Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [112]
Through the blur I saw Sir Walter take something from his pocket. It was a handkerchief edged with lace, once white but now worn and stained. At once I recognized that token of such conflicted sentiment.
“Let me wipe your tears, my dear,” he said.
I stood perfectly still while he came to within an arm’s length of me. His face was dark and lined from the sun. In place of his usual pearl, he wore a wide silver ring in one ear. The faint but familiar scent of civet tickled my nose. He reached out with the handkerchief and wiped my left cheek, then my right. With his thumb he wiped another tear from my chin. The fingers seemed those of a well-meaning stranger, and their touch did not stir me. I turned my head aside.
“Now live with me and be my love,” he said softly.
These words were still no pledge of love. I heard a sweetly phrased demand that would tempt many a maid. But it did not move me. If Sir Walter had declared “I love you” on his knees and produced a priest to marry us, it would not have made a difference now. For I had made my decision, not on the spur of that moment, but over the course of many long months.
Taking a deep breath, I looked into his eyes. “I will not come and live with you, Sir Walter, for I do not love you.”
He froze. On his face was a look of pure astonishment, as if a deer or a bird had suddenly spoken to him. Slowly he withdrew his hand and dropped the handkerchief. It fell to the sand and neither of us stooped to pick it up.
“And so, farewell,” I said with a faint smile, beginning to walk backward and away from him. The sand was wet but firm beneath my feet.
“But I love you, Lady Catherine!”
At last he had said it. Spoken out of sorrow, it was a forgiveable lie.
I shook my head, still backing away. “No, Sir Walter, you do not love me. You love your queen.” I had to shout to raise my small voice over the crying of gulls and the crash of waves. “You love favor, wealth, and glory. May they be yours! You love success.”
“And you—,” he cried, something between a protest and a question.
“And I?” My next words spilled out without a moment’s forethought. “I love Manteo!”
I clapped my hands over my mouth, then threw my arms open. “I love you, Manteo!” I cried again, laughing to hear those words dancing in the air. This was the truth I sought. I turned and began to run just out of reach of the waves, until I came to the base of the sandy cliff.
Manteo had always taken the hero’s way, regardless of its dangers. Had he not crossed the sea four times? Borne the hatred and distrust of colonists and Indians alike, yet sought to reconcile them because he promised friendship to the English? Sir Walter had let others chance their lives and fortunes for his colony, while Manteo let himself be taken captive and risked his life to free us. And when we were perishing for lack of the aid Sir Walter promised, Manteo offered refuge. The pieces fell together in my mind like a broken pot mended. I saw how many of Manteo’s actions were motivated by his regard for me. I realized his demeanor toward me signified a love not accustomed to poetic phrases and outward passion. I decided I would be Manteo’s, if he would have me. But I would not be like the Moon Maiden, hungering for a lost homeland. Not a minute longer.
The roaring sea and far-off England lay behind me. I had a new home now. It was not paradise, but it was more interesting by far. I thought about our first mother, Eve, sent from Eden for eating an apple, her eyes opened to suffering but also knowing hope. Beyond Croatoan lay an unknown continent, wide as an ocean itself and surely full of unimaginable wonders. The sun crossed it every day in its journey from east to west. How much of it might I see in the rest of my life?
I climbed the cliff, unhindered by the sands shifting beneath my feet, fairly leaping with sudden strength. Before I reached the top, he was there with his hand outstretched. Manteo! The wind blew his hair back