by Angela Hunt
Thomas closed his Bible and looked up at the congregation. “We are to be entirely obedient to the Lord,” he said, his dark eyes sweeping over the gathering as if he weighed the purity and thoughts of every soul present. “The heathen savages who surround us shall be swept from the land, driven out before us. And we shall not adopt their ways, lest we, too, be destroyed before the awesome power of the Lord.”
Abruptly, he sat down, and after a few moments of silence, the chastised congregation began to file out the door of the church. Jocelyn sat still on her bench, her cheeks burning with the shame of conviction. Had she been wrong? Was her spirit too free in this place? Though she had won many friends among the women of the Indian village, converts to Christianity had been few. Had she not been strong enough in her approach?
Laden with guilt and misgivings, Jocelyn left her husband alone in the church and followed the rest of the chastened congregation out the door.
The next morning, after breakfast, Jocelyn said a meek farewell to Thomas as he left for his work, then bundled seventeen-month-old Regina on her back. She was deep in thought when she left the house, still considering whether or not her actions had been appropriate in the eyes of God, and scarcely noticed when Audrey fell into step with her outside the village.
“Well met, Jocelyn,” Audrey said, her voice unusually cheerful for such an early hour of the morning. “Where are ye bound?”
“Good morrow,” Jocelyn said, waving her hand distractedly. “I’m on my way to the Indian village. Pauwau and Hurit promised to help me spin today. We think we can make thread from wisakon.”
“What?” Audrey crinkled her nose.
“That,” Jocelyn said, pointing to a common variety of milkweed growing by the path. “If Thomas is bound that we shall not wear buckskin—”
“You mean bucksin?” Audrey giggled. “Sure, Jocelyn, and ye don’t think it is truly a sin—”
“I don’t know.” Jocelyn stopped in midstride and turned to face her friend. “I was sure ‘twas all right, but now I don’t know. I want to please God, Audrey, and my husband. One day a thing seems right to me, then Thomas reads from the Holy Scriptures, and then I’m sure ‘tis wrong.”
“Thomas read yesterday about witchcraft and the like,” Audrey said, shifting her basket from one hip to the other. “But buckskin is not witchcraft, nor is anything else you’ve ever done, Jocelyn.”
“No, ‘tis not,” Jocelyn allowed. She closed her eyes and blew the wisps of hair from her forehead. “Beshrew this confounded confusion! I don’t know what to do anymore!”
“You’ve been doing well enough,” Audrey offered as they began to walk again down the trail toward the Indian village. “And ye haven’t asked me how I’ve been doing.”
“Oh?” Jocelyn turned inquisitive eyes toward the girl. “How are you doing, Mistress Bailie?”
Audrey blushed and looked down at the trail. “A wee bit better than I’d hoped, for certain. Y’know, for months I thought the old man married me because he wanted another servant—or worse, if ye take me meaning,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But he doesn’t treat me like a servant at all. And he didn’t come near me, either, in that way—until I said he could.”
“You said he could?” Jocelyn lifted an eyebrow.
“Aye,” Audrey answered, raising her chin. “He treats me as a lady, Jocelyn, not a servant. In the four months we’ve been married he’s never commanded me to do anything. On my first night in his house he told me he wouldn’t require anything of me, but I cook and clean because I am grateful for his goodness.” Her voice gentled. “He’s kind, too, and sweet. He tells me stories, and has promised to build me a big house as soon as ‘tis safe to move outside the palisade.”
“In truth?”
Audrey nodded and lazily twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “William keeps after me, of course, but y’know, he’s not nearly as nice as Master Bailie, though I had to admit he’s more than a wee bit handsomer. But last week I saw William flirting with Emme Merrimoth, who’s thirty if she’s a day, and Master Bailie would never do that, not if a hundred Emme Merrimoths passed by a’flapping their eyelashes at him!”
She ended her speech by raising her hand in a flourish of triumph, and Jocelyn had to smother a smile. “So you like your husband now?” she asked.
