Pocahontas stood on the outcropping of rock jutting over the Atlantic and waved a final good-bye to John Smith. As her hand completed its sad arc, she wondered if she had made the right decision. At that moment, when she'd met the gaze of his pleading blue eyes, thousands of thoughts competed for her attention all at once. Her friends, her family, all she'd be leaving behind… She'd longed for the adventure that London promised. To explore a new place with John Smith…
But then she'd looked around at her tribe. All those faces, watching her with such emotion. Such… devotion. And she just couldn't. She couldn't leave them so suddenly, just like that.
That winter, when she heard that John Smith had been killed, Pocahontas felt as cold and barren as the surrounding snow-covered trees. Many tried to comfort her, but ultimately this was something she had to face alone. She spent a great deal of time sitting under Grandmother Willow's dormant branches, holding John Smith's compass to her chest.
When another ship sailed in from England, she was filled with foolish hope. Maybe he wasn't dead. Maybe it was just a rumor, or someone had been misinformed.
Her hope faded quickly, though, as she saw the men disboarding the ship. A steady flow of men- some on horseback, some on foot- strode obliviously past her.
One man had poor control of his horse. It became spooked and nearly trampled Meeko and a poor baker. She had to leap under the panicking horse and knock the baker out of the way. As thanks, the baker struck her and called her a 'filthy savage'.
Members of her tribe, enraged by the comment, stormed down the snowy hill, bows drawn at the angry settlers, who pointed their guns at the 'savages'. Pocahontas stepped between the two feuding races, arms outspread, and shouted "STOP!"
The foolish man whose horse had started the debacle jumped out next to her, arms outstretched in a pose mimicking her own, and told them to "STAND DOWN!"
For one reason or another, both sides obeyed.
The asinine man turned to her smugly and claimed that he had "taken care of it".
"They need to learn to trust us!" she said coldly. "You should not have interfered."
He insisted that he was trying to help, and even gave her a brief lecture on manners, ending the tirade with a frustrated "Women!"
Pocahontas graciously ignored the comment.
Later that night, John Rolfe paid a visit to Pocahontas and her tribe. According to her father, the man wanted to give her his horse as a gift.
The horse seemed nice enough. Nicer than the man, anyway, whose name was apparently John Rolfe. She hoped that he would leave quickly, having completed his transaction, but much to her dismay, he started a conversation with her father.
John Rolfe was very nervous, stuttering and running his hands through his oddly reddish hair. He arrogantly thought that the chief would surrender his lands to England. According to Rolfe, the chief's presence was requested overseas. Her father protested calmly and asked why the king could not come here instead.
Pocahontas, tired of John Rolfe's arrogance and his opinion that she was apparently helpless, volunteered to go to England in place of her father.
John Rolfe sputtered insulting comments about how unfit she was for the job, protesting her offer even after Pocahontas received her father's blessing. But the chief had the final word in the matter. Pocahontas would take the next ship to London.
When night had fallen and the majority of her tribe had gone to bed, Pocahontas snuck out and followed the familiar path to Grandmother Willow's tree. She greeted the familiar face with relief, then poured out her concerns all at once, her words tripping over each other in a frantic effort to express everything at once. The motherly tree told her sharply to be quiet and, in a gentler tone, said she must listen to her heart.
Pocahontas closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to focus. She felt anger, frustration, sadness… many negative emotions seemed to have burrowed into her ribs and nested there for the winter. Nothing inside of her was telling her what to do. "Grandmother Willow, it's not working!"
But Grandmother Willow's spirit had retreated for the time being. Pocahontas was on her own.
Pocahontas climbed aboard the ship the next morning. As she padded up the gangplank, her mind wandered back in time. In her mind, it was autumn. Leaves of purple and crimson and vermillion swirled about her as she climbed another gangplank to another ship, one which contained…
Pocahontas turned to her right and saw the wrong John. This John's features were softer, not as defined. His build looked softer, too, and he was shorter. Instead of vibrant blue, this John's eyes were a dull shade of brown, the colour of rotting leaves. The only vibrant thing about him was his reddish hair, which he tied back in a ponytail.
