficulties and led the horse towards its owner.

“She’s a good horse, Brother Crawforde, and I’d like to trade for her.”

“Goods or silver?” Crawforde asked.

“Which goods may interest you?” Jonathan queried back.

“Tools, but also household goods. I have to assemble Molly’s chest.”

Jonathan suppressed a biting remark as to how big such a chest would have to be to garner interest in the shrewish girl. Instead he considered the yeoman’s words. Just two weeks earlier, Sheriff Hereward and his nephew Jonathan had seized a wagon load of contraband goods originating from an adventurous Danish merchantman. Since trade in manufactured goods was a privilege of British merchants, the load was confiscated and Jonathan had received three eights of the goods.

“I happen to have some finely crafted Danish-made cookwares and a few bales of linen. How do you tally the mare’s worth?”

“She could fetch ten dollars silver, but seeing how and why you lost your mount and how I failed my duty that night, I can let you have her for the value of eight pieces of eight,” Crawforde offered.

Jonathan’s eyes went wide for a second, for this was a generous offer. He had feared to open the haggling at twelve pieces of eight or more. He made a show of weighing the offer before he answered.

“‘Tis for certain a fair value, Brother Crawforde, and it were not right to keep arguing. I offer a set of four iron pots, unused, and two long-handled iron skillets for the value of two pieces of eight. Two bales of Odense linen, each for a Spanish dollar, and four Spanish silver dollars to match your price.”

Jonathan knew that his own offer made for a good deal for Crawforde. From English manufacture, the same goods would cost easily half again as much, meaning that the yeoman would receive closer to ten pieces of eight in fair value.

For an answer, Crawforde just held out his hand and Jonathan shook it to seal the deal.

“I shall be back with the goods and the silver tomorrow to pick up the mare,” he promised, but Crawforde shook his head with a smile.

“Brother Constable, you are your uncle’s nephew and the constable of the Shire. Who but not you could I trust to honour our deal? Ride the mare home and return saddle and tack with the wares and the silver tomorrow.”

Jonathan almost accepted, but then he reconsidered. “ ‘Tis an honourable offer, Brother Crawforde, but I’d rather pay first. I’ll have to arrange for a stable and fodder today. I shall be here tomorrow with the payment.”

“As you wish, Brother. I shall hold the mare ready for you.”

Ignoring Molly again, Jonathan shook the yeoman’s hand again and turned to leave. The one hour walk came easy to him again, as his leg had healed completely over the winter, and he enjoyed the exercise. Arriving in Taunton proper, he visited his uncle to tell him about the deal.

“You did well, Jonathan, to pay the man properly. It was a generous offer from Crawforde and you showed that you’re not a penny pincher either. How’s Crawforde faring with his Irish witches?”

“He seems happy with them, but we never talked about womenfolk.”

“Good. She’s a pretty lass, I grant that, but you’ll have better chances.”

Jonathan nodded emphatically. Any chance would be preferable to that shrew, Molly Crawforde.

Jamie Dougall, one of Franklin Hereward’s indentured workers, drove the small cart that took Jonathan out to the Crawforde farm on the next noon. The cart bed contained the linen bales and the stacked pots and pans, and four Spanish dollars, equalling a month’s pay for Jonathan, were stuck securely in his belt. The saddle and tack recovered from old Bess were also in the wagon bed. Riding the cart, he arrived a bit quicker, but not by much. Crawforde was still at table with his family, farmhands and servants. It was inevitable that Jonathan and Jamie were invited to join and equally inevitable that they accepted.

Bridget Crawforde ladled stew into their bowls and both men ate with wooden spoons issued for the purpose. The stew was very good and reminded Jonathan of the weeks he spent under Bridget’s care. Unconsciously his eyes moved to where Molly was sitting and she happened to look up at the same moment. She flushed and Jonathan hastily looked down into his stew. A moment later, she excused herself and left the table.

When the meal was finished, Jonathan and Crawforde went outside for the yeoman to inspect the wares. The cookwares and the linen were very much to his liking, and the Spanish dollars were not too worn. The men concluded their deal and a farmhand brought the mare from the stable.

Jonathan slipped the reins over her head and carefully spread the blanket over the mare’s back. He was slightly out of practice saddling a horse, and the well-worn saddle landed on Hattie’s back none-too-gently. Still, everybody was surprised when the animal reared up, neighing in distress. It took Jonathan and Crawforde a good ten minutes to calm down the animal and then another five to discover the reason for her behaviour.

Three burrs with dried-out, needle sharp spikes were lodged in the saddle blanket. Jonathan was positive that the blanket had been clean before and at a loss, but not so Bridget Crawforde. Her green eyes narrowed dangerously and when she spoke, she literally snarled.

“Molly!”

The girl froze for a second, but then turned to run only to be caught after twenty yards by the yeoman. She turned limp in his grip and was dragged before her mother. Bridget stood with both hands on her hips and she seemed ready to breathe flames.

“You stupid wench! What did you do now? The Constable was nigh-on crippled the last time you played a foolhardy prank on him. Wasn’t that enough? What do you think would have happened if he’d taken a bad fall?”

“It would’ve taught him!” Molly hissed angrily.

“Taught him what?” Crawforde gave back. “Jonathan Hereward is a fine young man and he’s been forgiving to you. What else do you want of him?”

“He’s treating me like the dirt under his shoes!”

Jonathan shook his head. “I’m not treating you badly. I only try to stay out of your way. You and I don’t mix well. Why cannot you accept that?”

“Oh, yes! I’m not good enough for the high and mighty constable! Your uncle would not see me fit for his nephew!”

“Leave my uncle out of it, Molly Crawforde. You’re a shrew; that’s why I avoid you. I thought well of you when we first met. I thought you as outspoken, but you’re just bitter and keen on causing hurt. Did you even think of the fright and hurt you caused to this innocent and gentle creature?”

He pointed at the still trembling mare. Molly turned beet red.

“I didn’t ... I was...” She swallowed heavily. “You are right. I should not have hurt the mare. That was thoughtless and mean.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Just stay out of my life and I can promise you the same for as long as you’ll not come to my notice as the constable. Brother Crawforde, forgive me for speaking harshly to your family. I hold you in good esteem, but I had better leave now.”

“She will receive punishment,” Crawforde promised.

Jonathan shrugged. “It won’t change her ways. God’s blessing, Brother.”

“God speed, Constable,” was the answer.

Jonathan put the blanket and then the saddle onto the nervous horse and spoke soothingly to it. He managed to fasten the saddle and then mount the mare without her shying. She was indeed a good horse he thought. Then, with a last look at the farmer, he urged his mare into a slow gait and left the Crawfordes behind.

Owning the mare was a decided boon to Jonathan’s life. It also gave him an improved standing in Taunton and beyond. He was often seen inspecting the Shire on horseback and most people began to see him and not his uncle as representing the law in the colony. Speaking friendly with the people under his protection, he gained trust and he made important contacts, even friends. As a result, he heard early on if problems or quarrels were brewing, allowing him to intercede.

This was badly needed for Franklin Hereward’s health was taking a turn for the worse. The sheriff had been suffering from the gout in past winters, but in that year the warmer weather of the spring and early summer did not bring him relief. He could barely walk and mostly sat on a sturdy chair, his foot bandaged and resting. He was in foul mood accordingly. Jonathan was happy about his new lodgings above the armoury for it kept him away from Franklin’s outbursts.