The Shopkeeper's Widow

by Izzy James

  “I’m trying to decide what it was I expected when I came here.”

  He looked puzzled. “Have you never been here before?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, I have, but not since Tom’s death.”

  “Did you love him very much?” He looked down into her upturned face.

  She moved away to lean against the porch railing so she could breathe and think at the same time. “No. I didn’t love him. He loved me. Or at least he said he did.” She looked down to hide her eyes.

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Not sure. Ghosts, maybe. We never lived here together. Never spent even one night.” She looked out over the outbuildings: the kitchen, the laundry, the smokehouse—all stood unoccupied. She would need to inspect each of them. She looked back at Field. “But it was Tom’s house, and his father consulted with him on major aspects of the project. I guess I expected to feel his presence in the imprint of his tastes, but I don’t.” She looked up at him again. “It’s as if visiting my father’s grave. He’s not there. For me, it’s a fruitless pastime.”

  “I see you made at least one contribution.” He pointed to the waterfall.

  She laughed. “Yes. Once I discovered the waterfall, I knew I would want one wherever I lived, so I ordered three and had one installed here.”

  “Where is the last one going?”

  “Button Cove.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s my estate in Northumberland County.”

  She stepped down on to the brick walkway that led through the dependencies. She didn’t find any major damage. Field stayed by her side in true bodyguard fashion. Inside the main house she found nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix to impede her removing and taking up residence.

  Delany found Field in the library, adjacent to the dining room, staring at the almost bare shelves.

  He reached over and took the two volumes off the shelf. “I think I should return these to Samuel.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m sure they must be Tom’s.”

  “I’m surprised to find them out in the open. They are of a subject matter that shouldn’t be displayed. And certainly shouldn’t be shown to a lady.”

  Delany felt her face color. She had run across other similar volumes when she had cleaned out Tom’s effects from their home and even in his office at the shop. “It’s not the first one I’ve found. Don’t give them to Samuel. I’ll dispose of them in the fire.”

  “Samuel must not have used the house in a really long while if these were lying about.” His query crinkled his eyebrows. “You don’t think anyone else has been here, do you?”

  “And left them sitting on a shelf like a bouquet of roses? I wouldn’t think so.” But she made a note to ask Samuel.

  “I’ll carry them for you,” he offered when she reached for them. “You wouldn’t want to get caught by one of the children with them on our return.”

  “Gracious, no.” She put a hand to her chest and looked around the room. “Well, I think we’re done here. Tomorrow I shall go to Kemp’s Landing and hire some staff.”

  “That brings up another topic we need to discuss,” he said as he followed her down the hallway toward the front door. “I need to meet up with the local militia. Perhaps they can get the goods to Williamsburg.”

  “Or at least get a message to Williamsburg about the goods,” she responded.

  “Exactly.”

  ~*~

  The village of Kemp’s Landing consisted of Main Street, a small avenue near the crossroads of Princess Anne Road and Witchduck Road at the end of the eastern branch of the Elizabeth River. Large, wooden tobacco houses surrounded the waterfront. George Morgan's store stood in the center of Main Street across the mud-crusted road from Billy White’s Tavern and Livery. At the far end stood the blacksmith’s shop, smoke billowing out of its chimney.

  The seemingly haphazard arrangement of the buildings lent a friendly feel to the scene. Folks called out greetings to each other as they bustled about which added to the warmth of the place. Vastly different from the gruffness of Norfolk, which teamed with merchants and sailors.

  Delany sat next to him in the wagon in an indigo riding habit that drew attention to the redness of her auburn hair and the cool gray of her eyes. As the wagon swayed, she would dip near enough that he could smell clover and a hint of dandelion. She had worn her hair up in its usual twist, but he wished to feel it net across his face again. Stop. That kind of thinking will just get you into trouble.

  “I’ll get out right here,” Delany said. “I’ll be in Morgan's.”

  He hopped down. When Delany stepped into his raised hands, a spark hummed through his body. She stood on the ground caught in his arms and looked into his eyes. Did she feel it, too?

  She stepped back and spun on her heel. “I shall be in Morgan's should you finish before I do. If not, I could meet you at the blacksmiths or at White’s.” Her voice, a little shaky, steadied as she detailed her plan.

  “White’s. I’m already getting hungry.”

  She smiled and walked across the street into the store.

  Field drove toward the blacksmith’s shop. Sitting in a wagon at Kemp’s Landing, the very last thing he expected to see was the long, loose-limbed gait of Simon Morgan. Simon walked like a marionette, with steps that were sure in his own mind but were uncertain to those watching. And to dispel any disbelief Field might ascribe to the situation, Hester Morgan was right beside him.

  Hester’s features were unmistakable. The eyes were still just a touch too far apart and the hawk nose stood out, but age had been kind to her. Her chestnut hair shone in the sunlight; her skin, while not as fine as Delany’s, was smooth. At fifteen she had been a horror; at twenty-five, while not a beauty, she was not unpleasing to behold. Hester walked with deportment and grace, but that could be said of any woman who walked on the arm of his ungainly friend.

  Field dismounted. “Simon Morgan!” he called and clasped his friend in his embrace. “Whatever brings you to this little village?”

