The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book II
Chapter 1: A Sad State of Affairs
"You!" Chief Powhatan seethed, releasing his breathless daughter. He pointed accusingly at the only white man in the room. "What took you so long to bring her back here?!"
John Rolfe yelped and shrunk behind Uttamatomakkin. "Well I-I…"
"Father!" Pocahontas protested. "It was not his fault."
"What happened to your hair, Pocahontas?" Mattachanna blurted, running her fingers through her younger sister's short locks. "Your long beautiful hair. It's all gone."
Pocahontas simpered at her. "That's a long story. Where is Nakoma? I want to see her."
"You will have to wait until the storm lets up, Daughter. Nakoma and her husband are in their own wigwam," Chief Powhatan informed Pocahontas, turning her back to him. He took her shoulders and shook her gently but firmly. "Where were you? What happened? When your ship was a week late, the settlers ensured me everything was likely just fine. But then John Smith came and we started to think that…" he drilled her.
Pocahontas gasped. "John Smith came?!"
"Yes!" Powhatan charged. "His own ship left London a week after yours and he was stunned to find you weren't here. Uttamatomakkin was with him. I collapsed in grief knowing something ghastly must've happened! What happened?! You must tell me!"
Pocahontas raised a brow. "What was he doing here? What did he want? I thought he was planning to go on a new voyage to some far-off place that he hadn't seen before."
Mattachanna frowned. "John Smith never did get to tell us why he had come originally because we were all so distracted by the discovery of your disappearance, Pocahontas. After he came to see Father and found you were missing, he swore to us he would search for you to the ends of the earth. We haven't seen him since. He's off gallivanting around the world somewhere looking for you!" the older woman said with great fervor.
Pocahontas gaped in dismay. There had to be some way to inform Smith that she was okay. She glanced over her shoulder to John Rolfe. "Not to worry, Pocahontas," he chimed, noticing her troubled look. "I'll send Smith a letter forthwith. He's bound to stop by London at some point for supplies. When he does, he'll find my letter there waiting for him. Besides, I've got to write to the king and queen to let them know what happened. And my own family too. If my parents ever find out that our ship was lost at sea, I am certain that they would both have heart attacks," he surmised with a worried chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "With any luck, they'll receive my letter first."
Pocahontas appeared relieved. "Thank you, John! Please do that right away."
"I'll leave for Jamestown as soon as the storm lets up," John Rolfe dutifully replied.
Pocahontas's eyes widened at the declaration. "John, no! You should stay until morning. You must be just as exhausted as I am from traveling all day," she expressed worriedly.
"I doubt the storm will let up before dawn," Powhatan added. "Follow me to my quarters, all of you. I want to hear every detail of what happened." He turned and started back in the direction of his personal dwelling, ushering Pocahontas to come along with him.
The younger Powhatan princess walked alongside her father and the others followed. They were greeted in each room by Pocahontas's brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and in-laws. All were overjoyed to discover that she was alive and well. The crowd followed them back to the chief's chamber, which served as a communal meeting place for all members of the extended family. Once they arrived in Powhatan's neck of the longhouse, Pocahontas flew into the arms of her other maternal aunt and stepmother Sooleawa. The woman dropped the basket she was holding to embrace Pocahontas. "Aunt, I've missed you so much!" Pocahontas exclaimed, squeezing the older woman tightly.
"Pocahontas, dear child!" Sooleawa blurted in their native tongue. "You're alive! I knew you were alive. Your poor father had his doubts, but I knew. Oh, I knew!"
All of Powhatan and Sooleawa's young children were gathered around the central hearth. They jumped to their feet and rushed in to embrace their big sister—with the exception of Chepi, who was only a year old. The baby crawled over on hands and knees, babbling.
John Rolfe was taken aback at just how large Pocahontas's family really was. The Powhatan princess had told him about the size of it, but the true magnitude never hit home until he was able to witness it for himself firsthand. He waded through the crowd to a corner of the room so that he would be out of the way as Pocahontas enjoyed her reunion with all her closest family members. Chief Powhatan walked up to his throne and cleared his throat to get everyone's attention after a few minutes. The clan quieted down instantly, deeply respectful of their patriarch. "Everyone, please be seated. Adults on the benches, children on the floor. You all know the routine. Pocahontas, come forward," he announced in Powhatan, holding out a hand to her. She approached him.
Pocahontas knew it would be wise to get the unpleasant business out of the way first. Her eyes perused the crowd. The only fair face present, John Rolfe was easy to spot. She pointed to him and used a finger to beckon him over. Every eye turned to him as he walked up to Pocahontas, keeping some distance between them. "Father, cheskchamay," Pocahontas began in Powhatan, "I know you all wish to hear about what happened to me during my time in London and afterward, but I think it is slightly more urgent that John Rolfe and I find out what happened between our people and the settlers earlier. We have been very worried because we heard about the rising conflict shortly after we had arrived in Mattica." She repeated herself in English for the diplomat's sake.
Chief Powhatan appeared slightly surprised, but he nodded and conceded to the request. John Rolfe leaned forward. "Most importantly of all, sir, was anyone hurt?" he inquired.
"Yes, was anyone hurt?" Pocahontas asked. In response to the question, Powhatan's face fell and Pocahontas swallowed a lump in her throat. "People were hurt. Who, Father?"
"Your brother Keme," Sooleawa replied, placing a hand on the somber chief's arm. "He's not dead but badly hurt. When the white men came, he tried to stand up to them. They made an example of him by shooting him in the leg. That was when the women handed over three hundred bushels of corn. They did not want to see anyone else get hurt. And now we are afraid the settlers have been emboldened and will come back for more later."
Pocahontas could not believe her ears. Keme was her dearest brother. Close to her in age, they had grown up playing together. As her older brother, he was almost like her guiding spirit before she had met Meeko and Flit. "Where is he? I must go see him!"
Powhatan ran a hand over his head, deeply stressed. "He's in the medicine hut. You cannot go to him now. Wait until after the storm. Kekata fears that his fate will be the same as Namontack's. We don't know what to do for him and he is in terrible pain."
