Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  The warmth of John’s smile made her heart beat a bit faster. He tilted his head toward her plate. “Eat. You’re going to need your energy if you accept my plan.”

  “What plan?”

  He blotted his mouth with a napkin, then smiled at her. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my cook is very accomplished.”

  She nodded.

  He chose his words carefully in deference to the delicacy of the topic. “She is to be blessed with a child in the next month or so. My laundress already has a seven-month-old son. As I mentioned, she saw to young Timothy’s hunger today.”

  Emily blinked at him, unable to comprehend why he would tell her these things.

  “The laundress’s mother, who’s been watching the baby, is in poor health. My head gardener’s youngest daughter, Mary, is twelve. I thought perhaps she could come stay with you during the daytime, and betwixt the two of you, you could tend Timothy and the other babies.”

  “Mr. Newcomb—”

  “Oh Em, you love babies so!” Duncan wiggled excitedly in his seat.

  “And Gracie—the laundress—will wet nurse Timothy each morning and evening when she drops off and picks up her little one. She can come at noon to feed him, too. Her own babe is eating some table food, so she has an abundance and doesn’t mind sharing. When Cook has her babe, she’ll come by, and she said she’ll feed Timothy as well.”

  Emily moistened her lips. “I’m to sit at home and rock Timothy whilst this young Mary tends Gracie’s boy? We won’t even have the cook’s babe for another month. Mr. Newcomb, you’re trying to dress charity in a comely costume, but ’tis charity, nonetheless.”

  He shook his head and flashed her a smile. “It’s not charity at all. You’d be performing a valuable service for me. This way I can keep my staff.” He looked at his plate meaningfully. “I don’t want to think of losing my cook!”

  Duncan and John carried on the conversation and quickly changed the topic. Emily felt they’d boxed her right into their tidy little scheme. The odd thing was, it didn’t bother her. If anything, she felt relieved. She’d still be able to provide for Duncan and Timothy.

  Lord, I give You my thanks. It’s been so verra hard, but You’ve carried me through this far. I’m grateful. You’ve put John Newcomb in our lives—not just for the creaturely comforts he’s given, but for how he’s become a fine example to Duncan. Bless this man, Father, for how he’s gone out of his way to help us. Amen.

  “Emily!” Duncan tugged on her sleeve.

  “Huh?” She suddenly realized their conversation had waned during the moments she had prayed and considered the new venture John proposed.

  John gave her a strained look. He reached over and wiped a tear from her cheek.

  She wrinkled her nose and gave him a watery laugh. “I’m being silly. I was thinking on how much easier ’twill be to care for three babes than all of the people at Wilkens’s Asylum—and I’ll have a helper!”

  John shook his head. “A woman must be God’s biggest mystery. She cries when she’s pleased.”

  “Crocuses!” Emily stared at the damp flowers in John’s large hands.

  He stamped slush off his boots, then came inside. “Aye. The promise of spring.” He carefully handed them to her and looked her in the eye and said in a gentle murmur, “A reminder that there is new life through the Resurrection and God’s hand tends everything, even through the darkest months.”

  “Oh John, thank you. I needed to be reminded of that.” Emily held the flowers and realized he’d brushed away the snow to cut them. That fact touched her heart even more. He’d been a godsend. On the days she grieved the deepest, John had a knack for saying something that brought comfort. Truly the Lord used him to remind her of His present and future solace.

  John peeled out of his greatcoat and hung it on a brass hook by the door. “The new ship is to be delivered on the morrow.”

  “How big is it?” Duncan asked.

  “A schooner. Three-masted. Same plans and size as the Gallant.”

  Duncan jigged from one foot to the other. “Can I see her?”

  “Now, Duncan, Mr. John is a busy man.” Emily gave her brother a stern look.

  “We’ll all go see her on Sunday after church,” John declared. “I’m eager to show her off.”

  Emily poured water into her extra teapot and arranged the crocuses in it. She fussed as she set them on the table. No one had ever given her flowers. The gesture wasn’t a romantic one, and she didn’t mistake it as such, but the thoughtfulness of the act and the comforting words that accompanied it warmed her to the depths of her soul.

  A knock sounded, and the door swung open without anyone answering it. Gracie and Cook both traipsed straight in. “Hello! How are the babies?”

  “Fat and sassy,” Emily said. “Gracie, that son of yours is starting to crawl.”

