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THE FOLLOWING DAY, Catherine considered walking back to where Noah’s hut had once stood, thinking she might find Noah there and could perhaps say something to him that might be comforting. But what could she say? If she felt numb with the pain of his loss, she could only imagine how he must be feeling.
Instead, she decided it best to put the tragedy from mind and turn her attention to other things. For her to attempt to comfort Noah might be construed as overstepping the bounds. After all, he was a married man. It was not her place to comfort him.
When the storm passed, the colonists on the Parke end of the peninsula began to emerge from their homes. They soon learned that Goodman Colton’s hut was not the only one damaged from the storm. Two other bark houses located near the river had also toppled. Though there’d been no deaths, all five of the inhabitants had been injured, and both families had lost everything. The devastation left five more Jamestown settlers homeless.
A few days later, the George, the third ship in the fleet that should have left England along with the Inverness and the Hampton, at last limped into Jamestown’s harbor. While at sea, it, too, had been struck by the hurricane and had lost ten more souls before the torrential fury subsided. Catherine learned that John Rolfe was indeed aboard the George, and that he had returned to Jamestown without his son, which meant he would not need her services. Word was, he retired at once to his plantation in Henricus, no doubt still mourning the death of his beloved Pocahontas. Catherine hoped their boy had not also been stricken and that his father had left him behind for some other reason. Aboard the George, several of the Indians in the Rolfe entourage had succumbed to the same illness that claimed their mistress. Though it had been several months, Catherine continued to mourn the death of the beautiful Princess Pocahontas.
The George brought a new deputy-governor to Jamestown’s shores. Appointed by The New Virginia Company in London, Captain Samuel Argall was to replace Deputy-Governor Yeardley, who’d known for some months now that he was serving an interim term until the new appointee arrived. Catherine hoped the new deputy-governor would honor Yeardley’s decision to let her open her school. She decided that rather than ask afresh for permission, she’d simply move ahead as if she had all the permission she needed.
She was pleasantly surprised when, true to Yeardley’s promise, a team of two housewrights appeared on the doorstep one day, tools in hand, declaring they’d been commissioned to make whatever alterations she required to the house, in preparation to open her school.
Everything Catherine wanted, two board tables, complete with backless benches, a window cut into the wall in the common room, oiled cloth attached to all four windows in the house, new bolts on both doors and windows, and an indoor oven, were quickly and expertly constructed at no charge. At the last minute, Catherine mentioned to one of the men that she yearned for a pair of flower boxes, one for the new window in the sidewall and the other for the front window of the house.
“Be my pleasure, ma’am,” said the burly, bewhiskered fellow. “An’ if’n they’s anythin’ else ye’d like, just say the word an’ I be happy to oblige.”
Catherine rewarded the congenial fellow with a bright smile. “Thank you kindly, sir. You are a true gentleman.”
As the work on the house neared completion, Adam and Abigail and the Morgans packed up their meager belongings to remove to the country. Moments before the two families were to depart, Adam drew Catherine aside.
“I want you to know I greatly admire your spirit in seeing this venture of yours through, sis. I’ve no doubt ye’ll be successful. Still, I daresay leaving you here alone does continue to worry me. If anything should happen to you or Nancy, I’d never forgive myself. Promise me, if you ever encounter a problem with the men hereabouts, or, Heaven forbid, with the Indians, ye’ll come straightaway to the plantation. You and Nancy are always welcome.”
“Thank you, Adam.” Catherine smiled. “Nancy and I both thank you for your kindness. I could never have imagined how full and busy my life would be once I left London and joined you here. I admit,” she said with a rueful laugh, “nothing has been as I expected, but I’m confident that everything will work out for the best. I’m far happier and more content than I ever thought I could be the day I stepped off the boat.”
“If the work ahead of you is more than you can bear, don’t be too prideful to say so,” he admonished. “Despite our simple upbringing, you are a gently bred young lady. Abby was accustomed to hard work when we married. She comes from hardy north-country stock and has worked hard all her life.”
“You’ve never told me how you and Abigail met. What brought her to Jamestown?”
“She came with her parents a good many years back. She, a sister and a pair of brothers.” He paused. “Entire family, save Abby, died during the starving time.”
“Starving time?”
“Winter of oh-nine. Every settler in the colony lost several family members. Pa and I didn’t arrive till two years later. Things weren’t a great deal better then. Since the starving time, every family is required to always have a barrel of corn on hand and to grow either berries or grapes. Winters in Jamestown can be brutal and . . . you have yet to live through one.”
“Nancy and I’ll be fine. We survived many a cold night on the crossing.” She glanced up at the rafters. “I haven’t noticed the roof leaking. What with all the rain we’ve had, the thatch seems tight.”
“For now. Lad needs to add another layer of brush. Wind takes off some every time it blows hard, especially during a storm like the one just past. Expect we lost a full layer then. I also need to remind him to fill the chinks in the walls with fresh daub and to build up a thick wall of mud outdoors come fall. Knee-high mud wall will keep the winter wind out and seal the heat in.” He paused a moment, thinking. “I told Abby to leave what’s left of the pine-knot candles for you and Nancy. I assume she did.”