John Rolfe raised a brow, perturbed. "Chief Powhatan, I hope you don't mind me asking, but who is Namontack and what happened to him? If Pocahontas's brother was only shot in the leg, his condition should be treatable. Unless it shattered the bone, now that is more complicated. You have gotten the bullet out by now at least, haven't you?"
"Bullet?" Powhatan repeated, not recognizing the term. "What is that?"
Surprised by his ignorance, John Rolfe laughed nervously at having to explain. "You know, it's the musket ball. The little thing that comes out of the gun when it's fired that causes the injury. It looks like a small metal ball made out of lead. Haven't the settlers shown you?" the British gentleman inquired, scratching the back of his head.
Chief Powhatan shook his head. "The settlers scammed us for maize once last winter soon after Pocahontas left for England. Because they refused to plant, as usual, they sought to trade with us for food. Well, we had a big harvest that year so we agreed. They nearly ran out of their usual items to trade with, so they traded us some of their fire sticks instead. After taking the corn in exchange, they refused to show us how to operate the fire sticks and said that was not part of the deal," the chief disclosed in a bitter tone.
John Rolfe knitted his brows. "That was quite a crooked thing for them to do. I apologize on their behalf. Do you still possess these guns that you traded for?" he quickly inquired.
Powhatan nodded. "They are buried in the back of one of our storehouses somewhere."
"Well, in light of the attack, I think it would be wise for me to show you how to use them as soon as possible so you at least have a means of defending yourselves. That's only assuming, on some off-chance, that the settlers attack again before I've had the chance to tame them. On that note, sir, we do have some very welcome news from our London trip. Pocahontas's meeting with King James was a great success," John Rolfe spoke, digging into his snow pants. He fished out the king's order and held it up for everyone to lay eyes upon. "The laws laid out in this document should prevent anything like the earlier attack from ever happening again. Pocahontas was very persistent in protecting the interests of the Powhatan Nation when the document was being negotiated," he divulged.
Chief Powhatan took hold of the tube and peered at it, his expression lightening. Then he glanced at his daughter with a wide smile. "Your mother would be proud, Pocahontas."
Pocahontas flushed slightly. "I did my best."
John Rolfe held out his hand for the king's order. "I'll need that to present to the settlers, sir. If you want to know its contents, it would be best to ask Pocahontas about it."
Powhatan returned the document to John Rolfe, but he gave the Englishman a serious look. "You said that you would show us how to use the fire sticks. I am afraid that you and I will not cohabit this land peacefully if you do not keep your promise this time. Many of the men in Jamestown have lied to us and broken promises despite how much we have helped them over the years. Our confidence in your people is very low."
John Rolfe's eyes popped open. "Sir, I give you my word," he returned. "Gather the guns when the storm lets up and I'll show you how to load and fire them at first light."
"John showed me how to do it," Pocahontas added, giving her father a confident grin.
Powhatan shot Pocahontas a look of surprise. John Rolfe was delighted. "See? Even if I break my promise, Pocahontas could show your warriors how to do it." He cleared his throat. "Now, if we could backtrack a moment, I'd like to know who Namontack is and what became of him. As it relates to the welfare of Keme, it seems an urgent topic."
"Namontack is… was a warrior of our tribe," Chief Powhatan explained woefully. "When the palefaces first came to this land, I sent some warriors to observe them from a distance. My only intention was to discover if they posed a threat to our people. We did not intend to attack. Our brave Namontack, being among the unit I sent, was spotted by the governor called Ratcliffe. A skirmish ensued during which Namontack was shot in the thigh with a fire stick. Our medicine man was at a loss for how to treat such a strange injury. After Pocahontas stopped the war and the first peace treaty with the settlers was signed, she and the elders approached the whites and inquired about the right treatment for such a wound. The settlers claimed there was nothing that could be done, that Namontack's fate was in 'God's' hands. When we got news of John Smith's supposed death over a year later, we finally started to believe what they had told us."
John Rolfe raised a brow. "Ah, I see. Well either that was ignorance or a lie. I can't imagine the first settlers to come were well-educated folk so I'm going to be generous and guess it was the former. What happened to Namontack after that? Did he die?"
Powhatan shook his head. "He lives, but I fear he is not long for this earth. Namontack currently suffers a pitiful state of health. Even after the flesh wound healed over, the warrior was not himself. He gradually became sicker and sicker. The best medicine men in the Powhatan Nation tried more cures than you can count. None had any lasting effect. These days, Namontack is severely emaciated and suffering from horrible stomach pains. His muscles and joints ache, he cannot eat normally, he can't even think normally. He gets headaches, can't remember things. Recently he's begun having dreadful attacks in which his body quakes and he foams at the mouth as if possessed by a demon."
John Rolfe, rather than being taken aback, had a thoughtful look on his face. He scratched his bristled chin, considering the evidence. "Well, sir, I'm no physician. But, from what I have read and learned, that all sounds like a bad case of long-term plumbism to me. The lead bullet in his leg has to be poisoning his blood from the inside. Now, whether he's too far gone at this point remains to be seen. I'm sure, once the musket ball is removed, that he should most certainly improve at least a little. Purifying treatments would benefit him greatly. But you have got to get that bullet out first," the Englishman detailed.
Gasps and whispers were heard around the room while those who knew English translated John Rolfe's words for those who did not. Chief Powhatan was astonished. "And what of Pocahontas's brother? If this 'bullet' is removed, he will be alright?"
"Yes. Plumbism from lead bullets happens on a chronic basis. He would need a long time period of exposure to begin to feel any symptoms. But did the gunshot injure any of the bones in the man's leg? If so, he might not be so able-bodied after his recovery."
"I don't think so," Powhatan indicated. "Kekata thought it was only the flesh and muscle. But how do we get the bullet out? Kekata didn't even realize there was something there."
John Rolfe ran a hand through his auburn hair. "Well, I believe you will need a scalpel, a pair of pincers, some alcohol to cleanse the wound, and needle and thread to sew it up."
"What are scalpel and pincers? We have no firewater either," Powhatan said.
