Page 80 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

SIXTY-SEVEN

The day was heartbreakingly beautiful. A gentle sun shone from a benevolent sky and a gentle breeze brought the smell of spring, of things growing and bursting into life.

Mary stood on deck, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders.

The hustle and bustle of loading the vessel and preparing for departure had been replaced by crisp commands from the captain as the ship glided away from the dock.

It would cruise along the James River before heading out into the Atlantic Ocean and sailing to England.

Mary stared toward Jamestown, an oppressive heaviness in her chest. She no longer belonged to this place, but England felt as distant and foreign to her as the shores of Africa.

The future seemed utterly bleak, and even the baby in her belly seemed to be affected by her mood.

It had remained quiet and still since Mary boarded the ship.

Maybe the rolling of the deck beneath her feet had put the child to sleep.

Mary rested her hand on her belly, wishing the babe would wake up.

She felt unbearably alone, and even the slightest movement would remind her that life still had something to offer and this wasn’t the end.

The ship moved slowly down the center of the river.

Through the still-bare trees, Mary caught glimpses of brown fields and wooden cabins, blue-gray smoke curling from their chimneys into the cloudless sky.

After a time, the plantations gave way to unsettled wilderness.

The woods became dense and impenetrable, the only signs of life the squawking birds that perched high in the branches.

Mary leaned on the rail and peered into the trees when she spotted movement on the shore.

A man hobbled out of the woods and stopped to watch the passing ship, his hand pressed to his side, as if he were in pain.

He wore buckskin breeches and a shirt, his feet in moccasins.

His dark-brown hair rippled in the breeze, and the beads he wore around his neck were blue and red.

Their eyes met, and Mary let out an involuntary cry.

Walker looked pale and thin, and lines of pain were carved into his hollow cheeks, but his eyes were just the same, the eyes that loved her.

His gaze was full of despair and disbelief when he realized that Mary was lost to him forever.

Walker raised a hand in farewell, then laid it over his heart, his gaze never leaving her face.

Mary was too far away to see clearly, but she thought he was weeping, and tears of bitterness and unbearable hurt spilled down her cheeks as she looked upon his beloved face for the last time.

His people had saved him and brought him back from the brink of death.

He still loved her. He would have come for her.

They could have been a family. But now it was too late.

They would never meet again, of that she was certain.

Even if someday she managed to find her way back to Virginia, he could be long gone, returned to his own tribe and wed to a woman who was glad to walk along his divided path.

Mary stared at the shore until Walker faded from view, the place where he stood becoming a smudge on the horizon.

Mary cried out as something soft rubbed against her legs and bent down to pick up a cat.

It was smoky gray with a white patch on its throat, and she held it to her bosom, grateful for another living thing to share her sorrow with.