Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “A horse?” Awe filled Duncan’s voice.

  “A fine bay. She’s particular, so you’ll need to handle her well.”

  A lump of emotion knotted in Emily’s throat. If nothing else, this would finally allow Duncan to have time to roam and play a wee bit. At best he might actually prove his value and be taken on as a stable boy. It would give him a trade—an honorable one. Da would be pleased to hear his son had such an arrangement.

  Emily’s eyes felt grainy, and her head weighed too heavily on her neck. She fought against leaning into the corner of the carriage and dozing. It wouldn’t be proper. Besides, she needed to keep an eye on John Newcomb. He’d stepped in and started making all sorts of decisions, but she wasn’t sure if she approved of them yet. Things were changing so quickly, it made her dizzy. Just when she pulled herself back from the precipice of sleep for the third time, the carriage turned off the main road, between two massive hedges, and onto a long, tree-lined drive.

  A small, vine-covered cottage rested off to the north corner of the property. Nestled in a neatly trimmed, chest-high box of hedges, the clapboard’s two brick chimneys thrust skyward, as if to bear testimony to John Newcomb’s promise of warmth. The carriage drew up to the east side of the wondrous home and stopped.

  “You ladies stay here a moment. Duncan, come with me.” John gently slipped Anna onto the seat, made sure the robe kept her snug, and stepped over Emily’s feet with catlike grace. He ordered the driver to hobble the horses and come back for the rig later; then he disappeared into the charming home with Duncan on his heels.

  Though his caretaker’s place was small, John suspected the simple cottage would seem like heaven compared to where they’d been living. It hadn’t been inhabited for at least a year, and he couldn’t vouch for what condition it might be in. Sheets covered the furniture, looking like ghost ships in the sea of dust.

  Footprints disturbed the thick, gray coating on the floor and led to a closed door. They gave him pause to wonder who had been here. John frowned and made a mental note to instruct his staff to keep a weather eye on the place. Lovers could seek some other trysting place, for he’d not provide a place for immorality. This was to be a warm haven of rest for Emily’s poor little family. The storms of life had battered them enough.

  He followed the footsteps, paced to the door, and threw it wide open. No one occupied the chamber now, but it certainly had been used quite recently. Fresh, fluffy blankets covered the bed, and in contrast to the other room, no accumulated grime coated the surfaces of anything. Clearly the secret bower hadn’t been just a spur-of-the-moment whim. That fact raised his ire him even more.

  “Dear me,” Duncan whispered. He still stood by the front door. His rapture jarred John from his anger and caused him to see the cottage in a positive light again.

  Because Anna was so infirm, the bedchamber’s status rated as the most important consideration. John perused it. The bed was fair sized—certainly large enough for the sisters to share. Though the blankets on it looked fresh and heavy enough to provide sufficient warmth, he’d send over a few more so Duncan could sleep snugly as well. John nodded his satisfaction.

  Duncan peered around him, marveling. “Ohh, ’tis wondrous! Does the queen live here?”

  “Nay, lad. Your sisters will.”

  He took Duncan’s shoulder and led him a few paces toward the kitchen. A tiny alcove off to the side would serve nicely for him. “See this? You clean it up, and we’ll put in a cot for you. It’ll be your very own space.”

  The weak autumn sun barely made it past the murky windows. What little did shine through carried a host of silvery dust motes. A small shaft of light fell across Duncan’s cheek as he looked up with absolute adoration. “Ooh, sir! Your brother told us he’d get us a fine home, but I never dreamed ‘twould be so verra grand!”

  “Anna and her babe deserve a nice place.”

  “Em, too,” Duncan said all too quickly. “She works so hard for us.”

  “Yes, especially Emily,” John promptly agreed. He couldn’t fault the lad for his loyalty. Since Duncan mentioned his oldest sister, John snatched the opportunity and sought more information. “Speaking of Emily, she wouldn’t let you say a word about the jar. You can tell me about it, now that Anna cannot hear.”

