Chapter 3:
John Smith awakened to find that the sun had risen but his wife
hadn't awoken. She laid her head near his in the soft morning light.
He shifted closer towards her, observing the warmth that he felt from
her. Nothing, nothing would ruin the new life that he had found with
her, he would never have to face his past or the people in it for the
rest of his days. If only he knew that in just a few short hours that
he couldn't have been more wrong...
"Oh Nakoma, stop this, it won't arrive for many months,"
Pocahontas playfully remarked as Nakoma insisted on carrying the
heavy firewood back towards the village that afternoon.
"All more reason to be protective," Nakoma replied, but
allowed Pocahontas to take back some of her load.
"So, where's John," Nakoma asked.
"He's at Jamestown, Thomas sent for him this morning."
"Well, I wonder why he's not back."
"I'm not sure," Pocahontas said, placing down the wood as
she dusted her hands, "but I'm going to go and see him, want to
come?"
"No," was Nakoma's short retort, "I have things to get
done around here."
Pocahontas gave her friend a quick hug, said anah, and left for the
Jamestown fort.
"Pocahontas, it's nice to see you again," Thomas greeted as
she walked in to the gates of the fort.
"You as well Thomas, is John around?"
"Yes, he's discussing some business with someone right
now," Thomas replied.
"Oh," Pocahontas said as she began glancing around the
walls of the fort, and noticing John speaking with Samuel Brigs, a
ship captain.
"Why is he speaking to Samuel, he's the one that books travel,
right?"
"Yes," was Thomas's answer. Pocahontas sat down as Thomas
drifted towards the two men. She waited as she watched the three of
them walk in to a building. After sitting and waiting for a lengthy
amount of time, she stood up and walked towards the back entrance of
the building where the voice of her husband greeted her ears.
"I'm not going to England Thomas; I will not leave my wife in
her delegate condition."
"I realize why you may be hesitant to go John, but your mother
is dying, she doesn't have much time left."
Pocahontas's hand flew to her mouth in shock, it was the first time
she had ever heard of John's family. But, he had told her that he
didn't belong anywhere, why would he say such a thing when he has a
mother at least?
"Is he still alive?"
This next question came out sharp and angry from John's lips; as
Pocahontas stood and listened, knowing that it was wrong to do so
but curious to find out more.
"Yes, he's older but alive," came Samuel's reply.
"Bloody hell, it isn't fair that she's dying and that damn
bastard is still allowed to breathe."
Pocahontas gasped; never, had she heard her husband speak with such
hatred, who was he referring to, and why?
"John, your mother doesn't have much time left, you need to make
peace with your family, go for your mother, and your sisters."
Pocahontas couldn't take it anymore, she ran back towards the
village, disbelief on her face.
The evening's shadows had long since fallen as John Smith stepped
through the small doorway of his hut; he stood for a moment,
watching his wife's back as she piled more wood on the fire;
"Pocahontas, I'm sorry I'm late," he said as she stood and
faced the doorway.
"Dinner is ready," she replied as she sat crossed legged by
the fire and watched John sit across from her.
"I was at Jamestown, I have bad news."
"What?"
"I've gotten word that my mother, is dying."
"I thought you said that you didn't have anyone? That, you
never belonged anywhere?"
John looked away, "well, I, its true, I don't belong with my
family."
"Why?"
"Pocahontas, I don't want to talk about it."
Pocahontas ignored his comment, "John, I love you and you know
that, tell me why you can't go and see your mother."
"You're with child, I won't leave you, and I'll send her a letter,
she'll understand."
The young woman gasped and stood walking to where John was sitting,
her eyes blazing.
"I don't believe you, that is the coldest most unfelt thing to
do, I, I can't believe you actually said it!"
Pocahontas shouted, looking in his blue eyes;
"You won't understand."
"Maybe not, but I want to know."
"No."
"John, I'm your wife."
"There are some things that you do not need to know."
"John Smith, you tell me, I'll go with you to England if that is
what you're concerned about."
"You aren't going anywhere, and I'm not telling you anything,
don't make me speak of it!"
"John, I!"
However she was cut off by John's hand slapping her cheek, tears came
in her eyes but she refused to let them flow. She watched her husband
as he gazed at his hand, disbelief and finally horor crossing his
face.
"My god," he whispered as Pocahontas watched as he turned
from her and began to softly cry. After rubbing her cheek, she stood
and knelt in front of her husband, lifting his head in order so he
could meet her eyes.
"My god, my god, lord forgive me, Pocahontas, forgive me."
"Shshshshsh John, it's alright."
"No, no it'll never be alright again," he replied.
"John," she said softly as she pulled him close to her body
and began stroking his blond hair. At first he resisted her, but
gave in as her soft words coaxed him to do so. After holding him for
a while, she slowly pulled away, "you don't have to talk about
it if you don't want to but John, do not just send her a
letter."
She stood and slowly began eating again, not wanting the food to
spoil if not untouched.
"It had been raining," her husband said suddenly.
"What?"
Pocahontas inquired, gazing in to his eyes, after setting down her
plate, he continued as she moved to sit beside him.
"It had been raining, and my father had been gone all that day.
My mother asked me to tend to our two horses because he wasn't home.
On that day, my mother had told my father that she had been with
child but had lost it and after that he had left. My sisters were up
in there room, playing with dolls when I had left to do what my
mother asked me to. After feeding and watering them, I began walking
up towards our house."
Pocahontas sat and listened but did not urge him to continue as he
took in a sharp breath and released it, obviously not wanting to say
what he needed to say.
"I walked up to the house and my father was back, and he had
just slapped my mother. I could smell the ale on him and I rushed
forwards as he kicked her and she went down on the floor. He was
telling her that she was worthless, a no good bitch and it was her
fault that the babe had died. I stood up for her, I tried to defend
her, but I was only twelve at the time. He hit me in the chest and I
was always taught to not disrespect him so I took it," he
stopped as his voice cracked, "I took his anger at my mother, I
didn't want my mother to suffer, or my sisters."
"John, I'm so sorry," Pocahontas said as she held him in
her arms.
"The next thing that I remember is waking up in my room, my head
pounding and my mother tending to me." He sighed again, "I
stayed until I was fifteen and then I left."
"John, is that the only reason?"
"That's one," he stated as he kissed her, "but I think
that's all for now."
"John please, talk to me, tell me everything."
"No," he said as he kissed her again, more deeply. His
hands found the back of her dress and his lips moved down from her
own to her neck and as her dress slipped off her shoulders, to her
breasts.
"John," Pocahontas gasped, "John you can't distract
yourself by making love to me, not all the time, not every
time."
He didn't answer, just gently pushed her back onto her back and with
her help removed the rest of her garment.
"John," she began but he cut her off with another deep,
long kiss.
"Please, let me bury this," he said, pulling back to gaze
at her.
"I am not a substitute for pain John," she stated.
Her husband pulled back and turned his head, gazing at the wall, the
many whores in London were, he thought but turned back towards his
wife. She wasn't a whore to share his bed, she wasn't alcohol to
make him forget all the pain, anger and sorrow. She was his wife, his
Pocahontas, his lover and friend. He reached over and picked up her
fallen dress, "here, lets go to sleep, I'm tired."
The woman sighed as she folded the dress and put it away as she put
on her sleeping robes and climbed in the covers of the bed she shared
with her husband. Shutting her eyes, she felt him join her in the
comfort the coverings had to offer; she sighed again, knowing there
was more to his family story.