With a few last words that he’d see them in the morning, he turned to go.
“Soon we shall have a few more seated around our own table,” his aunt said as he helped her into a pony cart.
More than the Hopewells, aye. A stranger of a nurse. A stranger of a son. The prospect lent to his loose ends the nearer he drew to the unknown date of their arrival. Uncomfortable as he was making small talk, shepherding children, and entertaining guests, how would he manage? Though his aunt was elated at having more than Ruby and Jett for company, he held fast to the habit of answering to no one, of working through meals and into the night if warranted. The world as he knew it would soon change. Again.
Lord, help Thou me.
20
Truly, heartfelt conversations required no words.
Pondering it, Selah left the churchyard to walk home as Xander and his aunt went another direction. Only Father rode, the two-mile stretch too much in his recovering state. He plodded along on his old gelding, an amiable creature that preferred a slow walk. They all kept a companionable silence, and Selah looked back but once.
As did Xander.
The smile she couldn’t hide she felt to her toes. Proof she wasn’t conjuring castles in the air. Were they not going to extraordinary lengths to hide their unprofessed feelings while forgetting their eyes had a language all their own?
Dismay and delight did a bittersweet dance inside her. Dismay that she could be so easily swayed by the bearded tobacco lord whose work habits and earthly strivings she disdained. Delight that love, even unconfessed, might have come to them at last, triumphing over the struggles and heartaches of years.
Shay trailed behind with her, a telling light in his eyes.“Sister, why are you whistling? ’Tis unbecoming of a lady, some say.”
The next morn, brazen sunlight beat down upon James Towne as two hundred or more English and Naturals assembled on the grassy common. Xander’s smallest shallop was but one of many, the Powhatans’ vessels foremost and far more colorful. Selah saw Cecily and others she knew at a distance, but with the crowds so thick, a fleeting glance was all that could be had.
“So, my beloved son, are you prepared for this momentous day?” Ustis’s voice held a beat of regret, at least to Selah, as they took their places near the English officials.
“Aye, Father. I shall do you proud.” Shay’s gaze ricocheted to Candace. “Mother, are you ready for Watseka?”
“Indeed. We must have someone to replace you, even if she wears a skirt.”
Shay laughed, no skittishness written upon his boyish features. “I shall miss you all. But when I return, I shall fill your empty ears with adventures!”
A hush came over the assembly as a procession of Powhatans came up from the shore. Every eye seemed riveted to Chief Opechancanough, who rarely left his own territory. Formidable and half a foot taller than the tallest colonist, he was marvelously made, covered by a cloak of feathers that fell to his knees. His sharp features were paint blackened and slashed red with puccoon, a valuable plant gotten farther south. His aging face held a thousand stories.
All that Mattachanna had once confided returned to Selah now. Hard to fathom that this man, the emperor ofthe Powhatan nation, was Mattachanna’s kin. Perhaps he wouldn’t look so fearsome if not flanked by so many werowances and weroansquas, those favored attendants with special standing. If fear could be felt, it was here, weighting so many solemn white faces in the chief’s presence.
A silent prayer rose from Selah’s chary heart. For Shay’s and the other children’s protection. For peace. For the success of this exchange that seemed so fraught with risk.
At the crux of the ceremonies was Xander, first to greet the dark delegation as head interpreter. Once the Naturals assembled, his English words, when translated, were still cloaked in native imagery.
“We desire to open a path between nations, to remove the brush and briars, to enact a peace that will last as long as the sun provides warmth, the trees give shade, and the rivers run with water.”
Beside Governor Harvey’s stiff self-importance, Xander’s apparent ease and eloquence were jarring. Selah felt naught but shame as the officials oozed an unseemly arrogance, which had surely sent her father upriver as much as James Towne’s marshes and miasmas. Unlike them, Xander showed no impatience for the long speeches or the elaborate gift giving, nor the sun’s heat as it climbed overhead. Beside him was Meihtawk, an especially welcome sight, who came regularly to their shore.
Though a great many warriors were present, there were few Indian women. Those Selah did see were at the back of the throng. Wives, perhaps, as the chief had several from nearly every Indian nation. That custom scandalized all Virginia, though it consolidated Powhatan power.
Somewhere in the throng were the Powhatans’ peace children.Earlier, Laurent had examined all the youth inside the church, both English and Indian, deeming them fit. Reverend Midwinter had led in prayer. None wanted illness or death on either side. Now, standing beside the governor and his officials, the physic’s searching gaze settled on Selah.
Though the day was hot as Hades, his scrutiny sent a chill clean through her. To escape, she stepped behind a burly Virginian.
The chief was speaking now as Xander interpreted, all attention on the English peace children. “I lift you up from this place and set you down again at my dwelling place...”
At last the Powhatan children appeared. A low murmur passed through the gawking colonists. Selah softened as her gaze fastened on the sole girl. This must be Watseka. She was by far the youngest, perhaps six or seven years of age, and clad in the whitest doeskin. The fringed garment draped over one small shoulder and fell to her knees. On her feet were equally white moccasins embellished with shells and glass beads. A stout braid dangled down her back, dark as tarred rope. Her oval face was missing a smile. She seemed rather awed by her newfound circumstances, or perhaps confused by all the fuss.
Governor Harvey was speaking now, and Selah strained to hear his clipped English words. Something about opening a school for Indian youth. Many pounds of sterling were being raised by English churches to teach Indian children useful trades and train them as missionaries to their own people.
When the ceremonies ended, a group of goodwives rushed the Hopewells, nearly bowling Candace over in their eagerness.
“What a burdensome task you’ve taken on, you Hopewells.I say train the little urchin in spiritual matters foremost, with the Bible writ large, as well as the psalter.”
