Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “Be sure to include that new shirt I had you sew.” Miss Emily yawned. “He’ll need everything you put in for the boys, and he’ll also need his lucky coin.”

  How in the world is a man to keep his sanity? Duncan headed down the companionway to his cabin. Two days at sea. It felt like an eternity, and he could hold the weather only partially to blame. It used to be he couldn’t wait to set sail again. He’d no more than dock, and he’d be itching to cast off again. He liked the jig and reel world of his rowdy crew and the brotherhood of the sea. So why did he want to be on land?

  Emily’s matchmaking schemes would have made a lesser man break out in hives. I ought to be glad I escaped. Aye, I should—but I’m not. And it’s all that blue-eyed maid’s fault. The realization made his mood grow even more foul than the weather had been.

  Duncan shut the door to his cabin and trudged toward his bunk. Salt chafed his skin, and wherever salt didn’t, damp clothing did. As far as voyages went, this one rated as downright miserable thus far. They’d set sail and started out with fair weather and good hopes. By midafternoon a squall had blown in and battered the Cormorant.

  Timothy had been horrendously seasick. Even now, he lay on Duncan’s bed and looked downright puny. The lad’s face still carried a sickly tinge of green. Titus, on the other hand, sat in the center of a hammock they’d suspended across the cabin. He rocked it like a swing and whispered, “He’s still sleeping.”

  “You ought to be, too. I have plans for you in the morning, so you’d best rest up.” Duncan waited until his nephew plopped down and was nearly swallowed up in the hammock. He let out a sigh of relief as he shed his clothes, sponged down, and put on a dry outfit. His stomach rumbled.

  “I’m hungry, too.” Titus popped back up. “I know how to get to the galley.”

  “I’ll bet you do; but aboard a vessel, men don’t pilfer the way you sometimes did when you wandered into the pantry and kitchen at home. That kind of undisciplined access to the provender could leave us all stranded and starving.”

  “Oh.” Titus waited a beat. “You’re the captain. You can do whatever you want.”

  Duncan hung his wet clothing up on pegs and slipped a thin strip of twine across them so they’d not sway free and plop on the deck. He scowled at a pile of fabric in the corner. “What is that mess?”

  “Huh? Oh. My clothes.”

  Duncan crossed the cabin in a few long strides and unceremoniously dumped his nephew out of the hammock and onto the deck. “Aboard a vessel nothing is left out. It shifts and slides, and a man can trip as a result. There’s no maid here to baby you. You’ll be a man and clean up after yourself.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Duncan left the cabin. When he returned, Titus’s clothes occupied pegs and were secured with twine. “Well done. Come share a bite with me. Afterward I’ll dump you into the bunk with Tim and take the hammock. I’m warning you now, I’m going to snore enough wind to send us clear to Massachusetts by morn.”

  Titus muffled his chuckle and scrambled to the captain’s desk. They shared a hunk of cheese, some soda bread, and a pair of apples. “Uncle Duncan, do you think Mama misses us?”

  “Emily is bound to miss you. Me? She’s used to me coming and going.” Brigit’s image flashed through his mind. He suppressed it at once and cast a look over at Tim. “Has he kept anything down at all?”

  “Lemon drops.” Titus pulled out a small tin and rattled it. “Brigit gave them to us. She said they would settle a tipsy stomach, and they did.”

  The mention of that maid he’d just thought of only served to sour Duncan’s mood. Women. God created them for His purposes, and Duncan acknowledged that. He even granted they made the world a far better place—but only from a distance. Marriage? That lay several years in the future. Then what am I doing, thinking of Brigit and marriage at the same time?

  Duncan cleared his throat. He didn’t want to grouse at his nephew any more than he already had. “Enough. You go climb in with Tim. I’m manning the hammock.”

  Weary as could be, Duncan barely managed to finish thanking the Lord for pulling his vessel through bad weather and watching over his family before he mumbled amen and fell asleep. He didn’t dream one bit; but when he opened his eyes, he had a strange sense of having traveled back in time. Years ago he’d awakened in a hammock in this selfsame cabin when he accompanied John on voyages. The memory was a fine way to start the day.

