“I shall see.” Cecily returned to the door. She removed a shoe and shook it free of sand, then did the same with the other before venturing toward the parlor.
“I’m sorry we’re tardy.” Washing up at a near basin, Selah began telling her mother and Izella of their adventure upriver.
“You saw naught of the master?” Candace asked.
“None but Ruby, though his aunt appeared at the last. I believe Xander is still away.”
Candace’s brow furrowed. “God protect him.”
Shay and Ustis came in, having closed and locked the store. “A great many rowdies out tonight, though I’m glad enough of these West Indies goods.” Ustis hung his hat on a peg. “Tomorrow we’ll take inventory as the warehouses fill. Tonight I must give the annual accounting as cape merchant so shall be away in the governor’s chambers.”
Laughter floated from the parlor, and Candace met Ustis’s inquiring glance. “Cecily has another suitor.”
“From the sounds of it, aye,” he replied, taking a seat. “Wentz, is it? I thought Peacock was still in the running. And what of you, Daughter?”
Selah began slicing bread. “I am no tobacco bride, mind you.”
“A father can wish, aye?” ’Twas his eternal lament. “Today Master Jacoby came in with all nine of his grandchildren, buying them this and that. I thought how fine a thing it would be to have some descendants.”
Selah withheld a sigh. “There is always Shay.”
“Much too young for an attachment,” Ustis said over the drone of rain on the slate roof. “You, on the other hand . . .”
“Ustis,” Candace chided, setting a crock of butter and cheese on the table. “Such tiresome talk hardly helps Selah go groom hunting.”
Ustis continued undaunted. “The best men will soon be taken once all this matrimony dies down.”
A lengthy prayer was said, matrimony duly mentioned, in which Ustis all but named the suitor he favored.
“Amen,” he said reverently before reaching for a slice of warm bread. “’Tis my duty as your father to pursue the subject, Daughter. Pray to that end.”
Across the table, Shay winked at Selah as if to ease her.
“I should rather marry for love than the price of tobacco,” Selah returned quietly.
“Love hardly fills the larder. Marriage is first and foremost a business matter. Affection may come in time, but ’tis clearly secondary to prudence.”
They’d gone around and around like this ever since Selah had come of age. Oddly, she didn’t take offense. She understood his reasoning, his practical nature, his fervent desire to see her happily settled well past his own lifetime. Even as her own hopes for a love match dwindled.
Oh, there’d been a few fleeting glances, some passing consideration of men to appease her father, mostly gentlemen who frequented their business and church. Even the gallant Captain Rycroft, who came in and out of port. But nothing lasting. Nothing that stayed with her, made her want to don a coif like the married women of James Towne.
Candace eyed her sympathetically. “Our prayers for the right man shall be answered in time, perhaps. For now, let us celebrate Cecily’s new beginning, shall we?”
7
Market day always resembled a fair. Nearly everyone in the colony seemed to turn out to either parade their wares or purchase them. Booths and tents arrayed James Towne’s streets made muddy by a night’s rain. On her feet at first light, Selah listened to the din of people coming and going past their house on the main thoroughfare into town.
Yawning, she tied her braids beneath her cap and put on a new apron edged with Brussels lace. Having lain awake the night before in her curtained bed, her ears tuned to any rustle in the bushes heralding another of Cecily’s love-struck suitors, Selah felt unfit for any task. Across from her the would-be bride had slept fitfully, her courting slowed by a fever. Nearly everyone new to Virginia succumbed to some malady upon arrival.
But this morning, Cecily had risen early, the fever finally broken. She sat at the kitchen table drinking the boneset tonic Candace had brewed her while Ustis muttered about Spaniards as he ate his breakfast, a recent ship’s sighting a concern. Between Indians inland and the Spanish by sea, they were constantly on alert.
“I’ve a mind to move upriver to Hopewell Hundred,” Ustis declared between bites. “James Towne is in a dismal strategic position. Not only that, there’s a growing need for supplies inland. Those prosperous planters require a cape merchant nearer them. Trade would be brisk. I’ve reason to believe we might fare better all the way around.”