"A scalpel is a razor-sharp steel knife, pincers are used to pluck the bullet out of the wound, and 'firewater'—if that is what you like to call it—is plentiful in Jamestown. Unfortunately, we have quite a lot of drunks in England and here by extension. The scalpel and pincers, on the other hand, I'll have to ask the Jamestown doctor about."
Pocahontas started wringing her hands. "John, I've met the Jamestown doctor. He does not like our people. I doubt he would be willing to help by lending us anything."
"Then I'll trick him into lending the items to me. Or, if I must, I'll steal them and return them later. Thereafter I can order those items from London if your medicine man wishes to add them to his arsenal in the hopefully unlikely event of future injuries."
Chief Powhatan appeared surprised but skeptical."You would do that?"
"Sure, why not?"
The chief slowly rubbed his chin and nodded. "Then I expect you to keep your promise in that regard as well," Chief Powhatan ordained. John Rolfe bobbed his head in agreement. "Now about the corn that was taken today. We need at least half of it back to make it through the winter. As you have been well informed, the harvest was bad this year. This is why we always plant a large amount of corn, to prevent famine. If it were not for the settlers, there would not have been an issue in spite of the drought. I tried to advise them to plant in the spring. I offered to help them, offered them seeds to plant. They dismissed me at every turn and planted inedible crops instead. Everything I predicted has come true, yet I don't know what else I could have possibly done," Powhatan stated.
"I'm sorry, sir," Rolfe replied. "Taking care of the settlers should not have been your burden period. Do you have the name of the irresponsible governor who caused this?"
"Thomas West," Pocahontas offered. "He's been less pleasant to our people than earlier governors. West came to Jamestown a year before you showed up, John. Relations between my people and Jamestown have been going downhill ever since he took charge. Whatever wrongdoing he is responsible for is done undercover though. He appears to be very good at hiding his tracks. At least, that is what I believe based on what I've seen."
John Rolfe nodded. "Right. I'll have to check him out forthwith then," he said, counting off on his fingers as he went over his to-do list in his head. "So is that all the unpleasant business or is there anything else we need to discuss?" Rolfe then inquired.
Powhatan scratched his jaw. "I can think of nothing more, except I would like to hear about where Pocahontas has been all this time and why her ship never came to port."
Pocahontas yawned. "That's a long story, Father. I'm very tired and I'm sure John Rolfe is too. Can we not wait until tomorrow so I can recount the story to the entire village?"
The chief folded his arms across his broad chest. "At least give us a summary. We are all dying to know in here," he remarked, gesturing to the room full of nodding relatives.
Pocahontas and John Rolfe exchanged glances. Meeko climbed up into Pocahontas's arms and cooed. She sighed. "Very well," she conceded, speaking in Powhatan so all of her kindred would understand. John Rolfe, having seen everything firsthand, required no explanation. "In short, what happened is this. Our ship was attacked by a band of bad men on the saltwater. John and I were the only two survivors. They murdered everyone else on the ship. We were unable to escape their clutches until we reached a very strange land to the far south of here called Florida. That is where we jumped overboard and swam to land. Getting back to Tsenacomoco was very hard. We traveled hundreds of treacherous miles on foot. That is why it took us such a long time."
A wave of whispers and gasps erupted and Chief Powhatan, equally shocked himself, had to gesture with a hand to quiet everyone. "That is most startling, Pocahontas," he said in Powhatan. "I think everyone and I can agree to thank the spirits for your safe return."
"Yes, Father. Without Mother's guiding spirit, we never would've made it back. She was with me from the beginning. I sensed her in the wind much during the journey."
Powhatan flashed Pocahontas a prideful grin. "Naturally, we are all dying to know more." He turned to address the room. "I will call a village meeting tomorrow evening if weather permits. I think now would be a good time to bring this meeting to a close. Everyone is tired and in need of rest. Eluwilussit, my son, where are you?" he announced. The aforementioned warrior raised his hand and Powhatan pointed to him. "If I am not mistaken, you and your wife have an unoccupied bed in your chamber." He placed a hand on John Rolfe's shoulder. "If you could accommodate this white man for the night, I'd much appreciate it." When Eluwilussit nodded, Powhatan turned his attention to Rolfe and switched back to English. "My son will show you where to rest. Do not leave in the morning before I've spoken with you. I'll have the muskets ready at dawn."
"Yes, sir," Rolfe said. He turned and followed Eluwilussit from the room as the crowd dispersed. Everyone ate fish and succotash stew for supper and went to bed.
…
DECEMBER 21, 1613
Pocahontas and Rolfe were awoken at dawn. The snow had stopped and the warriors had risen early to shovel the village. By the time Pocahontas and Rolfe had eaten and been shown to the training grounds, every brave in the village was lined up to learn how to use the firearms. The muskets, match-lock of course, were laid out on mats over the icy snow. Rolfe yawned and rubbed his sleep-flushed face, walking up to examine them.
He knelt down and picked one up as Pocahontas and Powhatan stood by to observe. The guns were in good condition. He used his free hand to peruse the firearm paraphernalia, finding both matchcord and gunpowder cartridges. The only things missing were musket balls. The Englishman glanced up at the chief. "Sir, is this all that they traded you?"
Powhatan raised a brow. "Yes, of course. This is all they gave us."
John Rolfe put the gun down and stood up, sighing deeply. "We've got a problem. I'm afraid the scam extended further than simply withholding the knowledge of proper gun operation. A crucial ingredient was also excluded—the musket balls. But worry not. As far as I am concerned, the musket balls are a part of the deal that went unpaid. I will obtain them for you. But that means I can't teach your men to shoot right now." He paused. "Well, then again, I can walk them through the loading procedure. But if they do fire the guns, they won't be able to aim at anything like a target. They'll need musket balls for proper practice. And they certainly won't be able to defend the village if the guns aren't properly loaded," Rolfe explained, looking downbeat. Everything he had discovered since arriving back in Pocahontas's homeland only made him feel more and more ashamed of his own countrymen and their inexcusable behavior toward the locals.
An expression of grave disappointment befell Powhatan's face. He turned to Pocahontas. "Daughter, you said you learned to fire one of these things. Is what he says true? Do you truly need a musket ball to operate these guns?" he inquired for confirmation.
