Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (26 page)

When John White arrived at Southampton in November 1587, he discovered that Simon Fernandes had been in England for three weeks. But the Portuguese captain had reported little about the misfortunes of the Roanoke colony, so terrible had been his own fate since leaving the Azores. One of Fernandes
’ seamen confided to White that not only had the ship not captured any Spanish treasure, but the
Lion
’s crew, too, had been overcome by sickness and many had died. The remaining crew had been too weak to even bring the ship into the harbor, and had been forced to drop anchor in the open sea. Had a small bark not happened to spot the desolate ship, they might all have died while on board.

As eager as he was to see his enemy confounded, White was not cheered by news of the
Lion’s
troubles. Though the misfortunes of Spicer’s and Fernandes’ ships had nothing to do with the Virginian colony, the investors in England would frown on news about the difficulty in seafaring. To them, the colony at Roanoke was still little more than a possible base for privateering, and if English ships did not perform profitably at sea, of what use was a colony?

Twenty-fou
r

W
ith the colony’s new prohibition on unmarried men and women meeting together privately, Jocelyn found herself much in demand as a chaperon whenever William Clement summoned Audrey. Ofttimes Jocelyn forgot who was the mistress and who the servant as she walked discreetly ahead of the pair, for Audrey seemed to be deliriously in love with the man whom Jocelyn privately considered to be a scoundrel. She could not fault William Clement’s words or manners, for both were suitably polished in the presence of ladies, nor his appearance, for he cleaned up considerably well. But a shadowy sneer hovered about his heavy mouth, and once or twice she felt his cool blue eyes studying her in a way that made her blush. Pure masculine interest radiated in his glance when any pretty woman crossed his path, and Jocelyn marveled that Audrey did not see it.

But he played the role of suitor to Audrey wonderfully well, often exclaiming that if Fate had only dealt the cards differently, he would have married Audrey in England and installed her as his lady on the prosperous family estate.

Jocelyn knew there was no family estate, for ‘twas common knowledge that William Clement and James Hynde had been released from prison to serve as indentured servants in Virginia. She wondered that Audrey did not doubt her suitor’s tale, for he spoke with the unmistakable accent of an Eastern herdsman and a genuine noble would never had ended up on Roanoke as an indentured servant, no matter how fallen the family fortunes. But Audrey was obviously smitten with the charming young man, and Jocelyn determined to keep silent despite her reservations.

Perchance,
she asked herself one afternoon as the lovers walked along the beach behind her,
if someone had told you that you would encounter heartbreak and sorrow if you married Thomas Colman, would you have listened?

And because her heart answered no, she kept quiet and said nothing.

Walking to Eleanor’s house one afternoon, Jocelyn wrapped her wool cloak around her and lowered her head as the biting wind threatened to chill her to the bone. November in Roanoke blew alternately warm and cool, depending upon whether the wind came from the chilly north or the more temperate south, but this morning’s winds were the coldest the colony had yet experienced. For the first time Jocelyn felt that winter had arrived.

The colonists were prepared. The small bounty of the field had long been interned inside the storehouse, and the houses and fort reinforced with fresh mud and timber for the wrath of the coming winter.

Jocelyn noticed that her own body had thickened as if to fortify itself for the winter, but she knew it struggled to shelter and preserve the small life that grew inside her. It had been four months since the time the child had been conceived, and she yearned to share her secret with Audrey or Eleanor. But each time she looked to Thomas to see if she ought to tell, his stony glance stilled the question on her lips.

She had thought him distant after his confrontation with Beth Glane and John Jones, but since the hot September day when he had explained that she would bear a child, he had been even more so. Every afternoon he came home late from his work, ate his supper silently by the hearth, then climbed the ladder to the upper floor where he slept and studied. He had not touched her, indeed, he had scarcely even looked at her during the past weeks. If Audrey thought the situation strange, she said nothing.

