Anne shivered at the thought and closed the door behind her.
She went about her morning necessities and brought in a heavy armload of wood. Daniel had gone to the storehouse for their daily rations and was already grinding the corn for their breakfast when she returned.
Despite the warmth of the fire, Anne could not shake the chill that had come over her. Though she had slept well the night before, exhaustion overtook her and she struggled to complete her chores.
The room began to spin, and she grabbed the back of a chair to keep from falling. Her legs had grown weak and her stomach started to turn.
“Are you well, Anne?” Daniel asked, coming to her side.
She managed to pull a chair away from the table and sat, her head in her hand. “I will be fine in a moment.”
Daniel hovered near her. “Shall I get you something?”
Her throat had grown sore, so she nodded. “A drink of water, mayhap.”
He rushed to do her bidding just as the door to Master Caldwell’s bedchamber opened.
“Why is my breakfast not on the table?” he asked.
“Anne is not feeling well, sir.” Daniel came back with a mug of cool water, which he placed in Anne’s shaking hand.
Master Caldwell took a step back, his pointed goatee resting against his broad chest. “You’re ill?”
Fear seized Anne’s chest as she tried to stand and prove that she was well—but the room spun so violently, she fell back into her seat and dropped the mug. It hit the dirt floor and splashed its contents onto her boots.
“Daniel, set out Anne’s pallet again.”
Daniel did as he was told and brought Anne’s straw mattress out of the rafters, placing it in the corner of the room where she slept at night. He also took out her blankets, which she had recently folded and put into the cabinet in the corner.
“Lie down, Anne.” Master Caldwell gave his orders from near the door, not getting closer to Anne than necessary. “I know nothing about illness. Is there someone who can assist you?”
His voice held true concern, and Anne fleetingly wondered if he cared about her or if he just cared about the extra rations she brought in for him.
“I will be fine,” she said, praying it was true. The reality that she might be ill with the same disease that had killed the others gripped her throat with panic. Would she die?
“Goodman Layton has been assisting the others,” Daniel said to Master Caldwell as he helped Anne to her pallet.
She was shocked at how weak she’d already grown as she was forced to lean her weight against the small boy. It took all her willpower to reach down and try to remove her shoes.
“Allow me,” Daniel said to her, his voice soft and gentle though it was filled with fear.
Caldwell simply stood near the door, his eyes hooded as he watched. “You’ve been seeing quite a lot of Layton, have you not, Anne?”
Anne closed her eyes, pain starting to pound in her temples.
“Anne?” Caldwell demanded.
She blinked, realizing she’d almost fallen asleep. “Aye,” she whispered, uncertain what it was that he had asked.
“The others are talking,” Caldwell said. “Do you plan to marry Layton?”
“Marry?” her throat hurt so badly now, she could hardly speak.
“Do you plan to marry Layton?”
She mustered all her strength to shake her head, sadness mixed with longing and fear. “I’m returning … to … England.”
If she lived.
Forty-eight hours had passed since Daniel had rushed into John’s quarters and told him that Anne had taken ill—the longest forty-eight hours of John’s life.
John sat against the wall in Caldwell’s main room and leaned his head back to rest. A fire smoldered in the hearth while Daniel slept in the next room. They’d both been awake through the night, seeing to Anne’s needs, and Daniel had finally passed out, exhausted. John had lifted the thin boy in his arms and brought him to his pallet.
Caldwell had left the house an hour previous, scowling at John as he left. The man had not been happy to send for John and was even more upset that John had insisted on staying until Anne regained consciousness, even abandoning his own duties to see to her needs.
She moaned beside him and tossed her head on her sweat-soaked pallet.
John moved away from the wall and sat beside her on the floor. He took her hand in one of his and smoothed her brow with the other. She had become delirious in the night, calling out wild things he couldn’t begin to decipher. Something about her mother and Mistress Forest. When “Master Forest” came off her lips and she began to call out for him not to accuse her, John had sat up straighter to listen, but then she had fallen into mumbling and he could not make out her words.
“Anne.” John whispered her name now, leaning down to speak close to her ear. “Wake up, my love.”
The words slid off his tongue and startled him.
But once he spoke them, he realized that somehow, in such a short time, they were true. He had fallen in love with Anne Burras, despite his efforts to hold his feelings at bay.
Yet how could he not love her? In the few weeks he’d come to know her, he had held a great deal of admiration for the beautiful, hardworking woman. Not once had she shied away from a task, not once had she spoken ill of her master or her circumstances, and not once had she failed to make John feel appreciated. Everything within him wanted to protect her, cherish her, and make her happy.
In a land where life was short and precious, he’d found that love grew quickly.
From the few things she had shared, he surmised that her childhood had been difficult, though it had not broken her spirit. What might it be like to be the man who could finally offer Anne what she deserved—what he knew she longed for? What would it be like to love her with complete and unconditional love?
