Virginia Company Bride ©2020 by Gabrielle Meyer
Embers of Hope ©2020 by Kimberley Woodhouse
A Treaty of Tulips ©2020 by Angie Dicken
A Promise for Tomorrow ©2020 by Amanda Barratt
Print ISBN 978-1-64352-311-8
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-64352-313-2
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-64352-312-5
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Photography: Stephen Mulcahey / Trevillion Images
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.
Printed in Canada.
Table of Contents
Virginia Company Bride
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Embers of Hope
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
A Treaty of Tulips
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
A Promise for Tomorrow
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Virginia Company Bride
by Gabrielle Meyer
Dedication
To my elementary schoolteachers Roxann Ree, Rhoda Trafas, Arlene Walen, and Stephanie Doty. Thank you for never giving up on my atrocious spelling and for encouraging my love of reading. May this book show you that your work as teachers has had an eternal impact and that I am forever grateful.
Chapter 1
James Fort, Virginia
October, 1608
Anne Burras thought it a shame that her mistress had endured months of ocean travel just to die before reaching Virginia. Now, as the sun baked the parched ground and the men lowered Mistress Forest into her shallow grave, Anne almost wished it had been her. Instead, Anne was the only European woman in a fort with more than two hundred men.
“Lord, we commit Mistress Forest to Thy loving arms,” the priest said in a solemn voice. “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Amen.”
“Amen,” the others echoed.
Anne’s “amen” was a mere whisper, indistinguishable among the deep voices of those around her.
Instead of walking away, the men lingered, their gazes on Anne. Some jostled, some whispered, and others nodded in her direction. A few looked as if they might approach her.
A more terrifying prospect, Anne could not imagine.
“Everyone back to your work,” President John Smith called out to the men. “The Mary Margaret must be unloaded and the cargo dispersed to the guardhouse or storehouse—immediately.”
Slowly, the men began to leave the tight cluster around the dusty grave, though some did not go far. Only the priest, Master Forest, President Smith, and Captain Newport remained with Anne under the vast blue sky.
Tears threatened to fall as the reality of her position washed over Anne. Mistress Forest had been the only motherly figure in her short life, and now she was gone. She was the one who had insisted on bringing Anne to Virginia, knowing Anne had no one else in the world. Though Anne was just a maid, Mistress Forest had educated her and provided her with a good life. Her husband, Master Forest, had protested every step of the way. He had never liked Anne and often told her so. Now he glared at her from the other side of the grave, accusation rolling off him in waves of hatred. Somehow he would find a reason to blame Anne for his loss, though she had done everything in her power to make her mistress well.
Panic threatened to overwhelm Anne, so she lifted her gaze off the grave and tried to focus on what was real and tangible.
From every angle of the small fort, men watched Anne. As they unloaded cargo, stood guard at the bulwarks in their metal armor, or chopped firewood, they kept one eye on her every move. Not that she was moving. She hadn’t moved an inch since she had come to stand before the grave.
“We must discuss the glaring issue at hand,” President Smith said in a quick, no-nonsense voice to Master Forest and Captain Newport. “The girl will be a distraction and a hindrance we can ill afford in the fort.”
Anne could not bear to look directly at President Smith. His reputation as an adventurer and explorer had made him famous all throughout England. His account of the first year in Virginia, which he had spent with Captain Newport the last time the captain had been to James Fort, had been published, and everyone had been talking about Captain John Smith—now the president of the colony. Anne had both dreaded and longed to meet the famed hero.
But here he stood, clearly angry at Anne’s presence.
“Master Forest gave very generously to our cause,” Captain Newport said with a tight mouth, nodding toward Anne’s employer. “When he requested we bring along his wife and she requested we bring along her maid, how could I say no?”
“It’s quite simple.” President Smith’s chest rose and fell impatiently. “You simply say no.” Smith was the first person Anne had ever encountered who made no attempt to pacify or please Master Forest. But the older man was so grief-stricken, Anne doubted he was listening to the argument.
“What will we do with her until you return to England?” President Smith asked.
Captain Newport paused. Anne had liked him from the start. He wasn’t a young man, but his features were boyish and handsome. He loved the sea and loved telling stories about his many adventures. He had been kind to her and had paid her attention, making her feel noticed and appreciated. Now his face was sad and his eyes were heavy as he looked upon her. “What would you like, Anne Burras?”
Anne sucked in her breath and blinked several times. Never once, from the time she had been orphaned at the age of two until this moment at the age of seventeen, had anyone ever asked her what she wanted. It was such a foreign concept to consider, she was truly stunned. “I—I will do as my master commands,” she stuttered as she nodded in deference to Master Forest.
