The Heart's Stronghold

by Amanda Barratt

  Anne glanced over her shoulder as she hung each piece of clothing on the line that ran from the building to the palisade wall. Her cheeks were pink and full of health. When she caught sight of John, she quickly lowered her brown eyes, as if she’d been doing something wrong.

  Though Anne made a pretty picture, it was Caldwell that held John’s attention. He was collecting kernels of corn from each of the men, putting them in a small burlap sack.

  John frowned. What was the man doing?

  “Master Caldwell, a word?” John asked.

  Caldwell continued down the line until he finished collecting from each man, and then he closed the small bag and motioned for John to join him in his home.

  Without trying to be polite, John pushed his way through the crowd of men and entered Caldwell’s rooms.

  John paused, surprised at how clean the room looked. The furniture, which John had built for Caldwell’s home over the winter, gleamed. Had Anne done this?

  “What do you want, Goodman Layton?” Caldwell asked.

  John had little time for small talk. “Why are you taking corn from the men?”

  “As payment for watching Anne.”

  John’s mouth fell open, appalled and disgusted by Caldwell’s admission.

  “You do not approve of my actions?” Caldwell asked John as he jiggled the bag of corn with a satisfied grin.

  “Of course I do not.”

  Caldwell shrugged. “It matters not to me.” He turned and entered the next room.

  John followed.

  Setting the bag on the desk, Caldwell took a seat and dipped a quill pen into the inkwell before adding several marks into a ledger. “I do not plan to starve this winter,” Caldwell said to John. “Though I owe you no explanation, I will give you one. Anne is my servant, and as such, I am at liberty to use her in any way I see fit. I could keep her locked up in the house all day or allow her to work out of doors where others can enjoy her presence. If they do, they pay me.”

  John gripped the back of the extra chair but refused to take a seat. “The men need to work. I cannot stop you from what you are doing, but I can implore you to put them to their tasks. We have a quota of shingles to fill by the time Smith and Newport return, not to mention all the other tasks the president has assigned to us. We must work diligently to accomplish them.”

  “And accomplish them you will,” Caldwell said patiently as he scratched a few more lines in the book. “As soon as I fill my own quota.”

  “Which is?”

  “More food.”

  John briefly closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his temples, trying not to lose his temper. “You would take the only food these men have and benefit from their hunger?”

  “I could care less about their hunger,” he said. “It is my hunger I am concerned about.”

  Frustration swelled in John’s chest. “You have your payment for now, so please tell the men to go about their work.”

  Caldwell sprinkled sand on the ink and then lifted the book and tapped the sand onto a piece of paper before closing the pages. “Very well. I’ll go now.”

  He stood and ran his hand down his goatee.

  John followed him, and they emerged into the sunshine once again.

  “Attention,” Caldwell called out to the men. “Goodman Layton has assigned each of you a job. It is time to get to work.”

  A general cry of disappointment arose from the group, and John shook his head. How did these men think the work would be done? Did they not think about the future? About the winter that would surely leave them all sick and starving once again if they did not take action now?

  Anne finished hanging the clean clothes and quietly picked up her basket. She moved toward the house where John stood just outside the door.

  He had to move aside for her, which he did, but not before he noticed her look at him with apprehension.

  She was close to him, so close in fact, he could smell the scent of soap on her hands from the washing. “I did not encourage them,” she whispered for his ears alone and then walked into the house and closed the door.

  As the men moved away, guilt pricked at John’s conscience for the way he had treated her yesterday. It wasn’t her fault she was the only woman in the colony—and it wasn’t her fault that Caldwell was encouraging the men. He should have been more patient with her. It was his own fear that had driven his anger.

  As the men dispersed to do Caldwell’s bidding, John walked to the well for a drink of water.

  “What she needs is a husband,” William said to John as he met his friend at the well. “If she was spoken for, the others might leave her alone and do their tasks.”

  “A husband?” John shook his head as he turned the crank to bring up the bucket. “A husband would keep her in the colony.”

  William shrugged. “And what’s the trouble with that? If she married, the others would leave her alone. Soon more women will follow. I heard that Captain Newport is trying to convince the stockholders to send brides. He said the colony wouldn’t be civilized until there were families about—and how can there be families without women, I ask?”

  John shuddered to think about a colony overrun with women and children. It was hard enough to keep a group of men alive.

  He took the cup from the peg and dipped it into the bucket of cool water.

  “What do you have against women?” William asked John, crossing his arms and leaning against the well. “You haven’t had a positive thing to say about them since we came here.”

  Without warning, John’s thoughts returned to the night his mother had been accosted by their creditor and his brother had struck the man for taking advantage. The creditor had died, and John’s brother had hanged for manslaughter. Weeks later John’s mother had died of a broken heart, and it was all because John hadn’t been there to help. Instead, he’d been in town flirting with a young lass. His mother had often warned him that he was spending too much time carousing when he should be home working hard to pay off the debts his father had left.

  Just before his mother died, she warned John that if he didn’t curb his wild ways, he’d find himself no better off than the lecherous creditor who had accosted her. The very thought had made John swear off women altogether.

