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BY MID-AFTERNOON, CATHERINE had located the document and tucked it into her valise next to the leather pouch with the five-pound notes. Now all she had to do was present it to Noah . . . the next time he appeared at her door. Although his stubbornness in the matter of their marrying both annoyed and dismayed her, she concluded that her ten pounds and the fifty acres of land could in a way be likened to her dowry, which was generally surrendered before the actual wedding ceremony took place.
That week all traces of the snowstorm finally disappeared, and it seemed spring had come at last. One sunny morning Catherine was pleased to find Tamiyah at her door bringing both Tonkee and Pamoac to school again.
Catherine invited the children in, noting that today both were properly clothed . . . Tonkee in a simple one-piece garment, Pamoac wearing a doeskin shirt over his breeches. Because the little Indian boy had grown taller over the winter months, his arms and legs now appearing somewhat gangly, she assumed the shirt she had given him last summer no longer fit.
As usual, the sight of Pamoac brought a smile to Catherine’s lips. With his curly brown hair and the merry twinkle in his black eyes, he was such an adorable child she could hardly take her eyes from him. Suddenly, it struck her there was something about Pamoac that reminded her of . . . well, he reminded her of Noah, who’d been only a few years older than Pamoac the first time she caught sight of him playing in the meadow with Adam. As a little girl, she thought Noah was the most handsome boy she’d ever seen.
Later that afternoon Lanneika brought in a bundle of fresh pine-knot candles she’d spent the bulk of the day making. After depositing them in the loft, she came back downstairs.
“Indian boy and girl here today,” she remarked to Catherine, busily sweeping ashes from the edge of the hearth into the fire.
“Yes, Tamiyah’s children, Tonkee and Pamoac.”
“Pamoac trader-man’s boy.”
At first Lanneika’s words didn’t register with Catherine. When they did, she nearly dropped her broom into the fire. “W-what did you say?”
“Pamoac’s father light-skin. Trader-man.”
Stunned, Catherine felt so light-headed she had to fumble behind her for the chair in order to sit down before she fell down. “A-Are you certain of that?” No matter what the girl said, Catherine knew it was true. She didn’t even have to ask which trader-man. There was only one white man in all of Jamestown who could have fathered Pamoac.
Lanneika eyed her employer. “You not well, Miss Cat-e-wren? Need suckquahan?”
“No, thank you, Lanneika. I don’t need water. I-I’m just a bit tired.”
Catherine’s mind was still reeling as she ate her supper alone that night. She recalled the conversation she’d had with Noah after she first met Tamiyah in the forest and invited her children to come to school. Now she knew why Noah had so vehemently opposed the idea.
He obviously knew Tamiyah, since she was the very woman he’d fetched the day Charity gave birth. Thinking further, she decided it best to say nothing to him. More than likely Noah would only angrily point out that it happened long before she came to Jamestown and it had nothing to do with her.
Besides, she had heard rumors about the Indians actually offering their women to Englishmen who stayed overnight in their villages. This was likely not the first time a child had resulted from such a union. Seven years ago, Noah was unmarried, so lying with Tamiyah was not violating any vow he’d made. Yet the London clergyman had spoken also of the importance of a man coming to the marriage bed chaste. Apparently, that had not been the case with Noah either.
Still . . . now that she knew the truth, she found it difficult to digest. What saddened her most was the fact that Noah knew Pamoac was his son and, so far as she could see, he took no interest whatever in the precious little boy.
Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to be reminded of his sin. Life here was hard . . . it was no wonder Noah had succumbed to baser needs when so few pleasures were available. When they were married, she would help him see the world anew, including the beauty of his sweet child.
* * * *
APRIL 1618
“You continue to surprise me, my love!” Noah exclaimed when she told him she was currently in possession of fifty acres of land, then handed him the actual Virginia Company land grant.
He strutted around the room, his chest puffed out. “I can hardly wait to see the look on your brother’s face, and Benson’s, the day I roll my barrels of fine Virginia tobacco down to the pier. And collect my fortune when I sell it to the captain. Do you suppose King James himself will deign to smoke my tobacco leaves?”