The men turned to her master, and President Smith crossed his arms. “What would you like done with the lass?”
Master Forest’s face was set like stone. “I don’t care what becomes of her. She was my wife’s maid. I do not want her.”
The words, though true enough,
stung Anne’s heart and solidified the truth of her position. Once again she was unwanted, unneeded, and unloved.
President Smith growled and threw up his hands. “I have no time for this, Newport. There is not one decent dwelling in this desolate place that would be proper to keep a young woman. And, more importantly, we have more pressing matters to discuss—namely, the ridiculous letters you brought from the stockholders, as well as the outlandish gifts King James expects me to take to Chief Powhatan.” Smith’s voice had become more and more irritated.
“President Smith, a word?” One of the older gentlemen who had been standing nearby stepped forward. He was dressed impeccably, from his ruffled white collar down to his polished black shoes. A pointed goatee and a curled mustache completed his look. Anne had once seen a picture of a peacock, and that image came to mind again.
“What is it, Master Caldwell?” Smith asked impatiently. “If you have a suggestion, out with it.”
Master Caldwell’s jaw clenched and his dark eyes narrowed, but he bowed slowly and deliberately before President Smith. “My home, though modest and far beneath my standards, is clean and acceptable. I have a young servant boy who could use some help and act as chaperone. It would not be ideal, nor proper by English standards, but it might be the best we have to offer the girl until Captain Newport returns her to England.”
Smith rubbed his hand down his face and growled again. “Fine.” He looked directly at Anne, forcing her to stare back at him. “But I do not want any trouble from you, do you understand?”
Anne’s eyes grew wide. It had been her lifelong goal to stay out of trouble and go unnoticed. Nothing good came from getting attention, especially negative attention. It had been the death of her mother and, if Anne wasn’t careful, it could kill her too.
She nodded quickly. “Aye, sir.”
“I want you to work hard and keep to yourself,” Smith continued. “You will draw a great deal of attention among the men, but I do not want you to pay them any mind. I fully expect you to return to England when the time comes.”
The idea that she would continue to be the center of attention in the fort made her skin crawl. She would avoid it, if at all possible. “Aye, sir,” she said again.
“You’ll stay at Master Caldwell’s home, but if you have any trouble, you will need to speak to me.” Smith nodded firmly, as if this matter was settled and he could move on—which he did.
As President Smith turned away, Captain Newport walked to Anne’s side, sadness still deep within his kind eyes. “If you need anything, please let me know. We will return to England as soon as possible.”
She was not prone to questioning her superiors, but she needed to know what to expect. “How long might that be, sir?”
Captain Newport sighed and glanced at Smith’s retreating back. “I had hoped to leave here within a fortnight, but I’m afraid we have much to accomplish before we can sail home. It might be six to eight weeks, if it be God’s will.”
Six to eight weeks? The same sense of panic again washed over Anne.
“I will do all in my power to make it as short as possible,” Captain Newport said with an encouraging smile. “Will you be well enough?”
“Aye, sir.” She would have to be.
“Anne Burras,” Master Caldwell said as he approached. “This way, please.”
Captain Newport nodded encouragement as Anne turned to follow her new employer. She refused to look back at Master Forest, though she suspected he was watching her. It would be a relief to be out from under his disapproving glare.
“I think you’ll find my accommodations acceptable,” Master Caldwell said as he began to lead her away from the grave.
Anne finally had a chance to take in the full scope of the fort—and found herself greatly disappointed. She didn’t know what she had expected, but surely it had not been what lay before her.
The fort was shaped like a triangle, enclosed by rough-hewn palisade walls. To one side of the fort was the James River and to the other two sides were swampy woodlands. At each angle of the fort, bulwarks jutted out and sentinels stood guard with muskets and cannons pointed toward the woods. The inside of the fort could not be more than one acre, with seven thatch-roofed buildings laid out in systematic order. Along each side of the fort, three long buildings, each two stories high, made up the living quarters. In the center were three smaller buildings. One looked like a storehouse, the other a guardhouse, and the third was the church. To her, the church was the most beautiful of all with its large cross proclaiming the fort’s dedication to God.
Scattered between the stick buildings were workstations under canvas awnings, suggesting the fort housed a blacksmith, a silversmith, and carpenters. Glassblowers and other artisans had come over on the Mary Margaret and would soon be put to work as well.
“Each of the communal living quarters is shared by two or three dozen men,” Master Caldwell explained to Anne. “I am one of the few men wealthy enough to have two private rooms all to myself.”
