Eternal Blossom

August 18, 1604

Long, ratted, sandy brown hair cascaded down the sides of one of the X shaped stick formations. The tattered, champagne, taffeta dress that draped over the trifling frame of a frail, but firm body was being held up by twigs, those twigs in which, fatefully, embraced her life. The mangled petti coat dangled meaninglessly to the floor; the torn edges paint-dipped and matted with mud. Ghost white, dirt smeared feet suspended dauntlessly over the opposite set of X fashioned branches; the veins protruding from the beginning of her toes crawled up to her ankles. They reveal terror, but her state is undeniably dispirited. Her head remains upheld, strained to keep level with the rest of her body, but her refusal to let it fall overpowered her painstaking mentality. The petite figure of a young woman; pale, beautiful, lies there, as if not sure of the purpose, just present. However, the tenacity of her being at this place was quite clear to the rest of the gathering.

Taking a deep breath, captivating in that wonderful feeling of a full set of lungs, cherishing it for an instant, she opens her puffy, red, dampened eyes for the first time since her arrival; seeing what appears to be a beautiful landscape, aside from the ravenous crowd of whom she thought to be her family, dancing and parading around her, shouting obscurities with their painted bodies. The mountainous terrain dotted with evergreen trees revealed to her that there was, in fact, still beauty in this godforsaken world. The lake just next to the closest foothill endured silent; no sight of ripples or movement whatsoever, oh how the peacefulness taunted her. The grey sky brought her serenity; the smell of musty rain gave her a sense of tranquility. She was past the point of confusion, or even caring. Apathy seeped through and out of her soul. Serenity. Tranquility. What strange feelings to inhabit at a time of such certain death, for she knew that in this moment, this brief laps in time, would she surely face her ultimate expiry. She thought back to earlier that evening when she was hiding with Apenimon in the forest, like children do, and how they murdered him right in front of her, stabbing him in the side with a spear. What monsters, what spawns of Satan. For, she knew no love other than the love that Apenimon gave her in the 17 years of her life.

The crowds’ uproar began to crescendo, a drum started to pound; slowly at first, then increasing in speed and intensity as the chants swelled. The drum roll ceased immediately in simulation as the cries of the pack. Securing her eyes shut once more, seeing the sweet face of her beloved Apenimon, she braced herself for what was to come next.

July 22, 1587

                Stepping off of that colossal, cramped boat felt so prodigious. Walking down the creaky wooden ramp Captain John White stopped and stood just at the edge of the shore. He placed one hand on his haltered hip and the other just above his brow in order to shade his eyes; in doing so he squinted, crinkling up his tan leathery skin, taking in the breathtaking scenery. The mountains and deeply green forestry allotted for a beautiful landscape. Fortunately, the heat wasn’t excruciatingly brutal, considering the time of the year. This was good seeing as there was a lot of work to be done on the remains of the village. There were things to be fixed, rebuilt, and modified. Closing his eyes he took in the smell of pure wilderness, opportunity really, overwhelming his senses with pure excitement.

Cupping his strong, rough hands to his deep brown bearded mouth he shouted, “Eleanor! Eleanor! Ananias! Come look! Feast your eyes upon our new conquest!” Turning around out of pure anticipation he awaited to see the look on their faces as they glanced upon their new home for the very first time.

First came his son-in-law Ananias Dare; his dark hair waved a bit in the breeze, mimicking the same stance as Captain White had, he admired the view, with a slight smirk crossing his slightly chapped lips, for what he foresaw was prosperous and promising. Excitedly walking down the ramp, Ananias jolted out his hand and enthusiastically shook Captain Whites’. “You did a great thing here Cap. I know for sure good things are to come. I can just feel it.” Simultaneously, both men look out once more at the land and the previously deserted town, and all the other 115 crew members scrambling to unload equipment and fully dock the boats, both envisioning as to what a bright forthcoming was to be had.

The creaky floor boards sounded once more, in result, both men jerked their heads towards the noise to see the gleaming presence of young Mrs. Eleanor Dare White. Her rosy cheeks indicated slight sunburn on her delicately white skin toned, exposed face. Her eyes smiled before anything else, the sparkling blue color shone and reflected the sun, which in turn resulted in the biggest grin. “Oh, Father! It’s just beautiful!” She placed both hands on her hips and began to waddle down the ramp; eyes fixated on the skyline. 