Pocahontas nodded. "Are you sure there aren't any there, John?" she asked, walking up beside him. She knelt down and perused all the little pouches and whatnot herself.
"Not that I've found," John Rolfe returned.
Pocahontas pursed her lips. "I don't see any either. I know what they look like, Father."
"Before I set off to Jamestown to do all the things I need to do, I would like to get a look at your son—the one you said was injured by gunshot—if I may," John Rolfe requested.
"Keme?" Powhatan blurted. John Rolfe nodded. The chief dismissed his warriors and beckoned Pocahontas and Rolfe to follow him. "This way. Keme is in the yehakin of Kekata, our medicine man." Powhatan led them through the village until they came upon a solitary wigwam. "Kekata! I have visitors for Keme," Chief Powhatan announced.
A withered old man with long locks of light gray hair rolled up the bearskin door and beckoned them inside, stopping when he spotted the chief's daughter. "Pocahontas!" he cried, having to do a double-take. It was like he was staring into the eyes of a ghost.
"She returned to us last night, Kekata," Powhatan explained. "She will tell the story at the next village meeting. But Pocahontas wants to see her brother first. This white man also believes he might be able to help with the injury," he added as they stepped inside.
The young warrior was laid out on a bed of furs, groaning. The tension in his face alone was testament to his horrific pain. His black hair was moist from perspiration. "Keme!" Pocahontas cried, running to him. She took one of his hands as his eyelids fluttered open.
His pupils dilated at the sight of her. "Kekata, I'm hallucinating," he rasped.
Chief Powhatan walked up beside Pocahontas, placing a hand on Keme's bicep. "My son, you are not seeing visions. Your sister really is here. She returned last night. Also, I've brought a man who believes he can help you. Do not be alarmed, but he's white."
Keme looked scared, but he was in no position to resist. Powhatan ushered John Rolfe over to the bedside where he found the man's wounded leg wrapped up in a doeskin bandage. Rolfe turned to Kekata and cleared his throat. "Sir, might I ask you to remove the bandage for a moment? I need to get a look at the wound," Rolfe calmly requested, stepping aside. He made eye contact with Keme. "Don't worry. I shan't touch you."
Kekata bobbed his head once in affirmation and approached the bedside, taking John Rolfe's place. The old man carefully unwrapped the doeskin, revealing dry bloody grasses. "I need to change this anyway," Kekata murmured, taking hold of the ends of the grasses. He gently pulled them away, making Keme almost cry out in pain. The young warrior gritted his teeth to remain quiet, trying to conceal his agony as much as possible in front of the others. His breathing grew ragged, his disoriented eyes wandering as he fought to remain conscious. Great Spirit forbid he pass out in front of a settler.
John Rolfe's jaw fell open. Pocahontas placed a hand over her heart as tears pricked at her eyes. "Eugh, that looks awful," Rolfe muttered to himself, tempted to shield his eyes. The wound was staggering, a great gaping bloody hole in the side of Keme's right thigh deep enough to reveal the muscle underneath. The Englishman was forced to swallow some bile. He whipped out his handkerchief and used it to cover his mouth, afraid of spewing up his breakfast all over the poor man's injury. It was revolting, but he had to get a good look at it. "Can someone open the door? I need some sunlight to properly examine it," he added. Kekata rolled up the door and fastened it in place, allowing both sunlight and cold to flood into the room. Keme squeezed his eyes shut at the light, but the cold felt nice on his swollen legion. Rolfe knelt down, squinting his eyes at the injury. Then he stood up. "It appears to be a depression. Hence, there has to be a musket ball in there if it didn't come out the other side. I will need to obtain the proper tools first for us to pluck it out. You may re-bandage him now." Rolfe stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket.
"So you're certain that this can be fixed?" Powhatan inquired, desperate for reassurance.
John Rolfe nodded. "Certainly. I mean… he'll always have a bad scar, but he should survive and recover his health in time. Now, what of Namontack? Where is he?"
"Namontack?" Keme muttered in confusion as Kekata began to bandage him up with fresh dry grass. Again, the warrior resisted the urge to hiss in pain from the contact.
Pocahontas hushed her brother. "Save your strength, Keme."
"Namontack was moved to a different village to stay with the medicine woman, Takhi. She is good with providing long-term care for the sick and injured," Powhatan explained. "If we remove the musket ball from my son's leg, I will bring you to see him."
"Hm," John Rolfe thoughtfully said. "Is this other village very far away?"
Powhatan shook his head. "Half a day's journey at most."
"Right then," John Rolfe concluded. "I'm off to Jamestown. Let's see if we can't nip this conflict in the bud before things get any worse. Pocahontas, where did the warriors whisk Snow Angel off to last night?" he inquired, turning to address the Powhatan princess.
"This way," Pocahontas replied, taking Rolfe by the hand. "I had a small stable built for Opileskiwan. I told the men from Mattica to take Snow Angel there too," she revealed as she led him right out of Kekata's hut. Chief Powhatan followed behind them.
John Rolfe cocked an eyebrow. "Opileskiwan?"
"Yes. The gray stallion you brought me as a gift of peace, remember?" she reminded him.
"Of course, I remember! Opileskiwan. Hm. Such an odd name for a horse," John Rolfe remarked. Pocahontas peered at him and Rolfe held up his hands. "Not that I dislike it. It's certainly very unique. What in the world does it mean?" he curiously inquired.
Pocahontas smiled. "It means 'soft nose.'"
John Rolfe paused and burst into light laughter. "On the contrary, that is an excellent name for a horse. They certainly do have soft noses, I'll gladly admit," he returned.
Pocahontas's smile widened. "That's what I thought when you presented him to us. I had seen some of the horses in Jamestown, but never gotten to touch one before," she giggled.
Pocahontas led John Rolfe and Chief Powhatan through the village and then back to the chief's family longhouse. The young Powhatan princess headed straight for the door of their home. "Wait, I thought we were going to a stable," John Rolfe uttered in confusion, albeit he readily followed Pocahontas inside when she beckoned him.