As they passed the carpenter’s tent, a tall, broad-shouldered man glanced up from where he stood inspecting a pile of shingles. There had been many men at the grave, but she didn’t remember this one being there. If he had been, she was certain she would have noticed him, since he stood so much taller than the rest and had the most piercing blue eyes she’d ever seen.
Instead of staring at her, he simply returned to his work as if seeing a woman in the fort was commonplace. His response was so different than that of the other men, it made Anne pause.
“Here we are,” Master Caldwell said, pushing open a heavy wooden door at the end of one two-story building. He bent to enter and Anne followed, trying to forget about the shingle maker to focus on her new job. She did not want to disappoint Master Caldwell.
The room was dark and Anne’s eyes took a moment to adjust. A hard-packed dirt floor gave off a musty smell, and the stick and mud walls crumbled in places. Though the room was rustic, the furniture was remarkably ornate. A large wooden table with four chairs, a tall sideboard, a sturdy cabinet, and a massive fireplace made the small room feel even smaller.
But it was the thin boy of maybe ten or eleven who captured her attention. He sat in a chair by one of the glassless windows holding a shirt in one hand and a mending needle in the other. When he glanced up and saw Anne, his mouth fell open and his eyes grew wide.
“This is Daniel,” Master Caldwell said to Anne. “Daniel, this is Anne Burras. She will reside with us until the supply ship leaves.”
“How do you do?” Anne asked.
Daniel couldn’t seem to find his voice.
“I sleep in the next room,” Master Caldwell continued impatiently. “Daniel will sleep on a pallet on the floor in there. You will sleep on a pallet in here.”
Anne nodded as she noticed the clay pots and cups sitting on top of the sideboard and the dirty tin plates and silverware resting on the table. There were a few melted candles in the dusty room, but none were lit this early in the day. Other sundry items hung from the walls and the low wood ceiling overhead. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and though the floor was dirt, it looked as if it hadn’t been swept in some time.
“There is much to be done here,” Master Caldwell said to Anne. “And I’ll expect you to do your share.” He nodded. “Now I must go see about your rations.” Without another word, Master Caldwell left the room.
Daniel still stared at Anne as she stood and clutched the one small bag she had brought with her from England. More than anything, she wanted to cry. But she didn’t give in to the desire, afraid if she started, she might never stop.
John Layton hadn’t wanted to believe the others when they said a young woman had come on the supply ship. He’d even ignored the funeral and kept busy making cedar shingles as long as possible to deny the truth. But now that he had seen her with his own eyes, he could no longer lie to himself or pretend she wasn’t there.
With nearly two-thirds of the colonists dying within a year o
f arriving at the fort, John was certain the last thing they needed was female distractions—and he should know better than anyone else. Nothing good came from being distracted by a pretty woman—hadn’t he learned that firsthand? Wasn’t that why he had signed on to colonize Virginia, because he’d been told there would be no women in America?
Throwing down one of the cedar shingles he’d been inspecting, he wiped the dust off his hands and strode across the busy fort toward President Smith’s new quarters.
Early that morning, Captain Newport had arrived on the Mary Margaret with more supplies and seventy new settlers. While John appreciated the arrival of the ship and all the necessary cargo the captain had brought, he loathed the new mouths to feed. John had been one of the first colonists to arrive at James Fort in May of 1607. By January the next year, only 38 of the first 104 men were still alive. Since then, there had been two new waves of settlers, though many of them were already buried.
Death was such a common occurrence in the fort that John did not allow himself to befriend the new colonists. Most people died of disease and hunger, while others died of accidents and Indian attacks.
The biggest threat to life in Virginia, though, was laziness and ineptitude. Instead of laborers and craftsmen, the Virginia Company continued to send gentry to James Fort—wealthy second- and third-born sons who didn’t know how to fell trees, plant crops, or even hold muskets. They were just there for adventure and entertainment, eating precious food supply, while men like John worked to keep everyone alive.
Now there was a woman among them to complicate matters. The knowledge made John’s temperature rise as he strode across the fort.
Smith’s door was closed, so John tapped on it before someone called for him to enter.
“Goodman Layton,” Smith said with a nod. “I was just about to send for you.”
The president’s quarters were some of the nicest in all of James Fort because the previous president had spent most of his time furnishing it while Smith had been exploring Chesapeake Bay. When Smith had returned in September and found the fort in a state of turmoil, John had been one of the first to demand President Ratcliffe resign. After he left, the men nominated Captain Smith to fill the role. Smith wasn’t happy to take the job, but he couldn’t see any other way—and neither could John.
The Heart's Stronghold Page 1