Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) (53 page)

Resplendent in his bright red paint and heavily tattooed as benefitting the son of a werowance, Ahanu stepped out of his grass house and presented a gift of suede and fur to his bride. In return, following the custom of the Indians, Virginia Dare gave her new husband an embroidered belt and quiver, then the newlyweds put their gifts aside and held hands as they walked to the church.

John Chapman was waiting for them, and the assembled guests filed quickly into the rough benches to witness the ceremony. “Ahanu,” Chapman recited when the guests had been seated, “before God and these witnesses, do you take this woman to be your wife?”

Ahanu nodded. Chapman squinted with his failing eyes and, convinced that Ahanu was in agreement, continued. “Before God and these witnesses, do you, Virginia Dare, take this man to be your husband?”

“Yes,” Virginia whispered. From where she stood at the back of the
church, Jocelyn felt a stirring of envy in her breast. Love for Ahanu had brought a flush of beauty to the girl’s cheek, and Jocelyn wondered:
Did I look like that on my wedding day? ‘Twas fifteen years ago, and ‘tis hard to remember.

“I therefore pronounce you man and wife before God,” John Chapman finished.

Triumphant Indian yells rent the air as the English applauded and cheered, and Virginia Dare fell into the strong arms of her young groom. From across the room Jocelyn saw Abooksigun stand from his place and wave his arms in victory. Ananias wiped tears from his eyes, but Eleanor stared blankly ahead, her head cocked to one side as if she wondered whose wedding she had just observed.

The crowd streamed to the loaded tables outside for the wedding feast, but Jocelyn hung back with Thomas, who seemed reluctant to participate in a wedding of which he could not approve. “I think,” he said slowly, watching the revelers, “that I shall leave on my missionary journey on the morrow.”

“So soon?” Jocelyn asked, alarmed.

“The harvest is in and I have ten willing men,” Thomas answered. He looked again at the party, then nodded resolutely. “On the morrow, then,” he said, leaving her.

A light frost covered the ground on the November morning when Thomas rose before sunrise, dressed in his worn black doublet and leggings, and wrapped a loaf of corn bread in a square of cloth. “I do not know when I will return,” he told Jocelyn casually, as if he decided to wander in unknown and dangerous wilderness every day of the year. “But pray that God will preserve us.”

“I will,” Jocelyn whispered, clutching her shawl around her shoulders in the chill of the room. She knew
‘twas useless to protest.

Thomas combed his wiry silver hair with his fingers, paused at the board, and looked around to see if he had forgotten aught. For a moment she thought he might kiss her goodbye, but he only nodded abruptly in her direction. “Tell Regina farewell for me when she awakes,” he said, pointing to the attic where Regina slept. Abruptly, before she could reply, he left the house.

‘Twas after noon on that same day that Ananias’ party loaded food and supplies aboard the pinnace. Ananias and his men had spent the past week recaulking the leak ship with tar and pitch, and John Prat, a cooper like his late father, had fashioned several new barrels and casks to hold fresh water, vegetables, and stores of dried meat. The men also loaded pine planking, since wood was a valuable commodity in England, and in a leather satchel Ananias carried letters from the planters to wives, children, and friends who waited in England.

Jocelyn had written no letters. She had no ties to anyone in England, for her entire world now existed in Thomas, Regina, and the ever-expanding town of Ocanahonan.

She stood on the dock and watched Eleanor move lightly over the deck as the men wrestled with piles of canvas and twisted cables. “Ahoy there, cousin,” Eleanor called down, spotting Jocelyn, and for a moment Jocelyn thought her cousin’s wits had returned. “Have you come to wish us Godspeed?”

“Yes,” Jocelyn called, waving a square of cloth toward the vessel. “I
’ll miss you, coz!”

“Father
’s in his cabin, or he’d come out to say farewell, too,” Eleanor said, looking fragile and delicate as she clung to a cable of the rigging and leaned over the edge of the boat.