“You’ve been in James Towne since its founding. You might well miss it.” Candace regarded her husband thoughtfully. “I’m partial to Middle Plantation, just seven miles distant and so well situated between the James and York Rivers.”
“We’d be better protected there with the new palisade stretching for leagues and leagues between us and the tribes,” Shay said. “And Xander says the land is better for tobacco and wheat.”
“Ah, wheat.” Ustis’s head bobbed above his plate. “Former tobacco fields make fine ground for grain. And now, with Governor Harvey crowing Virginia has at last become the granary of all His Majesty’s colonies, we might try our hand at it.”
Candace looked toward Selah as if awaiting her thoughts on the matter. But ’twas Cecily who spoke, her interest plain. “I’ve not seen Master Renick of late. Is he still away?”
“Perhaps today we shall find out, if Widow Brodie comes to market,” Candace said. “But what of Goodman Wentz?”
“’Tis no crime to have two suitors, surely.” Cecily smiled her pleasure and looked at Selah as if reminding her of her mission. “At least for now.”
Pushing his plate away, Ustis burst into verse. “‘There is a lady sweet and kind, was never a face so pleased my mind; I did but see her passing by, and yet I’ll love her till I die.’”
At their mirth, he rose and put on both jacket and hat, ready for business. Shay did the same. “We shall see you ladies later today, aye?”
“If Cecily feels well enough,” Candace returned as they went out.
“Oh, I am in need of fresh air, perhaps an afternoon jaunt.” Cecily was already on her feet and moving toward the window to judge the weather. “Another sunny day! But quite warm for June. Such a contrast from England.”
“Are you homesick, my dear?” Candace asked.
“Only when the weather makes me perspire unbecomingly. I must remember to carry a fan and stay shy of the unrelenting sun . . .”
Selah slipped out the door behind her father and Shay, a headache pulsing between her temples.
Selah moved among the many booths set up in the market, making a mental list of wares that were missing from their own store shelves. Just offshore the latest supply ship lay becalmed in deep waters, having brought a great quantity of Kill Devil, as her father called the West Indies rum. Selah suspected it would be used primarily to ply the Naturals with, to fool them into forsaking more territory.
Her thoughts swung to Xander again, unwillingly yet persistently. In moments, as if sensing her musings, Widow Brodie made straight for her and touched her sleeve.
“Good day, Mistress Hopewell.”
Selah smiled a greeting. Was Xander near? She looked past his aunt, searching for his familiar figure in the melee. How much easier it would be to simply plead Cecily’s case here beneath some shady eave. “Are you alone this market day?”
“Alexander has just returned home.” The news raised then dashed Selah’s hopes. “He is zealous to return to the fields and is likely there as we speak.”
Selah understood. “’Tis a critical time for farming, especially Orinoco.”
“Indeed.” An onerous sigh. “Topping tobacco, foremost, and combating pests, mostly those detestable worms.” Widow Brodie frowned as she examined an ell of printed cloth. “I fear this year’s crop is beginning badly with so much rain.”
Spring had been one damp blur. But better than drought, s
urely. Taking a breath, Selah summoned all her courage. “I should like to call at Rose-n-Vale . . . when the master has time to be interrupted.”
The widow’s white brows arched. Selah awaited chastisement, a rebuke to her boldness, thus ending her undertaking for Cecily.
“’Tis a private matter,” Selah quickly added, and a light dawned in the older woman’s faded blue eyes. Did she think . . . ? Selah didn’t mean to poke a hole in the woman’s matrimonial hopes, at least where she herself was concerned. “Shay has also caught an enormous sturgeon for your table.”
“Oh my!” The widow regained her composure. “A fresh fish cannot be kept waiting. I bid you come at your earliest convenience. This afternoon, perhaps? Alexander is oft in his study in the heat of the day.”
“Thank you,” Selah replied in confirmation, and they both moved on amid the busy marketplace.
Selah continued perusing goods, keeping close watch on her pockets. Though thievery was punished, pickpockets still plied their dubious trade. Bumped by a burly man hefting a large basket, with nary an apology, she was thrust into the path of Helion Laurent.
