Tidewater Bride

by Frantz, Laura

  “I’ve reason enough to refuse.” His eyes held her own, seeking understanding. “Just trust me.”

  “Then I shall say no more about it.” Taking up a spoon, she sampled dessert. “Izella has been putting up brandied peaches for days. ’Twas Father’s favorite. Cook told me you’re partial to fresh ones, so I picked some for supper.”

  “You were in the orchard?”

  “Twice.” She took another bite. “First to gather fruit this morn and then again this afternoon to find Nurse Lineboro and McCaskey there.”

  “And they weren’t picking peaches.” Beneath his wry gaze her skin pinked. “Did they see you?”

  “Nay, they were blinded by a blaze of ardor.”

  Despite the circumstance, he chuckled. Abandoning his half-eaten supper, he lit the pipe she’d brought him and looked out the nearest window to the orchard. A west wind riffled the heavily leafed branches, sending ripe fruit to the ground. Those trees would be bare once autumn’s tumultuous winds blew.

  She set down her spoon. “Tell me about today’s search.”

  “’Twas the most promising by far.” He inhaled, enveloped in a fragrant cloud. “And the most frustrating. We combed all of Hopewell Hundred again, to no avail. Given Laurent was in James Towne, or ’twas said, we took the liberty of exploring the far west corner of his plantation that is heavily wooded.”

  He paused and she looked at him, expectant, eyes full of heartache and hope.

  “Jett led us to a heavily traveled thicket. A few chicken bones and eggshells were scattered about.”

  “What?” Her eyes rounded. He read her thoughts. The thief?

  “It might be naught but a passing vagabond. The ground bore an imprint—some sort of crate or container.”

  “Was it gone? Had it been moved, perhaps?”

  “Dragged through the dirt and brush, as best we could ascertain. It might signify nothing, but . . .”

  She looked as perplexed as he felt. Tears shone in her eyes but remained unshed. “I think of little else but Watseka, even more than Father. Questions torment me continually. Is she hurt? Sick? If we don’t find her, what then?”

  “You don’t believe she’s run away and rejoined her people.”

  She gave a vehement shake of her head. “I believe she was happy here. We did all we could to make her comfortable. Given the commotion that I heard outside the exact hour she went missing, I suspect foul play.”

  “I agree.” Pensive, he drew on his pipe a long moment. “As I pray and search, I sense she is still alive. That she is not far.”

  “You’ve looked for days now. Will you keep up the hunt?”

  “Until I find her, aye.”

  “I worry about you encountering Laurent again. He was in such an uproar when you searched his house. I do wish we knew why he met with Nurse Lineboro at Hopewell Hundred.”

  “After which she returned to Rose-n-Vale for an orchard tryst with McCaskey. The plot does thicken.” He set down his pipe, of no more mind to smoke than to eat. “We will be vigilant and watchful. Even eavesdrop if we must. McCaskey will soon take his leave. I’ll press the nurse on her plans if only to hasten her departure. I won’t abide any double-handedness beneath my roof.”

  41

  A sennight passed as Selah adjusted to her new role. This morn, she was in the milk house, straining the pails Primrose had brought her from the dawn milking. Soon the shelves bore a great many shallow, glazed earthenware dishes as the milk cooled and the cream rose. ’Twas one of Selah’s old tasks she was loath to let go of, if for no other reason than the milk house reminded her of church. Here in the shaded, almost hallowed shadows she poured out her heart along with the milk.

  Gone was the stilted formality of past prayers. Out of a sense of urgency and growing heartache, she began calling more familiarly on the God who had made her. No doubt she’d be branded a heretic in James Towne, talking to the Almighty as if He were not only her heavenly Father but her friend.

  Lord, each day of waiting seems to take Watseka further away from us. She is so small. The nights will soon grow cold. Please hedge her from all harm. Bolster her spirits. Help us leave no stone unturned. Deliver us from the snare of the fowler and from the noisome pestilence. Help us be not afraid of the terror by night nor the arrow that flieth by day. And let no harm befall Oceanus and Shay. Return them to us in Thy perfect timing—

  “Mistress Renick.”

