Cate of the Lost Colony (25 page)

Chapter 42

Cate’s Choice

W
hen it was clear the Englishmen would come ashore, Weyawinga sent the women and children into the woods about a mile from the village. No palisade or fort could provide better cover than the groves of trees and thick bushes, and there we hid. Some of us were armed, should it become necessary to protect the others. I carried a bow and arrows, which Manteo had taught me to use, although I did not relish using them to shoot a man. Alice had a pistol and the Croatoan women had knives.

Betty would not carry a weapon. “I trust God to defend me,” she said.

Mika kept the children calm by singing quietly to them. Her belly was visibly round, and I wondered whether her babe would resemble her or Graham. Takiwa, unafraid, had stayed in the village. We waited for hours, expecting to hear the crack of musket fire and war whoops, but the only sounds were the wind in the trees, small creatures in the underbrush, and birdsong. Then a breathless Takiwa came running and said a single boat had landed and its two passengers were talking with Weyawinga.

I was relieved there would be no bloodshed, but somewhat bewildered. “
Who are the two men?
” I asked her.

“
One, Manteo says, is the English governor.
”

“It must be John White!” I said. “
And who is the other?
” I asked Takiwa.

She shrugged. “
He is not clothed like a man of any importance.
”

“There is no danger, so let’s go back,” said Alice. “I want to hear the news from England—how the queen fares, whether there has been war with Spain, what the ladies are wearing now.” Her eyes shone with excitement.

I, too, was full of questions. Was Emme still in the queen’s favor? Was she married yet? And Frances, had she been rewarded for her spying? Did the queen, who once said she would be like my mother, ever speak of me? John White could not satisfy me on these matters, but surely he could answer one question that still tugged at my vanity:
Had Sir Walter forgotten me?

“Yes, we must welcome John White,” I said, taking Virginia’s hand.

Betty and Alice and her boy rose to follow me, but Joan Mannering held back.

“Nay, I am ashamed to be seen by an outsider,” she said. “At my age, to be dressed in this manner?”

“Our breasts are covered, and our loins, with cloth and skins. Eve wore far less,” said Betty.

“Yes, and Eve had reason to be ashamed,” said Joan, unpersuaded. She chose to stay with the Croatoan women until Weyawinga summoned them back.

As we neared the village I began to have misgivings.

“Alice, Betty, wait!” I pleaded. “What if John White has come to take Virginia away with him? I can’t let her go.”

“He has no doubt learned of Eleanor’s death. After coming all this way, he deserves to see that his granddaughter lives,” said Betty gently. “You cannot deny him that.”

She was right. And so with hesitant steps I led Virginia to the outskirts of the village, where we waited to be certain it was safe to enter. I saw John White sitting on a stool near Weyawinga’s canopy, looking old and defeated. His companion was acting like someone of importance, though he was rudely clothed. He remonstrated with Graham and the others, demanding something they would not give him. As he looked back and forth, his long hair flew from side to side. His face was bearded and he wore a silver earring. Indeed, he resembled nothing so much as the pirates I had seen on the wharves in London and Portsmouth. Presently he dashed from the scene, and I ventured forth, carrying John White’s granddaughter.

When he saw me, Manteo looked alarmed. He glanced over his shoulder at the departing figure and moved closer as if to protect me. I wondered if there were some danger I could not see, even as I felt the familiar pleasure of his nearness.

John White looked up at me with his eyebrows raised. I was startled by his appeareance. The last three years had whitened his hair and stolen much flesh from his bones. Eleanor would have rushed to feed him.

“Good day, Governor White, and welcome,” I said.

“Lady Catherine. I, too, would know you anywhere,” he replied.

Those were strange words of greeting, I thought. Was his mind broken from grief? I turned the child in my arms so he could see her.

“Is it Virginia Dare? My Virginia?” he whispered. Tears glistened in his eyes.

No, she is mine. My dear one.
But I nodded and set the child on his lap for him to hold.
If he takes Virginia away, I must go too, for I promised Eleanor I would take care of her.

White held his granddaughter as if she were made of glass and kissed her head. “Ah, Virginia. You’ve never known any world but this one for which you are named.”

