“Ah, well.” Papa dug into his porridge. “That was a motley gaggle of geese in Moberly’s barnyard. More than one had no idea of how to comport himself.”
Heat filled her face as she pushed her overcooked eggs around the plate. If Papa learned what happened with Mr. Moberly, she could not guess what he might do. “But, Papa, I noticed you had no trouble engaging the attention of Mrs. Winthrop.”
Lifting his coffee cup, Papa washed down his last bite and seemed to focus on some distant point. “Aye, she’s a true lady. All manners and all sincerity. The genuine article.”
Rachel stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Why, captain, have ye formed an attachment with the lady?” She imitated Papa’s inflections.
Papa shot her a guilty glance. “O’course not.” He blustered and mumbled under his breath. “Can’t a man compliment a lady without being accused of impropriety?”
“But it wouldn’t be improper, Papa.” Rachel had long hoped he would find a suitable companion. “You’re both widowed. And if you’re both agreeable to it, why not keep company?”
Papa set one elbow on the table and scratched his fresh-shaven chin. “Hmm. Well, now. I don’t know. Perhaps ’twas mere courtesy that urged her to take my arm when I offered it. I’d not have ye ashamed of me for being an old fool.”
“I’d never be ashamed of you.” Rachel patted his hand. “You have my permission to call on Mrs. Winthrop.” The instant she spoke, she wondered whether the genteel lady would consider herself above Papa. Lord, please do not let me advise Papa amiss. Let my heart break, but not his—again.
“Well, now, let’s not be hasty.” He fussed with his cup. “I s’pose I could see if Mrs. Winthrop treats us with the same courtesy today.” He repositioned his napkin in his lap. “Well, now, if I go calling on her, ye must come with me. If I’ve misunderstood, she’ll be none the wiser, for she’ll think ye initiated the call and I’m only along to protect ye as ye travel.”
“Oh.” Rachel could not think of going back to the plantation, especially unannounced.
“What is it, girl?” Papa eyed her. “You disapprove? Say it right out.”
“Nothing, Papa. Nothing at all.”
“Well, then.” Papa tossed his napkin on the table. “Let’s be off.” He stood and moved toward the hall. “Come along, now. We don’t want to be late.”
Delighted with his change of attitude about attending services, Rachel nonetheless followed him slowly. At the prospect of seeing Mr. Moberly again within the hour, she found her heart misbehaving once more, and she had no idea how to control it.
Walking beside Papa, she breathed in the fresh pine and sweet magnolia fragrances of the warm, rain-washed June morning. They skirted a few puddles spotting the road, but most of the previous night’s showers had disappeared into the sandy soil or run down into the many creeks flowing through the hilly landscape.
The small rough-wood church had been built on a sturdy base of coquina, the same foundation supporting Mr. Moberly’s plantation house. The granite quarries of Massachusetts offered no better foundation stone than this.
Rachel recalled the verses in Matthew that spoke of a wise man building his house upon a rock, and she sent up a silent prayer that Papa would begin to build his life on Jesus Christ this very morning. Old Reverend Johnson might have an unfriendly wife, but he seemed to possess a true concern for souls. Rachel had been pleased to see Papa talk so easily with him. If the vicar expounded a clear revelation of Christ’s love and sacrifice, how could Papa resist?
At the church door, her heart began to race as she followed Papa inside. The half-filled sanctuary held an assortment of people. Soldiers and indentured servants sat behind the free white tradesmen, and black slaves stood in the galleries above. Instead of boxed family pews like those in Boston churches, the room was furnished with benches that held perhaps a hundred souls, far fewer than Rachel’s home church. Yet the familiar peace she had always experienced when she entered a house of worship now filled her chest. Strangely, the peace intensified when she spied Mr. Moberly seated near the front with Mrs. Winthrop and Mr. Corwin.
Perhaps he sensed her gaze, for he turned, and a soft smile graced his lips. Now Rachel almost stopped breathing, and she turned her eyes toward the cross above the altar. She would not permit this man’s presence to intrude upon her time of worship. But as she moved into the row behind Mr. Moberly and his companions, she feared that, instead of worshipping, her pious soul would spend the next two hours at war with her disobedient heart.
