Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring)

by Angela Hunt

  Yes, had he not fallen ill, Robert White would have welcomed the chance to explore the New World. Like many others of his station, he believed that human beings had once known and understood all knowledge about the natural world through God’s revelation to Adam. But as sin dulled the conscience and corrupted the intellect of mankind, this knowledge had been lost. ‘Twas up to godly men to recover the divine gift of knowledge, and all the world waited to be explored as God progressively revealed new fields to be researched. Cures for illness, precious goods for prosperity, freedom and hope for a fallen world—all these things awaited godly men who sought the truth.

  Which of these motivations drove Thomas Colman? Jocelyn turned onto her side to hide from Audrey the emotions that surely flickered across her face. There was something admirable about a man who would leave his home and journey to America to convert the Indians. And his approach and words to her had not been unseemly. He had neither leered at her like most of the seamen, nor patronized her like the older gentlemen.

  “Audrey,” Jocelyn called over her shoulder. The maid grunted sleepily in reply.

  “I pray you, find out more about this Thomas Colman,” Jocelyn whispered. “Is he married? From what part of England did he come?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Audrey mumbled, and Jocelyn buried her face in the sour-smelling mattress and wondered why she cared at all about the purpose and background of such a strange man.

  Jocelyn’s interest in Thomas Colman heightened when Audrey reported that Reverend Colman was a widower who had a young son who remained behind in England to be reared by his sister-in-law. “How do you know this?” she asked, grasping Audrey’s hand.

  “William Clement told me,” the girl answered proudly, lifting her delicate chin. “He’s the servant to old Roger Bailie, your uncle’s chief assistant. Got it straight from the records, we did.”

  “We did?”

  “Well,” Audrey blushed. “William can’t read, so he got me the records and I read them meself. But ‘tis the truth, and I’d as lief jump overboard as tell ye a lie, Miss Jocelyn.”

  “All right.” Jocelyn dropped Audrey’s hand and sat back to think. How difficult it must have been for Thomas Colman to leave his son behind! How could he do such a thing? Like me, he boarded this ship knowing he was needed elsewhere, she thought. Like me, he carries the weight of sorrow in his heart.

  After that afternoon she watched him carefully, selecting places to sit and read or eat so she could watch him without being seen, but on more than one occasion he looked up and caught her eye. Embarrassed, she lowered her head, blushing furiously, determined that she would never, ever look his way again. But in the next hour she would invariably walk on one of the decks and spy him looking out to sea or talking to a group of men, and he would hold her rapt attention once again.

  She couldn’t help herself, watching him was sheer pleasure. His dark hair grew upward and outward in great waves that begged detangling; his broad hands were most often clasped behind his back but often stooped to help one of the young boys untangle a fishing line or tie a stubborn shoelace. Even seated, he seemed taller than anyone else aboard ship, and his deep eyes revealed the sensitivity of a scholar. Jocelyn’s father had eyes like Thomas Colman’s, and she found herself yearning to surrender to the magnetic pull of those dark eyes.

  He rarely laughed, though he usually wore a pleasant smile, and he seemed to generate awe among the others as he dispensed pleasantries, advice, and promises to pray for the passengers’ various needs. With Jocelyn’s uncle he was pleasant and attentive; he moved with disarming grace among the married women and upper class gentlemen. To the outward eye he seemed polished and perfect, but once or twice a day Jocelyn caught his face in an unguarded moment. Once she caught him staring out to sea with an expression of infinite sorrow on his face—had she found the vein of softness in his granite strength? Did he think of the son he had left behind?

  The tedious boredom of the ship dissipated as she watched the disturbingly attractive Thomas Colman, and almost she hoped he would speak to her again. But on their eighth day in port, Simon Fernandes gave the order to make sail and the three ships left Cowes to cross the Solent for Portsmouth.

