by Deeanne Gist
“Yes, yes. Go ahead.”
He looked around the room and snatched a wool coverlet off a stack of folded linens on a nearby dressing table. He shook it out and draped it around Connie’s shoulders like a cloak, arranging its folds so that Sally would be covered as well. “I’ll be right back,” he said and hurried out the door.
She could barely see the top of Sally’s head peeping through a gap in the coverlet. The sweet body heat they shared warmed Constance. Swaying from side to side, she hummed a lullaby while allowing her gaze to wander across the chamber.
It was huge. The cottage could have fit into it two times. Furniture was planted haphazardly throughout. Two drop-leaf tables, several chairs, trunks, and a dressing table as fine as any back home took up much of the space.
A sapling broom stood propped in one corner, and a chest of drawers with butterfly pulls received an elaborate walnut Bible box complete with lock and key.
The beautifully plastered walls held three window casements with diamond-shaped lead glass panes, along with two additional windows in the attached alcove that would serve nicely as a nursery.
A brief movement below her feet caught her attention, and she could just barely discern Drew through the minute cracks in the plank flooring that set upon beams and served as a ceiling for the great room underneath.
Footfalls on the stairs reached her ears seconds before he strode into the room, dumping his load of wood into the fireplace that took up two-thirds of the west wall. “I’ve some heart of the pine to mix in with the regular pine and oak, so the room should heat up quickly. Are you all right?”
“Yes. As soon as you’re done, though, I need to get Sally out of these wet things.”
He nodded, igniting the wood with some flint, then quickly pressed fingers and thumbs to his lips, blowing a steady stream of air through the tiny hole he’d formed. The fire responded immediately, devouring the kindling and enfolding the dry logs.
He stood. “Let me tighten the bed ropes and throw the tick on first, so you’ll have someplace to put her when she’s dry.” He grabbed the bed key, and starting at one end, wedged the large wooden peg between the rope and bed frame, twisting, then releasing. From section to section, his movements were quick and sure until he’d made it all the way around.
The tick lay beneath the bed, and she knew it must weigh a tremendous amount. How he had any strength left with which to wrestle it onto the ropes amazed her.
“There,” he said, blowing a puff of air from his lungs. “She’ll be able to sleep tight now, and the tick is feather instead of straw, so there’ll be no bed bugs to bother her.”
A feather bed. Oh my.
Together they worked silently, she disrobing and drying Sally, he covering the tick with linen and fetching water from the kitchen. When all was ready, she carefully laid Sally on the mattress, covered her with wool, then finger-combed her hair away from the swollen bump at the base of her scalp. Dipping a rag into the bucket of water, she began to wash the blood from the wound.
“I’ve no garden here yet, nor any comfrey,” Drew said. Leaning forward, he tenderly touched the gash. Sally moaned. He sent Constance a look filled with hope and relief. “A good sign. Perhaps she’ll waken soon.”
When they’d done all they could, Constance wrung the rag out into the red-tinted water, a shiver going through her.
“You next,” he said. “Out of those clothes and into bed.”
She nodded but didn’t move from Sally’s side. The thought of undressing exhausted her. Where would she find the strength such a task would require? “I’m filthy. I’ll ruin the new bed.”
“I’ll bring you some fresh water.”
“I’ve no clothes to change into.”
His grin was downright wicked. “I know.”
A short laugh escaped her, yet still she made no move. He leaned down to place a light kiss on her forehead before grabbing the water bucket and leaving the room.
He returned to find her exactly where he’d left her, sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, eyes closed. Surely she hadn’t fallen asleep like that.
As he drew nearer, though, he saw tears pouring from her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, jaw, and neck, then trickling into the folds of her neckline. Yet she made no sound nor any move to wipe them from her face.
He set the bucket down. “Connie? What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
She raised her gaze to him, her eyes swollen, red. “Mary.”
She’d barely whispered it, yet that one short name held immense anguish and misery within it.