Jocelyn hid a thick swallow in her throat. “Give your papa my love, then,” she called, her voice cracking. “And take care, Eleanor. My love and prayers will go with you.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor called. She turned prettily and descended below deck, and within an hour the pinnace unleashed her cables and raised her rusty anchor. A gentle breeze filled the oft-mended main sheets, and Ananias Dare and his brave sailors stood on the deck and waved tearful farewells to their friends, wives, and children who would wait in Ocanahonan.

fifty-one

T
wo weeks later, Jocelyn met Audrey on the path to the well outside the palisade. The chill afternoon air, bathed in the burnished sunlight of autumn, carried faint hints of coming winter days. “Since Thomas and Ananias have both seen fit to rid the camp of men, ‘twas surely God who sent Rowtag and his men to us,” Audrey grumbled, trudging next to Jocelyn as they carried water from the river to the village.

“At least Thomas and his men will be back soon,” Jocelyn said, pausing a moment to rest her arms. She lowered her buckets to the ground and rubbed her callused palms. Ofttimes she felt like cursing Thomas
’ missionary work, for though the harvest was in, there was still much work to be done to prepare their house for the winter. If Thomas didn’t return soon, Jocelyn and Regina would be working alone. In addition, there was the matter of William Wythers, for the boy had dropped broad hints that he’d like to marry Regina soon, and he must needs talk to Thomas first . . .

Audrey followed Jocelyn
’s example and lowered her buckets, but sat on a tree stump and tossed her free-flowing hair over her shoulder. “‘Tis nothing but good, the arrival of Rowtag and his people. I couldn’t believe it when they all wanted to be baptized in the freezing autumn water. When wee John Chapman tried to lift Rowtag out of the river by himself—” She giggled and rolled her eyes. “Well, even a saint such as ye, Jocelyn, would have to admit that Rowtag’s uncommonly handsome, or haven’t ye noticed?”

“Yes,” Jocelyn said, indulging her friend with a sidelong smile. “I
’ve noticed.”

“He
’s a man of strong mental faculties, too, for his people follow him without complaint, if ye take my meaning. They’d all be perishing with the hunger now if he hadn’t brought them here, though we’ve profited, too. Why, his men put the men of the Chawanoac tribe to shame in their hunting. Just last week Rowtag’s braves brought in three bucks, ten swamp hogs—”

A hulking shadow fell across the path, and Audrey shut her mouth and gaped at the towering image before her. Even Jocelyn stepped back, surprised by the stealth with which Rowtag had approached. Had he heard—or understood—their conversation? In six months, just how much English had he learned?

“You,” he said, pointing to Audrey.

“Me?” she asked, blushing to the roots of her red hair.

Rowtag nodded without smiling, then took Audrey’s hand and pulled her up. “You come with Rowtag.” He pointed to her, then to himself, then toward the grass hut he had recently erected inside the palisade.

Audrey threw a question over her shoulder: “
‘Pon my soul, Jocelyn, do you think he wants to show me his house?”

“I don
’t know,” Jocelyn answered, amazed. She laughed. “Go with him and see what he wants.”

Audrey nodded and let the Indian lead her to his house. Jocelyn left their water buckets in the path and followed at a distance as Audrey kept up a steady stream of foolish chatter, probably none of which the Indian understood.

At the threshold of his house, Rowtag dropped Audrey’s hand, then reached inside the opening of the doorway and brought forth a lush beaver fur that he presented to Audrey with gentle dignity. Audrey smiled, looking up at the chief, but called for help: “Jocelyn! Fetch someone who can help me understand what he wants.”

Jocelyn hurried further into the village and met Hurit
’s son, Mukki, now grown tall. “I need you, Mukki,” she said, taking his hand. She led him to Rowtag’s house, then she placed her hands on the young man’s shoulders and looked up to whisper in his ear. “Can you tell us what is happening here?”

Perplexed, Audrey stood with the heavy beaver fur spread across her upturned hands. Rowtag was speaking in the Mangoak tongue, pointing occasionally to himself, then to Audrey, then to the hut. Mukki turned to Jocelyn and grinned. “
‘Tis simple, Mistress Colman,” he said, his eyes sparkling in merriment. “The chief wants to marry the widow Bailie.”

