Free Jamestown (The Keepers of the Ring) by Angela Hunt, Angela Elwell Hunt

selected dark and dry wood for a nearly smokeless fire. While their five fish roasted, Fallon napped while the young ones played quietly among the bushes. As the day began to die, Fallon wrapped the roasted fish in wide green leaves and told the children to climb back into the boat.
    “Where are we going, Fallon?” Noshi asked as he lay down next to Gilda inside the canoe. “Can’t we go home?”
    Fallon automatically looked northward up the river, but nothing stirred on the blue-brown surface of the water. If their parents had survived the attack on Ocanahonan, surely one of them would have come down the river. But not a living soul had stirred from the north.
    “We can’t go home again,” Fallon said, pushing the canoe off the bank. “Mama and Papa are of certain dead, Noshi. Your Mama and Papa are dead, too, Gilda. They wanted us to find a safe place.”
    Noshi stared at Fallon in disbelief, but Gilda’s bright blue eyes filled up with tears. Fallon immediately regretted telling her the truth. Suppose she cried and wailed all night? He had planned for them to drift quietly downriver under the cover of darkness, but if he had to deal with a screaming youngster—
    But she did not make a sound. A sad little sigh escaped her lips as tears rolled from her eyes, and she pressed her fist into her mouth, a strangely adult gesture for one so young. Noshi began to cry noisily, and Gilda quietly threw her arms around his neck and held him tight. Fallon loaded the fish into the canoe, then pushed it into the current. Climbing into the boat beside the children, he pulled the grass mat over their heads and dashed bitter tears of reality from his own eyes.
    Fallon could sense their questions and fear, but he did not want to talk about the death of their village. After drifting for some time in the darkness as the children squirmed restlessly, he made an effort to lighten his voice. “Can’t you go to sleep?”
    “No,” Gilda answered, wriggling against the side of the canoe. “Noshi’s elbow is in my belly.”
    “I can’t help it,” Noshi protested, turning from Gilda. He lay his hands on Fallon’s chest. “I’m scared, Fallon. ‘Tis dark and quiet out here.”
    “There is naught to fear,” Fallon said with a confidence he did not feel. He ran his hand through Noshi’s thick, dark hair. “I know—let’s practice the catechism that the minister taught us. We’ll say it over and over until we know it by heart.”
    “I already know it,” Gilda said proudly. “Start it, Fallon.”
    “Let me get more comfortable.” Fallon shifted in the narrow space until he lay flat on his back. Delighted at the change in positions, Noshi rolled over him and lay against the canoe on his left side, and Gilda snuggled under his arm on his right.
    Fallon tented his fingers on his chest. “What is your name?”
    “That’s easy,” Gilda said, giggling. “Gilda Colman.”
    Fallon lifted his head to look at his brother. “And you? Surely you have a name?”
    “Noshi,” the boy said, punching Fallon playfully in the ribs. “You know my name.”
    “Aye,” Fallon answered, relaxing against the canoe. “And who gave you this name?”
    “My mother and father,” the children recited together, sitting up in their eagerness, “who wish to bring me up in the knowledge of Christ.”
    “Very good,” Fallon said, grateful that the challenge seemed to have dispelled their fear. “Now rehearse the articles of your belief.”
    Gilda took a deep breath and began immediately: “I believe in God the Father, who hath made me and all the world.”
    Fallon lay his finger across her mouth and turned to Noshi. “And you, little brother? Who hath stolen your voice?”
    Noshi jumped in: “I believe in God the Son, who hath redeemed me and all mankind.”
    Fallon nodded. “And the third article?”
    Gilda giggled in the darkness, unable to remember, but Noshi knew the words: “I believe in God the Holy Ghost, who sanctifieth me, and