The Heart's Stronghold

by Amanda Barratt

  “Have a seat,” Smith told John.

  Captain Newport extended his hand to John. The other men in the room were Newport’s first mate and the four members of Smith’s council. John had been asked to be on the council but had refused his nomination on several occasions. He much preferred taking orders instead of giving them. It helped him to sleep at night knowing he wasn’t making decisions that might ultimately lead to more deaths.

  “Unfortunately, Newport brought some unsettling orders,” Smith said to John before he was settled into his chair. “They are placing demands upon us that we cannot possibly meet.”

  “I’m certain you’re under great pressure,” John said respectfully. “But that’s not why I’ve come.”

  Smith’s eyes grew hard as he seemed to prepare himself for yet another blow. “What do you need?”

  “I am concerned about the woman.”

  Smith slammed his fist onto his walnut desk, and the other men jumped. “I have more important things on my mind.”

  “But she’ll be the death of us, I’m convinced,” John said. “It’s hard enough to get the men to do their work. With another distraction amongst us, it will be almost impossible.”

  “Newport has brought letters from the company demanding we fill the hold of his ship with gold or the lost colonists of Roanoke.” Smith lifted one of the offensive letters and let it float back to the surface of his desk. “At the very least, they want proof of an inland route to the Pacific Ocean. Since we have none of these things, they are demanding an account of our efforts here. I’ve tried to tell them it will take time, but they need money to pay for this venture—and they need the money to come from Virginia.”

  “I tried to tell them myself,” Newport added, “but they do not understand what it’s like here.”

  “Since we have no gold, I plan to fill the hold with cedar shingles,” Smith told John. “It’s not what they want, but at least they can sell them and recoup some of their cost. I want you to put thirty of the new arrivals to work felling the logs and making the shingles. We must have enough to fill the cargo hold before Captain Newport is ready to leave.”

  It wasn’t a request, but a demand, and one John was willing to oversee. They would have to work night and day to fill the hold, but it could be done. “Of course.”

  “We also need more shelter for the new arrivals to live in,” Smith continued. “See that you put twenty men to the task of erecting a two-story structure about thirty feet long and ten feet wide.”

  John stared at Smith. “Where? There is no room.”

  Smith rose from his desk and strode to the window to look out. “It’s past time we add on to the fort.”

  The council members looked among themselves with questions in their eyes.

  “I want to add an addition to the eastern side.” Smith turned and met John’s gaze. “Extend the palisade about sixty feet from the southeastern bulwark and about forty feet from the northern bulwark. It will create a five-sided fort, instead of three-sided, and will add enough room for us to build more housing.”

  John nodded. “Now that we have two hundred men in the fort, we should have no trouble getting everything accomplished.”

  Smith sighed. “You’ll only have about eighty men to do all this work.”

  “Sir?”

  “Newport and I will be taking about a hundred and twenty with us to visit Chief Powhatan at first light.”

  “What?” John looked from Newport back to Smith, incredulity marring his voice. “Why?”

  Captain Newport appeared exhausted and probably wouldn’t get any rest for many weeks to come. “King James has requested that we make Chief Powhatan an honorary member of royalty. He has sent several gifts, including a golden crown and a four-poster bed. He has asked that I deliver it to him immediately and in person.”

  Smith’s complete disdain for the idea was evident in his scowl. He paced across the small room looking out one window and then the next. “It’s a ridiculous gesture and will probably anger the chief—not to mention it’s a waste of our time and energy.”

  “I have brought a three-piece barge to transfer these goods up the James River to the chief,” Newport said to John. “It’s being assembled as we speak.”

  “We could have used the space in the cargo hold for more supplies,” Smith said with contempt. “Instead, the king sends a barge and a four-poster bed.”

  Newport held his peace, though he looked as if he wanted to make a retort. The men generally got along, but John sensed Smith’s impatience with Newport. The captain was the only liaison between the colony and those back in England. Smith sent letters and directions with Newport, but he clearly was not being heard or understood.

  John hated to bring up the young lady again, but he couldn’t hold his tongue. “And what of the woman? How will we keep her from being a distraction?”

  President Smith stopped his pacing and leveled a glare at John. “If you are so concerned, I will make you personally responsible for her. See that she is safe and that she does not keep the other men from their work.” Smith waved John away. “Now go see that my orders are fulfilled.”

  John just stared. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for the only woman in the colony.

  “She’s a kindhearted young lady,” Newport said to John with deep affection in his voice. “She won’t be any trouble.”

  With a groan, John pushed open the door and left the president’s quarters. He wished he could believe Captain Newport, but his experience with women had proved that there was no young lady exempt from trouble.

  Chapter 2

  She’d been in the fort for only one day, and already she felt as if she had met all two hundred men who lived there. Of course, there were those who had come on the supply ship with her, but she and Mistress Forest had spent most of their time in their cabin, and Anne had met only a handful of them before arriving in Virginia.

