Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [46]
“Sir, I have beheld with wonder your drawings of the New World, and they made me long to visit this paradise called Virginia,” I said.
Captain White smiled at the compliment and picked up a sketch on the table as if he wanted to show it to me, then put it down and broached his business instead.
“As the deputy governor of Virginia, I would consider it an honor if you would become a member of my household there,” he said. “Along with my daughter, Eleanor, and her husband, Ananias.”
“You require a servant, then?” I said. John White did not look like a harsh master. I could do far worse.
“No, you will not be a servant, but more like kin,” he said. Seeing my confusion, he continued, “I have been given a sum of money to cover your passage and establish you in the colony.”
“By Elizabeth?” I could hardly believe the queen had shown me both mercy and generosity.
“No, it was Walter Ralegh’s doing,” he replied. “He said he felt an obligation to you.” He turned and fumbled among the papers on his desk until he found a sealed letter. “He asked me to deliver this to you. I apologize for the delay. The ship’s business has consumed me.”
I left the cabin clutching the letter and stumbled into Manteo. My face met his doublet and I blushed as red as an apple, remembering the sight of his bare chest with its raised markings. He quickly righted me and withdrew, but not before our eyes met and he gave a nod of recognition. Without a word he passed into the cabin, and I sank down on a pile of sails. I realized I had crushed Sir Walter’s letter in my fist. I unfolded it, read it quickly, then leapt to my feet.
Send me a reply before the Lion sails, he had written. It was too late; London was behind us. When we landed in Portsmouth I could dispatch a reply. But what would I write? I pored over the letter again. On the first reading, it had seemed plain and dutiful. Now I discerned a flame of feeling, more honest than passionate. Reading it a third time, I noted the self-regard in his complaints about his own suffering. Yet he signed himself as a humble penitent. I did not know what to think of it. Why had he waited until my very last moment in England to admit his wrong and attempt to know my mind? Was he afraid of my reply? Perhaps he did want me to find a husband in Virginia and thereby release him from any duty to love me.
My speculations seemed fruitless. I would never know what Sir Walter’s letter truly meant. And I was in such turmoil I did not even know my own mind. So I would not reply until I could write something truthful.
We docked at Portsmouth, where twenty or so farmers, laborers, and women waited with their belongings. Some were taken on the smaller flyboat and the rest boarded the already-crowded Lion. They received a sullen welcome, and out of pity I made room for one Jane Pierce, a single woman of about twenty-five. Like me, she had no family, but she had a mattress and kindly agreed to share it with me.
At Plymouth, the last port before the open seas, we took on casks of fresh water and lay at anchor for several days, waiting for favorable winds. I borrowed paper and ink from John White and ruined it all with striking out what I had written. If Sir Walter loved me, he could follow me to America. All he had to do was board one of his own ships. He had the means. But did he have the will to leave his estates, his honors, and his royal mistress—to exchange them all for love?
Only time would tell the answer.
Chapter 18
Dangers and Discoveries
On the eighth of May, the winds turned favorable and Fernandes decided to sail. The gunports were sealed for the voyage, leaving the hold dark and smelling of tar. Ten men strained like oxen against the bars of the capstan, turning it slowly to lift the anchor. The sails were unfurled and caught the wind, flapping like the wings of a mythical dragon. All the noises were new and sounded strange from belowdecks: waves slapping the hull, the ship creaking in all her seams, and seamen