by Mike Rhynard
She smiled. “I shall, Hugh. And you heard right. He’s not faring well. I truly do not know what will become of him. ’Twas an awful experience . . . for me, as well. Master Howe was a kind and gentle man, my good friend, and to see him like that . . .” She rubbed sudden tears from her eyes then forced a slight smile. “And how go the palisades?”
“Forgive me for distressing you, Milady.” He paused, studied her face for a moment. “The palisades advance . . . but very slowly. And John Wyles suffered an axe cut to his leg this morning. He and Peter Little were chopping on opposite sides of a large tree, and John moved around the tree toward Peter to get a better angle on his cut . . . and bad fortune arrived at exactly that moment. Peter’s axe glanced off the trunk and cut through John’s calf muscle all the way to the bone—a very ugly wound, a lot of blood, and certainly a lot of pain. ’Twill be a difficult one to heal, for it will want to fester. Haven’t seen that much blood since the army.”
Emily looked surprised. “You were in the army?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Actually, I wondered about that, since so many in your circumstances do enter the officer corps. But I thought ’twas usually a career.”
“Well, it normally is . . . I shall tell you the story. When my father died, both of my brothers became drunkards, and the estate was headed for the cemetery. I suppose it just happened gradually, but after a year, I was running the place while the brothers wallowed in wine and women. Things were actually going quite well for the estate, but my brothers spent the income faster than I could earn it, and eventually we found ourselves on hard times. I was exhausted, but they wanted me to do more so they could spend more; so I left, obtained a commission, and spent several years fighting Spaniards in various places, until in ’85 I found myself fighting them in the Netherlands.”
“I’ve heard ’twas a very bloody campaign.”
“ ’Twas indeed. And on the first of July of that year I was on a mission to rescue a large group of our troops that been trapped by the enemy. I was with my commander and forty men.” He paused, looked away from her.
“Hugh, don’t tell this if it upsets you. My God, here I am again asking someone a painful question. I’m not asking any more questions.”
“It does upset me, Emily, but I can’t lock it away in a box.” He paused. “So somehow, they knew we were coming and ambushed and slaughtered us like pigs in a corral. Most of the men were killed outright; and my commander was badly wounded, shot from his horse.” He paused again.
“And you?”
“I took a bullet in the shoulder, which knocked me off my horse, as well; but the horse stayed beside me, as did my commander’s. The commander was barely conscious, but I was able to shove him up onto the saddle and get the reins into his hands and send him off toward our lines. But then because of my shoulder wound, it took me a long time to get myself back in the saddle, and just as I finally settled there, another shot hit me in the hip.”
“Your limp.”
He nodded. “Well, I leaned forward on the horse’s neck and spurred him on with great urgency until I was out of musket range. Then as I approached our lines, I passed out and again fell from the saddle.”
Emily cupped her hand over her mouth.
“A number of our troops rushed out and dragged me to safety and deposited me in hospital.”
“And did your commander live?”
“He did; he was already in the hospital when I arrived.”
“And quite grateful, I’m sure? He should have had you decorated.”
“Well, he was, and he did. But unfortunately, I couldn’t walk for a year and wore a sling on the bad arm for nine months; so the army discharged me, and now I’m here with you with an interesting story to tell.”
“Hugh, I’d no idea. You’re certainly mum and humble about it. Did you want to remain in the army?”
“Indeed, but, Emily”—he took her hands in his, looked into her eyes— “had I not come here, I would never have met you, and meeting you is the most wonderful thing that’s happened in my entire life.”
A sudden blush glowed through the soot on her cheeks. “You’re embarrassing me again. I’m but a common, ordinary English girl, nothing more.”
“English, yes . . . common, by birth only. But ordinary? No, not in a thousand years.”
“Now I’ll blush again, thank you.”
“You’re already blushing, and it makes you even more beautiful.”
She hid her face in her hands.