  “May I carry your water for you, my lady?” one of the men asked Anne when she stepped outside Master Caldwell’s rooms and into the dying light of day. Her cheeks warmed at being called “my lady.” She was anything but a lady.

  “Would you like me to fetch more water for you?” another asked with a wide, toothless grin.

  Anne held a bucket of dirty water she had used to wash all the beautiful wooden surfaces in the home. “No thank you,” she said as kindly as possible.

  “May I walk with you to the well?” asked a third, this one with hair as yellow as the sun.

  The fort’s well was only a stone’s throw from Master Caldwell’s door, but Anne just smiled, not wanting to be rude. “Of course.”

  Four other men appeared at Anne’s side, their dirty hair combed and their faces shining, while a dozen others watched from the shade of one of the buildings.

  “Pardon me,” Anne said to two of the men standing beside her. When they moved, she tossed the water into the dusty yard.

  “You are a sight for my sore eyes, Anne Burras,” one of the men said to her, his eyes aglow. “I’m so tired of smelly men and rotten food, I could vomit.”

  Anne tried to appear unaffected, while inside her stomach turned at the thought. She had tried to go about her business as President Smith had advised, yet every time she turned around, there was a man at her elbow. Even while she worked in the cottage, as she had come to think of Master Caldwell’s rooms, she had looked up to find men standing at the windows watching her.

  Anne did not want to encourage these men, so she simply tried to ignore them as best she could.

  “Would you marry me, Anne Burras?” one of the other men inquired.

  “I already asked,” said the first who had come to her door.

  “What did she say?” asked the other, as if she were not standing there.

  He sighed, his voice dripping with heartache. “No.”

  Anne started toward the well, her wash bucket now empty. But before she could reach the wooden structure, three more men beat her to it and start
ed to turn the crank to bring the bucket up from the water below.

  “I am quite capable,” Anne protested.

  “You’re no bigger than a flea,” said a short man with wiry whiskers. “This is hardly nothing for me, but it’d be too much for you, I think.”

  Trying to keep her patience in check, Anne allowed the man to assist her. She had never had help a day in her life, and she found she didn’t enjoy it as much as she’d always thought she would.

  “Everyone back to your work,” growled a man as he strode toward the group.

  It was the carpenter she had come to learn was John Layton.

  The group of men scurried away like mice running from a hungry cat.

  Goodman Layton stood a head taller than everyone else and it was clear he had some sort of authority over the men.

  Anne paused, quietly transfixed by the mountain of a man before her.

  “Captain Newport promised me you wouldn’t be trouble,” he said with a scowl on his handsome face.

  “Trouble?” Anne asked, confused by his accusation. How had she caused trouble?

  “The men.” He waved at the whole lot of them, most having not gone far. “Winter will be upon us before we know it, and they all have work to do. They cannot be toting your water nor doing your chores.”

  “I didn’t ask—”

  “Leave them be, or I’ll have to put you on house arrest.”

  Her mouth fell open at the threat. “I have no wish—”

  “Just do your work and let them do theirs.”

  Indignation rose in her chest. “You are making false accusations and are not allowing me to defend—”

  “I have no time for your defense.” He took a step closer to her, and she had to look up into his face. His blue eyes were more startling than she recalled, especially now with fire in their depths. He could only be in his midtwenties, but the hard lines around his mouth and eyes spoke of experience well beyond his years. “I am one of the few men who have survived this place, and I have done it by sheer willpower. There is no nonsense to be had here, no time for debate, argument, or frivolity. We either work or we die.”

  His words hit their mark and she swallowed hard. “I do not wish to die.”

  “Nor do I. And I do not wish for these men to perish either. So they must do their work.”

  “But that’s the trouble,” she said, a bit of spark returning to her voice, willing him to understand. “I am not encouraging these men to do my chores. On the contrary, they will not let me alone.”

  The man turned and faced the others who were still listening. “May it be heard,” he said loudly. “Anne Burras is not to be bothered or harassed. Leave her to her work. If she be in need of assistance, she will come to me.”

  Several men cursed, and a few spat on the ground. Others simply turned and walked away, their shoulders bent.

  “And who might you be?” Anne finally asked, though she already knew. “Whom should I inquire after, should I need assistance?”

  He wore no hat on his curly brown hair, and his clothing was clean and well fitted. He wore dark breeches, tall stockings, a linen shirt, and a leather vest. Though he was not dressed as well as Master Caldwell, he still bore himself like a gentleman when he bowed before her. “John Layton, at your service.”

  Anne didn’t know why heat warmed her cheeks or pleasure swirled within her stomach. The feeling was entirely unfamiliar, and though she enjoyed it, she did not understand it.

  John straightened and met her gaze.

  The feelings only intensified, so she took hold of her bucket, which had been filled just before John approached, and clutched it in her two hands. “I—I must see to our evening meal.”

  Without another word, she walked away from John Layton, toward the cottage. When she turned to close the door, she looked back to where he had been standing and found he was already gone.