“Oh, Connie.” He reached down and pulled her up into his embrace. “I know. I know.”
“She had such a hard life.” Her voice was muffled and broken against his shirt.
He cupped her head, holding it against him.
“And yet she was so giving and unselfish. She showed me how to survive on that ship, you know, when she could have easily left me to flounder or perish, even.“ She hiccupped. ”She comforted me when Uncle Skelly died. She offered encouragement here when I was having such trouble adjusting. She taught me so much. Listened. Shared. Even prayed with me. Oh, Drew,“ she wailed, ”how am I ever going to manage without her?”
Sobs racked her body. Tightening his hold, he stroked her hair, kissed her head, rubbed her shoulders. Mary had come to mean much to him as well. He’d not thought of her as a servant. Hadn’t for quite some time. He’d thought of her as a friend. A sister. An angel.
Oh, Lord. Why? Why would you take sweet, sweet Mary from Connie? From Sally? From me? Have you really such an urgent need for her to be with you? I don’t understand. Will never understand.
Connie trembled and he knew he must get her warm and safely tucked into bed.
Tilting her head back, he kissed the tears from her cheeks and placed a soft, tender kiss on her lips. Then scooping her hair off her face and shoulders, he began loosening her skirt and bodice. She stood mute and dejected as he peeled the sodden clothing from her frame and washed the mud, sand, and debris from her person, all the while supporting her lest she crumble to the floor.
Thank you for giving me this woman.
He patted her dry, careful not to hurt her bruised and battered body, then wrapped her in soft linen.
Please protect her and the baby. Please, Lord. It is my heart’s deepest desire.
He lifted her into his arms and laid her next to Sally. Connie rolled to her side, curled her knees up, and sucked in a choppy breath.
She was asleep before he’d finished tucking the wool coverlet beneath her chin. After spreading her clothes in front of the fire, he shucked his garments off and splashed water over himself. He paused to stoke the fire and then crawled onto the tick beside his beloved family.
The dowdy, scrubbed, heavily laden ship rested peacefully on the blue water. It carried the usual three masts, the fore and main square-rigged, the mizzenmast lateen, while her poop deck graduated into three different levels up over the stern.
Drew had seen many a ship just like it over the course of his life, but this one, this one he would never forget. “You won’t change your mind?”
Josh shook his head. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time. I was waiting only for you to acquire enough help so as to run the farm without me.”
Drew moved his focus from the Myrtilla to his brother. “If I’d known, I never would have bought the indentured men.”
Josh’s mouth tipped up. “That’s why I told you not of my intentions.”
“But why must it be so final?” Drew removed his hat, tapping it against his thigh. “What was so bad about coming back and forth with each shipment?”
“Nothing. It’s simply not what I want to do. I’ve never liked or excelled at farming the way you have. It’s the factoring I enjoy. If I live in England, I can factor not only our tobacco, but many others’. I can factor full time, Drew. I...I’ll be my own man.” He pursed his lips. “The best part, of course, is I won’t have t
o answer to Grandma anymore.”
Drew attempted a smile but could not muster one forth. “You’ll get dragged into the war. You know you will.”
“I’m the second son here, Drew. If I return to help you farm this summer, the colony will have by then organized a counter force against the Indians in which I would be expected to participate.” He shrugged. “It seems no matter where I go, I’ll be fighting a war of one kind or another.”
Drew studied his brother. Something wasn’t quite right. Everything he said made sense. But, still. Drew narrowed his eyes. “Mary. Is that what this is all about?”
A mask descended over Josh’s face. “Not to worry, Drew. I’ll send you a replacement.” His inflection made the word sound heinous.
Drew angled his head. “Mary could never be replaced, and that’s not what I meant. Nor am I worried about a cook. Connie learned more than I realized about food preparation, and when her time approaches, Grandma will come and see to the cooking for her.” A salty breeze disturbed the hair against his shoulder. “No, I wasn’t speaking of cooking at all. I was speaking of Mary. Did you perhaps have deeper feelings for her than you let on?”
