Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  John quietly leaned into the carriage, gently slipped away the fur so he could slide his arms under Anna, and lifted her. Even as he drew her from the dim recesses of the carriage into daylight, she didn’t so much as stir.

  Lord, have mercy on her. She’s been through enough already. He strode toward the house and caught sight through the window of Emily moving about. Father, while I’m praying, I’ll ask You to touch her, too. She’s bristly as a brush, but beneath it all, she has a heart of gold. If I can be Your servant to tend these little lambs of Your fold, use me.

  John carried Anna into the bedchamber and quickly noted how Emily hadn’t only prepared for her sister to be settled in the bed, but also removed the smallest drawer from a bureau. In spite of the chill of the room, Emily had taken off her shawl and folded it to fit the bottom of the drawer. There, in that makeshift bassinet, she now placed the wee babe and smiled at him.

  How little it took to make her happy. Before they’d left the shack that morning, John had insisted she finish eating the food Franklin had delivered. She’d relished each bite as if it were a delicacy from the king’s own table. Then, too, she’d subtly seen to it that Duncan and Anna received larger shares. She wasn’t a woman who put herself first, and that virtue shone through.

  John released his small burden and watched as Emily tenderly straightened her sister’s limp form, adjusted the blankets in which she was bundled, and added the rest from the bed.

  He thought Anna looked ghastly. Had she truly fallen asleep, or was she in a deep swoon? Never had he seen anyone so weak. He no longer wondered why Emily had taken it upon herself to brave the shipyard in search of the man she thought was Edward. It no longer seemed a foolhardy venture—it had been a move of sheer desperation. John determined he’d send for Dr. Quisinby at once. Something was dreadfully wrong.

  Lovingly, Emily smoothed back strands of her sister’s hair. “Our dear Lord Jesus, please let this be the start of her coming back to health.” Emily then turned to face John. A sweet smile lifted her lips. “She looks so warm and peaceful.”

  John felt like an intruder, watching that tender moment of hope and devotion. He had some thinking to do. Emily prayed and cherished her Bible. Was it possible his brother had deceived these women? No. John shook his head to dislodge that ridiculous, stray thought. He simply couldn’t imagine it. As soon as the Cormorant docked, he’d bring Edward here. With Anna and Emily’s description, Edward would undoubtedly be able to identify the sailor who bore responsibility.

  Time would reveal the truth to these women. Even then, John decided he’d set them up as assistants to a haberdasher or seamstress and settle their little family into a cottage somewhere. He turned to be sure the babe was safe, then mentioned, “I noticed a few logs in the grate.”

  “Ah, then tonight we’ll be snug as—”

  “Not tonight—now. I’ll see to it you have wood and coal aplenty. Food, too.”

  “Oh Mr. Newcomb, you’re too kind!” Emily went to the brick fireplace and got down on her knees. Her features pulled with each step, but she gave no complaint. She worked deftly to light the kindling beneath the trio of small logs and said over her shoulder, “I’ll be glad to work—to be sure, I’ll not be earning whatever it takes to live in such grand style, but I’d like to do my best. Duncan and I—we’re just riding coattails, being here. Edward never promised us anything—just Anna.”

  He chafed at her words. Since he held out no expectation his brother was involved with Anna, he wanted to make sure Emily grasped how things stood. “Until Edward returns, we’ll keep to this arrangement. In the meantime, none of you are to mention him.”

  She turned so quickly, she landed on her backside. Mouth agape, she stared for a moment. A look of utter betrayal altered her features. “Oh Mr. Newcomb. You tricked me.”

  “I did nothing of the sort.”

  “Aye, you did. You brought us to a palace and promised every creaturely comfort. You won Duncan’s allegiance by the promise of working with your animals, and my sister and her son will flourish instead of struggle. You said until Edward returned, you’d assume responsibility. I must have been a fool to think you changed your mind, but when you said that, I truly thought you’d reconsidered and were admitting Edward and Anna were wed.”

  “Now, Emily—”

  “I was wrong to allow you to bring us here.” Her voice shook, but he couldn’t tell if it was with outrage or anguish. “Soon as Anna wakes, we’ll go back—”

  “No!” The word burst from him; then he cast a glance to be sure he’d not awakened Anna. He scowled back at Emily. “Look at her! You can’t possibly last there another day. You’re staying put.”

