Chapter 7

“…I believe he must be an angel.”

“…”

“He laid a map before me and spoke of the native tribes, the beasts, and the geography of this entire region. His knowledge was far more accurate than what my own father gathered over several years of surveying. How could that be possible!”

“…”

“And he seems to be all alone, yet how does he manage that enormous farm, the fences, and all those mysterious machines… If he is not an angel, there is no other explanation…!”

“Mrs. Dare, you are overwrought. Please, eat this and compose yourself.”

“Ah, thank you. …Mmm, it’s so sweet.”

While Eleanor savored the flavor of the Shine Muscat grape with a furrowed brow, the lawyer, Mr. Hewitt, spoke up.

“It is incredibly sweet, is it not?”

“It is! This must be a fruit from Heaven!”

“I imagine Columbus thought the same when he first tasted a pineapple.”

“…Ah.”

“Please, calm yourself. While it is true that this grape is sweet, fragrant, and… uh… delicious…”

“It is truly delicious.”

“…Yes, while it is ‘truly’ delicious, that alone is not enough to conclude that its owner is an angel.”

“But it has no seeds.”

“W-well, nature is mysterious, is it not…?” Mr. Hewitt seemed slightly flustered. As whispers spread among the others that a grape this tasty had to be a fruit from Heaven, he quickly tried to quiet the group.

“In any case, has ‘He’ ever claimed to be an angel himself?”

“…No.”

“You see. If we ask the savages nearby, they will surely know something of ‘Him.’ A great farm like this could not have been built by one man overnight.”

That was true.

“Whether he received help in its construction or simply sought their permission, there must be some connection, some answer.”

“But there was nothing like this here when we arrived last year. Does it make any sense for such a farm to appear in just one year?”

“…It only shows how remarkable ‘He’ must be. Come to think of it, we do not even know his name.”

“…”

“Let us not jump to conclusions.”

At the lawyer’s words, everyone in the tent slowly began to nod. With the governor’s daughter and the learned lawyer having reached some sort of conclusion, the others went back to focusing on the grapes.

Chomp, chomp, chomp.

Munch, munch, munch.

And every one of them, including Eleanor, had the same thought.

‘…No matter what anyone says, this is definitely a fruit from Heaven.’

Swoosh.

“Everyone. And Eleanor?”

“Ah, yes!”

“The logging is finished. You may come out.”

The terrible roar of the thing he called a ‘chainsaw’ had unsettled everyone, and since he also seemed reluctant to show them how it worked, they had all gathered in the tent while he cleared the trees.

And when they stepped outside…

“There. Is this enough?”

“…Ah, yes, it is.”

Eleanor realized she still wasn’t used to the sight. In a single morning, dozens of trees had been felled. ‘He’ who had finished in an instant a task that would have taken thirty people all day, now looked around with a leisurely expression and spoke.

“Well, now that the timber is prepared, we can begin building the village here.”

His words were the signal. The colonists each grabbed their tools and set to work. The sounds of hammering and sawing echoed throughout the forest. It was the sound of the first English settlement being built on Croatoan Island.

***

I was slowly beginning to adapt to the region’s climate. North Carolina (not yet named) was not dramatically different from Korea. The autumns and winters were just a bit warmer, and instead of a concentrated monsoon season, the rain was spread evenly throughout the year.

…And was that a bad thing?

No, it was a good thing.

Why do East Asian countries like Japan, Korea, and China put so much effort into producing high-end grapes like Shine Muscat or Ruby Roman? Why, unlike in Europe or the Americas where farming is more laissez-faire, do they meticulously manage their vines and fruits, picking leaves and pruning branches with such devotion?

Because the climate is shit.

Since you can’t produce much anyway, you might as well sell it at a high price.

Like other fruits, but especially with grapes, excess water goes straight to the berry. Too much water in the vicinity, and the flavor becomes bland and watery. That is how important water management is in grape cultivation. It’s also why I was reducing the amount of water now, just before the harvest.

And in East Asia, the monsoon season arrives in July and August, right when the grapes are maturing. On top of that, the clay-heavy soil retains a massive amount of water. This means things get very, very wet.

There’s an old saying that you can survive a three-year drought but not a three-month monsoon, and that was exactly how I felt. When it rained, I felt like I was going to die. The moment the monsoon started, photosynthesis would be blocked, so you had to adjust the fertilizer schedule. The excess water would cause the berries to burst. Then a heatwave would follow, and they would burst from the heat. The humidity would bring a complimentary set of mold and various pests. And all of this happens right before the harvest.

You have to add water to prevent leaf scorch, a phenomenon where leaves turn black and necrotic when a sudden heatwave follows a humid period. But you have to reduce water if you don’t want to make watery grapes. What is this? Why is this grape acting like a client who demands a design that is simple yet ornate, modern yet traditional? Why are there so many handicap factors on this tiny, hellfire peninsula? Was King Dan-gun[1] some crazy rabbit princess[2] who enjoyed playing on hard mode?

…In contrast, this beautiful land of North Carolina has no monsoon season. The annual precipitation is even, and the weather is mild. Of course, there are terrible disasters like Pierce’s disease and phylloxera mites lurking, but my vines are resistant, so for now, I’m safe.

Aside from that, this place… this is a grape farmer’s heaven.

Oh, America.

With a heart full of American pride, I cheerfully sprayed the fertilizer. Eat well. Grow big and strong, so you can be sold in a department store…

Ah, right. The first department store won’t be built for another 264 years.

Grape farming has now become just a hobby for me. The investment I poured into the facilities for the three 500-pyeong greenhouses makes it hard to let go, but someday, for the sake of survival, I’ll have to abandon even this damned grape farm.

