A Leap of Faith (The Hands of Time: Book 2)

by Irina Shapiro

  The only thing she couldn’t forget was her family. Not a day passed by that Valerie didn’t think of her parents and Louisa. She sent them mental telegrams, telling them that she was alive and well, hoping that on some telepathic level, they might somehow feel her vibe. She even had her portrait painted with the Cupid clock in the background, praying that Louisa, in her capacity as an art restorer, might somehow come upon it; but what were the chances of that happening? Absolutely none. The portrait now hung in the sitting room above the fireplace, mocking her desperate attempt to send a message through time. Oh, Lou, what I wouldn’t give to see you one more time, she thought.

  Valerie closed the door noiselessly behind her, and started down the hallway, her feet silent on the carpet runner. She’d surprise Alec by balancing the ledger. Amazing how the man had such a great head for business, but was a complete dunce when it came to accounting. Valerie smiled to herself. He’d been overjoyed to find out that she had a head for numbers, and actually understood something about trade. Few women of the time would be able to grasp the concept, never having gotten any kind of business education. That had been before Alec found out about Valerie’s past. It was their secret, one that bound them for life.

  Her knowledge of the future came in handy sometimes, like right now. When John Rolfe introduced tobacco to the struggling colony of Virginia in 1612, Valerie advised Alec to start growing it en masse. He had been skeptical of this new venture, but Valerie assured him that tobacco would be a huge export for the Colonies, and he believed her. The first two years didn’t yield much, but by the third year, Alec began to show a profit. He had to find more people to work the land and acquired a number of indentured servants, who were all too willing to sell themselves for a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Alec was a good master, who never raised a hand to any worker, even if provoked to anger.

  Valerie was just about to turn the corner that led to Alec’s study, when she heard a noise. There shouldn’t be anyone in this part of the house so early in the morning. She pressed herself against the wall and carefully peeked around the corner. The door to Alec’s study opened slowly, a tall man stepping out into the shadows of the hallway. Valerie didn’t need for him to turn around to know who he was. Charles was fully dressed, and judging by the state of his clothes, had been in the study all night. Valerie watched as he looked around furtively and made off toward his bedroom. She had just enough time to slip behind a curtain before he passed directly in front of her, and disappeared from view.

  “What are you up to, Charlie?” Valerie whispered as she entered Alec’s office. Nothing seemed out of place, but Valerie had the distinct feeling that she was missing something.

  Chapter 11

  Louisa stood on deck admiring the endless vista of sky and sea. Today the blue-gray water sparkled in the sunshine, seagulls screaming overhead as they dove for fish into the white-capped waves. Fluffy clouds chased each other across the aquamarine sky, periodically obscuring the sun, and providing some much-needed shade against the heat of the morning. She’d been terribly nervous the first few days of the voyage, but as the great ship made its way toward the Atlantic, she began to relax. She liked the sound of the rigging creaking overhead, and the flapping of the sails as the wind filled them, and propelled the vessel toward the New World.

  Agnes had been suffering from seasickness, so Louisa left her in the cabin and came up on deck to enjoy the view. The tiny cabin made her feel claustrophobic, making it necessary to escape its narrow confines. If only she could find a place to hide. Despite the size of the ship, there was no place where she could find a bit of privacy. None of the sailors bothered her, although they tried to hide their lewd glances, admiring her form. It was the other passengers whom she wished to avoid. The Reverend Blackley invited her to pray with him daily, and the Collins family was no better. Mr. Collins was a reticent man in his late forties, but Mrs. Collins more than made up for her husband’s pauses in conversation. She was full of comments, advice and most annoyingly -- questions. She kept asking Louisa about her life, making her nervous and upset.

  Louisa decided not to tell the story of the Dutch husband; for fear that people would start asking her about Holland. Mrs. Dobbs had been easy enough to fool, but these people were more cosmopolitan, having been to London and received at Court. She was afraid to slip up, and make some dreadful mistake that would make them suspicious of her. Louisa knew that people in this day and age didn’t need much proof to proclaim someone a heretic or a witch. The less she revealed the better. Louisa became adept at avoiding personal questions, by changing the subject, or paying a compliment to Mrs. Collins or her daughter. That seemed to work every time, setting Mrs. Collins on a whole new tangent that lasted a minimum of half an hour.