  She said in a sick hush, “You didn’t tell us the cost of coming with you was Anna’s dignity and our silence. You lured us here, but now you instruct us to live a lie.”

  “By staying silent, you’re not living a lie, Emily. That marriage license is a fake.”

  To his horror, tears welled up in her green, green eyes, turning them into pools of infinite suffering. Until now she’d shouldered everything without weeping. He somehow had deluded himself into believing she was too strong to indulge in such feminine weakness. A solitary tear streaked down one pale, gaunt cheek.

  Compassion tugged at him, but he needed to be careful. This was a temporary arrangement—until Edward made an appearance and things were resolved or the investigator turned up the real “Edward Newcomb” responsible for devastating these women. John reasoned softly, “You can live quietly here. Anna will recover nicely, and the babe will thrive. Surely you must admit that is more important than any other consideration. You’re too tired to think this through. After you sleep a bit, it will all make perfect sense.”

  She shook her head sadly. “The only thing I know is I’ve taken cookies from the devil’s own kitchen.”

  Chapter 7

  Bone weary as she felt, Emily’s turmoil kept her from resting. Once Mr. Newcomb left, she turned to her brother. “We’ve got work to do, boy-o.”

  He sneezed, then laughed. “It’s dusty in here.”

  “Aye, that it is. Scare up a broom. I’ll knock down the cobwebs and sweep the walls and floor.” She looked at the maize-colored drapery. “Do you think you could shove a chair over to the walls and scramble up it so as to take down the curtains?”

  His wee chest puffed out till he looked like a proud little robin that just gobbled the longest worm in the park. “There’s no doubt about it. I’ll pull down every last one of them—just watch if I don’t.”

  “I’m sure you can. Then we’ll take them out and drape them on the hedges. You can beat them, and the wind will blow the rest of the dust out till they come clean enough. Now let’s get to it.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Find me a broom.”

  They got busy. No stranger to cleaning, Emily organized herself and efficiently rid the cottage of the depressing air of disuse. How could anyone neglect such a palace?

  Her ankle hurt, but she’d learned to kneel on the seat of a chair to keep the weight off her ankle when the twinges got too bad. The chair could move about the room with her so she was able to keep working. She swept down everything once, then pulled the covers off the furniture. A collection of treasures lay hidden beneath those covers—a golden velvet settee, a rose-and-gold-striped wingbacked chair, two charming little nesting tables, an oak rocking chair, and a petit point footstool featuring a cabbage rose pattern.

  Emily couldn’t contain her delight over each piece as Duncan folded in the cloth to uncover it. “Oh, now, can’t you just imagine our Anna, holding her babe in that rocker?”

  Duncan rapped his knuckles on the smaller table. “Aye, and this is just the right size for me!”

  The dust from the covers they removed made it necessary to sweep the floor yet again, but Duncan obliged. After that, they each took a wet rag and mopped the wooden floorboards until they gleamed.

  Duncan found a crock of vinegar in the pantry and a buc
ket in the alcove. He sloshed water on the windows from the outside, and she used diluted vinegar on the inside of them so the sun could shine through.

  Twice Emily stopped to help Anna with the babe. When she came back after the second episode, she sat down in a chair for just a second.

  “What in the world?” John squinted at the hedges. His brows knit. “Surely she didn’t—”

  Oh, but she had. The cottage’s curtains flapped in the stiff noonday breeze like semaphores on a clipper. He dismounted from his prized bay and blazed right through the open door. Once inside, he stopped in his tracks. Duncan sat cross-legged on a spotless floor over by the window, crooning softly to the babe in his lap.

  Sunlight flooded the cottage from the sparkling clean, curtainless windows, giving a cheerful air to the furnishings they’d uncovered. Hard work and devout prayer together shouldn’t have accomplished half of the miracle he saw.