The child began to wriggle and fret. Did she sense he meant to take her away? She held out her arms to me. “You hold me, Mama Cate.”

“In a minute, dear heart,” I said, holding myself back with difficulty. “This is your grandpapa, who has not seen you since you were born.” My voice caught as I remembered how afraid I had been of Eleanor dying in childbirth. That was before our troubles began in earnest: before disease and starvation; before the cruel hanging, Betty Vickers’s banishment, and my own captivity; before Ananias was killed by Indians and Eleanor by a fever; before our exodus from Fort Ralegh more than a year ago. How much this hardy child and I had survived together!

“I am sorry about Eleanor,” I said, old guilt pressing against my ribs.

White sighed heavily. “I tried many times to return. I wanted nothing more than to grow old in this New World with my family.” He tilted Virginia’s head so he could see her face. “Her eyes are like her mother’s.”

Then he stood up and handed me the child. Virginia wrapped her hands around my neck and her feet around my waist, holding on like an opossum clinging to a branch.

“Now it is enough for me to know my daughter’s daughter will live out her life here,” he said. “If you choose to remain, she must stay with you.”

“Thank you!” My breath rushed out and I embraced him, the child between us. I felt I had been given a gift more valuable than any trinket from the queen, any nickname or words of praise, a treasure worth more than a hundred baskets of pearls.

But then John White made my complete little world quake and quiver.

“Leave the child with me for a moment, and go that way.” He pointed to the seaward side of the island. “Sir Walter searches for you.”

At first I could not comprehend his words. The pirate I had seen with John White bore no resemblance to Ralegh. I wondered if the governor had fallen in with brigands and was now engaged in their deceptions. But why would he lure me to follow one of them? Did he intend in my absence to steal Virginia and row back to the ship? That made no sense. But why should I leave the child and run after an unknown sea-rover, putting myself in danger?

“Sir Walter Ralegh, you mean? Is this some jest?”

“Trust me, Lady Catherine,” he said. He smiled at me with the same honest eyes I remembered. He was not lying to me.

I set Virginia down and in a daze walked out of the village and over the sandy hills leading to the seaward shore. Perhaps Sir Walter had not come into the village with John White and the pirate, but had set out to look for me. Had he come at last to govern Virginia himself?

At the top of a sandy cliff I paused and surveyed the empty strand below. The wind gusted, pushing me backward. Out to sea, slanted curtains of rain hung from distant clouds. Beyond the curve of the horizon lay England, only weeks away by ship, but years away in my memory. I tried to remember Sir Walter’s face, but his features blurred in my mind. I could not be certain of the color of his eyes or the sound of his voice. What had he said to me in the library while he secretly put the handkerchief in my sleeve? Or the time we met in his garden? I could not remember. Nor could I recall a single line from all the letters and poems he had written to me. They were lost from my mind, as they had been stolen from my chest and used to betray me. The particulars of my past, once so sharp, had grown as hazy as the line where the gray blue sea met the gray blue sky.

When I closed my eyes what filled my mind were the faces of the people I saw every day. What filled my ears were the shrill cries of seabirds, the burbling of frogs, Virginia’s laughter, and the drone of insects on a summer night. I smelled woodsmoke and bear grease, tasted roasted maize and salty air on my tongue. These were the particulars of my new life. What pleasures they provided—the wind on my bare arms, the warm furs I slept on, the medley of voices speaking English and Algonkian, Manteo’s dark eyes on me! A longing for everything filled me. Or was it the fullness itself I felt, and gratitude for it?

I whispered a prayer to whatever gods or spirits surrounded me. “Please don’t let me lose what I have or be lost myself.”

I sensed rather than heard someone nearby. I opened my eyes and turned, expecting to see Sir Walter standing there. But it was not the finely dressed courtier who had thrown his cloak in the mire for the queen to step on. Nor was it the pirate I had seen with John White. No, it was Manteo, watching me from a distance. I knew the stories of Algon and had come to understand that Manteo thought of me as a Moon Maiden he had brought to live with his own people. He felt responsible for me and so he followed me, remaining half a dozen swift strides from my side. I found his presence reassuring. It meant I had nothing to fear.

