Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [110]
“Sir Walter Ralegh, you mean? Is this some jest?”
“Trust me, Lady Catherine,” he said. He smiled at me with the same honest eyes I remembered. He was not lying to me.
I set Virginia down and in a daze walked out of the village and over the sandy hills leading to the seaward shore. Perhaps Sir Walter had not come into the village with John White and the pirate, but had set out to look for me. Had he come at last to govern Virginia himself?
At the top of a sandy cliff I paused and surveyed the empty strand below. The wind gusted, pushing me backward. Out to sea, slanted curtains of rain hung from distant clouds. Beyond the curve of the horizon lay England, only weeks away by ship, but years away in my memory. I tried to remember Sir Walter’s face, but his features blurred in my mind. I could not be certain of the color of his eyes or the sound of his voice. What had he said to me in the library while he secretly put the handkerchief in my sleeve? Or the time we met in his garden? I could not remember. Nor could I recall a single line from all the letters and poems he had written to me. They were lost from my mind, as they had been stolen from my chest and used to betray me. The particulars of my past, once so sharp, had grown as hazy as the line where the gray blue sea met the gray blue sky.
When I closed my eyes what filled my mind were the faces of the people I saw every day. What filled my ears were the shrill cries of seabirds, the burbling of frogs, Virginia’s laughter, and the drone of insects on a summer night. I smelled woodsmoke and bear grease, tasted roasted maize and salty air on my tongue. These were the particulars of my new life. What pleasures they provided—the wind on my bare arms, the warm furs I slept on, the medley of voices speaking English and Algonkian, Manteo’s dark eyes on me! A longing for everything filled me. Or was it the fullness itself I felt, and gratitude for it?
I whispered a prayer to whatever gods or spirits surrounded me. “Please don’t let me lose what I have or be lost myself.”
I sensed rather than heard someone nearby. I opened my eyes and turned, expecting to see Sir Walter standing there. But it was not the finely dressed courtier who had thrown his cloak in the mire for the queen to step on. Nor was it the pirate I had seen with John White. No, it was Manteo, watching me from a distance. I knew the stories of Algon and had come to understand that Manteo thought of me as a Moon Maiden he had brought to live with his own people. He felt responsible for me and so he followed me, remaining half a dozen swift strides from my side. I found his presence reassuring. It meant I had nothing to fear.
I scrambled down the sandy cliff, grasping tufts of grass and shrubs to keep from falling, until I stood on the tide-soaked sand. The gulls cried out to each other, and brown pelicans dipped into the sea and came up with fish flapping in their throats. I waited for Sir Walter to find me.
It was not long before I caught sight of the pirate, who began running toward me. My first thought was to flee, but remembering Manteo’s nearness I stood fast. As the pirate drew nearer, I saw by his curly brown hair, his sharp nose, and his long, well-shaped legs that it was none other than Sir Walter. If I had wanted to run I could not, for my feet seemed rooted to the shifting ground. He slowed his steps. He was breathing hard. When he was about twenty paces away I held up my hand for him to stop.
“Lady Catherine!” he said. “I knew you at once. Do you not know me?”
I nodded without speaking. A flush spread over my face and I felt my heartbeat quicken.
“Have you nothing to say?”
I had dreamed about this moment a hundred times. Now I could not remember a single word I had planned to say.
“Words are worth so little,” I said, lifting my hand and letting it fall again.