  Louisa sighed in exasperation as she saw Reverend Blackley make his way toward her, waving and smiling. She forced herself to smile and wave back. What a nuisance the man was becoming.

  “Ah, Mistress Jamison. What a pleasure to find you here. I, myself, am a huge believer in taking the air. It does wonders for the constitution. I was wondering if you might oblige me by reading with me today. I would love to share some of my favorite passages with you. There is one I particularly enjoy about St. Paul on the road to Damascus.” Louisa had a brief vision of herself grabbing the good reverend by the ankles and tossing him overboard, but quickly dismissed the thought and put on a brave face. The reverend flipped the Bible open to the appropriate page, and was just about to begin reading when he was interrupted by the first mate.

  “Mistress Jamison, a word in private, if you please,” Mr. Sheridan called out to her. “It’s about your maid,” he hastily added as he saw the look of shock on the reverend’s face.

  “If you would excuse me, Reverend.” Louisa watched as the disappointed reverend walked away, no doubt in search of another victim. She hoped he would find Miss Collins. The poor girl would probably appreciate some religious discourse. It might serve to fortify her, since the timid thing got the vapors if a bird so much as flew over her head.

  “Is something wrong with my maid, Mr. Sheridan?”

  “Not a thing. You just looked as if you needed rescuing. I am afraid the reverend is concerned with much more than your immortal soul.” Louisa looked up, noticing his features for the first time. She was never close enough to him to take a good look, since he was frequently on the bridge or going about his other duties. Louisa wondered if Mr. Sheridan had a wayward Spaniard somewhere in his family tree. His black, wavy hair was tied back into a neat ponytail, and his goatee framed generous lips that were stretched into a roguish smile. His best feature, however, were his eyes. They were slightly slanted and so black, that Louisa couldn’t even see the pupils. At the moment, they danced with merriment, and she smiled back.

  “I’m afraid you are right, Mr. Sheridan. I just hope he doesn’t share St. Paul’s views toward women.” Oops, she shouldn’t have said that. She glanced at the first mate to see his reaction.

  “I doubt St. Paul was sneaking peeks at a young lady’s bosom over his prayer book, or if he was, it is not mentioned in the Holy Scripture. I think our reverend hopes to disembark in Virginia with a young bride on his arm. Can a vicar marry himself, or would he require the services of the captain, I wonder?” The first mate gave her his arm. “Care for a stroll around the deck? I promise to refrain from theological discussions.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sheridan. I will gladly take a stroll with you, if you promise to give Mrs. Collins a wide berth. I don’t think I can stomach her this morning.” Louisa took the first mate’s arm, grateful for his rescue. “Mr. Sheridan, I wonder if you might have something to read, other than the Bible that is. I long for something to pass the time.”

  “What type of literature do you enjoy? I have several volumes of poetry and a play or two in my cabin. I also have some books on astrology and philosophy, if you are interested in that.” The first mate skillfully maneuvered Louisa around some barrels, and guided her tow
ard the bridge.

  “I would like to borrow them all, if I may. Now, if I could only find a place to read them undisturbed.”

  “I would gladly offer you the use of my cabin, but I fear Captain Fellowes would have my head for suggesting such gross impropriety.” He stopped by the steps to the bridge and gave Louisa a gallant bow. “I must leave you here, Mistress Jamison. I must begin my shift on the bridge. I will bring you the books after the midday meal when my shift ends. Good morning.” Louisa watched as he sprinted up the steps to the bridge and took the wheel from the captain, who was smiling broadly having spotted her.

  “Mistress Jamison,” the captain called as he waddled down the steps. “Would you do me the honor of dining with me tonight? I have some excellent claret, and the cook promised some mutton chops.” The captain was rubbing his pudgy hands together in delight, making Louisa smile at his eagerness.

