Tidewater Bride

by Laura Frantz

  His expression eased as she apologized. “I’ve come on a matter of business. ’Tis customary to smoke, aye?”

  Reaching out, he extracted the pipe from her fingers. “Unbecoming to a gentlewoman though undeniably amusing.”

  Shay watched the charade with a grin as Xander examined the new pipe, holding it aloft in admiration, complimenting the design before taking a draw himself. His eyes met hers again, more silver than blue in the late afternoon’s shifting shadows. “You have fine taste in pipes, Mistress Hopewell.”

  “And you”—she gestured to his collection atop the mantel—“hardly need another, Master Renick.”

  The game momentarily forgotten, he drew again on the pipe and continued to study her in earnest. “What is this business you bring me?”

  With an aplomb born of years of store tending, Selah glanced at her brother. “Give us a few minutes of privacy, please.”

  At once Shay went into the hall and out the front door, the dogs following. A closing thud signaled they were alone.

  Selah looked to her shoes, willing her galloping heart to a trot. “I am here on another’s behalf.”

  “Cecily Ward’s?”

  She nodded, focusing on the smoke rings rather than his bearded face. “I need not tell you why, astute as you are.”

  Another draw, the pipe stem between perfect teeth. “Mistress Ward fancies me for a husband.”

  “Bluntly put, aye.” She silently chafed at the prospect. Could he tell? “Pray, what is your answer, sir?”

  “Nay is my answer.”

  Nay? Profound relief turned to gall at his next utterance.

  “I have in mind another bride.”

  This time her eyes went wide. Another? Who?

  She dared not pry. Her boldness over Cecily was enough. He was watching her again, clearly enjoying this exchange. Or was he simply flattered by Cecily’s audacious offer?

  “What shall I tell her?” The question was as tart as Cecily herself.

  “The truth.”

  “But I do not know it,” Selah said, unable to kill her curiosity. “Who is she?”

  He ran a hand over his jaw. “You have a streak of your father’s persistence, asking me such.”

  “And you would rather I beat about the bush?”

  “No one need know the object of my affections.”

  “I would hope she does.”

  He ceased smoking to admire the pipe again. “I confess I know not her heart.”

  “But ’tis not Cecily Ward who moves you.”

  He shook his head, removing all doubt. Excusing himself, he went to the front door and called for Shay to resume their game. Flummoxed, Selah went in search of Widow Brodie, the tobacco bitter on her tongue.

  8

  Widow Brodie set a lovely table. A linen cloth was anchored by a vase of cowslips, buttery yellow and so fragrant the entire dining room was sweetened. The herbed, prepared fish reclined on a pewter platter amid cobalt-blue porcelain bowls heaped with early garden fare. Despite Selah’s warning glance, Shay reached out and snuck a bite from a stack of corncakes fried to crisp perfection. A pot of freshly salted butter and fig preserves completed the feast.

  But first they bowed their heads, and a scandalously short grace was said.

  “Come, Lord Jesus, be Thou our guest, and let Thy gifts to us be blessed.” Xander’s voice echoed in the large, mostly empty room. “Amen.”

  Selah picked up a two-tined fork, its handle of ivory and piqué work unfamiliar. Never had she eaten here. Only Shay and Father had. Xander came mostly to their table, though not for many months after he’d overheard her cross words when he returned alone from England.

  Widow Brodie seemed to relish their company. Was her melancholy over the lack of a mistress on its way to being remedied? Though Xander and Shay kept up a merry discourse, supper seemed riven with new tension about the unknown lady of his choice. A miss from Middle Plantation or Point Comfort or Bermuda Hundred? Selah’s mind whirled with possibilities as she dined.

  “’Tis good the day is long and the moon full for your return home,” Widow Brodie told her.

  “Summer eves hold a special magic.” Selah admired a west-facing window overlooking rolling hills. “The sunsets of late seem like fire in the sky.”

  “Tell me, is your private matter with my nephew settled?”

  Selah took a spoonful of peas. Not to my satisfaction. “For the moment, aye.”

  “You should come oftener to Rose-n-Vale. This house is suited for company, and with the new wing we shall have cause for entertainment.”

  Selah took another bite, content to listen. Perhaps all this expansion meant Oceanus could come home for good.