  She spun around, nearly upsetting a dish. Shay stood in the doorway. Taller. Leaner. All the boyish lines that once defined him were missing, his once irregular features more in harmony. Stepping inside and closing the door lest flies or dust disturb the whitewashed confines, he caught her up in a bearish embrace.

  “There, Sister. Nothing to cry about.”

  How like Father he felt and sounded. How thankful she was to have him back. She dashed a hand across her damp eyes. “But how did you come to be here? Xander said nothing to us.”

  “He relayed word to Meihtawk to escort me home. The chief seemed sorry to see me leave but understood that Xander’s summons was not to be taken lightly.” Releasing her, he ran a hand over his hairless left scalp. “I shed my skins lest you fear I was a Powhatan. But there’s no help for my hair, shaved with a sharp shell to not encumber my bowing.”

  “’Twill grow back like a proper Englishman, I suppose.”

  “In time.”

  She drank in his sheepish grin at her scrutiny, his beloved presence a tonic for her heart and soul. And then solemnity rushed in.

  “Mother just told me about Father. But I’m most concerned about you.” He looked askance at her bandaged arm, which she waved to reassure him. “So much has happened. And now Watseka is gone.”

  “But not to her people.”

  “I heard no word of it, nay, nor saw any sign of her.”

  She hugged him again, breathing in the smoky, sweat-stained scent of his former English clothes, the breeches too short. Where he’d once come up to her chin, he was now eye level. “We must put away any sadness for now and rejoice in your homecoming.”

  “Homecoming, aye.” The wry look he gave her was so like Father she wanted to both laugh and cry. “Fancy returning to find your sister wed, your father dead, and your new abode Rose-n-Vale.”

  “Hopewell Hundred is yours to do with as you wish.”

  “I’ve given it little thought till now.”

  “How fares Oceanus?”

  “Reveling in being a son of the forest. His mother is strong in him, and he took to their ways like a duck to water.”

  “Glad I am to hear it. And you? Are you . . . sorry to return?” She’d oft wondered if he would be and now held her breath for his answer.

  His smile swept away all doubt. “Nay. I was oft homesick. Their ways are not our ways. I’m needed here to help with the rebuilding, comfort Mother, and pester you as usual.”

  At a raised voice outside, they traded the cool shadows for the September sun. Widow Brodie stood on the portico, waving them inside.

  Shay’s gaze trailed the tray Izella carried across the sun-scorched lawn from the kitchen house. “I’m much changed, Sister. But ravenous as always.”

  At nightfall, they all gathered in the new blue parlor. Though the mood was subdued given their circumstances, Selah felt especially grateful that Xander had quietly reunited them with her brother. Shay’s return seemed to cheer him. He embraced her brother heartily more than once, even exchanging a few words in Powhatan. Near at hand sat Meihtawk, having been alone with Xander in his study the long afternoon.

  As the conversation ebbed and flowed, Selah kept a discreet eye on McCaskey and Nurse Lineboro playing a game of loo at a corner table. Was she still meeting secretly with Helion Laurent?

  The factor, brash and less than genteel, was quite a contrast to the physic’s carefully honed artifice. And the nurse? Selah reckoned someone so dour had no romantic designs, but appearances were deceptive. Something told her at least one of the trio knew Watseka’s
whereabouts and were wiser than the rest of them about so paramount a matter. The certainty prickled the hair on her bare neck.

  As the clock struck nine, Izella served nuts and fruit and replenished their cups. At Selah’s bidding, a maid went upstairs to ready their rooms. Shay would sleep in Oceanus’s bedchamber till the boy came home.

  If he came home.

  Was Xander on tenterhooks at the thought? Had he told Meihtawk about Watseka? Her new husband was not a man used to being thwarted. Though his endurance was one of the qualities she most admired about him, these repeated searches took a toll. He uttered no complaint, but Selah sensed his own hopes slowly eroding as he grappled with the repercussions of a peace child gone. Soon he must tell the Powhatans.

  She returned her attention to Shay, trying to put off any dour thoughts and simply relish having her beloved brother within arm’s reach. At the moment, he was clearly enjoying being the center of their attention.

  “I have no great desire to move to Hopewell Hundred just yet. Not till I come of age.” Shay’s gaze traveled from his mother to Xander. “I can be of more use to you here, surely, with all that is to be done to prepare for next year’s harvest.”

