The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  The men were headed for Governor Yeardley’s residence when someone informed them that the governor wouldn’t be able to receive them until after the trial. The Indians settled in to wait, their expressions stony as they watched the settlers, who milled around in eager anticipation. There weren’t many trials in Virginia, according to the talk around the well, and there hadn’t been a murder trial in years. Maybe not ever. Many of the settlers were relatively new to the colony, and this was the most excitement they’d had, save the arrival of the women.

  “We should go back to the wagon,” Simon said. “It’s cooler beyond the gates and less crowded.”

  Mary would have liked to spend some time in the company of Nell and Betsy, whose husbands were also inside the church, but most of the women headed toward their wagons, uncomfortable in the presence of so many overexcited men. Simon was right. It was best they leave. Travesty fell into step with him, but Mary hung back as they approached the Indians, who were standing by the gate, talking quietly amongst themselves. Walker’s eyes bore into her, his expression hard, his cheeks mottled with anger. He hadn’t forgiven her the insult.

  Mary dipped in front of him, as if taking a pebble out of her shoe. She looked up, glad he was still watching her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”

  His expression changed little, but there was a thawing in his gray eyes. He didn’t say anything, but inclined his head a fraction, letting her know he’d heard her apology.

  “Mistress, are you all right?” Simon asked when he realized she wasn’t walking directly behind him. He returned for her and took her arm. “Was that savage bothering you?” he asked loudly.

  “Not at all. There was a pebble in my shoe.”

  “I don’t like the way he was looking at you,” Simon growled.

  “How was he looking at me?” Mary inquired as they walked toward the wagon.

  “With insolence,” Simon retorted.

  Mary had to stifle a giggle. If anyone was insolent, it was Simon. He was still holding her close, a familiarity that was completely unnecessary, given that she was in no danger. She pulled her arm free and sat on the grass in the shade of Betsy’s wagon. Nell joined them as well.

  “My arse is numb,” Betsy proclaimed, making them laugh. “If that pompous windbag went on any longer, I think I might have pissed myself. There’s only so long a woman can hold her water.”

  “He is longwinded,” Nell agreed. “Good thing you have padding, Betsy. Imagine how we bony-arsed girls feel.”

  Betsy patted her ample rump with a smile. “My Silas is inordinately fond of my padding,” she said as she tried to stifle a giggle. “Says it’s like sleeping on a cloud.”

  “Are you sure it’s your arse he’s referring to?” Nell asked, giving Betsy’s overflowing bodice a meaningful look.

  “Whichever it is, he’s a happy man,” Betsy replied. “And that makes me a happy woman. Never thought I’d enjoy having a man of my own so much,” she confessed.

  Nell nodded in agreement. “I like my Tom as well.” Both women turned to Mary, awaiting her contribution. She simply nodded, as if agreeing with them.

  “That Simon’s a handsome devil,” Betsy remarked. “I wager many a woman would overlook his questionable past to get him into her bed.”

  “What do you know of his past?” Mary asked. Simon never spoke of his life in England, and she hadn’t asked, not wishing to encourage his interest in her.

  “Oh, nothing,” Betsy replied. “But most indentures have been sent down for some crime, haven’t they? He might be a murderer.”

  Mary stared at Simon, who was talking to Travesty. He was smiling into her eyes and standing closer to her than an unmarried man should.

  “I should hope not,” Nell said, peering at Simon as if she could tell just by looking at him. “Mary, what was he sent down for?”

  “I don’t know. I never asked. I’m sure John knows.”

  “You should ask him,” Betsy suggested. “You should know what type of person you’re living with.” She looked around in irritation. “I want my dinner,” she complained. “How long does it take to try someone?”

  “Not that long, apparently,” Nell said when a commotion erupted within the settlement. “The trial must be over. Now the poor buggers will face their fate.”

