She’d been in the fort for only one day, and already she felt as if she had met all two hundred men who lived there. Of course, there were those who had come on the supply ship with her, but she and Mistress Forest had spent most of their time in their cabin, and Anne had met only a handful of them before arriving in Virginia.
“May I carry your water for you, my lady?” one of the men asked Anne when she stepped outside Master Caldwell’s rooms and into the dying light of day. Her cheeks warmed at being called “my lady.” She was anything but a lady.
“Would you like me to fetch more water for you?” another asked with a wide, toothless grin.
Anne held a bucket of dirty water she had used to wash all the beautiful wooden surfaces in the home. “No thank you,” she said as kindly as possible.
“May I walk with you to the well?” asked a third, this one with hair as yellow as the sun.
The fort’s well was only a stone’s throw from Master Caldwell’s door, but Anne just smiled, not wanting to be rude. “Of course.”
Four other men appeared at Anne’s side, their dirty hair combed and their faces shining, while a dozen others watched from the shade of one of the buildings.
“Pardon me,” Anne said to two of the men standing beside her. When they moved, she tossed the water into the dusty yard.
“You are a sight for my sore eyes, Anne Burras,” one of the men said to her, his eyes aglow. “I’m so tired of smelly men and rotten food, I could vomit.”
Anne tried to appear unaffected, while inside her stomach turned at the thought. She had tried to go about her business as President Smith had advised, yet every time she turned around, there was a man at her elbow. Even while she worked in the cottage, as she had come to think of Master Caldwell’s rooms, she had looked up to find men standing at the windows watching her.
Anne did not want to encourage these men, so she simply tried to ignore them as best she could.
“Would you marry me, Anne Burras?” one of the other men inquired.
“I already asked,” said the first who had come to her door.
“What did she say?” asked the other, as if she were not standing there.
He sighed, his voice dripping with heartache. “No.”
Anne started toward the well, her wash bucket now empty. But before she could reach the wooden structure, three more men beat her to it and started to turn the crank to bring the bucket up from the water below.
“I am quite capable,” Anne protested.
“You’re no bigger than a flea,” said a short man with wiry whiskers. “This is hardly nothing for me, but it’d be too much for you, I think.”
Trying to keep her patience in check, Anne allowed the man to assist her. She had never had help a day in her life, and she found she didn’t enjoy it as much as she’d always thought she would.
“Everyone back to your work,” growled a man as he strode toward the group.
It was the carpenter she had come to learn was John Layton.
The group of men scurried away like mice running from a hungry cat.
Goodman Layton stood a head taller than everyone else and it was clear he had some sort of authority over the men.
Anne paused, quietly transfixed by the mountain of a man before her.
“Captain Newport promised me you wouldn’t be trouble,” he said with a scowl on his handsome face.
“Trouble?” Anne asked, confused by his accusation. How had she caused trouble?
“The men.” He waved at the whole lot of them, most having not gone far. “Winter will be upon us before we know it, and they all have work to do. They cannot be toting your water nor doing your chores.”
“I didn’t ask—”
“Leave them be, or I’ll have to put you on house arrest.”
Her mouth fell open at the threat. “I have no wish—”
“Just do your work and let them do theirs.”
Indignation rose in her chest. “You are making false accusations and are not allowing me to defend—”
“I have no time for your defense.” He took a step closer to her, and she had to look up into his face. His blue eyes were more startling than she recalled, especially now with fire in their depths. He could only be in his midtwenties, but the hard lines around his mouth and eyes spoke of experience well beyond his years. “I am one of the few men who have survived this place, and I have done it by sheer willpower. There is no nonsense to be had here, no time for debate, argument, or frivolity. We either work or we die.”
His words hit their mark and she swallowed hard. “I do not wish to die.”
“Nor do I. And I do not wish for these men to perish either. So they must do their work.”