Catherine grinned. “Yes, she did. And she also showed us how to make them and where to find the narrowest pine sticks in the forest. You’re a good brother and I love you dearly.”
“I love you, too, sis. Abby and I are both glad you’re here. Where I can keep an eye on you!” He glanced past her through the opened doorway to the grassy area in front. “I see everyone is ready and waitin’ for me.”
Catherine threw her arms about her brother’s neck. He returned her warm embrace, then reached up to remove his long-barreled fowling piece from above the fireplace.
“Wish I had another one of these, or at least a pistol I could leave with you.”
“Nancy and I won’t be needing a pistol and we have one another for company, so we won’t be alone, or even feel lonely, once my pupils are here every day.”
She linked an arm through his as they walked toward those gathered out front.
“When does your school get underway?” Adam asked.
“My summer term starts next week. I tacked a note to the meetinghouse door yesterday asking parents to sign their child’s name to the list. So far, I have three pupils.”
“I expect ye’ll soon have many more.”
* * * *
THE FOLLOWING SABBATH, Reverend Buck announced that Mistress Fielding’s Missionary School would open on Wednesday next, and those parents who wished their sons and daughters to attend should see Mistress Fielding following services.
By sunset, Catherine had spoken with three sets of parents who enrolled a total of four more pupils, three boys and one girl. That afternoon, one of the fathers brought over a cartload of firewood as payment for his child’s lessons. A mother arrived with a bushel basket of dried apples and pears, which Nancy took to the loft to store with the rest of their food. Catherine didn’t yet have a single Indian child amongst her pupils and, truth to tell, rather doubted she would.
Her plan was for school to stay in session until harvest time, then close for six weeks and reopen for the winter term, which, weather permitting, would last until planting time in the spring. She knew illnesses and other circumstances would keep her pupils away from time to time, but she was determined that, except for those things that could not be helped, nothing would interfere with the steady progress of each term.
Evenings when she and Nancy sat up by candlelight, she worked out her lesson plans and began to teach Nancy her letters by drawing them in the ashes of the hearth with a stick.
On the day classes commenced, her first students arrived bright and early, not all of them eager to buckle down and actually learn something, but still curious since not a single one had ever attended a thing called a “school” before. All went well, despite the fact that two of the boys, aged five and six, were more interested in following Lad around than sitting quietly on a backless bench for hours at a stretch. The two little girls, Patience and Emily, proved model pupils and, Catherine hoped, shining examples of good comportment for the boys.
The first few weeks were somewhat difficult both in establishing discipline during the ever-worsening summer heat and in figuring out how to tailor lessons to the varying needs of pupils who displayed varying degrees of aptitude. She began holding classes outdoors, letting the children draw their letters and numbers in the sand, and at least once each day, taking the children for a walk into the cool interior of the forest where she pointed out the variety of flowers and plants and made mental notes to herself regarding what was growing where. Now that she had the leisure to explore the woods, she fell in love with it. Every time she walked amongst the tall trees, she felt the comforting presence of Pocahontas there with her.
Each day classes were dismissed soon after noon, the exact time being difficult to pin down since there was not a single clock in the entire settlement. That left Catherine a part of the long afternoon and a few evening hours to herself. Nancy and Lad stayed busy most all day taking care of household chores. Evenings, Catherine helped Nancy prepare a hot meal for their supper.
One late summer evening after supper, Catherine was behind the house pulling stray weeds from the nice-sized patch of herbs she’d transplanted from the forest floor. Pleased with the variety she’d collected, she spent several hours each day tending them. Some of the flowers and stems would soon be ready to pluck and dry, then, using her grandmother’s pestle and mortar, she’d crush and pound them, label each herb and indicate what ailment it was good for. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the sound of someone approaching.
“So, there you are,” came a male voice.
“Oh!” Catherine rose to her feet, surprised to see Noah Colton striding toward her. She hurriedly brushed bits of dirt and debris from her long blue skirt, then reached to tuck up beneath her cap the stray wisps of hair she’d felt tickling her cheeks.
He stood grinning down at her. “You look . . .”
“A frump?” she finished for him.
“No, I was going to say you look fresh, and . . . pretty.”
She smiled as she picked her way amongst the rows of plants. “What are you doing here? More importantly, how are you doing?” She hadn’t seen him since the day his child had been born. Neither he nor Charity had attended a single Sabbath service since the one held at the church for their infant son.
Catherine linked an arm through his as they both walked around the forest side of the house toward the front door. It stood wide open as evenings in Jamestown were quite warm, and any breeze that happened to drift by was welcome indoors.
“I never told you how sorry I am about . . .”
“It’s alright,” he cut her off, his tone curt. “Charity and I are doing fine. We’ve settled in with the Bensons. Her mother likes the arrangement. Although . . .” He stopped abruptly.
