“Yes.” Rachel covered Sadie’s feet. “And I know you want to hear all about my conversation with him yesterday.”
“Sí.” Inez leaned close. “You must tell me everything.”
Rachel glanced out the door. “I have to help Papa in the store soon, but I can tell you this. I lay awake long into the night considering what we discussed.” She motioned for Inez to sit with her on the raised edge of the brick hearth, where a cast-iron pot hung above the embers keeping warm the cinnamon-flavored oat porridge. The room had a cozy atmosphere, with garlic, onions and dried peppers hanging from the low rafters, and the fragrance of other spices blending into an aromatic stew for the senses.
“Mr. Moberly says he can no longer refer to us as mere friends.” Rachel enjoyed the grin creasing Inez’s angular face. “Instead, he insists we are courting.”
Inez’s whole body shook as she clearly tried to contain her mirth. “Did I not tell you?”
Rachel struggled to mute her own laughter, but truth soon seized her. Soberly, she gave Inez the details of the previous day. “How can I receive his courtship until we resolve our differences over slavery and the revolution?” Her heart aching, she studied the maternal concern in Inez’s expression.
“Mistress, this thing I have heard of el patrón. He is a kind master.” She held her hands in a prayerful pose, and her eyes moistened. “If a man must live in la esclavitud, enslavement, then he must pray to belong to such a one as Mr. Moberly.”
The intensity of her words brought tears to Rachel’s eyes. “But why must anyone, man or woman, be enslaved?”
Inez took Rachel’s hands in her soft grasp. “This I do not know. It is simplemente the way of this world.” Her brow furrowed. “Mistress, I know how this matter troubles you, but I cannot advise you. Only Dios can.”
As they rose from the hearth, Rachel embraced Inez. “I know. But you can pray for me.”
“Sí, señorita, that I always do.”
Rachel left the kitchen house and hurried across the patchy grass yard to the store’s back door. She wished for more time with Inez, for no one else could be trusted to keep her deepest secrets. Inez possessed a true servant’s heart, such as the apostles exhorted Christians to have. Rachel could not imagine her friend ever rebelling against her servanthood. Nor, for that matter, could Rachel picture her encouraging the revolution. Although the Spanish woman had seen much injustice in her long life, she accepted it with grace that could come only from God. Yet surely there was a time when one should and must stand up against the forces of evil domination, whether by a slave master or a wicked king.
Once inside the back room, she heard Papa’s cheerful banter, and curiosity propelled her through the burlap curtain and into the shop. At the sight of Major Brigham, she almost withdrew. Before she could retreat, both Papa and the officer turned and saw her.
“Here she is.” Papa beckoned to her. “Come, daughter. Hear the good major’s news.”
Her face burning, Rachel forced a curtsy. “Good morning, sir.” Her feet seemed reluctant to obey as she forced herself across the floor. True, just one week ago, she and this man had helped to save Sadie and Robby. But though Major Brigham and Lady Augusta had attended services yesterday, they had left the church immediately afterward, speaking to no one. If Lady Augusta had pointed her aristocratic nose any higher, she would have fallen over backward wearing that ridiculous wig and enormous bonnet.
“Miss Folger.” Major Brigham nodded briefly, but he also smiled. Rachel was not the fainting sort, else she might have required smelling salts at receiving such courtesy from the man. “I bring you and your father good tidings from Governor Tonyn.”
“The governor?” Rachel grasped for an air of nonchalance, but her squeaking voice no doubt gave her away.
If the officer noticed, he gave no sign of it. “Indeed. You are both invited to the capital for the governor’s ball.” He seemed proud of himself for bestowing such news.
Her jaw slack, Rachel looked at her father, whose chest was puffed out as though he had harpooned a particularly large whale.
“Say something, child.” Papa’s tone chided her. “Do ye not wish to know what brings us such honor?”
Rachel’s belly clenched. Her proud father, once one of Nantucket’s most respected whaling captains, now in obeisance to this officer in that despicable King George’s army.
“Forgive me, Papa. I fear I am stunned into silence.”