Removing his plumed hat, the physic gave a courtly little bow, which struck her as more ridiculous than gallant. “Mistress Hopewell, you look all business on market day.”
“I am about my father’s interests, sir.”
“Obviously. But have you no pleasurable pursuits beyond a bargain and the next stall’s enticements? Your brother is quite capable, is he not? Yet ’tis you who are most mercenary.”
She attempted to move past him, but a throng of shoppers slowed her. “Shay is not yet of age and is still being schooled. He’s only lately returned from England, besides.”
He returned his hat to his head. “I’ve always felt it unseemly that a woman of your station conducts business like a man. In Europe such is frowned upon.”
She herself frowned and returned her attention to a display of snuff boxes. Would her dismay at his presence never lessen? “You’d best adjust to New World attitudes, sir, when women, including tobacco brides, not only have a place in commerce but own property.”
“Indeed. A move of desperation to populate the colony. How else would we lure women to this rusticated outpost without giving them a token of independence?”
“You do not agree with those measures?” Done with his arrogance, she met his eyes. “And yet you sit on the council, the very body that gave them the stamp of approval?”
“I recommend women respect their place and not aspire to dangerous privilege nor masculine pursuits.”
They were drawing notice, people pausing to overhear their barbed exchange, including the worst of James Towne’s gossips.
Lest she be branded a scold, Selah retreated, relieved when he made no effort to detain her. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”
He turned his back on her, falling into conversation with a colony official. Walking toward them were Candace and Cecily, the latter still looking a tad peaked. Trying to collect herself, Selah paused to peruse a display of pipes, turning a particularly fetching one from Port Royal over in her hand. Shay had told her Xander had quite a collection at Rose-n-Vale. Producing enough coin, she paid for the handsomest as well as a pouch of Caribbean tobacco.
“What is it that holds your interest?” Cecily inquired, eyes on her purchases. “Surely you do not smoke!”
Selah held the items aloft. “Perhaps these shall sweeten the deal.”
Cecily resembled a cat served a dish of cream. “Well done!”
“Deal?” Candace lost her joviality. “Are you two mischief making?”
“Just being matrimonially minded,” Selah reassured her as she continued on, trying to put as much distance between herself and Laurent as she could.
’Twas midafternoon when Selah and Shay took the canoe upriver, his catch netted in the cold water to keep it from the heat.
“Betimes I wish we could keep going,” she told him, still pondering her unsavory encounter with Laurent. “The Blue Mountains are bewitchingly beautiful, ’tis said.”
“I should like the same, but remember, the wider the river, the thicker the danger. ’Tis foolish to venture past the falls of the James. The Monacans who dwell in the foothills are Powhatan enemies.” He suspended his oar, and the canoe continued gliding like a swan. “You suppose Xander has tales to tell of his time away?”
“Perhaps a story or two in exchange for your fine fish,” she replied.
Her brother’s fascination with the Naturals, not only the powerful Powhatans but the Chickahominy, Mattaponi, and others, had no end. Somehow Xander seemed to stoke that curiosity, bringing Shay arrowheads and other fascinating items, even teaching him Indian words.
As they passed the familiar landmark of Hopewell Hundred, Selah’s heart shot from a brisk trot to a breathless gallop. Just around the watery bend loomed Rose-n-Vale, stirring her admiration—and apprehension—anew. Shay beached the boat effortlessly, allowing her to gain ground faster than she had with Cecily. They took the same path, Shay carrying the sturgeon, the pipe and tobacco hidden in Selah’s pocket. In the distance dogs barked. Would their coming be welcome? Or more an interruption? Hopefully Widow Brodie had returned from town.
As they came closer a dozen details assailed her. A flower garden she’d never seen lay all abloom, an abandoned wheelbarrow full of thistles and weeds near the gate. A weathervane spun dizzily atop the milk house. Bricklaying on the new wing continued in earnest, and workmen hardly gave them a glance, so intent were they on their task. No sign of Widow Brodie or the master.
