Cate of the Lost Colony - Lisa Klein [67]
John White did not return even by Christmas. Dabbing away her tears, Eleanor prepared a meal of game, dried fish, and pudding made from eggs, suet, and precious dried figs. It was a meager feast compared to the rich pies and beef I had grown used to at court. The guests were fewer, too: Georgie and his aunt Joan, and John Chapman and Alice, who was now nursing an infant son. The babies’ cooings lightened the somber mood. The Chapmans brought Thomas Graham, who showed off the new gorget Chapman had made for him and tried to cheer everyone with tales of his exploits in London. I did not wish to remember those days. Alice reported the widow was ill. We were all thinner than we had been in the summer. I had to pin my skirts so they would not slide down my hips.
Christmas night the prayer service was held in the armory, the only building large enough for so many people. The preacher read a gospel and recited the litany. When he prayed for God to preserve all who travel by the sea, he fairly shouted. And we called in return, “Hear us, good Lord!” as if God were deaf. And then, crowded together on the hard benches, we listened to a two-hour sermon, interrupted once by Betty Vickers crying out, “God bestowed the Magi’s gifts on his infant son. Surely he will provide for us!”
Alice had little patience for Betty’s piety. “What use did Jesus have for gold, frankincense, and myrrh?” she murmured to me.
“Only a midwife would say such a thing,” I whispered back.
“We could use those riches now,” said Eleanor. “The gold alone would make our men wealthy enought to forget all their troubles.”
“No, they would only fight over it like dogs over a bone,” said Alice. She was probably right.
By this time the preacher had stopped his sermon to glare at us. I heard Eleanor giggle and I smiled despite myself.
One January day, Tameoc and his band of Croatoan came to the village. There were eight of them, wrapped in furs that were white from the falling snow. Manteo was away, so there was no one to translate. But their need was clear, even without words. Mika’s eyes were large in her thin face. Takiwa held her small boy in her arms.
Ananias and Roger Bailey went out to meet them but kept their distance.
“We have no food!” shouted Bailey. “Go home.”
“Bad sickness,” Tameoc said, pointing to the child.
“No medicine either. Go away,” said Bailey, waving his arms.
Ananias started to plead with him, but Bailey went back into his house and bolted the door. From shame or fear of sickness, all the doors in the village remained closed.
The Croatoan turned and left, and Ananias came inside.
“Surely we can spare something,” said Eleanor. Ananias shook his head, and they began to argue.
I opened the cupboard. On a plate were six cakes, made from ground maize. I put four of them in my apron and ran until I caught up with the Croatoan. They ate the cakes right there where they stood. Takiwa fed her boy small bites with her fingers.
“I am sorry I can’t do more,” I said, holding out my empty hands. I blinked away tears brought on by the biting cold. Mika smiled and touched my arm, and the others nodded to show their gratitude. For days I wondered where they had gone for shelter and whether the boy had recovered.
Winter began to claim its victims. One after another they were buried on a hill near the village. The widow died from a weak heart and hunger, a planter from poisoned blood after his foot was cut by an axe, two soldiers from a fever that killed them so quickly they were buried with all their clothes on. No one even cut the buttons from their shirts or took the purses from their pockets, for fear of being contaminated. Then a laborer was chained to the bilboes for lewdness because he dared to piss within sight of Betty Vickers. He was left there overnight because he had no friends or kin to plead for him, and he froze to death.
But worst of all was the hanging and what led to it.
John Chapman had paid Georgie to guard his shop against thieves. But when a sword he was crafting