Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (48 page)

One afternoon in late April Jocelyn and Thomas lounged on the blanket in the meadow and watched Regina chase a butterfly through the tall grasses.
The little girl had spent the last hour peacocking in a scarf Jocelyn had made from the lining of one of Thomas’ worn doublets, and the air rang with her happy squeals. Thomas’ eyes were lit with laughter as he watched his daughter, and Jocelyn sighed in contentment.

“
I saw your cousin yesterday,” he said, his eyes still following Regina. “We must pray for her.”

“
I know,” Jocelyn said, a shadow falling upon her heart at the mention of Eleanor’s name. “She is not well. She believes that John White is among us.”

“She cannot accept that he has not returned,” Thomas said, turning to Jocelyn. His voice was heavy with compassion. “In her mind the year is still 1587.”

Jocelyn bit her lip.
“Think you,” she said, hesitating. “Think you that Uncle John is coming back? It has been so long, nearly four years—”

“
What do I think?” Thomas murmured. He rolled onto his stomach and propped himself on his elbows, earnestly searching her face. “I will tell you what I think, Jocelyn, and I have not spoken of this to any other man or woman. I believe that John White never made it to England.”

“
‘Tis not inconceivable,” Jocelyn said, studying his face. “I have oft heard it suggested that his ship was lost—”

“
No, there’s more to consider,” he said, holding up a hand. “When we left, Spain and England were ready for war. The Catholics were determined to stamp out the glorious work of the reformation and the true gospel. They stood ready at any moment to raid our ships and to invade England. They were prepared, Jocelyn, and mayhap they were able to do it.”

Jocelyn drew in a slow breath as the full impact of his words struck her.
England and Spain in a full-blown war? And if, perchance, the Spanish had won—

She opened her mouth, but no words would come.

“
Yes,” Thomas said, noting her expression. “The gospel we knew may now be buried under a sea of popish teachings. And John White, if he lives at all, is surely in chains for professing his belief in the true gospel. All Protestants are imprisoned, surely, for the inquisition continues to this day—”

Jocelyn felt her heart thump against her rib cage.
She had heard of the infamous inquisition in which imprisonment and torture were used to coerce “confessions” from those who followed Protestantism.

“
Even this Bible,” Thomas lay his hand on the book at his side, “if found on a ship seized by the Spaniards, will earn a man a trip to the inquisitors’ chambers. Before we left England, I heard of a cook aboard the English ship the
Elizabeth
, which was searched while anchored in a Spanish harbor. This poor man, Henry Gottersum, was burned alive for admitting that he was a convinced Protestant.”

Jocelyn
’s mouth went dry as she struggled to speak. “Surely my uncle—”

“
I know not, Jocelyn. But I believe our purpose here might be far broader than our English investors ever imagined. If silenced in England and other free countries, the true gospel now resides with us. ‘Tis our responsibility to carry it to the world.”

He rolled onto his back and thoughtfully folded his hands on his chest.
“God’s will is surely being worked here, Jocelyn. We must remain true to the faith and to his calling.”

Thomas resumed his pulpit on the first Sunday in May and told his astonished audience that
‘twas their responsibility to carry the gospel to the world. “‘Tis a heavy obligation,” Thomas said, looking more grave than ever with strands of silver in his hair, “but God has called us to duty. We are to be holy lamps, fit for the light of his gospel, and we must purge our lives and hearts of any uncleanness.” He paused. “In the weeks of my absence I have heard much of immorality in the camp.”

Several men who had been cooling themselves with palmetto fans abruptly ceased moving, and Jocelyn saw several women flush.
“There has been a fair-haired baby born to an Indian woman who is not married,” Thomas went on, holding his hands behind his back. “And there has been talk of things which ought not to be mentioned in a place where Christ is the sole author of law and the arbitrator of our actions.”

His face lengthened and bale fire seemed to glow in his eyes.
“We must chastise our hearts and our minds to set things right,” he said, bringing his hands before him in a gesture of prayer. “The council will join me to enforce what is right, and you, my friends, must commit yourself to righteous living and holiness.”

Convicted by their minister
’s words and fervency, as one body the congregation dropped to their knees and prayed for forgiveness and spiritual cleansing. And carefully, through the spaces of her fingers, Jocelyn knelt in prayer and watched her husband, praying that in his spiritual cleansing he would not purge himself of the gentleness he had shown in the past weeks.

The next morning, Thomas directed Jocelyn to renew her work with the Indian women of Ohanoak, for he would begin catechism classes for the Indian men.
Obediently, Jocelyn packed food and water for lunch, and took Regina’s hand. Thomas had set out for the Indian camp immediately after breakfast, but Jocelyn slowed her pace and sang a hymn as she and her daughter left the village and followed the trail to the camp.

Spring had worked its magic over the newly budding trees, and the early gold of the leaves had only recently turned to green.
Wildflowers frilled themselves in mottled patches of sunlight, and for a moment an enormous flock of passenger pigeons flew overhead and darkened the sky. Jocelyn walked slowly, enjoying the sights and sounds around her as she sang, and suddenly realized that not once in four years had she missed the crowded, stale streets of London.

She heard Thomas long before she saw him. His voice carried above the walls of the palisade around the Indians’ grass huts, and Regina giggled and pointed toward the sky when she heard her father’s voice. “Yes, dear one, your father speaks,” Jocelyn said, nodding at the lookout that stood outside the village.

