Croatoan: Reunion and Wager

By James Olds

I am an ardent student of American history, as a matter of fact, that most colonists came here chasing a dream or more strongly we came chasing the essence of love, either in search of or escape from. This, then begs a closer examination of what this term "love" truly is. If we take the Biblical description of "love", which is probably what most

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: Apr 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957781624

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Copyright © 2022 by James Olds.

ISBN 978-1-957781-60-0 (softcover)

ISBN 978-1-957781-61-7 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-957781-62-4 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022904807

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America.

Book Vine Press

2516 Highland Dr.

Palatine, IL 60067

Preface

Istarted writing this book, maybe not for the standard reasons that a man might write a book, but, you see most of the men that I have had the fortune or misfortune of knowing in my life seem to be uncomfortable in discussing, even in the most casual of terms this basic concept of love. Perhaps it infringes or their concept of manhood, or for a myriad of different excuses. But, I have come to learn that there is one simple fact in life, we all seek to find our own concept of love. Even this begs the question, how do we, individualy, define love? By this very question, I don’t mean the preverbeal one night stand but rather the true definition of love as only our heart and our very soul can define. In my own personal quest I find that the 1990’s Bryan Adams song Everything, I do, I do it for you probably professes everything I mean by love. All my life I have searched for that one special person that we could truly wrap or embrace this moniker on. After three marriages, which I am not proud of, each time I thought I had finally found true person. One, in fact after eight and a half years of marriage and two children, I came to find did not even know the color of my eyes. After another marriage, I truly felt that I had found that one special person that shared this feeling with me. This is the person that I started writing this book for. I actually started the first chapter over several times and perhaps the first chapter, as one reviewer told me was rather academic but I felt that it lead in was necessary to present the proper image or tone for the remainder of the book. But, to my dismay, when I actually got about halfway through, I presented it to that one special person as a gift thinking that she would find it as precious as I did and what I was hoping for. When she did not even open it under the excuse of you know I don’t read anything unless I have to, I began to understand that my search continued. It was not until I was diagnosed with MS (Multiple Sclerosis) and lost even the ability to stand, that I relized that my efforts over the years was all one sided. This shocking development did not come bursting on to the screen until late one night, around 3 AM to be more exact, that this presumably the love of my life attempted to murder me with a pillow over my face! Now, to an ordinary person this may not sound that bad but to a quadriplegic, this is just as threatening as a gun or knife! At any rate, all of that can be for a different discussion.

In an attempt to describe my own personal search for love, I chose a part of American history that I fear may be lost on many. As an ardent student of American history and native to the Tidewater region of southeastern Virginia, I have had a long fascination when it comes to the issue of the lost colony. After numerous visits to the site, it appears to be most strange and intriguing that the colonists who were from the sixteenth-century urban England would place their strongest weapon, a ship’s cannon, pointing out to sea, rather than inland to provide some form of defense against the presence of hundreds of Native Americans that most textbooks fail to mention.

At any rate, as the book suggests, my search for true love continues, even though I am now confined to a wheelchair. I hope you will enjoy reading this as much as I had in writing it!

Chapter One

…Reunion and Wager

They arrived at the Convent early, much earlier than even they had anticipated. The early morning fog that so frequently blanketed this part of the country had just started to lift when the carriage pulled through the ivy-covered stone archway. The archway opened up to a gentle inner courtyard that was graced by the main structure of the Convent.

Begging the driver to wait, John assisted Isabel down. Noting that they appeared to be the only ones awake at this hour, John gingerly wrapped on the large oak doors. After a considerable amount of time, possibly dragged on by their own anticipation, the doors creaked open revealing a small framed young woman dressed in the traditional habit. She stood silently, half concealed by the massive wooden door. John estimated that she could not have been much older than Thomasin. Clearing his throat, John introduced himself to the young nun and inquired about his daughter. Without emotion or comment the nun quietly closed the door.

With a puzzled look, John turned to Isabel and remarked, well I guess my French is not as good as I thought.

Oh John exclaimed Isabel, what did you say?

I didn’t say anything wrong, responded John excitedly! You know how these Catholics are…they are a strange lot!

They waited by the closed door for a few more seconds until Isabel urged John to knock again. Just as he was about to strike the door again, it began to open, slowly at first then it picked up speed. An older, more distinguished looking woman appeared, also cloaked in the traditional nun’s habit. Her arms were tucked to her sides with her hands folded in prayer-like fashion to her front.

Bon Juer Monsieur, I am the Mother Superior she said in almost perfect English. I understand that you are looking for your daughter, Thomasin.