“But that’s the trouble,” she said, a bit of spark returning to her voice, willing him to understand. “I am not encouraging these men to do my chores. On the contrary, they will not let me alone.”
The man turned and faced the others who were still listening. “May it be heard,” he said loudly. “Anne Burras is not to be bothered or harassed. Leave her to her work. If she be in need of assistance, she will come to me.”
Several men cursed, and a few spat on the ground. Others simply turned and walked away, their shoulders bent.
“And who might you be?” Anne finally asked, though she already knew. “Whom should I inquire after, should I need assistance?”
He wore no hat on his curly brown hair, and his clothing was clean and well fitted. He wore dark breeches, tall stockings, a linen shirt, and a leather vest. Though he was not dressed as well as Master Caldwell, he still bore himself like a gentleman when he bowed before her. “John Layton, at your service.”
Anne didn’t know why heat warmed her cheeks or pleasure swirled within her stomach. The feeling was entirely unfamiliar, and though she enjoyed it, she did not understand it.
John straightened and met her gaze.
The feelings only intensified, so she took hold of her bucket, which had been filled just before John approached, and clutched it in her two hands. “I—I must see to our evening meal.”
Without another word, she walked away from John Layton, toward the cottage. When she turned to close the door, she looked back to where he had been standing and found he was already gone.
Daniel knelt before the hearth and blew on the coals to catch the kindling on fire.
Anne closed the door, thankful for the relative privacy of the room.
“Anne?” Master Caldwell called from his chamber.
“Aye, sir.” She set her bucket on the table and walked to the open door.
A large four-poster bed with dark red curtains stood in one corner, a desk in the other. Master Caldwell sat at his desk, a quill in one hand, a potato in the other.
Before him on the desk was a pile of potatoes and a small sack of corn.
“We will have several guests for supper this evening,” he said without looking up at her. “Friends of mine who have requested an audience with you.”
Anne frowned, recalling John Layton’s threat, as well as President Smith’s warning. Would they be angry if Master Caldwell allowed men to visit her? But who was she to question her master or tell him what he could and could not do in his own home?
He finally looked up at her, a frown between his dark eyebrows. “Do you understand?”
“Aye, sir.”
“I expect you to make them a nice meal. Daniel will fetch you sturgeon, turtle, or oyster to make a stew. He will also go to the storehouse and get our daily ration of corn, which you can use to make corn bread or mush. There might also be some root vegetables to be had from the supply ship.”
Anne’s gaze drifted to the potatoes and corn on the desk.
Master Caldwell shifted his position to try and shield them from her view. “You will leave this food alone.”
Nodding, Anne took a step backward and returned to the main room of the cottage.
“And close the door,” he called out after her.
She did as he commanded, curious about the food he had on his desk. There was no other food stored in his home. All the food in the colony was kept in the storehouse and rationed out by the storehouse keeper each day.
Daniel rose quickly from his place near the crackling fire. “I can see about an onion if you’d like. There aren’t many in the fort, but the keeper might give me one if I said it was for you.” His gaunt cheeks filled with color.
It was evident that the young boy wished to please her, but she didn’t want special treatment. “I can make do without one.”
The look of pleasure slipped from his young face, and Anne’s heart broke just a little.
“Unless,” she said quickly, “it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
Without another word, he left the cottage so fast he forgot to close the door behind him.
Standing outside the cottage were half a dozen men. They snapped to attention when she walked to the door.
How would these men get anything done if they lounged about waiting for a glimpse of her all day?
More importantly, how would she convince John Layton that she wasn’t encouraging them?
The sun peeked over the eastern horizon as John stood at the riverside gate and watched the barge move upriver with Captain Newport, President Smith, the priest, the physician, and over a hundred other men on board. Almost everyone had come to send them off. There was no way to know when the barge would return. After they delivered their gifts to the chief, President Smith planned to spend time exploring further upriver to see if they could find a passage to the Pacific Ocean, which the Indians claimed was just over a small mountain range to the west.
