“And this is a trumpet vine. When I had my house I planted one at the side of my door. It grows as fast as wild honeysuckle, I should think it is up to my chimney pot by now. If it hasn’t pulled the whole house down. This I had on the other side of my doorway – the Virginian woodbine tree, like a honeysuckle. But best of all will be the tulip tree.” John touched the saplings, which were planted against the shelter of the wall and were putting out glossy dark leaves at the tips of their branches. “Please God we can grow it here, it would be a fine thing to see in an English garden.”

“Finer than our horse chestnut?” Johnnie asked, naming the tree that would always be the Tradescant benchmark of beauty.

“It is the only tree I have ever seen to match your grandfather’s horse chestnut. Truly, Johnnie, it is a most wonderful tree. If I can grow the tulip tree and sell it to the gardeners of England, as he grew the horse chestnut, then we will have done wonderful work, he and me.”

“And what will there be left for me to do?” Johnnie asked. “Since he went east to Russia and south to the Mediterranean and you have been west to America. What will there be left for me?”

“Oh,” John said longingly. “So much still to see, Johnnie. You can’t imagine what a great country it is and how far the rivers run inland and how distant the mountains are and how wide the grass meadows stretch. And beyond the mountains they told me there are plains and meadows and forests and more mountains, and inland lakes of sweet water that are as big as the sea, so vast that they have storms which whip up the water into waves that crash on the shore. There will be so much for you to see when you are a man grown and ready to travel.”

“And will you take me, if you go again?” Johnnie asked.

Tradescant hesitated only for a moment, thinking of Attone and Suckahanna and that other, alien life. Then he looked at the bright face of his son and thought how proud he would be to show him to Attone and to say to him: “And this is my son.” Johnnie was not a child of the Powhatan: a dark-eyed, brown-skinned boy of intense self-discipline and skill. But he was a child of equal beauty: an English boy, blond-headed, round-faced, and with a smile like sunlight.

“Yes,” he said simply. “If I go again, I will take you too. It will be our adventure next time.”

“We can go when the king has come to his own again,” Johnnie said firmly.

“Mmm.” John was noncommittal.

“You are for the king still?” Johnnie pressed him. “I know you were away for most of the fighting but you were there when he raised his standard, and you are the king’s man, aren’t you, Father?”

John looked into the determined face of his son and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s hard for me to say,” he said. “I am the king’s man in the sense that my father was his gardener and I gardened for him too. I don’t forget that I have been in his service, or in the service of the court, for most of my life. But I never thought that he was perfect – not like some of the others, not like he would have had us think. I saw him make too many mistakes, I heard too much nonsense for that sort of faith. I thought he was a foolish man, sometimes wickedly foolish. So I don’t think him one step below God.”

“But still the king,” Johnnie persisted.

John nodded, resigned. “Still the king.”

“If he sent for you, would you go?”

“If he sent for me, I would have to go. I would be bound by honor and duty to go if he sent for me by name.”

“Would you take me?”

John hesitated for a moment. “It’s a burden I’d rather not lay on you, my son. If he does not have command of the gardens of the royal palaces then there is no need for you to call him master.”

Johnnie’s conviction blazed out of his brown eyes. “But I long to call him master,” he said. “If I had been there when he raised his standard I would never have left his side. I’m so afraid it will be all over before I can go into his service, and I’ll have missed it all.”

John gave a gruff bark of laughter. “Aye,” he said. “I can see you would fear missing it all.”


That night John put his head around the door of Hester’s bedroom to see his wife, kneeling at the foot of her bed. He waited in silence till she rose to her feet and noticed him, standing in the doorway.

“I came to ask if I might sleep here.”

She got into bed and held up the covers to him, grave-faced. “Of course,” she said. “I am your wife.”

John pulled the nightcap off his head and came into the room.

“I don’t want you to have me in your bed as part of your duty,” he said carefully.

“No.”

“I would want there to be warmth and tenderness between us.”

“Yes.”