“Oh darling, let me help you.” Ananias met her half way, reaching for her hand. “We certainly don’t need any accidents right now.”

She grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, placing her other hand on her stomach, “You’re definitely right, dear. I don’t want anything to spoil this marvelous moment.” All three of them stood side-by-side, admiring and watching the busy colonists still unloading, frantically trying to finish their jobs before sundown.

“Alright, we’ve got the rest of our lives to stare. Let’s grab our things and make our way to the village. God knows we have our hands full with that task, let alone the other ones to be had. No one’s been down there since Raleigh in ‘85.” With one last glance they turned to retreat back up the ramp to gather their belongings to bring to their new town.

Once back on the dock, Eleanor reached over to Ananias, touching his arm, “Our baby is going to be happy here, isn’t it?”

Ananias grabbed her hands, kissing each of her fingers, “Ele, darling, our baby will have you as a mother, and a future with no limits. It will be far more than just happy. I promise.” With a reassuring smile, he then took her in an embrace, wrapping one arm fully around her, and placing one hand on her hands that now rested on her stomach. “Our family, our baby, will be the most pleased in the world here, in Roanoke.” They at that moment proceeded to follow Captain White to retrieve their things.

August 18, 1587

                The temperature was overwhelmingly suffocating; no clouds were in sight, leaving the people vulnerable to the rays of the sun. The heat was so dense that they could plainly inhale the condensation. The collection of the perspiration drenched townspeople surrounded the outside of the newly refurbished Roanoke monastery hospital; no one was without a waving fan. The strong wooden building stood robust as the second largest structure in the town, the church being the prevalent.

Captain John White and Ananias Dare were present in this assembly. They both stood nearest the front; anticipation dripping from their faces. Captain White had his hat in his left hand placed over his chest, the opposite hand grasping his saturated mop of hair; his head tilted towards the floor, leaning against a column for support. Ananias was squatted with his face in his hands, slowly rocking back and forth, occasionally spouting off a prayer in slight whispers. The rest of the gathering remained silent, with only the infrequent murmur. The monumental oak doors remained shut; giving the people no insight as to what was happening. Only three people were allowed inside at this time; the priest, the nun, and Mrs. Eleanor. There were multitudes of screaming, shouting, and cries of mercy from within the structure; with each call it pained Ananias and Captain White more and more, for there was nothing that they could do for their lovely Eleanor.

One last moan bellowed from within Eleanor, soon following the beautiful cry of a newborn. A gasp concurrently emerged from the congregation. Captain White pressed his eyes shut even farther than before, pending the news. Ananias remained in his stance, his prayers a bit louder than formerly. Moments later, in which seemed like days, the large door slowly scraped opened. All eyes fell upon Father Smith and the Sister Mary; Captain White’s eyes jerked open, placing his hat back on his head; standing upright. Ananias looked up, still in his squat, looking at the priest with concern and pleading eyes.

“Stand up boy.” Father Smith motioned for Ananias to rise, reaching for his hand. “My brother, for you are blessed. God has granted you with a beautiful, healthy little girl.” A sigh of relief escaped from the group and a brief congratulatory applause, for this was the first birth of a colonist on this soil; Captain White slapped a hand on Ananias’s shoulder, letting a reassured, pleased chuckle escape. Father Smith looked at the nun, “Sister, will you please check on the baby, and clean her up. There are a few people I presume would be delighted to meet her.” Sister Mary turned around to tend to the child. Ananias smiled instantly, but soon diminishing back to a face of worry.

                “And my wife?” Ananias looked at Father Smith with beseeching eyes, tears swelling just at the thought of the answer he dreaded most. The crowd hushed once more.

                “Lovely, brave, strong Miss Eleanor, she is perfectly well.” Ananias released the biggest exhalation of relief, embracing the long awaited feeling of complete joyfulness. “In fact, there were absolutely no complications; it was one of the most tranquil births I have ever witnessed.” Turning, Ananias embraced his father-in-law, both ecstatic of the news that they were just given. “Mr. Dare, Captain White, if you’ll follow me back inside please, I’d like to introduce you men to the young Miss Virginia Dare.” Eagerly they followed Father Smith into the monastery.

