COLORS OF THE WIND
Chapter One
Spring, 1607
Diary,
Today we set sail for the New World.
Virginia. I wonder what it will be like there. Surely, it will be nothing like here.
No great cities, no charming little towns or open countryside. Just hills and
forests full of savages, and, if Mother and Cal can be believed, untold riches.
We shall see.
We are to depart at noon. For the past
several days, we have been staying in a rather quaint little inn, our only home
since our own home and goods were sold to pay off Father’s debts. Mother hates
it here, as does Cal, who has been staying here with us, as his own home is too
far away for him to stay in while waiting for the ship to set sail. Personally,
I find it quite charming, and the quality of the food, though not as rich as
what I am accustomed to, is excellent.
I shall miss London and my friends, and
most especially my maid, Trudy, whom Mother let go, and the theater. Still, it
isn’t forever, and perhaps this journey will bring excitement and
adventure—things I’ve always longed for. And certainly we will go down in the
history books, whatever the journey brings. How exciting, to be remembered for
something other than our extravagances.
Carefully wrapping her quill pen and ink,
Rose tucked her writing tools and her diary into her bag and stood, looking up
at the ship. The docks were milling with people, mostly rough men who carried
crates and goods to and fro and used rough language that Ruth would have been
appalled at. Cal would have been appalled that she had heard such language,
although she knew that he used it himself, having heard him use those words and
more after his horse had thrown him while hunting foxes in the country.
She smiled to herself. She would undoubtedly
be in trouble for this escapade—imagine, a young lady of her status going to
the docks alone—but she couldn’t stand another moment of Cal’s bragging or
Ruth’s lectures on decorum. Each probably though that she was with the other,
or at least they had when she had slipped out.
A shout from behind her let her know that her
whereabouts had been discovered. Cal strode up to her, his face dark with fury.
"Rose, what did I tell you about coming
here?"
Rose sighed. Her voice slightly mocking, she
quoted, "A young lady does not go to the docks alone. It is much too
dangerous, both to her and to her reputation. Only whores parade about the
docks—"
She stopped as Cal slapped her. "I told
you not to use that word!"
"Which word? Whores?" Rose
straightened her back, ignoring the urge to rub her sore cheek. "You asked
me what you said about coming here."
"You didn’t need to quote me
directly."
"Then don’t ask me to repeat what you
said!"
Cal was tempted to slap her again, but
several men had gathered around now, watching the scene with interest. One of
them just might come to her aid.
Instead, he took her arm, leading her away.
"Your mother has been worrying about you."
"Undoubtedly."
He clenched his teeth, irritated at her mocking
tone of voice. "And it’s almost time to board. We need to load our trunks
into a cart to be brought here. As you can see, it’s been very busy, but we’ll
soon be on our way."
"I don’t see what all the fuss is about.
Suppose the New World doesn’t have what you’re looking for?"
Cal gave her an irritated smile.
"Sweetpea, it’s the New World, a new land full of treasures waiting for
those who will come to harvest them. Don’t you remember what I’ve told you? The
stories of Pizarro, Cortez…the riches found by the great explorers."
"By your own account, those men’s
stories were greatly exaggerated."
Cal shrugged. "What can you expect of
Spaniards? But they are no longer of consequence."
"I wouldn’t be so sure, and if they found
so little, how can you be sure of what you’ll find?"
"They found it, Sweetpea, but they
weren’t able to bring it back. We will. For the glory of England, and of King
James…"
"…and of yourself," Rose muttered.
"We will bring back the riches of the
New World. No one will stop us. No savage, no Spaniard, no Frenchman…no one can
stop us now! God himself could not stop this expedition!"
Rose looked at him, wide-eyed. "Don’t
dare God, Cal. He’s more powerful than you’ll ever be."
Cal just rolled his eyes and gave her a
patronizing look as he led her back in the direction of the inn.
*****
Rose walked up the gangplank between her
mother and Cal. Each held tightly to her arms, as though afraid she would run
away.
The thought did tempt her. What was she
doing, boarding a ship to a new, uncharted land? She was a lady, an
Englishwoman of quality. She and her mother were the only women making the
journey, and without Cal’s protection, they would be easy prey for the dozens
of lonely men on board.
She supposed that she should be grateful that
Cal was there, but she wasn’t. For all that the other men on board the ship
were rough, none frightened her like Cal did. Of course, she reasoned, none of
them had ever laid a cruel hand on her, or any hand at all, for that matter,
and she wasn’t betrothed to be married to any of them, either.
In spite of her mother’s efforts to keep her
daughter within the boundaries of the nobility, Rose had often enough sneaked
away into London. She had found that, in spite of what those of her station
said, the middle class and poor people weren’t as bad or as crude as she had
been taught. And certainly, their bad behavior was matched on many occasions by
members of the nobility, who were often worse, without the impetus of need to
fuel their vicious behavior, and with enough money that the prospect of prison
or hanging didn’t daunt them—money could make the worst sins forgivable.
A scandal was an entirely different matter,
and was the primary reason why the DeWitt Bukater women were leaving on such a
dangerous journey. Rose’s father, William Bukater, had been a member of an old,
proud family that could trace its origins back to the Anglo-Saxon days. They
had been amongst the most powerful of the nobility for generations, influencing
and advising kings and generals.