The sea stretched out before her as far as the eye could see. This was the very same sea which had brought so much trouble to her people. The same sea which had brought…
Unbidden, his face blanketed her mind, flooding the sky with his smile. How could someone so alive have just ceased to exist? It didn't seem possible. Or fair, considering all the trouble she'd gone to to make sure that he lived. She wondered bitterly if he had thrown that all away, or if it had been a struggle. She wondered if she'd been there in his last thoughts.
With a heavy heart, Pocahontas turned around and watched her homeland shrink to an impossibly small size in the distance. The ghost of John Smith seemed to be watching it with her, lying by her side on a stretcher and watching her past self wave good-bye from shore.
Several days into the trip, much to Pocahontas's surprise, Meeko and Percy suddenly appeared on-deck. They were drunk, seasick, and confused—and they were stowaways. She was berated on the matter by the captain, who drew a sword threateningly.
John Rolfe gallantly inserted himself, defending her. Granted, his defense highlighted her ineptitude with British social customs and, for the third time since they'd met, he accused her of being helpless and naïve. She would just as soon defended herself, but she knew that her pleas would have fallen on stubbornly deaf ears.
Because of John Rolfe's defense, though, she was allowed to keep her pets. For a moment, she almost liked him. —Almost.
As she was walking away, she saw land looming in the distance. It grew steadily larger until the ship pulled up to a dock.
With an aching heart, Pocahontas boarded a carriage with John Rolfe. She was finally in London, but too late. She could have been here months ago. Should have been here months ago.
Suddenly she couldn't take it anymore. She desperately needed to clear her head. She leapt out of the carriage window and ran to a clump of trees not far away, then climbed the tallest one.
The air was so much clearer up there. She took a few deep, cleansing breaths, reveling in the familiar scent of pine. When she opened her eyes, she was rewarded with a breathtaking view of London. The buildings were as tall as the tallest pines, the colours as vivid as wildflowers, and there were so many people in such strange clothes! The scents of food and horses and various things she couldn't even name filled the air. She leapt down from the tree, now genuinely curious about her new surroundings.
Everywhere she ventured, bystanders commented to each other on the strange dark-skinned woman in deerskin clothes. She paid them no heed. Their accents were surprisingly varied- nearly as varied as their appearances. White people had such interesting hair colours. She was aware that they were assessing her in much the same way.
A black carriage pulled by two brutish black horses suddenly stormed down the street and pulled abruptly to a halt not far from where Pocahontas stood. Of all the people she didn't want to see ever again, the towering bulk which stepped out of that carriage was at the top of her list.
"You!" she gasped.
Radcliffe grinned unattractively and pulled a slip of paper from his vest. "So glad to see you again!" he expressed insincerely, still smiling. "Do you know what this is?" Without giving Pocahontas a chance to answer, he explained that the paper was an order from the king of England permitting him to return to her homeland in search of more gold.
"There is no gold!" Pocahontas insisted. But Radcliffe just waved his piece of paper in her face, sneering, and boarded his carriage, disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared.
She had no choice but to return to John Rolfe's carriage. He was trying to reassure her somehow, but she tuned him out. Whatever he was saying was probably not very interesting or helpful. Nothing he said ever was.
John Rolfe's house was bigger than the wigwam she lived in. It had multiple floors, frivolous decorations, and, she had to admit, looked sturdier than the buildings she was used to. She was still marveling at the architecture when Mrs. Jenkins, the clumsy housekeeper, stumbled down the stairs and offered her some tea. Rolfe tried to make some stupid conspiratorial joke about it, but she didn't find it amusing. The housekeeper seemed a little absent-minded, but altogether kind-hearted, and it was not 'good manners', in her book, to ridicule someone so harmless and well-meaning.
As Mrs. Jenkins bustled off to make the tea, John Rolfe pulled on an overcoat. "I'm off to see the king," he stated with a smile.
"Wait!" Pocahontas pulled on his sleeve. "I want to go with you!" The sooner she got it over with, the sooner her mind would be at peace.
He protested, spouting some lame reasoning about the king and queen needing to be 'warmed up to the idea' or something. Before she could process what he'd said, or properly respond, he was out the door.
