Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (30 page)

“We will say nothing, Thomas.” She filled her voice with all the authority she could muster and turned to face him
directly. “Would you send our men out on another raid like the one that nearly killed the Croatoans in George Howe’s name? I was not harmed today, and we will say nothing.”

He clamped his mouth shut abruptly, then placed his hand again on the ladder. “I bid you good night, Mistress Colman,” he answered. “I will spend the night in prayer, but there is one thing I must require of you.”

“What?” she turned, ready to promise him anything.

He turned to climb the ladder and tossed the words over his shoulder: “Stop singing as you work.”

Safe in the attic, Thomas turned the lamp down to a steady glow and opened his Bible upon his knees. Flipping with trembling fingers through the pages, he found the verse he sought:
Lust not after her beauty in thine heart . . .

The verse had become a mantra for him in the past few days. Ever since John White had dismissed the first charges brought months ago by John Jones and Beth Glane, those two devout colonists had consistently approached the council with complaints about the reverend Thomas Colman. The last attack had come but a week ago.

In the latest charge, Beth Glane had recited a portion of scripture from Paul’s letter to Timothy:
And let these church authorities also first be proved, then let them use the office of leadership, being found blameless. Even so must their wives be grave, not slanderers, sober, faithful in all things. Let the authorities be the husbands of one wife, ruling their children and their own houses well.

“
‘Tis well known that you, sir, had a wife in England,” John Jones announced when Beth Glane finished reading. As he spoke, the vein in Jones’ forehead swelled indignantly like a thick, black snake. “If we were in England, a charivari would have denounced your marriage to this young girl. ‘Tis not right that you should have two wives while many men here will have none.”

“And that your wife is a mere girl, certainly not a grave and sober woman,” Beth Glane added, her face a battlefield of scornful wrinkles. “I
’ve heard her singing at her work. Who, sir, has time for singing? She is not a fit wife for a minister, and the marriage should be dissolved.”

Roger Bailie, as the eldest council member, turned to Thomas with a genial and forgiving smile on his face. “If, reverend, there is reason why we should not dissolve this marriage, we would be happy to hear of it.”

Thomas heard the unspoken plea:
tell us you love the girl. Speak nobly of love, defend your wife, and all will be forgiven.

But as he thought of what he should say, Thomas caught the clear, cool gaze of Ananias Dare. Ananias knew the circumstances of his arranged marriage; he probably knew that Jocelyn was desperately unhappy. If Thomas gave anything other than the absolute truth, Ananias would be sure to prove him a liar.

He could not paint his marriage as a happy one.

He could not have the marriage annulled.

And so, feeling the scourge of the Almighty upon his back, Thomas folded his hands behind his back and uttered the single most humiliating confession of his life: “I have had two wives. Mayhap I did wrong to marry a young girl. And I am sorry if it proves to be an impediment, but the marriage should not be annulled. My wife, you see, is with child.”

Beth Glane gasped in horror, John Jones harrumphed in disapproval, and the heads of the council members rushed together for a hurried consultation. After a moment, Ananias Dare had spoken for the council: “We cannot undo what as been done under the direction of our governor. Mistress Glane and Master Jones, we beg you to keep the peace in the colony. Reverend Colman, we ask you to do the same. Keep the news of your former wife to yourself and live as circumspectly as possible.”

But, Thomas wondered, closing his eyes in preparation for prayer, how would it be possible to live circumspectly now that Jocelyn insisted that he actually
live
with her? Thus far he had been able to busy himself in the work of the colony, keeping her image and voice in the back of his mind and subjugating his own desires to the demands of the work. But to have her so close, to know that she would be breathing, laughing, sleeping only inches away—

He bowed his head and prayed for strength.

No matter how new or treacherous, life has a way of falling into a routine. At the first sign of a brightening sky, Jocelyn would awaken to sounds of Thomas rising. He rose, dressed, and left for the church without breakfast. Invariably Audrey would descend from the attic to help Jocelyn dress after Thomas’ departure, and Jocelyn wasn’t sure whether Audrey waited because she feared Thomas or merely wanted to stay out of his way. ‘Twas an unusual existence, Jocelyn knew, but Audrey seemed pleased to be sleeping in her rightful place and the people of the colony seemed to intuitively know that the minister belonged to them. The church building was the one place he seemed to feel truly at home. During the week, his parishioners visited him there, often bringing him food or other tokens of appreciation for his prayers, and Jocelyn felt that in an odd way the entire village was more wedded to him than she was. Very few of the Christmas gifts Thomas brought home were designed for Jocelyn’s enjoyment as well as his, and the friendly nods of appreciation after his Sunday sermon were directed toward him alone. Men and women alike shared with him their confidences as they asked for prayer, children ran to him for his blessing, and his resonant voice could cut through any argument and settle it with a well-placed quote from Holy Scriptures. Only Beth Glane and John and Jane Jones kept a careful distance from him, lifting their Bibles before their eyes as he spoke his Sunday sermon, seeming to prefer their own communion with God to the village’s communal worship.

When his day was done, Thomas came home to sit at the board and eat the supper Jocelyn and Audrey had prepared. During the meal he inquired about what each woman had accomplished. His tone was always agreeable and respectful, but his pleasantness vanished each night as Audrey climbed the ladder to the loft where her mattress now lay. After Thomas dimmed the lamp, he would kneel by the hearth and pray in a rough whisper for an hour or more, and, after saying her brief prayers, Jocelyn rarely remained awake long enough to feel the mattress shift as he climbed into bed beside her. He never spoke to her, never touched her, never reached for her as he had on their first night together.