  The sparkle left little Duncan’s eyes. His mouth curved downward, and his voice took on a melancholy flavor. “She kept money in a jar under a loose floorboard. She spent it all. Every last cent is gone now. She tried to be ever so careful, our Em did, to save a wee bit whenever she could. But when there wasn’t any more food and every last treasure got pawned, Em used part of the money to buy us food.”

  “What did she do with the other part?”

  “Mr. Rickers wanted money for our house again. Then the midwife wanted to be paid for helping our Anna birth the babe. We didn’t have enough.”

  John shook his head in disbelief. “You managed to save money?” The thought baffled him. In the midst of their appalling poverty, they might have just as soon hoped to fly as to try conserving money for two transatlantic passages. The notion that Emily tried to set aside even a penny wrenched his heart every bit as much as it stretched his imagination. Yet she sent a penny back to me.

  “Aye, and we had almost half the jar filled.” Duncan blinked away threatening tears. “We’d been saving hard as we could to send for Da and Mama, but Em said we’ll not be able to do that for a long while now.”

  John nodded somberly. At least he’d gotten the truth. Yet again Emily wanted to protect her sister from the realities of their plight. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I think Emily wanted to keep that a secret from Anna. Are you good at keeping secrets?”

  Duncan’s head bobbed up and down. “I keep lots of secrets for Em.”

  John tugged out a small wooden chair, lifted Duncan to stand on it, and looked eye to eye with the lad. He dropped his tone. “Duncan, we’re friends. Friends don’t keep secrets. I think you’d better tell me if there’s anything important I should know.”

  Duncan wrinkled his nose, then pursed his lips. “You won’t tell Anna?”

  “Never.”

  Chapter 6

  The boy leaned closer and whispered loudly, “Em pretends she’s not cold, and she pretends she’s full, too. It’s a game, she said—but I’m not to tell Anna. I’m not supposed to tell Anna that Em cries sometimes either. It might upset our Anna, and Em says since I’m the man in the family, it’s important for me to make Anna feel happy and safe.”

  John nodded.

  Duncan winced. “I should have asked Em first if I could tell you her secrets.”

  John cupped his hand around Duncan’s thin shoulder. “Sharing that with me didn’t break Emily’s confidence in you, Duncan. She wanted to keep that a secret from Anna. I need to know things so I can help your sisters. You want that, don’t you?”

  The boy nodded somberly. “Em and Anna used to try to keep things from me, but that changed. Now Em and I keep things from Anna—’specially about the money. Em doesn’t want Anna to know she spent it all—because now Da and Mama won’t be coming for ever so long.”

  John schooled his features so they wouldn’t betray the emotions churning through him. He looked at the lad and saw a longing in his eyes when he mentioned his mother and father. He injected a tone of cheer into his voice. “Well, Duncan-boy, ’tis true you don’t have your parents with you right now; but you’ve been blessed to have two big sisters. And come to think of it, standing here all day won’t accomplish a thing. We’d best get them out of the carriage.”

  Duncan perked up. “I’ll go turn back the bed!”

  “You do that.” John smiled as the boy brightened up, hopped off the chair, and raced toward the bedchamber. “Fold back both sides of the bed, Duncan,” he called. “Emily is tired, and I want her to sleep the day away, too.”

  “Aye sir.”

  John reached the carriage and looked through the window. He felt a surge of anger at whomever t
he man was who had conned these women. Of course he expected Anna to be weary—she’d not yet recovered from her childbed, but the sight of Emily set his teeth on edge.

  She’d fallen asleep, and the deep, dark circles beneath her eyes tattled at how profound her exhaustion had become. Either cooking or cleaning for that entire asylum rated as a herculean job, yet she’d done both—without decent nourishment or sufficient sleep. Awakening her was beyond cruel. He’d simply carry her in, just as he planned to do with Anna. Even in her sleep, Emily managed to cradle the babe to herself with a fierce tenderness. It wrenched his heart to think of what she’d endured to care for her little family.

  Compassion still wouldn’t hold back the frustration he felt. How could he have imagined a single coin would make a difference? The fact that Emily had scrimped to save a pitifully insufficient jar of coins to pay passage underscored how deeply she longed for her father to come and resume the mantle of provider and protector—the very mantle she wore of necessity. No wonder Anna had wed some dashing sailor—this little family was desperate for security and provision.