Soon Reverend Johnson entered, accompanied by other church leaders to assist him. Dressed in pale brown cotton cassocks with little ornamentation, the four men moved through the holy rites with the ease of those used to serving together.
Rachel followed the liturgy in her prayer book, holding it for Papa to read along. Yet her gaze kept straying toward Mr. Moberly, who never cast a second glance in her direction.
As Rachel had hoped, the vicar gave a brief but wisdom-filled homily concerning the simple path to salvation, summing up his discourse by reciting John 3:16. While he spoke, Rachel prayed Papa would comprehend the love of God. She could not bear to think of his perishing for want of faith, and promised the Lord she would endeavor to do everything to win his soul to Christ, though Papa rarely listened to her opinions.
When the last prayer had been spoken and Reverend Johnson had pronounced the benediction, her thoughts flew to the awkward situation sure to erupt when she and Mr. Moberly stepped out into the heat of the East Florida sun.
Chapter Nine
“A fine message, Reverend Johnson.” Frederick shook hands with the vicar while watching to see if he could reach Miss Folger and her father before they walked too far away. Running after her would be most unseemly for the settlement’s magistrate, yet Frederick’s legs ached to do just that. He forced himself to maintain propriety and bowed to the vicar’s wife. “Mrs. Johnson, you look lovely, as always.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you, Mr. Moberly. And thank you again for a delightful party last evening. Lady Augusta was the very picture of charm and elegance, and I was so delighted to be introduced to her. You simply must have another party because—”
“Mrs. Johnson, what a pretty bonnet.” Cousin Lydie stepped to Frederick’s side. “Do tell me the name of your London milliner. I shall ask Mr. Moberly to order something for me.”
The younger woman blushed and fell into conversation with Cousin Lydie, apparently forgetting the wonders of Lady Augusta.
Frederick moved away, wishing he could kiss his dear cousin. Their talk last night had resulted in a plan to rectify his misdeed, but Mrs. Johnson almost ruined it.
To his relief, the Folgers had not wandered far from the church. They stood talking with the innkeeper and his family in the shade of an oak tree. Squinting in the morning sun, Frederick approached the group and waited for their conversation to conclude.
“’Tis the Lord’s truth, miss.” The innkeeper tipped his hat to Rachel. “Having you and the captain stayin’ at me inn has been a blessin’.” He bent his head toward Papa.
“Thank ye, sir,” Papa said.
“Thank you, Mr. Crump.” Rachel searched for some compliment to return. “Mrs. Crump, we are so grateful for the clean sheets every other week. That is a special kindness to your guests. You and Sadie have enough work.”
The heavy, red-faced woman beamed. “’Twas a special kindness fer you, miss. Don’t do that for ever’one.”
“You have my gratitude.” Rachel felt a sting of remorse for her heartless thoughts about this hardworking couple. In truth, they were the salt of the earth, the same sort that comprised the militia back home. She regarded the stout, red-haired innkeeper, but his clean-shaven face precluded his being the red-bearded patriot. Or perhaps not. Perhaps a disguise?
“Mr. Crump, I am curious.” Rachel glanced at Papa but proceeded anyway. “Have you had any visits from that patriot, uh, the agitator who has been
spreading news of the revolution taking place up north?”
“Rachel.” Beside her, Papa exhaled a lengthy sigh.
“No, miss,” Mr. Crump said. “He’d find no welcome at the Wild Boar, and no doubt he knows it.” His cross frown and grumbling tone underlined his words.
Mrs. Crump put a plump hand on her hip. “He’d better keep his ideas to hisself, or I’ll set on ’im with my rolling pin.”
Mr. Crump looked beyond Rachel and jerked to attention. “Well, Mrs. Crump, ’tis time to quit gabblin’. We’ve a meal to serve the boarders.” He tipped his hat. “Cap’n Folger, good day t’ya. Miss Folger, you can be sure we’ll miss yer kind face onc’t ya’ve moved.”
“Thank you, sir.” Rachel gave a little wave of her hand while a familiar ache of disappointment filled her. She lifted a prayer that she could soon find just one person, any person, who agreed with her sentiments regarding the revolution.