“Do you know that I watched you every day on the ship and racked my mind to understand why you’re not married to some lord? And if not a lord, at least a country nobleman?”
Her heart tremored. “My mother told me to never talk to men, especially older ones.” An impish smile appeared on her lips. “And Father enforced Mother’s wish; so I’ve never been allowed to talk to men, and I’m therefore unable to trust them.”
“Emily, that’s inhumanely cruel and unfair to the men of England!”
She thought how she enjoyed their gentle teasing, his easy company, savored the strange new warmth that sometimes spread from her head to her shoulders and down her back when they talked. “And what else did you do while you were on the ship, Hugh Tayler?”
“I spent many minutes watching you lean over the side looking for fish.”
She laughed as she covered her lips with her hand. “I wish I’d been looking for fish. Now you’re truly embarrassing me.”
“Well, the reason I saw you was because I was on the other side of the ship doing the same thing you were.”
She laughed again. “Actually, now that you mention it, I do remember seeing you on the deck a lot . . . and by the bye, looking rather pale.”
“At your service, Mistress. But ’tis true, I did wonder about you . . . and I’m very glad you’re not married to a lord or country nobleman. Very glad indeed.” He again held her hands, stared into her eyes with a deep, searching gaze, which she met with a steady, piercing look that bored into his soul.
As her breathing and heartbeat quickened, a warm twinge of alarm settled in her mind, alerted her to a sudden, unfamiliar cleft in her emotional control.
After a long hesitation, he blinked then smiled. “I saw you helping the governor’s daughter to her cottage last night. How does she fare?”
“She’s well, for ’twas only a false labor . . . and such matters are not to be discussed with men.” She smiled. “But at that moment, both of us were quite certain her time was at hand. And then it took me considerable time to locate Agnes Sampson, who’s to be her midwife. So we were in a bit of a twitter for a while.”
“I can imagine. And Mistress Harvie is also due soon?”
She nodded. “It could be any time now, for both of them. Actually the two of them have a wager on who will be first. Agnes thinks ’twill be Elyoner, but who knows.”
“Well, I’m glad I won’t be there. Too much pain for me, from what I’ve heard.”
Emily glanced toward a sudden clamor at the far edge of the village. “Hugh, look. Governor White and the Assistants are returning. Perhaps they’ve good news.”
Tayler’s eyes remained fixed on Emily. “Emily, might you and I walk together one day away from the village and all the eyes that spy on us when we talk?”
She wanted to say yes but knew her father would be unlikely to permit it even though he encouraged their relationship. ’Twas simply too soon, and too unconventional for Thomas Colman, even in a remote colony. “I’d enjoy that, Hugh, but with Savages about, I fear it won’t happen soon. And of course, you would have to ask Father’s permission.”
“Ah, yes. The harsh realities of English decorum. Then perhaps an evening stroll around the village?”
A loud bell clanged at the gathering place in the center of the village, summoning all inhabitants. As people began to walk toward the spot, John White climbed on top of a large stump, motioned his Assistants to gather around him.
Emily, again i
n her smock, sat on her bed, leaned close to the candle that sat on a small stump beside the bed. Her father and George were asleep. She had read her mother’s letter three times, and it now sat on her lap as she visualized her mother’s face in the darkness of her closed eyes, saw her rocking her baby brother in her arms. Mother, I so wish you could be here to guide me. I’ve told you about George . . . but I’m still quite uncertain about how it will be when he revives. Please help me know what to do . . . and I have something else to tell you. I’m growing quite fond of Hugh Tayler. She wondered what Elyoner had been about to tell her about him the night before. As you know, he’s much older than I; and even though I’m well practiced at conversing with older men, he sometimes unbalances me, gives me feelings I’ve not had before. A few times I’ve even felt a little muddled in the head, and . . . and no, I’m not worried, and I will remain strong and save myself for none but my husband, whoever he may be. Yes, ’tis not inconceivable that it could be Hugh, or perhaps under the right circumstances even George . . . if he recovers . . . but ’tis impossible to say now . . . with either of them.
