The mood was solemn that late morning as The Speedwell cut through the Atlantic Ocean, returning to Jamestown, Virgin, from its long journey from London, England. It had been an excruciating four months for all aboard the vessel, especially the young women who were set to marry strangers upon landing in the new world, but now, the day was more painful for them, as during the night, four of the young maids had passed. Their bodies had been wrapped in harsh flax tarps, sealed with thick thread and bound with rope, expertly done by sailors with the expertise of knots. Jeanne Gardner's lips took on a harsh line as she watched the bodies being tossed into the sea, unable to stomach the thought that they would never be able to receive a proper burial and last rights. She had wondered what had taken the women if it was the unending hungry from rationed meals, the cold and cramped cargo hold, an illness, or even the fear of being wed to men they did not know of. Men would now have to deal with a broken heart, more so the debt owed to bring their betrothed to Virginia.
Jeanne's eyes squeezed shut as the last body hit the water, the splash sounds causing her stomach to drop. When she finally opened her cornflower blues, she stared at her aunt and uncle. Temperance and Sir George Yeardley. The pair stood close together, George watching the funeral proceedings grimly as his wife prayed silently beside him, a lace embroidered handkerchief clutched close to her chest. Jeanne wondered what thoughts were going through the minds of her aunt and uncle, the two dressed in fine cotton and silk garments embroidered with metal thread to show off their noble status, compared to the sailors and women around them dressed in course linens and wools. Had the husband and wife felt guilt over the remorse or regret for how the women had been forced to live while aboard the brig?
Jeanne gripped the heavy fabric of her skirt, feeling the jacquard material under her fingertips. She was lucky to have her uncle. She was fortunate to move freely aboard the ship, traversing between the captain's cabin, where her aunt and uncle had been staying, to the cargo hold just below the main deck serving as a makeshift living quarter for the women.
Sir George Yeardley calling for her had ripped her from her thoughts. His voice was soft, not at all commanding as one would expect from a man of his position. As Jeanne reached her uncle, he noticed him alone, knowing her aunt had already fled to their quarters. The older woman had spent most of the journey confined there.
"Jeanne," Yeardley started, placing a loving hand into the wild curls, a way for him to ensure her eyes met his hazel brown. He always did this when he wanted her full attention and when he wanted her to do what he was asking. "I need you to see to the care of the women today." His eyes travelled to what few women had stayed above deck, clinging together and sobbing. "They will be unsettled with these latest deaths, and the captain has warned me of a storm."
"I know," Jeanne spoke, their eyes once again locked. "I can feel it in the change of weather."
Yeardley smiled, rubbing a thumb against her cheek before pulling his hand away. Sir George Yeardley was a thin man, his face full of harsh lines that made him look older than he was. He took pride in it, as he felt it made him more respectable than a young man with a smooth face, along with the grey hairs that had begun to appear in his beard in the last few years. His strawberry-blonde hair was a stark contrast to her fiery mane. "You're too smart sometimes." He explained, walking away to find his wife.
"Only sometimes? I'm losing my touch." Jeanne joked, earning a chuckle from the man. Once she had been left standing by herself, Jeanne looked back over the women still on deck, studying them. She could feel the fear radiating off them; see it. Since the beginning of their voyage, they had lost seventeen women, and each new death left others feeling as if they would never see land again. Jeanne sighed, forcing herself to move as she approached the closest young maid. "Alice?"
The woman spun, her long brown hair flowing gently as she did. She gave Jeanne a warm smile. "Jeanne." She greeted. The two had become good friends in their time together. Jeanne had appreciated Alice Kett's sweet and caring nature, which was hardly ever encountered in the noblemen's circle of London. Alice reached out for her friend, and Jeanne took her hands in her own. The brunette pulled her towards the sealed opening of the cargo hold, both sitting on the uncomfortable solid wood.
"How are you fairing?" Jeanne asked, moving some of Alice's thick hair behind her ears.
Alice smiled again, accepting the kind gesture. "I'm doing well, all things considered." Her gaze moved to the ship's railing, where the bodies of women she had come to know had been tossed only moments before.
Jeanne followed her eyes, her hands squeezing Alice's tighter. "And have you spoken to anyone else?"
Alice continued to stare off into the open sea. "Only Agnes. I tried to comfort her, but she just wanted to return below with the others." She finally returned her dark blue eyes to Jeanne. The two sat in silence for a moment before Alice spoke again. "I don't think any of them are well. It's been such a long journey, we're just so tired, hungry and filthy, and we've lost so many."