  “Soon a portico shall be under way. Alexander has drawn up plans with the brick mason.” Widow Brodie looked fondly at her nephew. “How far we have come from Virginia’s earliest days. I’m sure you’ve heard your share of your father’s stories. I can’t recall if he came on the first or second supply.”

  “The second supply, aboard the Sea Venture, sailing straight into a hurricane before landing in the Summer Isles.” Selah took a second serving of fish. “I still marvel that Father survived. I’m glad Mother was spared and arrived later on the Blessing. Perhaps you were wisest of all, having only recently made Virginia your home.”

  A grieved nod. “So many have been buried on these sandy shores. Sometimes I long to return to a more civilized Scotland. But a widow with naught but a nephew is destined to remain right here.”

  Selah lowered her voice, eyes on Shay and Xander deep in conversation and oblivious to their low chatter. “There is your great-nephew.”

  “Oceanus, aye. I oft wonder how the lad is faring. If his father was to remarry . . .” Widow Brodie cleared her throat. “But ’tis a mighty big if, I fear.”

  Should she allay Widow Brodie’s fears? Tell her Xander’s revelation in the study? Pressing a serviette to her mouth, Selah swallowed the urge to share what seemed for her ears only. At table’s end, Shay was regaling Xander with his fishing exploits, in which he caught the sturgeon asleep on top of the water and engaged in a watery wrestle till the hook was set.

  “I shall take you fire-fishing,” Xander told him. “I learned it from the Powhatans firsthand. We’ll fit a canoe with a clay hearth raised within two inches of gunwale height. The fire can easily be seen underwater. Then we’ll pole the canoe with javelins, ready to spear any fish that surface. Woe to the sturgeons that follow our light.”

  Xander spun quite a tale. Shay hung on every syllable.

  The dining room door opened and Cook entered carrying dessert, a maize-raisin pudding still warm from the bake oven. Steaming cassina was poured, the Naturals’ “black drink,” which some colonists favored. Conversation dwindled, cicadas chorusing through an open window, the drapes stirred by a sultry breeze.

  Though the meal had been delicious, the mood pleasant, Selah felt increasingly sore. Now she must ponder her reply to Cecily. And Cecily, ever prickly, would not take Xander’s rejection kindly.

  She spooned her dessert to murmurs of “rich” and “flavorful,” yet hers seemed tasteless given the leaden lump in her middle. Quietly she waged an unsuccessful war not to look Xander’s way without reason. She could hardly fault Cecily for sending her upriver. What woman wouldn’t be bestirred by the sight of such a man, bearded and broad of shoulder, as hospitable as he was capable at plantation managing, and dealing peace with the Naturals besides?

  As supper finished she was only too ready to say, “We must be away. The hospitality of Rose-n-Vale is much appreciated.”

  Within moments they were out the rear door fronting the river, Xander accompanying them. The sunset was fading, ribbons of rose gold streaking the darkening sky. Shay ran ahead with the dogs, leaving her and Xander to walk down the wide, grassy hill in tongue-tied silence. When Selah stumbled on uneven ground, Xander’s hand shot out to steady her.

  “Would you like for me to talk to Mistress Ward personally a
nd spare you the trouble?” he asked. “I’ve a matter to discuss with your father by sennight’s end.”

  “I admire your willingness. But our guest is not of the temperament to delay and will likely await your answer tonight. Though I shall say nothing of the woman whose hand you hope to have.” She took a steadying breath. “Think of all the idle tongues of James Towne wagging about Xander Renick’s would-be bride.”

  “And yours shall make one less, God be thanked.”

  He helped her into the canoe, wading into the water to send them off, unmindful of his wet boots. Ruby barked as if bidding them farewell, and Shay laughed, the merry sound carrying over the water. Refusing to look back, Selah took up her oar, slicing the water while piecing together the scant facts before her. Xander had said little about his trip to the Naturals. Might he be considering another Powhatan bride? Might it even be one of Mattachanna’s sisters?

  He’d had critics aplenty when he’d informed the council of his intentions to wed the first time. The letter he’d penned to Virginia’s deputy governor had captured her attention and her heart when her father showed it to her privately. Why, years later, did such impassioned wording woo her?