  “I would be delighted, Captain Fellowes,” replied Louisa, eager to escape. The reverend was not the only one drooling over her cleavage, and Louisa suddenly questioned the wisdom of going to the captain’s cabin alone. She would have to bring Agnes to chaperone. Every time she thought of that word she wanted to laugh hysterically, but she pulled her face into a polite mask and bid the captain a good day.

  By the time Louisa got back to the cabin, Agnes was up and about. She seemed to be feeling better, her pink cheeks a stark contrast to the pea-green they were earlier.

  “You should eat something, Agnes. It might help settle your stomach. I brought you some goat’s milk and bread from breakfast. I didn’t think ale would be much help.” Louisa sat down across from Agnes and looked her over. “I hope you like mutton chops.”

  “To be sure, Miss. Is that what the cook is serving tonight?” She perked up at the sound of chops, which was definitely a good sign.

  “He is to the captain, and we are to dine with him. I’m going to bring you along.”

  “I do not think the captain would much appreciate that, Miss. I heard from the cabin boy that Captain Fellowes ‘as been widowed these five years. Seems ‘e is ready to love again,” said Agnes with a giggle. “So, who would ye say would make ye a more suitable husband, Captain Fellowes or Reverend Blackley?” Agnes was really laughing now, and Louisa laughed along. It was nice to see her happy. She always seemed so pensive and restrained.

  “If given the choice, I’ll take Cook. At least he can guarantee me a supply of mutton chops,” answered Louisa and got up from the berth. “You should get some air. It will do you good.”

  “Yes, Miss.” Agnes was back to her serious self again, nervously pleating the fabric of her sleeve.

  Chapter 12

  Valerie spread her blanket beneath a leafy oak and carefully eased herself to the ground. She lay back and closed her eyes, inhaling the soothing scent of pine and resin, and listening to the sound of the wind moving through the trees. Her face was dappled with sunlight streaming through the branches of the old oak, and sounds of birdsong filled the air, the birds oblivious to the turmoil in her heart. This was one of her favorite places, one she escaped to when she simply needed to get away. Valerie made the best of her situation most of the time, but sometimes, it all just became too much for her. She could hardly tell Alec that she hated America and wanted to go back to England. Their life was here now and unfortunately, this is where her children would have to grow up.

  Getting accustomed to life in seventeenth century England had been difficult enough, but life in the Colonies was positively savage compared to Europe. She’d learned to live without running water, heat, and the most basic medicine, but putting aside the living conditions, which weren’t so bad at Rosewood Manor, what really bothered Valerie was the total lack of culture and enlightenment. Life had been reduced to the most basic of elements, most of those overseen by the overzealous eyes of the clergy. Punishments were severe and public, designed as much to humiliate as to teach a lesson. Watching someone get whipped, branded, or put into stocks, was about the only entertainment most people could find in the harsh reality of their days.

  Religion was mandatory, and services had to be attended regularly and twice on Sunday, with special individuals chosen by the minister to take attendance. The penalty for not coming to church was severe. As closet Catholics, this was even more of a burden for the Whitfields. Uncle Thomas had chosen wisely when he built Rosewood, since the house was far enough removed from the port and Jamestown to attract little traffic. Not being part of the town or a settlement, the Whitfields had a little more freedom; but not much. They still had to attend church twice on Sundays, in order to avoid the ire of the clergy.

  They also held their own Catholic Mass at home and Alec performed the necessary ceremonies, such as baptisms and funerals, being the head of the family. Valerie jokingly referred to it as the “Church of Alec.” As in England, he had to do it discreetly, since not everyone at Rosewood Manor was a Catholic.