"I want to pack you some food first. If Jamestown is having a shortage, I can't just send you there without making sure you will have something to eat," Pocahontas said.
"Oh," John Rolfe murmured.
Pocahontas dug up Rolfe's old rucksack from the trip and sifted through it, taking out all unnecessary tools and pots. Chief Powhatan sat on his throne as he waited. Rolfe was admiring one of the painted skins all the while, not really paying attention. He jumped in surprise when Pocahontas spoke his name with a tone of displeasure. "John, what's this?"
When John Rolfe glanced over, Pocahontas was holding up a familiar item. It was the red fox mask he had found somewhere along their journey. He recalled having left it behind in the snow and raised a brow in surprise at the sight of it. "How did that get here?"
"I don't know," Pocahontas shot back. "You tell me. It was in your rucksack."
John Rolfe looked insulted. "Are you accusing me of smuggling that thing here behind your back? I know nothing of it!" he countered, waving a hand dismissively in the air.
"Don't lie!" Pocahontas charged. "I told you I wanted to leave this behind, so why is it here? I doubt the mask just sprouted legs and crawled into your travel pack on its own."
John Rolfe's face fell, hurt by the accusation. Pocahontas really did not believe him. He huffed. "Pocahontas, listen to me. If I had wanted that mask so badly, I would've argued with you and insisted on keeping it. The fact of the matter is that I didn't care that much, so I went with what you wanted to do with it. The last thing I would do is go behind your back and sneak that item into my rucksack knowing full well I was going against your wishes and lying about it!" the British gentleman exclaimed, indignant.
Pocahontas still had her eyes narrowed at him in suspicion, though Rolfe had made a compelling argument. Chief Powhatan peered from his daughter to John Rolfe and back again, totally confused. The two were arguing like an old married couple. "Pocahontas, what's the big deal? It's just a mask," he blurted, not understanding why she cared about such an insignificant item. "If you don't want it, give it to me and I'll get rid of it."
"No!" Pocahontas cried, holding it to her chest protectively. John Rolfe and Powhatan gazed at her as if she had just grown a second head. She laughed nervously, looking down at the mask. "No, I mean… I-I couldn't ask you to do that, Father. I can take care of it myself. It's not really a big deal. Sorry, John," she apologized, reaching up to the bench above her bed. She pulled down a tan buckskin hide and wrapped the red fox mask up in it, stuffing it under her bed. Anything under her bed was completely off-limits to others. All of the villagers knew not to touch the personal belongings of other people, so she knew the mask would not be bothered. She stood up and faced them, simpering.
John Rolfe gave her a momentary look of skepticism before brushing the matter off his shoulders. "Right then, you were packing me a lunch as I recall?" Rolfe reminded her.
"Oh, right," Pocahontas said. She picked up the rucksack, carried it to the food storage in the back of the room, and loaded it with nuts, dried fruits, corn, beans, and meat jerkies.
"Whoa!" Rolfe protested. "That's a lot of food. Is it necessary, Pocahontas? I should be back by this evening with the medical equipment for your brother's care anyway."
Pocahontas grinned. "Just a precaution. If you don't need all of it, you can bring it back when you return," she replied, tying down the flap so nothing would fall out. She handed the fairly heavy pack to John Rolfe and patted him on the shoulder. "Now, to the stable."
John Rolfe and Chief Powhatan followed Pocahontas out the door and around the longhouse. The little stable was right behind the building, just out of view. Neither horse was visible from the top of the stalls at first so Pocahontas got worried that someone might have let them out early. The Powhatan princess ran over only to discover the two horses curled up together in the hay on the ground. The gray stallion was resting his back against a wall and the smaller white mare was leaning against him, nuzzling his shoulder. When Rolfe caught up with her, they both burst into laughter at the sight of the equine lovebirds. "Snow Angel, my dear, I see that you have found yourself a nice gentleman friend," Rolfe remarked in amusement, carrying the pack over his shoulder.
"I wonder if they'll make foals for us," Pocahontas thought aloud.
"What is it?" Powhatan asked as he caught up with them, peering over the wall of the stall. His eyes widened. "They do indeed seem fond of each other," Powhatan agreed.
John Rolfe chuckled. "Opileskiwan, old chap, have you found your soul mate?" The stallion bobbed his head. "Good man!" Rolfe concluded, slapping the wooden rail. "If you don't mind, I'll need to borrow her just for a bit." He whistled for Snow Angel. The mare rose to her feet and shook out her coat, whinnying as Rolfe opened the door to the stable. "Come along, Snow Angel. I'll be needing a ride to get where I'm going."
She trod out of the stall and turned to nibble on Rolfe's hair. He patted her nose and slung his rucksack over her shoulders, deftly hopping onto her back. "Don't you want that tied down?" Pocahontas inquired, pointing to the rucksack. "Won't you use a saddle?"
He shook his head. "Not necessary for a short ride. Besides, my father taught me how to ride bareback," John Rolfe replied, giving Snow Angel the signal to start walking.
Pocahontas moved in front of them, bringing the mare to a stop. Snow Angel whinnied in surprise. "Wait! I want to go with you," Pocahontas declared, whistling for Opileskiwan.
"No!" Chief Powhatan and John Rolfe charged in unison, startling Pocahontas. The stallion rose to his feet and walked out of the stable and right up to her, oblivious.
She peered at both men with an alarmed expression. "Why not?"
"It isn't safe, Pocahontas. It isn't safe for any of your people to approach Jamestown until I have ensured the settlers won't take up arms against you or anyone else," Rolfe said.
Powhatan decreed, "I will not have it, Daughter! For all we know, they might kidnap you to ransom more corn out of us. We need that food to survive this coming bad winter."
Pocahontas frowned and peered at Rolfe again. "He's right, Pocahontas. I'll let you know as soon as it's safe for you to come visit the settlement. But you mustn't go anywhere near it before then, understand? Not even to look at it from a distance. Promise me!"
Pocahontas shot John Rolfe a petulant grimace, but then cast her gaze downward and reluctantly nodded. "Fine, I promise," she murmured. She met his eyes again with a serious expression. "But you must check on Samuel Quincy and his wife and daughter for me, John! I'm a friend of the family and I need to know if they're alright."