“He’s tolerable, mind ye,” Audrey answered, tilting her head. “And last night—I let him kiss me. And one thing led to another, and, well—” she blushed prettily, and Jocelyn felt a stab of envy. Audrey had taken the same chance at marriage that Jocelyn had taken, but Audrey had gained a husband who worshipped her.
Jocelyn quickened her pace. “We ought to hurry,” she said, nearly breaking into a run. “I want to be home in time to take Thomas his dinner.”
The gates of the wooden palisade around Ohanoak were open as Audrey and Jocelyn approached, and Jocelyn nodded soberly to the braves who stood watch at the gate. Though the Indians had lived in peace with their neighboring tribes for years, security was never taken lightly, and one of the most grievous sins in the Indian catalog was “living carelessly.” Caution was a continual exercise, and Ananias and the council had been much impressed by the Indians’ natural defensiveness.
Jocelyn led Audrey to the grass hut where Hurit and her husband Chogan lived. Chogan stepped out as the women approached, gave them a careful nod, then walked away. Audrey gawked at the sinewy muscles in the Indian’s back until Jocelyn yanked forcefully on her arm and drew the girl inside the hut.
Hurit gave them a sincere smile as they entered. Pauwau was present, too, her leathery brown face seamed with the advent of over fifty summers, and Jocelyn bowed slightly in respect to the older woman, then took a seat on a grass mat next to Hurit.
Jocelyn had not learned much of the Indian language, but she was amazed how quickly the Indians learned English. “Good morrow,” Hurit said, carefully enunciating the words.
“Good morrow,” Jocelyn answered, crossing her legs under her long skirt as Audrey did the same. “I pray God will bless you.”
“I pray God will bless you,” Hurit answered, her dark eyes lighting in a lovely smile, and Jocelyn wondered again if she had done enough to share God’s love with the Indian woman. Did Hurit understand the significance of the words she casually repeated?
Hurit called to her five-year-old son, Mukki, who brought over a large basket filled with broken seedpods and stems of the milkweed plant, or wisakon, as the Indians called it. Hurit dipped her hands into the basket and pulled out a handful of the greenery, and Jocelyn did the same.
“Will this really make thread?” Audrey asked, taking a handful of the plant materials and watching Hurit and Pauwau as they pulled flaxen strings from the stems.
“I don’t know,” Jocelyn admitted, imitating the actions of her hosts. “But we have to try something. Our clothes are wearing thin, and unless we want to wear—”
“Bucksin,” Audrey finished, her eyes squinting with amusement.
As they worked, Jocelyn tried to make casual conversation with her Indian friends. Pauwau had little to say, as always, and Hurit spoke shyly. At one point in the conversation, Hurit called Jocelyn “Kanti.”
“Kanti?” Jocelyn asked, pinning Hurit with a questioning glance. “What does that mean?”
Hurit lowered her eyes in embarrassment, and Pauwau answered for her: “‘She who sings.’ You are called Kanti in this village.”
“Sings?” Jocelyn frowned, thinking of what Thomas would say if he heard of it. “But I don’t sing. Except in church.”
“You do,” Pauwau nodded gravely. “In the forest. The children have heard you. At first they said the song was the spirit of the wind, but then they saw you. From that day you have been Kanti.”
“Do they have names for all of us?” Audrey asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.
“Only those who visit often,” Hurit said, smiling in relief that Jocelyn hadn’t been offended by her slip. “Kanti, her husband—”
&nbs
p; “Thomas? What is he called?” Jocelyn asked.
Hurit blinked. “Etlelooaat.”
Audrey laughed. “Such a long name? What does it mean?”
Hurit and Pauwau ignored the question.
Curious, Jocelyn bent down to look into Hurit’s eyes. “Hurit, what does Thomas’ name mean?”
After a moment, Hurit met Jocelyn’s gaze. “He who shouts.”
“But Thomas does not shout,” Jocelyn said thoughtfully. “His voice is powerful, but even in his sermons, he rarely shouts.”
“One can shout in a whisper,” Pauwau added cryptically.
