Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring)

by Angela Hunt

“Uncle,” she said, pausing by his side. He glanced up at her, distracted. “I would like to know what I should do. I’m here to work.”

  His tired face rearranged itself into a grin. “Ah, Jocelyn, my practical niece. Well, we are fortunate, dear, that the houses still stand. There,” he put his arm on her shoulder, turning her toward the opening of the many-sided fort. “The houses are grouped outside the fort, do y’see? I’ll share that largest house with Ananias and Eleanor and the servants. Thirteen houses will be provided for our families, one house for the two Indians, one house for Roger Bailie, Christopher Cooper, and Thomas Stevens and their servants, and seven houses will shelter ten unmarried men each. The remaining four buildings will be storehouses for our corn, arms, and tools.”

  His arm fell from her shoulders and he turned back to his notes. “You can help, dear girl, by going ‘round the circle and making sure the women have found their way into their proper houses. Take this list—” he thrust a freshly marked parchment toward her, “and make your rounds as soon as possible. For today, we must leave it to you women to make the houses habitable. I need every man to prepare the fort in case of an attack.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said glancing over the list in her hand. With the chill shock of recognition she saw her own name, listed as “Reverend Thomas, Mistress Jocelyn Colman, and Audrey Tappan, servant,” among the family groups.

  A family! She had yet to spend an hour, a single night totally alone with her husband. How could they be considered a family?

  Elizabeth Viccars grumbled good-naturedly about the tangle of vines carpeting her new house, but she deposited her sleeping son into the arms of Emme Merrimoth, her maid, and dismissed Jocelyn with a smile.

  “‘Tis better to sleep amongst vines than on that rank ship,” she said, placing her hands on her ample hips as she looked around. “Don’t you worry, we’ll tend to our own house and not be a bother.”

  Next to the Viccars’ house, young Wenefrid Powell directed her four-year-old nephew, William Wythers, to run outside and help Thomas Smart, the family servant. Wenefrid was Jocelyn’s age and her husband only eighteen, and for a moment Jocelyn was tempted to ask her thoughts about marriage and husbands. But Wenefrid had work to do and a youngster to watch, so Jocelyn wished her a good day and moved on to the next house.

  Joyce Archard stood in the rubble of her new home with her ten-year-old son, Thomas, clinging to her skirt. The boy had been sick with a cough for the entire journey, and coughed even now as he stared miserably at the house. The Archards’ servant, eighteen-year-old Margaret Lawrence, stood with her hands on her hips and declared, “I’faith, I can’t believe it! I would as lief sleep in the woods as in this weed patch!”

  Next to the Archards’, the heavily pregnant Margery Harvie tried to pluck melon vines from the mud between the logs of her house while Jane Pierce, her servant, struggled to push their trunk into the interior of the shelter. The small house next door stood in remarkably good condition, and Jocelyn saw on her list that it had been assigned to John and Jane Jones, the doctor and his wife who had no children and only one servant, Joan Warren.

  Next door to the doctor, Jane Mannering had energetically set about clearing the Chapmans’ house, while in the next dwelling Rose Payne of Suffolk immediately set her servant, Beth Glane, to work while she sat on a trunk to stare out a window. “Why is Eleanor Dare’s house much bigger than mine?” she asked, her voice an annoying whine in the hot afternoon.

  “Thou shalt do all things without murmuring or disputing,” Beth answered, moving like a dark shadow through the house in her somber black kirtle and bodice. Despite the heat, the servant wore a black bonnet devoid of any decoration, and Jocelyn wondered how the spoiled Rose and devout Beth had learned to coexist. Perhaps they balance each other, Jocelyn thought as she moved on to the next residence.

  White-haired Alice Chapman stood in the center of the clearing with a lost look on her face, and Jocelyn pointed out the house where her servant Jane was already at work. Alice’s husband, John, had given up his Anglican church in Suffolk and journeyed to America with hopes of becoming a planter. If Rose Payne continued to whine, Jocelyn thought guiltily, perhaps the saintly influence of the elderly John Chapman would sweeten her spirit. In any case, the devoutly religious Beth Glane would doubtless find comfort in living so near a former cleric.