  On the journey home, Jocelyn stood at the upper deck and felt the northward wind tug at her veil as resolutely as her interest in Thomas Colman tugged at her heart. But her destiny could not lie in Virginia, for it lay in England with her father. Thomas Colman would have to venture to the Indians alone, although she knew she would forever keep him in her thoughts and prayers.

  The ocean breeze blew the ships back to Portsmouth in a matter of hours, and the seamen and passengers aboard all three ships crowded on the upper decks to catch a glimpse of the docks they had left only a week earlier. The seamen working on the docks recognized the standards on the ships and greeted them with snide catcalls: “Some long journey, fellows! Did our lady the sea prove too much for ye?”

  As the Lion eased into her berth to take on fresh stores of food and water, Jocelyn jostled her way through the crowd on the deck, her hand firmly clasped around Audrey’s wrist. Simon Fernandes stood near the gangplank, ready to command the seamen who waited on the docks, and John White stood behind him. Jocelyn wasn’t about to let her uncle forget his promise.

  “Our trunks!” Audrey squealed as Jocelyn drew her through the press of people. “Can ye be planning to leave without our things?”

  “We’ll have them taken off soon enough,” Jocelyn promised. “But first we’re going to get off. I’ll not give my uncle an excuse to conveniently overlook us.”

  A sailor positioned the gangplank between the dock and the ship’s rail, then a uniformed soldier strutted across and briefly saluted Simon Fernandes. “I have letters for Master John White,” the soldier said, pulling sealed parchments from a leather pouch at his waist. “And I am to wait for a reply.”

  Jocelyn waited, impatiently, while her uncle received his letters, broke open the seal of the first, and read it. “It seems our Sir Walter Raleigh writes to assure us of his and the Queen’s prayers,” he said, his mouth curving into a wry smile as he looked at the men crowded around him. They burst into cheers as White bowed to the courier. “You may tell Sir Walter and Her Gracious Majesty that we are most appreciative and grateful.”

  The second letter was smaller and not as heavily embossed, but Jocelyn saw her uncle’s eyes mist as he read it. Instinctively, his eyes came to rest upon hers when he had finished the page, and she knew immediately what news the letter had brought.

  She closed her eyes and heard the crowd part as he made his way to her. “I’m sorry, Jocelyn,” he said, his voice breaking as he placed the letter into her hand. “Your father—my brother—died three days ago.” He embraced her briefly, and she opened her eyes to see that the other passengers stood in silent respect for their grief.

  John White cleared his throat as he released her. “May God grant Robert the peace he deserves.”

  “Make way!” The impertinent cries of the Lion’s seamen disturbed the silent crowd at the gangplank. Through the heavy, sodden dullness that surrounded her, Jocelyn felt herself being pushed out of the way as barrels of water and supplies were brought on board. Audrey’s hand held hers again, but this time Audrey pulled Jocelyn through the crowd and down a companionway to the lower passenger deck. Jocelyn sat for some time without speaking, then lay down and watered the straw mattress beneath her with futile tears.

  “My father died alone, Uncle. You did wrong to bring me here.” She had come to his small cabin for a private confrontation.

  “No, child, you are wrong,” John White whispered, correcting his niece even as he silently admired her courage in confronting him. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and he envied her the freedom of tears. He had no time for grief and no privacy in which to vent it, though he had lost a dear brother and friend.

  “Your father wanted you to come with me; he had been planning this for some time. If he had been well, he wo
uld have joined us on the journey himself, for he desired nothing more than to explore the New World . . .”

  His mind wandered off into a happy memory of a discussion he and his brother had once shared, and only when Jocelyn cleared her throat did his thoughts return to her. “But I would not have you unhappy, dear girl,” he said, reaching out to clasp her hand in his. “If we can find you a position, mayhap as a governess for a noble family, you may remain in England. But we have not much time.”

  “No.” Her response surprised him, and he lifted his brows in a questioning glance.

  She took a step toward him as though being closer would help him understand. “I do not doubt my father’s wisdom, I only regret that I was not with him at the end. He died alone, Uncle John, and I pray God will forgive me for allowing that to happen.”

