The Curse Keepers Collection (47 page)

“Aye,” Elinor smiled. “You now have a granddaughter.”

John turned his back to them, facing the crowd outside their home. “I’m a grandfather!”

Cheers and whistles filled the air in celebration, despite the fact that everyone already knew. With boredom and exhaustion as their common companions, the colonists devoured new information within minutes.

John remained outside the door as his friends expressed their well wishes to the governor. When he ducked through the doorway into the shelter, his presence consumed the small space that had been built to hold less than a handful of people. “May I see her?”

Elinor nodded and handed the baby to Ananias. He gathered his daughter gently in his arms. Virginia’s eyes were closed as she slept, probably worn out from the journey she had taken. As he cradled her close, love washed through him, tightening his chest so much it was difficult to breathe. This child was his blood, his hope of a legacy.

John reached for the baby, but Ananias hesitated, wariness spiking the hairs on his arms.

Together, Ananias and Elinor had created a precious life, and it was up to him to do everything in his power to protect her. He suddenly worried that he might need to protect her from her grandfather.

Elinor noticed his hesitation. “Go on, Ananias. Hand Virginia over.”

Ananias chided himself. This child was John White’s legacy as well, and there was no good reason for him to deny his wife’s request. He placed the sleeping babe in his father-in-law’s outstretched arms.

John looked down at his granddaughter. “You have named her Virginia?”

“Does this please you, Father?” Ananias heard the anxiety in Elinor’s voice.

John nodded. “Very much so.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t a boy.”

Ananias’s head jerked toward his wife. Though he knew of her deep-seated fear that her father would have loved her more if she had been a boy, he hadn’t understood how much she’d wished to give him a grandson.

Ananias was now very pleased that his child was a girl.

But John shook his head with a smile. “No, my sweet Elinor. We must be grateful with all that the Lord provides for us. Even when what He provides bring us bitter disappointment.”

Given all they were facing, Ananias was sharp enough to realize John wasn’t referring to his granddaughter, but the words rankled nevertheless. His wife and child were in danger because of the persuasive influence of the man next to him.

John handed the baby back to Ananias, then leveled a stern expression at him. “Manteo and I are going to visit the Pomeiooc Indians. He believes the Dasamongueponke have fled there.”

Ananias’s mouth dropped open. “Was this your idea or Manteo’s?” Because of previous encounters between Englishmen and the Dasamongueponke and the Roanoke, the two Indian tribes of the Ossomocomuck had been a threat since the moment the colonists landed on the island, as evidenced by George Howe’s death. John had led an ill-fated attack on the Dasamongueponke village a few days earlier, and the colonists had accidentally killed and injured Croatan natives instead of their intended targets. In turn, they’d most likely alienated one of their only allies. White wanted to resolve the issue with their enemies before matters grew worse.

Manteo may have been born and raised a Croatan Indian, but the time he’d spent in England had changed him. The Croatan tribe had befriended the English when they first landed on these shores, three years and three voyages ago. While most natives resented the newcomers, the Croatan Indians had embraced them, even allowing one of their warriors—Manteo, the son of the Croatan chieftess—to venture to England along with Wanchese of the Dasamongueponke after their first encounter with the English. Both natives had returned to their homeland on the English explorers’ second voyage a year ago. While Manteo had embraced all things English and helped them deal with the savages, the elder Indian, Wanchese, had fled at the first opportunity. And he’d wasted no time in warning the savages that he saw the English as a threat.

Ananias called Manteo friend and knew him better than most Englishmen did, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if this visit to Pomeiooc was Manteo’s attempt to repair his own relationship with the natives. Especially after possibly estranging his own tribe after leading the attack on Dasamongueponke. Manteo seemed more English than Croatan these days, wearing English clothes and hairstyle. He’d always provided unbiased opinions, but lately, he had sided with John on things Ananias disagreed with, and it worried him. Nevertheless, the visit was a smart idea. Surely, relations with the natives would improve.

The governor squared his shoulders. “The decision was mine, but of course Manteo agrees with me.”

“Of course.” Perhaps it was the baby in his arms that made him defensive, but whatever the reason, Ananias couldn’t hide the bitterness in his words.

“Why is it that a savage will follow my orders when my own son-in-law will not?”

Ananias hesitated before answering. “Perhaps because I have so much more to lose.”

“Ananias!” Elinor said sharply.

He bowed his head, unwilling to upset his wife in her birth bed. This was a discussion better suited for another time. “I’m sorry, my love.” Swallowing bile, Ananias looked up at her father. “I meant no disrespect.”

John cupped Ananias’s upper arm. “It’s an emotional day when you become a father.” Love and happiness radiated from the man’s eyes. “I remember it well.”

Ananias hoped Elinor saw the joy on her father’s face, that she would see how much her father loved her, in spite of her gender. Then perhaps his beloved would find peace and make decisions based on her own wants and desires and not those of her father. If she had found that acceptance months ago, they might not be here now. But Ananias knew they’d be here all the same. Elinor would never let her father leave her forever.