Jocelyn glanced back at Hurit, who made no comment, but went on with her work.
Audrey and Jocelyn left the village with a basket of crushed milkweed fibers and made their way along the trail back to the village. The shorter days of autumn had begun to work their magic in the forest, and the trees gleamed with gold, yellow, and orange, edged by the plentiful evergreens. Dry leaves underfoot crackled and whispered as the women walked, warning the deer that humans were present. Jocelyn slowed her steps and tried to imitate the silent walk her Indian friends had perfected. She just couldn’t manage it.
As they walked, Jocelyn couldn’t help but smile when she remembered her name: Kanti. In truth, she had often taken advantage of the private walk on the trail to sing, for Thomas frowned on her singing in the house, and music was considered a frivolous waste of time by most people in the village. In her wildest dreams, she never imagined that the Indian children had heard her—and listened.
Mayhap music will reach their souls, she thought, deliberately blocking the stream of idle gossip that poured from Audrey. While they refuse the gospel, mayhap the truth of God will reach them in a melody. She quietly resolved to sing more often while in the forest, and made a mental note that for this justifiable reason she would ignore the colony’s rarely enforced prohibition against walking alone in the woods.
“Jocelyn, ye haven’t been listening!” Audrey fussed. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said,” Audrey sighed, “wasn’t it sweet of Mukki to make us these necklaces?”
“Yes,” Jocelyn agreed. Her fingers played with the simple beaded shells Mukki had strung on dried bear gut and slipped over her head. “He’s a handsome little boy.”
“I think he may be a little in love with ye,” Audrey teased. “Or maybe he’ll grow up to marry Regina some day.”
“Oh, Thomas would love that,” Jocelyn laughed, then suddenly unsmiled as a sobering thought hit her. In this cloistered corner of the world, who would Regina marry?
Thomas was seated at the board when she came in, and she gave him a quick smile as she slipped the baby from her back and put Regina in her trunk for a nap. “I didn’t expect you’d be here,” she said, hurrying toward the hearth where a stew pot waited on the embers. “But ‘tis just as well. If you’re hungry, there’s plenty of pottage—”
“What is that around your neck?”
Startled by his abruptness, Jocelyn glanced down and fingered the strand of shells. “This? Mukki made it for me. ‘Tis just pierced shells, Thomas.”
“You must take it off.”
She looked at him, unable to believe he was serious. “Why?”
“Why?” He did not raise his voice, but spoke more intently as he stared at her in piercing concentration. “Because such things are heathen, and the people of God should not wear them, least of all, my wife. Take it off, Jocelyn, now.”
Her hand tightened around the shells. “A five-year-old boy made this necklace, Thomas, not a witch doctor. There were no incantations said over it, no spells, no divination—”
“A naked heathen child has stolen your good sense,” he said, standing. “Take the symbol of paganism off.”
A spark of defiance deep in her soul flared into rebellion. “No.”
With two broad strides he stood in front of her, his hands gripping her elbows so tightly that she winced in pain. He hadn’t stood so close to her in months, and in a bizarre flip-flop of emotions she rejoiced that he held her, even though she could not deny the snap of powerful anger in his eyes.
“Jocelyn,” he whispered between clenched teeth as his eyes pleaded frankly, “for the love of God, remove the heathen thing from around your neck.”
She cowered before the power of his gaze, but still her hand held the necklace and would not let go. “‘Twas a gift given in love, Thomas,” she whispered, taking pains to keep her voice low so that passing eavesdroppers outside might not hear. “There is no sin in it. There is no sin in a gift from a loving little boy, because there is no sin in love, not even . . . in ours.”
He released her and stepped back as if she’d slapped him, but she refused to free his eyes, holding him to her like a magnet. She could almost feel his thoughts, understanding his struggle, and she let go of the necklace only to entwine her arms about his neck. “Can’t you see, Thomas?” she whispered, moving toward him as she pulled his head down to look directly into his eyes, “Why are you afraid? There is no fear in love!”