  It is she to whom my heart and best thoughts are and have been a long time so entangled, and enthralled in so intricate a labyrinth that I could not unwind myself thereout.

  Sadly, Selah recalled the mean-spirited tittle-tattle she’d overheard in James Towne just as readily. “’Twas an alliance made to further Master Renick’s own ambitious ends so the Powhatans would leave him be and yet aid him in cultivating the tobacco that became the pride of the colony.”

  She felt a little start when Shay said, “Why are you sighing, Sister?”

  “The night is beautiful, is it not?” She paddled with more vigor, determined to return her thoughts to their proper place. “Worth sighing over, truly.”

  The river bore the moon’s full reflection mightily, the smooth sheen of water more gold than black. A multitude of stars blinked nearly as bright.

  A true lovers’ moon.

  9

  To Selah’s relief, Cecily was asleep upon their return from Rose-n-Vale, still a bit worn down by her recent fever. But the next morning her florid face bespoke much once Selah informed her that her hopes had gone awry. “So Master Renick refuses me.”

  “He has sound reason, I am sure,” Selah told her, heating an iron to press one of her father’s shirts. “Goodman Wentz is still calling, is he not? A worthy suitor after Goodman Peacock’s failed pursuit.”

  Cecily stayed sullen. “A far cry from the master of Rose-n-Vale.”

  Pressing the hot iron to the cloth, Selah curbed her exasperation. Many of these brides were a spirited bunch, unlike their more restrained British sisters, with far more rights and a voice here than in their homeland. Helion Laurent was right about that.

  Forging ahead, Selah said, “I’ve heard you laughing with Goodman Wentz in the parlor. A man of merry temperament bodes well. An industrious planter too. And not overfond of drink as many are.”

  “His mother must live with us.”

  “She is a kind soul, mostly deaf and almost blind.”

  “I sometimes wonder if he courts me mostly as a caretaker to her.”

  “Widow Wentz is very old and needs looking after, as many do in James Towne.”

  “Better that than a half-blood son, I suppose. I heard prattle the Renick heir might be coming back.”

  Selah stared at her, and the hot iron gave off a seared linen smell. She grabbed it free. “Oh?”

  “My friend Felicity, now Goody Shaw, told me so. Her husband’s brother is a sea captain who vows the boy’s passage has been paid.”

  “The timing is right.” Selah resumed her ironing. “Sailing is far preferable in good weather months.”

  Still, she couldn’t hide her surprise. Yet didn’t this news dovetail with what Xander had told her about seeking a bride? And might it be Xander’s reason for meeting with her father? To announce his decision to remarry? Despite her best intentions, the small blister that had begun in Xander’s study began to fester.

  Be done with such foolishness, Selah. Think well of the man and this felicitous situation that you, too, will benefit from. Have you not wanted a reunion with the child since he was taken from Mattachanna’s lifeless arms? Haven’t you lamented Xander’s lack of a wife, a mother to his son, a mistress at Rose-n-Vale?

  Immediately she righted herself and returned to pressing another shirt as Izella brought more dried laundry.

  “Enough of my matrimonial prospects.” Cecily leaned in conspiratorially. “What about that man I saw you speaking with in the marketplace?”

  Selah frowned. “Helion Laurent? The physic?”

  “A Frenchman, oui! He is quite the dandy—and seems quite taken with you.”

  Selah shook her head. “He is taken with none but himself, I fear. Laurent is as full of prickles as a porcupine, and I am quilled every time I draw near.”

  “On your part, perhaps. Not his. He seems to enjoy bantering with you. Tell me more about him.”

  Selah’s lips parted as a dozen faults flashed to mind. ’Twas sheer work to give a favorable accounting.

  A hypocrite with his mouth destroyeth his neighbor.

  The timely Scripture tempered her answer if not her dislike. “I know very little. Laurent is French born but trained at the College of Physicians in London. ’Tis said he is the best swordsman in Virginia.” And rumored to have killed half a dozen men in duels on his native soil. “He has been in James Towne but a few years and is a great favorite of Governor Harvey.”

  “I suppose a gentleman and physic wouldn’t marry a middling woman like myself.” Cecily shook out a wrinkled petticoat. “How I tire of this matrimonial game. The most eligible men are now wed, so I suppose I mustn’t dally any longer lest Phineas Wentz look elsewhere.”

