Jamestown (The Keepers of the Ring) by Angela Hunt, Angela Elwell Hunt Page A
Authors: Angela Hunt, Angela Elwell Hunt
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blade through the wounded bark of an oak. “And under it, I’ll mark a ‘G’ for Gilda. And then an ‘N’ for Noshi—”
“Why?” Gilda asked, thrusting her hands behind her back. Fallon shrugged. “So people will know we’ve been here. So if anyone should happen to come here from up river—”
“Mama and Papa?” Her blue eyes lit with hope, and Fallon felt a stab of guilt pierce his heart. ‘Twasn’t fair to encourage her to yearn for what could never be, but how were they to go on without dreams? In his deepest heart, Fallon prayed that Rowtag had survived, mayhap he was recovering his strength somewhere, and soon he would come down river to find them.
“I don’t know who might come,” he said, sheathing his knife in his belt. He knelt beside Gilda and took her hand. “I don’t really know why I’m doing this. But if an Englishman sees our marks, he’ll recognize the alphabet and know that we were here. They’ll look for us, Gilda, and take us back where we belong.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending, and Fallon sighed. Where did they belong? They weren’t English, in fact Fallon had never even seen an English ship, nor were they savages like the Indians of Ritanoe. But of all the towns and cities in the world, surely there was another like Ocanahonan, where men cared for each other and worshipped God.
“Why don’t you help me?” Fallon said, searching for a stone. He found one and put it in Gilda’s hand. “We’ll carve a cross on this oak tree, you see, and anyone who sees it will know that we believe in the Christ, and that we’re not heathen savages.”
“What’s a savage?” Gilda said, energetically marking the tree.
Fallon shook his head and began another carving.
To the villagers of Ritanoe, the heat of early summer signaled the beginning of the harvest. The first sowing of maize had yielded a bountiful crop. The corn was gathered and carried in parfleches to the village where it was roasted over a slow-burning fire, then stored in clay pots buried in the earth.
Noshi and Gilda joined in the harvest, too, gathering herbs and berries. When their small baskets were full, Fallon sent them ahead to the village while he walked behind in the trail. With every day that passed he became more and more convinced that they could not stay in this place; the difference between civilized Ocanahonan and primitive, heathen Ritanoe was simply too great. His parents had charged him with the care of the children, and as a godparent of sorts he was to watch over their souls. But how could he do so when Noshi yearned to join in the heathen dances and Gilda was fascinated by the ritual chants and charms of the conjurors?
He did not dare hope that the English would come again. Throughout his entire life he had heard stories of the great man called Walter Raleigh who had sent John White to establish a colony on the island of Roanoke. John White had left for England, promising to return with supplies and additional colonists, and the remaining settlers had migrated to a safer location upon the river Chowan. A lookout had been posted on Croatoan Island, but the months of waiting stretched into two decades with nary a sign of John White or an English return. As the years passed, the English led their Indian neighbors to believe in the one true God, and eventually the City of Raleigh became the village of Ocanahonan.
Could the English come again? Fallon let Gilda and Noshi scamper ahead while he sat in the shade of an oak to ponder the question. Mayhap if he took the children and traveled to the sea, he could find an answer. He had heard stories of the Spaniards, another people from across the great ocean, and though the people of Ocanahonan seemed to hold the Spanish in fear and contempt, still, mayhap their society would be better for the children than an Indian village—
A sudden flurry of feathers distracted Fallon’s thinking. A flock of crows that had roosted in the trees above him
“Why?” Gilda asked, thrusting her hands behind her back. Fallon shrugged. “So people will know we’ve been here. So if anyone should happen to come here from up river—”
“Mama and Papa?” Her blue eyes lit with hope, and Fallon felt a stab of guilt pierce his heart. ‘Twasn’t fair to encourage her to yearn for what could never be, but how were they to go on without dreams? In his deepest heart, Fallon prayed that Rowtag had survived, mayhap he was recovering his strength somewhere, and soon he would come down river to find them.
“I don’t know who might come,” he said, sheathing his knife in his belt. He knelt beside Gilda and took her hand. “I don’t really know why I’m doing this. But if an Englishman sees our marks, he’ll recognize the alphabet and know that we were here. They’ll look for us, Gilda, and take us back where we belong.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending, and Fallon sighed. Where did they belong? They weren’t English, in fact Fallon had never even seen an English ship, nor were they savages like the Indians of Ritanoe. But of all the towns and cities in the world, surely there was another like Ocanahonan, where men cared for each other and worshipped God.
“Why don’t you help me?” Fallon said, searching for a stone. He found one and put it in Gilda’s hand. “We’ll carve a cross on this oak tree, you see, and anyone who sees it will know that we believe in the Christ, and that we’re not heathen savages.”
“What’s a savage?” Gilda said, energetically marking the tree.
Fallon shook his head and began another carving.
To the villagers of Ritanoe, the heat of early summer signaled the beginning of the harvest. The first sowing of maize had yielded a bountiful crop. The corn was gathered and carried in parfleches to the village where it was roasted over a slow-burning fire, then stored in clay pots buried in the earth.
Noshi and Gilda joined in the harvest, too, gathering herbs and berries. When their small baskets were full, Fallon sent them ahead to the village while he walked behind in the trail. With every day that passed he became more and more convinced that they could not stay in this place; the difference between civilized Ocanahonan and primitive, heathen Ritanoe was simply too great. His parents had charged him with the care of the children, and as a godparent of sorts he was to watch over their souls. But how could he do so when Noshi yearned to join in the heathen dances and Gilda was fascinated by the ritual chants and charms of the conjurors?
He did not dare hope that the English would come again. Throughout his entire life he had heard stories of the great man called Walter Raleigh who had sent John White to establish a colony on the island of Roanoke. John White had left for England, promising to return with supplies and additional colonists, and the remaining settlers had migrated to a safer location upon the river Chowan. A lookout had been posted on Croatoan Island, but the months of waiting stretched into two decades with nary a sign of John White or an English return. As the years passed, the English led their Indian neighbors to believe in the one true God, and eventually the City of Raleigh became the village of Ocanahonan.
Could the English come again? Fallon let Gilda and Noshi scamper ahead while he sat in the shade of an oak to ponder the question. Mayhap if he took the children and traveled to the sea, he could find an answer. He had heard stories of the Spaniards, another people from across the great ocean, and though the people of Ocanahonan seemed to hold the Spanish in fear and contempt, still, mayhap their society would be better for the children than an Indian village—
A sudden flurry of feathers distracted Fallon’s thinking. A flock of crows that had roosted in the trees above him
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