Part 22 (1/2)

”Sir Walter Ralegh, you mean? Is this some jest?”

”Trust me, Lady Catherine,” he said. He smiled at me with the same honest eyes I remembered. He was not lying to me.

I set Virginia down and in a daze walked out of the village and over the sandy hills leading to the seaward sh.o.r.e. Perhaps Sir Walter had not come into the village with John White and the pirate, but had set out to look for me. Had he come at last to govern Virginia himself?

At the top of a sandy cliff I paused and surveyed the empty strand below. The wind gusted, pus.h.i.+ng me backward. Out to sea, slanted curtains of rain hung from distant clouds. Beyond the curve of the horizon lay England, only weeks away by s.h.i.+p, but years away in my memory. I tried to remember Sir Walter's face, but his features blurred in my mind. I could not be certain of the color of his eyes or the sound of his voice. What had he said to me in the library while he secretly put the handkerchief in my sleeve? Or the time we met in his garden? I could not remember. Nor could I recall a single line from all the letters and poems he had written to me. They were lost from my mind, as they had been stolen from my chest and used to betray me. The particulars of my past, once so sharp, had grown as hazy as the line where the gray blue sea met the gray blue sky.

When I closed my eyes what filled my mind were the faces of the people I saw every day. What filled my ears were the shrill cries of seabirds, the burbling of frogs, Virginia's laughter, and the drone of insects on a summer night. I smelled woodsmoke and bear grease, tasted roasted maize and salty air on my tongue. These were the particulars of my new life. What pleasures they provided-the wind on my bare arms, the warm furs I slept on, the medley of voices speaking English and Algonkian, Manteo's dark eyes on me! A longing for everything filled me. Or was it the fullness itself I felt, and grat.i.tude for it?

I whispered a prayer to whatever G.o.ds or spirits surrounded me. ”Please don't let me lose what I have or be lost myself.”

I sensed rather than heard someone nearby. I opened my eyes and turned, expecting to see Sir Walter standing there. But it was not the finely dressed courtier who had thrown his cloak in the mire for the queen to step on. Nor was it the pirate I had seen with John White. No, it was Manteo, watching me from a distance. I knew the stories of Algon and had come to understand that Manteo thought of me as a Moon Maiden he had brought to live with his own people. He felt responsible for me and so he followed me, remaining half a dozen swift strides from my side. I found his presence rea.s.suring. It meant I had nothing to fear.

I scrambled down the sandy cliff, grasping tufts of gra.s.s and shrubs to keep from falling, until I stood on the tide-soaked sand. The gulls cried out to each other, and brown pelicans dipped into the sea and came up with fish flapping in their throats. I waited for Sir Walter to find me.

It was not long before I caught sight of the pirate, who began running toward me. My first thought was to flee, but remembering Manteo's nearness I stood fast. As the pirate drew nearer, I saw by his curly brown hair, his sharp nose, and his long, well-shaped legs that it was none other than Sir Walter. If I had wanted to run I could not, for my feet seemed rooted to the s.h.i.+fting ground. He slowed his steps. He was breathing hard. When he was about twenty paces away I held up my hand for him to stop.

”Lady Catherine!” he said. ”I knew you at once. Do you not know me?”

I nodded without speaking. A flush spread over my face and I felt my heartbeat quicken.

”Have you nothing to say?”

I had dreamed about this moment a hundred times. Now I could not remember a single word I had planned to say.

”Words are worth so little,” I said, lifting my hand and letting it fall again. ”I would be sparing with them.” I thought of all the poems and letters that had pa.s.sed between us and were now lost and forgotten. What could be said that held any meaning for long?

Sir Walter's gaze traveled from my head to my feet.

”Dark as an Ethiop you are, though more lovely by far,” he said as if he were beginning a poem. ”All my senses are offended-yet stirred-by this transformation in you.”

”I am the one offended,” I said.

”I don't mean you, but the others,” he hastened to explain.

”What of your your transformation?” I asked. ”Have you turned pirate?” transformation?” I asked. ”Have you turned pirate?”

He laughed. ”I am unchanged. This disguise merely permits me to travel in secret. I am always Sir Walter Ralegh, and you”-he made a gallant gesture with his arm, as if laying down a cloak in the wet sand-”you are always my Lady Catherine.”

There was a time when I would have rejoiced to hear Sir Walter speak to me so. But to be flattered and called Lady Catherine while I stood barefoot, garbed in deerskins, and so much altered by my experiences did not please me.

”You do not know me. I am Cate now.”