I scrambled down the sandy cliff, grasping tufts of grass and shrubs to keep from falling, until I stood on the tide-soaked sand. The gulls cried out to each other, and brown pelicans dipped into the sea and came up with fish flapping in their throats. I waited for Sir Walter to find me.

It was not long before I caught sight of the pirate, who began running toward me. My first thought was to flee, but remembering Manteo’s nearness I stood fast. As the pirate drew nearer, I saw by his curly brown hair, his sharp nose, and his long, well-shaped legs that it was none other than Sir Walter. If I had wanted to run I could not, for my feet seemed rooted to the shifting ground. He slowed his steps. He was breathing hard. When he was about twenty paces away I held up my hand for him to stop.

“Lady Catherine!” he said. “I knew you at once. Do you not know me?”

I nodded without speaking. A flush spread over my face and I felt my heartbeat quicken.

“Have you nothing to say?”

I had dreamed about this moment a hundred times. Now I could not remember a single word I had planned to say.

“Words are worth so little,” I said, lifting my hand and letting it fall again. “I would be sparing with them.” I thought of all the poems and letters that had passed between us and were now lost and forgotten. What could be said that held any meaning for long?

Sir Walter’s gaze traveled from my head to my feet.

“Dark as an Ethiop you are, though more lovely by far,” he said as if he were beginning a poem. “All my senses are offended—yet stirred—by this transformation in you.”

“I am the one offended,” I said.

“I don’t mean you, but the others,” he hastened to explain.

“What of
your
transformation?” I asked. “Have you turned pirate?”

He laughed. “I am unchanged. This disguise merely permits me to travel in secret. I am always Sir Walter Ralegh, and you”—he made a gallant gesture with his arm, as if laying down a cloak in the wet sand—“you are always my Lady Catherine.”

There was a time when I would have rejoiced to hear Sir Walter speak to me so. But to be flattered and called Lady Catherine while I stood barefoot, garbed in deerskins, and so much altered by my experiences did not please me.

“You do not know me. I am Cate now.”

He made another attempt. “Well, resume your usual clothing and manner and you will be Lady Catherine again.”

“This
is
my usual clothing, and it pleases me,” I said.

Sir Walter stared at me as if I lacked the capacity of reason. “This cannot be happening,” he said. “I expected my colonists to bring the tenets of civil society and true religion to the savages. I expected to find the natives living like us, not … what I have seen.” Words failed him and he tugged at his beard, becoming distraught. “Manteo—who was made a lord and baptized—has returned to his savage life, and every one of you has regressed to a primitive state. How did this come about?”

“It is a long story with many chapters,” I said. “I wrote much of it down, for I once hoped it would be published.”

For a moment his eyes gleamed, then he shook his head. “It cannot be the story Her Majesty expects to hear or one that will bring me fame.”

“Why did you come here then, if you could not bear the truth?” I said. “If fame is all you seek?”

“I came for you, Catherine!” he cried out, extending his hands toward me. “The queen realizes she wronged you. I also am at fault for your plight and full of regret.”

Those, too, were words I had longed to hear. But what meaning did they hold here in Virginia? “Does Elizabeth forgive me?” I asked. “Is she sorry she banished me?”

Sir Walter beckoned. “Come, and you will hear it from her own lips.”

I wondered, was the queen aboard his ship? Had she come with Sir Walter to see the New World, to find me? “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “What do these regrets mean now?”

He replied with patient earnest, “Lady Catherine, I have come to make amends. I am taking you back to England with me. Her Majesty has promised you can be mine at last.”

Mine at last!
Desire for Sir Walter, long buried and almost forgotten, rose up in me again. It had been part of me for so many years, how could it ever go away? And what was to be done with it now? I turned my head to let the wind blow my hair out of my eyes. My thoughts, my hair, everything was tangled.

A breaking wave rushed onto the shore and over my feet, then receded, pulling the sand from beneath me. I lost my balance and stumbled backward. Sir Walter stepped toward me. It was like a dance where the partners do not touch. At court Sir Walter and I had never danced. So much had been forbidden that would now be permitted. But could either of us truly live or love freely while we served England’s queen? My words and deeds would still be overseen and possibly censured. Again I thought of the letters stolen from my chest, like a heart from a body. Though I had forgotten what was in them, I now recalled clearly what had been missing.