  That hard work—and probably the prayer, too, he admitted to himself—came from one very young woman. Her temple rested against the wing of a rose-and-gold-striped chair. Dirt streaked her face and smudged her muslin apron. The cuffs of her dress remained turned up, as if she’d awaken any moment and resume what must have been a frantic pace of labor. Her bosom rose and fell in the slow rhythm of sleep. After she’d been slaving for Wilkens, John marveled she’d stayed awake long enough to do anything at all. He glanced about the cottage once more, then looked at her and decided on a course of action.

  “Our Em is sore tired,” Duncan whispered. “Anna says we must let her sleep.”

  “Not there. She looks horribly uncomfortable.”

  “I emptied our belongings from my blanket, sir. We can cover her.”

  John cast a look at the bedchamber, then thought better of carrying Emily to it. There was no telling what state Anna was in. He’d do better using the settee as a makeshift bed for this headstrong woman. Earlier he’d wondered what furniture lay beneath the dusty covers and suspected he might have to raid his warehouse to scare up replacement items if the mice had nested in anything. It came as a pleasant surprise to discover things were in good repair.

  Emily was a short woman—the settee would accommodate her nicely enough for now. Anna had slept through his moving her. Certainly, as weary as Emily must be, she’d never know if he lifted her and popped her onto the settee. He drew closer and barely made contact, but Emily turned into a raging tigress.

  Women, in his experience, were delicate and powerless. Ladylike, they’d never done more than swoon, rap a man’s knuckles with a fan, or, even at their boldest, slap his cheek. Emily broke that rule. All four limbs went into action, taking a purposeful defense.

  His arms tightened. “Calm yourself!”

  From the first day in steerage on the ship, Emily had learned she had to protect herself. Working at the asylum had only reinforced that fact. The merest touch would send her into a defensive flurry. She kicked with her right foot. A strangled cry tore out of her throat as she arched in anguish. Fire shot through her, then ice. Emily fought to cling to the edges of reality as everything went cold and dark. Someone called her name, but she couldn’t answer. For a moment she floated; then there was nothingness.

  “Talk to her,” she vaguely heard a man say. Someone patted her cheek lightly several times, then ceased that—only to start chafing her hand. “Emily. Come now, Emily. Wake up.” The man’s voice sounded quite concerned.

  Emily stirred. A single slight shift, and the agony in her ankle mushroomed. Whimpers poured out of her. She bit her lip to silence that sign of weakness.

  “Eh, our Emily,” Duncan said from a long way off. “You’re right fair. Aye, you are. All is well.”

  She struggled to open her grainy eyes and barely lifted her head. Waves of weariness and pain made her head droop back down. Where was she? It took a moment before she recalled John Newcomb bringing them to this wondrous cottage … but how had she come to lie on the settee? Her ankle hurt so badly, she barely managed to choke out, “Duncan?”

  John Newcomb’s face hovered into view. “Your brother is behind you, tending Anna’s babe. Lie still.”

  “Anna?”

  “Fine. She’s just fine. In fact, she’s probably in better shape than you are.” Mr. Newcomb flipped a familiar-looking blanket over her. He seemed angry enough to spit anvils.

  Now what have I done?

  “The babe smiled at me, Em. I’m certain of it.”

  She kept her eyes trained on Mr. Newcomb while she whispered in a shaky voice, “Now isn’t that sweet, Duncan! Anna’s wee one is going to look up to you for love and protection.”

  “The way Anna and Duncan do to you?” John asked.

  “Aye, and fitting it is. I’m … the eldest,” she answered. Those few words seemed to drain her of most of her energy. She knew it was rude to ignore a guest, but everything wavered around her.

  A warm hand curved around her jaw. Someone, somewhere, crooned in a deep, musical baritone to her. He bade her to rest, to sleep. Surely that couldn’t be Mr. Newcomb. Her eyelids felt too heavy to lift, so she couldn’t prove it; but as angry and mean as he’d been so far, Emily felt sure Lucifer would be wearing snowshoes before John Newcomb ever uttered a kind word to her.

  “Things will be easier for you now. Be at peace.”

  “Emily. Miss O’Brien? Sorry to wake you when you barely got to sleep, but Dr. Quisinby is here.”