  Duncan spotted the valise he’d secured on a peg next to the wardrobe when he’d boarded back home. It would take a few minutes to unpack, so he started in.

  Emily always insisted on packing for him. The way she didn’t fuss yet showed her love in countless ways warmed his heart. When he married, he wanted a good woman like Em—one whose capabilities and caring would make for a happy home.

  Each article of freshly starched and pressed clothing fit in his compact wardrobe. A new shirt appeared—a fine one at that—not a fancy one for Sunday best, but one that featured full-cut shoulders and plenty of sleeve to allow ease of motion while on board.

  He’d felt oddly bereft the past few days, realizing he’d left something important ashore. Duncan knew he couldn’t very well order the ship back to port to allow him to run home and get his special quarter, but its absence had left him uneasy … until he felt something in the fabric of the new shirt—his quarter! God bless Em for seeing to that detail.

  He treasured that assurance and always kept the coin with him on his voyages—a touchstone that reminded him he had a home and loved ones awaiting his return. He curled his hand around it and glanced at Tim and Titus. I’ll bring them back to you, Em. You can count on it.

  Chapter 10

  The Cormorant docked in Lowell, Massachusetts. Duncan made sure all was well and gave orders for the Southern cotton to be delivered to the Boott Mills. He traced his finger down the register. “See here, Tim? The agreement is for the entire cargo. Every last bale, each of them approximately one hundred pounds. The mills run by water power, but the water level there is low, so the bales will travel by barge.”

  “Do you have to arrange for the barges?”

  “Your father or Franklin already tended to that matter. Because we do this run so regularly, Newcomb Shipping is able to book for the services.”

  “Uncle Duncan, can’t you take something home that’s better than dumb old material?” Titus wrinkled his sunburnt nose. “We already have millions and millions of bolts in the warehouse.”

  Duncan shook his head and ignored the exaggeration. “A deal was struck. A man sticks to his word. We’ve lined up buyers for the fabric. Already most of it is earmarked for Europe. It’ll go out the week after Christmas.”

  “On your new ship?”

  “Aye,” Duncan said, stretching the single syllable into a long, satisfied sound. “’Tis to be my new home at sea. For now, though, we need to pay our respects to your aunt.”

  After his nephews were settled in with Aunt Mildred, Duncan went back to the docks. The lads needed to stretch their legs, and their aunt had plans to keep them busy. Especially if they would have to come live here, they’d need to forge a comfortable relationship, and Duncan didn’t want to run interference. Business wasn’t just a necessary obligation; it also supplied a reasonable excuse for him to take his leave.

  The next three days, bales of cotton left the holds of the Cormorant and rode the barges to the mills. The space vacated filled with bolts upon bolts of cloth. Brightly printed calicos, practical shirting, and sheeting accounted for the greatest portion of the order. Duncan spot-checked the loads to assure the quality didn’t waver. He also made a trip to the warehouse and selected a variety of the finest fabrics Lowell had to offer. Those bolts were muslin wrapped and stored with additional care.

  The bustle and rhythm of commerce appealed to Duncan. He thought to take Tim and Titus with him for a day as he tended to business, but he dismissed that plan immediately. Almost to the man, each contact slid into some political discourse.
/>
  Duncan had hoped the rhetoric wouldn’t be so strident since they were so far north. Though he privately agreed Lincoln would be a godsend as the president and didn’t support disunion, he also understood some of the economic issues driving the unrest in the South. He personally believed all men were created equal—that his Irish roots didn’t make him any less God’s child; so why would African roots make a man less worthy of respect or God’s grace? The hopes he’d held that Lincoln might heal the rifts evaporated as rapidly as the steam that powered the looms in the mills.

  After the ship’s hold was filled with the goods and they were set to sail with the tide the next evening, Duncan sat down to supper with Aunt Mildred and the boys. He rather hoped if he broached a certain subject, Aunt Mildred would volunteer to assist him. “Emily wanted me to buy some prints for the staff.”

  “Prints?” Aunt Mildred’s eyes widened. “Now that’s different.”

  “Mama doesn’t like to do things the usual way,” Titus said. He took a gulp of potatoes.