Jeanne nodded, understanding well. "I share those concerns, as does my uncle, but we mustn't lose faith. We are nearing the end of our journey and will soon be in a new world with new possibilities!" Jeanne could see how her words affected Alice, as her dark orbs seemed to lighten at the glimmer of hope. Alice's weak smile fell as something behind Jeanne caught her attention. The redhead turned to spot one of the young women, Verity Bridges, stealing hardtack, a dense biscuit made from simple flour, water and salt that was long-lasting on month-long voyages from an unguarded plate of a sailor that had been called away to help with some rigging.
Verity smiled at the two women, shooting them a wink as she fully shoved one into her mouth, another hidden in a closed hand. She bolted away below deck, her orange hair moving wildly as she did.
Jeanne sighed, turning back to Alice to find the brunette having a silent chuckle at the thief. "I should report her."
"Jeanne!" Alice gave her arm a light shove, her face one of mock offence. Alice learned in their time together that Jeanne was easygoing and always seemed to put others before herself, just as Alice did. Because of this, Alice knew that her friend wouldn't report the other ginger woman for her action but maybe get a lecture from Jeanne on not getting caught. Verity had been sold to the Virginia Company, choosing marriage over the gallows after being caught thieving. The Irish woman's last need was to continue stealing once she had settled in Jamestown, unsure of the rules for such crimes.
Jeanne smiled back at Alice, the pair chuckling. There was no reason to report Verity. Most of the young women they had on board were hungry, some even having died from it, so a little bit of extra food for them would do them all some good, as long as the little thief remembered to share. "But in all seriousness," she calmed herself, causing the brunette to stop her laughter. "There will be a storm tonight, so I'll need your help keeping the rest of them calm."
Alice looked at her quizzically. "How do you know?"
"Close your eyes," Jeanne instructed, waiting for her friend to do so. "Do you feel it? Feel how the ship has stopped rocking? The seas are too calm, and no wind. Even the temperature had shifted."
"You're right. Four deaths and now a storm. God must be punishing us." Alice opened her eyes, taking in Jeanne's observations, realising the woman was right. The ship hadn't rocked all morning compared to the days before, and even her hair hadn't even been blown from where she had it pinned.
Jeanne stood up, brushing off her skirt. "Guess I need to tell Verity to stop stealing, or she shall sink us all." She joked, pulling Alice to her feet.
The storm had hit harder than Jeanne had expected, as the ship rocked violently through the storm with such force that Jeanne and Alice struggled to stand as they walked through the cargo hold. As the pair supported the women housed within, the metal lanterns squeaked with each movement of the ship. The women had to suppress shivers as ice-cold water slipped in through the tight gaps in the hull and ceiling above them, drenching their forms, causing women to huddle together for even a grasp of warm, as the thin linen blankets that had been generously given to them provided little protection from the elements. Jeanne prayed that the men working above to keep the ship afloat during the storm were safe, as they were the only line of defence. They all had to stop the boat from being ripped apart in the storm. Jeanne had heard of hurricanes but had just now experienced one.
Jeanne braced herself against a beam as a wave hit the hull, causing the brig to lurch. She sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the death that never came. Her breath came out ragged when her eyes re-opened, taking in the women around her, many whimpering or praying, some even hurling what little was in their guts from the sea sickness. The poor woman was huddled to herself, tucked up against a beam, as she kept her eyes shut, doing her best to ignore the world around her. Jeanne looked to Verity.
Her attention was stolen from her fellow redhead as Alice approached her, her petite figure being tossed side to side as she walked, steadying herself against stray beams as she passed them. "This isn't getting any easier!" Jeanne yelled over the thunder, Alice nodding at her words. "I don't even see this calming out soon!" She watched the brunette return to attending to the women, starting with a single blonde sitting alone. "Mary, Mother of God, bless us women with your grace and protect us from this storm." She mumbled to herself as she watched Alice kneel beside the blonde, sharing a small moment of communication.
Jeanne sat down by Agnes, who struggled not to vomit up her stomach. She rubbed a hand against the other woman's back, trying to ease Agnes's discomfort. Alice had pulled her from her ministrations, dragged her to stand and off to the side, her voice a loud whisper so their conversation couldn't be overheard, while still allowing Jeanne to hear the brunette over the rain and thunder.
"That Lady, Jocelyn Woodbryg, I think she's gone mad!" Alice's voice was full of concerns, for what? Jeanne wasn't sure. The redhead looked at the blonde, who hadn't moved an inch. Jocelyn wasn't like the other women in the hold, some lower-class man of Jamestown hadn't bought her, but she was a lady of good stature, off to marry a lord of equally good stature working for the Virginia Company. "She's talking about having murdered a man, that this storm is God's way of punishing her!" Alice continued. Both women eyed off the blonde, thoughts racing, each having their concerns about why the woman would say such a thing and if there was any truth to her statement.