  “Women aren’t the trouble,” John admitted, almost to himself. “It’s the men who cannot control themselves where women are concerned that bothers me most.”

  He tossed the remaining water back into the bucket and then lowered it into the well.

  If he was honest with himself, Anne Burras wasn’t the problem. It was men like John, before he was reformed, who were too foolish to know when enough was enough.

  “You might be right,” John said. “Maybe someone does need to stake a claim on Anne Burras so the others leave her alone and get their work done.” And that someone should be a man who had the willpower to send her back to England where she belonged—instead of marrying her and keeping her in Virginia.

  Unfortunately, from the looks of things, the only person in the fort who had that kind of willpower was himself.

  Chapter 3

  There’s an illness, Anne.” Daniel entered the cottage and set a bundle of shirts on the table. “Two have taken ill in the east quarters and three more in the west building.”

  Anne removed the bundle from the table and set the dirty shirts in the basket by the door. Master Caldwell had agreed to let her take in extra laundry as long as she completed all the tasks he assigned to her first. In payment the men were offering English coin, which had little use in James Fort but would serve her well when she returned to England.

  “What ails them?” Anne asked as she stirred the pot of oyster stew. It was her second evening in Virginia, and Master Caldwell planned to entertain more gentlemen that evening.

  “Ague.” Daniel took a seat on a low stool near the door and picked up one of Master Caldwell’s shoes to polish. “They’re just off the ship, and they’re miserable. Some have asked for you.”
r />   “Me?” Anne shifted the pot out of the heat. “What would they have me do?”

  Daniel shrugged.

  “What about the physician who came over on the Mary Margaret?”

  “He went with President Smith.”

  Anne wiped her hands on her apron. She had little experience with illness, but there had been ginger root in the storehouse when she had gone there earlier. Maybe she could make them ginger tea to help with their fevers.

  “Go to the storehouse and fetch me some ginger root, please,” Anne told Daniel. “Tell Master Riddles it is for those who are ill.”

  Daniel set down the shoe and jumped to do her bidding.

  While he was gone, Anne set a pot of water to boil over the fire. It didn’t take Daniel long to return with the ginger root, and when he did, Anne cut off a piece and boiled it in the hot water.

  “Will you come with me?” she asked Daniel. “I may need help.”

  Daniel nodded and took the clay cup Anne retrieved from the sideboard.

  “Show me to the men in the east building, please,” Anne directed.

  He opened the door, and, as always, a group of men were lounging around, waiting for her to appear.

  Ignoring them, she followed Daniel across the fort to another two-story building. “In here,” he said, opening the door.

  Anne entered the building ahead of Daniel. The stench assailed her nose as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Unlike Caldwell’s rooms, this room was bigger and housed several bunks. A single fireplace against the inside wall was all the room boasted. There were no chairs, no tables, and no bureaus. Just dirty, smelly men.

  She found it difficult to assess who was sick because half a dozen men were lying in their beds. As soon as Anne entered the room, though, all but two of them jumped up at the sight of her.

  “Who is ill?” Anne asked, holding the steaming pot of tea.

  The men took a moment to come to their senses. Clearly they were startled to see her there.

  “Ross and Peter,” one of the men said as he pointed to the two still lying in their beds.

  “Will the rest of you leave us?” Anne had no wish to be watched as she took care of the sick men—and she didn’t think Ross and Peter would like to be watched either.

  “As you wish.” The man who spoke to her ushered the others out. They protested all the way.

  With Daniel’s aid, Anne helped the sick men drink the tea, though one had already succumbed to delirium. There was little she could do to help.

  “These men are very sick,” Anne whispered to Daniel after she had ministered to them for a while. She picked up the pot of tea to leave. “I wish the physician were here to see to their needs.” She didn’t like their color or their high fevers.

  “There are three more men in the other building,” Daniel reminded her.

  “And they have the same complaints?”

  “Aye.”

  Anne sighed. She would need to make more tea.

  They stepped outside and found a group of men waiting.

  “I’m not feeling well, myself, Anne,” said one of the men who often waited outside Master Caldwell’s cottage to get a glimpse of her. “Could I see you alone as well?”

  The man, whom she’d learned was named Albert, looked healthier than any of the other men in the fort.

  “And me,” said another. “I’m feeling a bit poor.”

  She didn’t even bother to answer them.

  “Here comes Goodman Layton,” said a third, a warning in his voice.

  The group of men dispersed, and Anne sighed with relief before bracing her feet and squaring her shoulders in preparation for John’s rebuke.

  He strode up to her, wood chips clinging to his shirt and hair.

  Instead of scowling, as he was prone to do, concern softened his eyes. “Are they bothering you?”

  Anne glanced at the men who had gone their separate ways and shook her head. “No more than usual.”

  He had a metal tool in his hand, and he grasped it now, looking around at the departing men. “I saw you from my work area.” He nodded toward the awning where she had witnessed him making shingles. “What brings you to this side of the fort?”