  Gracie and Cook bustled over to the table and set their baskets on it. By now they had the routine down. They delivered supper as they picked up their little ones. Often as not, John would instruct Cook to deliver his supper, too, so he could sup with them in the cottage instead of at his own table. Though it baffled Emily that he would do so, his presence always resulted in a lively discussion over the meal.

  While Cook claimed Timothy and nursed him in the bedchamber, Emily and Gracie set the table. The laundress then took her wee one and left for home. “See you in the morning!”

  With Cook still in the house and Duncan underfoot, Emily didn’t fret about John’s spending time there. No one could gossip about anything that innocent and open. She lifted little Violet from the cradle and carried her over to the table. The routine worked flawlessly. When Timothy finished nursing, Cook would come out, place him in the cradle, take Violet, and go back to John’s big house. Since Cook was tending Timothy now, Emily sat down, and John asked a blessing on the meal.

  “Family tradition is to wait to name a vessel until it is delivered,” John said as he cut his roast. “I thought we could talk over some possibilities.”

  “What about the Sea Tiger?” Duncan suggested.

  “That sounds exciting, but it won’t work.” John set down his knife. “My grandfather always named his vessels after birds—the Cormorant, the Osprey, and the Peregrine.”

  “Why did that stop?” Emily wondered.

  “My father was a staunch abolitionist. He commissioned and got only one vessel before he died: the Freedom. When Grandfather started handing the reins of the business over to me, he told me to devise my own theme. I settled on using character traits.”

  “The Resolute, the Gallant, the Allegiant,” Emily thought aloud. From their discussions, she knew much about John’s business.

  “Aye. So now I’m faced with trying to come up with something suitable.”

  “Loyalty. Honesty,” Duncan suggested as he tore open a roll and slathered butter on it.

  “Kindness sounds too … weak,” Emily mused. She looked at John and knew kindness was an underrated force that had the power to change things. He embodied so many fine qualities. Surely another of his traits would make for a grand name for his new vessel. “Something stronger, perhaps. Stalwart. Courageous.”

  “Those have possibilities.” John took a gulp of coffee. “Victorious. Persistence.”

  They continued to toss around names clear through dessert. By the time John took his leave, he’d narrowed his choices down to either the Reliant or the Stalwart.

  Later, after she’d tucked both Timothy and Duncan in for the night, Emily fingered the crocuses and whispered, “Lord, thank You for this reminder of eternal life. Bless John Newcomb in a special way, Father, for his constancy and consolation. Between him at my table and You in my heart, I don’t feel so alone.”

  Three months later, John received a message from the captain of a frigate. Edward sent word that the Cormorant had limped into port in Georgia after a storm. Many of the sails were shredded, and a portion of the starboard bulkhead had suffered appreciable damage when the mainmast sn
apped. Six other vessels also had sustained severe damage and required attention, so Edward estimated it would be another six weeks before all of the Cormorant‘s repairs were effected and she’d be ready to return to Virginia.

  Part of John itched for Edward to come home so he could settle the matters at hand. The other part of him got caught in an undertow of relief. He’d been praying for wisdom, but he didn’t yet know how to handle this.

  In the meantime, he stopped by to see how Emily was faring. No stranger to grief, she continued to accomplish whatever needed to be done. Even with the ache evident in her eyes, he saw her smile.

  “Duncan carried heavy responsibilities and worries, but I’m thinking he needs a chance to be a carefree boy,” she confided in John one afternoon. “I can sit and mope through each day, but then where does that put us? He’s so very excited at how you’ve got him sitting up on a pony. Oh, and those books you brought? He’s working hard at them. I’m hoping maybe I can talk to the teacher and find out what a boy his age ought to be learning.”

  “Emily, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. It was important for the two of you to comfort one another, so I didn’t push to have him go, but I think it’s time for Duncan to attend school.”

  “It’s too far away, and it’s much too late in the year.”

  John tilted her face up to his. “He can ride along with the other stable boys and the maid’s little sister. They go each morning, and it’ll be nice for him to get a taste for going to school.”

  “He’ll be so excited. I’ve done my best to give him lessons, but it’s nothing like having a real teacher. Just as he was getting old enough for book learning, Anna got sick and needed his help. We could only dream of him being lucky enough to go to school. You’re making another of our dreams come true, John.”

  John chuckled. “That’s really nothing on my part, Emily. The school welcomes all the local children.”