Hoping to gain an ally, she approached Mrs. Jenkins and tried, once more, to broach the subject of visiting the king of England. But Mrs. Jenkins just smiled through her thick-lensed glasses and told her to be patient.
Feeling uncomfortable indoors, Pocahontas sought refuge in the garden in Rolfe's back yard. There, she found comfort in the surrounding trees and flowers. Even the stones seemed welcoming. She examined each foreign plant, noting how similar they were to plants back at home. Just like the people… the plants came in different colours, different shapes and sizes, but when it all came down to it, a flower was a flower, a tree was a tree, and a person was a person. If only the English people could see this somehow.
She was examining a flower and musing on how to stop the distrust between the two peoples when John Rolfe returned with a slam of the front door. He yelled something to Mrs. Jenkins and, after storming around for a bit, found Pocahontas in the garden. He told her, as if trying to break difficult news, that she was invited to the Hunt Ball.
"Okay," she interrupted, not seeing a problem.
John Rolfe spent the next five minutes spouting sexist comments and generally being arrogant, explaining all the reasons that she was not capable of attending a ball. With every word that escaped Rolfe's mouth, she disliked him a little bit more. Why he thought she was so helpless and delicate was beyond her. Charitably, she granted that perhaps, the women in London were much more fragile than she and the female members of her tribe were.
Even as insistent as she was that she could handle it, John Rolfe seemed unconvinced.
The next day was a seemingly neverending lesson in the way to dress and act in London. There were many layers of uncomfortable clothing involved, and Pocahontas felt very unnatural wearing so much. The make-up caked her face, the hard shoes pinched her feet, and the heavy layers of clothes weighed her down awkwardly.
John Rolfe and Mrs. Jenkins assured her that she was beautiful in the traditional London clothing. They seemed to believe that they had somehow improved her appearance. This irritated her deeply.
As did everything about John Rolfe, who was to be her escort.
When Pocahontas arrived at the Hunt Ball, everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her. As she approached the king and queen of England, she was struck with a sudden case of nerves. There was a tense moment of silence when John Rolfe brought them to a stop and knelt beside her.
Fortunately, the queen of England had a kind heart and broke the silence by welcoming her. Pocahontas curtsied graciously and complimented their kingdom. This caused the king to loosen up for a moment and compliment her condescendingly, as one might speak to a grandchild who had accomplished some small task relatively well. But when Pocahontas attempted to broach the subject of her homeland, the king promised to speak about it at the end of the ball.
With a weary heart and wavering confidence, Pocahontas retreated to the dance floor. Some of the men she danced with were older gentlemen, some younger, but they were all equally nice. She was also forced to dance briefly with Radcliffe, which she did not enjoy in the least. He taunted her and insulted her the entire time.
Fortunately, another man swept in to dance away with her—unfortunately, that man was John Rolfe. She wondered why he was looking at her so intensely. For a moment, she was afraid that she was doing something wrong, breaking one of seemingly hundreds of social taboos, but instead she was startled to find him leaning closer to her. She realized with a cold shock that he intended to kiss her.
Once more, fortune interrupted, this time in the form of the dinner bell.
She was seated on the king's right side. Immediately, she tried again to discuss her rather pressing matters, but she was cut off by the entertainment.
At first, the show seemed innocent enough. There was juggling, masquerading, jokers, and magic. But, as the song they were singing goes, things are not as they appear. The lyrics seemed to imply that she was not civilized or capable of blending in to London society.
And then, on a platform, a bear with chains around its neck appeared. The entertainers were taunting it and flogging it with whips and chains. Guests all around her were laughing at the bear's pain as it struggled to get away.
"STOP!" she yelled, running to the bear and hugging its neck. The grateful creature sagged against her, lying on the ground listlessly as she defended it.
This infuriated the king. He was of the opinion that animals were of less importance than humans. Did he not know that every rock and tree and creature has a spirit? -Clearly not. She could take no more of this pompous society. When the king accused her of being a savage, something snapped inside of her. She called them savages.
Too slowly, she realized what she had done. A hush fell over the room. The king yelled, his anger growing. Radcliffe whispered something into his ear, and Pocahontas knew she was doomed. Sure enough, she was apprehended and sentenced with treason.
