The Heart's Stronghold

by Amanda Barratt

  Every day for the past week, since Pocahontas had come to visit, John had stopped by the cottage to collect the daily pot of ginger tea—despite Master Caldwell’s threats. It was the very least Anne could do to help those suffering from the mysterious disease that had plagued the colony for two weeks now. The men continued to ask for her to nurse them, but John had refused to let her. Instead, he brought her gift of tea to them. They had already lost seven men, and another group had taken ill yesterday.

  It was time to face reality. She was running out of ginger—and it didn’t seem to be working anyway.

  John had to bend under the lintel to enter the cottage, and when he straightened, he caught her gaze and returned her smile. His eyes were so brilliant and smile so bright, she caught her breath and had to force herself to put one foot in front of the other as she moved to get the tea.

  “Daniel,” John said to the boy, “could you please retrieve my daily ration for me?”

  The boy grinned and slipped out of the cottage, closing the door softly behind him without asking a question.

  Anne didn’t say a word, but she was secretly happy that John had sent the boy away. John had taken to the habit of asking Daniel to run errands for him when he came to visit, and Daniel often stayed away much longer than necessary.

  The first two times John had sent Daniel away, she had thought he was simply asking the boy for his help. But by the third day, she had started to suspect that he was doing it intentionally to have privacy with her. At first she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but by the fourth and fifth day, she had come to look forward to the few stolen moments she had in John’s company, away from prying eyes. He was a gentleman in every way and didn’t spend the time flirting with her like the others. Instead, he had been getting to know her, asking her questions, genuinely listening to her answers, and then sharing things about himself.

  “Will you have a seat while you wait for Daniel?” she asked John.

  He stood with one hand behind his back while the other held his hat. Something about his stance made him seem apprehensive and a little embarrassed.

  “I brought you a gift, Anne.”

  She turned from the teapot and gave him her full attention. Heat filled her cheeks at the way his voice had dipped with intimacy when he said her name.

  “A gift?” She wiped her hands on her apron and dropped her gaze. Should she take a gift from him? But how could she not? He had been so kind to her these past two weeks, keeping the men at bay and helping her with the sick. She should be giving him gifts.

  He slowly pulled his hand into view and presented her with a green glass jar. “It’s the first jar the glassblowers have made here in James Fort.”

  It was a beautiful piece of glass, perfectly shaped, with a wide mouth.

  Anne stayed near the sideboard, both embarrassed and honored that he would bring her this valuable gift.

  “And there’s more,” he said, walking toward her. He lifted the jar for her to inspect the contents.

  “Why—” She looked up at him, her eyes large. “It’s a honeycomb.”

  “One of the men found the beehive when they were felling trees yesterday and brought it into the fort.” John smiled and his cheeks deepened with dimples. “I was able to convince the storehouse keeper to give you the first bit.”

  He took another step toward her and placed the jar in her hands. She wrapped her fingers around the cool container, and he wrapped his hands around hers.

  He stood so close Anne could smell the scent of cedar and woodsmoke on his clothing. His hands were rough from work yet as gentle as if he were holding a newborn babe.

  Her stomach fluttered and her skin tingled at his touch. She had never felt such a rush of joy or anticipation as she did in this moment. She loved when he touched her, spoke to her, and made time to see her. He was well respected in Virginia and worked harder and longer than any other man in James Fort. Having his attention was a gift even greater than the one he presented now.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, uncertain what else to say and afraid her voice would not work if she tried to say more.

  He ran his thumbs over the tops of her knuckles in a feather-light touch. It sent a shiver up her spine and made her knees grow weak. There was no telling what this man could make her think or feel if he continued to caress her.

  Needing space, she gently pulled away from his hands and turned back to the sideboard to set down the jar. “I made an extra corn cake for you,” she said, just as gently as before. “Would you like me to serve it to you now?”

  He hadn’t moved and was still standing close behind her. Every inch of her body was aware of his nearness. She longed for him to stay—but she also wanted him to leave. She couldn’t think straight when he stood this close.

  “Aye,” he said and finally stepped away to take a seat at the table.

  Anne took the cake from the oven and set it on a plate. Without looking his way, she knew he was watching, and the knowledge made her hands tremble.

  Picking up the jar of honey, she tilted it to drizzle a bit over the cake, and then she turned and met John’s gaze.

  The space between them was filled with attraction, as if they were being pulled together by an invisible string. It both frightened and exhilarated her.

  She set the plate before him and placed a fork on the table.

  “Thank you,” he said. “But you didn’t need to use your honey for me.”

  “You appreciate my cooking more than anyone else,” she said. “Why waste it on someone who doesn’t?”

  He grinned and used the fork to cut into the steaming yellow cake before lifting it to his lips.

  She watched the fork as it entered his mouth and came out clean. John closed his eyes and uttered his appreciation with a sound in his throat.

  “It’s even better with the honey,” he said as he opened his eyes and found her admiring him.

  She turned, embarrassment warming her cheeks at being caught, but he reached out and took her hand in his, stopping her from walking away.

