She gave him an exasperated glare.
“Oh, you two,” Camisha said, shaking her head as she closed the hatch.
“That woman is a seer beyond, in truth, knowing the future,” he said, as he hugged her to his side and soundly kissed her forehead.
They joined Camisha in the kitchen, where Ashanti sat on a counter, chatting with his wife.
“So what’s the purpose behind this day trip?” Ashanti asked.
“I told you—”
“Yes, yes, I know. Celebration of family.”
Bronson hesitated. “Marley read the old Swallow ship’s logs, and learned that someone lives there.”
“I’m surprised, given all poor old Crowell did to exorcise the ship’s demons, they didn’t destroy those logs in a fire.”
“No seaman would ever do such a thing. Sailors may be accursed with sin and wrongdoing, but ship’s logs are sacred. For exactly this reason, I might add.”
“Then I propose we sit down and discuss what she learned. Rashall must not be privy to this information.”
“Why?”
“With each person who knows the truth, the risk of our living here grows. Rashall himself is an anachronism by extension.”
Once Camisha had intimidated Marley, but knowing Bronson had changed her, and now she shook her head. “No, he isn’t. He was born here and raised here and knows nothing about any other time—nor could he.”
“I mean, he’s not even meant to exist, but for my presence here. None of my children are. I don’t wish to risk it.”
“’Tis too late.”
Camisha’s head swung around to Bronson, and her lips went tight. “What have you done now?” Then she glanced at Marley. “Didn’t I tell you he couldn’t keep his mouth shut?”
“He knows all my important secrets, as I do his. Were it Rachel, would you forbid her? Or would you not instead insist on her being there for you?”
Ashanti laughed, glancing at his wife. “Ray’s his Cammie.”
“You shut up. I wish I’d never told you, either.”
His laughter continued. “Uh huh. You thought you were just dropping in to ye oldie timey for some fine Ashanti loving, then heading back to your modern condomodium.”
“Condominium,” she muttered, again glancing at Marley. “That’s his idea of wit. Didn’t I tell you you’d be sorry for telling him?”
“Sorry for telling who what?” Rashall appeared from the corridor behind Marley.
Camisha sighed, her head dropping in resignation. “All right. We all gather, all our secrets just as naked as jaybirds—is the officer’s mess still available, Bronson?”
He shrugged. “The captain’s cabin is large enough for all of us.”
“If we’re going to get to the bottom of it, we need Hannah and Hastings—if he’ll even have anything to do with us. Bronson, what about your father? Or will he want to have us all thrown in the Public Hospital?”
He hesitated, clearly torn. “Obviously he’ll betray no one. I’m truly worried about the strain it may place on his heart—his spirit.”
“Well, it’s your call, son.” This from Ashanti, abruptly taking the reins from his wife.
“Perhaps we try without him, first. But he’s a stubborn man, he likely won’t accept being left out.” This from Bronson.
“Yeah. God forbid we have a stubborn man there,” she said, looking from Bronson to Ashanti to their son. “We’ll go collect him and Hannah and meet you there.”
Jem arrived to put the coffee trolley together and wheeled the service into the cabin.
Bronson, Marley, and Rashall joined the old man who sat at the bank of windows, gazing out into the river receding behind him.
“Seems a pleasant day indeed. What was the morning like?”
Bronson threw Marley a knowing glance. “Red sky, sir.”
“Oh, dear. Well, at least you’re not out at sea, where the greater problems would occur from it. In any case, I thank you for inviting me along. I’ve been going over the books with Little Dan, and I’d developed quite a headache. This is a welcome reprieve.”
“Problems?”
“The opposite. The young man no longer needs me at all. The weaker my eyes grow, the sharper grow his figures. ’Tis a challenge indeed to find any error in his work.”
“Then perhaps it’s time you train his surrogate,” Bronson said. “Or perhaps, if he’s a competent bookkeeper, he’s—”
“Correct you are. He’s already training several young men, just so that they might have the knowledge. We effectively have a college of accounting at the Trelawney university. Wise young men—knowing this farm won’t support everyone indefinitely.”