Now that the barge had departed, the remaining men stood about talking to one another.
It was time to get busy, and no one would be exempt from the work.
“Everyone to your posts!” John called to the men. “Thatcher’s group will head to the eastern tip of the island and fell cedar trees, Hanover’s group should start digging holes for the eastern palisade addition, and Meacham’s men are in charge of preparing the site for the new living quarters.”
No one seemed to hear John’s commands, or if they did, they simply ignored him.
Anger rippled under his collar.
“You’ll only frustrate them further with your ire,” William Cole said to John, coming up alongside his friend. “Your only hope is to convince Caldwell to put them to work.”
Edward Caldwell stood just inside the fort’s gates, his pristine white collar like a beacon for an Indian’s arrow. Though he and President Smith did not always see eye to eye, Smith had placed Caldwell in command of the fort until his return. John was convinced the only reason for Smith’s decision was because Caldwell was well liked among the men and would have the most influence over them.
It couldn’t be because Caldwell was known as a hard worker; the opposite was actually true. He was a gentleman adventurer, the third-born son of a lord. His wealth in England had left him completely bereft of skills, and he was good for almost nothing in Virginia, except eating precious stores of food. But he did have a charismatic personality, and if John could convince him to rally the men, they might fulfill President Smith’s orders before his return.
But before John could approach Caldwell, another distraction drew his attention.
Anne Burras appeared outside Caldwell’s house with a basket of wet laundry, which she carried to the clothesline on her hip. She wore a dark burgundy gown, which was snug at the waist and full at the hips. Upon her head she wore a white cap to secure her dark brown hair, but tendrils escaped and blew in the wind, softening her already attractive features.
Without speaking, about half of the men moved in her direction and made a semicircle around her to watch her work.
“I wonder how long it will be before other women arrive,” William mused as he crossed his arms and stood transfixed by the woman.
“This one is one too many, in my opinion,” John said through gritted teeth.
Caldwell noticed the commotion Anne had caused, and he too turned toward his maid. But instead of breaking up the group who had gathered, he quietly moved among them, his hands outstretched.
Frowning, John left William and crossed the fort to speak to Caldwell. He must do something and soon, or nothing would get done. They didn’t have a moment to spare.
Anne glanced over her shoulder as she hung each piece of clothing on the line that ran from the building to the palisade wall. Her cheeks were pink and full of health. When she caught sight of John, she quickly lowered her brown eyes, as if she’d been doing something wrong.
Though Anne made a pretty picture, it was Caldwell that held John’s attention. He was collecting kernels of corn from each of the men, putting them in a small burlap sack.
John frowned. What was the man doing?
“Master Caldwell, a word?” John asked.
Caldwell continued down the line until he finished collecting from each man, and then he closed the small bag and motioned for John to join him in his home.
Without trying to be polite, John pushed his way through the crowd of men and entered Caldwell’s rooms.
John paused, surprised at how clean the room looked. The furniture, which John had built for Caldwell’s home over the winter, gleamed. Had Anne done this?
“What do you want, Goodman Layton?” Caldwell asked.
John had little time for small talk. “Why are you taking corn from the men?”
“As payment for watching Anne.”
John’s mouth fell open, appalled and disgusted by Caldwell’s admission.
“You do not approve of my actions?” Caldwell asked John as he jiggled the bag of corn with a satisfied grin.
“Of course I do not.”
Caldwell shrugged. “It matters not to me.” He turned and entered the next room.
John followed.
Setting the bag on the desk, Caldwell took a seat and dipped a quill pen into the inkwell before adding several marks into a ledger. “I do not plan to starve this winter,” Caldwell said to John. “Though I owe you no explanation, I will give you one. Anne is my servant, and as such, I am at liberty to use her in any way I see fit. I could keep her locked up in the house all day or allow her to work out of doors where others can enjoy her presence. If they do, they pay me.”