  Roger Prat and his son, John, had been assigned the next house, and George Howe and his son, young George, were to be housed next to the Prats. On the door of the next deserted building Jocelyn scrawled the name of John Sampson and his son, young John.

  Her uncle had assigned the next house, which was larger than most, to the unmarried assistants: Roger Bailie, Christopher Cooper, and Thomas Stevens. Bailie and Cooper each had a manservant, William Clement and James Hynde, respectively, so Jocelyn scratched the entire list of surnames onto the dried clay wall.

  Manteo and Towaye would share a house, four houses were designated for storage, and seven houses would serve as barracks for the seventy unmarried men who completed the colony.

  Only one building in the circle remained unaccounted for, a small house next to the Governor’s. ‘Twas a sad structure of clay and timber, with two drooping shuttered windows and a door that hung askew on rusty iron hinges. But like the others it had two stories and two rooms, one up and one down, though the upper room was exposed to the elements through gaping holes in the straw-thatched roof.

  Jocelyn picked up a piece of charcoal from a cold fire pit and scratched three names upon the rough-hewn doorpost: Thomas Colman, Jocelyn Colman, and Audrey Tappan. With her work done, Jocelyn knotted her hair at the back of her neck, wiped her damp hands on her skirt, and strode inside her house to rid it of whatever evils lurked inside.

  Thomas paused in his work, arrested by the sight of Jocelyn’s determined knotting of her hair. She marched into the house with the courage of a military general heading into battle, and the expression of her youthful enthusiasm made him smile. Perhaps, God willing, this girl can mark a new beginning in my life, he thought, his eyes yearning for another glimpse of her. Since their marriage they had scarcely spoken, but sometimes he had the feeling he could feel her thoughts. She was watching and waiting for him to take command, with no idea of the power she held in her own hands. She did not know that he had been immediately and totally attracted to her, that a single disapproving glance from her blue eyes had the ability to send a wave of dismay along his pulses . . .

  And that was how things should remain. Despite this feeling of streaming hope that poured from his heart, she could not become emotionally involved with him, for he would only hurt her. He had hurt everything he touched, even himself . . .

  And yet the sound of her voice stirred a response in him as age-old as the sea.

  When Audrey finally arrived at the house, Jocelyn sent her maid back to the beach to fetch the trunks that contained all their worldly goods. Thomas stopped by once in the afternoon, remarked upon the good progress she had made, and promised to bring his trunk himself. “You could not carry it,” he said, his eyes smiling as he seemed to measure the strength of her slender frame. “I’m afraid ‘tis full of books. Not very useful here, but I couldn’t imagine leaving them behind.”

  He left before she could think of a reply, and so she continued working. She pulled weeds from the walls, brushed dead leaves from the floor, and swept spider webs from the ceiling with a limber tree branch. In one corner of the house she found a gigantic nest of ants in the earthen floor. As she shoveled the nest from the house, the aggressive insects swarmed over her hands and Jocelyn yelped in pain. She slapped them away, crying in frustration, and when welts rose on her fingers she ran to the beach to immerse her hands in the cool seawater.

  All of the houses around the fort were built with two floors, but after stacking her trunk atop Audrey’s and cautiously climbing high enough to peer into the attic space, Jocelyn knew the upper floor would not be habitable for a long time. The thatched roof had lo
ng been blown away, and rain had rotted the timber flooring in several places. The unmistakable odor of animal droppings assaulted her nostrils as soon as she lifted the trap door leading into the attic room, and Jocelyn was relieved to drop the door and concentrate instead on the lower floor of the house.

  They could live in the lower room for months if they had to. She, Audrey, and Thomas. And since her husband had married her only to safeguard his respectability, he was certainly in no rush to require a private bedchamber.

  As the sun began its slow glide into the west, a horn blew from the direction of the sea. Jocelyn wiped her dirty, blistered hands on her skirt and straightened her back. She felt brittle, as if any sudden movement would snap her in two like a twig. Audrey had disappeared hours before, and as Jocelyn stepped out into the gathering gloom she started in surprise when Thomas appeared at her side.