John Rolfe nodded. "Of course, I'll ask after them. I should be back by this evening at the latest. Now, unless there's any last minute business, I must say adieu to the both of you."
Chief Powhatan waved goodbye and Rolfe gave a nod, signaling Snow Angel to go. The mare whinnied and trod off down the path the village warriors had dug earlier, leaving Powhatan and his daughter behind. Once he was gone, Pocahontas started wringing her hands. "Is something wrong, Daughter?" Powhatan asked, ushering her to their home.
Pocahontas walked with him. "I just really hope everything goes alright. I know John will do everything he can, but I'm still worried. Hungry people can be desperate. The food shortage is still an issue, even if we strike up peace with the settlers again. I just don't see any feasible solution if there isn't enough maize to feed everyone through the winter."
Powhatan appeared to be very concerned as well. "It troubles me greatly too, Pocahontas. But just because we don't see the solution yet doesn't mean there isn't one. Yes, I sorely wish the settlers had listened to me this spring and planted enough food to sustain themselves over the winter. Maybe they'll finally learn their lesson if they suffer enough hunger pangs. I just hope that such a lesson will not cost any lives. That seems too severe a punishment, especially considering the ones to suffer the most will likely have had the least say in the decision not to plant food in the spring," the chief pointed out.
Chief Powhatan held the door open for his daughter. She was about to step inside when a familiar voice called to her. "Pocahontas!" her best friend cried, bolting toward her.
Pocahontas spun around, her frown turning upside down in an instant. "Nakoma!" she blared, running to meet her. They embraced when they reached each other. "Oh, Nakoma, I have missed you so much! You have no idea what I've been through!" she expressed.
"Pocahontas, I thought I'd never see you again! Chogan just told me the news. Are you alright? What happened? Where have you been and why did your ship never come into port? You…" Nakoma prattled, pulling away from her best friend. She was shocked by the sight of Pocahontas. "You look… different. Your hair, what happened to it? It's even shorter than mine now," she noted, running her fingers through her friend's locks.
Rather than respond to Nakoma, Pocahontas was preoccupied with staring wide-eyed down at the woman's swollen abdomen. The Powhatan princess clapped a hand over her mouth excitedly. Nakoma had to follow her gaze downward to discover what had surprised her so. "Nakoma, congratulations," Pocahontas murmured in wonderment, placing one hand on her friend's belly and the other over her own heart. "How long?" she asked, meeting her friend's eye again. "Oh, I can't wait to meet him or her!"
Nakoma's face beamed with pride as she beheld her pregnancy. "Five moons. We expect him or her to be born sometime in the spring. Chogan is very excited!" she revealed.
"Nakoma, I know you're going to make a fantastic mother. I couldn't be happier for you. Have you made a cradleboard yet?" Pocahontas interrogated, excited to learn more.
Nakoma bounced up and down in delight. "Nah, I'm going to use my mother's old one. The same one she used with me. It's not like she's going to be having any more children."
Pocahontas nodded. "That makes sense since you're her eldest. None of your brothers or sisters are even married yet. So have you considered any possible names?" she inquired.
"Not yet. Chogan and I have decided to wait until we actually see the baby with our own eyes. The theory is that we'll feel inspired by the sight of him or her and the right name will just come to us. What do you think?" Nakoma asked, hoping for a nod of approval.
Pocahontas giggled. "Nothing wrong with giving it a try."
"Pocahontas," Powhatan called to her, "I'm going to meet with the elders while you have your reunion with your friend. Don't forget to stick around for the village meeting later."
"Yes, Father!" Pocahontas replied.
The chief disappeared into the longhouse while Pocahontas followed Nakoma back to the latter's yehakin so that they could catch up. Nakoma's husband Chogan had just left on a daylong hunting trip, thereby giving the women plenty of time to themselves.
…
John Rolfe and Snow Angel made their way through the white winter forest. Because of the snow, it took more time than usual to reach Jamestown. But the moment they emerged from the forest and came upon the sight of the fortress, the white mare whinnied in fright and reared high in the air. The Englishman and his rucksack were thrown right off of her back. Fortunately, he had a pillow-soft landing in the white powder behind her. "Oof!"
Snow Angel turned tail and fled back the way she had come, spooked out of her mind. John Rolfe struggled to his feet and shook a fist in her wake. "Snow Angel! You get back here, you silly horse! What's the matter with you?" he called, but she was already gone.
John Rolfe growled in irritation. Now, what could've gotten into her? the young diplomat wondered to himself, picking up his rucksack. John Rolfe propped it up on the snow and maneuvered it onto his back, pushing his arms through the straps. Then he tied the belt strap around his waist for support. Well, at least I'm already here. Not much farther. He waded slowly through the snow until he emerged upon a bluff overlooking the settlement. Everything appeared relatively normal, except the fort was snowed in as expected. If they had not alienated the Powhatans, the warriors would probably be helping them dig out at present. Rolfe sighed and shook his head, taking a step forward in the deep snow.
BANG!
A gunshot rang out, exploding against a tree two feet to John Rolfe's left. Fearing for his life, he hit the snow. "HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Rolfe bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"Who goes there?!" came the distant response.
"John Rolfe! Why are you shooting at me?!" he returned, keeping low. There was an extended moment of silence and John Rolfe started to get worried. "Hello?!" he called.
A guard finally called back to him, "Approach!"
John Rolfe grumbled in anger, pushing himself up from the fluffy ground and back onto his feet. The young gentleman waded through the snow to the edge of the bluff and allowed himself to tumble down into the soft powder below. Then John Rolfe got to his feet again and continued in the direction of the settlement, getting winded along the way. By the time he arrived at the gates, he was panting and pretty much out of breath.
Three guards peered down at him. "What are you doing outside the fortress?" one of them charged. "Don't you know the governor's law? And why are you dressed Injun?"
John Rolfe drew his brows together at the rude tone in the man's voice. The fools were acting like they did not even know who he was. "I told you, men, I am John Rolfe. Didn't you hear me? I've come on the authority of King James. The answer to all three of those insolent questions is a long story. Now, if you'd kindly open the gates, I have business!"