John gripped the back of the extra chair but refused to take a seat. “The men need to work. I cannot stop you from what you are doing, but I can implore you to put them to their tasks. We have a quota of shingles to fill by the time Smith and Newport return, not to mention all the other tasks the president has assigned to us. We must work diligently to accomplish them.”
“And accomplish them you will,” Caldwell said patiently as he scratched a few more lines in the book. “As soon as I fill my own quota.”
“Which is?”
“More food.”
John briefly closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his temples, trying not to lose his temper. “You would take the only food these men have and benefit from their hunger?”
“I could care less about their hunger,” he said. “It is my hunger I am concerned about.”
Frustration swelled in John’s chest. “You have your payment for now, so please tell the men to go about their work.”
Caldwell sprinkled sand on the ink and then lifted the book and tapped the sand onto a piece of paper before closing the pages. “Very well. I’ll go now.”
He stood and ran his hand down his goatee.
John followed him, and they emerged into the sunshine once again.
“Attention,” Caldwell called out to the men. “Goodman Layton has assigned each of you a job. It is time to get to work.”
A general cry of disappointment arose from the group, and John shook his head. How did these men think the work would be done? Did they not think about the future? About the winter that would surely leave them all sick and starving once again if they did not take action now?
Anne finished hanging the clean clothes and quietly picked up her basket. She moved toward the house where John stood just outside the door.
He had to move aside for her, which he did, but not before he noticed her look at him with apprehension.
She was close to him, so close in fact, he could smell the scent of soap on her hands from the washing. “I did not encourage them,” she whispered for his ears alone and then walked into the house and closed the door.
As the men moved away, guilt pricked at John’s conscience for the way he had treated her yesterday. It wasn’t her fault she was the only woman in the colony—and it wasn’t her fault that Caldwell was encouraging the men. He should have been more patient with her. It was his own fear that had driven his anger.
As the men dispersed to do Caldwell’s bidding, John walked to the well for a drink of water.
“What she needs is a husband,” William said to John as he met his friend at the well. “If she was spoken for, the others might leave her alone and do their tasks.”
“A husband?” John shook his head as he turned the crank to bring up the bucket. “A husband would keep her in the colony.”
William shrugged. “And what’s the trouble with that? If she married, the others would leave her alone. Soon more women will follow. I heard that Captain Newport is trying to convince the stockholders to send brides. He said the colony wouldn’t be civilized until there were families about—and how can there be families without women, I ask?”
John shuddered to think about a colony overrun with women and children. It was hard enough to keep a group of men alive.
He took the cup from the peg and dipped it into the bucket of cool water.
“What do you have against women?” William asked John, crossing his arms and leaning against the well. “You haven’t had a positive thing to say about them since we came here.”
Without warning, John’s thoughts returned to the night his mother had been accosted by their creditor and his brother had struck the man for taking advantage. The creditor had died, and John’s brother had hanged for manslaughter. Weeks later John’s mother had died of a broken heart, and it was all because John hadn’t been there to help. Instead, he’d been in town flirting with a young lass. His mother had often warned him that he was spending too much time carousing when he should be home working hard to pay off the debts his father had left.
Just before his mother died, she warned John that if he didn’t curb his wild ways, he’d find himself no better off than the lecherous creditor who had accosted her. The very thought had made John swear off women altogether.
“Women aren’t the trouble,” John admitted, almost to himself. “It’s the men who cannot control themselves where women are concerned that bothers me most.”
He tossed the remaining water back into the bucket and then lowered it into the well.
If he was honest with himself, Anne Burras wasn’t the problem. It was men like John, before he was reformed, who were too foolish to know when enough was enough.
“You might be right,” John said. “Maybe someone does need to stake a claim on Anne Burras so the others leave her alone and get their work done.” And that someone should be a man who had the willpower to send her back to England where she belonged—instead of marrying her and keeping her in Virginia.
Unfortunately, from the looks of things, the only person in the fort who had that kind of willpower was himself.