A Lion to Guard Us

On a February morning in the year 1609, a small, thin-faced man made his way over London Bridge. He wore a leather jacket and a blue wool stocking cap. His clothes were splashed with mud, and mud sucked at his shoes. He could hardly see for the cold rain in his face.

He had been looking for Fish Street, and here it was, at the end of London Bridge. Now he was looking for a house on Fish Streetâa great stone house not far from the bridge.

Here was one with tall chimneys and many windows. It must be the house, he thought. He went around to the back.

A plump, pretty maid opened the door.

“Would this be the Trippett house?” he asked.

She looked at his muddy clothes. “What do you want?”

“A word with Mistress Freebold, if she's about.”

“Mistress Freebold? Oh, you mean Annie. You can't see her,” said the maid. “She's sick abed.”

“Could you just let her know there's someone here from Americaâ?”

“America?” The maid stared into his face. “Then you must beâ” She was gone. He heard her crying out, “Amanda, Amanda!”

Someone came running. Someone cried, “Father!” and a girl was there. She looked no more than ten or elevenâa pale little thing with great, dark eyes.

She stopped. She said in bitter disappointment, “You're not my father.”

“I shouldn't think so,” said the man.

“Ellie said you were from America, and she thoughtâI thoughtâ”

“So you're James Freebold's girl,” he said.

“One of them. I'm Amanda.” She asked quickly, “Do you know my father?”

“I do, and I saw him not many weeks ago. We were together in America, in the colony of Virginia. I'm a sailor, you see, and my ship was thereâ”

“And you saw him.” Her eyes were bright again. “Was he well? What did he say?”

“He was well enough, for all I could see. He'd built a house in Jamestown. That's the only town there. When my ship sailed, he asked if I'd stop for a word with his family in London. He thinks of you each day. He prays you will all be together before another year is out.”

Tears came to her eyes. “When you see him, will you tell himâ?”

“I'll not be seeing him again,” the man broke in. “It's a long, hard voyage to Virginia. I'll not be going back.”

“Oh,” she said.

Someone was calling, “Amanda!”

“You're wanted,” he said. “I'll take my leave.”

“But you'll come again?”

He shook his head. “I've told my tale. Good-day to you.”

He left her. He was gone, and she didn't know his name or where to find him again, and there were a hundred things she hadn't asked. She hadn't even said thank you.

She took a step after him, but Cook's voice called her back. “A-
man
-da!”

She closed the door. She went down the long, cold hall and into the kitchen.

Cook was at the table, beating eggs. Her face was red. Her cap was over one eye.

“Who gave you leave to stand in the door and talk all day?” she said. “Who was that man?”

Ellie the maid came out of the pantry. “Oh, Amanda, was it your father?”

The door to the back stairs opened. A small boy put his head out. “Was it Father?” he asked.

“Jemmy!” cried Amanda. “You know you're not to come in here. No, it wasn't Father.”

His head disappeared, and the door closed.

Amanda told Cook and Ellie, “It was a sailor man back from Virginia. He saw my father there. He
talked
to him. Father is wellâand he's built a houseâ and he thinks of usâ”

Cook gave a snort. “He does, does he? He thinks of you so much that he sails off and leaves you for three whole years.”

“Oh, that's cruel!” said Ellie.

“Hold your tongue, miss,” said Cook, “and Amanda, you get back to your work.”

She went off into the pantry.

As soon as Cook was gone, Amanda opened the door to the back stairs. The small boy was sitting on the steps. A smaller girl sat beside him.

“It wasn't Father. It was a sailor man,” Amanda said. “But he
saw
Father. Just think of that. I'll tell you about it tonight.”

“Will it be a story?” asked the boy.

“It will be
like
a story,” said Amanda, and she shut the door.

II
A Story

Mistress Trippett and all her family had had their supper. The servants had been fed. Amanda was in the kitchen alone.

She had just washed the pots and pans and hung them over the fireplace to dry. She looked in at her brother and sister on the back stairs. They were asleep. Jemmy's head was against the wall. Meg's head was against his shoulder.

It hurt her to see them there, like two puppies that nobody wanted. Why couldn't they come into the kitchen and be warm?

But Cook wouldn't have it.

“They'd be under our feet,” she said. “They've got their own room. Let them stay in it.”

Amanda had stood up to her. “They're not to be shut away in a room all day. It's bad enough to leave them on the stairs. But at least they're next to the kitchen where they won't be so lonely.”

She looked at them sleeping there. Jemmy was getting to be a big boy. He would be a fine, strong man like his father. But Meg was too small, too thin.

Amanda woke them. She gave them their supperâbeef stew with bread and butter.

“Eat,” she said, “while I go to Mother.”

Mother was in a room down the hall. Once all four of them had lived in the room. It had been almost like a home.

Now it was a sickroom. The little ones could not stay there. Mistress Trippett had put them into a tiny room in the back of the house, and they slept there at night.

Sometimes Amanda slept with them. Sometimes she sat up all nightâhalf-asleep, half-awakeâby her mother's bed.

She carried a lighted candle to the sickroom. Mother lay with her eyes closed. She had not left her bed since the day before Christmas. That was the day she had fallen on the stairs.

But she had been ill long before that.

Amanda sat by the bed and took her mother's hand. She began to tell her about the man who had come from America, but she soon stopped.

“Why do you talk to her?” Cook had said. “It's like talking to the wall. She doesn't even know you're there.”

And it did seem to be true.

Ellie looked in. “Do you want me to sit for a while?”

“Oh,
would
you, Ellie? I want to put the little ones to bed and talk to them a bit.”

Amanda went back to Jemmy and Meg. They had eaten their supper. She took them to their room.

They had a pallet for a bed. Mistress Trippett had given them some covers. One was a piece of red velvet curtain, faded and old. Jemmy liked to wear it for a cloak and play the fine gentleman.

Amanda put the candle on the floor. She sat in the middle of the pallet. Jemmy and Meg lay down on either side. She tucked the covers about them to keep out the cold.

“Now,” she said, “I'll tell you a story.”

“About Father and the lion?” asked Jemmy.

“I've told you that,” she said. “I've told you and told you.”

“No, you haven't,” he said. “Not for a long time.”

So Amanda began, “Once a man came to London to seek his fortune.”

“That's Father,” said Jemmy.

“Yes,” she said.

“His name was James Freebold,” said Jemmy. “That's my name, too. That's my real name.”

“He met a beautiful maiden with golden hairâ”