The men whispered amongst themselves. When they were done, the tallest one turned back to him. "John Rolfe? We thought you returned to London last winter."
John Rolfe slapped his forehead. "Yes, but I came back! It's part of the story. Let me in!"
"We're a bit snowed in at the moment, Lord Rolfe. We'll send men out straightaway to clear the gate. I'm afraid you will have to wait a bit, chap," the shortest guard replied.
Chap? John Rolfe thought crankily. Just who do you think you're talking to? He huffed and untied the belt strap, dropping his rucksack. Then he folded his arms grumpily over his chest and plopped down into the snow to wait. "Hurry, please. I haven't got all day!"
A minute later, three men with shovels jumped over the wall and landed in a pile of snow outside the fortress. They quickly went to work clearing the snow that blocked the gateway into the small settlement. The wait was close to twenty minutes. By the time the gate was ready to open, John Rolfe's bottom was ice-cold. He pushed himself back up to his feet and grabbed the travel pack, hefting it up onto his back again. The men were only able to open the gate a crack, so the irked diplomat was forced to squeeze through. The moment he entered and peered around, lots of pairs of eyes were staring at him. Women and children peeked out of windows. The local blacksmith stopped his work. Even the inside shovelers stopped shoveling. John Rolfe stood up straight with his usual air of authority and turned to the three guards. "Now, I would like to know which one of you clowns shot at me. I could've been killed!" he charged, glaring at each one in turn.
The two taller ones pointed to the shortest one and Rolfe turned his full attention to that individual. The guilty party shrugged. "I thought you was an Injun from the distance."
"And why, pray tell, were you attempting to shoot at Indians? Did our Lord Almighty not make the command 'Thou shalt not kill'?" Rolfe spoke. He waved the men off, sneering at them. "Shameless sinners, the lot of you! I'm off to the Mother Wiggins Inn."
The irate Englishman left his brethren standing there dumbfounded as he trod along a narrow shoveled path towards the inn. He passed by the governor's mansion along the way, a building obscene in size and decor compared to every other in the settlement. The diplomat knocked on the door of the inn as he arrived. A few moments later, the door swung open and John Rolfe was greeted by a smiling face that he recognized well. "Hello and welcome to the Mother Wiggins Inn! I am afraid we haven't any victuals to offer, but beds are certainly available!" Wiggins greeted, gasping the moment that he recognized John Rolfe's face. "Lord Rolfe?! You…" the man uttered, looking Rolfe up and down. His eyes widened and he flashed a grin. "You're dressed like an Indian. How quaint."
John Rolfe smiled and offered a handshake. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance once again, Mr. Wiggins. I am here on investigation and on a diplomatic mission to repair the relations between the settlement and the natives. To do that, I will need your hospitality. Do not worry about feeding me, I've brought my own sustenance. May I come in?"
"Oh, I do thank the heavens!" Wiggins cried, casting a grateful glance to the skies. "You must be the savior I've prayed for. Come in and make yourself at home." The innkeeper stepped aside and waved John Rolfe to enter, which he did. "You want the private room again, sir? It's available! Business hasn't been so good lately due to the food shortage."
"Yes, but first I must speak with you about payment. May I rely on a tab for now? You see, I was on a ship heading here, but it was attacked by pirates. I'm afraid the money and belongings I had with me are no more and I'll have to send to England for more currency. When it arrives, I'll be able to pay off the debts that I accumulate here," Rolfe explained, brushing the snow off himself. He dropped his pack and unbuttoned his coat.
Wiggins gasped, a look of abhorrence befalling his features. "Pirates?! How frightful!"
"Oh, it was frightful indeed," Rolfe confirmed. "Would you believe that I met the dreaded Captain Bleud and Finley Flame face-to-face. All of the rumors are true, I tell you!"
The innkeeper pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, looking faint. "Oh, you poor soul. How ever did you survive? I… Oh, look at me! Interrogating you when you've already been through so much. Please give me your coat. I'll hang it up in the closet."
John Rolfe handed over his coat. Once it was put away, he followed the innkeeper to the only private bedroom in the inn. The bed was made and the sheets were fresh. Rolfe put his rucksack down by the desk and turned back to Wiggins. "I'll be in need of parchment. I've got letters to write, among many things. When is the next ship expected to arrive?"
"The next ship?" Wiggins repeated, putting a finger to his lower lip in a moment of thought. "I do recall the governor saying it would not be until late winter to early spring, I'm afraid. I worry that our poor settlement won't make it that long. The governor has us on very strict rations," the innkeeper explained dejectedly, placing a hand to his growling stomach. "Now, while we may be short on food, I'm happy to report that parchment is quite plentiful. I shall go fetch some for you straight away, Lord Rolfe." Wiggins took a gracious bow and then he hustled out the bedroom door to fulfill Rolfe's request.
John Rolfe pulled off his snow pants and hung them over the mantle of the fireplace to dry on the outside, though it was yet to be lit. He sighed and sat on the bed, sprawling out across it to think. Wiggins returned within a few minutes with a stack of parchment under one arm. He carried a quill in one hand and a bottle of ink in the other. The innkeeper placed all the items on the writing desk. "Is there anything else I can do for you at the moment, Lord Rolfe, or would you like some time alone?" Wiggins asked, glancing over at the fireplace. "Oh, I must start you a fire right away to dry your things!"
John Rolfe sat up on the bed and rubbed his chin. "Yes. Come to think of it, I could also use a warm bath, a shave, and a change of clothes before I get started."
They heard the sound of a closing door from the front of the inn. Wiggins glanced back in the direction of the noise and smiled. He clapped his hands together in excitement a few times as he turned back toward Rolfe. "Ah, that must be Mrs. Breckinridge. She works at the inn as a maid. Also happens to be a seamstress in her spare time. I'll have her draw you a bath right away. I'm sure she can take care of all of your personal needs, sir."
