Free A Lion to Guard Us by Clyde Robert Bulla

I
The Sailor Man
    On a February morning in the year 1609, a small, thin-faced man made his way over London Bridge. He wore a leather jacket and a blue wool stocking cap. His clothes were splashed with mud, and mud sucked at his shoes. He could hardly see for the cold rain in his face.
    He had been looking for Fish Street, and here it was, at the end of London Bridge. Now he was looking for a house on Fish Street—a great stone house not far from the bridge.
    Here was one with tall chimneys and many windows. It must be the house, he thought. He went around to the back.
    A plump, pretty maid opened the door.
    â€œWould this be the Trippett house?” he asked.
    She looked at his muddy clothes. “What do you want?”
    â€œA word with Mistress Freebold, if she’s about.”
    â€œMistress Freebold? Oh, you mean Annie. You can’t see her,” said the maid. “She’s sick abed.”
    â€œCould you just let her know there’s someone here from America—?”
    â€œAmerica?” The maid stared into his face. “Then you must be—” She was gone. He heard her crying out, “Amanda, Amanda!”
    Someone came running. Someone cried, “Father!” and a girl was there. She looked no more than ten or eleven—a pale little thing with great, dark eyes.
    She stopped. She said in bitter disappointment, “You’re not my father.”
    â€œI shouldn’t think so,” said the man.
    â€œEllie said you were from America, and she thought—I thought—”
    â€œSo you’re James Freebold’s girl,” he said.
    â€œOne of them. I’m Amanda.” She asked quickly, “Do you know my father?”
    â€œI do, and I saw him not many weeks ago. We were together in America, in the colony of Virginia. I’m a sailor, you see, and my ship was there—”
    â€œAnd you saw him.” Her eyes were bright again. “Was he well? What did he say?”
    â€œHe was well enough, for all I could see. He’d built a house in Jamestown. That’s the only town there. When my ship sailed, he asked if I’d stop for a word with his family in London. He thinks of you each day. He prays you will all be together before another year is out.”
    Tears came to her eyes. “When you see him, will you tell him—?”
    â€œI’ll not be seeing him again,” the man broke in. “It’s a long, hard voyage to Virginia. I’ll not be going back.”
    â€œOh,” she said.
    Someone was calling, “Amanda!”
    â€œYou’re wanted,” he said. “I’ll take my leave.”
    â€œBut you’ll come again?”
    He shook his head. “I’ve told my tale. Good-day to you.”
    He left her. He was gone, and she didn’t know his name or where to find him again, and there were a hundred things she hadn’t asked. She hadn’t even said thank you.

    She took a step after him, but Cook’s voice called her back. “A- man -da!”
    She closed the door. She went down the long, cold hall and into the kitchen.
    Cook was at the table, beating eggs. Her face was red. Her cap was over one eye.
    â€œWho gave you leave to stand in the door and talk all day?” she said. “Who was that man?”
    Ellie the maid came out of the pantry. “Oh, Amanda, was it your father?”
    The door to the back stairs opened. A small boy put his head out. “Was it Father?” he asked.
    â€œJemmy!” cried Amanda. “You know you’re not to come in here. No, it wasn’t Father.”
    His head disappeared, and the door closed.
    Amanda told Cook and Ellie, “It was a sailor man back from Virginia. He saw my father there. He talked to him. Father is well—and he’s built a house— and he thinks of us—”
    Cook gave a snort. “He does, does he? He thinks of you so much that he sails off and leaves you for three whole