She reached over to her apron, which lay folded beneath her clothes a few inches away, removed her black locket, held it to the candle, and read MC and 1587 engraved on the back. As a thin mist dampened her eyes, she squeezed the sides of the locket. A small stem popped out of one end. She rotated it a full counterclockwise turn, half a clockwise turn, then pushed it inward. The top of the locket popped open, revealing a folded lock of brown hair the size of her little finger. She removed the hair, stared at it for a moment, then held it to her lips. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she whispered, “Mother, please come to us soon. I need you. Father needs you. I love you.” Her gaze lingered for a moment before she replaced the lock of hair, snapped the lid closed, and returned the locket to her pocket. She then placed the candle on the floor in the center of the room, lay down on her bed, and softly cried herself to sleep.
As the sun approached the treetops, Lieutenant Waters and most of his men sat near the palisades, their weapons beside them; most civilians sat immediately inside their open cottage doors, ready to assemble at a moment’s notice when the Savages arrived. Ten soldiers, muskets in hand, guarded the approaches to the village. Governor White, Manteo, and all twelve Assistants sat under a canvas tarp held seven feet in the air by four corner poles tethered by rope guide lines tied to stakes in the ground. An assortment of gifts for the Savages, including glass beads, cloth, steel knives, hammers, and hatchets, lay in neat rows beside the shelter; while a stack of six-inch-long pieces of red cloth, for Manteo’s people to tie around their wrists for identification, sat beside the gifts.
While White’s plan for meeting with all the nearby Savages had received general approval, the day brought ever-rising anxiety and disappointment; for no Savage, even of Manteo’s tribe, showed his face. At first he thought they were just late and would suddenly emerge from the forest later in the afternoon; but as the day wore on, he realized he was wrong, and a black fog of despair relentlessly crept into his mind. How could they ignore his offer, force him to take the terrible action he dreaded more than death itself, force him to repeat Lane’s atrocities, violate his sense of humanity? Did they not know they were inviting their own deaths and destruction? How could they have so little regard for sense and logic? Indeed, the attack his men would soon mount against the Savages would completely destroy any hope of peace. He felt an icy chill on his neck, a horrible, overwhelming sense of foreboding; realized, yet again, that the vast numerical advantage held by the Savages could ultimately lead to but one outcome. He stared at the rows of gifts, drank a dipper of water from the bucket near his feet, and shook his head. While he fingered his beard, he scoured his mind for a way to avoid the attack, knew there was none.
When the Assistants began to whisper to one another, White beckoned Lieutenant Waters to join them. The civilians saw what was happening, emerged from their cottages, and gathered about ten yards outside the clump of Assistants. White knew how it would go, for Roger Baylye and the three Assistants who had supported him at yesterday’s meeting, including his son-in-law, Ananias, stood together; while Willes, Stevens, and Sampson stood with the others. The soldiers remained by the palisades.
“My friends, I know many of you are as disappointed as I am about the failure of the Savages to come here today. The fact that none came, even Manteo’s people, causes me to wonder if perhaps they misunderstood our proposal or the date or time at which they were expected.”
Murmurs percolated through the men near Willes and Sampson.
White raised his voice. “And if they did misunderstand our intentions, how could they correctly communicate them to the other tribes? Manteo’s people have always been our friends, and we’ve no reason to think they now feel otherwise.”
Willes said, “John, we know you’re against attacking George Howe’s murderers, but what are you proposing? Surely you don’t believe what you just suggested. My God, man, Manteo himself communicated the invitation.”
“ ’Tis true. But I also know something has happened to cause them not to come here today, and I think we must take every precaution to be certain of the circumstances before we resort to bloodshed.”
Both Assistants and civilians, some with anger, others with contempt, shouted their opinions at one another.