Any man would be blessed to have Anne by his side, and for some reason, God had allowed him to be that man—at least for the moment. Overwhelming gratitude filled him, even while fear held a grasp on his soul.
A knock came at the door, and John stood. His back and legs ached, and his head pounded. He hadn’t slept for more than a few minutes, in short, uncomfortable naps, throughout the long two days he’d spent by Anne’s side.
Cold air seeped into the room as John opened the door and found William standing on the other side, his face grim. “There was another ambush at sunrise, this time on the palisade addition. One man was killed and three more injured.”
John’s senses snapped to attention. “Why wasn’t I sent for before now?”
William looked away, moving uncomfortably. “We knew you were busy with Anne—and it all happened so fast, it was over almost before it began. A handful of men are trailing the Powhatans, but they won’t go far before they turn back.”
Running his hand through his hair, the exhaustion returned and John leaned against the doorframe. “What about the others who are harvesting trees?”
“We sent a runner out to warn them.” William moved restlessly on his feet. “We could use you now, to settle the panic.”
Anne moaned again and John’s heart squeezed. How could he leave Anne when she needed him? What if she awoke and was only coherent for a few moments before returning to delirium, or even worse? He didn’t want to miss the chance to talk to her.
But what about his men and the fort he had defended with his life for the past year and a half? They also needed him right now. What if the Indians returned and he wasn’t there to lead the men in fighting? Most of them were fresh from England, and though they had been drilling for three weeks, they were not ready to face an attack without experienced men in command.
“We need you,” William said. “At least until Caldwell returns.”
John hated to leave Anne, but he had little choice. If the fort came under attack, they would need every able-bodied man available. He could not protect Anne if he was sitting by her bedside. “I’ll be there soon.”
> William nodded once and left.
John closed the door and walked across the room to wake Daniel. When the boy was roused, John returned to Anne and knelt beside her again. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I’ll return as soon as I am able. Get well, Anne.”
She appeared to be sleeping peacefully, so he rose and set his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Take good care of her.”
“Aye, sir.” Daniel nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
He knew the young boy would try. He just hoped it would be enough.
In less than an hour, Caldwell returned with the men he’d taken to the woods. Again, they were shaken, but this time there was talk of refusing to return to their work.
Within three weeks of the new settlers arriving, they had lost nine men to illness and three men to Indian attacks. John saw the fear in their eyes and knew that most of the men had not been prepared for the realities of colonial life.
He was still getting used to it himself.
“Quiet!” Caldwell called to the men as he took the steps up to the bulwark, his wide girth making it harder for him to mount the raised platform. “I need quiet,” he shouted again.
The sixty or so men who were left standing all quieted to listen to their commander. John waited patiently to see if Caldwell would rise to the occasion, or if he’d be like so many other leaders who had failed James Fort these past eighteen months.
“There is no need to panic,” Caldwell said to the colonists. “We have withstood greater attacks and will stand to fight another day.”
Murmured complaints filled the air.
“There is talk of abandoning our tasks,” Caldwell continued. “But I will not hear of it. President Smith left me in command, and he gave me a job to do. We will fill his order for shingles, finish building the addition to the fort, and assemble another building for housing. We cannot allow our enemy to prevent us from attaining our goals.”
More complaints rang through the group, this time louder.
“How are we to build a colony if we are afraid?” someone asked.
Caldwell lifted his hands to quiet the group. “We must persevere, come what may.”
“But we’re losing our men,” shouted Hanover. “How will we defend the fort if we’re out in the woods when our enemy attacks?”
The other men echoed Hanover’s question. Everyone seemed to be talking at once.
“There are only thirty men inside the fort during the day,” shouted another. “We could never withstand an attack with those numbers.”
Caldwell lifted his hands again to bring the group to order. “I will not be swayed on this issue.”
John, listening as the men argued with Caldwell, felt torn. Caldwell had a good point. They needed to persevere, regardless of the risk. But the men also had a good point. Without Newport and Smith and the 120 men with them, it would be difficult to defend the fort against attack from the Indians—or the Spaniards. Shouldn’t they stay in the fort and finish making shingles from the logs already there?
What if Smith and Newport were already dead and these two small attacks were just a precursor to ones yet to come? Staying together would be wiser than spreading out their defense.
“I will hear no more of this.” Caldwell shook his head. “I am through talking. We will resume our duties at sunrise tomorrow morning. Use the rest of this afternoon to drill and practice loading your weapons.” He left the bulwark and started toward his house without another word.
John raced to catch up to him and intercepted him before he entered the building.
“Master Caldwell, may I have a moment of your time?”
Caldwell sighed and turned to face John. “Has Anne died?”
A weight dropped in John’s gut at the very thought, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to go to her side and see how she fared. “I pray God not,” he said. “It is not Anne but the men I want to discuss with you.”
“A disagreeable lot.”
