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THROUGHOUT THE REST of that long week, Catherine found she could not push down the unanswered questions in her mind regarding the different-sized arrowheads. In addition, something else she discovered one day also troubled her. Moving a few items around in the shed, she found a large, bulky package, which she assumed belonged to Noah. Inside were a dozen ax blades, several pouches of the purple glass beads, and five or six glossy pelts that she thought were beaver. How, she wondered, had Noah come to be in possession of such fine pelts? And why would he trade them with the Indians, since most animal skins the settlers owned came from the Indians? Assuming that Noah meant to take the package with him on his latest expedition and, in his hurry to depart, had left it behind, she decided to take it indoors so he might remember it for his next trip.
Every time the sight of the beautiful beaver pelts spread out on the board table caught her eye, the pesky voice in her head told her something was amiss. She recalled that before the men left this time, they all again bemoaned the fact that they had nothing to trade with the Indians. Since no ship had arrived bringing fresh supplies suitable for trading, this mission was turning out merely to be one of good will. That and to remind the werowances of each tribe of their previous pledge to bring two bushels of corn per man to Jamestown’s communal storehouse.
Fresh doubts about Noah began to assail her. What was he keeping from her now and why?
When the second week passed and Noah still had not returned home, Catherine again made the trek to Sabbath services alone. Afterward, as she stood outdoors on the green visiting with her brother and Abby, and Jack and Nancy, whose girth was increasing as her pregnancy progressed, she found herself standing near John Fuller. When her brother and his party headed toward shore where Adam’s dugout was moored, Catherine turned toward John.
“Good afternoon, John.”
Smiling, he greeted her. “Mistress Colton.”
“I wonder if I might beg a moment of your time, sir.”
“Of a certainty.” He gazed at her expectantly.
Catherine cast an anxious glance over one shoulder. “P-perhaps we might walk. I shouldn’t want our conversation to be overheard.”
“As we both live on the same side of town, it will not appear improper if we walk that way together.”
She smiled tightly as they set out. Once they were a good distance from other colonists also walking that direction, Catherine began to speak, though she kept her eyes glued to the tops of her new boots, first one peeking from beneath the hem of her gown, then the other. “I would like to ask you a question in the strictest confidence, John.”
“ ’Pon my honor I shall never reveal a word that passes between us.”
“I do trust you, John.” She gazed up at him. “What I would like to know concerns the night of my . . . my late husband Victor’s accident.”
“I clearly recall the events of that night.”
“What I would like to know concerns my present husband, Noah. Could you tell me who was dispatched to fetch him into town that night?”
“Indeed. It was Deputy-Governor Argall’s servant lad. I happened to be visiting Argall that afternoon when Jack arrived to tell us of the accident. My being there that day is quite likely the only reason I was drawn into the matter. I recall Argall telling Jack that if the accident involved Indians the best person to consult was Noah Colton. He summoned his boy at once and sent him to fetch your husband, that is, your present husband.”
“But what did the governor say to the boy? Did he tell him where in the woods the accident had taken place?”
“No. None of us, that is, neither Argall nor myself, yet knew where the accident had happened. Jack merely said his friend Victor had sustained an arrow wound and that we should come at once. It was not until we entered the forest that we discovered precisely where Victor was when he was shot. Until then, we had no idea.”
Filled with apprehension over what she’d just learned, Catherine managed to school her features into some semblance of normalcy as she thanked John for speaking openly with her. After extracting one more promise from him not to repeat a single word of their conversation to anyone, she left him standing at the crossroads gazing curiously after her as she hurried the rest of the way home alone. It would not do for Noah to see her walking with another man if he had returned to Jamestown whilst she was at services that morning.
Unable to calm herself as she nibbled at the small meal she’d prepared, Catherine quickly put everything away and hurried into the forest to her Special Place to think.
Was her imagination running away with her, or did Noah truly have something to do with Victor’s death? Again and again, she went over what she recalled of that fateful night, coupled with what she’d just learned from John.
She was certain she remembered exactly what Noah had said the night she opened the door to admit him. He said he hadn’t been anywhere near the stream. And yet, if what John had just told her was true, and she had no reason to disbelieve him, when Noah arrived at her door, he did not know the accident had happened near the stream, for no one had yet told him. He did not even know what had happened, or why he had been summoned.
Her insides churned as the turmoil within her grew. Dear God, had she stumbled upon a horrible truth? Noah had threatened many times to kill any man who touched her. But she’d never thought he meant it. Would he have actually taken Victor’s life? Noah was married to Charity at the time; therefore he could not also marry her.
But marrying her did not seem that important to Noah, the persistent voice in her head reminded her. He would have been content to come to her in the dead of night, or whenever it suited him.
Tears filled her eyes as she buried her face in her hands. Her dream of a rosy future with Noah was fast turning into a nightmare.
What must she do now?
What could she do?
The answers to her questions were always the same. Nothing. Were she to say anything to anyone regarding her suspicions, they would no doubt call her a disgruntled wife bent on revenge against her husband over some trifling matter. Or they’d point out that on the night in question she’d been so distraught she had no clear recollection of what anyone said.
Was that the truth, she wondered? Was she mistaken about what she’d heard?
No! No, she was not mistaken! She clearly remembered what Noah had said when she opened the door to admit him. He grew defensive and declared he hadn’t been anywhere near the stream! However, since the other men present that night were talking amongst themselves near the hearth, she was the only person in the room who had heard what Noah said, so any sort of investigation into the matter would come down to her word against his. And her words would always be that of a hysterical woman.
A weary sigh escaped her. She truly did not want to accuse her own husband of murder. And even if she did, he likely would not be convicted due to a lack of proof. That Noah had in his possession a quiver full of different-sized arrowheads would be easy to explain . . . for Noah. All he’d have to say was that he traded for them with Indians from different tribes, which was probably true; therefore he’d be telling the truth! So, once again, the crux of the case would boil down to what she thought she heard him say when he arrived at her home that night. Her word against his, since no one else had heard what he said.
Hugging her knees as she sat on the moss-covered ground in the shade of a tall tree, it was becoming increasingly clear to her that there was no good answer to this puzzle. The only course open to her now was to keep her suspicions to herself . . . and her mouth shut.
Drawing in long, deep breaths, she tried to calm her fevered thoughts. But seconds later, the insistent voice in her head began to pick at the problem again. It was possible, she told herself, that Noah had been in the forest that day, and he might have indeed seen what had happened . . . and if that were true, then he would have indeed known where the accident took place . . . by the stream. Noah maintained he had learned from the Indians how to see without being seen. So it was possible he could have been there.
Cogitating on that scenario, she finally decided it was the only explanation that made sense. Noah had been in the forest and had seen Victor fall to the ground, shot in the shoulder and the leg by swift-flying arrows . . . from bows belonging to Indians, not Noah. He had not committed a crime himself; he had merely witnessed one.
It was not until much later, after she had retraced her steps and returned home, that she began to wonder why Noah had not told the governor he had been in the woods that day and had witnessed the crime. And, if he had been in the woods and witnessed the crime, then why had he been so quick to declare to her that he hadn’t been anywhere near the stream?
Nothing made sense anymore.