Bittersweet Endeavors

by Tamara Ternie

  Myra’s patience ran out.

  He turned his head away from her, and Myra didn’t resist the impulse. After she took a moment to relieve her itching, she made an unladylike face at him. In the time it required for the cook to prepare the noon meal, he towered domineeringly over her. His unspoken threats and insinuations annoyed her into distraction. Although the gesture was a small victory, and certainly unbecoming of her true station, she saw it the only recourse in venting her anger without admonishment. What he didn’t see couldn’t hurt him — but raised her spirits immensely.

  Regrettably, the self-indulgent act caught the attention of a young servant girl. The girl pelted out into a burst of giggles, but when Seth scowled at the young woman, the girl raised her hand and covered her mouth. Myra noticed the girl’s unusual blue eyes and saw something oddly familiar but couldn’t quite place what.

  “What’s the meaning of this sudden outbreak, Lucia?”

  Myra immediately realized that Seth disliked the girl, and it wasn’t for the reason of the laughter she released. He glared toward the servant through eyes of hatred. He harbored ill feelings for Myra, too, but he didn’t display such depths of disgust as he aimed at the other servant.

  “T’was I whom she was laughing at, not you.” Myra didn’t want someone in trouble at her expense and felt a confession was needed in order to protect the girl from his wrath. She held a challenged, unblinking stare aimed directly at those beautiful blue orbs Seth possessed. She found it difficult to maintain her resolve, but she stayed composed. He turned and faced her, and then leaned down until his nose almost met hers. A smile brightened his face, but it was an ominous smile that didn’t hold a whit of warmth. It was at that moment that Myra recognized that she had caused herself more trouble than planned.

  “And what would it be that you’ve done to have caused such an outburst from one of our other servants?”

  Myra observed the fullness of his lips but discarded the thought when the image of how they’d feel upon her own mouth invaded her mind. Such indecent thoughts never crossed her mind until that moment. It took her by surprise. She lowered her lashes, ashamed for having such impure thoughts. She glanced back toward his direction but lost all sensibility once she realized he moved and stood very close to her. His frown set so close near her lips that it made her quiver. Myra surveyed his mouth and sighed inwardly. His lips outlined into a feature of perfection, as well as his light, sky-blue eyes. What came over her? She wondered if she caught a fever on the ship and it cursed her into such improper thoughts. His eyes reminded her of a cloudless sky on a summer morning, and it lulled her into distraction. If not for his poor disposition, Myra believed he was the most handsome man that she’d ever made an acquaintance. In spite of his appearance, though, he proved he had the temperament of an aged mule.

  “I am awaiting your reply,” Seth impatiently snipped.

  “T’was,” she thickly mimicked his tone, “My tongue sticking from my mouth in your direction.”

  She gathered the attention and snickers from the rest of the servants. It didn’t serve her well. It uncovered his full-blown anger. His eyes closed, his nostrils flared, and he bit hard on his bottom lip. It wasn’t a good sign at all, she realized too late. She noted he attempted to stay calm when he vented his anger through clinched fists at his sides. But Myra held little hope the anger would stay contained if the vein that pulsated within his neck offered any indication to the degree of his displeasure.

  “Do you realize that it was I who saved your ungrateful hide? If not for me, your duties would entail being on your back pleasuring one of those men who came to auction.”

  Such frank words unleashed gasps and surprised murmurs among the women in the kitchen. A blush met his strong cheekbones and he shook his head with regret.

  “I apologize for my bluntness.” He offered his regret toward the women who surrounded him and then turned and glared at Myra. “I think it shall be best if we continue this conversation outside.” He opened the door and waited for her.

  She stepped back and edged herself behind the large walnut table that stood at the center of the room. Again, he waved his arm and indicated that she should follow him outside. Frightened at the impending reprimand, she shook her head and relayed that she wouldn’t follow him.

  “Now!” His tone came so harsh that she flinched. His eyes narrowed and left her no room for argument. Before she realized her action, she walked toward the door. Her stomach tied in knots at the rebuke she’d surely receive once the door closed behind them.