He made another attempt. ”Well, resume your usual clothing and manner and you will be Lady Catherine again.”

”This is is my usual clothing, and it pleases me,” I said. my usual clothing, and it pleases me,” I said.

Sir Walter stared at me as if I lacked the capacity of reason. ”This cannot be happening,” he said. ”I expected my colonists to bring the tenets of civil society and true religion to the savages. I expected to find the natives living like us, not ... what I have seen.” Words failed him and he tugged at his beard, becoming distraught. ”Manteo-who was made a lord and baptized-has returned to his savage life, and every one of you has regressed to a primitive state. How did this come about?”

”It is a long story with many chapters,” I said. ”I wrote much of it down, for I once hoped it would be published.”

For a moment his eyes gleamed, then he shook his head. ”It cannot be the story Her Majesty expects to hear or one that will bring me fame.”

”Why did you come here then, if you could not bear the truth?” I said. ”If fame is all you seek?”

”I came for you, Catherine!” he cried out, extending his hands toward me. ”The queen realizes she wronged you. I also am at fault for your plight and full of regret.”

Those, too, were words I had longed to hear. But what meaning did they hold here in Virginia? ”Does Elizabeth forgive me?” I asked. ”Is she sorry she banished me?”

Sir Walter beckoned. ”Come, and you will hear it from her own lips.”

I wondered, was the queen aboard his s.h.i.+p? Had she come with Sir Walter to see the New World, to find me? ”I don't understand,” I whispered. ”What do these regrets mean now?”

He replied with patient earnest, ”Lady Catherine, I have come to make amends. I am taking you back to England with me. Her Majesty has promised you can be mine at last.”

Mine at last! Desire for Sir Walter, long buried and almost forgotten, rose up in me again. It had been part of me for so many years, how could it ever go away? And what was to be done with it now? I turned my head to let the wind blow my hair out of my eyes. My thoughts, my hair, everything was tangled. Desire for Sir Walter, long buried and almost forgotten, rose up in me again. It had been part of me for so many years, how could it ever go away? And what was to be done with it now? I turned my head to let the wind blow my hair out of my eyes. My thoughts, my hair, everything was tangled.

A breaking wave rushed onto the sh.o.r.e and over my feet, then receded, pulling the sand from beneath me. I lost my balance and stumbled backward. Sir Walter stepped toward me. It was like a dance where the partners do not touch. At court Sir Walter and I had never danced. So much had been forbidden that would now be permitted. But could either of us truly live or love freely while we served England's queen? My words and deeds would still be overseen and possibly censured. Again I thought of the letters stolen from my chest, like a heart from a body. Though I had forgotten what was in them, I now recalled clearly what had been missing.

”Sir Walter, you never once said to me 'I love you.' ”

His eyes widened. Light brown they were; I had forgotten. They flickered away from mine for an instant, then returned. ”But of course I do! Even as you are now, despite everything,” he protested. ”Haven't I come for you at last?”

I felt my eyes fill up with tears. They rolled down my cheeks and into the corners of my mouth. They were salty like the enormous, endless sea.

Through the blur I saw Sir Walter take something from his pocket. It was a handkerchief edged with lace, once white but now worn and stained. At once I recognized that token of such conflicted sentiment.

”Let me wipe your tears, my dear,” he said.

I stood perfectly still while he came to within an arm's length of me. His face was dark and lined from the sun. In place of his usual pearl, he wore a wide silver ring in one ear. The faint but familiar scent of civet tickled my nose. He reached out with the handkerchief and wiped my left cheek, then my right. With his thumb he wiped another tear from my chin. The fingers seemed those of a well-meaning stranger, and their touch did not stir me. I turned my head aside.

”Now live with me and be my love,” he said softly.

These words were still no pledge of love. I heard a sweetly phrased demand that would tempt many a maid. But it did not move me. If Sir Walter had declared ”I love you” on his knees and produced a priest to marry us, it would not have made a difference now. For I had made my decision, not on the spur of that moment, but over the course of many long months.

Taking a deep breath, I looked into his eyes. ”I will not come and live with you, Sir Walter, for I do not love you.”

He froze. On his face was a look of pure astonishment, as if a deer or a bird had suddenly spoken to him. Slowly he withdrew his hand and dropped the handkerchief. It fell to the sand and neither of us stooped to pick it up.

”And so, farewell,” I said with a faint smile, beginning to walk backward and away from him. The sand was wet but firm beneath my feet.

”But I love you, Lady Catherine!”

At last he had said it. Spoken out of sorrow, it was a forgiveable lie.