Jocelyn’s teeth chattered as she pressed through the whirling air to Eleanor’s house. Mayhap Audrey said nothing because she profited from the couple’s odd arrangement. By all rights, she should have been sleeping upstairs in the drafty attic, so she did not complain that Jocelyn allowed Audrey to share the pleasant and comfortable mattress downstairs. “Just like sisters,” Audrey often said as she slipped on her nightgown and climbed into the tall bed.

Jocelyn knew little of proper behavior between husbands and their wives, but she knew
‘twas unusual for her husband to chose to sleep in the attic. Even if he did not love her, why would he not do the simple things other married couples took for granted?

Mayhap he felt guilty for betraying the first love of his life, or the child he had left behind in England. Certainly the reason, whatever it was, lay behind the horrified look on his face when he told her she would have his child.

Surely, Father God, there is a way to convince him to begin life anew!
Jocelyn prayed, standing still in the bawling winds.
We have all begun new lives here, so why can’t Thomas leave the past behind? I love him, Lord, and have love enough for both of us, but if my presence reminds him of the wife he lost, how am I to show my love? How can he love our child if our baby reminds him of the son he can no longer see? Help me to understand him, Lord. Love him through me.

“Is that you, Miss Jocelyn?”

Agnes Wood’s voice cut through Jocelyn’s concentration, and she opened her eyes and gave the maid a smile. Agnes had apparently just returned from the community woodpile, for she carried a bundle of logs in a leather sling.

“I
’ve come for a little visit,” Jocelyn said, rubbing her hands together to keep warm.

“Why, come on in, dear, Miss Eleanor will be glad to see you.” Agnes led the way to the house and opened the door, and Eleanor looked up from her stool with a smile. Three-month-old Virginia nursed greedily at her mother
’s breast.

“What brings you here, cousin?” Eleanor asked pleasantly as Jocelyn came in and Agnes latched the door behind her. “Surely your husband would rather you spent the Sabbath with him.”

Abruptly, Jocelyn told Eleanor she was going to have a baby.

Eleanor read the worry and fear in her young cousin
’s eyes and told Agnes to tend the mending and leave them alone. When the servant had left the room and Jocelyn had removed her cloak and taken a seat on a low stool, Eleanor leaned forward and lightly ran her finger down Jocelyn’s cheek. “I know what you must be feeling, coz. Myself, I was frightened to death when I first realized I would have a baby. But God will keep you in his care. How proud Thomas must be!”

A flood of tears sprang to Jocelyn
’s eyes, and Eleanor was wholly taken aback when the younger girl covered her face with her hands and began to weep. Surely this news alone could not be so upsetting! Every married woman expected a child sooner or later, ‘twas God’s plan and only natural.

“Softly now,” Eleanor said, smoothing Jocelyn
’s windblown hair. “I understand how frightened you must feel. ‘Tis a daunting prospect, giving birth in the wilderness, but I’ll be here for you, cousin. You will have a lovely baby. Thomas will be thrilled, no doubt, and baptize the babe in front of the entire village—”

“Thomas does not want a baby,” Jocelyn said, choking on her tears. “He told me he was sorry for it, that God was tormenting him. He said the baby was—”

“Ofttimes men don’t know what they say,” Eleanor interrupted, placing her own infant in a rough-hewn cradle near the fire. She turned and knelt at Jocelyn’s feet. “Dear coz, all men feel differently when they hold their babes in their arms. I believe even Ananias was discomfited when he learned we would have a baby in America, but see how he dotes on Virginia now!”

Jocelyn sniffed. “Thomas says the baby is God
’s way of punishing him,” she said, wiping her tears on her sleeve.

“Faith, the man
’s lost his mind,” Eleanor cried, taking Jocelyn’s hands. “Perhaps he thinks a baby would make him feel old or some such thing, that is all. You mark my words, coz, he will change.”

She lowered her voice and gave Jocelyn a secret smile. “When the babe is old enough to kick, place your hand over his and guide it to your belly. The babe will kick him, and then, dear cousin, he will change his way of thinking!”