No, Ananias was certain that Roanoke Island was their destiny, the end result be damned.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

The two most influential men in Ananias’s life had left the village over a day and a half before, the day after Virginia’s birth. Although Ananias was worried, he knew their journey would probably keep them away for several days. Manteo, for all his new English manners, still clung to some of his old traditions. He’d told Ananias and John that he planned to conduct a cleansing ceremony on the natives’ sacred ground before they met with the chief of the Pomeiooc tribe. John had balked in the beginning. Manteo had been baptized less than a week ago and was a Christian now. John had insisted that it was unseemly for him to conjure native spirits. But Manteo had stood his ground, telling the governor they would need all the help they could get. And, with a darkening expression, he had insisted that his own soul needed cleansing.

Given the look on his friend’s face, Ananias couldn’t imagine what dark and ugly thing Manteo had done to warrant such a thing.

Finally, John relented, though he told Manteo that he must call on the One True God to cleanse their souls, not some heathen deities. Manteo had agreed, bowing his head in subservience, but Ananias had seen the smirk lighting up his eyes.

John White didn’t know Croatan, which meant that the details of Manteo’s ceremony would remain a mystery to him.

When John had announced his intention to go off into the wilderness with Manteo to face the hostile tribe, the men in the colony had balked. Despite all the good Manteo had done for the English, most of the men distrusted him.

“You’re walking into a trap, Governor!”

“That savage is going to hand them your head on a platter.”

Ananias wasn’t certain about the Pomeiooc Indians, but the Roanoke would surely welcome the governor’s head, considering the English had beheaded their chief and killed three hundred of their tribe barely a year earlier. Given the circumstances, Ananias was surprised the Roanoke hadn’t already killed the entire colony instead of just George. The English were far outnumbered and could easily be picked off with their arrows.

But John had held firm in his decision, using his powers of persuasion to placate the men, insisting that he could salvage their tenuous relationship with the natives, and Pomeiooc was the place to start. “Give me three days and if I don’t return, or if I return with word of an attack, be ready to strike.”

The men lifted fists into the air, shouting their plans to decimate the Indian tribe—
all
Indian tribes—while Manteo’s eyes found Ananias’s.

Ananias could sense what lay behind the native’s gaze, even if the other man never expressed the words. Manteo had taken part in the massacre against the Roanoke the previous year. Perhaps that was what had blackened his soul. Manteo refused to discuss it, even when Ananias filled him with enough ale to make most men spill their secrets. Manteo would just stare at him with mocking eyes, making Ananias wonder what thoughts really crossed his friend’s mind.

The fact the two men had been gone a little over a day was not worrisome. Native ceremonies often took days. While John would insist on a more compact ceremony, Ananias was sure it would take a full day at minimum.

No, the length of time they’d been gone wasn’t what worried him, it was the heavy presence of dread that had descended over the village the night before, during Ananias’s watch. The sky had been clear and starlit, but without warning a storm had swept in—wind, lightning, and rolling clouds, but no rain. With the storm had come the feeling that
something was
not right
, although he couldn’t put his finger on what. It was like an itch you couldn’t satisfy, no matter where you scratched.

Ananias wouldn’t have worried so much if he were the only one who’d noticed. Several men on watch duty had become nervous and edgy, some even picking fights amongst themselves. Animals in the forest were skittish. Squirrels, deer, raccoons, rabbits, and all manner of beasts had burst from the trees, fleeing toward the coast. Birds filled the night sky, their screams standing Ananias’s hair on end. Something foul was in the forest and somehow Ananias knew it wasn’t the natives.

When Tom came to relieve him an hour later, the forest had quieted. Ananias made one more circuit of the village, assuring himself that all was well. He returned to his shelter, climbing into bed with his sleeping wife and child. Ananias finally fell asleep listening to the baby’s tiny breaths, telling himself that he’d overreacted.

Soon after daybreak, someone shouted. Ananias roused from his slumber, disoriented.

“They’re back!” came the call.

Their early return was a bad portent.

After quickly dressing, Ananias went to the center of the village to greet the men, not surprised to see a crowd had already assembled.

“Are we safe, Governor?”

John nodded with tired eyes. “Aye, for now.”

The other men took the governor’s words to mean something good, but Ananias saw the fear in Manteo’s eyes. It spooked him. Never in the year that he’d known the native had Ananias seen him worried or scared.

“So what’s our plan?” one of the men asked.

John’s gaze swept over the crowd assembled before him. “For now, nothing. I must think upon it more.” Without another word, he disappeared into his hut, leaving the crowd of men behind. They instantly turned toward Manteo.

The men feared the native too much to ask him direct questions, but Ananias wasn’t afraid to corner his friend. When Manteo walked away from the others, Ananias followed him to the edge of the camp, where he kept his home.

“Manteo, what did you find?”

Manteo shook his head and entered his hut.

Propriety forced Ananias to seek permission before entering another man’s dwelling, but he was past the point of such empty formalities. He followed Manteo inside. “
Manteo, what did you find
?”

The native squatted by the back wall. “A place of death.”

Ananias’s heart lurched and he choked out, “What does that mean? Are the Pomeiooc Indians joining with the Roanoke to attack us?”

Manteo gave a sharp jerk to his head. “No, they are not our concern at the moment.”

“Then what is?”