Pocahontas attempted to escape, but her heavy, complicated clothes were slowing her down. She couldn't get away. She called out to John Rolfe, hoping that he would leap to the rescue again, like a gallant fool, and hoping further that, against all odds, he could actually do something to help her. But two guards crossed their swords in front of him, barring his way, and he disappeared from view as she was dragged down the stone corridor to the dungeon.
Pocahontas leaned against the cold stone wall. It slowly dawned on her that she was going to die. Either she would be decapitated, or she would starve to death in this cold, barren cell. She wondered how different of a path her life would have taken if she had followed her heart. Would she have been able to save John Smith? Would he be alive right now, if she had gone to London with him?
She'd done what she thought was right and stayed with her tribe. She'd watched the settlers warily claim land farther and farther inland, watched her people hide from them more often than not, watched the racism bleed into society like dead leaves staining a small pond. Her efforts alone had done nothing. As much as she hated to admit it, she alone could not fix the problem. It was too little, too slowly. She was like a trickle of clean water trying to purify a filthy river.
She sighed. What if she had left them behind for John Smith? Perhaps the message would have been more powerful if she had departed with him and lived happily with the white man her people were so wary of. Perhaps she could have proved that they were not as savage as her people feared they were…
But it was too late for any of that. The king of England thought her a savage. If she, the princess emissary, was considered a savage, what did the king think of her father? Of her tribe?
The settlers would probably kill them all once the next ships landed.
And it was all her fault.
Pocahontas sat up suddenly, her sensitive ears fully alert. She could have sworn she heard voices approaching her.
John Rolfe opened her cell door. She was so astonished, she ran to him and embraced him. Rolfe pulled away from the hug, explaining that they had to escape quickly. After she exited the cell, a hooded figure approached them.
At first, she thought he was a guard, but when he whipped off his hood…
Pocahontas took a breathless moment to gather in the blond waves, the chiseled features, the snarky blue eyes.
"John Smith!" she whispered. He couldn't really be standing there. Hardly daring to believe her eyes, she took two steps towards him, her hand outstretched. When the tips of her fingers met the fabric of his tunic, her heart shuddered back to life. "But you were dead…"
John Smith grinned, his golden-brown eyebrows arching attractively. "Death cannot stop true love. What it can do is delay it for a while."
At that moment, footsteps and angry shouts sounded in the corridor.
At John Smith's beckoning, the trio stood against the cell wall next to the door. When the angry guards stormed in and looked around, confused, the trio exited and barred the door.
They were met with more guards once they encountered a flight of stairs. John Rolfe, being his usual pompous self, jumped immediately to the front of the line and began elaborately swashbuckling with the guard in front. It became clear that they were going to be waiting for a while until John Rolfe fought them all off, one by one. John Smith cast a bored look at Pocahontas, then grabbed a piece of wood which was barring a door and charged past John Rolfe, using the wood as a barricade to knock all the guards off of the staircase.
Astonished, John Rolfe could do little more than blink at John Smith, who was grinning back at Pocahontas. She smiled and shook her head, nearly laughing at the memory of the expressions on the guards' faces as they'd been knocked to the cobblestones below.
Having defeated every guard in sight, the trio grabbed some nearby horses and rode away to a safe place where no one could find them.
There were two rooms in the cottage which John Smith explained that he occasionally inhabited. He assured them that it was abandoned this time of year, so no one would disturb them. He looked only at Pocahontas when he said this.
John Rolfe left Pocahontas alone with John Smith so that they could catch up.
Immediately, John Smith gathered Pocahontas in his arms and held her close, his cheek resting familiarly against her temple, her cheek resting against his chest.
"I missed you so much," she whispered, nearly crying.
"I thought of you every day," he said, his voice soft.
She pushed him away, overwhelmed. "All this time… why didn't you ever talk to me?"
"I wanted to! I must've written a thousand letters! But I couldn't send them, because Radcliffe was hunting me down. After I healed, he wouldn't rest until he was sure I was dead. I had to disappear for a while. If I could have stowed away on a ship bound for the New World- your world- I would have, but he had the whole kingdom convinced I was a criminal! Had I been discovered aboard, they would have killed me for sure."