August 23, 1587 

                Father Smith was dressed in all white, his robe reflecting the sunlight beaming into the church; a sight that the people had seen just days before in witnessing the baptism of Croatoan leader, Chief Manteo. Chief Manteo was astounded with the people and their way of life, he desired to make a peace offering, considering the encounter a few years previous. Father Smith shared with him the faith in which the town was founded upon, and as a result, baptized Chief Manteo the following day. Today was a similar occasion, however a different soul. Today was the day of the baptismal ceremony for baby Virginia Dare.

                Within the towering church building, Father Smith cradled the infant in his arms, Ananias and Eleanor proudly stood by his side on the newly built alter, and the place smelled of freshly cut pine. Virginia’s cheeks were pink and rosy, her skin glowing with a whiteness only a porcelain doll could mimic, only a few days old and she already had a full head of golden hair. Dressed in white, she looked like an angel, as if given straight from the gods as a form of endearment. Everyone was captivated by her beauty; especially Chief Manteo, for this was a child like he had never seen, her magnificence, her purity, was enchanting. In the wooden pews sat the colonists, Captain John White in the front row, and in their own section to the side; Chief Manteo and the Croatoan tribal people. Chief Manteo fell in love with the colonists, after his being baptized and reaching a covenant of neutrality, Captain White invited the chief and his people to attend his newborn granddaughter’s christening service.

                As the provision initiated the crowd began to hush. Father Smith opened up with the routine prayer by bowing his grey haired head, slightly singing in a deep vibrato, the congregation recited along with it as it went, the Indians stood in a mere confused silence, staring at the face of Virginia, transfixed. With the customary “I will,” from both Ananias and Eleanor, they promised to raise Virginia up as a godly woman, to fear naught but the smitten and powerful God Almighty. Rubbing the sacramental oils upon her forehead in a cross formation, the audience in chorus relayed an “Amen.”

August 24, 1587

                Captain John White was in ponderous state at the shoreline that he had first arrived at, only a short month after the arrival to Roanoke, with a hand on his hip, the other hand ruffling through his hair, Captain White gazed at the land once more, his town; his conquest. The colony progressed far more than before, the people, adapting to the new way of life, his family; they would all soon be specks on the island that eventually would fade in the distance. Eleanor, Ananias, and the lovely Miss Virginia stood before him, having had helped him carry his things to the ship. Ananias with the captain’s bags, Eleanor with a dreary look in her eyes and a baby cradled in her arms, and little Virginia was sound asleep; her flawless features and clean spirit left a gripping hold on anyone’s heart that happened to glance her way.

The few twenty men that were attending the voyage back to England, were anxiously untying the ship, loading supplies, preparing for the journey in which they were soon to embark on. Sighing, “I’ll be back in four short months. We are dire need for supplies, you know this. If I don’t leave now, I fear we will run out.” Captain White reached over to take the bags from Ananias, making an understanding moment of eye contact; the captain’s hazel eyes meeting the small blue eyes of Ananias, and then setting them on the docking ramp. Reaching over to his wife, Ananias gingerly took Virginia into his strong arms, careful as not to squeeze too hard and break her delicate body.

Captain White made his way over to Eleanor, grabbing both of her warm, slightly perspiring hands. Looking adoringly into her eyes, “Ele, sweetheart, you’re going to do just fine here without me. You’ve got Ananias, little Virginia over there, the people, and there’s a nun especially good with medicine if anything goes wrong. Everything is going to run smoothly, I promise. I love you, dear, I’m so proud of you.” Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, he pulled her into his wholehearted, fatherly embrace; kissing her forehead ever so gently.

Walking over to Ananias, Captain White knelt down, to be level with Virginia, stroking her soft, pillow-like cheek with his rough forefinger, then placing it in her tiny, curled up hand for her to hold. “I love you sweet girl,” he whispered tenderly into her ear, “make Grandfather proud.” He then placed a kiss, quietly on her nose.

Quite sobs emerged from Eleanor, “I love you too, Father. Be careful.”

Standing upright he met Ananias’s hand for a shake. Nothing but a nod was exchanged between them, the handshake was firm, and the eye contact was stern. A mutual understanding was met. “Remember Ananias, if anything goes wrong, anything at all, and a move of the colony is required, you know what to do.”