  Daniel knelt before the hearth and blew on the coals to catch the kindling on fire.

  Anne closed the door, thankful for the relative privacy of the room.

  “Anne?” Master Caldwell called from his chamber.

  “Aye, sir.” She set her bucket on the table and walked to the open door.

  A large four-poster bed with dark red curtains stood in one corner, a desk in the other. Master Caldwell sat at his desk, a quill in one hand, a potato in the other.

  Before him on the desk was a pile of potatoes and a small sack of corn.

  “We will have several guests for supper this evening,” he said without looking up at her. “Friends of mine who have requested an audience with you.”

  Anne frowned, recalling John Layton’s threat, as well as President Smith’s warning. Would they be angry if Master Caldwell allowed men to visit her? But who was she to question her master or tell him what he could and could not do in his own home?

  He finally looked up at her, a frown between his dark eyebrows. “Do you understand?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I expect you to make them a nice meal. Daniel will fetch you sturgeon, turtle, or oyster to make a stew. He will also go to the storehouse and get our daily ration of corn, which you can use to make corn bread or mush. There might also be some root vegetables to be had from the supply ship.”

  Anne’s gaze drifted to the potatoes and corn on the desk.

  Master Caldwell shifted his position to try and shield them from her view. “You will leave this food alone.”

  Nodding, Anne took a step backward and returned to the main room of the cottage.

  “And close the door,” he called out after her.

  She did as he commanded, curious about the food he had on his desk. There was no other food stored in his home. All the food in the colony was kept in the storehouse and rationed out by the storehouse keeper each day.

  Daniel rose quickly from his place near the crackling fire. “I can see about an onion if you’d like. There aren’t many in the fort, but the keeper might give me one if I said it was for you.” His gaunt cheeks filled with color.

  It was evident that the young boy wished to please her, but she didn’t want special treatment. “I can make do without one.”

  The look of pleasure slipped from his young face, and Anne’s heart broke just a little.

  “Unless,” she said quickly, “it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  Without another word, he left the cottage so fast he forgot to close the door behind him.

  Standing outside the cottage were half a dozen men. They snapped to attention when she walked to the door.

  How would these men get anything done if they lounged about waiting for a glimpse of her all day?

  More importantly, how would she convince John Layton that she wasn’t encouraging them?

  The sun peeked over the eastern horizon as John stood at the riverside gate and watched the barge move upriver with Captain Newport, President Smith, the priest, the physician, and over a hundred other men on board. Almost everyone had come to send them off. There was no way to know when the barge would return. After they delivered their gifts to the chief, President Smith planned to spend time exploring further upriver to see if they could find a passage to the Pacific Ocean, which the Indians claimed was just over a small mountain range to the west.

  Now that the barge had departed, the remaining men stood about talking to one another.

  It was time to get busy, and no one would be exempt from the work.

  “Everyone to your posts!” John called to the men. “Thatcher’s group will head to the eastern tip of the island and fell cedar trees, Hanover’s group should start digging holes for the eastern palisade addition, and Meacham’s men are in charge of preparing the site for the new living quarters.”

  No one seemed to hear John’s commands, or if they did, they simply ignored him.

  Anger rippled under his collar.

  “You’ll only frustrate them further with your ire,” William Cole said to John, coming up alongside his friend. “Your only hope is
to convince Caldwell to put them to work.”

  Edward Caldwell stood just inside the fort’s gates, his pristine white collar like a beacon for an Indian’s arrow. Though he and President Smith did not always see eye to eye, Smith had placed Caldwell in command of the fort until his return. John was convinced the only reason for Smith’s decision was because Caldwell was well liked among the men and would have the most influence over them.

  It couldn’t be because Caldwell was known as a hard worker; the opposite was actually true. He was a gentleman adventurer, the third-born son of a lord. His wealth in England had left him completely bereft of skills, and he was good for almost nothing in Virginia, except eating precious stores of food. But he did have a charismatic personality, and if John could convince him to rally the men, they might fulfill President Smith’s orders before his return.

  But before John could approach Caldwell, another distraction drew his attention.

  Anne Burras appeared outside Caldwell’s house with a basket of wet laundry, which she carried to the clothesline on her hip. She wore a dark burgundy gown, which was snug at the waist and full at the hips. Upon her head she wore a white cap to secure her dark brown hair, but tendrils escaped and blew in the wind, softening her already attractive features.

  Without speaking, about half of the men moved in her direction and made a semicircle around her to watch her work.

  “I wonder how long it will be before other women arrive,” William mused as he crossed his arms and stood transfixed by the woman.

  “This one is one too many, in my opinion,” John said through gritted teeth.

  Caldwell noticed the commotion Anne had caused, and he too turned toward his maid. But instead of breaking up the group who had gathered, he quietly moved among them, his hands outstretched.

  Frowning, John left William and crossed the fort to speak to Caldwell. He must do something and soon, or nothing would get done. They didn’t have a moment to spare.