  Emily shook her head to dispel the lethargy grabbing at her. “Yes. Yes, thank you.” She started to sit up, but large, strong hands touched her shoulders and pressed her back down into the luxurious, horsehair-stuffed velvet cushion. She blinked to clear away the haze of sleep and focused on none other than John Newcomb. Deep lines furrowed his brow. She murmured, “If you give me a moment, I’ll make sure Anna is prepared for him.”

  “I’ve already examined your sister,” a strange voice said. Emily looked past John Newcomb and spied an old, bewhiskered man dressed in a somber, charcoal gray jacket. Gold buttons on the garment hinted he conducted a very successful practice. Indeed, it didn’t strain her mind in the least to believe him to be accomplished in his profession. Just his appearance inspired confidence in his ability. He studied her sternly but said nothing more.

  His very silence alarmed her. “How is Anna? What about the baby?”

  “We’ll discuss that after the doctor examines you. Duncan and I will absent ourselves for a short while.” John rose, and Emily belatedly realized he’d been kneeling at her side. He waggled his finger at her. “You cooperate. No more of your foolish stubbornness. Come, Duncan.” He reached his hand around her brother’s shoulder and led him out the door.

  Emily started to sit up yet again, but Dr. Quisinby’s stern look made her lie back down.

  “Let’s not put up any pretenses, miss. Anyone who could sleep through the wailing that babe was making must be suffering extreme exhaustion. Stay where you are, and I’ll make this as simple as possible.”

  The front door closed, and Emily flashed what she hoped looked like a confident smile at the doctor. “Sir, I truly appreciate how you saw to my sister. I don’t need—”

  He held up a hand as if to silence her. His features altered into a scowl. “Mr. Newcomb was excessively clear in his directive.”

  Unable to refute that assertion, Emily resorted to the humiliating truth. “I understand his concern, Doctor”—she felt her face flame—“but I don’t have a single coin in my pocket. It’ll take me a long while to pay you back for seeing to our Anna.”

  He stepped closer and started to peel away the blanket. “You needn’t fret over that. Mr. Newcomb already saw to my fee. He warned me you’d likely try to beg off. Furthermore, he garnered my pledge to persist. Now that that’s settled, I may as well have a look—”

  Emily endured the embarrassing questions and answered them as best she could while trying to preserve her dignity, but when he reached for her ankle, she tensed. No woman of decency—however rich or poor—permitted a man t
o view or touch such scandalous portions of her being.

  “Miss O’Brien, it’s obvious you’ve injured yourself. Mr. Newcomb is most concerned. He informed me you’ve hurt your limb quite badly and fell into a deep swoon today. You must be practical enough to allow me to assess the extent of the damage and treat you.” The doctor’s austere expression reinforced his opinion.

  Planning to protest, Emily drew in a breath but exhaled without saying a word. Whatever argument she made would either sound foolish or be a falsehood.

  “It would be an ill-considered move to refuse my assistance, since an injury of this nature could very likely cause you to collapse while you’re carrying your nephew. Even if that didn’t happen, you might well end up lame if this is broken. Then what help will you be to your sister?”

  Emily grudgingly accepted the truth of his words. She compressed her lips and nodded. When the doctor took her calf into his hands, she nearly shot off the settee. As he started to unwind the cloth she’d used to bind her ankle, the swelling and discoloration became apparent. Emily had tried her best to keep Duncan and Anna from seeing the sad condition of her limb. When Mr. Newcomb accidentally saw it last night because he’d boldly let himself into their home, she’d nearly been embarrassed out of her skin.

  “Yes, then, this looks quite sore,” the doctor murmured in a sympathetic tone as he peered over his spectacles at her.

  Emily feared she would be violently ill when he set aside the cloth and lightly ran his fingers over the beginning of the bruise above her ankle. She swallowed the bile, but he tightened his hold and began to turn the joint. The pain exploded.

  “Just leave the cloth over her brow.” A deep murmur reached through the haze. “I’d rather not use hartshorn and revive her until I have this bound.”

  Emily forced her lids to flutter open. It took half of forever before she could remove the soggy handkerchief from her forehead or form any words, and even then they sounded faint. “Forgive me…. I’m not usually … this giddy.”