Jeanne's face remained stoic, not even glancing at Alice as her gaze was focused on Jocelyn. "Tell no one." She ordered her friend. She let Alice pass by her, the brunette going back to helping others, but Jeanne focused harder on Jocelyn, studying the back of her form, watching how she was scrunched in on herself, her fine silk cape wrapped around her. If Alice was correct, and that Jocelyn Woodbryg has indeed killed man, it would make sense why she would make the enormous decision to leave everything she knew behind in London, a life of nobility and luxury, to start a new life somewhere rumoured with danger. Jeanne would need to keep a close eye on Jocelyn, as the woman would no doubt bring some drama with her, which would no doubt come to affect all of Jamestown. This woman was going to be trouble.
The storm had stopped by the time Jeanne had opened her eyes. She wasn't sure what time it was or if it was the next day, unsure how long she had slept. The surface below her was soft, so she knew she wasn't in the cargo hold. It was a bed—the captain's quarters. A loud sigh left the woman's mouth as she struggled to get up, her mind pulling a blank on how she got to the chambers, her last memory of having been in the hold with Alice, tending to the women there. As she finished sitting up, her eyes landed on her aunt sitting at the small table in the room, her eyes locked onto the bible in her hands as she read through it.
That was Temperance Yeardley. A woman that was so God-fearing that it made others fear her. Or avoid her. Her hair was always styled back out of her face and secured in a snood. Her garments were void of any colour and completely covered her body.
"How long have I been asleep for?" Jeanne asked, stretching out her neck. Temperance didn't pay her niece any mind, focusing on finishing her current passage. Jeanne waited on her.
Without a sound, Temperance closed her bible gently, placing it on the table for the utmost care. She smiled tightly, turning her attention to her niece. "Not long." She spoke curtly. "You came here towards the storm's end and collapsed into your uncle's arms. He put you to bed." Her smile became sickly sweet. "You did such a Godly thing, helping those innocent girls. Such a blessing you are." Temperance continued to stare at Jeanne, her gaze becoming unnerving.
Jeanne gave her a tight smile in response, unsure how to reply. She didn't care for Aunt's zealous and holier-than-now nature when it came to loyalty to the Church of England and God. To Jeanne, being a good person shouldn't be limited to one's faith but simply doing the right thing, as Jeanne had witnessed many using God to abuse and harm others in her nineteen years of life. "Where's my uncle now? And are the women still in the cargo hold?"
"Your uncle is seeing to the captain," Temperance picked up her bible, readying to read another passage. "And I believe that most of the women are still below resting. It might be good for you to attend to them."
Jeanne nodded, raising herself from her bed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her aunt's actions and words. Only Jeanne could see the care and comfort of the maids to make wives as if her aunt ever would. It's all worthwhile to act as the perfect follower of God, but another matter to be one. The fiery hair girl straightened out her green gown before leaving the captain's quarters, not even offering her aunt a farewell. Jeanne stopped at the cargo hold first to fulfil her aunt's wishes to check up on them, hoping they got at least some more hours of sleep than she had after last night's storm. Her mind drifted to Jocelyn. She found that the blonde woman wasn't in the hold, nor were Alice and Verity, knowing they must be up top enjoying the sun. As she reached the upper deck, Jeanne found her uncle deep in conversation with the ship's captain, looking over a map. No doubt in a debate about when they would reach Jamestown that neither man seemed to realise she was there. Jeanne sighed.
"Jeanne!" Alice's cheerful voice called out to her. Alice and Verity were at the ship's bow, staring off into the distance as the two women chatted. Alice was smiling as she waved her over, while beside her, Verity wasn't looking too pleased, as she never seemed to be when it came to anything, in particular, except when she was up to no good.
Jeanne laughed as she went to greet them. "Didn't sleep well, Verity?"
Verity scoffed. "I ain't got a fancy bed to lay on now, do I?" The Irish woman took a jab at her, a massive smile. The woman could be playful despite her negative situation. Jeanne loved how easy-going Verity was when she wanted to be.
"Aren't you glad, Verity?" "Aren't you grateful that we're the ones to come to this New World?" Alice turned to look out to the open sea, imagining what possibilities awaited them, her two friends following her gaze.
"Hell's teeth, no." The Irish woman spoke flatly. The three of them shared a look before bursting into laughter, only to be broken from their joke as a sailor from the crow's nest called out to those below him.
"Land! Land!"
The girls leaned forward, following the sailor's gestures, squinting at the land far into the distance. Jeanne began to reminisce on her childhood in Scotland before the passing of both her parents. "I wonder if it would be anything like my Highlands." Jeanne dreamed aloud, causing sweet smiles from the women standing by her.