  “So you’ve come home,” Hester commented before her brother could respond.

  “Field Archer. It does my eyes good to see you, man.”

  “We are staying with our cousins. We are on our way to White’s for luncheon, and you are welcome to join us.”

  “I am not alone. My companion just went to Morgan’s. I am on my way to the blacksmith on some business.”

  “Perhaps another time then,” Simon, always generous, offered.

  “Of course you should come out to the house,” Hester agreed. “I am sure my aunt and uncle would be delighted to meet you.”

  “Where are you staying so we can send the direction?”

  Surprised at his reluctance, Field responded, “I’m presently residing with the Fleets.”

  “The merchants?” Hester grimaced.

  Field’s irritation spiked. “Yes, they’ve been most kind and attentive since I’ve returned.”

  “Didn’t Amity’s little friend—I forget her name—marry one of those Fleets?”

  “Yes, she did.” Field tried to contain his annoyance, “But he died some time ago.”

  “How sad for her.” Hester spoke the appropriate words without conveying the sentiment usually associated with them.

  “Yes, I believe it was.”

  Mary’s words came back to his mind. Flat and hard like a shilling.

  No. I didn’t love him. He loved me. Or at least he said he did.

  Had it been sad for Delany when Tom died? She hadn’t appeared sad or remorseful when he’d accompanied her to Tom’s house. Still it was possible that she missed him. She’d said she didn’t love the man, but that didn’t mean they weren’t friends.

  “You should bring her when you come to visit.” Simon always was too smart for Field’s comfort. Simon’s keen observations had made Field uncomfortable on more than one occasion. “The more the merrier I always say, and there are precious few young people like us about.”

/>   Hester shuttered her objections and replaced them with a false smile. “It truly would be lovely to see her again. We can speak of old times.”

  “If we arrange it properly, we could have enough people for a spot of dancing.” Simon smiled wide. “I’d love a bit of dancing with pretty girls in the evening. And if I remember the right girl, Delany, was it? She was very pretty, indeed.”

  Field nodded his agreement. Intoxicating might be a better word, but Simon was right. He’d never seen a prettier woman than Delany Fleet. Introducing her to his friends, however, was not exactly what he’d had in mind. Of course, she already knew Simon and Hester. Simon would not care about her origins, but Hester did, and she wouldn’t be the only one.

  “I will convey your invitation.” What more could he say?

  He drove to the blacksmith shop wondering if Delany knew how to dance.

  Sweat formed under his hatband as soon as he stepped into the shop, which comprised one large room with a partition counter to separate the back from the front. Arranged on tables in the front were various implements for sale. The back held the heart of the blacksmith’s trade and the source of the oppressive heat. A large forge sent streams of smoke up the chimney. There were tables along the walls scattered with different tools waiting to be repaired. One table held dozens of firearms in various states of brokenness.

  A man, with arms the size of small roof beams, stood sweating next to the fire.

  “Mr. Parke?” Field called.

  “Aye. What can I do for ye?” William Parke let his hammer hang to his side and moved to meet Field in the front of the shop. Parke wore a hat pushed down over blond hair. His forehead was broad; his eyes were blue and severely bruised.

  “I’ve been told that I can find Lawson and Hutchins here.”

  The man separated his feet to shoulder length apart and brought the hammer head to rest in his other hand. “Who told you that?”

  “Fleet said I should tell you that sunflowers grow among the barley.”

  Parke did not relax. “What do you want with them?”

  “Passage.”

  “Passage to where?”

  “Williamsburg.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d rather talk to Hutchins and Lawson.”

  “I’ll tell them ye called. But they’ll not be able to help ye. No one can get past Lord Dunmore right now.”

  Suffocated, he swung away from the blacksmith and looked out a window into the street. He couldn’t tell if it was the heat wafting from the forge or the situation he was in or a combination of both. What was he to do? He’d thought once he got out of Norfolk the rest would be easy.

  “Where can I find Hutchins right now? He has to work and live somewhere.”

  “We’ve heard that Williamsburg has sent troops.”

  Field breathed deeply. “How did you hear that?”

  “I’ll not be tellin’ ye everything I ever knew.”

  “Fair enough. Will you tell me who blackened your eyes?”

  “Soldiers. Came in here yesterday and broke the guns.”

  Field took a closer look at the pile of guns. Some were spiked; and others bent and shattered.

  “Can you repair them?”

  Parke nodded. “Given the time.”

  15

  Delany sat down at a table in White’s and looked out the window. She would have to do something about her garments. All the women within her range of sight were dressed in homespun. Her blue brocade made her stick out like a peppermint in a basket of potatoes. She’d gotten more than a few nasty looks in Morgan’s.

  She’d known it was coming, of course. The boycott on British goods required economy. Just like liber-teas. If one was a patriot, one drank tea like a patriot. If one was a patriot, one had better dress like a patriot. At this point, she saw no reason to throw away perfectly good brocade in favor of homespun.