She turned to find Mr. Moberly standing not two yards away, a frown on his handsome face. A strange shiver swept down her spine. Had he heard her question the Crumps?
“Good morning, Mr. Folger, Miss Folger.” Mr. Moberly swept off his broad-brimmed hat and bowed, but still no smile touched his lips.
“Good morning, sir,” Mr. Folger said in a hearty tone.
Miss Folger’s curtsy looked unsteady, and she quickly stared down at her prayer book rather than meet his gaze. He wished he could address her in particular, wished he could give her a reassuring smile, but that would spoil the plan.
“Miss Folger.” Cousin Lydie appeared beside Frederick. “How charming you look. I’m pleased to see you this morning. Did you enjoy the service?”
“Yes, indeed.” Miss Folger bestowed a pretty smile on Cousin Lydie.
Frederick yearned to be the recipient of such radiance. He hoped his attempt to kiss her had not destroyed forever the chance that she might smile at him again.
“Mr. Folger,” Cousin Lydie said, “may I borrow your daughter for a moment?”
“Aye, madam.” His eyes wide, Mr. Folger nodded. “Of course.”
She looped her arm in Miss Folger’s. “My dear, you must see the garden behind the vicarage.”
As the two ladies walked away, Frederick noticed Mr. Folger’s gaze followed Cousin Lydie. Curious.
“Well, sir,” Frederick said, “I suppose you miss Captain Templeton.”
Mr. Folger seemed reluctant to turn his attention away from the ladies. “Aye, my nephew’s more like a son to me.” He now focused on Frederick. “And we thank ye for sendin’ along the oranges and lemons with him. Scurvy can be a blight on any voyage, but we’ll not worry about that striking the crew due to yer generosity.”
Relief swept through Frederick. The young lady’s father seemed unaware of his misstep the previous evening. “And I am grateful to the captain for taking letters to my family. They do not hear from me often enough to suit them, so they will be pleasantly surprised. So you see, we have done each other a favor.” Especially if Templeton kept his promise to tell Father of Frederick’s successes.
“As befits a budding partnership, do ye not think?”
“Yes, I agree. In these wilds, and troubled times, one can never have too many friends.”
“True, true.” Mr. Folger stared off toward the path the ladies had taken. “I think I’d like to see that garden. Do ye think the ladies’d mind me comin’ alongside?”
“Surely not.” Frederick shook his head. “In fact, I’ll go with you.” All according to plan.
Rachel reminded herself that Mr. Moberly had smiled at her in church, but just now he barely addressed her. Without doubt, he heard her speaking to the Crumps and caught her use of the word patriot. Surely that would bring to an end any interest he might have in her. She tried not to care. After all, he was an Englishman in authority. Hardly the right man to attract her interest. And yet…
She yielded to Mrs. Winthrop’s gentle guidance as they walked to the backyard of the vicarage. Mrs. Johnson’s lush fenced garden bloomed with an abundance of vegetables and flowers.
“Reaping two garden harvests a year will always seem odd to me,” Mrs. Winthrop said. “In most parts of England, we complete our single harvest by mid-October.”
“Boston is much the same.” Seeing the corn and squash, Rachel felt a pang of hunger. But dinner could wait. Mrs. Winthrop’s interest in her filled an empty spot food could never satisfy. Beyond her own concerns, she thought of Papa and prayed he and the lady might establish a friendship. With Papa’s lack of interest in the revolution, he would have no conflict of beliefs with an English lady.
They wandered arm in arm around the garden’s border, peering over the fence to see tiny melons with withered blossoms still attached, string beans ready to harvest, and thumb-sized green tomatoes clinging to their vines.
“Ah, there ye are, ladies.” Papa limped toward them across the grass, Mr. Moberly following a few steps behind. “We thought we’d like to take in the garden with ye.”
Mr. Moberly’s expression remained sober, and he bent over the squash plants with apparent interest. Rachel decided she must act as if nothing were amiss.
“Papa, we must have a garden like this behind the store.”
“Indeed, daughter, many things bloom well here.” Papa gazed not at the garden but at Mrs. Winthrop. He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Winthrop, will ye join us for a repast at the inn?”