…It brings tears to my eyes. To think I’ve come all the way to a grape farmer’s heaven, only for the grapes themselves to become useless.

Anyway.

Aside from the approximately 10,000 bunches of grapes growing without any demand, everything was proceeding according to plan.

A few temporary huts for the English colonists were built in just a few days, thanks to my help with the logging. The colonists, who had been huddled together in the farm hut and tents, began to move their household goods into the homes they had built themselves.

Feeling they could not rely on me for everything, they soon began to hunt and gather on their own, securing their own food. A few even offered me crabs they had caught in a stream as a gift.

Of course, I didn’t accept them. It was a hassle to cook them, and it wasn’t yet time for them to repay the debt they owed me. Instead of accepting the gift, I offered them a few more bunches of grapes. The colonists, deeply moved, returned with tears in their eyes.

I still couldn’t fully trust them, so I locked all my doors at night and slept with my machete and chainsaw by my side, but… they showed no signs of hostility toward me. I had considered the possibility that they might try to kill me and plunder my property. But they seemed to know full well that without me, there was no one to maintain this farm and no one to help them.

And so began the friendly, symbiotic relationship between myself and the English colonists. This was the situation I had hoped for most when I first found myself alone in this land. As long as I had thirty or so friendly English people with me, neither the natives nor other colonists would be able to touch me easily.

However, with nearly ten children among those thirty people, I couldn’t let my guard down and rely on them alone for defense. To guarantee my safety, I needed a different approach. A diplomatic one.

“You’ve returned, Eleanor. How did it go?”

“The tribes of this island have agreed to accept us! They said we may settle here!”

Eleanor, whom I had sent to the natives, returned with positive news.

I rejoiced inwardly and gave a slow, deliberate nod. The reason they had come here in the first place was because of the friendly tribe on this island. Now, through the English colonists, I had indirectly obtained the freedom to stay here as well.

“Manteo[3] said that since they don’t stay on this land year-round anyway, he doesn’t mind if we settle here!”

“That is excellent news.”

Manteo. He was the first Native American to become a member of the Church of England. The son of this island’s chief, who had traveled to England himself and decided that they must engage with the English.

“But, he was puzzled. He asked why we chose this narrow island that is mostly swampland.”

“One might see it that way. But you, Eleanor, must wait for your father’s relief ship on the coast of this island, must you not?”

“…Well, yes, that is true.”

“…”

“…”

What’s this?

At the sudden silence, I turned to look at her directly, and a blushing Eleanor quickly averted her gaze. Ah, was it rude to stare at a woman in this era?

Even after I realized my mistake and looked away, Eleanor’s silence continued. I glanced over and saw that she was looking at me with a strange, meaningful expression. It was as if she were trying to see right through me. She seemed to have a lot on her mind.

***

…This man before me.

Who in the world is he?

Is he a prince from the lands of Asia? Is he an angel? Or just a handsome, wealthy man from the East?

How does he know English? How is he so versed in European affairs? How did he predict the date of my father’s return? And this huge farm, these complex machines, what are all these facilities?

Eleanor had asked him indirectly.

Why.

Why did you choose this narrow island that is mostly swampland?

How did you come to settle here, and what is your identity?

But the man had not answered. He had merely stared at her.

She had already wanted to ask him so many things, but after meeting with Manteo, her curiosity had only doubled.

…Eleanor recalled her meeting with Manteo.

As she approached the village, Manteo had greeted her and her companions with a welcoming face. He had asked if they had come seeking refuge, and she had said no. She had come to ask for permission to settle.

-“…Are not most of your party women and children? How do you intend to settle?”

-“As you know, there is a large vineyard just ahead. We have entrusted ourselves to its master.”

-“…Pardon?”

Manteo’s face had hardened.

-“A vineyard? There is no such thing.”

-“But there is clearly a large settlement in that forest…”

-“We searched that very forest just two weeks ago, and it was quiet then. If there were a ‘large’ settlement, we would have been the first to discover it!”

-“W-what did you say?”

Fortunately, the rest of her party had not been present. Only Manteo, his mother the chieftainess, and Eleanor herself had been there.

-“My mother knows nothing of it either. Are you certain you saw such a farm?”

-“…What are you saying? You didn’t know such a farm was built until now? In your own homeland?”

Hearing Eleanor’s words, Manteo had thought for a moment, then picked up a single grape that had been in Eleanor’s hand. It was a grape the man had given her as a gift for Manteo and his people.

-“A grape like this… I have never seen one in my life. Hah… it’s delicious. May I have another?”

-“As many as you like.”

-“In any case, I have never seen anything like this anywhere.”

-“…”

…It was true.

Eleanor did not know who the man before her was, or even where he had come from. All she knew was that, for now, he was friendly.

“…Sir, this may be a foolish question at a time like this, but.”

“What is it? Please, feel free to ask anything.”

“…”

Eleanor unconsciously closed her eyes, then opened them and spoke with conviction.

“What is your name?”

At her question, the man was silent for a moment… then he opened his mouth.

“Nemo[4].”

“…Pardon?”

“You may call me that.”

“Ah, yes. Sir Nemo.”

And then.

“…Ah, there was one favor I meant to ask, but I forgot.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Do you see these grapes here? What do you think?”

“Um… there are very, very many of them?”

“And?”

“They are very ripe?”

“Exactly.”

‘Nemo’ snapped his fingers and smiled at Eleanor.

“I need some help with the harvest.”

And just like that, without knowing why, Eleanor and the colonists found themselves holding shears and beginning the grape harvest.

“…How many bunches are there in total?”

“Hahaha! It looks like a lot, but it’s not as many as you think. It’s only about 10,000 bunches.”