"That would be excellent. Thank you, Mr. Wiggins," John Rolfe replied, rising to his feet. The young gentleman hung his snow pants from the fireplace mantle and pulled the chair back over to the writing desk in the corner, plopping down. Opening the ink bottle, he dipped the tip of the quill pen into the swarthy fluid. The first thing he did was make a list of the tasks that he had to do, wracking his brain to remember all of them. 1. Check on the Quincy family. 2. Borrow medical supplies from the Jamestown doctor. 3. Interview a few Jamestown inhabitants about the food shortage and the conflict with the Powhatans. 4. Discuss the king's order with the governor. 5. Obtain musket balls from the Jamestown arsenal. 6. Teach Chief Powhatan's warriors to shoot. 7. Pen the tale of my travels with Pocahontas. 8. Letters to Mum and Dad, King James, and Captain John Smith.
Knowing he would have to wait until after his bath to carry out the first items on his agenda, Rolfe went ahead and began to write the tale of his travels as Wiggins returned to the room with a candle. The innkeeper lit the hearth and silently departed, leaving Rolfe to continue his work in peace. The diplomat started his tale with the pirate attack. He was busy describing life aboard the pirate vessel when Mrs. Breckinridge knocked on the open bedroom door to get his attention. "Lord Rolfe, your bath is ready. Would you like me to give you a shave afterward or do you prefer to do it yourself, sir?" she inquired.
"I can do it," John Rolfe replied, turning to greet her. She was a thin woman about a foot taller than Mrs. Jenkins. Appearing to be in her late thirties, she still had a comely face with minimal signs of aging. "Thank you. Have you anything for me to wear afterward?"
"In fact, I do! You look to be about the same size as my late husband, Mr. Breckinridge. I'll run home and get you some of his old clothes that are still in good condition. Do ring the bell in the bathroom if you need anything at all, my lord," she said on a final note.
Then Mrs. Breckinridge was gone. John Rolfe set his writing implements aside and left the bedroom, walking through the short hall to the bathing chamber. He moved around the privacy screen to the four-legged bathtub full of soapy water. A board lying across the rim of the tub provided soap, sponge, back-scrubber, and shaving tools. Testing the temperature, he found it to his liking and began to disrobe. Once he was resting in the bathwater, he heard a knock on the door on the other side of the privacy screen. "Lord Rolfe, I'm leaving your vestments on a stool over here. Again, ring the bell if you need anything at all. I'll be sweeping the floors nearby," Mrs. Breckinridge said.
"Thank you, madam!" he replied. As the door creaked shut, he foamed up the back-scrubber and sponge with soap and began bathing. Once he had cleaned his body, he washed his hair and used his fingers to massage his scalp. He gathered his hair up into a swirl atop his head and turned his attention to the shaving equipment, lathering his face with shaving cream. Fortunately, a floor mirror had been placed nearby. He reached over and turned it toward him so that he could see what he was doing. After he had given himself the closest shave possible, he rinsed the razor and dipped his head into the water to rinse out his hair. He washed all the suds off and wrung out his hair, pushing himself to his feet. As he stepped out of the tub, he grabbed a linen cloth off a shelf and used it to dry himself. He used the cloth to squeeze the extra moisture out of his hair and then went to investigate the clothing that Mrs. Breckinridge had left behind for his use.
John Rolfe immediately recognized that the clothes were of high quality. The maid had laid out a pair of off-white hose, red breeches with a matching cloak, a plain white dress shirt, a warm gold-colored vest, and a wide-brimmed red hat with a yellow feather. On the floor beside the stool stood a pair of dark brown heeled leather boots, highly polished. Rolfe could only assume the lovely garments had been the late Mr. Breckinridge's Sunday clothes. The Englishman put them on and found they fit relatively well, though perhaps were better suited to a slightly portlier man. Rolfe knew he had lost weight on the journey and probably quite a bit of it. Given the food shortage, he realized he would have to wait until summer to get back in proper shape after the first crops came in.
The Englishman returned to his bedroom and sat at the desk near the fire to let his hair dry out, knowing better than to venture out into the cold with wet hair. He deposited the red hat in the middle of the bed. In the meantime, John Rolfe continued to write his memoirs. By the time his hair was dry, it was perhaps mid-morning. He brushed and tied his hair back before putting on the hat. Then he gathered up his quill, ink, and a bundle of parchment, heading out to the front of the inn. He found the innkeeper at the greeting desk. "Mr. Wiggins, I must be off to run a few critically important errands. Do you by chance know the whereabouts of the Quincy family? Pocahontas asked me to check on them while I was here," John Rolfe spoke suddenly, gaining the thin man's attention.
Wiggins's eyes widened. "Pocahontas? She lives?" he murmured, pressing a hand to his heart. "Bless my soul, were you on the same ship with her that never came to port?"
"That is correct, Mr. Wiggins," John Rolfe returned, nodding. "Pocahontas is back in Werowocomoco with her father, safe and sound. You are a friend of hers, are you not?"
"Of course! When John Smith's ship came in, I was devastated to think the poor girl might be dead or lost. Oh! Has Percy returned as well? How I've missed his precious little pug-nosed face! He was supposed to stay with me while Pocahontas was in England, but he vanished when the ship left. I felt so guilty for letting him go!" Wiggins lamented, pressing the back of his wrist to his forehead in a manner most dramatic. "Oh, tell me that he is alright, Lord Rolfe! Please, oh please, tell me he's alright!"
"Percy is doing well," John Rolfe was pleased to report. "He is with Pocahontas at the moment, along with Meeko and Flit. They are all perfectly fine. But, as I said, she has requested that I check in with the Quincy family to see if they are doing alright. She is very worried about her friends in Jamestown, given the food shortage."
"The Quincys live on the other side of the settlement, in the cottage with the blue-painted front door. I haven't a clue how they're doing since we've not spoken in a while. You'll have to go see for yourself. Do give me the news when you get back. Last I heard Mrs. Quincy had fallen ill, but it's possible she may have recovered by now," Wiggins replied.
John Rolfe's eyes widened a bit in concern. He drew his brows together and bobbed his head. "Right then. Do wait up for me. I'll be back by the afternoon at the latest."
Wiggins rushed by and opened the door for him. "Good luck, sir! I'll be here as always."
John Rolfe tipped his hat and left.