Yes, replied John, quite right. We are here to take her home for holiday. Now if you would please…

The Mother Superior closed her eyes and tilted her head back slightly while holding up one hand to halt John’s speech. Interrupting, she began to speak; I’m sorry Monsieur we here at the Convent of the Weeping Virgin of Saint-Omer are in morning.

You mean someone has died? asked John.

Yes, I’m afraid so, one of our Order has passed.

Shocked at the news, Isabel cupped her hands over her open mouth and let out a quiet, Dear God!

John very quickly interjected, you don’t mean…

Again the Mother Superior stopped him in midst of his train of thought. No she replied as if she could read his mind. No, your daughter is not harmed. However… allowing her words to trail off.

However, what? it was now John’s turn to interrupt.

However, Monsieur Viccars, your daughter is the reason for our Sister’s passing.

His expression turning from one of shock and disbelief to one of mistrust immediately turned the conversation negative, what are you trying to say questioned John.

I am saying Monsieur that your daughter murdered our Sister and when confronted, she ran off into the woods. When we caught up with her the next morning she had killed again, this time the only possible eye witness to her crime!

John just stood there in a daze, but and uncharacteristically Isabel pushed past her husband and confronted the older woman with two simple words, you lie!

Catching the Mother Superior off guard by this sudden outburst, Isabel continued, Where is my daughter!

Stammering in an attempt to regain the initiative the Mother Superior responded, she is with the local Constable.

The Mother Superior glared back at her and said very coldly, excuse me Madame, but I was not engaged with you. By your brashness, I wage that you are the mother.

I am, responded Isabel defiantly and stepping forward as she spoke. You are a liar she repeated.

The Mother Superior attempting to hold herself above the subject, just corrected her shoulders and looked past Isabel to John and said, Monsieur, I am a Woman of God. What I have told you is true and will be bore out soon enough when the Regional Constable arrives.

Isabel reached out and grabbed the Mother Superior’s arm. The action startled her. No one dare touch the Mother Superior! Isabel dug her fingers into the soft white flesh and stared coldly back at the older woman. With a very low tone Isabel snarled, a Woman of God who shall burn in hell!

With that, John reached over and pulled Isabel back towards him. Whispering in her ear as he guided her back, Come Izzy, lets’ go back to town and see Thomasin.

Nodding in agreement, Isabel turned and made for the carriage. John nodded back at the Mother Superior who was rubbing the hurt form her forearm, good day Madame.

As soon as the carriage cleared the Convent gates, Isabel broke down and cried. Through the tears Isabel managed to struggle out, "this is all your fault! I should have never agreed to allow you to ship her off in the first place. Now look what you have caused! My sweet baby, my darling little Thomasin, wanted for murder in a foreign country! Honestly John, I’ve never had much faith in your judgment before, but this really takes it! And then you just stand there whilst that witch passes lies about your own flesh and blood, your only child!"

Isabel continued her verbal admonishment of John for the entire trip back to the village. He knew better than to interrupt her when she got this way. Isabel could be a sweet person in her own right, but when emotionally disturbed, as she was now, she would dance on the borderline of irrationality and was prone to even violent physical displays of emotion. Obviously not what John would want to see displayed at the moment. Such an outburst from Isabel would serve no good and only add to the nun’s supposition of Thomasin’s actions, John surmised.

In the midst of Isabel’s ravings John leaned out the window and called to the driver.

Driver!

Half turning his head the driver responded, Oui Monsieur?

Driver, take us to the Constables house.

Smiling, the driver replied, Oui Monsieur.

As the carriage continued down the bumpy trail, Isabel’s berating of John could be overheard by the driver despite the noise of hoof and wheels against the graveled roadway.

Smiling again, the driver muttered to himself, my, ain’t marriage a grand thing! He then began to hum a little ditty to himself as he drove along.

It was close to the noon hour by time the carriage pulled up outside the Constable’s home. The noise of the carriage brought the elderly man to the door. A carriage on this side of the village was rather unusual. Most villagers were too poor to have such a luxury and most travelers stayed to the outskirts of town, nearer to the highway.

Who are you called out the Constable in country accented French.

Stepping down from the carriage John replied I’ve come for my daughter; I understand that she is here?

Realizing who John was the Constable quickly shifted back to English and with an out stretched arm to hurry him along he replied, yes sir she is here, come quickly inside.

Not understanding his sense of urgency John paused for a moment and said, wait, I need to tend to my wife. We will be along shortly.

Okay said the Constable. But don’t dottle; people here don’t like the English, especially ones with money, such as you.

Assisting the still seething Isabel down from the carriage, John called back over his shoulder, is she here?

"Oui Monsieur,