Catherine looked up, saw that his blue eyes were shuttered, so politely changed the subject. “Shall we sit here and talk where it’s cooler?”
Nodding, Noah stepped inside the house to retrieve the chairs. Catherine heard him exchange a friendly greeting with Nancy, who was busy with chores. Emerging with the two new ladder-backed chairs the workmen had built; he positioned them side-by-side on the patch of grass in front of the house.
Catherine had reached to snap a stray weed from amongst the lemon verbena growing in her flower box.
Grinning, Noah watched her. “Your flowers look nice. I expect we’ll soon be able to tell which huts have a woman living there simply by whether or not there’s a flower box.”
Catherine smiled. “A bit of color is just what these drab little houses need. Goodwife Taylor and Goody Smithfield have already had their husbands build flower boxes for them.” She tossed the weed aside and moved to take a seat beside him. “So, what brings you to our little village this fine evening?”
“I plan to leave at first light on a trading expedition. It’s a long walk in from the Benson plantation; easier for me to stay the night in Jamestown with the other traders than make the walk into town on the morrow.”
“Which tribe will you visit?”
“Chickahominies.”
Her green eyes registered surprise. “But I thought they were our enemies!”
“We hope to persuade them otherwise. Now that Argall is back in office, we’re hoping to reinstate the treaty he and Governor Dale made with the Chickahominy a few years back. Chicks refused to trade with us when Yeardley was here. Said they’d made their agreement with Dale, not Yeardley.”
“I’ve heard their braves are very fierce.”
“True. But back then they declared themselves loyal subjects of King James and even wanted his picture!” His head wagged from side to side.
Catherine had removed her cap and it now lay discarded in her lap. The setting sun on her auburn hair glistened like copper. “You find that amusing?”
“I find it quite amusing that a tribe of savages would want a portrait of the king of England, a man they will never see and who doesn’t care a tinker’s damn about them, except to see them subdued and eventually killed off.”
She said nothing in reply, though she thought his remark rather coarse. “What do you plan to trade with them?”
“The usual. Axes, chisels, hoes, a few rifles.”
“Rifles!” Catherine blanched. “Why would we want to give a potentially explosive tribe of Indians rifles?”
Noah remained calm. “Rifles are not real effective without shot.”
She gazed at him curiously. “Don’t you tell them the rifles need powder?”
He shrugged. “Not unless they ask.”
“And what do you get in return from these poor, misguided Indians?”
“We hope to persuade them to honor their original agreement with Governor Dale, which was to bring two bushels of corn per man to Jamestown’s storehouse. Seems we’re running a trifle low.”
Catherine shook her head. “You continue to amaze me, Noah.”
He’d casually leant his chair back against the wall of the house, the fore legs off the ground. He leaned forward, an intent gaze on her. “Why is that, my dear?”
“You are so . . . nonchalant about what you do, as if meeting with a tribe of unfriendly Indians is mere child’s play. It’s like a game to you.”
Again, his broad shoulders lifted and fell. “It is a game. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.” Abruptly, he changed the subject. “Does your brother often come around here?”
“No. He and Abigail have not been here since they moved to the plantation. Abby is . . . increasing. I suppose you and Charity will soon be . . . ” her voice trailed off.
“Her parents hope she’ll be in the family way soon. I sometimes think they only wanted me around to . . .” He paused.
Catherine studied him in the failing light. It was obvious a number of things were troubling him, but she didn’t feel it was her place to invite his confidences, especially about something as personal as his relations with his wife.
He changed the subject. “I suppose you have several suitors by now. I hear a number of unmarried men are keen on you.”
Blushing, Catherine looked down. “I am not interested in any one of them. Jonathan Reed has stopped by on occasion . . . mainly to ask if I need anything. He plowed up my garden for me. Actually,” her tone softened, “I think Nancy might be sweet on him.”
“Nancy doesn’t stand a chance against you.”
Catherine said nothing. Glancing up the road, she caught sight of Lad and two other boys, playing some sort of game on the greensward with a stick and clods of dirt. “I’d best go in now. I usually work out my lesson plans of an evening.”
“Forgive me.” He stood up when she did, gallantly picking up both chairs to carry back inside. “I did not mean to impose.”
“You are not imposing, Noah. I . . . always enjoy seeing you.” Feeling self-conscious, she looked down. Then looked back up to drink in his rugged good looks one last time before he left, his twinkling blue eyes and curly blond hair, which she noticed he’d cut short for summer. There was no saying when she’d see him again and, as usual, being with him made her want to be with him all the more. “God go with you tomorrow.”
An easy grin on his handsome face, Noah touched the brim of his flat beret. “Good night, my lovely Catherine. Perhaps I shall see you again soon, if . . . that would be all right.”
She sucked in her breath but did not reply. Just stood on the doorstep watching him walk away, both hands jammed into the side pockets of his wine-colored breeches. When she finally turned away, the sound of the jaunty tune he was whistling drifted back to her on the light evening breeze.
Catherine exhaled a long sigh. Would the day ever come when the mere sight of Noah Colton did not set her heart pounding?