  “We’ll start by having you hunt through the rubble for nails to reuse,” Xander told him. “My blacksmith has fallen behind, making so many new ones.”

  Shay nodded. “I’ll put my hand to anything to help Rose-n-Vale rise again.”

  Such talk was heartening, bringing the eventful day to an end. As the clock struck ten, Nurse Lineboro was the first to bid them good night. McCaskey’s gaze followed her as she left the parlor, a smug expression on his face.

  Who could decipher the gist of his thoughts?

  Dawn found Selah wide awake, her feet touching the floor even before Xander, a notoriously early riser. She laced herself into stays and donned the oldest of her gowns, a faded red India cotton, and an apron. No longer did she need help. She tiptoed to her dower chest, opened it, and retrieved a coif embroidered with wildflowers and strawberries in gilt thread. Carefully closing the lid lest she wake Xander, she startled as strong arms enfolded her from behind, nearly lifting her off her feet.

  “Good morning, my bride.” He embraced her, nuzzling her neck and making her laugh at the tickle of his whiskers. “You’ve no dressing table yet. No looking glass. How can you pin up your hair?”

  She sank onto a stool as he took up her hairbrush. Unbound, her hair cascaded onto the floor. Such a mass kept her warm on bitter winter nights but in summer wound round her and felt suffocating.

  “Pure gold.” Xander ran the brush through the length of it, teasing out every tangle. “I’ve ne’er brushed a woman’s hair. Yours carries the scent of the garden.”

  “Mother’s concoction. Rosemary water and mint.” Smiling, she closed her eyes, patient beneath his hands. He plaited her hair, forming a sort of crown by entwining the braids.

  She felt atop her head. “My coif will be towering!”

  “Like the queen you are. Where are the pins to hold it in place?”

  She pointed to his washstand. He gathered up the pins and returned to finish what he’d started. All thumbs he was, but persevering. She smiled at the do-or-die look on his face. And bit her lip when the pins poked her scalp. Finally done, he stood back and admired her. Flushing, she looked about for her shoes, but he found them first, even kneeling and placing them on her feet.

  Touched by his attentiveness, she looked to her wedding band. “Time shall tell I love thee well.”

  He stood, seeming unusually pensive. “Is there any doubt?”

  “Nay, no longer. I am the most blessed of brides—”

  “Nephew?” An abrupt banging on the door ended the intimate moment.

  Xander crossed the room to admit his aunt, her face a stew of displeasure. “My apologies for barging in so. But Nurse Lineboro has gone. Up and fled during the night with no explanation!”

  Xander took in the outburst in stony silence while Selah felt little but relief.

  “Has she not simply gone out?” he asked.

  “Nay. Her belongings—and some of ours—have gone with her. She’s robbed a pair of silver candlesticks and a snuffer and who knows what else!”

  Selah moved toward the hall to find her mother coming down the stairs. Leaving Xander to handle matters regarding the nurse, they went in to breakfast. Shay was still abed, the dining room empty. But Izella was already at work, given the jugs of cream and molasses and a heaping platter of corncakes at table’s center.

  “I suppose there shall be one less guest at breakfast.” Candace sat, looking far less perturbed than Xander’s aunt. “I don’t quite know what to make of it.”

  “Nor do I.” Selah took her usual place. “I long for a time of . . . boredom.”

  At Xander’s entrance, Selah looked up expectantly. His bearded face betrayed none of the turmoil of the moment as he greeted her mother and sat at the head of the table. McCaskey soon followed, and cassina was poured. Once they said grace, a brief lull ensued.

  The factor was piling his plate high when Xander looked his way. “Good to see you this morn, McCaskey. I feared you took flight with Nurse Lineboro.”

  Nearly dropping his plate, the factor stared at Xander, who sipped his cassina without expression.

  “Electa—” McCaskey set down his plate with a clatter. “Nurse is gone?”

  “Sometime in the night, aye, with all her belongings.”

  “And some of ours,” Widow Brodie added with a frown. “But at least we shan’t have to go looking for her. She obviously left of her own free will.”

