She had done this to herself, and there was no one else to blame. Taking a deep breath, she loosened the grip on her satchel and pushed her shoulders back and her chin up. She would have to accept whatever came. The urge to scratch the chafed area where the boned bodice rubbed at her waist plagued her. Whatever the future holds, please, dear Lord, may it include a bath soon.
The woman standing next to her poked her gently. “I think that gent is going to pay your bond price. Cheer up, lassie. No doubt it’ll be a fine house you find yourself in. At least that big and burly chap left after buying crazy Millie Munro.”
Heather shook her head. “Poor Millie was probably sane before this nightmare of a voyage.”
The tall stranger seemed very sure of himself when he addressed the better-dressed man. Now, again he studied her, and it was far too long a moment before she glanced away.
“Douglas! Come this way,” the captain shouted.
Standing perfectly still, she stared at the captain. Was he addressing her?
“You, Heather Douglas, come here.”
Head held high, she slowly walked over to the table where the captain sat conversing with the three men. Was the gentleman purchasing bondservants? It surely would not be the plain-dressed man, the tall, intense one with the piercing brown eyes.
“Miss Douglas, this is Mr. George Lamont, solicitor for Mr. Matthew Stewart. Mr. Stewart has purchased your indenture. You are to go with him now.” The captain waved her forward; his authority was the final word.
She braced herself to gaze into the face of her new master. The intensity of his dark eyes and the serious set of his mouth did nothing to quell her anxiety. Still holding the satchel, she stretched her fingers. Her hands had grown clammy.
“You have rights.” The captain’s bellow drew her attention back to him. “If you are mistreated, you have the courts. Is that not correct, Mr. Lamont?”
“Yes, yes, but she shall not have need of them with Mr. Stewart.” Mr. Lamont threw the captain an impatient frown before he turned to face the man who had purchased her.
Mr. Stewart tipped his hat to the solicitor. “I thank you, Mr. Lamont, for your assistance. I trust you will take care of the other matter?”
“Yes, certainly, I shall see to it right away before we return home. Good luck to you.”
Her gaze traveled between the men as they continued to speak to each other, their words now inaudible. Why would he want her indenture? Many indentured servants went to the large plantations to work, some to be ladies’ maids, seamstresses, or governesses. This man did not appear to be a man of wealth. Perhaps he was a plantation overseer or a tradesman, for his rough hands had the telltale signs of a laborer. She fumbled with her satchel. Perhaps she should ask. Nay, that might not be appropriate. What should the demeanor of a bondservant be? Obedient and loyal was how good servants acted, not unlike a child to a parent. Her confidence was momentarily buoyed. Loyalty was something she understood only too well.
“It is this way, Miss ... uh ... Heather.” The man motioned to a walkway.
The Stewart chap seemed a bit unsure of his place too. He must not have many servants.
He continued speaking to his companion before turning toward her. “I am Matthew Stewart. This is Adam Duncan. My children are at his home. Later, we will be off to the farm.” He noticed her traveling bag. “Is that all you have?”
“Aye, sir.”
The three walked briskly on their way, the two men in front. She fought to keep up on her still weak and wobbly legs. If only they would slow down! Her breathing grew rapid as she made an effort to stay with them. At the same time, she tried to take in everything about her new surroundings. Were those crushed shells on the path? Some of the structures they passed were Georgian style, with intricate bonded brickwork, while other houses were in a Manor style with extended wings. A few more modest homes were clapboard. These were nothing like the many gray buildings, all with smoking chimneys, she had seen in Edinburgh.
She was exhausted and not recently accustomed to this much exercise. Try as she might, it was a struggle to keep up with the men, and it was difficult to hear all that they said. When they finally stopped, she nearly ran into them. “Pardon me.”
“This is my home.” Mr. Duncan faced her before turning to his friend.
She glanced up at a narrow plain brick residence with a small front porch.
“Matt, let me go in and speak to Maggie.” Adam made eye contact with her. “You can rest on the stoop.”