  The moment the well-oiled carriage door whispered open, Emily startled awake once again and banged the back of her head against the wall. “Oh Mr. Newcomb!”

  “You’re exhausted. How could you possibly think you were going to work again today?”

  “I’m strong.”

  “And I’m a mackerel,” he snapped back. She started to rise, but he stopped her by lightly squeezing her bony elbow. “You dare not step down. The minute you put your weight on that mangled limb, you’ll fall.”

  She clutched the babe to her bosom and stared at him with wide eyes. “Please take Anna first. She’s fallen asleep again.”

  He glanced over at Anna, then turned his attention back to Emily. His eyes narrowed as he pinched the baby’s blanket between his fingers and rubbed it. It had been doubled over and stitched, and he knew there were two more just like it. One draped Anna, and the other held that pathetic bundle on the floor. “Your own blanket—you cut it up for the baby.”

  She quickly tested the babe’s skin. “Do you think he’s warm enough?”

  Did she ever think of herself first? John hastened to assure her that her sacrifice had been sufficient. “He’s cozy as can be.”

  Just then the baby sneezed.

  John frowned. “Let’s get him inside though. The fur will keep Anna snug for a few more minutes.”

  For the baby’s sake, she relented. John tucked Anna’s blanket and fur about her and assured himself she was far too weak to turn and fall; then he scooped Emily into his arms and drew her out. “Thank you, sir.” She fidgeted as if she expected him to set her feet down on the ground.

  “Mercy!” he said in an exasperated tone as he paced to the house. “Stop trying to conquer the world. You’re lame, weary, and hungry. You’re to do nothing more than rest and help your sister with the baby.” He took her inside and paused for a moment to let her get her bearings.

  Suddenly the festooning cobwebs, inch-thick dust, and shrouded furniture looked tawdry. He’d been a fool not to have a crew of maids come over to turn the place inside out, then gone back this evening to fetch the O’Briens. Wretched as their shanty had been, they’d kept it clean. This place would send most seasoned housekeepers into a fit of the vapors. Chagrin colored his voice as he muttered apologetically, “No one has been in residence here for a while.”

  “Ohh!” Emily drew out the exclamation in an expression of awe. She turned her head this way, then that, and peered over his shoulder. A deep sigh came out of her. “Mr. Newcomb, ’tis such a fine place!”

  He looked at her, wondering if she was being facetious. It didn’t seem so, but then he pondered whether she plastered on a smile to be polite. He couldn’t mistake the truth. Emily’s reaction was as guileless as it was gleeful. The way her eyes lit with undiluted pleasure delighted him to no end. He no longer regretted bringing her straight here. Had he left her, she would have gone off to work and undoubtedly swooned from a combination of exhaustion, hunger, and pain. Since the dreary appearance and accumulated grime didn’t bother her, he could pretend to turn a blind eye to it. He’d let her sleep, then send help on the morrow.

  As he held her, he remembered her spotlessly clean shanty. He had no doubt she’d probably scrubbed that sprawling madhouse until it gleamed, too. Her hair glimmered in the sunlight, and she smelled of fresh soap and water. Oddly enough, for all the expensive perfumes women wore, he far preferred the simplicity of a woman without those cloying scents.

  What in the world am I thinking, finding anything favorable about this woman? Not only did the thought jolt him mentally, but he unintentionally jarred Emily.

  “I’m sorry.” A fetching pink suffused her cheeks. “I’m gawking around, and you need to go get our Anna.”

  John stepped into the bedchamber. “You’ll share this room with Anna. That way you can help her at night.” He took Emily to the bed and carefully lowered her, mindful not to bump her sore ankle.

  She bit her lip.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Her arms anchored the babe closer still, and she stared at him for a long moment. Finally she whispered tightly, “I didn’t realize the place was more than that one room. I thought maybe the cottage was cut into halves or thirds and we were to share it with other families—after all, I spied two chimneys. This is all too much. Please understand, Mr. Newcomb—I cannot afford such fine lodgings. You were so good to want better for us, but I’m sorry. This is way above my pocket.”