Thomas stood in a clearing past the cook fires.
A group of men sat on mats around him, listening intently to the fervent man who gestured and moved before them like a dark streak of lightning. Jocelyn shook her head gently and turned into the house where Hurit lived.

The five Indian women inside Hurit
’s house sat around a pot on the fire in the center of the hut. “Hau,” Jocelyn said, releasing Regina’s hand into the custody of Mukki’s. The young boy smiled in delight and led the baby outside while Jocelyn settled onto a mat near the fire.

“
‘Tis good to see you, Kanti,” Hurit said, her dark eyes glowing. “We heard that your husband was sick.”

“
God has brought him back to the land of the living,” Jocelyn answered. “And the great Father God who knows and sees all has sent me to you today. I have great news about a Savior.”

Hurit
’s smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “You have spoken of him before,” she said, stirring the pot. “The son of the Manitou—”

“
Let me tell you then, about Queen Elizabeth,” Jocelyn said, praying that a different image might take root in the women’s imagination. “When I was small, of not more than five or six summers, I heard much about Queen Elizabeth. How could one woman be so powerful and so rich, I wondered. Then my father took me to see the queen. She was beautiful, in her way. She wore long ropes of pearls and had bright red hair and skin even more pale than my own. I had often heard about her, but for the first time, I saw her. And then I knew she was real.”

Jocelyn looked at the circle of expectant faces.
“Do you believe that the great English queen lives across the ocean?”

Hurit glanced for a moment at the somber face of Pauwau, then turned back to Jocelyn and nodded.
“You do not lie,” she said simply. “I believe that the English queen lives as you say.”

“
Good,” Jocelyn answered. “As I grew older, I learned that Queen Elizabeth wants the best for her people. She has made laws to protect the poor and to punish those who steal and kill. Her ways are right. Her laws are for our good. Do you understand?”

Without hesitation, Hurit nodded.
“It is as you say.”

Jocelyn took a deep breath.
“Now I am grown, and I tell you that the great queen has sent us to this place so that we might tell you about the only true Son of God, Jesus the Christ. If we find ourselves in trouble, our great Queen Elizabeth cannot rescue us from the wrath of the Roanoacs, or the storm, or the freezing cold of winter. Only God can do that, and I place my trust in him.”

“
You see,” she said, leaning closer to the women, “I believe Queen Elizabeth lives beyond the wide ocean just as I believe God the Father created all things. I believe the Queen cares for her subjects just as I believe God the Father loves his people. But I do not believe the Queen will send help to save us should an enemy attack tonight, but God the Father has already given his son to taste death for me. Therefore I do not fear the Roanoacs or the storm or starvation.”

Hurit stopped stirring the stew.
Pauwau stared at Jocelyn and idly ran a finger down her wrinkled throat.

“
How can God taste death?” Hurit asked, her eyes blurred with indecision, and Jocelyn knew then that God’s Spirit had begun to work.

All five of the women in Hurit
’s hut chose that day to follow the Son of God, and as Jocelyn walked home she felt as though she walked on air. Surely Thomas was right, God had sent them to this place to spread the gospel in an alien land. It mattered not that they were alone and abandoned. As long as they had each other and followed the true light of God, the colony would survive and thrive. ‘Twas God’s will.

Greatly encouraged, Jocelyn startled a flock of birds from the trees with her song of praise:

All people that on earth do dwell,

Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice;

Him serve with fear, his praise forth tell,

Come ye before Him and rejoice.

The Lord, ye know, is God indeed;

Without our aid he did us make;

We are his flock, he doth us feed,

And for his sheep he doth us take.

For why?
The Lord our God is good,

His mercy is forever sure;

His truth at all times firmly stood,

And shall from age to age endure.

O enter then his gates with praise,

Approach with joy his courts unto;

Praise, laud, and bless his name always,

For it is seemly so to do.

Thomas felt the exhaustion of illness overtake him in a sudden wave, and he collapsed on the roots of a gnarled oak.
He had given these men the best he had, but not once did the light of understanding flicker in their eyes. After an hour of patient listening, most had walked away to gather their bows or fishing nets. Only two elders with nothing else to do had stayed to listen.
And
, the voice of doubt sneered in Thomas’ soul,
those two were probably deaf, for they responded not at all
.

He rested his hands upon his knees and hung his head, gathering his strength for the walk home.
He would come again on the morrow, and again, until the gospel burst through the hardness of the Indians’ hearts. He would be like a tidal wave, pounding and pounding until his words broke through, and then the gospel would sweep forth in a cleansing rush over the camp, obliterating the idols and the temple that held the bodies of the dead chiefs . . .

A shadow fell across the ground, and Thomas looked up.
Chogan stood before him, a proud warrior whose dark, piercing eyes reminded Thomas of the blackbird for whom the savage had been named. Thomas remembered that Chogan was Hurit’s husband, and therefore a friend of Jocelyn’s.

“
Hau,” Thomas said, covering his eyes from the glare of the sun as he looked up at the warrior.

“
My wife has chosen to follow the son of the great God,” Chogan said, crossing his tattooed arms.

“
She has?” Thomas asked, scrambling to his feet. A wave of energy pulsed through his veins as he dusted himself off. “How can this be? Did she hear my speaking this morning?”

Chogan shook his head.
“No, Etlelooaat. She and all the women with her have chosen the way of the son of the great God. When the sun rises on the morrow, Hurit will speak to the men of the village.”

“
Hurit will speak—” The words caught in Thomas’ throat, and he raised a questioning brow. “
Hurit
will speak?”