  The door shut and he looked at her thoughtfully. He wasn’t the angry, young man who just moments before looked as though he welcomed the chance to strangle her.

  “I don’t wish to be vulgar or harsh with you, Myra,” he breathed out in resignation. “My father has given me the responsibility of seeing to the new servants, you included. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  He paced in front of her. The large footprints made in his wake wore the fresh, white snow into a muddy slush beneath his feet before he spoke again. “Accepting you into service causes him distress.”

  “That isn’t due to anything I’ve done, sir. I assure you. I’ve not yet met your father, and I don’t make it practice of distressing those I’m not acquainted.”

  “And to all those you are acquainted,” he said exasperated, “I’ll bet a month’s crop that you aggravate quite adeptly.”

  She pursed her lips tightly together and wondered why he needled her. If he knew what she’d been through, perhaps he would feel some compassion for her. Mayhap even help her. Yet, she didn’t trust easily so she held her tongue. What of her sister? If he felt obliged and reported her parents’ murders, Mary was at risk. She wouldn’t gamble on her life. She decided she’d stay at his mercy until she arranged passage and returned to England. Then, she’d regain what her uncle stole, including her sister. Until then, she would gather strength and resources and defeat her father’s successor when she had a better chance in succeeding.

  “If you can tell me true this time, I’d like to know the offense that resulted in your voyage to Jamestown. The trader said your papers were lost during transit, but he believed you made way by the court’s rule.”

  “I’ve committed no crime. I’ve come willingly into servitude to pay passage. I have no family that binds me to the motherland and wanted to take this endeavor for experience.”

  “At your tender age? Alone?”

  Seth eyed her warily and she knew her lie didn’t sound believable. She wasn’t willing to tell him the truth, so she needed to craft a story that he’d deem acceptable. Myra wondered what offense she could say that she committed, but the thought of giving him the satisfaction of her confessing to a criminal past disturbed her.

  “I stole a fish from the market and fed my family. My family had no means of support and it was the only way they’d not starve.” She hoped shamming a story with a familial purpose might suit her best.

  “For your family?” He lifted his brow and looked at her with suspicion. “Yet a sparse moment ago, you stated you have no family.” He glared at her. “I’ll tell you forthwith, we shan’t have your thievery—or falsehoods—here. Is that understood?” He directed his finger at her and angered lines crinkled his forehead. “If the urge comes about to do so, I’ll personally see to it that I remove the offending appendage from your body, albeit hand or tongue.”

  “And surely find pleasure in the task,” she mumbled. “No need to fret, I’ll not be stealing anything of yours or of your family. Your chattels are safe around me, Seth.”

  “You’ll address me appropriately. You shall show me respect by using my proper family name of Preston.”

  “Aye,” she bit out. She wanted to state that no one had informed her of such surname until that moment, but she kept silent. Under the circumstances, obedience served her best. “Are we finished, Mister Preston?” She asked the question politely, and even humbled herself by lowering her eyes downward.


  “Much better. You may make a worthy servant yet.”

  She wanted to throttle him.

  He slowly backed away but still faced her, and Myra swore a whimsical smile played on his lips before he turned around. She wasn’t quite sure how she should take his expression, but she wondered if he found pleasure in provoking her.

  “Sir,” she called after him. “If I may be so bold to inquire; why did you purchase my bond today at auction?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Tis obvious you dislike me,” she called out after him. Although he continued walking away, she persisted, determined to hear his reply. “Why save me from the likes as which you earlier described?” As he had stated, many of the men at the sale could’ve taken advantage of her servitude and used her for lust-filled pleasures. For that reprieve, she was forever grateful. He may badger her, but he’d not gain a personal benefit with her newly acquired, lowly station. Although arrogant, Seth represented himself as an honorable man, yet time would tell if he proved it true.