  “Anne.” He gently tugged her to come closer to him, and she was forced to meet his gaze. “I haven’t spoken so plainly with you before, but—” He stood, so they were face-to-face. “But I’ve come to—”

  The door opened and Daniel entered.

  John dropped Anne’s hand and resumed his seat at the table.

  Anne took a giant step away from him and went to the sideboard, placing her hand on her cheek to try to cool the skin.

  “Master Forest is here to see you, Anne.” Daniel opened the door wider to reveal the man who had brought Anne to Virginia. He stood in a dark coat and a ruffled collar, a black hat sitting high on his head.

  Anne’s insides began to quake for an entirely different reason, and she swallowed the fear racing up her throat. Master Forest entered the cottage, his brooding eyes sweeping over the scene in one quick perusal.

  John rose from the table and bowed to the gentleman. “Good day, Master Forest,” he said.

  “Goodman Layton.” Master Forest nodded but did not smile. He looked from John to Anne, his frown deepening.

  Anne had hoped Master Forest would leave her alone—and so far he had. She hadn’t seen him once in the two weeks she’d been at the fort. She had heard he stayed in his room, but she had been too afraid to inquire after him for fear she’d draw unwanted attention from her former master.

  “I’ve come to speak to Anne,” Master Forest said to John and Daniel, his voice stern. “Privately.”

  It was John’s turn to frown as he probed Anne with questioning eyes. She knew he was asking if she wanted him to stay—and the truth was, she did—but she did not want him to hear what Master Forest might say.

  So she simply nodded at John that it would be fine for him to leave.

  He left his cake on the table and rose. “Come, Daniel, we will wait outside.”

  Anne was thankful he would be within calling distance, though she didn’t think she’
d need to worry about requiring assistance. Master Forest would not harm her—at least not physically.

  John ushered Daniel out of the room and closed the door behind him, but not before offering her an encouraging smile.

  Her heart warmed at his thoughtfulness but cooled the moment she met Master Forest’s hard gaze.

  “I think you know why I’ve come, Anne.” He didn’t take a seat but stood in the center of the room and stared at her.

  She wanted to play naive, but she did know why he’d come, though she would never admit it to him. Instead, she clasped her hands in front of her waist and lowered her gaze.

  “I never approved of my wife taking you in,” he said, just as he’d told her a dozen times over the course of her life. “And when she insisted you come to James Fort, I knew from the start you’d only bring us trouble.” He choked on his emotional words. “I tried to refuse her, but she insisted. Now she is dead and there are others who have died as well.”

  Anne swallowed hard. He had a wild look on his face, and she could see by the bags under his eyes and the lines around his mouth that he had not been well. His grief hung from him like a black cape, engulfing him in sorrow.

  He took a step closer to her, and she forced herself not to cower. She didn’t want to show fear, nor did she want to seem prideful. She had danced this dance all her life.

  “I know what your mother was, and I fear that she gave you her powers before she was hanged. But my wife did not believe me.” His voice shook with the force of his convictions. “Have you cast a spell over this fort? Have you put sickness upon these men?” His face grew red as his accusations increased. “I’ve heard you concoct a drink every day to be administered to the men. Is it a potion?”

  Anne shook her head, tears threatening to fall.

  “Did you kill my wife, Anne?” He took another menacing step closer to her, and she had to turn her head away from him. “Are you a witch, just like your mother?”

  “No.” She continued to shake her head, panic making her tremble. “I am not.” And neither was her mother, she was certain. Though she couldn’t remember her mother, she was convinced she could not be what others had accused her of. Nearly a hundred men and women had been killed in North Berwick, her mother being one of the last, before the witch hunt had ended. King James had personally been at the head of the investigation, convinced a local coven of witches had conjured up a storm that had prevented him and his new bride from traveling home from their wedding in Norway.

  “I fear I have brought witchcraft to North America by allowing you to come.” He shook his finger in her face, his voice so loud, spittle flew from his lips. “I am watching you, Anne. I cannot prove anything now, but if I see you doing something suspicious, I will accuse you for what you are.”

  The door flew open and John appeared over the threshold, fire in his eyes. She had seen the look before and watched it make lesser men cower before him. “I believe you are finished.”

  Master Forest tugged his coat down and pinched his lips together. He did not say another word but left the cottage, pushing past John as he went.

  “Did he hurt you?” John asked her.

  Anne shook her head and tried to compose herself. She did not want John asking any questions. It was better to say nothing, to keep to herself and stay unnoticed. Nothing good came from being the center of attention.

  Nothing.

  Chapter 5

  John had spent two days trying to get Anne to tell him about Master Forest’s visit, but she kept to herself and refused to engage with his questions. He did not know what the man had said, but he had heard the tone of his voice and saw the look of fear on Anne’s face when Forest had appeared.

  Clouds covered the vast sky and weighed down John’s mood. From where he sat making shingles, he had a good view of Anne’s front door. He also had a good view of the men who lingered near her house longer than necessary, trying to get a glimpse, a smile, or a conversation from her. It still angered him whenever he caught the others lounging about, ignoring their duties.