Between the summer kitchen and smokehouse was a small courtyard, a well at the center. There they found Xander, shirtless, breeches damp. His sun-darkened neck and forearms made a startling contrast to his paler chest. He poured a bucket of well water over his head and bare shoulders, noisily splashing the stones at his feet. ’Twas clear he was in the fields nearly as much as his indentures.
Rising up, he spied them, his muscled frame glistening in the stark afternoon sun. Selah averted her eyes while Shay called out a greeting. Around the side of the smokehouse came the hounds, rushing them in tail-wagging delight.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Xander made no apologies as to his sodden state.
In good humor, then. Relief made Selah nearly light-headed. He had a fierce temper on occasion, was particularly mercurial after Mattachanna’s death. And given the current tobacco crop was beset with woes . . .
“We’ve come to inspect your scalp after your dangerous foray west,” Shay called, holding up the fish.
“A splendid sturgeon!” Xander smiled his appreciation and walked them toward the summer kitchen, where a half-blood cook held sway, her black braid dangling down her thickset back. She took the fish with a nod at his instructions.
“As you can see, my scalp is intact.” Xander’s gaze swung from Shay to Selah. “Given that, won’t you stay for supper?”
Selah’s “nay” collided with Shay’s “aye.”
Xander waited patiently. “So, which will it be?”
At Shay’s imploring look, Selah lost ground.
“Please, Sister, what would it hurt to stay and sup?”
On the second floor, a diamond-pane window was rapped, and Widow Brodie’s welcoming face appeared through the glass.
“Very well,” Selah agreed. Sturgeon was her favorite fish. And the matter with Cecily needed settling once and for all.
They moved toward a rear door of the main house and into a stairwell, escaping the blinding sun. Rose-n-Vale had a scantily furnished parlor that seemed rarely used. Instead, Xander led them to his larger study, the leathery-tobacco scent strong. Selah had been here before with her father but rarely. The dogs followed, settling near the cold hearth out of habit, Selah guessed. The rapier above the mantel unsettled her, its shell hilt distinctive. She wondered its history.
“Wellaway!” Widow Brodie appeared, expression vexed, bearing a clean linen shirt. “Nephew, your Powhatan ways make
you forget yourself.”
Xander grinned and thanked her, donning the garment as his aunt departed.
“A game, aye?” Their host gestured to a table where a chess set rested, Shay’s favorite pastime after fishing.
“Aha! I shall best you,” her brother boasted, taking a chair. “Is it true what the king says? That chess filleth and troubleth men’s heads?”
“What do contrary kings know?” Xander shrugged. “The better question is, what will your fair sister do while we play?”
“Take no thought of it.” Shay rolled his eyes. “As you can see, she is besotted with books.”
True. Selah was already standing before the tallest bookcase, a marvel of mahogany filled to the brim. There were a great many tomes here of manly interest, little that turned a woman’s head. Still, agape with the abundance, she read the titles in gilt lettering. One too many agricultural manuals from England, which seemed to have little bearing on Virginia. And a well-used copy of the popular fencing manual by the Italian grand master, Fabris.
Xander and Shay began their game. While they were occupied, Selah drifted unnoticed toward the hall, then out to the summer kitchen for a light. Nearly on tiptoe she returned to the study with Xander’s gift. His back was to her as he moved his rook, his arm suspended over the chessboard. While Shay pondered his next move, Selah came to stand behind Xander. The trumpeted pipe bowl glowed good-naturedly, and she drew on it as she’d seen her father do, not so expertly but without a sputter. Aromatic wisps wreathed the air. She inhaled again carefully, then blew the smoke out like a whisper before it crept down her throat.
Without warning, Xander shot to his feet so fast the game table nearly overturned. He turned on her, his gaze half feral. “Zounds, woman! I feared the place was on fire!”
As Jett gave a howl, Selah quickly sobered. Though the fuss was over, Xander still looked stricken. Was he remembering the terrible fire of James Towne in his youth, when a stray spark from musket fire burned all but three buildings to the ground? She prayed not, or her little jest would be in vain.
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