  He scowled at her. “You’re not paying for this.”

  Her cheeks went scarlet as she choked out, “Mr. Newcomb, I’m a good woman.”

  A good woman. Yes, once he’d learned of her working at the asylum, he’d accepted the truth. No evidence existed of her having earned money by plying a loose woman’s trade, but plenty indicated she’d twisted herself in knots trying to care for her little family. He had assumed wrongly, and now he wondered how he could have believed such a wild notion. All of it boiled down to this awkward moment, and she felt it necessary to profess her moral standards.

  Big, sincere eyes stared at him, and her face looked earnest enough. Then, too, her clothing rated as ragged, but proper and modest. She possessed nothing of value whatsoever. No two ways about it—he’d misjudged her. Now he hoped she hadn’t discerned what he’d so foolishly presumed. The last thing she needed was to bear the injury of such a grievous and false accusation.

  Emily started to scoot toward the far side of the bed. “I think you’d better take us back to our own house, sir.”

  “No.” He hastily set a hand on her arm, then reached across and flipped the quilts to trap her on the bed. “I thought I’d been clear about the arrangements, Miss O’Brien. Until Edward returns, you, Anna, Duncan, and the babe are my guests. I’ll hear no more of that. I’ll go fetch Anna now.”

  “I thank you ever so much, Mr. Newcomb. Truly I do.”

  He turned to go, then hesitated. He stared at the far wall instead of facing her. “Before I fetch Anna, I must ask indelicate questions.” He paused a moment to allow Emily to prepare herself for the shockingly personal things he needed to ask. No gentleman broached improper subjects with a woman, but he had no one to act as his intermediary. He whispered a quick prayer for tact. After clearing his throat, he forged ahead. “Anna’s young and small, seemingly too small to birth a babe—though she obviously has. Duncan made mention of a midwife, but there are quacks aplenty who do far more damage than good. Did you summon competent help for her?”

  “Aye. How could I not?”

  “Good.” He turned, looked down at Emily, and shrugged. “I’m not pleased with how weak she is.”

  “It’s only been a few days, and she did have a hard time.” She glanced up at him, her face etched with worry. “She’s not gotten childbed fever. That’s a good sign, to be sure.”

  He pushed ahead, although he knew the subject he broached—though necessary—was
highly improper. So far Emily had been good enough not to fly into a dither over his prying. He ardently hoped she understood he asked these things only because he shared her concerns. “Has Anna’s—well, is she capable—?” He drew a quick breath and blurted, “Does she have sufficient milk yet?”

  “Today. It will come in today. I went to the vicar, and he got fenugreek seeds from the Benedictines for me. The tea will work.”

  Her face nearly glowed with embarrassment, but she actually continued to participate in this outlandish conversation. Clearly her love for her sister and nephew overshadowed her personal discomfort. That being the case, he was going to set out his expectations.

  “I put little store in most curatives, but the Benedictine monks are reputed to be gifted healers. Still, I’ll not have the babe fuss for wont of milk. I’ll summon an apothecary or physician to come see Anna, and you are to follow his orders precisely. If she does not have milk by the morrow, we’ll engage a wet nurse.”

  Having spoken his piece, John left. Once outside, he breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that they’d made it over that awkward hurdle. He tugged at his collar and smiled grimly at the memory of Emily turning a rather fetching pink. Hopefully, they’d not have to discuss such delicate matters again. He wasn’t sure who had been more uncomfortable—but they’d made it through, and that was what counted.

  John paused a moment. He looked over the lawn and past it up the drive. Set on a gentle swell of land, his mansion overlooked the ocean. It was far enough away to afford both households privacy, and he felt a spurt of relief that his home wasn’t visible from this spot. The vast disparity between his wealth and the O’Briens’ abject poverty couldn’t be any greater.

  A horse’s whinny prompted him to go fetch Anna. In reality, only a few minutes had passed since he’d taken Emily from the carriage, but in that time they’d covered appreciable subjects. He’d never been around a woman who didn’t simper and fawn over him. Emily’s practicality made for a refreshing change.