  Mary stared at her. It hadn’t occurred to her that the men might be executed. It was a tavern brawl, and by all accounts, the dead man had started it. Surely that counted in the accused’s favor. Mary sprang to her feet when she saw John emerging from the gate. He bowed stiffly to Nell and Betsy and beckoned to Mary to return to their wagon.

  “Let’s go home,” he said and climbed onto the bench. “I’ve done my part.”

  “Are they to hang, master?” Travesty asked from the back.

  “Many called for execution, but the governor decided on leniency, given that they hadn’t started the fight. They’re to be flogged this afternoon, after the governor has his dinner and concludes his business with the Indians.”

  “The governor must have his dinner,” Simon scoffed. “At least the man has his priorities straight.”

  “Simon!” John said sharply. Simon went quiet, but his mouth was still twisted in a sarcastic grin.

  “I’m ready for my dinner,” John said in an effort to lighten the atmosphere in the wagon. “And then, I will go to the creek and have a well-deserved bath. It was stifling in that church. Join me, Simon. The afternoon service has been canceled, due to the flogging.”

  “With pleasure. If Reverend Edison will only make us sit through one sermon on Sundays, I hope they flog someone every week,” Simon said. It was a blasphemous thing to say, but Mary suspected they all secretly agreed. Having to endure two services on Sundays was torture, especially since all the settlers worked their land six days a week and had animals to tend to.

  “Oh, I do look forward to the weather cooling down,” Travesty said as she pulled her hat lower over her eyes. “’Tis like the fires of hell, this heat. I’d never known anything like it before coming here.”

  “In England they have fires burning in the grate all through the summer,” Simon said, sounding wistful.

  “Aye, it was cold and wet, but I miss it,” Travesty said with a dramatic sigh. “I miss it all.”

  “As do I,” John agreed. “I wonder if I’ll ever see the shores of England again.”

  A silence settled over them as they contemplated their chances of ever going home, knowing it wasn’t likely. For better or worse, their futures were tied to the fortunes of the Virginia Colony.

  Chapter 27

  Mary waited impatiently for the men to leave for the fields come Monday morning. She completed her morning chores, then stripped off the bed linens and dumped them into her basket. She’d washed them only a week ago, but the sheets were grubby from their bodies sweating in the relentless heat and stained with her menstrual blood. Mary added John’s hose and her own sweat-crusted chemise and stockings.

  “Travesty, give me your bedlinens,” Mary said. “I’m going down to the creek.”

  “Off to launder again?” Travesty asked, her lip curling with amusement. “I’ve never met anyone so cleanliness minded.”

  “I’ve never lived in such a hot place before,” Mary retorted. Travesty made it sound as if she were shirking her responsibilities, but the laundry needed to be done. Today. Or so she told herself. In truth, it didn’t make much difference. By tomorrow morning the sheets and the garments would be sweat-stained again and smell like they hadn’t been laundered in weeks. England had been damp, but it was the kind of damp that seeped into the bones and made her feel like she’d never be truly warm again. This damp heat made Mary feel as if her skin were sizzling over an open flame, the flesh roasting like that of a suckling pig.

  Mary put on her straw hat over her cap and walked out of the cabin, grateful to be away from Travesty, who’d been in a particularly foul mood since their visit to Jamestown yesterday. Come to think of it,
everyone had been subdued, especially Simon. On their way back to the plantation, he’d made rude jokes about the flogging the men were to receive, but she’d noticed a spark of fear in his eyes. What did Simon have to fear?

  Mary stopped for a moment to adjust the basket on her hip. Perhaps Simon had been flogged for whatever crime had brought him to Virginia, she theorized, resuming her pace. She’d never seen Simon without his shirt, so perhaps he bore the scars to remind him of his punishment.

  As Mary drew closer to the woods, she forgot all about Simon. The morning dew sparkled on the lush grass and the sky was dotted with fluffy clouds that floated lazily overhead, momentarily obscuring the sun and offering a brief respite from its searing rays. She breathed a sigh of relief once she reached the cool shade of the forest. It was filled with birdsong and smelled pleasantly of pine.