Catherine laughed, pleased to see Noah so happy. But she did wonder at his plans. According to Adam, it could take a man an entire year to clear even one acre of land in readiness to plant. Noah, she feared, didn’t have the least notion what it took to plant, or harvest, a tobacco crop. But she supposed he would learn. There were plenty of successful planters in Jamestown who would gladly answer his questions. Perhaps even Adam would come around. She’d hate for the animosity between the two of them to continue once she and Noah were wed.
The next day Catherine was giddy with happiness when Noah came and took her to meet with Reverend Buck. The following Sabbath, their banns were read from the pulpit, then posted on the meetinghouse door.
A fortnight later, she put on her favorite rose-colored padusay gown, and gazing dreamily up at Noah, standing beside her in the church on the green, she at last became Goodwife Colton. Adam and Abigail were not present to witness the nuptials, but Jack and Nancy stood up with them and both signed their names as witnesses in the church registry. Although Catherine regretted that her mother could not have been present, as she had also loved Noah and many times expressed her desire to see the two of them wed, her joy over at last being united in holy matrimony with Noah Colton was nonetheless complete and unfettered.
It was the second time Reverend Buck had performed marriage ceremonies for both Noah and Catherine, the second time in less than a twelvemonth for Catherine. She was a bit disappointed that, after their vows had been exchanged, the reverend did not deliver the customary Marriage Sermon, no doubt believing that since this was not a first marriage for either, they both knew what they were getting into and, if trouble arose, how to deal with it. Instead, he murmured, “May God grant you both good health and . . . long lives.” Then he took himself off, leaving the foursome to make their way home and conduct whatever celebration they had planned to mark the occasion. The lack of special words from the minister made the beautiful occasion seem a bit rushed, but not even that omission could dim Catherine’s joy.
On the way home from the church, the men gravitated to one another and walked together ahead of the ladies. Catherine took advantage of the opportunity to speak privately with Nancy.
“I hope you will not be displeased with me,” she began in a low tone, “but I was obliged to tell Noah that I paid your passage to the New World. He insists now that I apply for the fifty acres of land I am entitled to.”
It was a moment before Nancy responded solemnly. “I understand. If that is what your husband wishes, then ye have no choice in the matter. I have learned that is the way of it when a woman is married.”
Catherine nodded. “Thank you for understanding, Nancy.”
“It’s just that here in Jamestown, I feel as if I am like everyone else, even above some.”
“Indeed, you are, Nan. You have changed a great deal since we arrived . . . your bearing, your manner of speaking. Everyone believes you to be a refined young lady. Your transformation quite pleases me.”
“I owe my fine new life to you, Catherine. You were brave to escape the Montcriefs as you did.”
Catherine laughed. “And you were brave to follow me.”
Smiling serenely, Catherine slipped her arm through her companion’s. “You and Jack being here today means a great deal to me. I love you like the sister I never had.”
Nancy patted her friend’s hand. “And I love you, Catherine. I hope you and Noah will be as happy as my Jack and I are.”
“I’ve no doubt that we shall be,” Catherine replied.
That night, after she and Noah had spent an enjoyable interlude in one another’s arms, Catherine fell asleep with her head resting on her new husband’s shoulder, a small smile of happiness on her lips. There was no doubt in her mind that she and Noah were now the happiest married couple in the world and always would be.
* * * *
IF CATHERINE AND NOAH’S lack of observing a proper mourning period following the deaths of their respective spouses could have raised any eyebrows, or been cause for gossip or speculation amongst the colonists, their hasty marriage was overshadowed by the sudden and shocking news that the powerful Indian chieftain Powhatan was dead, his body found in the forest. Because there were no visible wounds or obvious cause of death, it was believed the elderly chieftain, emperor of the federation from which he took his name, had never recovered from the death of his beloved daughter Pocahontas and that the grieving father had simply died of a broken heart. Of late, he had been observed wandering aimlessly from village to village, at times babbling incoherently. One day, he simply laid down on a bed of leaves in the forest and exhaled the last breath of air from his body.