She looked away, silent. There was so much pain in his voice. Had she somehow known that he was alive, he may have been killed because of her, because she would have been so excited to know that he was alive…
He pulled her close again, his voice husky. "Pocahontas. None of that matters now. All that matters is we're together again…"
John Rolfe dropped something loudly in the next room. John Smith and Pocahontas jumped apart, startled. Rolfe smiled sheepishly, his eyes sad.
Pocahontas returned her attention to John Smith, who she was still having a hard time believing was really with her, in the flesh, when John Rolfe started lecturing her on what she needed to do next. John Smith disagreed, of course, but she was too overwhelmed to stay and listen to their conversation. So she fled, ignoring their calls. Ultimately, it didn't really matter what either of them thought she should do. That was going to be her decision.
Pocahontas wiped off the thick makeup in a nearby stream and took down her hair. Ahh… that felt so much better! She wished she could discard the troublesome clothes, but she had nothing else to wear. At least she could think more clearly now.
She mentally ticked off what she knew. Radcliffe was set on claiming all the gold her homeland had to offer- even though there was none- and was leaving shortly to do so. He had the king's blessing. She also knew that Radcliffe had been lying to and manipulating the king. If she showed up with John Smith and proved that Radcliffe was lying about one thing, perhaps she could convince the king that he had lied about many things, and perhaps that would be enough to stop Radcliffe's armada.
Pocahontas stood and brushed off her borrowed dress. She knew what she had to do.
Both Johns were waiting for her when she got back. They approached her simultaneously and she explained her plan. John Smith expressed concern for her life. If she showed up in the king's castle unexpectedly, she could be hanged. But her determination was resolute.
Desperate, John Smith pleaded with her not to endanger herself. "It's the only way," she insisted. "Besides… you'll be there with me. We're both in danger."
Their eyes met. And in that moment, Pocahontas knew that John Smith had just as much trouble living without her as she had living without him.
They were in this together.
Pocahontas was overjoyed and relieved to wear her deerskin clothes again. They were so much lighter and more versatile than what women wore in London. Perhaps, she thought off-handedly, their clothes were one of the things holding women back.
She threw open the castle doors and strode confidently towards the king, her anger simmering just below the surface. Everyone stopped talking all at once and stared as she made her way towards the throne.
The king was enraged. He called her a savage and demanded that the guards do something, but the guards had been knocked unconscious. Amused, the queen calmed her husband down. She said they may as well see what Pocahontas wanted. There was a kindly spark in her eyes which Pocahontas was grateful for. She found herself liking the queen.
Pocahontas told the king there was no gold. She used eloquent language so that he'd be sure to understand, and maybe even respect, her. The queen believed her immediately, but the king insisted that Radcliffe was sure that her homeland had gold.
Just then, John Smith walked in. "Just as Radcliffe assured you that I was dead?"
There were gasps all around.
"Radcliffe has lied to you about a great many things. I'm living proof of that." John Smith's voice was strong and bold, just like everything else about him.
People were angrily murmuring to each other, and the murmur was growing to a roar. There was much gesturing and pointing.
Pocahontas demanded that the king stop the armada.
"But they've already set off!" he said, eyes wide, starting to believe her. "Is it possible? Can we stop them?"
She wasn't sure who he was addressing with his inquiries, but it didn't much matter. "We must try. The fate of my people depends on it."
Fortunately, the ships had not gone far.
In fact, they had gone so not far that they were still in the harbor.
A dramatic fight ensued, involving Radcliffe and his crew and both Johns. Pocahontas, having no weapon, mostly tried to duck the blows and avoid being caught up in duels. She leapt from ship to ship, deploying the anchors. It grew increasingly difficult, as the pouring rain was making everything slippery.
Her heart leapt to her throat when Radcliffe appeared out of nowhere with a sword and stood menacingly over her.
Equally surprising was John Smith swooping in to her rescue. She could barely breathe as she watched them duel. Smith's banter was witty, Radcliffe's menacing and much slower. Every time Radcliffe thrust his sword, he cut a new swath of fear into her heart. She couldn't bear to lose John Smith again.