  Alec frequently went to the docks and into the town, but Valerie chose not to accompany him. Her forays into Jamestown left her disgusted and depressed. On her last visit, she was forced to watch ‘justice’ being carried out as her path was blocked by the rowdy crowd, hungry for their entertainment. A man was dragged into the town square. It was difficult to guess his age, since he could have been anywhere between thirty and sixty. His clothes were filthy and torn, his hair so dirty and greasy that it was impossible to even guess at its original color. The man was obviously very poor, and he shook with fear as the accusation against him was read. He had stolen some bread and an apple. The man tried to plead his case, but no one was listening.

  Valerie closed her eyes, and tried to fight the bile rising in her gullet, as she heard the man’s terrible scream, her nostrils filling with the smell of burnt flesh. The crowd roared its approval, thrilled to see the culprit punished; congratulating themselves on their own good judgment and moral fiber. The man was quickly forgotten, and left in the square to clutch his branded hand as the gathering began to disperse and go about their business. Valerie waited until there was almost no one left in the square and passed by the whimpering man, throwing a few coins into his lap. Valerie was jolted by the realization that he was probably no more than eighteen, as he looked up at her in mute gratitude.

  Valerie often thought of life at Yealm Castle before everything went awry. She could still remember Alec and Finlay teaching her the latest dances, to the accompaniment of the lute played by John Dobbs. They were laughing and flirting, passing her between them, their eyes never leaving her flushed face. They’d been happy then –- and alive. Finlay had taken her on a honeymoon, of sorts, to London. Valerie could still recall the thrill of driving through the streets of the London she’d only read about or seen in movies. The sights, sounds and colors of the thriving metropolis overwhelmed her, and she bounced with excitement as she saw an advertisement for a play by William Shakespeare. Finlay had taken her out on a pleasure cruise on the Thames, pointing things out to her as they sailed past Whitehall Palace and the Tower of London; having no inkling that just a few short months later, that would be the place where he’d come face to face with a horrible death.

  Valerie heard a rustling noise and quickly sat up, looking around. The Indians rarely came this far, but anything was possible. They had been receptive at first when the explorers came to their shores, but relations were becoming distinctly hostile between the Tsenacommacah Indians and the settlers, as they took more of their land and food. Alec appeared between the densely growing trees and sat down next to Valerie, taking her hand in his and kissing her palm.

  “Is it one of those days?” She simply nodded. “I just wanted to be alone for a while.”

  “Should I leave you in peace then?” He looked a little hurt as he turned to leave. Valerie assured him that she wanted him to stay, and Alec lay back on the blanket next to her, gazing up at the canopy of trees overhead.

  “Tell me a story about the future,” he said, pulling her head onto his shoulder. “I’d like
to hear about space exploration.”

  Alec loved her stories, but as much as she enjoyed telling him things, she hated the way it made her feel. Being forced to remember the details of her modern life, only reminded her of all the things she missed. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a trip to the movies or to the mall. Being surrounded by people who didn’t care what her religious views were, or how often she went to church, seemed like a version of Heaven. She hated the idea of her children growing up in these times of ignorance and intolerance, and felt a terrible frustration at not being able to do anything to change that. This was her life now and truth be told, she wouldn’t go back to the twenty-first century if it meant a life without Alec and her children.

  Valerie got more comfortable, and began telling Alec about the last space mission she could recall. His face was tense with concentration as he tried to picture a space shuttle and the image of Earth as a blue sphere covered with oceans and continents, visible to the astronauts from their craft. Valerie kissed Alec’s brow. He was so dear to her that no movie or shopping trip could ever compare to even one kiss from him.

  Chapter 13

  Kit Sheridan splashed his face with a bit of tepid water, and pulled on his boots. It was almost four in the morning and time for his shift. Most quartermasters hated the 4 a.m.-8 a.m. shift, but he actually liked it, especially on a warm, spring night like tonight. Kit went up to the bridge and took the wheel, inhaling the briny smell of the sea. The moon hung low in the sky, silvering the tranquil ocean and illuminating the billowing sails. There was hardly anyone about and that’s how he wanted it. It was the only time Kit could be alone on a ship full of people. The majority of the crew was fast asleep in the hammocks in the hold, snoring away and dreaming of land and the people they had left behind.