  “Please forgive the intrusion.” Delany looked up to find a tall, blond gentleman standing across the table. “I believe we have met. I am Simon Morgan. Might you be—ˮ

  Of course she remembered Simon Morgan. How could she forget the boy her friend had such feelings for? She smiled at him and stood to offer her hand. “Delany Button. Well, it’s Fleet now.”

  “I thought that was you when you came in. I’m delighted to meet you again.” He had a wide smile that went all the way to his heart with no guile. She liked him at once. “Might I reacquaint you with my sister, Hester?”

  Out from behind him stepped a tall, chestnut-haired woman. Her hair was piled up higher than her brother’s head. She was dressed in court-like finery of a deep green, woolen riding habit that perfectly set off her chocolate brown eyes—eyes that looked down her slope of a nose at Delany.

  “Mrs. Fleet, I do believe we met before at Archer Hall on one of my many visits there. You were Amity’s little friend, were you not?”

  “Indeed, I was. It’s kind of you to remember me.” She turned toward Simon, “Is Morgan’s your family store?”

  “Certainly not,” Hester replied quickly. “We are no relation to them whatsoever.”

  Simon looked a little befuddled at his sister’s retort.

  Before Delany could reply, Hester’s face lit up at something over Delany’s shoulder.

  She turned to see Field smile and make his way toward them. He stood behind her, close enough that she could feel his warmth.

  “Archer, we were just getting reacquainted with Mrs. Fleet. Just about ready to make our invitation before we head for home,” Simon said.

  “Mrs. Fleet,” Hester interrupted, “my aunt and uncle are hosting a small gathering at their house on Saturday.” She delivered another lofty smile. “We would be delighted if you could come.”

  “Thank you for the offer. I shall have to consult my calendar and get back with you.”

  “We shall send along the invitation directly,” Hester said clearly not believing that anything could possibly be in the way of her party.

  Field nodded to them both as they left the table and made their way out of the tavern. He took the seat opposite her own.

  “What a nice man. I haven’t seen him in so long, I’d forgotten…” Delany started.

  “Did you hear there was a raid here a couple of days ago?” Field’s eyebrows knit together, and his look became fierce.

  She leaned in closer. “Keep your voice down,” she warned. There was no telling who was about out here. She knew some of the townspeople but not enough to make her comfortable. “I heard some talk in Morgan’s”

  “What can I get ye?” A young boy stood at Field’s elbow.

  “Some coffee, I think,” Delany told the boy.

  The boy looked at Field, and he nodded in return.

  “What did you mean that you have to check your calendar? Do you have any other invitations for Saturday?”

  “No. But I would like to think about whether or not I want to go and not be forced because I happened to see someone in a tavern who felt obliged to invite me.”

  “I’m sure Simon genuinely desires your company.”

  “And Hester?”

  The coffee arrived, and Field looked down into his cup. “Simon is my best friend in the entire world. I wouldn’t offend him for anything.”

  Yes, but what does that have to do with me?

  He caught her gaze when he looked back up from his coffee. Was it longing she saw there? Was he lonely, too? He shielded his feelings before she could gauge what it was but not before her heart responded to his vulnerability. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hold him.

  “Shall we go then?” she asked.

  His smile disarmed her. “I think we should.”

  “All right, then. I’ll accept the invitation as soon as I receive word from them. If I receive word from them. I’m still not convinced that Miss Morgan was being anything more than polite. I also find I am discomfited at the prospect of a party with so much unrest about us.”

  “Life must continue. Farms must p
roduce food so people can eat, and life must go on.”

  “I know you are right, but having a party at such a time seems…unseemly.”

  ~*~

  Field waited until they’d cleared the last building before he spoke again. “The blacksmith had at least fifty weapons that were destroyed in the raid.”

  “Where was the militia?”

  “Mr. Parke was less than forthcoming with information. He says he will fix the guns, but it will take quite a bit of time.”

  “Seems like God put you in the right place at the right time.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” He was glad she had the same instinct. “But I didn’t get a bead on Lawson or Hutchins.”

  “There’s time.”

  He found peace in her declaration though there wasn’t really time with the war heating up around them. There was no question: it would be war. But he’d seen God in action around him before. The militia here clearly needed his goods. He would give his weapons to this cause. When he had the opportunity of doing so, he would leave. His safety would be in God’s hands.

  They hit a rut in the mud-caked road, and Delany bounced into him leaving a trace of clover and dandelions.

  “I almost forgot. The blacksmith said they’d heard that Williamsburg has sent troops.”

  She looked up at him and smiled with warmth in her silvery eyes. “Thank God.”

  He was looking forward to Saturday night very much.

  ~*~

  Two days later, Delany said good-bye to Sarah. Tears blurred the carriage into a brown cabbage as Delany waved to Sarah, Lucy, and Isaac. Pungo was less than a day’s journey away, but when the tears welled up, Delany couldn’t stop them.

  “Why do things have to change so?” Molly put her arm around Delany and led her to the house. “I was content with my shop. My house.”

  “Let’s have some tea.”

  “All this change makes me weary. It’s too sudden and violent. I feel as though I have no control over my life.” Once seated in the dining room, Delany crossed her arms on the table and put her head down. Her emotions swung from right to left.

  Sarah was gone to the bosom of her family where she belonged.

  Where do I belong?