She flashed Jocelyn a triumphant smile, but the younger girl blushed deeply and shook her head. She shuddered, as if parting with a secret too terrible to be borne, then confessed: “Eleanor, he sleeps in the attic.”

Stung, Eleanor sat back, then realized with numb astonishment that her cousin spoke the truth. “What?” she whispered, taking care that Agnes shouldn
’t overhead. “‘Tis not natural, Jocelyn. Why does he sleep in the attic?”

Jocelyn only shook her head while Eleanor
’s mind reeled through realms of bizarre possibilities. “Is it possible he’s a Catholic?” she whispered, leaning forward. “I hear the Catholic priests have sworn not to touch women. Could he be a Spaniard? A spy? He is dark enough, there’s no gainsaying that. Think, Jocelyn, if he has ever said anything to you, or done anything to impede our cause here—”

Jocelyn wept anew, burying her face in her hands, and
Eleanor bit her lip. Should she report this to her husband? Ananias had reported that the minister was frequently at odds with him, arguing over foolish ideas. Was it possible Eleanor’s own father had been duped by a Catholic Spaniard in disguise?

“I must warn Ananias,” Eleanor said, standing. She moved toward the wall where her cloak hung. “Stay here, dear, and do not go home. You and Audrey can have my father
’s room, while Ananias and I—”

“No, Eleanor!” Jocelyn flew from the stool and wrapped her arms around her cousin
’s shoulders. “He is not a spy. He has taken no vow. He sleeps in the attic because he loves his first wife still, a woman who died after giving him a son. He weeps for his lost love, Eleanor, and will not let me replace her in his heart.”

Shaken, Eleanor pulled herself from Jocelyn
’s embrace. “How do you know this?” she whispered.

Jocelyn shrugged unhappily. “He told me the story while we were on the ship. I married him knowing full well that he still grieved for his wife, but I thought I could be his helper, a fellow worker for the cause of the gospel. I did not—I have not dared hope he would love me, but thought he might, in time, come to have affection for me.”

“Apparently he has some liking, for you carry his baby,” Eleanor pointed out.

Jocelyn
’s chin quivered. “One night we were alone. He asked me if I truly wanted to be his wife and I said yea—”

“I see.” Eleanor studied her cousin
’s unhappy face. Twin reflections of the fire danced in her liquid blue eyes, but behind the reflections lay bottomless pools of grief. “Perchance,” Eleanor whispered, slipping her arm around Jocelyn’s shoulders, “in time, your Thomas will come to love his child. You must trust God, Jocelyn, for this thing to come to pass. You are young, and your marriage is new. Give God time.”

A flurry of chilled autumn wind blew into the room as Ananias opened the door and came into the house. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Jocelyn
’s tear-streaked face, but said nothing as he removed his cloak and hung it on a peg in the wall.

Eleanor ran her eyes over him carefully. “Are you well, my husband?” she asked.

“Very well,” he said, smiling politely at Jocelyn. He walked over to the fire, held his hands over the crackling blaze, then brushed his hands together and looked up the stairs toward the attic room. “Where’s Agnes? Is our supper almost ready?”

“
‘Twill be soon enough,” Eleanor answered, giving Jocelyn an encouraging smile. The younger girl wiped her eyes and nodded her thanks, then moved to the door. “So will you be going, cousin?”

“Yes,” Jocelyn answered, taking her cloak from the wall. “Thank you for your counsel, Eleanor. I will trust all to our Lord
’s hands.”

“Marry, you have spoken well,” Eleanor answered, opening the door for her cousin. After Jocelyn had slipped out of the house, Eleanor latched the door and turned to stare at her husband.

“What?” he demanded, turning to her in exasperation. “What have I done now, woman?”

“Mayhap you should tell me,” Eleanor answered, moving smoothly to stir the hanging iron pot in the hearth fire. “Where have you been, Ananias?”