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JULY 1618
Noah left early the following morning for Henricus, leaving Catherine feeling at loose ends. Physically she was pleased to find that each day more and more of her strength returned, although she had not yet resumed any of the heavy work, hauling water, or bringing in logs for the fire. Those tasks fell to Lydia, who during Catherine’s convalescence had been forced to take on more and more of the household responsibilities. Catherine was pleased to see that Lydia now often began a task without being told to do so. She was an early riser, and, now that she knew it was necessary to build up the fire as soon as she arose, and how to prepare their morning meal, she quietly and efficiently did so.
That afternoon, after the women straightened up indoors, gathered Noah’s soiled garments, and changed the rushes on the floor, Catherine decided to venture into the woods. The weather was glorious, and she felt her Secret Place calling her. She hadn’t been there in over a fortnight, not since the day she saw Lanneika.
Once she’d made her way to the cove, she sat down beneath her favorite old oak and wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees. After inhaling several deep breaths of the fresh, clean air, she began to feel the peace and serenity of the forest soothe the wounded places in her soul.
She did not wish to spoil the lovely day thinking about Noah, about what he had said last night, and certainly not about his wild scheme to become governor. But the agony she had suffered at his hands and the anguish over the uncertainty of their future continued to weigh on her mind, and, try as she might, she could not thrust her worries aside.
All her life she had wished to be wed to Noah Colton, and, now that her dream had come true, she found the reality more akin to a nightmare. Beneath Noah’s lighthearted exterior there lurked an angry man; the merry twinkle in his blue eyes masked a dark demon within. His quick temper made him difficult and unpredictable to live with. Every time she thought about their lost babe, her eyes filled with tears. She did not know how long it would take before she could forgive him. But in her heart she knew she must try. With a heavy heart, she vowed to cease thinking about his shortcomings and try instead to be thankful for what they had, a good solid home, which had withstood the harsh winter months and a number of spring storms. They had land, even though he chose not to work it. For now, there was plenty of food in the loft, so she needn’t worry for a while on that score. And although she did not regard Lydia as a friend, the girl had finally come around to fulfilling her intended purpose, which was to be a help to Catherine, and for that, she was indeed grateful.
She sat pensive for a long moment, gazing out over the pool of clear blue water, enjoying the damp earthy smells that surrounded her. Suddenly she decided to dip her toes in the water. The day was exceptionally warm, and there was no one about to chide her for being reckless.
She hurriedly peeled off her shoes and stockings and, lifting her long skirts, padded barefoot toward the water’s edge. Beneath her bare feet, the dark-green moss felt soft and cool, the pleasant sensation bringing a smile to her lips. Reaching the water’s edge, she reached one toe out, then, feeling her other foot slip from beneath her, she plopped down hard on the moist ground.
“Oh!”
A burst of embarrassed laughter escaped her. She realized she hadn’t felt laughter bubble up inside her in weeks, perhaps months. Not since the first days of her marriage. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. No! She would not give in to self-pity. Turning her focus to the water lapping over her bare feet, she noted it was also beginning to wet the edges of her skirt. She reached to tug it out of the water, baring her legs almost to her knees. Inching along on her rump, she dangled her legs deeper into the cool clear liquid. But, of a sudden, she felt her entire body slide into the pool!
“Oh-h-h!”
Submerged in the water all the way to her neck, her skirt billowed out around her like a sail as her feet desperately sought purchase on the slippery sandy floor. She stretched an arm toward the bank for something to grasp hold of in order to pull herself out of the water. She wasn’t afraid; she did know how to swim, though if she’d intended to bathe, she would have removed more of her clothing. It was merely the unexpectedness of finding herself in the water that unsettled her.
Her erratic splashing sent droplets of water onto her face and into her eyes, and when she raised a hand to brush the wetness aside, more water trickled down her face. Squeezing her eyes shut, she reached blindly toward land but this time her hand touched something soft and warm. At once, her eyes sprang open. Tilting her head up, up, and up, she was surprised to find a pair of twinkling black eyes gazing down at her.
“Lanneika!”
The petite Indian girl began to giggle. “I pull.”