She needed no extra coaxing. Grateful for a chance to rest, she dropped onto the brick steps, panting. Mr. Stewart stood on the far side of the steps, mute. Relieved, she gathered her thoughts and caught her breath. The voyage she had considered so interminable was now replaced by quickened events far from her control.
“Are you feeling ill?” Mr. Stewart appeared concerned. “You are quite pale.”
“I am a bit unsteady yet on dry land. And a mite weary and hungry from the voyage.”
“Of course. I should have realized that.”
There was a long silence. The sound of children playing somewhere nearby was a welcome interruption.
Glancing his way, she caught him studying her. No doubt he was noticing her disheveled appearance. How would she divert his attention elsewhere?
“You have an interesting town, Mr. Stewart.”
“Yes, it is a well-planned and growing community.” He gazed off into the distance, appearing like he wanted to hide his awkwardness.
“Do you live near here?” Her fingers tightened on her satchel.
“No. My farm ... our home is west of here.”
Silence.
“Maggie will have some food for you inside.” His eyes traveled slowly down her slender, ragged, and soiled form. “Maggie is Adam Duncan’s wife.”
She shivered and took a deep breath. This was her fresh start. She would make it work.
CHAPTER 4
The door opened, and a stout and smiling woman surveyed her. “Well, Matthew Stewart, it would seem you have outdone yourself. Come in. Come in.”
Mr. Stewart stood back waiting for her to enter, and Heather waited to follow him. They started toward the door at the same moment, colliding with each other. The Duncans, standing to the side, shook their heads and smiled.
Once they were all inside, and the proper introductions were made, Heather did not miss Mr. Stewart’s comment to the mistress of the house: “Maggie, she is quite hungry. Given the sight of her, she may not have eaten in a while. Have you anything you might give her? I need to talk to the children. Are they out back?”
“Aye, to both your questions. Now go. Adam, would you fetch some more cider?”
Heather sat at the table and glanced about. It was a simple yet inviting home. The cleanliness and the aroma of baking appealed to her more than anything else, as her stomach growled. A large hearth dominated one side of the main room. Several pots and a kettle hung from hooks inside the fireplace. The large table sat directly in the middle of the room, and there was a sitting area at the opposite end of the room. The furniture was a combination of a few quality pieces and other rather rough-hewn ones.
Turning her head, she sensed Mrs. Duncan was scrutinizing her. No doubt the woman wondered if she was worth the fifteen pounds Mr. Stewart had paid for her.
“Where do you hail from, Heather? My husband said the ship sailed from Edinburgh.”
“Aye, we sailed from the port of Leith, not far from Edinburgh. I am from the Perth area. Is it always so hot here?”
“Nay, this is warm for this early in the season.”
“Mrs. Duncan, might I please have some water to wash my hands and face? I would go for it myself if you would direct me. I am so dirty from the ship.”
“Aye, I can see. There is a bowl and pitcher of water over there.” The woman motioned to a table near her. “Please call me Maggie.”
She nodded as she poured the clear water into the bowl. “It has been so long since I h
ave tasted clean water.” She quickly scooped a handful and drank, not caring about the noise she made.
When Maggie rested a hand on her back, she glanced up and saw a sympathetic face. Maggie poured water from the pitcher into a cup and handed it to her. She smiled. “Go on. Enjoy our good well water. It is cold and delicious.”
“I am grateful.” She took it with tears in her eyes. After drinking another cup of water and washing her face and hands with the cloth Maggie handed her, she sat down to a hot meat pie and vegetables. Loud, angry voices came from behind the house, but it was difficult to tell what all the fuss was about. Besides, she wanted no distractions from the delicious meal in front of her. She shoveled the food into her mouth, making only a slight effort at proper manners. The woman seated across the table staring at her probably thought her very rude.
The door opened, and the two men entered. Mr. Stewart was red faced and appeared quite disturbed. He turned to Mr. Duncan. “Thank you, Adam. I needed a few minutes alone with Mary. Mark will be easier.”