  Mary kicked off her shoes. She no longer wore hose beneath her dress when at home. What was the point, especially since she only had the one pair? She wished she could give up wearing the long-sleeved chemise as well and wear just the bodice over her sleeveless shift. She’d look like a strumpet, but she’d be a lot more comfortable.

  The water in the creek was higher after last week’s rain, and deliciously cool. Mary positioned herself on the bank, took a sheet out of the basket, and began to wash it, using the hard soap Travesty had made. Soap scum swirled away when she rinsed out the sheet, and floated downstream. Mary hoped no one would drink the soiled water. She washed all the items she’d brought and hung them on low branches to dry. She’d really thought Walker would come after her apology, but the forest was as quiet and peaceful as ever. Mary removed her hat and lay back on the grass beneath the great oak. It was shady and cool, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of quiet. There was no reason to rush back.

  She woke with a start, aware, even before she opened her eyes, that she was no longer alone. Walker was sitting cross-legged on the grass, watching her sleep.

  Mary sat up and smiled. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “I can’t seem to stay away,” he replied, his eyes serious.

  “I really am sorry,” Mary said, noting the tense set of Walker’s jaw. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  He inclined his head, in that way he had, to indicate he’d heard her and accepted what she was saying, but didn’t reply.

  He is still angry, Mary thought. I wounded him more deeply than I imagined. Watching him from beneath lowered lashes, she wondered if all natives were so proud. They certainly appeared to be very arrogant, and fierce, from what she’d seen in Jamestown. She’d seen Indians many times now, but she had yet to see a native woman or child.

  “So why did you come back?” she asked. “To check your traps?”

  “I set new traps deeper in the forest. Someone was helping himself to my catch. Your servant, I think.”

  “Why do you think it was him?” Mary asked.

  “He has no honor.”

  Walker’s answer took Mary by surprise. She’d assumed a sense of honor to be a purely English trait, and to hear Walker accusing an Englishman of having no honor was unsettling. She opened her mouth to reply but closed it before she made the mistake of insulting him again. Perhaps the natives had their own idea of honor and weren’t the savages the English believed them to be. And Walker was right. She’d had her doubts about Simon from the start and realized the Indian had simply verbalized her own feelings about the man.

  She inclined her head, intentionally copying his earlier response to her apology, but didn’t say anything more about Simon. Walker suddenly smiled, revealing straight white teeth. He must have realized she was mirroring his mannerisms.

  “I came to see you,” he said. His demeanor had changed. He was no longer angry with her, and a wave of relief washed over Mary. She couldn’t explain, even to herself, why it mattered to her, but it did.

  “Why? Surely there are women in your village.”

  “Yes, but they are not like you.” Walker reached out and caught a silky chestnut curl that had escaped from her cap. “You remind me of someone.”

  “Your mother?” Mary asked softly. He nodded.

  Mary willed herself to remain quiet and refrain from questioning him. She knew with absolute certainty that there had been no women in Jamestown until 1619. Everyone said so, from Reverend Edison to Governor Yeardley and Secretary Hunt. Walker had to be a few years older than her, which would make him close to twenty-five. How was it possible that his mother had been English?

  “Is your mother still alive?” Mary asked instead.

  “She died when I was a boy. I could barely summon up her image in my mind until I saw you that day on the way to Jamestown. You were frightened when you saw me staring at you, but I was struck dumb. It was like seeing my mother’s spirit come to life.”

  “Walker—I hope I may call you that, Walks Between Worlds is such a long name—where had your mother come from? What part of England, I mean,” Mary amended, not wishing to sound as if she were doubting him.

  Walker shrugged and plucked a blade of grass, crushing it between his fingers. His gaze drifted off, beyond the trees to a bird wheeling high above. It spread its wings, momentarily blocking out the sun.