Having something to hold onto gave Catherine the leverage she needed. Grasping her other arm, Lanneika managed to drag Catherine’s upper body onto land. Drawing a knee up, Catherine climbed the rest of the way out of the water. Her waterlogged skirt and petticoats felt as heavy as a ship’s sail following a storm at sea. Though she’d pinned her hair up that morning, it had escaped its moorings and hung like a heavy wet blanket down her back.
Her breath labored, Catherine murmured, “I hadn’t meant to take a swim today.”
“S-swim?” Lanneika sat down beside her.
Catherine grinned. “Bathe. Wash self.”
Lanneika laughed. “How you clean self with clothes on? Better to take clothes off when go in water.”
Smiling, Catherine shook her head. “I must look a fright.”
“Look wet.” Tilting her dark head to one side, Lanneika studied her friend. “Baby gone,” she said softly.
Catherine’s chin trembled. She bit her lower lip to halt the tears that seemed always behind her eyes. She nodded tightly.
Lanneika rose to her feet. “Cat-e-wren too wet to go home. With me, come.” She extended a small brown hand.
Which Catherine took, allowing the smaller girl to pull her to her feet.
Tired, distraught, and fighting her soaked garments with every step, Catherine took no notice where amongst the trees they exited the clearing. After trekking through the thick woods for what seemed like a long distance, she at last begged Lanneika to stop and allow her to rest. They perched on a fallen log, Catherine twisting about to wring water here and there from her sodden skirt.
“I’d best take my petticoat off,” she said, and stood up to do so.
Taking the soggy garment, Lanneika began to twist rivulets of water from it. “Like when we do wash.”
Catherine nodded. “Yes, like when we do the wash.”
They set out again, Catherine feeling considerably lighter without the waterlogged petticoat clinging to her legs. Carrying it over her arm, Lanneika led the way deeper and deeper into the woods.
Catherine soon realized it would have been quicker for her to simply make her way home than travel deeper into the forest. She had no idea where they were, and, on her own, she’d never be able to find her way back. They came upon a sparkling stream where a handful of Indian children were splashing in the water, their mothers sitting on the bank looking on.
“Here I bathe,” Lanneika told Catherine, who took that to mean they must be drawing near her village.
Instead, Lanneika directed her straight into the mouth of a huge dark cave. For an instant, alarm gripped Catherine, but she immediately dismissed it. She trusted Lanneika completely. Both girls’ voices echoed as they walked hand in hand in the darkness.
Emerging from the tunnel into the light, they walked only a short distance before coming upon what seemed like the densest thicket of tall trees Catherine had ever seen.
Once past the stand of trees, the Indian girl’s face brightened. “Home,” she said.
A few steps more and Catherine again gazed with awe upon the second Indian village she’d seen. Here, as in Werowocomoco, rows of neat bark houses squatted in shaded comfort beneath the impenetrable canopy of thick, green leaves. The houses were long and narrow, their rounded shape reminding Catherine of loaves of bread. Most had the bark roofs, and even the sides rolled back to let in both light and the cooler air wafting through the trees that surrounded the village. As in Werowocomoco, she marveled over how clean and orderly everything appeared. Beside each tidy house was its own thriving garden, the green corn stalks as tall as she. Beneath them, squash vines were loaded with fruit while vines heavy with beans climbed every stalk. Colorful flowers lined narrow paths leading to each house. Here and there, small, naked children ran and played, caught up in their laughter and games of make-believe.
As she and Lanneika walked through the center of the village, Lanneika nodded and spoke to every woman they passed. That Lanneika was well-liked was evident. And Catherine, as Lanneika’s companion, meant that she, too, was regarded in a friendly, albeit curious, manner. She noted several of the Indian women eyeing her warily. Although enjoying the unique experience, Catherine’s footsteps were dogged by the fear that she really shouldn’t be here. Noah would be furious if he knew.
When they reached the largest and longest of the bark houses, Lanneika surprised Catherine by walking straight into it. Inside, it took a few moments before her eyes became accustomed to the dim light. The house felt surprisingly cool inside and was deathly silent. Glancing about, Catherine spotted a hand-stitched tapestry, beautifully decorated with beads and shells hanging on one wall. Ornaments handmade from feathers and dried herbs hung on another. Several gaily painted earthen pots sat about.