At this point, five youngsters rushed in, all staring in her direction. Mr. Stewart introduced the children to her.
Mary, the man’s daughter, shuffled from foot to foot, a frown planted on her face. “Is this the surprise you brought us home from the shop, Father?”
“I did not forget, Mary.” He sounded exasperated and reached into a parcel and pulled out candy and ribbons. “Here, the ribbons are for you and Jean, and there are enough sweets for all of you. Now, go and gather your things. We shall be leaving within the hour.”
When the children went back out the door, the farmer placed his hat on his head. His penetrating brown eyes caught hers. “Lamont has arranged it. I shall go for the parson now, and then we must be off. The afternoon is waning, and I have yet to pick up the supplies.”
What did he need with a parson? Did one bless indentured servants? A quaint tradition, indeed. Or did he think she needed baptizing? Her cheeks grew hot as indignation rose from somewhere deep inside her. She glanced at Maggie. “I am not a heathen. I have already been baptized.”
Maggie’s eyebrows were raised, and her husband had a sheepish grin. He got up and made preparations to leave also. “I have tasks to do out back, Maggie.” Adam gave his wife a sympathetic smile before turning to Heather. “He should have spoken to you, but I suppose his mind is a bit scrambled right now.” He put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Maggie, be a sweet, and do the deed, will you, my love?”
Maggie’s eyes narrowed, and her hands went to her hips as she watched her husband walk out. She turned to Heather and smiled. “I have tea. Would you be carin’ for a cup?”
“Oh, aye, ma’am, aye. I have not had any tea for so long.”
Taking the kettle from over the fire, the woman muttered, “Lord, give me wisdom in my words, and this one wisdom in hearin’ them.”
Heather breathed in the almost forgotten aroma of tea.
“Matthew Stewart is a man of honor, so he would not be bringing a lass out to his farm to live alone with him and his wee ones. Well, his dear Elizabeth died a year ago and left him with the two. So there you see—he is needin’ the help of a wife.”
It took a moment or two for her to understand the meaning behind the woman’s jumbled words. Nay, she had to be mistaken. The food she had eaten threatened to return to her dry throat. She drew quivering hands up to her cheeks. “A wife. I am to be his wife? Oh, merciful God, what have I gotten myself into now?”
Maggie brought the teapot and two cups to the table and searched her face.
“But Mrs. Duncan—Maggie, surely there are many fine, young, unmarried women around here. My indenture is for seven years. After that, I am to be free.”
Maggie set a cup of the hot liquid down in front of her. “Is there a husband back in Scotland you are runnin’ from, Miss Douglas?”
“Nay.” She sat back in the chair, frowning.
“Well, it seems to me that you should be thankful for a husband. You are not young anymore. And, I might add, you can count your blessings that it is him who bought your indenture and not another. Your lot does not have an easy time of it during your indenture. When it is all done, what have you got? Those agents promise you what is rarely delivered.” Winded, Maggie sat down to a cup of tea.
“I am to be free when my indenture is over. How can I be free if I am married to him?” She wiped the tears from her eyes.
Maggie’s voice was gentle but adamant. “Look, lass, I can see you are frightened, but you need not be. Matthew is a kind man. There are all kinds of freedom, Heather. What makes you think you would not be free with a good husband? It is the best and safest state for a woman.”
She gripped the edge of the table and leaned toward Maggie. “I cannot believe that he is bringing clergy here and not even ... not even asking me if I would marry.”
Maggie reached for her hand. “Matthew should have said something to you first, but in his zeal to bring his wee ones home, he got the cart before the horse. I suspect he is as anxious as you are and just forgot. Heather, you do not have to marry him, but it would be difficult to hold your head up here if you were living in such close quarters and not wedded. Be sensible. Perhaps this is God’s provision for you.”
“But I do not know the man, nor he me.”
“Let me tell you, lass, you never know a man till you are married, and even then it takes time and trying.”
The children returned, interrupting the conversation, and sat at the table, staring at her.