Watching this old man, separated from his entire family so many years ago, having found an adopted family in the freed men and women of Rosalie, working long after most men would have retired, Marley was filled with a sudden surge of warmth and pride that she was a part of his family. Despite his prickly exterior, he had a huge heart.
He was in jovial spirits for what he’d been told was a river cruise without destination, something for which the family could join together for lunch and return to Rosalie by nightfall.
Marley’s guilt over deceiving the old man—he didn’t even know the others were aboard, besides Camisha and Ashanti, both of whom he loved—was tempered by a stubborn need to resolve this, if such a thing was possible.
She poured coffee in the cups while they waited for the others to arrive. From the small pot Camisha had made, she poured tea for Hastings, adding a dollop of fresh cream and passing it to him.
His eyes twinkled merrily. “Thank you, child.”
She gave a nervous nod, uneasy at the conflict soon to follow. A moment later, by habit, she took a deep, steadying breath, as Bronson had taught her. In her old life, her stomach would have been in knots for their entire meeting. Now, she focused herself to live in this moment. She placed Bronson’s coffee in front of him, relishing the simple task, the look of encouragement he gave her. Without saying a word, he knew how fearful she was.
This moment alone was worth everything, no matter what happened.
Only then did the fear descend en masse despite her preparations. For what she feared, she realized, was that waiting at Stonefield would be an unwanted and unavoidable portal to her old life. It wouldn’t be the oddest thing that had happened lately.
As she released the saucer, he placed his hand over hers and squeezed.
Then a soft tap came at the open door, and Ashanti pushed the door wide. His wife followed, her gaze cautious on Hastings as she escorted in Hannah. Thomas followed her, glancing around the room. “Godfrey! Had no idea you were even on the ship.”
“Nor I you, sir. So good to see you again. If you’ll forgive me for not rising, my gout troubles me.”
Thomas crossed the room and shook his hand. “You remember Hannah, of course?”
Hastings inclined his head graciously as Hannah curtsied to him. “I could never forget my own William’s wife.”
Thomas bowed his head at the reminder. “Yes—about that, Hastings. Hannah and I are to be married this week at Bruton Church. I hope you’ll consider blessing us with your attendance.”
“Congratulations to the both of you—happy news indeed.”
“Son—have you any champagne?”
For the first time she could remember, Bronson stammered, startled by his father’s news. “I—I don’t know.”
Marley jumped to her feet, touching his shoulder blade in gentle reassurance. “I’ll take care of it.”
She stepped outside the cabin and found Jem at his post, sending him on a quest for champagne and glasses.
While they waited, Thomas said, “’Twas your own nuptials that inspired me, son. I hope that you and Marley are as happy as Hannah and I. And I only wish that your brother could have known the same happiness.”
Camisha and Marley exchanged a glance. The older woman spoke. “Interesting that you mention that, sir. In point of
fact, there’s something you should know, and I believe it will give you peace.”
Hastings went into a coughing fit, then cleared his throat. “Forgive me,” he said, his eyes warning Camisha. “I have no idea what brought that on.”
At that moment, Jem entered, carrying a tray full of glasses with several bottles. He placed it on the table. He held out a bottle to Bronson in question, and the captain gave a nod, dismissing him.
Bronson uncorked two bottles of the champagne and quickly poured, and Marley passed out the glasses. When everyone had a glass, he looked to Hastings to toast the bride-to-be.
The old man gazed into the bubbling wine, as silence lurched through the room. Marley had the sudden fear he might decline. He was a man of principle, and for reasons she did not fully know, he disliked Hannah.
He grasped the stem of his glass. “Hannah, I have known you for most of your life, and you have indeed been like a daughter to me. I wish for you in life that you be granted everything you so richly deserve. Thomas, I especially wish you happiness and peace.”
He bowed his head even as he raised his glass toward her, and everyone hear-heared and huzzahed the bride. Hastings drank down the champagne in one gulp.