  His footsteps slowed and finally stopped. He didn’t turn around, but the broad expanse of his shoulders lowered slightly. A heavy sigh released. “I never stated that I dislike you, Myra.”

  Deliberate, assured steps in his gait demonstrated his confidence as he walked away from her. His thick, muscular thighs and forearms gave testimony to his physical strength. She watched after him until he reached the workers, and soon he disappeared among the men who labored in the grand, nearly erected Preston family home.

  Once completely out of sight, an odd notion occurred to her. She didn’t particularly dislike him, either.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I hate him!”

  Lucia lowered her broom after she swiped the cobwebs from the ceiling. “Calm down, Myra,” she soothed. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “He accused me of stealing his sister’s silk petticoat!”

  Myra paced their modest wigwam that humbled in comparison to the Preston’s temporary dwelling. The dry, dirt-covered floor fogged the room when Lucia’s made her sweeps across the ground and raised the dust. Six bedrolls and two chairs occupied most their space. A considerable contrast from the luxury Myra was once accustomed.

  “What use would I find in a silk petticoat?” She ran her hands down the expanse of her dirty, drab gray garment. “Does this frock appear to be in need of a silk petticoat?” She thought about her words. “Admittedly, ‘twould serve well against the prickly wool, but I’d not steal one!”

  “I heard Miss Margaret only misplaced it,” Lucia added. “I’m sure young Mister Preston will apologize before the day is over.”

  “Well, he can take his regret and thrust it right up his—”

  “Myra!”

  Myra grinned.

  Lucia laughed aloud and hugged her. “I’m so pleased in having your company, Myra.”

  Lucia held the broom tightly at her chest and beamed with a full smile before she returned sweeping the floor. “This past month has been so enjoyable since you arrived,” she said, and she brushed a dark lock of hair from her forehead that had fallen into her eyes.

  Myra slowly stirred the pot of broth that sat over the fire. She smiled at Lucia as she swept grains of dirt and dust from the ground floor and swayed gracefully between the broom’s swipes. She hummed prettily in tune to the brush strokes of the broom.

  “What of you, Lucia? Did you come by way of England? Were you forced into servitude by the court or traders?”

  “Oh, nay,” she exclaimed. “I was born in London, all right, but I'm here of my own free will. Well, in sorts, I am,” she smiled.

  “Explain,” Myra pressed. For the first time in that month, there was free time after chores. The Preston family had made arrangements for the evening and their kitchen duties weren’t necessary for the night. Finally she had an opportunity to get better acquainted with her new found friend. Their friendship increasingly grew, and Myra couldn’t have made it through the past month without her. Myra realized how spoiled she was before arriving in the New World when presented with her daily duties. She found the simplest of tasks difficult, but Lucia taught her well.

  “My mother worked for the Preston’s whilst in England but they sent her away.” Lucia smiled, but the sadness in her blue eyes overshadowed her false display of good cheer. “I aim to earn enough coin to find her one day. That’s why I stay on here.”

  “Why was your mother sent away? Did she do something wrong?”

  By the wide-eyed expression on Lucia's face, Myra sensed an interesting story was about to unfold. She placed the ladle onto the stones of their makeshift fireplace and sat on her bedroll, Lucia at her side. Little excitement was found at the Preston home, and idle chatter helped pass the time. Actually, it was the favorite pastime of most the servants. Some more loose-lipped than others, Myra thought.

  Lucia stepped out the doorway and darted her eyes back and forth. She returned and whispered, “I feel I can trust you, Myra. Can I?”

  “Why, of course.” Myra took Lucia by both hands and smiled. “I have my own secrets, too,” she confessed. “I think we shall be very good friends and share many confidences.”

  “I knew we’d be good friends the moment you stuck your tongue out at young Mister Preston,” she said with a mischievous grin. Lucia laughed but quickly covered her mouth so no one would overhear.

  After a short peel of giggles from them both, Lucia continued. “Mister Preston sent my mother away many years ago. I was only a babe, but he ordered that I remain with the Preston family.”

  “But why send her away?”