“Of course.” Major Brigham smirked. “It is stunning news, after all. But as His Majesty’s representative, the governor endeavors to do everything to make our colonists happy in this vast wilderness.”
Rachel nearly bit her tongue to keep from adding and no doubt to avoid the troubles King George has caused with the northern colonists. “But why invite us?”
“Ah, well.” Major Brigham fingered a nearby bolt of lace and inspected it through his quizzing glass. “I sent word of the fire to His Eminence immediately after the storm. My messenger returned last evening with the news that the governor insists upon rewarding the community’s efforts to extinguish the fire before it destroyed the entire settlement.”
“The storm would have put it out even if we had not lifted a hand.”
“Rachel.” Papa glared at her, fury riding on his brow.
Major Brigham turned his quizzing glass toward Rachel and looked at her up and down. “Perhaps so. Perhaps not. But on the battlefield, the soldier who acquits himself with courage receives his reward, no matter how the battle is won.”
“Well said, sir.” Papa’s stormy frown forbade Rachel to deny it.
“In any event, the governor asked me to choose appropriate representatives, for we cannot have the entire populace sail down to St. Augustine, now can we?” He inspected his glass, blew on it and then brushed it against his red coat. “I could think of no better choice than you and your courageous father. And of course, Mr. Moberly, if he can get away.”
A pleasant shiver swept through Rachel. This changed everything. “Pray tell, sir, exactly when is the ball to take place? For I must have a new gown.” She sent Papa a sweet smile and batted her eyelashes.
Major Brigham snickered at Papa. “The ladies always require a new gown, do they not?”
Papa grimaced, but if he truly resisted the expenditure, Rachel would remind him that Lady Augusta had already seen her blue gown.
“July eighth, two weeks from this Saturday, Miss Folger. You should have plenty of time to prepare.”
As the major left, several customers entered in his wake, casting cautious, curious glances at the officer as they bustled into the store. Taking care of the newcomers’ needs, Rachel and Papa had no chance to talk until Mr. Patch came in to tend the store while they ate their noon meal upstairs. When they sat at the table, she waited in vain for him to address the subject, for he seemed lost in thought as he ate.
“Papa, how can you sit there and devour your dinner when you know I am anxious to hear all Major Brigham said before I entered the shop.”
He looked at her with surprise. “Are ye, then? ’Twasn’t much. Same as he said to ye.” He shoved a spoonful of bean soup into his mouth.
Rachel tapped her foot under the table. There was more, she felt sure of it.
“Come to think…” Papa took a large chunk of bread and dipped it in his broth. “The major also mentioned that some loyalists from South Carolina will no doubt be there. With all the rumpus going on up north, they’re feeling a mite fretful about the dangers to wives and children.” He shrugged. “Not unlike me bringin’ ye down here afore ye got yerself in trouble with those addlepated plans to spy on General Gage.”
She stared down at her plate, her appetite gone. This old argument never solved anything.
“Seems to me,” he said, “ye’d do yerself some good by makin’ friends with some of these English. Where d’ye think yer people came from? England, that’s where.”
Rachel sent a sly look in his direction. “Do you not think your
friendship with Mrs. Winthrop is enough fraternizing with the enemy for both of us?”
“Well, now, if ye recall, ye gave yer approval—” A glint lit his dark brown eyes, and a smug smile formed on his lips. “And I s’pose ye think I’ve not noticed yer moon eyes over Mr. Moberly, nor his lovesick stares in yer direction.”
Heat filled Rachel’s face that had nothing to do with the day’s warmth. “Well. Good. I am glad you noticed. At last.”
To her shock, Papa’s expression sobered and he narrowed his eyes. “Aye. I’ve noticed from the first day he walked into the store that he was smitten with ye. And why wouldn’t he be?” He frowned. “And ye, girl, ye be the one fraternizing with the enemy.” He stood and tossed his napkin to the table. “Finish yer meal. I’ll be downstairs.”
She couldn’t read his expression as he left the room, and her heart ached with confusion. Did he approve or disapprove of Mr. Moberly?