Entering an adjoining chamber, she noted a number of straw mats on the floor, each topped with furs of small animals, squirrel, marten, and beaver. Further down the tunnel-like house, she saw a stone oven and assumed that was where the family prepared their meals. It appeared only she and Lanneika were in the house.
“Take off wet clothes,” Lanneika said. “I rub dry.”
While Catherine peeled off the damp sleeves of her bodice, stepped from her dripping skirt, and removed her shoes, Lanneika produced a handful of soft turkey feathers and proceeded to feather-dry Catherine’s arms and legs. Weariness from the long trek through the woods must have shown on her face, for Lanneika soon bade her lie on her stomach on one of the surprisingly soft mats while Lanneika knelt beside her to feather-dry her long, wet hair. Then, with a type of hog-bristle brush, she gently smoothed the tangles from her hair, which felt so pleasurable Catherine soon drifted off to sleep.
Sometime later, she awoke with a start and became aware of a lightweight blanket covering her naked body. She also became aware of the delicious smell of food being cooked nearby. Because she heard voices, she surmised they were no longer alone in the house. Just as she was wondering where Lanneika might be, the girl appeared carrying a soft doeskin garment.
“You wear.”
Holding the blanket close about her, Catherine glanced at the dress. “My clothes are not yet dry?”
Lanneika grinned impishly. “Nice you look in this.”
Catherine let Lanneika drop the doeskin garment over her head. When it slipped down over her nude body, her hands skimmed over the smooth soft skin. The loose-fitting dress had no sleeves and fell to just below her knees, ending with a fringe that tickled her bare legs.
Catherine grinned self-consciously. “I feel . . . a bit naked.”
“Look beautiful. Look like me now. Except for hair. Sit. I braid.”
Catherine complied, and, when done, Lanneika appeared quite pleased with her handiwork. She gave Catherine a pair of moccasins to put on her feet and, taking her by the hand, led her to where the rest of her family was gathered just outside the house.
In a flurry of Indian words, Lanneika introduced Catherine to all the tawny-skinned people, her mother and sisters, several Indian braves, and a handful of younger boys and girls all related to Lanneika in some way, and all with names Catherine knew she would never remember. Phyrahawque, she noted with a flicker of disappointment, was not amongst them. But perhaps he had his own home elsewhere in the village, complete with a wife and children. Lanneika had never commented on her brother’s marital status, and until now, Catherine hadn’t wondered about it.
“Cat-e-wren netab!” Lanneika announced proudly. Turning to Catherine, she said, “I tell them you friend.”
The Indians gazed at Catherine pleasantly as she and Lanneika sat down on the ground.
Catherine’s gaze was drawn to the eldest of the women, Lanneika’s mother, who sat a bit apart from the others on a cushion of luxurious furs. She was dressed in a white doeskin garment with ropes of pearls and colored beads hanging around her neck. Her long hair, shot with strands of gray, was held back from her face by a leather band ornamented with feathers and intricate beadwork. Though her weathered face bespoke the beauty that was once there, her features appeared serene now with the wisdom of old age. Catherine thought her beautiful, though she could also see the tiredness in her eyes that age also brings. Still, it was easy to see where both Lanneika and Phyrahawque came by their good looks.
“Your mother is beautiful,” Catherine said to Lanneika, who smiled and nodded.
After all the children had been called over and told to sit down, three or four Indian women began to stream from the opening in the bark house carrying earthen bowls of steaming hot food which they placed on the ground. Another Indian maid handed around wooden trenchers similar to the ones Catherine used. After Lanneika’s mother had said a few words, which, Catherine assumed, was a prayer of thanksgiving for their food, they all began to eat. Like any large family, they talked and laughed amongst themselves as they ate.
Catherine thoroughly enjoyed the tasty meal, which consisted of a type of roasted meat she couldn’t identify, steamed squash, beans, and fluffy wedges of hot corn bread, washed down with a fruity-tasting juice served in gourds. Afterward, they all ate handfuls of sweet, juicy berries.
While eating berries, Lanneika directed Catherine’s attention toward what appeared to be a canoe with four pairs of legs beneath it headed toward them.
