Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [57]
Eleanor didn’t reply. She was busy stirring the kettle, peering into it as if she had lost a jewel in the soup.
The women’s faces looked fearful. Their eyes darted about though they held their bodies still, like deer sensing danger. A child of about four, completely naked, clung to his mother’s leg. Her hand grasped his dark hair as if she was afraid of losing him. A young woman with smooth skin had light brown eyes that reminded me of Emme’s. I smiled, and so did she.
“Cate,” I said, touching my bosom with both hands.
The young woman giggled.
The mother with the little boy touched herself with her free hand. “Takiwa,” she said.
I was beside myself with delight. I, Catherine Archer, was speaking to the Indian women! What would Sir Walter think? Why, Elizabeth herself would be pleased by my manner of greeting her newest subjects. There were so many things I wanted to say. I made the motions of feeding myself and raised my eyebrows. The women nodded and rubbed their stomachs.
“Eleanor, they are hungry,” I said.
“I can see that,” she said. “Look how thin they are.”
While the women and children ate, I smiled and nodded my encouragement. I saw Jane Pierce approach and motioned for her to join us, but she shook her head, watched for a time, then went back to her garden. Eleanor was finally able to look up from her pot and even gave some glass beads to the old woman, who divided them with the others. Not to be outdone, I took a piece of lace from my sewing basket and tied it around the arm of the young woman, whose name was Mika. She pointed to the other women’s arms and began to talk very fast. I think she was happy with my gift, and I was pleased we could understand each other, even without words.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could speak each other’s language?” I said to Eleanor. “We could learn more about them than any scholar or explorer—being only men—could ever discover. Maybe I will write a treatise, and it will be published in London.”
“Cate—,” Eleanor began. She grimaced. “It’s only the heat, I think.”
But the Indian women knew better. They pointed to Eleanor’s belly and began to speak to each other and nod. The old woman made rocking motions with her hands, and held up her forefinger.
Very soon, she seemed to say.
In John White’s house, Eleanor and her husband shared the good bedstead and the governor and I slept on small cots, the three beds all separated by curtains. I could not get used to sleeping in a room with men. It seemed improper. Moreover, they snored and passed wind all night, making the air noisome and keeping me from sleep. The arrangement afforded little privacy for dressing or washing myself. I missed the comforts of the queen’s palace, especially the water closet. Here on the island everyone used a common pit with a hut set over it. Emme and Frances would be horrified.
When I could not sleep at night, I would sit on a stool outside and gaze at the multitude of stars, feeling wonder and sadness and longing all at once. I mused about the Indians, or I thought of Emme, or I imagined Sir Walter waiting on the queen and strolling in his garden. I recalled the familar cries of hawkers in the streets, the sound of footsteps on flagstones, the smell of the queen’s favorite sachet. Sometimes I fell asleep there, lulled by the strange buzzing and clicking of a thousand invisible creatures. Then I would wake up and return to my bed feeling calmer and able to sleep despite the discomfort.
One night, shortly after the visit by the Croatoan, I awoke to hear groaning from Eleanor’s bed. I knew what was happening. I pulled back the curtains. Eleanor lay pale and sweating, her nightgown twisted, her belly as large as any of the pumpkins ripening in the fields.
“Help me, Cate,” she pleaded.
Ananias had gone to fetch the midwife, and in the next room John White had built up the fire under a pot of water. All I could do was hold Eleanor’s hand and wait.
Alice Chapman, the midwife, bustled in and waved away the governor and Ananias. She commenced