Meeting his gaze, Ananias remembered what he was told; if there was anything to go wrong and the townspeople needed to relocate, carve the new location in on the pole of the entry gate. “Yes sir. I remember.”

Picking up his things, he walked up the creaky ramp, once at the top he handed over his things to a crew member, then turning around to get one last good look that would endure the four months he anticipated to be gone. Cupping his hands to his face he hollered down, “Goodbye my pets, I’ll see you all very, very soon. Ha! Don’t let anyone make a mess of what we just cleaned up alright? Be safe.”

January 28, 1587

                Two men sat on the floor in a tent-like structure; Chief Manteo, leader of the Croatoan people, and Chief Powhatan, leader over all tribes in the region. Chief Manteo was a fairly small man, his shoulders were broad, but the rest of his body was petite. His eyes were small and wrinkled at the edges, and he had four lines of burgundy paint smeared on each cheek. Chief Manteo was wearing his usual dress for this time of year; buffalo fur coat, shirtless, and tribal pants, and moccasins. His head wear consisted of eagle feathers and beads, his long, braided, black hair hung on each sides of his face, both braids were tied with a leather strap. Chief Powhatan had very similar features, except, he was much bigger. His eyes were cold, stern, unmoving. His stature was very large and bulky, well over a head taller than Chief Manteo. The traditional tribal wear was also worn by Chief Powhatan. On his bare chest were four handprints, two big handprints in blue placed on the outer sides, and in between those hands, were two very small hands painted in blood red.

                “Chief Manteo, I was informed that one of the Holy One’s was attending the little colony that you befriended. Tell me, please, they must have been mistaken, correct? I can’t imagine you’d keep something like that from me.” Chief Powhatan just stared blankly into Chief Manteo’s eyes.

                “This can be neither confirmed nor denied. Yes, the newborn was quite enticingly pure. But these people, they’re not what they seem to be. They are kind, and welcoming. If you’d ju—“

                “Never! Never say that to me,” slamming down his hand on the floor, his eyes growing wide, a vain bulging from his wide neck. “I am Chief of this region. Me! Do not question my authority. If there is a Holy One at that village, I demand the proper actions to be taken. Or else YOU will be the sacrifice, understood?”

                “Yes Chief.”

                “There will be war when I find her. There will be bloodshed. That town will be no more, and that girl will be ours. That is the way it was prophesied, and that is the way the gods want it to be. No arguments.”

**********

                Sitting on the front porch of their house just on the outskirts of the town, in the rocking chair maid by Captain White was one of Ananias’s favorite things to do. Just rocking back and forth, pondering all of his innermost thoughts, mainly including the expedition back to England, the captain should be back by now, in addition to the serenity of the wilderness. He had his left leg crossed over his right, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Yes, the weather was a bit chilly, the mist didn’t help either, but it was so nice to have after being trapped inside all day. The sun started to peak through a cl—

                “Ananias! Where is Virginia?” Chief Manteo was jumping frantically up and down, running down the pathway to the house.

                “Manteo, calm yourself brother. She’s inside with her mother. What is it that you need?” He rose from his chair to support himself up with his left arm on the railing.

                “It’s Chief Powhatan, he wants Virginia.” Ananias immediately stood straight up, his eyes dilated and his nostril’s flared. “There is going to be a war soon if we don’t get these people out of Roanoke and into Croatoa. It’s a long story Ananias. Just bring me to Eleanor and Virginia. If Powhatan’s men get here before we leave, we’re done for.”

                A crashing of glass sounded, followed by the startled cry of a baby, “Ahhh! Ananias! Someone!”

                “It’s too late they’ve already been through the town.” Chief Manteo took a moment to process.

Ananias ran inside to aid to Mrs. Dare. The first thing that caught their eyes was the chair knocked over; they allowed their eyes to scan the floor, searching for a clue as to what went wrong. A womanly hand, delicate and pale lay on the entryway floor from the nursery. Ananias became ghost-like. He slowly walked over to the door, grasping the wall for balance, keeping his eyes on the hand and nothing more. Putting his hand on his heart, bracing himself, he followed the hand up to the arm; blood was starting to drip down slowly into the creases of the elbow. The lacy edge of a peach colored dress draped over the shoulder, a mourning sob escaped from Ananias’s lips, putting his hands over his mouth. He was still observing; past the shoulder he began to examine her torso, her dress was torn at the chest where an arrow had punctured just below her left breast, and another in the direct middle of her abdomen. Blood was spewing and soaking into the dress, no longer peach colored.