  “You are not at fault, Jocelyn. Robert wanted you to go.”

  She shrugged gently. “Since he wanted me to be here with you, I will trust his judgment.” She took a deep breath and gave him a wavering smile. “I will go with you and Eleanor to this City of Raleigh. England holds nothing for me, not anymore. You, Eleanor, and Audrey are my family now.”

  He patted her hand in pleased surprise, and smiled as he recalled his first plan for his niece. Though Thomas Colman had apparently made no progress in the eight days since they first embarked, mayhap he could fare better in the weeks ahead as they crossed the western ocean.

  SEVEN

  Standing alone at the bulwark of the Lion, Jocelyn watched the docks and chimneys of Portsmouth retreat into the horizon as the ship turned its bow to follow the sun. The aquamarine water of the English Channel rippled gently toward the shoreline, and though sea shanties echoed behind her as the seamen worked the sails, Jocelyn clothed herself in silence as she said goodbye to her father, her childhood home, and memories too painful to recall.

  “By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion,” she quoted, recalling one of her father’s favorite psalms. “For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us the songs of Zion.”

  The wind caressed her face as she watched sparks of light reflect off the deep blue of the water, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye as she remembered the touch of her father’s hand on her cheek. “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?” she went on, choking on the words as if a hand lay at her throat. “If I forget thee, father, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth . . .”

  A sudden breeze and dip of the ship sent a cool splash of spray into the air and across her face. She did not move, welcoming the tears of the sea to join her own as she lifted her heart in prayer:

  “To you, my Father God, I give these priceless memories. All I am, every dream I have ever known, came from the man who lies buried beyond these waters. I don’t know why you compel me to leave all behind, but Papa said you would give me grace to bear what lies ahead. But mark me, my Lord, and know my heart: I would as lief die as continue without that grace. Cover me, Lord, and hold me in the palm of your protective hand . . .”

  Behind the shadow of the mizzenmast, Thomas Colman watched Jocelyn White stand with battleship solidity at the stern, her eyes on the distant and receding horizon. The gravity that had filled her eyes in the past week had bloomed fully into despair since the public news of her father’s death, and Thomas knew something about desperation. Once, as she raised her hand to wipe a tear away, he thought about walking forward to comfort her, but common sense detained him.

  If God ruled justly and honorably, this girl could not be meant for him. Why, then, did events conspire to push them together?

  On their first departure from Portsmouth, Thomas had been shocked beyond words when John White pulled him aside and pointed to the petite brunette who stormed about the ship demanding to be taken off at the first opportunity. “That is your niece?” he had gasped, amazed at the girl’s beauty and her temerity. Any girl who had to be bartered in marriage should have been less than beautiful or past the age of youth, but Jocelyn White was rosy cheeked with energy, a vividly pretty young woman whose hair blew in silky tangles around stormy blue eyes. On that day her eyes had flashed with strength and anger, bowing neither before her uncle or the sallow-faced captain Fernandes.

  He knew then that he could not marry her. If God was just, any wife meant for him should have been mealy-mouthed and plain, ill tempered or sickly. ‘Twouldn’t be fair to ask a stunning beauty to serve as the wife of a minister, or even to marry Thomas Colman, indentured servant.

  But John White had held him fast and insisted: “Soft, good reverend, but watch her, talk to her, make her trust you.”

  He amazed himself when he began to shadow her movements; he had never intended to follow White’s orders. But Jocelyn White fascinated him; was it the allure of forbidden fruit? I’faith, this girl was not like the other women aboard ship. They collected themselves in small knots below deck and talked or giggled or wrung their hands in endless worry and boredom. But Jocelyn rarely spoke to anyone save her maid. She usually walked below or on deck with a book or parchment in her hands, and often he spied her writing at the table in her uncle’s small cabin. What was she writing? Letters? To whom? Did she keep a journal? What in heaven could she find worthy of writing about on this horrid ship?