Marley sipped, her gaze meeting Bronson’s. He, too, had noticed that the man had managed to walk a fine line between decorum and honesty.
She refilled their glasses, and Bronson faced his father.
“Father, you have been blessed with a long and prosperous life, and I strive to be a blessing to you in your old age. I have looked up to you as any son would, but never have I seen in you the happiness I see when you are with Hannah. Instead I have seen pain and heartbreak, and I have seen you overcome that pain and heartbreak by accepting new challenges, by learning new skills. Were it not for you, I would never have developed the love for sailing that’s one of my greatest joys, and I will ever be grateful for your influence in my life.
“Raise your glasses to my father and his new love as they look forward to their life together. And may we all be ever mindful of each moment of our own lives, and how swiftly they flow away. To Thomas and Hannah!”
The group cheered and drank, and again Hastings drained his glass. He held out his glass toward Marley, making a face requesting more. She quickly refilled everyone’s glass, but the toasting was finished, and Bronson deftly guided the conversation back to Camisha.
“Mrs. Adams, I believe you were saying…?”
She gave a thoughtful nod. “Yes. Well. I believe—that is, I’m certain …”
Marley was stunned at what she was hearing, from a normally poised woman. Hadn’t she been an attorney, at one time? She stopped, steepled her fingertips, and began again. “Thomas, in this room today is one person, as far as I can tell, who knows the full truth. There are six more who know some part of the truth. And then there’s you. As far as I can guess, you may know nothing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, sir, you couldn’t.
Hannah rose abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me, I am suddenly beset by a sick headache. Thomas, would you join me?”
And with that, they were gone and the attempt at truth ended.
Hastings glanced at Marley. “I could have predicted that, you know. I expect you could have, as well.”
She pressed her lips together and sighed.
“Guess that clears up who knows the most,” Camisha said, rubbing her chin with the back of a finger.
Marley shut down, angry and ashamed that this liar was her grandmother.
“Land ho!” The cry reached them from far above.
“Of course land ho,” Rashall muttered. “There’s land ho, either side of us, for hundreds of miles. Why can’t we ever just say, ‘we’re here’?”
Marley looked up, surprised at tears stinging her eyes as he made her laugh. She gave a choked gulp, then noticed Bronson’s gaze gentle on her.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go ashore. Learn what your grandmother prefers we not know.”
She leaned to kiss his cheekbone and nodded.
As they all rose, a tap came from the door, and a seamen entered. “Sir?” he asked Hastings.
The old man gave a nod and allowed the burly young fellow to place him over his shoulder; then cover him with his blanket. Marley followed after with his walking stick.
When they had placed the gangway, the group from Rosalie—with the noteworthy exception of Hannah Hastings and her fiancé—debarked.
They didn’t have to walk far, just up. The bank’s steep incline continued thirty yards, and emotion filled Marley as she recognized her family’s ancestral home. Startling, how much it looked the same, and she glanced back at the Immortal to reassure herself that she was still where she belonged.
The stony foundation where her family had built the home at the turn of the last century—still the same. The stone exterior—identical. The shutters, the only part of the exterior made of wood—still black. A pale gray tendril of smoke emerged from the chimney, along with a delicious aroma.
On the stoop, the seaman set Hastings down. The old man raised a hand at the rest of the group, and leaned against the doorjamb with the other. “Just Merrilea.”
She stepped forward and placed his walking stick in his hand. He opened the door for her with a merry smile. “I trust you remember your own home.”
She crossed the threshold nervously—only then wishing she’d insisted on having Bronson along. Just to be safe. She looked back at him uncertainly—startled to find him equally anxious.
“He’ll be waiting for you.” Hastings held out a courtly hand toward the living room.
A shiver moved through Marley as she moved inside. The living room had a welcoming hominess it had not had since her parents had died. The walls were painted a pale peach, and a fire crackled in the hearth. She’d forgotten how gigantic it had been—large enough for she and Rachel to play within, during the summer. A hooked rug of maroon, burnt orange, antique gold, umber, and mahogany ran the length of the room under the furniture—like a carpet of autumn leaves.