Anxiety amongst the colonists ran high. Who would succeed Powhatan? Would the new chieftain carry on with the late emperor’s desire for peaceful relations between themselves and the light-skins . . . or was peace between the English and the naturals now a thing of the past? What this new turn of events meant for every colonist up and down the James River became a matter of grave concern, particularly amongst those who’d settled in Henricus, located further upriver. That small township was surrounded on all sides by Indian villages.
Overnight, Noah Colton’s consequence, and that of the other two traders, John Sharpe and Richard Tidwell, was substantially elevated. The three men, who for the past six or seven years had regularly visited most of the Indian villages under Powhatan’s rule and were personally acquainted with a great many of the hundred or so werowances, were now being consulted by citizens and planters alike, all fearful for the safety of their land and families. Those planters who lived on the fringes of the tidewater area and whose land was the least protected were most especially troubled.
Because nothing was more important than the safety of the New World settlements, the recognized leaders of the community, the deputy-governor and his councilmen, were looked to for decisions on how best to handle the matter.
An emergency meeting was called, and Deputy-Governor Argall and all seven councilmen, including Noah’s former father-in-law Richard Benson, filed into Noah Colton’s home one evening. Catherine opened the door to admit the men. She remembered meeting both Mr. Porter and Mr. Weymouth the day she delivered her report to Deputy-Governor Yeardley those many months ago following her visit with Powhatan at Werowocomoco. The five other councilmen she had only seen on occasion at Sabbath services. While the men talked, Catherine was allowed to remain in the room, but for one reason only: to keep the gentlemen’s mugs full of hot apple cider. Beyond a murmured greeting when they arrived, no further remarks were addressed to Catherine. But as she moved quietly from one to the other filling their mugs, she kept her ears open and managed to hear plenty.
The first item of business on the agenda was the reinstatement of weekly drill practices. Attendance was mandatory with stiff fines levied for those who shirked their duty, although under the circumstances no one thought that would be an issue.
Rebuilding the old fort’s outer walls was mentioned, but it was quickly decided that a twenty-four-hour guard on watch duty would be sufficient for now, since to rebuild the fort would first involve tearing it down, leaving the meetinghouse, storehouse, and other important offices unprotected for days and nights at a time.
Catherine was proud to hear Noah speak up to remind the others that it was especially important to keep closely trimmed the high grass around the outer walls of the fort.
“It was the Indians themselves who told Captain John Smith over a decade ago that our high grass made it easy for them to sneak up and launch a surprise attack on us,” Noah said.
“Good point, Colton.” Argall motioned for Mr. Porter, the council secretary, to jot the item down on the list he was keeping as the meeting progressed. “You men need to resume your trading expeditions at once,” he instructed the traders.
“And trade what?” Noah demanded. “Not a ship has docked in Jamestown the past half year. We’ve nothing of value to trade. No tools, copper, beads, nothing.”
Argall rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What about liquor? The Indians are quite fond of our ‘firewater’, as they call it.”
“Thought there was an ordinance against giving the Indians firewater,” Tidwell remarked.
There were nods all around. Still, after some discussion, a list of men known to brew their own stout ale was drawn up. One name Catherine recognized was Ed Henley. Of him, it was noted that after a long day’s labor in his tobacco and barley fields, he habitually drank himself into a stupor. She suspected Adam did not know Henley was a tippler; otherwise he would not have pushed for her to consider him as a prospective husband.
“Of course, the main purpose of resuming your trade expeditions,” the deputy-governor went on, “is not so much to trade, but to see which way the wind blows in regard to what the Indians are planning.”
“Certainly.” The traders agreed.
Argall unfolded a map of the tidewater area and spread it on the table. A good bit of discussion followed as to which Indian villages should be visited first. At length it was decided to begin midway up the Pamunkey River, a good fifty miles away from Jamestown, then work their way back home, stopping at as many villages as possible along the way.
“You men may be gone quite a spell,” Argall said.