“Marry her?” Jocelyn said, incredulous. “But she wouldn
’t—”

“Yes, I would!” Without hesitation Audrey dropped the beaver fur and threw her arms around Rowtag
’s neck. Jocelyn blinked in astonished silence, and Mukki grinned again. “I’ll fetch John Chapman,” he said, smiling conspiratorially, then he sprinted toward the old cleric’s house.

“I hope he hurries,” Jocelyn mumbled, as Rowtag swept Audrey off
her feet and carried her inside his house.

Jocelyn knew Thomas would rant for hours if he knew how unconventional was Audrey
’s wedding, but John Chapman, standing at the door of the grass hut without daring to look in, recited the proper vows of matrimony and pronounced that Rowtag and Audrey Bailie were husband and wife in the eyes of God and the people of Ocanahonan. After the ceremony, which had been witnessed only by Jocelyn, Mukki, and the cleric’s wife, Alice, Jocelyn silently walked home, beset by worry. Had Audrey made a terrible mistake?

Two weeks into the wilderness, Thomas Colman sat on a rock and paused for breath. His doublet was uncomfortable and totally unsuited for the wilderness, but dignity demanded that he wear it on such a holy mission. The men around him had often lost their tempers and their zeal for the journey, for after two weeks of difficult wandering without encountering a single receptive Indian village, they were ready to turn southward for the comforts of home and family. But surely God had a purpose for sending them into the woods, and Thomas would not turn back until they had discovered it.

Behind Thomas, Anthony Cage grunted in surprise. “There,” he said, lifting his hand toward the horizon. “Smoke. Do you see it?”

“I do,” Thomas answered, standing. He adjusted his doublet and turned to give his men a smile of encouragement. “You see, men, what happens when we trust God? Like the pillar of fire he sent the Israelites of old, he has shown us today the direction in which we should go.”

Turning smartly, he changed their course, and walked toward the trail of smoke and whatever lay ahead.

Out on the western ocean, Ananias studied the heavy compass in his hand and struggled to make sense of the reading. The wind had freshened considerably in the last few hours, and the boat sailed surprisingly well, moving at breakneck pace toward an eastern destination only God could name.

“What do you say, Ananias?” John Starte called down from the crow’s nest. He had left an Indian wife and three sons at Ocanahonan. “Are we moving north or south of due eastward?”

“I can
’t tell,” Ananias said, thumping the compass with his fingers. The protective glass over the compass had cracked, and moisture from the sea air had affected the needle. He looked up at John. “In truth, I know not where we’re going.”

Richard Darige, a veteran of many ocean voyages, popped up from below deck. “I hate to disturb you, Ananias,” he said, his eyes on the darkening sky to the south, “but this approaching cloud is no mere storm. I
’d lower the main sheets, if I were you.”

Ananias
’s frustrated temper cracked. “Welladay, you are not me,” he shouted, raising his voice to be heard about the winds that had begun to shrill over the deck. “And the wind moves us quickly, does it not?”

“Ananias!” Eleanor rose from the companionway and came toward him, her hair tangled by the wind. “Darling Ananias, Papa says that you should—”

“Name of a name, your papa is dead!” he shouted as the high arc of the bow dipped and rose, sending a stinging splash of spray over everyone on deck. Eleanor blinked back tears and Ananias staggered under the heavy hand of guilt. “Go below, Eleanor,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Your papa is waiting for you.” He turned her toward the companionway and motioned for Richard Darige to take her below.

“Lower the sheets,” Ananias called reluctantly. The men scrambled to obey as the foul winds blew and a strangling rain fell from the heavens to strengthen nature
’s assault.

Back at Ocanahonan, Jocelyn felt a subtle increase in the wind and motioned to Regina. “Help me gather in the last of these corn shucks,” she said, throwing her arms around a pile of the dried leaves they had been using to stuff mattresses. “The wind
’s picking up. If we don’t get these inside they’ll be blown to wherever your father is.”