  “One would think you’d be whistling while you work instead of frowning,” William Cole said to John as he tossed a shingle onto the growing pile at their feet.

  “Whistle?” John set the froe against the edge of the cedar log and raised a wooden mallet. He struck the metal froe, and it sank into the wood. Setting aside the mallet, he turned the log and pressed against the froe until it split the shingle away from the rest of the wood. The smell of fresh cedar filled the air around him. Tossing the shingle aside, he did it all over again without thinking. “What do I have to whistle about?”

  William struck his froe and grinned. “I’ve heard word that you’ve won over Anne Burras.”

  John stopped his work and gave his friend his full attention.

  “What have you heard?”

  “That you plan to marry her.”

  “The others are saying this?” Was that why fewer men had been stalking around Anne’s home like hungry wolves?

  “Aye.” William nodded. “And I’ve helped along the rumor.”

  So John’s plan was working. Good. He wanted it to keep working.

  “If you want the others to believe the rumors are true”—

  William struck the froe—“you’ll need to look a little happier.”

  John wanted to be happier, but he couldn’t deny the feeling that Master Forest had hurt Anne and now she was pulling away from John for fear that he might learn what had transpired. He hated the idea that someone would intentionally hurt her—but he also hated the idea that she was hiding something from him. He just wished she would trust him.

  But why should she? Wasn’t he trying to trick her into believing he loved her so the others would stay away?

  Guilt washed over him like the brackish water in the James River.

  “Indians!” A call arose from the eastern bulwark. “Ambush!”

  Immediately, John rose to the alert, his heart pounding and his pulse thrumming through his veins. He, along with all the other men, ran to the guardhouse where two guards were always on duty, ready to arm and assist the fort.

  Armor stood at the ready, and John grabbed a musket, a bandolier, and a dagger.

  One of the guards who had been standing on the bulwark rushed into the guardhouse, breathing heavily. “The call came from Goodman McIvey who was working with Master Caldwell felling trees.” He bent over to catch his breath. “He saw the Indians attack two men before he ran toward the fort to call for help.”

  John slipped the bandolier belt over one shoulder, ready to fight.

  A second guard ran into the guardhouse, breathing just as heavily as the first. “Master Caldwell and his men are rushing to the fort. There appears to be no Indians following them.”

  John pushed his way past the guards and into the open yard. Several men were entering the eastern gate, sweating, out of breath, and wild with fear. Caldwell walked in behind them, a little less ruffled, though visibly upset as he strode toward John and William.

  “We were ambushed by Powhatan Indians,” Caldwell said to John. “Two of our men were killed, others wounded.”

  “Powhatan?” John shook his head. “Why would Chief Powhatan send warriors to ambush our men while Captain Newport and President Smith so recently visited them?”

  “Mayhap he has sent them because he knows our numbers are low.” Caldwell wiped his brow with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “Over a hundred men were with Smith and Newport. If Chief Powhatan was angry over their gifts and he wanted to retaliate, now would be the time to strike.”

  A more disturbing thought came to John. “What if he killed Newport and Smith, and now he’s coming here to kill the rest of us?”

  William and Caldwell were quiet for a moment, and then Caldwell set his mouth and shook his head. “They could have been hunters sent out by Powhatan, and they decided to scare us. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Caldwell was right. Over the past eighteen
months, there had been dozens of isolated incidents. But that didn’t mean this one was isolated. Only time would tell.

  “I want double guards on the bulwarks for the next few days, just in case,” Caldwell ordered. “For now, we will continue as usual.”

  John wasn’t certain it was wise to continue their work, but what choice did they have? They had stockholders in England demanding a product from the colony.

  Returning his weapons to the guardhouse, John stepped out into the cold afternoon air and caught a glimpse of Anne dumping a pail of water.

  He wanted to go to her and reassure her, but what could he say? The fort was a dangerous place to live, and they had no certainty that they would survive each new day.

  The very thought of losing Anne, the way he’d watched others suffer and die, was enough to convince him he needed to find a way to make her promise she’d be on Newport’s ship when it left James Fort.

  Not only for the colony’s sake—but for her sake as well.

  The room felt colder than usual as Anne stood by the hearth and stoked the flames. Master Caldwell had not yet risen from his bed, and Daniel was fetching the morning water.

  Anne stood and slipped her cape over her shoulders, trying to brace herself for the cold lying just beyond the door. With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped outside.

  A thin strip of sun peeked over the eastern horizon while a few morning stars sparkled in the west. Ahead of her, the James River flowed toward the ocean and a home that was quickly fading from memory. What would await Anne when she returned to England? What kind of life would she have? She had no family or friends to greet her or offer a warm place to live, and no guarantee of employment, especially if people learned about her mother. If it hadn’t been for Mistress Forest, Master Forest would have abandoned Anne years before their arrival in Virginia. As it was, his threat still lingered near, taunting her with its implications.

  What would happen if he accused her of being a witch? Would the men turn on her? Would they hang her as they had hanged her mother? She had learned from her mother’s experience that all it took was a simple accusation, a few twisted half-truths, and a heavy dose of fear to turn a group into a lynch mob.