Catherine, who happened at that moment to be hovering near Noah’s elbow, could not hold back a cry of alarm. “But why must they go so far away?”
Stunned silence followed her outburst, then Argall cleared his throat. “We are every last one of us in grave danger, Goodwife Colton.” He held up his half-empty cup, which she knew was more to point out her purpose for being there than to fill it.
She obediently poured additional ale into the governor’s tin cup, one of the pair Victor had so proudly brought to their marriage. Still, she couldn’t help adding, “I only just lost one husband to an Indian’s arrow, sir. I don’t relish the thought of losing another.”
“You have made your point, madam,” Argall replied, his sharp tone silencing her. “So, Colton, Sharpe, Tidwell, you will head out by river to Henricus, then move overland to Orapaks.”
The men nodded. Tidwell said, “Since Orapaks is Powhatan’s most recent home, might I suggest we take along something of special significance as a condolence for the old chieftain’s family?”
“And which wife would ye present it to?” Noah said on a laugh, which brought a burst of levity all around. Catherine’s lips thinned with annoyance.
The talk turned to speculation on who might succeed Powhatan. As each Indian chieftain’s name came up, the traders imparted their opinion of that particular werowance’s temperament.
“Wochinchopunck already calls himself King of the Paspaheghs,” said Sharpe.
“He was the last holdout as far as agreeing to trade with us,” Tidwell reminded them. “It won’t be Wochinchopunck. War would instantly break out between the Massawomekes and the Susquehannas if a Paspahegh assumed power.”
“I believe Powhatan’s brother Opechancanough is the more likely candidate,” Noah said. “And if that’s the case, we might all be in hot water.”
Everyone agreed, since each was already acquainted with that warrior’s foul temper. Even Catherine clearly recalled the tall, scowling warrior who grew agitated and insisted she be brought forth and questioned during her interview with Powhatan.
Other names were mentioned, but when Catherine again heard a familiar one, her ears perked up.
“Phyrahawque.”
“Possible,” Noah said. “Unfortunately, not a one of us has met him.”
“Why is that?” demanded Richard Benson, who until now had remained silent throughout the meeting.
“He’s somewhat a recluse. Doesn’t often show hisself,” Tidwell replied. “Appears to be a legend amongst the Indians, said to be the tallest, strongest, most powerful, most feared . . . ”
“He’s godlike to every Indian in the area,” explained Sharpe.
From the shadows, Catherine listened raptly. Apparently, she was the only one in the room who had actually seen the powerful warrior Phyrahawque, and not one single thing they’d said about him was untrue.
“I doubt Phyrahawque would take on the task. Though in my estimation,” Noah maintained, “he’d make a damn good chieftain.”
“You men should meet with him,” Benson declared, refusing to let the matter drop.
All three traders stared at Noah’s former father-in-law. Finally, Noah said, “Unfortunately, sir, we don’t know where he lives.”
For some reason, that struck all the men seated at the table as highly amusing. Everyone guffawed. It was on the tip of Catherine’s tongue to tell them she was well acquainted with Phyrahawque’s younger sister and that she had actually seen the mighty warrior. But . . . since Argall had made it quite clear that her comments were unwelcome, she decided to keep her remarks to herself. The men wouldn’t believe her anyway. How could she, a mere female, have seen this elusive paragon when the more experienced traders, and most Indians, had not?
“Well, find out where he lives!” Benson bellowed. “Surely you know the name of his tribe, that should give you some indication of the name of his village, since they are very often one and the same.”
Apparently embarrassed, Noah fell to studying the amber-colored liquid in his tankard.
“We’ve heard he frequently moves his tribe from place to place,” Tidwell muttered.
Benson frowned.
Catherine was still listening raptly. Tidwell’s comment corresponded with the answer Lanneika had given her in regard to how far away her village was. Lanneika said her village was sometimes far and sometimes near, which made no sense to Catherine at the time. Now it did.
“Legend has it Phyrahawque rides an enormous white stallion and the horse can . . . fly,” Sharpe said.
Again, the men seated at the board table burst into laughter.
