"We walked the same path once; I have found where I belong...may the great
spirit always be with you."
The words burned her throat as they left it, but it was done. For a moment, she entertained a foolish hope that he would confront her; that he would see the lie in her eyes, but no. He loved her still, she had felt that in his warm embrace, in the tenderness as his lips brushed her hands. He loved her, and he was letting her go, letting her go to what he thought she wanted, to who he thought she wanted.
He turned from her, his hair glinting as brightly as the gold he had come to her land to find. Even facing his back, she could still see the warmth of his blue eyes, eyes that she ached to fall into once more, arms that...no. That chance was gone. Through one foolish mistake, her hopes had been squandered.
After John Rolfe's protection of her up on deck, that day aboard ship, the two had fallen into an easy camaraderie; or at least, she had. He had begun to feel something far deeper for her. Barely a week after they had set sail, he had invited her to dinner with him belowdecks. Fool that she was, she had tried the sweet juice that he called 'rum', which she later learned was a type of alcohol. It had made her...crazy, was the best word that she could find for it. It had made her submit to him when he kissed her, made her to allow him to do much more...
He had been ashamed afterwards, she could tell. He had not known that the rum would affect her so strongly; had thought she had responded of her own will. She felt for him, and they agreed that they were never to speak of it.
But last night, what she had thought would be her last night away from John Smith, she had felt the first stirrings within her body, had seen the minute rounding of her stomach. The child within her, conceived in a moment and growing for the whole of the long shipboard journey, was created of herself and John Rolfe. For a moment, she hated the infant for it, then hated herself for doing so. It was her own stupidity that had done this, and now, she would have to live with it. John Smith would never love her if he knew she bore another man's child.
When she had boarded the ship once more, and seen John Rolfe there, she was elated; whether she loved him or not, he felt that for her, and she would not raise this infant alone. That night, she had told him...and her hopes were cruelly dashed.
"You mean, you're...you're pregnant?" he burst out, a look of horror on his face.
She nodded, hiding her confusion and hurt. "Yes. It must have been that night...I'm sorry. But we had planned to marry anyways, so it will make little difference, yes?"
But he had gotten up, had backed away, shaking his head. "Pocahontas, my darling, I'm...I'm sorry, but...if you're already showing signs, I mean...people would know! I can't..."
And that had been that. When they reached her home, the babe was near-ready to arrive. John Rolfe had, in what he obviously thought was a chivalrous gesture, given her enough pouches of gold that she might raise the child in comfort...discreetly, of course, she though bitterly. He had bandied about a rumor that she had been raped by one of the deckhands, and she had let him. She did not feel vengeful towards him, only...betrayed. Lost. Alone.
As so, the ship had sailed, bearing away the third man who had loved her in her short life. But Kocoum was dead, Rolfe had turned from her, and...
John Smith was gone.
The words burned her throat as they left it, but it was done. For a moment, she entertained a foolish hope that he would confront her; that he would see the lie in her eyes, but no. He loved her still, she had felt that in his warm embrace, in the tenderness as his lips brushed her hands. He loved her, and he was letting her go, letting her go to what he thought she wanted, to who he thought she wanted.
He turned from her, his hair glinting as brightly as the gold he had come to her land to find. Even facing his back, she could still see the warmth of his blue eyes, eyes that she ached to fall into once more, arms that...no. That chance was gone. Through one foolish mistake, her hopes had been squandered.
After John Rolfe's protection of her up on deck, that day aboard ship, the two had fallen into an easy camaraderie; or at least, she had. He had begun to feel something far deeper for her. Barely a week after they had set sail, he had invited her to dinner with him belowdecks. Fool that she was, she had tried the sweet juice that he called 'rum', which she later learned was a type of alcohol. It had made her...crazy, was the best word that she could find for it. It had made her submit to him when he kissed her, made her to allow him to do much more...
He had been ashamed afterwards, she could tell. He had not known that the rum would affect her so strongly; had thought she had responded of her own will. She felt for him, and they agreed that they were never to speak of it.
But last night, what she had thought would be her last night away from John Smith, she had felt the first stirrings within her body, had seen the minute rounding of her stomach. The child within her, conceived in a moment and growing for the whole of the long shipboard journey, was created of herself and John Rolfe. For a moment, she hated the infant for it, then hated herself for doing so. It was her own stupidity that had done this, and now, she would have to live with it. John Smith would never love her if he knew she bore another man's child.
When she had boarded the ship once more, and seen John Rolfe there, she was elated; whether she loved him or not, he felt that for her, and she would not raise this infant alone. That night, she had told him...and her hopes were cruelly dashed.
"You mean, you're...you're pregnant?" he burst out, a look of horror on his face.
She nodded, hiding her confusion and hurt. "Yes. It must have been that night...I'm sorry. But we had planned to marry anyways, so it will make little difference, yes?"
But he had gotten up, had backed away, shaking his head. "Pocahontas, my darling, I'm...I'm sorry, but...if you're already showing signs, I mean...people would know! I can't..."
And that had been that. When they reached her home, the babe was near-ready to arrive. John Rolfe had, in what he obviously thought was a chivalrous gesture, given her enough pouches of gold that she might raise the child in comfort...discreetly, of course, she though bitterly. He had bandied about a rumor that she had been raped by one of the deckhands, and she had let him. She did not feel vengeful towards him, only...betrayed. Lost. Alone.
As so, the ship had sailed, bearing away the third man who had loved her in her short life. But Kocoum was dead, Rolfe had turned from her, and...
John Smith was gone.