“Phyrahawque back from river.”
“Oh.” Catherine watched as the Indian braves knelt, to place onto the ground the dugout they’d been carrying upside down over their heads. Then the braves, unclothed except for a scrap of leather stretched across their loins, drew closer. Near the doorway, one dropped the basket he’d carried slung over his shoulder. From the smell of it, Catherine assumed it contained the day’s catch, which the family would eat tomorrow.
The others greeted the latecomers, and, amidst much laughter and good-natured teasing, they too settled on the ground. It was only then that Phyrahawque seemed to notice Catherine’s presence, his piercing black eyes casting sidelong looks at her.
“Cat-e-wren fall in water. I bring home,” Lanneika explained.
Phyrahawque nodded, then turned his attention to the food before him.
After the men had eaten, the children eagerly bounced up to play and most of the women dispersed. Catherine noted that most everyone in the village sat on the ground before their houses, enjoying their evening meal. Rising from the center of nearly every bark rooftop was a lazy rivulet of smoke. To Catherine the atmosphere of the village seemed tranquil and idyllic. Jamestown sometimes felt the same way to her, but only when Noah was away, she admitted sadly.
The peaceful Indian village, so different from anything she had known before, suddenly made her think of Pocahontas, who’d spent her childhood in just such a place. How different life in London must have seemed to her, how offensive the clamorous noise, dirt, soot, and fog. A veil of sadness crept over her. She, too, would soon have to leave this beautiful place and return to her own home . . . though she was sorely tempted not to. The sun had already dipped behind the treetops and the first twinkling stars of evening now pierced the dusky sky.
She turned to Lanneika. “I really should go now.”
The girl’s brow furrowed. “Stay till sun again in sky.”
“Oh, no. I mustn’t stay the night.”
“Trader-man not there.”
Catherine blanched. How did Lanneika know that? But, then, how did the Indians know most of what they did?
“Trader-man no hurt you here.”
Catherine inhaled a sharp breath. She hadn’t told Lanneika any events of the past few weeks, and yet the perceptive Indian girl seemed to know everything.
“Stay for singing. I dance for you.”
Catherine’s interest rose. There would be dancing? Oh, she truly did wish to stay for that. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to linger a while longer. Noah wasn’t home, after all.
In minutes, everyone began to gather on the greensward in the center of the village. Several braves built a fire. Others produced rawhide drums, gourd rattles, and flutes made from reeds. Enthralled, Catherine sat beside Lanneika, her blue-green eyes taking it all in. When groups of Indians got up to dance, Catherine clapped her hands along with them. Once, she stood up and joined hands with the others to form a circle, stamping her feet as they did in time to the music.
She couldn’t help noticing Phyrahawque amongst the dancers. He was not only the tallest of all the braves, he was by far the most handsome, his shoulders the broadest, his muscled arms and legs the strongest. Deferring to his height and regal bearing, all the other men stepped aside to let him pass. Women grinned self-consciously and ducked their heads. When he danced, Catherine noted the eyes of every female following Phyrahawque. And, no wonder. His lean body was beautifully formed, his movements fluid and graceful. Catherine heard a good bit of whispering and giggling amongst the younger women as they lustfully eyed Phyrahawque.
“Lanneika,” she finally asked, “does Phyrahawque have a wife?”
Lanneika’s dark eyes twinkled merrily. “No. Many wish he choose them.”
Catherine watched him dance. She admired the magnificent Indian warrior’s good looks, as did all the women. She was surprised when, right in front of her, Phyrahawque stopped dancing and extended a hand. At Lanneika’s urging, Catherine let him pull her to her feet and join him in the center of the ring. Her cheeks flushed, Catherine did her best to keep up with the quick movements of his moccasin-clad feet. The rhythm of the drum was infectious. Pulsing up from the ground, it seemed to ignite a fiery passion within her. Apparently the drums had the same effect on others, for she couldn’t help noticing when several pairs of pretty girls and lusty young braves slipped away hand in hand into the night.
It was definitely time to go home. She leaned toward Lanneika. “I should change my clothes now. I’ll need you to walk with me back to Jamestown.”
“Phyrahawque take you.”