Maggie got up. “Now, I must pack up the children’s clothes.”
Heather needed air and a chance to think about this disturbing change of plans. She walked to the service yard door.
Maggie followed and handed her an empty water pitcher. “Would you please fill this from the water barrel?” She reached out and tenderly touched her arm. “Think, lass. Even if you go back to be sold again, you do not understand half of what might happen to you. You shall be safe with Matthew. He is a godly and considerate man.”
Outside in the yard, overwhelmed by exhaustion, she filled the pitcher and sat on the back step. What should I do now? She reviewed all Maggie had said. There was really little choice. She lowered her head and wept, shoulders shaking, tears flowing.
Her mind drifted back to Sara. If only her friend were here to advise her. Sara, with her ready smile, her cheerful manner amidst trouble, and her words of faith, would calm her. What was it she had said? “Seek God’s will. Let Him direct your path.” Sara truly believed God was able to bring good out of every situation.
“Is this Your will, Lord?” Her words startled a cat sleeping nearby. Voices in the house caught her attention. She took the pitcher inside and handed it back to Maggie. The heaviness in her heart permeated her entire body.
Matthew Stewart had returned with an older man in clerical garb, whom he introduced as the Reverend Mr. Northrup. The man evidently was already acquainted with the Duncans and Matthew Stewart.
After a few minutes of exchanged pleasantries, the clergyman addressed her. “Might we go out to the water barrel, Miss Douglas? I am a bit thirsty and would like a few words with you.”
“Aye, sir.” She hesitated, stared at the others, whose eyes were all fixed on her, and followed the clergyman to the door. When she glanced over her shoulder, she noted a compassionate smile on Maggie’s face.
Outside, she filled a tankard of water and handed it to the parson.
“Thank you.” He paused and motioned for her to join him on a nearby bench. Was he searching for the right words? Reverend Northrop had a sympathetic yet resolute countenance.
“It is a bit unusual, not posting the banns. But under the circumstances, it will do. I have been acquainted with Maggie and Adam Duncan for several years, Matthew Stewart almost as long. They are good Christian folk. Matthew has told me a bit about your situation, and that you, the Duncans, he, and the children would all be best served by his marrying you, and your returning with his family to hi
s farm. Before I ask you what your opinion is on this, I want to tell you that many of the indentured servants have a far more difficult time once they get to the Colonies than they ever did crossing the sea. Many are treated very poorly. I shall not go into all the ills that can befall you. What I would say is that there is many a woman who would count herself fortunate to have Matthew Stewart as her husband. He is a man of strong faith, and I believe he has your best interests as well as his own in mind. If there is some reason that you should not be wedding him, please tell me now.”
She got up from the bench and walked back to the barrel. Turning, she faced the parson. He had kind but questioning eyes. You dare not lie to a man of the cloth. Besides, what options do you really have?
“Nay, Reverend Northrop, there are no legal reasons I cannot wed Mr. Stewart. I realize my choices are few, and what may become of me if I do not wed him may be far worse. I have learned that love and marriage oftentimes have nothing to do with each other.”
The parson nodded. “Many a marriage has begun with little knowledge between the partners, but with work and faith, love can grow.”
Reverend Northrop took her hand in his and prayed for her and Matthew.
Tears ran down her cheeks, but when she opened her eyes, a peace came over her that she had not encountered in a long time.
When they returned inside, Mr. Stewart was waiting for her in the kitchen. The parson glanced at him before leaving in the direction of the main room.
The sheepish look on the farmer’s face would have been laughable under other circumstances. “My apologies, Miss Douglas ... Heather. I should have said something about the marriage ... I mean asked.” Mr. Stewart’s gaze was penetrating. “I hope you will agree, this is best for all of us.”
She studied his face and the way he held himself. Dared she trust her instincts? She had erred before. Might this be part of God’s plan that Sara had spoken of? “Mr. Stewart, you do not lack for advocates. I will agree to marry you and care for your children.”
A Heart Set Free Page 4