Often, when she awoke in the middle of the night and heard his deep, labored breathing, Jocelyn pressed her hands onto her belly and told herself that ‘twas enough having him at her side. She had never expected joy or happiness in marriage, and she had known from the beginning that his heart belonged to another. ‘Twas natural that he wanted no more children to replace the boy he had to leave behind, but he had promised to take care of her and her child. ‘Twas enough, wasn’t it?

But then she would close her eyes and see her father, his eyes filled with pity and compassion as he gazed at her. And she would cry, lifting her heart to the God in whom she and her father had trusted. Why had God taken her from her secure world and thrust her into this cold, alien wilderness? In the new world Jocelyn Colman had relatives, a servant, and a
husband, but she had never felt more alone.

“Are you sure you won
’t come with us, Reverend?” Henry Payne called, his musket over his shoulder. “I would love to see you bring a deer home to your missus.”

“No, Henry, I will not carry a gun,” Thomas called as the hunting party of a dozen men made its way toward the thick stand of forest behind the village. “But I will pray that God will bless your efforts.”

A wicked winter wind howled from the east and a heavenful of gray scud seemed to press down upon the earth, but the bearded men shouldered their guns and waved farewell to the women watching from the circle of houses. Jocelyn whispered a prayer for them as they left the village. Though they wore careless smiles and treated the excursion as a grand adventure, she knew desperation drove them into the woods because the food supplies in the storehouse were dangerously low. Their meager corn crop had been devoured before the end of December, and the few dried foodstuffs that remained had been aboard the
Lion
and were barely edible.

Ananias, last in the line of hunters, turned and saluted those who remained behind, and Jocelyn saw his eyes light on Thomas and grow cold. He would never forgive Thomas for winning the battle over the church, Jocelyn knew, and since the church
’s completion, Ananias had not once stepped inside. He held council meetings in his own crowded house, and had not yet called one of the promised assemblies for self-government.

The men disappeared into the yawning mouth of the forest, and the villagers went back to their work. Thomas gave Jocelyn a brief glance in farewell, studied his hands absently for a moment, then clasped them behind his back and made his way toward the church.

Hours later, a strange series of shouts passed through the colony and Jocelyn paused from sewing, her needle in the air. Goosebumps lifted on her arm; something had happened. She tossed her mending aside and rushed to the door of her house as other women ran to the center of the village.

Five men of the hunting party had returned, and two of them carried a sixth man between them. Jocelyn gasped as she recognized the blood-streaked form of Ananias Dare. While
Roger Prat ran for Doctor Jones, two hunters carefully lowered Ananias to the ground. A bloody gash had parted his scalp and an arrow protruded from his belly.

Eleanor screamed and ran from her house, her apron flapping in the wind. Henry Payne caught her by the shoulders and held her still while Doctor Jones ran up from the beach and shouted for the men to carry Ananias to his own house. From the church, Thomas strode forward with urgent steps. “Keep away, good women, and pray for our brother,” he told the pressing crowd as he hurried toward the Dares
’ house.

Jocelyn turned to Audrey for reassurance, but the younger girl
’s mouth hung open in a whine of mounting dread. There had been no trouble with the Indians for many months—what had brought on this attack? Jocelyn felt a sudden stab of guilt that made her knees go weak. What if Thomas had been right? Mayhap she should have told Ananias of the Indians she saw on the island the afternoon she ran away. Mayhap the boy Kitchi was a spy, sent to prepare for this attack . . .

Jocelyn put her arms around Audrey to guide her back into the house. “What happened, Miss Jocelyn?” Audrey whispered, her wide eyes irresistibly drawn to the forest. “Where are the other six men?”

Twenty-eight

W
eary and rumpled, Thomas Colman sat silently on his stool as Audrey propped the board upon its supports and Jocelyn ladled a bowl of pottage for his supper. Night had fallen and the village lay in a shroud of silence, its citizens stunned by the ferociousness of the day’s misadventure.

Thomas raised his head and regarded his wife with tired eyes. “Our brother Ananias will live,” he said simply. “But six others have been killed. Five of the men were unmarried, thank God, but Elizabeth Viccars has been made a widow today.”

“Not Ambrose!” Jocelyn whispered, sinking down to her stool. “And Elizabeth with a baby!”

“Ambrose was a righteous man and had no fear of death,” Thomas said dully. “Surely he is in heaven today, with the others.”

“What happened?” Jocelyn asked, still haunted by the suspicion that she had somehow brought on this attack. “Was it the Roanoacs?”

Thomas stirred his pottage with his wooden spoon. “John Chapman says they were tracking a herd of deer when they were ambushed by a war party. The Indians sent a rainstorm of arrows before our men could even load their guns.”

“What kind of war party?” Jocelyn pressed. “Roanoacs? Surely they weren’t Croatoan.”

“That is what we must discover,” Thomas answered. “Until Ananias is well, one of the other assistants must form our answer to this attack.”

“Perchance it wasn’t an attack at all,” Jocelyn said, thinking again of the boy in the woods. “What if the Indians were following the deer as well, and the two hunting parties happened to meet? If we are taking their food, Thomas, surely we must understand—”

“Roanoke Island belongs to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth of England,” Thomas interrupted. “Not to the savages. Indeed, the entire land of Virginia and everything on it belongs to our queen. The savages have no rights unless they become English subjects.”

Jocelyn sat back and stared at him, amazed beyond words.

Ananias Dare recovered enough from his wound to attend church on Sunday, and every eye in the building turned to stare as he and Eleanor entered and seated themselves on the last row. Jocelyn saw the corner of Thomas
’ mouth droop in a wry smile as he stood to face his congregation. She knew Thomas understood that Ananias had only condescended to present himself in the church because he wanted to prove himself capable of leadership. His appearance reinforced his worthiness to lead, for he wore his wound as a badge of honor.