  On one late afternoon he stood outside the window of John White’s cabin and peered inside. Miss White sat at the desk, her face like gold in the flickering light of sunset, her eyes concentrated upon the parchment under her small hands. Once or twice she sighed as she wrote, what was she thinking? She put the pen down, and, fearful of being seen, Thomas jerked away from the window.

  After a moment, he gathered the courage to look in again. She had rolled the parchment into a tube, then she leaned toward the small porthole in the cabin and thrust the rolled parchment through it. Startled, Thomas strode to the ship’s railing in time to see the parchment unfurl in the wind and flatten itself upon the face of the billowing ocean.

  What kind of woman wrote letters to the sea?

  His fascination for her became a spying game; there was little else to do while aboard ship. Her young maid naturally caught sight of him, and doubtless alerted her mistress, and on that humiliating afternoon when he finally gathered courage enough to speak to her, he had done nothing but offend her. Bumptious fool! He should have known better to approach her like one of the ill-mannered seamen.

  Smarting under that humiliation, he renounced his fascination with Jocelyn White and consigned himself to fifteen years of celibate servitude. Apparently God had a more severe plan in mind for Thomas Colman than the dedication required of a minister. ‘Twas obvious that God wanted him to subject his heart, his eyes, and his physical desires to the tyranny of slavery. He would do it, and gladly, for he deserved no better.

  After the girl’s scorching rebuke, a few days passed without event. Thomas stayed below deck in the men’s section of the ship, never once allowing his eyes to lift in search of the girl. All was well until God began to test his resolve. William Clement, an occasionally charming bloke who spent most of his time eying the serving women, whispered one afternoon that the fair niece of John White had asked in particular about the Reverend Thomas Colman.

  Thomas found it difficult to remain aloof from Clement’s taunting suggestion. Of the hundred or more men aboard ship, why would the girl notice him? Was his infatuation for her so obvious that the other men thought to bait him with rumors and false hope?

  But ofttimes on sunny afternoons when the sailors were willing to let passengers above deck, he roamed the ship and felt bright eyes upon him. When he turned suddenly, there she stood, caught in a nervous blush.

  By themselves, these adolescent boy-girl games could not have turned him from his steadfast intention to forget Jocelyn White. But when John White read the letter announcing his brother’s
death, the girl exchanged maidenly blushing for the mantle of mourning. Watching from the crowd, Thomas read her grief in the line of her shoulders, in the broken way her head lay on her uncle’s chest, the helpless curl of her hands.

  Still, surely God could not intend for Thomas to fulfill John White’s secret contract of marriage. So why, then, did his heart yearn to comfort the suffering girl who stood crying at the rail as Portsmouth faded from view?

  Jocelyn did not know how long she stood at the ship’s rail, but Portsmouth had long disappeared when she felt a warm hand cover her own. “I know ‘tis not easy for you,” Eleanor said, squeezing her cousin’s hand gently. “I have my husband and father with me.”

  “‘Tis not only my father I grieve for,” Jocelyn stuttered, fresh tears springing to her eyes. “But our way of life. My father’s books, my studies—they are all I have known. In truth, Eleanor, I do not know what to expect in this Virginia of yours, and I fear I am not equipped to face it . . .”

  Eleanor smiled and lightened her voice. “I’faith, we will have everything English, dear coz. We are not going to the wilderness to live as savages, but to build an English colony. We are taking our way of life with us. You will find that in time our City of Raleigh will be as prosperous as London. My father will be the governor, my husband an assistant or at least a justice of the peace.”

  “But—” Jocelyn paused. The question would seem self-centered, but she had to know. “Eleanor, I am not married, nor am I bound to a family as a servant. What will become of me?”

  Eleanor gave her a bright look of eagerness. “I’faith, you’ll live with us, of course, until you want to be married. Think you that you should wither on the vine and misspend your youth? Shame on you, coz. I believe my father will find you a suitable husband, and you will be very happy.”