After a few close calls, John Smith managed to disarm Radcliffe, who instantly fell to his knees and begged for mercy. John Smith, ever the gentleman, returned Radcliffe's sword disdainfully, closing the battle with another witty comment that Pocahontas couldn't hear past the pounding in her ears- pounding which grew worse when Radcliffe suddenly pulled out a gun and pointed it at John Smith.
John Smith backed away slowly, giving every sign of surrender. It was all she could do to not shout "NO!" as Radcliffe's gun connected with John Smith's forehead.
Radcliffe was smiling now, his large teeth showcased in his twisted grin. Certain he had won, Radcliffe was still taunting John Smith, not even bothering to shoot him yet.
But after a swift motion of John's right hand, he ducked quickly, and before Radcliffe knew what was happening, the beam, connected to the rope which John Smith had severed, had swung around, sending Radcliffe plunging into the water below.
Pocahontas rushed to John Smith's side. "Are you hurt?" she asked, eyes wide.
"I'm all right. Not even a scratch. See?" He held out his arm, showing her its unbroken skin dusted with fine golden hairs. Pocahontas flung herself against him and pressed her head against his chest. She calmed at the steady sound of his heartbeat.
The ships were re-docked just as Radcliffe climbed wearily on shore, spitting out sea water as he went. He was greeted by an angry king, who handcuffed him on the spot. Pocahontas watched these events with nothing but relief. She had yet to let go of John Smith.
John Rolfe hadn't the heart to pry Pocahontas away from John Smith, even to retrieve the few belongings that she had at Rolfe's house. He allowed Smith to accompany her on her last visit, which was brief and cordial. She thanked John Rolfe and his housekeeper for their hospitality.
"Before you go…" John Rolfe said, his autumnal eyes now more closely resembling the leaves at the bottom of a shallow stream, "It would do me great honour if you would both attend a party being held by a friend of mine. Many top members of society will be there. I'm sure you'd be the talk of the party."
Pocahontas exchanged a look with John Smith. Without saying a word, she knew he understood. "No…" John said, still gazing into her eyes. "We have other places to go."
"But how will we get there…?" Pocahontas asked.
"This should help," said John Rolfe unexpectedly. He handed John Smith an envelope sealed by the king's royal seal. It had Smith's name on it.
"For me? But how did you get it?" John asked.
"You didn't have an address. The king handed this to me as we were parting ways. Said you might want it."
John Smith opened the envelope. He grew more and more excited as he read it, his eyes skimming the lines faster and faster.
"What is it?" Pocahontas inquired excitedly.
"I've got a ship!" he exclaimed. "It's all mine! -I mean, it's all ours. That is, if you want to go with me."
She smiled. "I'd love to."
"Really?" he asked, surprised. "I wasn't sure… if maybe you wanted to go home, or if you liked London, or… something." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
Pocahontas shook her head. "For months I've been trying to figure out where my place is. And I've finally found it." She placed her palm against his cheek, cupping his jaw. A smile graced her plump lips. "I belong with you."
John Smith's energetic blue eyes warmed, smiling down at her. "You're sure you won't regret it? Not seeing your family again?" His hand stroked her temple, then trailed off in her smooth black hair.
Her smile widened and she brought her other hand up to his face. "I'm needed here." With that, she brought his face to hers and kissed him.
Heart pounding against hers, he pulled her closer. In one fluid motion, she brought her arms around his neck, hugging his upper back as their bodies pressed together in the way that only theirs ever could.
Neither of them noticed when John Rolfe sadly retreated from the room.
[Epilogue]
Most of John Smith's shipmates were more than happy to join him on another venture. Thomas asked where they were going. John Smith produced a map from his pocket and indicated an island off the coast of Africa. It was the first of many places they were going to explore.
John Smith joined Pocahontas at the prow. The sea breeze blew their hair back from their faces as they gazed excitedly ahead of them. "You know… I own this ship. I could easily get a grant to revisit your homeland, if you want."
She smiled at him. "I would like that."
"You just tell me when you want to do it," he said.
Pocahontas leaned against him. John Smith brought his arm up around her waist. The wind pushed out their sails. The ship accelerated accordingly. Although Pocahontas did want to see her homeland again, she was at peace for the time being. She would return someday.