“I’m going to stay in England because I like it there.” His jaw was tight. “I want to live there. I can be a successful factor there.” He picked up his bag. “I needs must go.”
Drew’s throat thickened. “Your pardon. I spoke out of turn.”
After a tense moment, Josh’s shoulders wilted. “No, it’s your pardon I must ask for. My-my feelings for Mary are jumbled within me and I--“ the telltale tick in his jaw pulsed--”I’m not yet ready to think much less speak of them.”
Pain congealed within Drew. “I’m sorry I was too late for her. I-I’m sorry we couldn’t give her a proper burial. And if it makes you feel any better, I loved her too.”
Josh took a deep breath. “It wasn’t your fault.” He scanned the shoreline. “I’m just glad Sally is mending and showing no signs of head weaknesses.” He turned back to Drew. “And, of course, I’m vastly relieved that Nellie and the rest are all right.”
Drew nodded, a spurt of anger replacing the hurt of just moments before. “I’d give anything to get my hands on Emmett.”
“So would the Powhatans.”
“You don’t think the Indians kidnapped him and took him back to their camp for...retribution?”
“I don’t. It’s not their style. I think if he’d been home they’d have been very deliberate in killing him and careful to leave what remains there would have been for all of us to see.”
“Then where is he? Every man in this settlement wants a piece of him.”
“I know not, Drew. I know not. But his life here is over--one way or another.”
“Still, I--”
Laying a hand on Drew’s shoulder, Josh squeezed. “Our losses were great, but it could have been worse. We could have lost additional family members and we could have lost the big house.” He compressed his lips, the tick in his jaw pounding. “Is it callous to be relieved the house was untouched?”
Drew took his time answering. “If it is, then I am calloused as well, for I shared in the relief and then some. For I was not only thankful the house still stood, but also that the seedlings were unharmed and the cured tobacco was safely intact within the ship’s hull.”
His brother nodded.
“I want not to anger you, Josh, but Grandma had some parting words she wished me to give you.”
Josh gave him a sideways look. “That sounds ominous. Why didn’t she say them to me herself?”
“She’s distraught.” He shook his head. “This massacre was so much like the last one, I’m sure she’s reliving it some. In any case, she asked that I place a Bible in your bundle.”
Josh glanced at his bundle. “I thought it burned in the fire.”
“It did. Morden gave her two more--one for each of us.”
“Why, Drew? She knows I’ve read it already.”
“Yes. I’m aware of that. We both have read it.” He sighed. “Still, I’m glad she insisted on it, for I confess I have turned to it and the One who inspired it often of late and have discovered this...this freedom--from guilt, from failure, from the responsibility of keeping everyone alive.”
Josh rubbed the back of his neck. “I know not what to say. You’ve caught me a bit off guard.”
“I know and I’m sorry. I wish we had more time. I wish I were better with my words. But will you read it over again? With a perspective of freedom instead of as a book full of rules? Mayhap starting with the New Testament this time?”
Josh took a deep breath. “I could try, I suppose.”
“Thank you.”
“Take care, brother,” he said, extending his hand.
Drew grasped his hand and pulled him into an embrace. “I’ll continue to refer to the second bedchamber as yours. So if you ever have a need or desire to return, know that it waits in ready for you.”
They held tight, then broke apart, neither bothering to hide the sheen in his eyes. Turning, Josh walked out to the end of the pier and jumped down into the dinghy. Drew placed his hat on his head and watched the sailor row his brother to the Myrtilla.
The dinghy pulled alongside the great boat, and Josh climbed its wooden steps along the sloping side of the flat, holding his bundle over one shoulder. He swung up onto the deck, then leaned against the port bulwarks looking out to his brother and home.
Drew inhaled. The salty air smelled good. Fresh. Not like the acrid air of decay permeating the desecrated land over so much of the area. Too soon the bosun’s voice traveled across the water. “Let fall your main! Bring your cable to the capstan! Break out anchor!”