  “She’s a very uncommon woman,” Aunt Mildred agreed. Her voice held no censure. Indeed, Duncan recalled she’d been infinitely kind to Em when John had wed her and she’d needed to learn the ways of society. “I confess, I like the blue she’s used for your household staff. Black is so dreary.”

  Duncan leaned forward. “Come along and help me make appropriate selections. You’d have a better notion of what Em would like.”

  “I have every confidence you’ll do fine. I already promised Tim and Titus I’d take them to the museum.”

  Duncan nodded. He couldn’t begrudge the boys a nice outing.

  Timothy started to chuckle. Duncan shot him a questioning look, and the chuckle turned into a full-throated chortle. “Buy pink. Nothing but pink. I’ll bet Prudence Carston suddenly stops wearing it if you do, because she’d never want anyone to think she’s an ordinary woman instead of one of society’s darlings.”

  Pink. The next day after he picked up the ring John had ordered, Duncan stood in the warehouse and stared at the fabrics. He glanced at the pinks and winced. How did I let Em saddle me with such a ridiculous errand? As often as she goes to the shipping office and rides by the warehouses, she could have gone in and chosen whatever suited her fancy. Duncan gave fleeting thought to pleading that he was simply too busy, and it would have been the utter truth; but the special quarter in his pocket reminded him of how family cared for one another. He’d do this for Emily.

  Em wanted prints. She’d also specified they were to be pretty and of good quality. He’d handled cloth aplenty, and judging quality presented no problem. The real problem lay with selecting something reasonable. Pretty prints abounded—many made with the newest aniline dyes so they had eye-catching color. He wanted to make this a quick grab-and-dash type of task; but to his consternation, he couldn’t.

  “As you can see, they’re arranged on the shelves by color.” The warehouseman waved his arm in a wide arc to encompass a veritable rainbow. “The blacks and browns are practical. Keep the dirt and wear from showing.”

  Duncan headed toward the grays.

  “Those are especially suitable for second-year mourning attire.”

  Disenchanted by that bit of information, Duncan turned toward the blues. Blue. The color of Brigit’s extraordinary eyes. No, he refused to be beguiled by her. Besides, Em was tired of blue.

  “Greens are favored this year.” The warehouseman leaned against the cart he’d pushed along.

  Greens looked fresh. Appealing. They’d set off Brigit’s hair and—Duncan cut off that line of thought. Yellows would show every last smudge. As often as she—no, all the maids, he corrected himself—dusted, the gown would look filthy.

  Ah. Respite. White. Duncan felt a wee bit of the tension drain away. He’d been wanting to buy some white for himself. Aye, he did. When he got home, he’d get Emily to tell him who had sewed that new shirt. She’d placed the order, so she’d be able to direct him. He’d never had a better fit—the generous cut across the shoulders didn’t bind, and the extra length made sure it stayed tucked in. He’d supply more cotton and place an order for her to make him a good half dozen more. He’d make sure, though, that he’d simply handle the transaction in writing. Knowing Emily, she’d hired some comely seamstress in hopes that he’d fall in love. He’d rather swim to England than deal with his sister’s ridiculous romantic machinations.

  A single bolt—that was all he’d need. Straight off the loom, a bolt held sixty yards. The printed cloth was processed and cut into half that length. Duncan squinted and noticed the bolts of white had also been halved. He shrugged. Thirty yards would keep him in shirts—what about John and the boys? Titus and Tim both washed their shirts aboard the ship and nearly tore them to shreds. They were growing fast. Duncan chose two bolts of white. White. Aprons. Emily always had the staff wear them. Brigit had a charming habit of slipping her hand into her apron pocket and tilting her head to starboard just a bit—a telling cue that she was thinking something through. He chucked a third bolt onto the cart.

  “I thought you said you were wanting colored prints.”

  The voice behind Duncan pulled him from his thoughts. He stared at the cart and couldn’t believe what he’d done. Ninety yards. I just grabbed ninety yards of white.

  “Don’t mistake me. You chose the finest white that we carry. Mayhap I misunderstood—”

  “No, not at all. I also want prints.” Duncan strode ahead to the next set of shelves. Pink? He shuddered. The shade of Prudence.