  Clearly McCaskey was ignorant of the scheme. Selah felt a beat of sympathy as he grappled with the ill news, which seemed a bold rejection of his suit.

  “She left no letter? No explanation?” He looked about the table as if searching for answers, lingering on Xander longest. “I—she—unfortunately I do not ken where she’s gone. She made no mention of leaving. At least to me.”

  Xander resumed eating, and the conversation turned to the plans for the day. To Selah’s relief Shay appeared, calling out a bright good morning, unaware of the night’s events. Rounding the table, he kissed his mother’s cheek before taking a seat beside her.

  “I am ready to go nail hunting,” he announced as he reached for the molasses. “Or whatever else needs doing.”

  Xander nodded. “Eat your fill first, and then you can accompany McCaskey to the fields. I’ll be searching with Meihtawk and the dogs today.”

  Selah’s heart sank, as she knew Xander was needed at Rose-n-Vale instead. But what else could be done till Watseka was found? As for McCaskey, he sat in stricken silence, staring at his untouched plate, his face florid. Distressed.

  Selah struck a lighter note. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen making small beer since Cook is unwell.”

  Xander met her eyes, appreciation in their depths. “Have the maids clean the garret. Shay might enjoy his own bedchamber since Oceanus will return in time. The view is unmatched.”

  “I shall be content no matter where you put me,” Shay replied between bites. “’Tis good to be back, though I do miss my Powhatan friends.”

  “You can accompany me on future visits if your mother approves.” Xander pushed his empty plate away. “Once Watseka is found—”

  With a choked cry, McCaskey stood so abruptly the table shook. Every eye was upon him, breakfast forgotten.

  “I confess—I hardly know how to say such—” Eyes half wild, McCaskey looked to Xander. “The Indian girl is Nurse Lineboro’s doing. She goaded me into taking her. Said she wasn’t fit company for your son. She promised to marry me if I did the deed, and so I—”

  “Spare the women your ranting.” Xander stood nearly as abruptly. Never had Selah seen him so riled. “Withdraw to my study.”

  McCaskey moved toward the door like a chastised schoolboy. As Xander followed him out, fury stiffening his stride, Selah put a hand to her throat, trying to calm the sw
irl of her stomach. ’Twas the last thing she expected to hear.

  “And to think we’ve hosted two such scheming plague sores beneath our very roof!” Widow Brodie’s chin shook with emotion. “I knew no good would come of the factor’s drinking—the plan was no doubt hatched under its influence—and now that no-good nurse has fled!”

  For a few moments they sat in benumbed silence.

  Candace finally murmured, “Be sure your sin will find you out, as Scripture says.”

  Fork in midair, Shay frowned, and Widow Brodie resumed her ranting. “Well, McCaskey will lodge here no longer, nor act as factor, I’m sure, after Alexander has his say. Imagine taking a helpless child and blaming it on that fopdoodle Laurent, foul as he is!”

  Nauseous, Selah excused herself, feeling shock and deep sorrow not only for Watseka but for the evil that drove men to do such grievous things. Though McCaskey had confessed to a great deal, what would be gained? Would he lead them to Watseka?

  Lord, let it be.

  The kitchen was blessedly quiet save the buzz of a horsefly in the rafters. All was orderly, pots and pans scrubbed and set to rights, the scent of drying herbs and the last meal lingering. Izella’s brandied peaches stood in jars of amber perfection on a near table. A low fire smoked and snapped in the cavernous hearth. Poking it, Selah stoked it to greater life.

  She’d grown used to doing things in a one-handed way as her wound healed sufficiently. Of late, except for an occasional twinge, she was nearly whole. Taking up a kettle, she went outside to a rain barrel and drew enough water to begin making small beer, her mind not at all on the task before her.

  As the water came to a boil, she tried to familiarize herself with Cook’s domain. The molasses was easily found, but yeast was another matter. She’d all but given up on powdered ginger when Izella returned from gathering eggs, unearthing both yeast and ginger before leaving again.

  As the hearth’s fire grew hotter, Selah opened a window, inviting in a cooling coastal wind. Though she was bodily in the kitchen, her mind was in her husband’s study. She spilled the ginger, dropped a cask of raisins, and singed her apron.