Young sailors with shirts open to the waist scurried to and fro across the deck. Josh remained a still figure in the midst of the chaos.
The fore and main topsails flew up, as did the square and lateen sails on the poop. With a creak and a moan, the weather-beaten girl moved slowly out of the harbor.
Drew watched the seagulls dip and swell in her wake until the squawking birds were mere dots, the ship but a toy boat, and his brother a poignant memory.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Five months later
Answering the knock, Drew yanked open the front doors just as an earsplitting scream from abovestairs rocked the house. In an effort to remain upright, he squeezed the door handles with an iron grip, though he felt all circulation drop to his toes.
The haggard, overdressed old gaffer in front of him straightened his spine and turned as red as his doublet. “By my life, what goes here!”
Drew scowled. “Who are you?”
The portly travel-worn man narrowed his eyes. “I am the Right Honorable the Earl of Greyhame, Lord Randall Christian Morrow, and if that was my daughter, you are a dead man.”
Another scream from abovestairs descended into the hall, but this screech was nothing like the one before. This one was the unmistakable bawl of a newborn baby.
The blood rushed back up from Drew’s toes to his head in a whirling mass, causing Connie’s father to appear in triple. It’s here. The baby is finally here.
Fighting the urge to run up the stairs and into their bedchamber, he blinked. Only two fathers stood before him now. Drew felt a slow smile spread across his face as he took a wobbly step back. “That first scream, my lord, was indeed your daughter, my wife, and if you kill me, your grandchild will be quite without a father. Won’t you come in?”
Lord Randall barreled inside, brandishing his cane in Drew’s face. “You beggarly knave, I was told this marriage was in name only! Who gave you permission to consummate the vows?”
“Theodore Hopkin, governor of this colony, representative of the king, and it’s going to cost you plenty, for that daughter of yours is nothing but trouble. What in the blazes were you thinking to allow her an education?”
Drew bit back his smile at the man’s shocked expression. Nothing like landing the first punch.
Lord Randall furrowed
his bushy gray brows. “I knew not about her education until it was too late.”
Drew straightened the cuffs of his shirt. “Well, be prepared to pay dearly for it. No man should have to suffer through what I do with the constant spouting of the most addlepated word puzzles you could imagine.” He took the man’s bag, then extended a hand toward the great room. “Please, have a seat.”
The poor man’s bluster dissolved, a look of resignation on his face. “Blasted chit.” He shuffled into the room, settling his substantial girth into Drew’s chair.
The game had begun. Drew poured them each a noggin of ale and took the chair across from him. “I require fifteen thousand pounds.”
Lord Randall spewed ale across the floor. “What! Surely drink has tickled your poor brain. You’re a farmer, you impudent rascal. I’ll give you five thousand.”
Drew plopped his drink onto the table at his side, its contents sloshing over the rim. A satisfied smile broke across his face. “Excellent.” He stood. “When will you take her back to England with you? Today? Tomorrow?”
The old man’s red-rimmed eyes widened. “I cannot take her back. Why, she’s already birthed a child!”
“Fifteen thousand,” he said, shrugging, “or I send her and the babe back, with or without you.”
Lord Randall opened and closed his mouth several times, then shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Well, is she...is she happy?”
Drew arched his brows. “What, in the name of the sword, has that to do with anything?”
His father-in-law scowled. “It has everything to do with it, you impudent knave.”
He slanted Lord Randall a glance. “My price is still fifteen thousand.”
Her father surged to his feet, the blood vessels in his face fair to bursting. “You’ll see not a blessed shilling until I’ve spoken with my daughter.”
Drew moved to the secretary, withdrawing a fully written and prepared marriage contract. “Feel free to peruse this in the meanwhile.”
Lord Randall whipped the document from Drew’s fingertips, then bent his way to his bag, pulling out a bundle of correspondence. He shoved it against Drew’s chest. “And you feel free to peruse these.”