A rich brown leather chesterfield faced the hearth, with two high-backed armchairs across from it—on either side of the fireplace—both much older than the sofa. They might go back as far as the turn of the century. In a corner stood a newer piece—the same cradle in which, one day, her parents would swaddle their daughters in turn.
On the far wall remained her favorite spot, and she found emotion rising into her throat. The heavy drapery—different now from that last fearful morning she’d been here, a rich flowered pattern of dark gold and wine—was closed.
She remembered the nervous young woman she’d been, and only now recognized how much she’d changed.
Hastings entered and closed the door, then called, “My dear, you have a visitor. A young lady.”
Excitement filled Marley; she wasn’t sure of the correct etiquette for meeting one’s presumed ancestor.
The drapes slowly slid back as Hastings led her forward, First she saw dainty black shoes with brass buckles; then heavy black skirts, falling to her ankles as she lowered her feet to the floor. The drapes slid all the way to the wall, allowing the bright sunshine to flood the room, and a young lady perhaps even younger than Marley stood there.
Marley schooled her features as she stepped forward; she’d expected a much older woman—an ancestor never seemed young—and to find a girl her own age was a surprise. She grew cautiously hopeful, her intimidation fading.
Suddenly Marley grew aware of her own heartbeat racing, even a bit of perspiration between her shoulder blades. She’d always been a loner, had never had girlfriends the way other girls in school had. And she wanted this woman to like her. She wanted more than that. She wanted her friendship and her love. Then Marley knew why. The window seat. Marley felt an instant kinship with anyone who could remain hidden in the window seat rather than greeting guests she heard arriving.
The girl set her book on the window seat, then withdrew a pi
stol hidden in her skirts, startling Marley. This, too, she set aside with the book.
She turned to Marley, gazing at her with wide, hazel-green eyes. Wildly curly, blue-black hair was fashioned into a neat bun at the back of her head.
Marley’s mouth parted in surprise. She knew this girl—but she couldn’t have. She certainly had never met her. She just seemed eerily familiar, but she couldn’t think of anyone she resembled. And then she placed her.
She looked similar to the woman Marley saw each morning in the mirror.
“Dear, this is Merrilea. I’ve told you about her.”
The girl stepped forward and curtsied with a demure smile, then moved closer to her, taking both Marley’s hands in hers as she searched her face.
“Merrilea, this young lady is Juliana Miller—your sister.”
Chapter Forty-Two
In the cozy warmth of her family’s ancestral home, Marley could do no more than stare back at the young woman holding her hands.
“I have been told so much about you,” the girl said, tears springing to her eyes. “I have hoped for this day all of my life.”
Despite everything—despite where and when she was, despite her marriage to a man born in 1746, despite all the miraculous events she had seen—Marley hesitated.
How could it be?
She reached out and pushed back the wispy tendrils of hair at her temple. Marley’s gaze focused, then went cloudy, as her thumb brushed the thin white crescent at the corner of her eye.
“You’re my own little Juli,” Marley whispered. Without the least hint of awkwardness, she embraced her sister, fearing that she might break her bones. She laughed. “It’s just as when you were a baby. Rachel would give you to me to hold, and I’d stay frozen in that same position, equally terrified of dropping you and breaking your tiny bones.”
“Fret not—I am strong and sturdy.”
The women held each other until they were sure their tears were spent, then each took an arm of their great-grandfather and led him to the chesterfield.
“You look just like me,” Marley said in wonder.
Hastings raised his hand as if to forestall an argument that he had already settled. “In truth, she looks like both you and Rachel, and none of you look exactly like the other. I see your grandmother, Sarita, in the two of you. The most stunning, beautiful woman I ever had the pleasure of knowing. An Amazon, kind, true, the most perfect chocolate skin, who adored her modest English husband—a sailor who ransomed her from bondage. He was outmatched in beauty,” he said with a chuckle. “But Merrilea—in you, I see my own dear William.”
Immortal (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Book 2) Page 36