Rachel winced, knowing what the effort cost him. She prayed he would not be rebuffed.
But like a flower blossoming in the rain, Mrs. Winthrop’s whole face broke into a wide smile, and a delicate blush touched her ivory cheeks. “How kind of you to ask, sir. But I fear my duties at home demand my attention straightaway. Perhaps another time?”
Disappointment flickered briefly in his eyes. “Ye have but to name the day and time.”
Now Rachel’s spirits lifted. She glanced at Mr. Moberly to see his response. Although he continued to study the garden, she could see his smile in profile, and contentment filled her.
Soon he turned to face them. “Cousin Lydie, are you ready to go home?”
“Yes, dear.” She did not remove her gaze from Papa.
“Then we must take our leave.” Mr. Moberly bowed to Rachel. “Miss Folger. Mr. Folger.” Mrs. Winthrop stepped over and squeezed Rachel’s hand. “I shall see you soon.”
Wondering at her remark, Rachel took Papa’s arm and watched the two depart. Perhaps she had been wrong about Mr. Moberly hearing her remarks to Mr. Crump.
As she and Papa began their trek across the lawn, a long black snake slithered through the grass and almost ran over her shoe. She jumped back with a gasp. “Oh, my.”
Papa gripped her hand. “Stand still till it’s gone, daughter.”
“Harmless, I assure you.” Mr. Corwin walked around the corner of the vicarage, swinging a fine ebony cane. “They keep the garden free of rats and other pests. But they certainly can surprise a person.”
Rachel willed away a shudder. “And of course, one must make certain they’re not poisonous.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Corwin swished the grass with his cane. “I say, Mr. Folger, may I speak with your lovely daughter for a moment?”
Papa stared at Rachel, his eyes twinkling. “Well, daughter?”
Her face burning almost as much as her curiosity, she nodded. Papa limped away toward the road.
“Yes, Mr. Corwin?” The overhead sun burned through her bonnet, making Rachel dizzy, and she hoped this would not take long.
He lifted an eyebrow, and a wily expression crossed his handsome face. “I’d like to discuss Moberly’s intentions toward you.”
Chapter Ten
Rachel stood aside as stocky Mr. Patch carried her trunk up the stairs, his shoulders bent to the task. The sweat pouring from him pushed her back, but her heart warmed toward this former member of Papa’s whaling crew, who now helped with the store.
“Please put it in my room.” She motioned toward the door.
> “Aye, miss.” He placed the heavy trunk on the floor with care. “That’s the last of it.”
After he left, she surveyed the boxes piled throughout the four rooms, and sadness filled her. Once she unpacked, once she set Mother’s vase on the mantel and her porcelain tableware in the china cabinet, this would be home, whether she liked it or not. She had no energy to start the task. Life would soon become very dull, Mr. Corwin’s daft remark notwithstanding. If Mr. Moberly were smitten with her, why had he barely spoken to her after church?
“Rachel, come quick, daughter.” Papa’s voice boomed up the stairs. “Ye’re needed down here.” The joviality in his tone eased her sadness.
“Coming, Papa.” She glanced in the tiny mirror over her bureau, brushed back a few stray hairs, and hurried downstairs. “Yes, sir?” She stopped short. “Mrs. Winthrop.”
The lady stood across the counter from Papa, but no wares had been laid out. Instead, she held a bouquet of fragrant white flowers.
“How nice to see you again so soon, ma’am.” Rachel’s face warmed.
“And it is a pleasure to see you, as well, Miss Folger. I hope you do not mind my calling at this early hour, but one does best to travel before the day’s worst heat.” She handed the flowers to Rachel. “From my garden.”
“How lovely. Thank you.” Rachel breathed in the large blossoms’ sweet smell as she glanced at the empty counter again. This truly was a social call. “I am so pleased to see you.” A nervous twinge tickled her insides. Did Mr. Moberly know his cousin had come here? She smelled the flowers again. “What pretty, sweet-scented flowers. What are they?”
“Gardenias. The bushes were recently imported from China. Isn’t the fragrance lovely?” Mrs. Winthrop leaned close to Rachel. “Miss Folger, if I am not being too forward, I thought I might help you arrange your apartment.”
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