Mr. Weymouth, a good deal older and apparently a good deal more educated than his counterparts, spoke up. “This Phyrahawque sounds like a figure from Greek mythology, a powerful Indian warrior whose huge white steed flies across the sky.”
Argall rapped on the table with his mug. “Gentlemen, we have other business to discuss.”
Catherine returned to the hearth to stir the pot of cider. Eventually the men grew weary of their talk and one by one began to take their leave. At length only Benson and the council secretary, who’d managed to dribble black ink onto the board table as he scribbled notes with a scratchy quill, and the other two traders remained.
As the four men drifted toward the door, Noah turned to address his former father-in-law. “I’ve another matter to take up with the council, sir.”
Benson was drawing on his gloves. “And what would that be, Colton?”
Noah glanced over his shoulder at Catherine. “M’wife and I would like to apply for a fifty-acre land grant, sir.”
Benson’s eyes narrowed. “And on what basis are you making this outrageous claim, boy?”
Lifting his chin, Noah said, “On the basis that a year ago my wife paid the passage for her servant, Nancy Mills, who has since married Jack Lancaster . . . of Harvest Hill,” he added.
After a pause, Benson said, “I see.” For the first time all evening, he directed a gaze at Catherine. “Is this true, Goodwife Colton?”
Catherine moved to stand beside her husband. “Indeed, it is, sir.”
“One might ask why you have waited until now, a full year later, to make this . . . ah . . . claim?”
“My wife only now has a need for the land. She has occupied herself the past year running Jamestown’s Dame School and . . . until now has not had a need for land.”
Benson cocked a brow.
“One other thing, sir,” Noah continued, sounding quite pleased with himself, “I have selected the land that adjoins my wife’s late husband’s fifty acres.”
“And your late husband was . . .?” Benson looked at Catherine.
“Victor Covington. He recently perished from an arrow wound,” she said pointedly.
“I see. So, with the new grant, the pair of you would be in possession of . . . one hundred acres.”
Noah nodded, a smug smile on his face.
Benson cleared his throat. “The proper procedure, Goodwife Colton, is for you to file your application at Jamestown’s land office. We will, of course, need Goodwife . . . Lancaster, you say . . . to also sign the application, as well as her husband to . . . ah . . . verify your claim.”
“Since the Lancasters reside a good distance away, sir, might I take the application to them to obtain their signatures?” Catherine asked.
“The land agent must witness the signatures,” Benson said by way of denying her request.
“Very well, sir. My husband and I shall visit the land office on the morrow.”
Before taking his leave, Benson flung a disgruntled look at Noah. Tidwell, Sharpe and Mr. Porter followed the council treasurer into the street.
When Noah had closed the door behind them, Catherine cried, “Noah, why did you bring up the matter of our claim in the presence of so many?”
“Three reasons, my love.” He slipped his arms about her trim waist and drew her toward him. “Firstly, to goad Benson; secondly, to boast of my good fortune; thirdly, to force him to be civil.”
Winding her arms around his neck, Catherine laughed up into his twinkling blue eyes. “People will now say you married me for my land.”
He gave her lips a quick peck. “Well, people will not be wrong.”
“Noah, you are telling another falsehood!”
“I can’t very well tell the truth.”
“And what would that be?” She grinned up at him, her auburn head at a tilt.
“Come with me, ye saucy wench, and I’ll show you the truth.”
Their lovemaking that night was more playful than usual. Afterward, they lay in one another’s arms, and Catherine voiced her concern for his safety as he and the traders ventured so deeply into Indian Territory.
“If you encounter trouble, Noah, how am I to know of it? You will simply vanish and I will never know what has happened to you.”
“Don’t worry, love. I have no fear of the Indians. I am their friend. They trust me. They shouldn’t, of course.” He laughed. “But they do.”
In the darkness, Catherine did not return his smile. His duplicitous remark had added to the niggling fear growing in the back of her mind over Noah’s true nature. But when he again gathered her into his arms and murmured into her ear that he thought her beautiful, she thrust the worrisome thought aside.