Roger Baylye raised his hands to quiet the din. “Please, please. The governor’s right. We don’t want to start a war. We want to find a way to make and preserve peace, and I agree with John. We must make a greater effort to do so before we start something we may be unable to conclude. Do you not understand that we’re alone and lack the force of Her Majesty’s army to defend us? Think, men, think!”
“Master Baylye’s right,” Hugh Tayler said. Others voiced support for Baylye’s plea but were outshouted by dissenters. White nodded his thanks to Baylye and Tayler then shook his head in despair.
William Willes raised both hands; the shouting tapered then subsided. “John, you made a promise yesterday. You told your Assistants and the entire colony that we would attack George Howe’s murderers if the Savages did not come here today. Did you not make that promise?”
“Aye, I did, William, but—”
“Then you must keep it. We must attack and punish them.”
Impassioned shouting exploded. White stared at the ground as if looking elsewhere would silence the tumult. He felt himself a traitor to his principles, but knowing he had no way out, finally raised his hands for silence. “We will attack, but ’twould be folly to simply charge off and do so without first conceiving a sensible military plan. Such planning is Lieutenant Waters’ responsibility, and we should hear what he proposes.” He nodded at Waters.
“The governor is correct. To attack haphazardly is to invite confusion and disaster. I will develop an attack plan and present it an hour after dark to Governor White and whoever he chooses.”
All, including Willes, Stevens, and Sampson nodded agreement.
White said, “Very well, Lieutenant. We shall expect you in my cottage an hour after dark. Now, I suggest we end this gathering and proceed with our evening’s affairs. It promises to be a long night.”
Emily sat beside Elyoner, held her hand as she lay on her back panting. Her knees were bent up and outward, her legs spread apart, hair pulled back, face and smock soaked with sweat. She suddenly tensed, moaned, her features taut and pained; then slowly relaxed to a fearful, uncertain look, waited for the next contraction. Two buckets of water and a pile of rags sat nearby; and Jane Pierce and Agnes Sampson, whom Emily had summoned an hour before, stood several feet away watching, whispering to one another.
Agnes said, “They’re getting closer. Won’t be long now.”
“I agree,” Jane said as she walked over to Elyoner, lifted her smock, and looked beneath it. “ Elyoner, you’re nearly there. Perhaps an hour, perhaps a little less. Be strong, dear.”
Elyoner tensed with another contraction. “ Huuh! Huuh! Huuh
! Ahhhh!” Her blanched fingers tightened on Emily’s hand.
Emily shot a tense, worried look at Agnes.
“She’s doing fine, lass. Doing fine . . . you, as well, Emily. Don’t worry. Hold her tight; won’t be long.”
The shallop, carrying twenty-six men, cast off from the shore, glided into the darkness. As the rowers began pulling toward the main, White whispered, “Gently, men. Make no sound. We’ve plenty of time.”
Manteo tapped White on the shoulder, pointed slightly left of the bow.
White nodded, then whispered to the helmsman, “Steer fifteen degrees left.”
The man nodded as he eased the rudder to the new position.
White looked up at the stars that flooded the black sky, rehashed the evening meeting in his cottage: Manteo’s reluctant agreement to guide them to the village; Waters’ sound attack plan, his moral objections to executing it, followed by his dour acknowledgement that it was his duty to do so; Baylye’s refusal to be part of it; Willes’ and Stevens’ eagerness to do the opposite; and his own persistent wish to be extricated from it altogether. As the water gently lapped at the sides of the boat, he thought of his daughter, envisioned her as a baby then as a child, was stunned that at that very moment she was giving birth to her own child. As he said a quick prayer, it struck him—the complete irony of a new birth occurring at the very moment other life would be taken away. He shook his head in frustration and shame as he recalled when Lane had killed the leader of the people they were about to attack, beheaded him with his sword, placed the head on a pole in the center of the village. Not a night passed that, in his dreams, he didn’t see Wingina’s decomposing face, its half smile and questioning look that seemed to ask why he’d been treated so.