Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [45]
“I’d give my eyeteeth to be young again,” said the guard, watching the colonists board. “Think of the fortunes they’ll make.” He summoned a shipman to carry my trunk, and I boarded the Lion without looking back.
From the ship’s deck, which was not so wide as it appeared from the wharf, I looked over the expanse of the city. I was glad to be freed from the grim, gray Tower and hopeful as the church spires that rose above the thatched roofs. Whitehall Palace, where I had lived for four years, was invisible beyond the bend in the river. The barges and wherries plying the Thames looked small and insubstantial.
“Get below! Move on! My ship is no place for women.”
The voice belonged to a man with face and hands as brown and creased as shoe leather. He wore a black doublet with Spanish lace at the neck and sleeves.
“Simon Fernandes, be careful how you speak around the ladies,” said the man with the large-bellied wife. He took the scowling pilot’s hand. “Ananias Dare, Governor White’s son-in-law,” he said. The two men measured each other with their looks.
And then I saw behind the pilot a tall, familiar figure. He was dressed in a well-cut doublet and hose and soft leather shoes. His hair was bound at the nape of his neck and his skin was as tawny as that of Fernandes. It was Manteo. I had but a moment to wonder whether Ralegh was also on board, when Ananias Dare took my arm to guide me belowdecks. My unwieldy skirts tangled in the ladder and I pitched forward, landing in a scene of utter confusion. The between deck was piled waist high with cargo, leaving only the narrowest of walkways. The passengers spread their mattresses, blankets, and belongings atop the cargo, marking their spaces for the journey. Dare’s wife had claimed a desirable spot near an open gunport that provided light and fresh air. The mother and her young son were hanging a cloth from the beams to curtain their sleeping pallet. The berths fore and aft were reserved for the ship’s officers and the gentlemen of the colony. Near the stern, a rough-looking seaman—an Irishman, judging by his accent—and a soldier were arguing, the soldier saying he refused to lie next to a papist.
There were perhaps forty people in the hold. They spoke to each other as kin and neighbors of long acquaintance. I was keenly aware of being the stranger among them. Clothed still like a lady, I must have looked quite out of place. I found a spot near the hatch that led to the ship’s hold and spread out my cloak, for I had not even a mattress to lie upon. I thought of Emme and all the nights we had slept next to each other. Would I ever see my friend again? Lying on my cloak, I waited for the tears to come, but my eyes remained dry. Not until the ship drifted from the dock and the current began to carry her down the Thames did the tears slip down my face, and I knew what I had hoped for was impossible: that Sir Walter would board the ship, declare his love, and sail with me to Virginia.
I wiped my tears and shook myself awake from this dream for the last time.
The Lion was en route to Portsmouth to pick up more passengers when the ship’s boy came below and, to my surprise, called out my name, saying the captain wanted to see me. Everyone’s eyes were on me as I followed the boy up the ladder. Compared to the lodging below, the captain’s cabin was spacious, containing a sleeping berth, a table covered with a carpet, two chairs, and an open chest of maps and charts. On the wall hung pieces of armor and instruments of navigation such as I had seen in Sir Walter’s library.
The captain had graying hair and a kindly demeanor. He introduced himself as John White and took my hand in his. I noticed the