“I think they may have a point. Until Newport and Smith return, it might be best to keep our defense together in the fort. It can’t be much longer, and we have plenty of cedar to continue making shingles for a week or more.”
“And what of the palisade? Shall we stop work on that too? And the additional housing? When Smith returns, we’ll need all the space we can get for the men he took with him.”
“We’ve slept in tents before, and we can do it again.” John was not one to suggest avoiding responsibilities, but there came a time when common sense should prevail.
“No.” Caldwell shook his head. “We will continue to work and show no fear to our enemies.” He started toward his home again, but John followed.
When Caldwell reached the door, he turned and faced John. “Do not tempt me to arrest you, John Layton. I’m exhausted and irritable right now. I do not want to hear one more word about the unrest.”
John held his tongue, knowing he would have to follow Caldwell’s orders whether he agreed with them or not.
“I would like to come in and see Anne,” John said.
“I’ll have Daniel see to her needs.” Caldwell opened his door and stepped over the threshold, barring John from entering. “Your interest in her has cost me dearly. She has not had a visitor in over a week, and if she regains her health, I will insist you stop seeing her so the others return.”
Caldwell was losing his source of food income.
“I need to know if she is better or worse.” Panic tightened John’s chest at the thought of not being by her side.
“Good day, Goodman Layton.” Caldwell closed the door in John’s face and secured it from within.
John stood for a moment in the cold and tried to reconcile the fear and longing he felt in his heart for Anne. How had he come to care for her so completely in such a short time?
With nothing left to do, he returned to his work, praying like never before that Anne would live.
Chapter 6
The sky was gray and overcast and the air was as cold as December, though the calendar claimed it was still the end of October. John clasped his hands together and blew warm air into them before rubbing them briskly to return a bit of life into his fingers.
A few flurries fell lazily from the sky, swirling in wisps on the hard-packed earth as men moved around the fort.
Two days and nights had passed since John had last seen Anne. Daniel had snuck away on several occasions to share her progress, but when John tried to see Anne for himself, Daniel told him he wasn’t allowed to let John enter or Caldwell would have John arrested for trespassing. Since John didn’t want to get Daniel in trouble as well, he stayed away and waited impatiently for the reports.
Picking up the froe, John set it on top of the cedar log and then lifted the wooden mallet and forced all his frustration into the blow. The shingle split away from the log in one smooth motion and John felt a measure of satisfaction, though it didn’t lessen the ache in his chest. All he could think about was Anne.
“You’ve lost your heart, I’d wager,” William said as he worked alongside John once again.
John chose to ignore his friend.
“I’ve seen it before,” William said with a sad smile. “Does she love you?”
Did she? John had no way of knowing. He had sensed her attraction to him, but he didn’t know if she loved him. She would probably think him mad if she knew how he felt.
“Will you ask her to marry you?” William could be persistent.
“My plans for Anne Burras have not changed,” John said simply. He landed the mallet on the froe again, sending a shingle flying across the workspace.
William raised a brow. “Is that so?”
“James Fort is no place for a woman,” John insisted. “If she survives this illness”—he swallowed hard, trying not to think about losing her to death—“I will make her promise to return to England.”
“And what happens if Newport brings a bevy of women with the next supply ship? Will you regret sending Anne away?�
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“No.” John shook his head decisively. “I cannot abide watching her suffer here in Virginia. Others may come, whether I like it or not, but at least Anne will be in England where it is safer.”
“Is it safer?” William asked as he set his froe upon his log. “There is not a place on this earth that is safe from death.” He shrugged. “How are we to know the future? She could set sail with Newport, only to be shipwrecked on the high seas. Or she could return to England, only to be struck down by a runaway horse. There are no guarantees.”
The thought of Anne staying and of him making a life with her as man and wife tantalized his senses. His willpower to live and to fight and to work would only be strengthened if he knew he was doing those things for Anne.
But the thought of her lying on her pallet on the verge of death, only to be revived and faced with the threat of an Indian attack was too much for his weary soul to envision. No. It would be far safer for Anne to face the known enemies of civilization than those that were less familiar in the new world.
Daniel suddenly appeared. His eyes were huge as he wildly motioned for John to come.
John dropped his froe and mallet and leapt over the pile of shingles. He was at Daniel’s side in a heartbeat. “Is it Anne? Has she died?”
“Come with me.” Daniel didn’t answer him but started to run toward Caldwell’s rooms.
“What’s wrong?” John asked, passing the boy as he raced past. “Has something happened to her?”
John didn’t wait for the boy to answer, nor did he care if Caldwell would arrest him when he learned he had entered his home. He pushed open the door and skidded to a halt.
Anne sat on her pallet, her back resting against the wall, a steaming cup grasped in her pale hands.
“Anne.” John cried out her name as he fell to his knees beside her.
Her eyes were large in her thin face, made even more prominent by the dark circles beneath.
He took the mug from her hands and set it aside, then her took her hands in his and kissed each palm, praising God that He had spared her tender life.
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