  “Your uncle says we must sleep on the ship until the fort is ready,” he said, peering past her into the house. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes,” she snapped, irritated at his apparent appraisal of her work. “I’m tired. I don’t know what you did all day, but I worked hard.”

  “I know you did,” he answered, stepping away from the door. He extended his hand. “Shall we walk to the boat together?”

  She nodded, and blushed in pleased surprise when he took her filthy hand in his. “You have worked harder than the others,” he said as they began to walk, his deep voice lifting the hairs on her arm. “I went to each house to ask for God’s blessing, and I am amazed at what you have accomplished. Rose Payne has done nothing but sit and look out her window. Even with her servant’s help, her house will have melons growing from its seams well into the fall.”

  Jocelyn laughed, and something seemed to glow in Thomas’ eyes. “And what else did you do today, besides exhausting yourself in prayer?” she asked, taking care to keep her voice light.

  “I buried a man long dead,” Thomas said, pulling her arm through his while he held her hand. “And even I, who am no surgeon, could see that the man’s skull had been cleft by a war axe.”

  His thoughts seemed to drift away as they joined the stream of others headed back to the shallop and the nighttime safety of the ship at anchor. But it wasn’t the thought of the ship that Jocelyn found most comforting—’twas the warmth of Thomas’ hand around her own.

  SIXTEEN

  The next morning Eleanor Dare sat helplessly on the lid of her trunk and listened to Agnes scold ten-year-old Thomas Humfrey, her father’s young servant. The boy was slow, easily distracted, and did not work to Agnes’ satisfaction, but was that reason enough to fill the air with a never-ending stream of reproach?

  “Agnes, I shall leave you alone,” Eleanor said, pushing her ponderous weight from the trunk. “I am of no help. The upper room must be readied for my father, the back room for Ananias—”

  “Never ye fear, mistress,” Agnes said, abruptly turning from the boy to her lady. “Mayhap a walk will do ye good.”

  “I doubt it,” Eleanor muttered under her breath, but she did feel better once she had left the somber darkness of the house and stepped into the clearing outside. The late morning air was bathed in honey-thick sunshine, and the bustle of a hundred busy colonists stood in delightful contrast to the claustrophobic captivity of the ship.

  Next door, Audrey Tappan slapped a rug into submission, and dust particles floated lazily in the sunshine. Jocelyn and Thomas stood in front of the house, sorting a pile of freshly chopped branches.

  “Watch, Jocelyn, and see how this tool strips the bark from the branch.” Thomas’ rich baritone carried through the noise of the colony, and Eleanor put aside all thoughts of a walk and settled into the shade of an oak tree to watch her cousin. Jocelyn’s expression was concentrated on the tool and the branch in her hand, yet tenderness lay in the curve of Thomas’ arm as he guided her, and his voice gentled as he spoke to his wife.

  Why, the minister behaves as if he really loves her! The idea struck Eleanor with a tingle of delight. And Papa thought the man would marry only to avoid indentured service!

  The idea that her headstrong cousin might indeed find love brought a smile to Eleanor’s lips, but the smile faded when Audrey’s strident brogue broke the concentration of the newlywed pair. How could a couple that were practically strangers learn to love each other if their maid were always around? Jocelyn and Thomas had had no time alone on the ship, and would have no time alone together as long as Audrey slept an arm’s distance away.

  The baby kicked, hard, and Eleanor pressed her hand to her lower back and sighed. She would have to do something about Jocelyn and the minister. As soon as her father gave permission for the colonists to remain ashore at night, she would.

  Later that afternoon Eleanor slipped away from her house and went in search of Thomas Colman. The sun glared hotter than it ever had in England, or was it carrying the baby that took her breath away? She leaned against a tree and took a handkerchief from her bosom to wipe her forehead. If she did not find the minister soon, she was likely to melt in the heat . . .

  But then he strode out of the fort on the path toward the houses, his long stride erasing the distance between them. “Reverend Colman, I would have a word with you,” Eleanor called, waving feebly at the minister as he walked by.

  “Mistress Dare? How can I help you?” he asked, stopping. His manner was aloof and properly formal, but Eleanor had no patience for propriety.

