Roanoke (The Keepers of the Ring) by Angela Hunt, Angela Elwell Hunt Page B

lower hold is truly vile. There’s no light, and the boy couldn’t breathe—”
    “You were good to help him,” Thomas Colman said, studying her in an oddly detached manner. He said nothing for a long moment, then smiled and lifted a wet hand to indicate the storm. “This tempest is a fright, but we can bear this, and worse, if God be for us.”
    Jocelyn nodded and shivered, wrapping her arms about herself, too exhausted to move. In the dim gray light she saw Thomas Colman ’s eyes crinkle as he gave her a confident smile. “I may owe you an apology, Miss White, if I’ve made you uncomfortable in the last few days. It seems your uncle has been playing the matchmaker.”
    Jocelyn bit back a burst of hysterical laughter. How could he think of such things in the midst of this gale? But his calm attitude soothed her; he might as well have said, I apologize for stepping on your foot during the waltz . Perhaps her fears were overblown; surely seamen weathered storms like this every week.
    She nodded a polite acknowledgement and waited for a moment of relative silence in which to make her reply. The sibilant whispers around her eased, and for a moment the hold seemed to grow brighter and the air still. Like the inhalation of breath, the storm quieted, the howling wind paused, the standing water on the deck floor shimmered in an unearthly gray light. She smiled at Thomas Colman, about to tell him that Audrey had played matchmaker, too, but suddenly lightning flashed, thunder cracked, and a fresh onslaught of rain slammed onto the deck above their heads. ‘Twas the most horrific and powerful sound Jocelyn had ever heard, and the ship shivered under the sound.
    “God help us!” Jocelyn felt the cry escape her lips, and her arms reached out and clutched at empty air as the ship rolled in the sea. Tumbling across the deck, she saw young George and his father clinging tightly to each other as the ship twisted and fell against a wall of water that spewed forth from the openings above and broadside.
    Her fellow passengers toppled from their places like toys caught in a rain gutter. She would have slid helplessly, too, but suddenly she felt the strength of iron about her. In an instant of blinding white lightning she looked up, half expecting to see an angel sent to escort her to heaven. But ‘twas not an angel’s face above her—’twas that of Thomas Colman. One of his arms was tight about her waist, the other securely held the pole of the mizzenmast.
    And in the fury of the storm, when it appeared that at any minute the ship would be tossed from the hand of God to the ocean’s murky floor, she didn’t think to protest.

     
     
     
     
     
    Nine
     
     
    J ohn White brushed a pile of damp maps and sketches from the bench in his cabin and made a seat for Eleanor. Ananias, his countenance more troubled and worried than usual, nervously stroked his wife’s hand. “We thought our lives were over,” Ananias said, his wide forehead dotted with perspiration even in the cool aftermath of the storm. “I’ve never been through anything like that storm.”
    “Ah, I love a storm at sea,” White answered, thankful that his passengers had not seen his own signs of panic. “ ‘Tis the might of God turned loose afresh in an echo of the creation. What, Eleanor, were you truly frightened? Think you that I should bring you up just to let you perish at sea? Never fear. This storm was but a thunderhead, though a nasty one, I’ll warrant.”
    “ Everyone was frightened.” Ananias lifted his chin defensively. “‘Twas horrible below.”
    “Soft, Ananias,” White warned, “speak not of fear or you ’ll breed dissension among our planters. Strengthen your resolve and keep your head high, son, for you are a leader among these people and they must not see anything but strength in you.”
    “Papa, what if the baby comes during such a storm?” Eleanor asked, her eyes wide. Her dark hair hung wet about her face and magnified the