In recent times, however, the Bukater family
had grown more contentious, more rebellious. William Bukater had been a
favorite at the court of Queen Elizabeth, in spite of the fact that he was
Catholic, in stark contrast to the favored Anglican faith. In 1605, he had
joined a conspiracy to make Catholicism dominant in England once again.
The plan had been to blow up the House of
Parliament on November 5, 1605, a conspiracy that became known as the Gunpowder
Plot. He had not been one of the main conspirators, but his financial
contribution had helped the plan along.
The plan had been to blow up the House of
Parliament on State Opening Day, when the king, lords, and commons would have
all been present. But someone—just who was never known—sent a warning letter to
the Catholic Lord Monteagle, warning him not to attend the State Opening.
Monteagle, accompanied by the Lord Chamberlain, Suffolk, made a search of the
House of Parliament the day before the explosion was to take place. At midnight,
the cellar had been searched thoroughly, and one of the main conspirators, Guy
Fawkes, was caught with the gunpowder that was to have been used to blow up the
building.
The main conspirators were soon killed
outright or arrested and executed, but Lord Bukater, whose role in the plot had
been minor, was allowed to live. However, he was stripped of his title and
lands and banished from the court, shaming his family and breaking his spirit.
He had died a few months later—a boating accident, everyone had said, though
Ruth had always maintained that it had been suicide.
Ruth, too, had been shamed by her husband’s
actions, but she herself was still a member of the nobility—the DeWitts were
also nobles, though not nearly so high-ranked or well-respected as the Bukaters
had been, for they were newer, and, it was suspected, linked to the French.
Ruth had been allowed to keep the house in London after her husband’s death,
but had had to sell it when it became apparent that he had been cast deeply
into debt after losing his title and lands, and it was only his death that had
kept him from debtor’s prison and his wife and daughter from penury.
It was for this reason that the DeWitt
Bukater women were leaving for the New World. Ruth had sought help from her
family, but they did not want to be associated with the now-notorious Bukaters,
and had turned their backs on her. In desperation, Ruth had used the only
assets remaining to her—her name, which, although tarnished, was still to be
reckoned with, and her daughter, who, despite being too particular about who
she would marry, was still sought-after as a bride, and for whom a good
marriage would restore both their fortunes and their good standing in society.
Many of the men of higher standing did not
want Rose anymore than she wanted them, with her wild ways and the hint of
scandal surrounding her because of her father’s actions. However, in spite of
these things, she did come from a well-known family, one that still possessed
some political power—it had only been Rose’s father that had been stripped of
everything, not the rest of his family, after all—and she was a beauty, the
sort of woman that many men would have liked to have had for a wife, especially
older ones seeking to recapture their youth.
Caledon Hockley was not so old—only thirty,
although with life expectancy being what it was, it was likely enough that he
would die while Rose was still young enough to enjoy the money and possessions
that he would leave behind, and which their eldest son would inherit when he
was of age. Furthermore, Cal had been involved in a minor scandal himself,
being reputed to have seduced the fourteen-year-old daughter of a duke and
gotten her with child, although most of the blame had been laid on the girl,
who was known for her fast, rebellious ways.
Still, it had taken little coaxing for Ruth
to convince Cal to marry Rose. At seventeen, she was older than many young
women at the time of their first marriage—though some women were widowed by the
time they were her age, and embarking upon a second marriage. Cal had been
smitten with Rose, and she had found him charming enough, though not enough to
marry him until Ruth had stepped in.
Now, with the marriage arranged and the date
set, there remained only the matter of gaining sufficient wealth to pay off
William Bukater’s debts—a part of the deal that Ruth and Cal had reached. In
exchange for his marriage to Rose, he would pay off the family’s debts, and
provide Ruth with a good-sized allowance. Rose knew that she had been sold—but
there was nothing so surprising about that. Young women of the nobility were
usually married off for financial or political gain. She had only avoided the
fate thus far because her father had not believed that his daughter should be
treated so, and because she had been choosy about whom to marry. Now, the
decision was out of her hands—and she wasn’t any happier.
Going to Virginia would give them a place to
live until the marriage could take place, as well as take them away from the
gossip and notoriety from the scandal in London. It was a brave new world they
were going to, and Rose could only hope that it would offer something good for
her, too.
*****
Ruth and Rose stood inside the tiny, cramped
cabin that they would call home for the next two months. Cal had paid a great
deal of money so that they could have a room to themselves, rather than sharing
quarters with the men. He himself would be rooming with Governor Ratcliffe,
Ratcliffe’s valet, and two other men of high standing. The accommodations
didn’t please him, but it was better than sleeping on deck or sharing the
cramped, smelly quarters below with the dozens of common men on the journey.
Rose wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant
smell of the small cabin. There were two bunks, a tiny washstand, and a chamber
pot, which hardly left any room for the occupants once their trunks were jammed
inside. Sitting atop one of her trunks, she looked around.
The ship was seaworthy, she knew—it had been
on several trips already, though never on such a long one before. It smelled well-used,
too—an unpleasant miasma that offended even her none-too-delicate nostrils.
Life in London stank, even for members of the nobility, and she had grown used
to most smells—but not in such close quarters. She couldn’t exactly identify
what all the smells were, but she suspected that she would soon find out—a
prospect that she found less than pleasing.
But there was nothing she could do. The ship
had set sail now, and she couldn’t swim—and even if she could, they were
several miles offshore now, in choppy waters, and there was no turning back.