But another thought interrupted her musings. If she did become friends with the English in St. Augustine, perhaps she could learn something of value for the patriot cause. Surely all the ladies would not be snobbish like Lady Augusta, at least not the ones from South Carolina, whose ancestors had settled there long after the Folgers had made Nantucket their home. But, if those ladies had taken on airs, Rachel would simply have to resort to eavesdropping. For was that not the quintessence of spying?
Chapter Seventeen
“An excellent plan, sir.” Frederick leaned against the indigo vat and dabbed sweat from his forehead with a linen handkerchief. “A trip to St. Augustine will be exhilarating.”
Brigham also used his handkerchief, heavy with perfume, but he held it in front of his nose, no doubt to deflect the indigo’s stench. “Of course you understand this will be more than a ball to please the ladies.”
Frederick gave him a slight nod. “Understood.” A weight sat heavy on his chest. Governor Tonyn would be ascertaining the loyalty of East Florida settlers, something that would not have bothered him before he met Miss Folger. Or before he read that vexing pamphlet.
“With John Stuart in the capital, we can expect a full appraisal of his talks with the Choctaw.” Brigham wore a sober expression. “The Indians trust him, and Governor Tonyn will want to spread that influence to all the settlements.”
“Does this mean they’re concerned the Indians will cause trouble here?” Frederick would not inquire whether Brigham had changed his views on the Timucua, who still dwelled in the southeast corner of Bennington Plantation, lest the officer repeat his order for them to leave.
“I suppose His Excellency simply wishes to ensure their loyalty. With traitorous militias active in Georgia and South Carolina, we could use a buffer if they turn their sights southward.”
Frederick grunted his agreement.
At the approach of several slaves leading a horse-drawn wagon filled with linen bags for drying the indigo, he stepped away from the vat. “May I offer you some refreshment?” He waved his hand toward the path to the house.
“Certainly.” As they walked, Brigham continued to fan his handkerchief in front of his nose. “How do you bear it? I would rather smell a stable in need of cleaning than indigo being processed.”
“Ah, well, the king’s navy must have its blue.” Frederick inhaled a hint of magnolia on the fresh easterly breeze and blew out the bad smell from his lungs. Long ago he had resigned himself to the unpleasant elements of managing the plantation.
“Well said, sir.” Brigham eyed him. “In the future, I shall endeavor to more fully appreciate those of you who must do such distasteful work for king and country.” His light tone and easy candor seemed sincere and quite different from his previous arrogance.
Encouraged by his friendliness, Frederick ventured a request. “Milord, I would be remiss if I did not request an invitation to the governor’s ball for my cousin. That is, if you do not consider me out of order.”
“Not at all. I had intended to include Mrs. Winthrop in my invitation. I know Lady Augusta will appreciate her company. My gallant little wife has endured much. She will be put out in the extreme when she learns the shopkeeper and his daughter will be along.”
“Indeed?” Frederick coughed to hide his excitement. “Why would they be invited?”
“Ostensibly to honor them for their courage during the fire. But of course, Tonyn will be interested in learning of their loyalties. His letter conveyed his desire to meet strong leaders in the community, men like Folger with experience in leadership, the type who might foment rebellion such as happened in Boston.” His eyes gleamed with sudden feeling. “Boston. Now that’s the place to be. What I wouldn’t give to be on the front lines instead of in this remote wilderness. In fact, before I even arrived here, I requested a transfer to Massachusetts. And I have every intention of asking the governor to use his influence to make that happen.” He shrugged. “Of course, Lady Augusta will be disappointed.”
As they passed the slave quarters, relief settled into Frederick over his decision not to keep his promise to the lady. If Brigham was determined to serve where the action occurred, so be it. Frederick would support his choice.
“In fact,” Brigham said, “I think it best to send her back to London. She will be happier there. I cannot tell her until I receive my orders, of course.” He tilted his head and lowered an eyebrow, inviting confidentiality.
“Of course. I’ll not mention it to anyone.”
They reached the house, and when Caddy pulled open the front door, Frederick followed his guest inside and called for refreshment.