                “No. No. No. No.” Ananias repeated over and over in between his cries of fury. He then made his way up to her face; her crystal blue eyes were open, no longer filled with happiness, but empty. Her cheeks were not rosy as they once were. Her color was that of a white table sheet. Ananias sank down, grabbing her hand, kissing each finger tenderly as he once used to. “No. No. No. No.” Tears streamed down his face.

                “Ananias, brother, Virginia, they took Virginia. We must get out of the town. We have to leave.” Chief Manteo offered his hand to support his getting up.

                “Who, who is they? Who are these monsters? Virginia. How could I forget?” Crawling, his knees spreading and sliding in the puddles of blood that was shed on the floor, over to her face, Ananias kissed her forehead, shut her eyes, and whispered in a raspy, crackly voice “I love you.” His hands quivering he stroke her cheek one last time and rose to his feet with the help of Manteo by giving him his right hand.

                As he stood, Ananias felt a pain begin to emerge in his right ribcage. There was a growing warm sensation about it.  He looked down to see blood emerging from a gaping wound, in a state of shock he placed both hands over the hole and looked up at Manteo, with a spear in his hand. “Manteo, why?” Ananias slammed up against the wall for sustenance.

“It’s the prophecy. She’s the sacrifice. Virginia is a pure soul. She’s a Holy One, my brother. I am sorry for this I am, I even tried to stop it, but it was too late. What’s done is done, and neither of us can fight it. At her ripe time of age Virginia will be a detriment to the gods. They will be very pleased with this.”

Ananias collapsed to his knees. His breathing slowing down, his vision becoming blurred, the smell of his warm blood began to intoxicate him. His voice only as a whisper, coughing, “Virginia, I’m sorry. I love you.”     

August 18, 1604

Long, ratted, sandy brown hair cascaded down the sides of one of the X shaped stick formations. The tattered, champagne, taffeta dress that draped over the trifling frame of a frail, but firm body was being held up by twigs, those twigs in which, fatefully, embraced her life. The mangled petti coat dangled meaninglessly to the floor; the torn edges paint-dipped and matted with mud. Ghost white, dirt smeared feet suspended dauntlessly over the opposite set of X fashioned branches; the veins protruding from the beginning of her toes crawled up to her ankles. They reveal terror, but her state is undeniably dispirited. Her head remains upheld, strained to keep level with the rest of her body, but her refusal to let it fall overpowered her painstaking mentality. The petite figure of a young woman; pale, beautiful, lies there, as if not sure of the purpose, just present. However, the tenacity of her being at this place was quite clear to the rest of the gathering.

Taking a deep breath, captivating in that wonderful feeling of a full set of lungs, cherishing it for an instant, she opens her puffy, red, dampened eyes for the first time since her arrival; seeing what appears to be a beautiful landscape, aside from the ravenous crowd of whom she thought to be her family, dancing and parading around her, shouting obscurities with their painted bodies. The mountainous terrain dotted with evergreen trees revealed to her that there was, in fact, still beauty in this godforsaken world. The lake just next to the closest foothill endured silent; no sight of ripples or movement whatsoever, oh how the peacefulness taunted her. The grey sky brought her serenity; the smell of musty rain gave her a sense of tranquility. She was past the point of confusion, or even caring. Apathy seeped through and out of her soul. Serenity. Tranquility. What strange feelings to inhabit at a time of such certain death, for she knew that in this moment, this brief laps in time, would she surely face her ultimate expiry. She thought back to earlier that evening when she was hiding with Apenimon in the forest, like children do, and how they murdered him right in front of her, stabbing him in the side with a spear. What monsters, what spawns of Satan. For, she knew no love other than the love that Apenimon gave her in the 17 years of her life.

The crowds’ uproar began to crescendo, a drum started to pound; slowly at first, then increasing in speed and intensity as the chants swelled. The drum roll ceased immediately in simulation as the cries of the pack. Securing her eyes shut once more, seeing the sweet face of her beloved Apenimon, she braced herself for what was to come next.