  Lifting the now-empty teapot, she indicated the building where she had just exited. “Some of the men are sick with ague. I brought them—”

  “You went into their quarters? Alone?”

  “With Daniel.” Anne motioned to the young boy who stood quietly waiting.

  “You may not go into the men’s quarters.” John shook his head, a bit of the ire returning. “It’s not decent.”

  Anne wanted to laugh. “Decent? I hardly have to worry about decency around here.”

  “That may be so, but I don’t want you tending to the sick.”

  “Because it’s not decent?”

  “Because it’s not safe.”

  “I’m perfectly fit. I haven’t been sick in years.”

  “This isn’t England. There are diseases here that I’ve never witnessed before.” Real concern filled his eyes. “I’ve seen a robust, healthy man hard at work in the morning, as weak as a newborn calf at noon, and dead by nightfall.”

  Again, his words sobered her. “The doctor has gone with President Smith, so who will see to the men?”

  “They will have to see to themselves.” He took the teapot from her hand and began to walk toward Master Caldwell’s cottage. “We were doing just fine before you or the doctor came.”

  Anne followed John, wondering at the hard edge to his words. “You’ve lost two-thirds of your colonists. Maybe the doctor and I are needed here, after all.”

  He snorted.

  Did he not want her at the fort?

  She could have carried the teapot back herself, but she allowed him to do it for her. His help was different than the others. Instead of treating her like she was a queen, he treated her like she was a pest. For some reason, she actually found it refreshing that he didn’t fall over himself to please her.

  The walk back to Caldwell’s cottage didn’t take long. John followed Anne and Daniel into the main room and set the teapot on the table. Thankfully, Caldwell had gone with the men to the east end of the island, so his overshadowing presence was absent.

  “Daniel, will you fetch more water from the well?” John asked the boy. “After Anne makes another pot of tea, I will personally deliver it to the other sick men.”

  Taking the water bucket, Daniel left the cottage without a word.

  “I might not like you tending to the sick,” he said at her questioning gaze, “but that doesn’t mean that I cannot see to their well-being.”

  He turned away from her probing gaze and made himself busy examining the room.

  Anne only smiled to herself, thankful that someone would take care of the men.

  John tried not to appear uneasy as he stood in Anne’s presence. It was the first time he’d been alone with a woman in years, and he was very aware of her every move.

  “The rooms have benefited from a woman’s touch,” he mused, admiring the polished wood and the clean hearth.

  She didn’t comment as she lifted the lid off a pot and began to stir the contents.

  He couldn’t ignore the delicious aroma wafting from the stew. “Oyster?”

  “Would you like to try some?”

  His stomach growled and his insides hurt from hunger. He cooked at a communal pot each evening and his diet had been wanting—not only from lack of food, but from lack of imagination as well. He wanted to refuse her offer, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “Aye,” he said.

  She took a small mug and ladled a bit of stew into it.

  “It’s not much,” she warned. “Just a few things I was able to mix together.”

  She extended the mug, and he took it from her. Their fingers brushed, and a tingling sensation raced up his arm. It took him by such surprise, his back went rigid.

  Anne looked up at him, her large brown eyes soft in the firelight.
/>   “Thank you,” he managed to say around the sudden lump in his throat.

  “You’re welcome.” Her voice was gentle and calm, and it wrapped around John in such a way that the room suddenly felt warmer than it had been a moment before.

  He didn’t wait for a spoon, but sipped the stew. It slid over his tongue in a surge of flavors he hadn’t tasted in years. Instead of satiating his hunger, it only made him long for more.

  “This is good, Anne.” He shook his head in astonishment. “Very good.”

  A beautiful smile lifted Anne’s lips.

  John’s knees went weak, and he had to chastise himself for his reaction. He was no better than all the other men who waited around for a glimpse of her. He’d seen pretty girls before—so why was he reacting this way now?

  The reminder of his earlier conversation with William returned to him. If he was going to stake his claim on Anne, he would need to do it soon and do it right. To make the others believe it was authentic, Anne would have to believe it too. He wouldn’t make any promises he didn’t intend to keep, but he would show her he was serious.

  A part of him felt guilty at the possibility of making her think he was falling in love with her, but the other, more practical side told him it was for her own good and for the good of the colony. She would probably appreciate having more privacy and less attention, and soon she would be on a ship back to England, where she belonged.

  John finished his stew and handed back the cup. If he was going to start, he’d have to start now. “This is the tastiest stew I’ve had in a long while, Anne.”

  Her cheeks blushed at the compliment.

  “I haven’t eaten anything like this since I was in England.” He pulled out a chair and took a seat.

  She looked at him with questions in her eyes but didn’t say a thing.

  “I’ve been eating out of a communal pot for so long, I forgot what a real meal tastes like.”

  “You’re welcome to more.”

  He watched her move around the room, her feminine form reminding him of why he had enjoyed the lasses back home. Now that he had given himself permission to flirt again, his pulse quickened and all the old feelings stirred to life again. “I might take you up on that offer.” His words were smooth, and the memory of how he had charmed the ladies back home returned with ease.