Brigham’s relaxed posture revealed that he felt comfortable here, but in his eyes Frederick read the longing for a future in another place. Pity. Now that the man had become more sociable, he might have proven to be a good friend. As for Lady Augusta, no doubt she would be glad to leave this wilderness, even though it would mean separating from her husband. And, in time she would be grateful for her husband’s anticipated elevation. Then she could sail through the finest London drawing rooms with her head held high, deferring to no one and never having to socialize with those whom she considered rustics.
For his part, Frederick regarded their marriage as a good one, worthy of emulation, despite the couple’s differences. Perhaps on the excursion to St. Augustine, he could observe how Brigham planned to sway his wife to his views, for that might prove useful in Frederick’s own marriage some day. A marriage that might come about later rather than sooner if he and Miss Folger found their opinions too conflicting.
But then, Mother and Father often held different opinions, and their deep affection for one another was obvious to any who would see it. Yes, that was it. Couples must expect to have differences. It was the duty of the man to set the course for the marriage and the duty of the wife to follow him. As long as their love was constant, Frederick need not be troubled by Miss Folger’s disagreements with him regarding the futile rebellion or the necessity of slaveholding. Nor need he feel forced to reveal all to her. As he’d seen with Major Brigham and Lady Augusta, there were some things women could not comprehend and therefore did not need to know.
“Señorita Rachel.” Inez’s voice held a note of humor. “If you do not stop lifting the lid, the lamb will never cook.”
“Yes, I know.” Rachel replaced the lid, then removed her apron and hung it on a wall peg. “You know when to add the vegetables.” She counted tasks on her fingers. “The pies and bread are baked, the butter fresh-churned, the tea and lemonade are—”
“Please, señorita.” Inez took her arm and gently tugged her toward the door. “I have cooked much food in my life, and no one complains about its taste.” She tucked a loose strand of hair into Rachel’s coiffure. “See, you are going to ruin my hard work.”
Rachel squeezed Inez’s hand. “Thank you for giving up another Sunday morning.”
Inez’s eyes shone. “It is my gift to Dios. Now, go to church. Pray for us. And we will pray for your nice dinner for el patrón.”
With a l
augh, Rachel hurried across the yard just as Papa emerged from the back door.
“Papa, you look quite handsome. Mrs. Winthrop will be impressed.” Mischief got the better of her. “That is, if you mind your manners and do not slurp your stew.”
“Is that how you show respect, girl?” With his chin lifted and his broad-brimmed felt hat cocked at a rakish angle, he put his fists at his waist as a breeze caught his coat and blew it wide like a cape.
Rachel’s breath caught. How truly handsome he looked—as grand as when he had stood on the quarterdeck of his ship shouting orders to his whaling crew above the roar of ocean waves. How she longed to throw her arms around him and kiss his fresh-shaven cheek. But he would only tell her to belay such foolishness.
“Is this better?” She gave him an exaggerated curtsy.
“My lady, may I be so bold?” He offered his arm, and the glint in his eyes revealed his merry disposition.
“Yes, good sir, you may.” She set her hand on his arm, feeling the strength that had propelled countless thousands of harpoons. “Papa, I am pleased you and Mrs. Winthrop have formed a friendship. Today Mr. Moberly and I will be discussing our friendship further.” She dared not say courtship. “Will you give your approval?”
“Ye know yer mind, Rachel. I’ll not deny ye yer happiness, even as I never denied Susanna hers.”
“But the other day, you seemed concerned about it. You said I was making friends with the enemy. You, who care nothing for the revolution.”
She felt him stiffen for the briefest moment.
“I would not have yer heart be broken, child.” His tone was soothing but sad. “Do not give it away too freely. But when ye do, give it entirely.”
Happy tears stung her eyes. That sounded very near a blessing to her.
As the church came into sight and parishioners gathered from around the settlement, two thoughts struck her. First, Papa, always so straightforward before, had not answered her question about making friends with the enemy. And second, with no time to question him, she must set aside her concerns and prepare her heart for worship.
Love Thine Enemy Page 14