  “I want to ask you about my cousin.” She had to make an effort to breathe slowly to avoid panting in the heat.

  “Jocelyn? Surely ‘tis more appropriate for you to speak to her—”

  “I want to know why you married her.”

  His face darkened, and for a moment Eleanor regretted her forthrightness.

  “Surely you know the story, else you would not ask.”

  “My father has told me,” she said, pausing to wipe her forehead again, “about the arrangement of the marriage. What he has not told me—” she made an effort to smile, “—is that love has begun to bloom in your arid heart. Surely ‘tis so, Reverend Colman, for I see things—”

  “Things, madam, that you ought not to see. A man’s relationship with his wife is entirely private.” He thrust his hands behind his back as a mask of indifference covered his face.

  “But how can these things be—private—when a ladies’ maid will sleep in the same room?”

  He flushed and looked away, and Eleanor wondered that a man could have reached thirty years of age with such delicate sensibilities. She pulled herself upright. “What I want to do, Reverend, is help you win your own wife. Jocelyn is uncertain of men, she has no experience. But she holds you in the greatest respect and admiration and I believe she might be won to your heart as well as to your side if you will but put forth an effort.”

  He did not laugh or grow angry, but stood silent, his hands still behind his back. After a moment, he looked down at the ground and gently nudged a mound of earth with his boot. “How do you intend to help?”

  Ah, she had him. “I intend to beg for Audrey’s help on the first night we remain ashore here in the fort,” Eleanor explained, lowering her voice. “You will be alone, reverend, with your wife. Whatever else you do is entirely up to you.”

  For a moment, a hopeful gleam shone in his eye, then his face emptied of expression and locked. “Have you anything else to say?” he asked, bowing formally.

  “No.”

  “Then I give you good day, Mistress Dare.”

  As he joined in the work of building a new colony, Thomas Colman could not forget Eleanor Dare’s words. They rattled in his brain as he hauled supplies from the beach; they pricked his heart as he dug new trenches behind the earthworks surrounding the fort. Governor White had decreed that mornings were to be spent in unloading the ships, afternoons in rebuilding the homes and structures of the fort. All men seemed eager for both phases of the work, for at last they had found a home, and the sandy soil, English land, felt good
under their feet.

  Thomas was even surprised to discover how pleasing the aches and pains of hard work could be. He had never really known menial labor, preferring to expend his energy in studies and reading, but on Roanoke he doffed his cloak and doublet and worked like a common laborer with the other men. ‘Twas rough work, but satisfying, and after a few days Thomas knew he could stand with the others and take pride in the English city that would rise from the sweat of their brows and the strain of their muscles. Elizabeth’s proud men, they were, out to tame the Virginian wilderness.

  The afternoon following his confrontation with Eleanor Dare, Thomas joined a crew of men pounding timber posts into the ground. I could have fared well as an indentured servant, he told himself as sweat trickled down his back. ‘Twould have suited me. So why, God, did you lead me to marry Jocelyn Colman and retain a place in your service?

  He had to admit his young wife was beautiful and virtuous. All spoke of her with respect, and he knew from experience how her startlingly blue eyes could flash with passion and keen intellect. His heart had been smitten on that first day when he saw her storming across the decks calling for her uncle, but his head would not allow him to love her. Love was but the foil of popinjays, a foolish expenditure of emotion. A man ought to love God, and God only. Whoso does not love father and mother more than me . . .

  But Jocelyn Colman held tender feelings for him. He could see it in her glance, in the gentle way she inclined toward him when they spoke together. He never dreamed she’d agree to marry him. In truth, on the day when he’d emerged from the stinking orlop deck caked in filth, he had hoped she’d run from his proposal as if the hounds of hell were giving chase. But she hadn’t. Somehow, through some miracle, she had agreed to give herself to him.

  Did he feel so grateful that he had begun to act the part of husband? Eleanor Dare said she saw signs of love. Thomas did not know how that could be so, for after his wife’s death he had vowed never to love a woman again. But Jocelyn did move him—he could not help but admire her gentleness and wit, and despite his chaste intentions he found himself enticed by her eyes and the tangled ringlets of her hair. What man would not want to ensnare his fingers in that golden brown mesh?