  Only women of ill repute wore red.

  He turned the corner and gave up on trying to reason through what choices to make. Duncan impatiently grabbed several bolts and heaved them onto the cart. Even then Duncan kept picturing how Brigit would look dressed in almost every swath of cloth he touched. Brigit. Aye, she is quite the lass. Pure of heart, quick of mind, and kind in spirit. A rare woman indeed.

  Duncan halted dead in his tracks and marveled under his breath, “Well, blow me down. I was so set on swimming free of Em’s marriage net that I jumped right out of the water and into the boat.”

  “What was that?”

  “Show me your bridal material.”

  Chapter 11

  Home. While at sea, Duncan felt the ocean was his home; but when he landed and rode up the drive to the Newcomb estate, his heart filled with an unmistakable warmth that told him he belonged here. He cast a glance over at Tim and Titus. Clearly they felt that same tug. They unconsciously kneed their mounts, and all three of them galloped the last mile.

  “Why are there so many carriages and ribbons?” asked Titus.

  “Can’t you remember anything?” Timothy gave his brother a scathing look. “It’s Phillip’s birthday. I’ll bet that’s why Duncan got so pushy about us setting sail.”

  “I wasn’t pushy. I was emphatic. A captain sets his timetable, and the crew needs to adhere to it. Discipline and control are essential on any vessel.”

  “Yeah, well, those are all right, I suppose.” Titus wrinkled his nose. “I just didn’t like some of the other rules.”

  Duncan gave him a long look. “No more shedding your clothes like a snake. That voyage trained you to be a man. Now act like one.”

  “I’ll make you proud.” Titus stared back at him. “You have my word of honor.”

  His word of honor. Duncan nodded. Honor. Integrity mattered to him above all but God and family. The one thing he couldn’t abide was dishonesty or deception. He couldn’t very well come home and pretend indifference to the woman he loved.

  What would he do about Brigit, now that he’d returned? In the time he’d been gone, he’d reconsidered the whole situation and come to the same conclusion over and over again: He loved her. She’d been in his thoughts nearly every waking minute, and he’d dreamed of her, too. She read well and enjoyed the same books he did, could carry on an intelligent conversation, and showed devotion to his family. Aye, she was a sweet woman.

  Marriage to her wouldn�
��t be a trap; it would be a joy. He’d need to court her a bit. Women put store in such customs. If he had his way, he’d just stand up in church Sunday and let the parson help them speak their vows. The first step would be making sure the feelings were mutual; then he’d do the right thing—go to her parents as well as settle her in with his own folks down at the caretaker’s cottage. That way he’d see her every day while the women took care of the social details of arranging the wedding. It shouldn’t take long. After all, he’d already seen to getting the fabric for her bridal gown.

  Brigit. There she was, standing on the veranda, holding hands with June and Julie. The cashmere shawl about her shoulders drew Duncan’s attention. He wanted to use it to tug her into his arms for a welcome-home hug and kiss, but he’d not do such a thing.

  “We’re home!” Titus shouted.

  “We’ve been waiting!” Julie and June shouted back. Both tried to tug forward, but Brigit held them back. A wise move, that. If they were to shriek or move rapidly, they might startle one of the boys’ horses.

  Brigit didn’t meet Duncan’s gaze. Instead she smiled at Timothy and Titus. “We’re looking forward to hearing all about your grand adventure as sailors.”

  “Tim got seasick the first day,” Titus blabbed.

  “Titus was homesick the whole time,” Tim shot back.

  The girls both giggled at their brothers’ rivalry, but Brigit squeezed the twins’ hands. “Now will you be taking a chance to fill your eyes with the sight before you? Your brothers left as lads, but I’m sure as can be they’ve come back men now. Taller and smarter, too.”

  “What about Uncle Duncan?” Julie asked.

  “Your uncle.” Brigit stretched out the words to allow herself time to respond. Duncan wondered how she’d get herself out of this. He didn’t have to wait a second more. “Your uncle was already tall and smart before he left.”

  “Let me tell you how smart,” Tim chimed in. “Wait until you hear about when we were at the—”