“I want you to forgive me for going away and leaving you alone and unprotected, and for being with another woman.”

She hesitated. “Did you leave her of your own free will?”

John could not find a simple answer. “She saved my life,” he said. “I was starving in the forest and she took me to the Powhatan and they accepted me for her sake.”

Hester nodded. “Did you leave her of your own free will? Did you choose to leave her and come home to me?”

“Yes,” John said. “Yes.” The baldness of the lie dropped like a stone into the pool of candlelight by the bed.

John got into bed beside Hester and took her hand. It was white-skinned after Suckahanna’s bronze, calloused by the work she had done for him in his house and in his garden. The backs of her hands were scratched, she had been tying back the climbing roses. John took her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers one by one.

With a sense of relief he felt desire slowly rising up. At least he would be able to do the physical act, even if his heart were not wholly present. He turned the palm of her hand over and planted a kiss in the middle.

Hester put her hand on his shoulder and stroked the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“Do you love her still?”

He stole a quick glance at Hester’s face. She was intent, serious. She did not look enraged as she had every right to be. He risked telling her the truth. “Not as I love you; but it is true. I do love her.”

“You have never loved me,” she said steadily. “You married me as an act of convenience and sometimes I think you have felt gratitude or affection toward me. But it was not a marriage for love and I never pretended that it was.”

Her honesty alarmed him. “Hester…”

“I don’t want us to pretend,” she said. “I would rather know the truth than live in a world of pretense.”

“Do you want me to leave you?”

“No!” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean that at all.”

“But you said…”

She drew a breath. “I said that you married me for your convenience, to care for your children and to guard the rarities and the garden. But I married you because I needed a place to live, and a name, and also-” She smiled at him, a friendly, shy smile. “I was in love with you, John. From the moment that you came home and I walked down the stairs and saw you.”

He put his hand under her chin and turned her face to him. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment but she met his eyes steadily with her direct, dark gaze.

“And you forgive me?”

She gave a little shrug. “Since you came home to me – of course.”

“And you love me still?”

“Of course. Why should I change?”

“Because I have wronged you.”

“Are you home to stay?” she asked with her usual practical directness.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then I forgive you.”

He paused for a moment. “Do you think we could start from the beginning again?” he asked. “With your love for me and me learning to love you?”

Her color deepened and he saw the little white bow at the neck of her nightgown trembling as her breath came faster. “Do you think you could learn to love me?”

John released her hands, put his lips against her throat and then gently untied the fluttering bow. “I know I could,” he said; knowing at least that he hoped he might.


At the end of April, Alexander Norman sent a note to the Ark.


I write in haste to send you urgent news. The king has ridden off from Oxford and left the court there. No one knows where he is bound but this must mean the end of the war. He has no more than a dozen gentlemen with him. He must be fleeing to join the queen in France. Thank God at last it is over.


John took the note through to Hester and laid it down before her where she was working on the household accounts at the drawing desk in the bay of the Venetian windows in the rarities room.

“So it is all over for him at last,” he said.

She glanced quickly up at him. “You must be glad that it has finished. Just think of getting the country back to normal.”

“Normal!” he exclaimed. “Who will be king if he is in exile? How will the country be run?”

“By Parliament!” she said impatiently. “I thought that was what they were fighting for!”

“I can’t help but think of him, without the queen, riding out, knowing he has lost everything.”

“Many other people have lost everything,” Hester observed grimly. “And their sons and brothers and husbands too. Another two years of this and Johnnie would have gone. He’s been wild to die in the king’s service ever since the war started.”

John nodded and turned to leave the room. “I just think of him,” he said. “Riding out on his own. I hope to God he has someone with him who knows the way to Dover.”


“Newark!” John exclaimed and looked at Alexander Norman in complete disbelief. “What the devil is he doing in Newark? I thought he was going to France!”

“He rode around,” Alexander said. “You have to admire the style of it. He came within an hour’s ride of London and apparently thought of riding in to test the mood of the people.”