A ragged gasp escaped him as he trembled in her arms, and in his weakness she found hope and courage. She drew him to her, lifting her lips to his. After a moment of resistance, he drank of her kisses like a parched man who has been stranded in a burning desert for far too long. Wrapping his arms around her, he crushed her to him until she was conscious only of his nearness, and in her arms he relaxed, responding to her tender touch.
His hand swept to the back of her neck and pulled the pins from her hair, then he entwined his fingers in the tumbling mass as he pulled his lips from hers. “Jocelyn,” he sighed, his breath warm in her ear, “You are a torment to me.”
Her laughter, warm and husky, rose to mock his words. “Was Adam not a torment to Eve?” she whispered as she felt herself flowing toward him. “He ate of the fruit to follow her into sin, yet they both were promised redemption.”
Breathing heavily, Thomas sighed again, but he did not release her. He lay his forehead against hers and managed a vain protest: “I want no more children.”
“Why not?” she whispered, lightly running her finger over his shoulder. “Walter Raleigh would be pleased if we populated this place. Today’s babies must marry someone.”
He groaned, and lifted his head from hers to stare at the ceiling while Jocelyn trailed her lips over his throat, courting his senses with gentle persuasiveness. He had dared to come near her, to hold her, and she would not let him get away.
“‘Tis the middle of the day,” he protested again, but his arms tightened around her.
“‘Tis of no importance,” she breathed, cradling his head and drawing it to hers. “I have waited a year for you to kiss me again, think you that I should wait another hour?”
“You are a torment,” he said, lifting her into his arms.
“No,” she answered, her heart overflowing as his lips blazed a trail of fire across her throat. “I am your wife.”
Jocelyn ignored the sounds of activity outside the house as she dressed and brushed her hair. Thomas lay without speaking on their bed, yet she could feel his hungry eyes upon her as she moved through the room. Turning suddenly, she saw an inexplicable, lazy smile sweep over his face as he surveyed her. Mayhap at long last, she thought, stooping to plant a quick kiss on his forehead, he would be free to be the husband she had always known he could be. And if she had conceived another child this day, mayhap he would rejoice in his fatherhood and learn to cherish his children.
Someone rapped at the door, and Jocelyn laughed at Thomas’ embarrassed discomfiture. He dashed into his clothes as if all the devils were after him while Jocelyn opened the door.
Beth Glane stood outside her house, and her strained smile melted into disapproval when she saw Jocelyn with her hair undone. “I must speak to the minister,” Beth said, her black eyes bright beneath her bonnet. “Audrey Bailie has come back from the heathen camp wearing beads, and the minister has expressly forbidden them.”
“You mean,” Jocelyn smiled and pulled the string of shells from beneath her own bodice. “Beads like these?”
Beth stepped back in agitation, her face frozen in a horrified expression of disapproval. “Y-y-yes,” she stammered.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Thomas came up behind Jocelyn and nodded to Beth, who surveyed him from head to toe without speaking. “Mistress Glane is upset that Audrey Bailie wears a string of shells like mine,” Jocelyn said, giving her husband a conspiratorial smile. “What shall we tell her, my husband?”
“Those beads are not allowed,” Thomas said, his voice grave. “They are heathen, and you were right to come to me. I’ll have Mistress Bailie’s husband speak to her.”
“But your wife—” Beth said, pointing to Jocelyn.
“My wife will not wear them either,” Thomas said. While Jocelyn blinked in astonished silence, he reached for the string around her neck and yanked it sharply, spilling the shells over the floor of the house.
Jocelyn’s eyes filled with angry tears, and she turned away from the door as Thomas thanked Beth Glane again for her vigilance.
When he had closed the door, Jocelyn turned on him in fury. “You had no right to do that!”
“You must obey me, Jocelyn, as your husband and your minister.”
“How could you—” She glanced pointedly at the bed on which they had just lain and then waved at the shells scattered over the floor.
Thomas shook his head and lowered his voice. “One has nothing to do with the other. And this afternoon was not only my doing, was it?” He waited for her reply, and when she could not speak, he drew his lips into a tight, dignified smile and left the house.