  “I look forward to calling on you as Goodwife Wentz, then.”

  Done with ironing, Selah looked out the open doorway, past Izella scrubbing laundry, beyond her mother’s bent back as she gathered herbs for supper, and over the paling fence to see Xander riding down the road toward James Town. Her tangled feelings, having been schooled into submission, again unraveled at the sight of him.

  Would he meet with her father at the store? As it was wash day, she’d stayed home but now found herself wishing she were behind the scarred counter. Her father would be full of news by suppertime, no doubt, if Xander did not swear him to secrecy.

  As she thought it, Cecily all but burst out the front door and stormed into the street, nearly sending Xander’s mount rearing. Selah felt a warm rush from the roots of her fair hair to her feet. What reason could Cecily possibly have to behave so unbecomingly? Yet Xander seemed to take it all in stride. He removed his hat and smiled down at her, from all appearances unmoved, as if used to women rushing him as he rode.

  In a few moments Cecily returned, flushed but smiling. “I asked Master Renick his opinion of Phineas Wentz.”

  “And?” Selah all but held her breath.

  “‘A most excellent choice, merry of heart and steadfast of faith.’”

  “A sterling recommendation.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps tonight I shall accept his proposal.”

  Cecily’s and Phineas’s laughter floated from the open parlor door. The rest of them lingered at table, Ustis looking especially grave. Surely this didn’t bode well after Xander’s visit. Usually his company left Ustis jolly. Selah glanced at the ebony and gilt table clock that foretold eight. It had been a long day awaiting any news.

  To her great concern, her father’s high flush and glassy eyes hinted at the return of the malady that had plagued him all winter. Candace was being overly solicitous, fetching him this or that, including his pipe and tobacco pouch, while Izella brought a light.

  “Business was brisk in the forenoon, a great many seeking hilling hoes and scythes and such. Never enough spring tools.” Ustis smiled thinly as he lit h
is pipe. “But I am most concerned with Xander’s visit. His news affects us all.”

  Candace took a seat, hands cupped around her tea. Shay looked up from his cards, his game of All Fours of less interest than what their father had to say. Bracing herself, Selah took up her knitting. Their new kitten had gotten into the basket, making a snarl of her yarn.

  “’Tis with a heavy heart that I inform you Xander will soon resign from the governor’s council.”

  Selah paused from untangling her yarn. ’Twas all she could do not to cry out a protest.

  “But does not that give Governor Harvey and his faction more room to enact poor laws and act ill-advisedly?” Candace asked. “Ride roughshod over those of us who see reason?”

  “Aye, but Xander is done with petty politics. Done with sitting in meetings where in the end honest men have no say and Harvey’s arrogance and aggression rule the day.” Ustis took a long draw on his pipe, then coughed. “He believes the governor may even create a monopoly on tobacco trade. Harvey is threatening to invalidate the land titles of any who oppose him.”

  “Is he now?” Candace showed rare ire. “And alienate Virginia’s foremost tobacco grower, whose exports are said to keep the entire colony afloat?”

  “There is a move afoot to thrust Governor Harvey from office before such happens.”

  Selah’s needles stilled. “I shall pray to that end. But I question the wisdom of Xander pulling out at so needful a time. We can be sure Harvey and his minions shall have a heyday without him.”

  “Xander will resign from Virginia’s council but continue as a member of the House of Burgesses for his own shire. His aim is to effect change from the ground up, not the top down as Harvey does.” Ustis held his pipe aloft. “But that is not the end of it.”

  Every eye was pinned on him, the tension in the room thick. Selah felt she would burst with anticipation. Nay, dread. A wedding announcement?

  “As you know, all of Virginia is on tenterhooks, fearing another outbreak of warfare. The few years’ peace that was had when Mattachanna became Lady Rebecca is broken, and the tribes are becoming more alarmed by the great number of colonists arriving without end. In an unusual gesture of goodwill, the Powhatans have offered to send some of their children to live among us if we will send some of ours to live among them. Xander has asked our feelings about Shay trading James Towne for Menmend, Chief Opechancanough’s domain.”