  “The Powhatan are not my people,” he finally said. “I’m not of their tribe. I come from a place in the north, many days’ walk from here. The Powhatan welcomed me and adopted me into their tribe, but I am different, an oddity. Just as I was among my own people.”

  Mary remained silent, enthralled by Walker’s soft voice.

  “Many summers ago, long before I was born, English ships came to a place called Roanoke. It was the ancestral land of the Croatoan, my people, but they didn’t make war on the English. They were curious about them and wanted to study their ways. The ships brought men, women, and children, and they built a settlement and tried to make a life in a wilderness to which they weren’t accustomed. They struggled against hunger and sickness. The Croatoan offered the English their help. They brought them corn to plant and showed the men how to set traps and hunt, but the settlement was not thriving. They did not try hard enough. They waited for their God to help them,” Walker said bitterly.

  “What happened to them?” Mary asked. She’d been told that Virginia was the first and only English colony in the New World, but what Walker was telling her sounded genuine, although she couldn’t imagine that England would send ships full of women and children. The Virginia Company had sent out only strong, skilled men at first, and the colony had remained without women for over a decade.

  “No one knows. Croatoan scouts reported that they hadn’t seen smoke coming from the settlement in many days, and the chief sent a scouting party to investigate and offer help if it was needed. When the scouts walked into the settlement, everyone was gone. The houses had been knocked down and the well was covered. No possessions had been left. The scouts decided that a ship from England must have come to take the people away, and were glad for them. This land was no place for them. They didn’t have what it took to survive,” Walker said.

  Mary stayed silent, afraid to interrupt his tale. He seemed lost in a private memory, and his voice was barely audible when he continued.

  “One of the scouts carved the word ‘Croatoan’ into the fencepost. He was happy to see the English go. The scouts scoured the site, searching for anything that might be useful. The English had sharp blades and good cooking pots, but there was nothing. They were about to leave when they heard crying coming from below ground.”

  “Someone had been buried alive?” Mary cried, sucking in her breath when she realized she’d interrupted Walker’s account. Walker shook his head.

  “The English had dug a hole in the ground to store food. They thought it’d last longer down there. The hole was covered with a wooden door. One of the scouts pulled up the door and found a woman and child inside. The woman was insensible, but the child was frightened and crying, begging his mother to wake up.”

  “Why
were they left behind?” Mary asked.

  Walker shrugged and grew quiet, staring into the distance as if he could see that fateful day, despite the fact that he hadn’t been born yet.

  “Please, go on,” Mary pleaded.

  “The scouts helped the child out of the hole and carried the woman to a canoe. They brought her back to the village.”

  “Did she come to?”

  “Yes, but she was terrified and couldn’t communicate with anyone since she didn’t speak the language. She refused to eat and rocked back and forth for days, moaning to herself and staring at nothing. After a time, she began to take a little food, but still wouldn’t respond, not even to hand gestures. She just stared into the fire or slept.”

  “What happened to her?” Mary asked.

  “After many moons, she began to adjust to life in the village. She helped the other women and learned our tongue. When she gave up all hope of England, she was given a new name.” Walker said something strange in his tongue.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Sad eyes.”

  “What was her name before, in England?”

  “Elizabeth Viccars. And her boy’s name was Ambrose. After the seasons changed many times, she took a husband from among the village braves. Their first child died on the day of its birth. I was born the following spring. My mother died when I had eight summers.”

  “What became of her other child?” Mary asked.

  “He grew up, took a wife, and had many sons,” Walker replied. “He’s my brother, and he’s still with the Croatoan.”

  “Is that why you came here? To see the English?”

  Walker nodded. “My mother retained her native tongue. She spoke to me in English and told me stories of her homeland. She sang strange songs. She said it’d benefit me to speak the English tongue when more men came across the sea. When I heard the English had built a settlement on Powhatan land, I came to see for myself. I wanted to learn about that part of my spirit.”

  “And have you?”

  “The English are a mystery to me.”