  Lucia picked up two wooden buckets that sat nearby on the floor. “Let’s gather some water from the stream,” she suggested. “I fear we may be overheard.”

  Myra followed, her interest piqued. She wondered if Seth would play a part in Lucia’s story. Not sure why, she secretly hoped he would. She loved hearing stories the older servants told about him, particularly the times when he was a young lad who cared more about finding trouble than doling it out.

  “Anvil Preston is my father,” Lucia quietly confessed once they reached the stream.

  “What?” Myra touched Lucia's arm and shook her head in disbelief. Myra wondered if she heard Lucia wrong. Certainly a daughter of Anvil Preston wouldn’t be a servant. Myra wondered what kind of father, especially one of wealth, would treat his own flesh and blood so atrociously. “I don't understand such way of thinking,” Myra began. “Did Mister Preston's wife find out? Is that why your mother was sent away?”

  “Oh, it had naught to do with her. Mrs. Preston is a fine lady, indeed! She knows who I am—they all do,” she exclaimed with a showy flow of her arm. “But unlike the others, not once did she take ill will upon me due to her husband's infidelity. If anything, she has been exceedingly kind and generous. Insomuch, she insisted I learn to read and write, and secretly employed a local scholar to teach me whilst we lived in England.”

  Lucia dipped the bucket into the water and set it aside. A bright smile appeared as the sun shined on her remarkably fine skin. It was then that Myra saw Lucia’s resemblance to Anvil and Seth. Although her hair, rich as coal, was in contrast to the wheat colored hair the Preston men possessed, it was the unusual blue hue of her eyes which disclosed proof of Anvil's indiscretion. Not the exact color she detected in either of theirs, but the shape and determination were what most resembled both the Preston men. The Preston daughters possessed features of their mother, dull red hair and listless brown eyes—lovely in their own way, of course, but exceedingly ordinary. The same couldn’t be said of Lucia, though. She presented an uncommon beauty.

  “Mayhap I can help you once I leave here,” Myra offered. “I shall one day return to England, and when I do, I shall do all I can to find her for you. I’ll have the means to carry it out once there.”

  “You'd do that for me?”

  “Aye! Of course! That’s what friends are for, are they not? To be there for one another a
nd help each other when in need?”

  Lucia flung her arms around Myra and embraced her tightly. “Aye, that’s what friends are for, Myra. And we shall become the best there is, won’t we?”

  “Aye, we shall, Lucia. And one day, when we leave here, we’ll live a delightful life, I promise you that.” Once she recovered the funds that her treacherous uncle had stolen, she’d make good on her promise. She planned hiring the best runners in London to find Lucia's mother, and once she was found, they could all live at Brunnington Castle once she discovered a way of regaining her estates without harming Mary. She wasn’t yet sure how she’d accomplish the task, but Myra hoped that James, The Duke of York, would aid her cause by persuading his brother, The King, on her behalf. Her uncle was last of the Brunnington line and Myra hoped that once unseated, The King would show his generosity and let her remain living at her family home. She prayed that Mary—wherever her uncle has kept her—stayed safe until that time.

  Breaking their embrace, they picked up the water-filled buckets and started toward the kitchens. Still troubled by the information Lucia supplied, Myra shook her head. “Tis difficult comprehending why Mister Preston allows his daughter to live as a servant. How cruel he must be,” she said angrily. “His other four children are attending the finest socials and living such spoiled lives. Yet, here you remain, a servant unto them all. Indeed, tis quite unfair!”

  She blathered out her frustration but it didn’t help, so she kicked at a stone and vented her anger. “What would make a man act so indifferently from one child to the next? Blood is blood, wouldn't you agree?”

  Lucia smiled and her blue eyes twinkled brilliantly in the noonday sun. Laughter suddenly flowed from her lips when Myra crinkled her nose and expressed her disdain. Lucia’s laugh carried across the field, but her laughter died away, and she smiled up at Myra. Sadness clouded her eyes and the warm luster of gaiety left her.