  The next day was a Saturday. John arrived with a slate, a fancy blue leather book strap, three schoolbooks, and a tin lunch bucket. “Come Monday morning, the wagon will stop right out on the drive for you, Duncan.”

  “Oh Em! Can I go? Truly can I?”

  Her laughter made the trip John had taken to the school and mercantile more than worth it. He loved her laughter. She didn’t laugh nearly often enough—and he planned to change that fact.

  “Well, now, the bucket isn’t empty, Em!”

  “It isn’t?” She leaned forward to look inside.

  Duncan clutched the bucket and giggled. “Cookies, Em! John brought cookies!”

  Emily bit off the thread and threaded her needle. She’d stitched a shirt for Duncan, and from the scraps of cotton left, she’d cut out several handkerchiefs for John. With great care, she hemmed the squares, then chose dark brown thread—the exact color of his eyes—to monogram his initials on them. It wasn’t much, but she wanted to do something to show her appreciation to him.

  He’d often either have tea or a meal with her and Duncan. She came to look forward to his stories about his workdays and the events in town. He gave Duncan a small knife and was teaching him to whittle, and he’d been present for their celebration for Timothy’s first tooth. He loaned Emily books, and they would discuss them. Their conversations about literature and the Bible gave her glimpses of his intellect, wit, humor, and character. The more she came to know him, the more intriguing he became.

  Oh, John kept claiming she earned her keep, but she knew better. He had the gift of generosity. God had blessed him, and instead of hoarding his wealth, he turned around and showed kindness to everyone who worked for him. Aye, he was a man to admire—strong, kind, gentle. Emily told herself everyone felt that way about him, but in her heart she knew her feelings ran dangerously deep.

  Chapter 13

  John sat at the enormous oak desk in his office and stared out the window for the twentieth time that morning. After last night’s summer squall, everything looked clean and slick. From his vantage point, he could see the entire dock.

  He’d heard from a ship that just came in that the Cormorant was right behind it and should dock either today or tomorrow. John felt grateful for that news. It had been almost seven months since she’d been in port. Though he’d been praying about what to do, he still felt no sense of direction as to how he should handle Edward. Every time he considered how his brother had taken advantage of the O’Briens, his temper soared. The predicament was, if he unleashed his anger, he’d likely create more problems than he solved.

  Late in the afternoon, John slammed a ledger book closed. He’d accomplished precious little today. If the Cormorant hadn’t arrived by now, she wouldn’t make it till tomorrow. No use waiting around here. He bade Franklin a good evening and left.

  On his way home, John checked on the O’Briens. Judging from the line full of sun-dried nappies and snowy little gowns, Gracie must have been by earlier. She and Emily enjoyed doing the babies’ laundry together. He felt glad Em had a woman friend to chat with.

  He pulled a dozen of the cotton rectangles from the line and chuckled. A year ago he’d not known what shape of cloth a nappy was, let alone how to change one. Having Em, Duncan, and Timothy around domesticated him—and it was an improvement. Newcomb Shipping thrived, even with him there less. He’d started to look at the world around him instead of focusing solely on logs and ledgers.

  The gravel crunched beneath his boots as he toted an armful of nappies to the door. He loved coming to the caretaker’s cottage. Somehow, in the last month or so, it had come to feel like his own home. He regularly took his meals here, and Emily’s presence at the humble table in this sunny kitchen was what made all the difference.

  Duncan scampered down the five little porch steps just as John reached the door. The lad grinned and shoved the last bite of a bun in his already-full mouth and raced off to the stables. Emily didn’t realize Duncan had left a caller at the door, so John stepped in, nudged the door shut, leaned against the sill, and took stock of her.

  Over the past months, she’d eaten well and filled out so she glowed with good health. The green dress she’d made for herself brought out the color of her eyes. Late afternoon sun slanted through the window, giving her hair a burnished gleam. She radiated warmth and beauty.

  She was reading her Bible and using her toes to tilt the runners on the cradle to keep Cook’s daughter rocking contentedly. Gracie’s babe lay on a blanket on the floor, an ivory teething ring he must have been gnawing on abandoned as he napped. Timothy lay beside him, his thumb in his mouth. So far, having Emily play nanny to the babes seemed to be working out beautifully.

  At times Emily couldn’t hide her grief. But right this instant she was the picture of serenity. He’d purchased the cloth for her dress, knowing full well society dictated she ought to be wearing crow black for mourning. Instead he’d chosen an unembellished cotton and hoped its plainness and her manners would keep her from fretting over the pretty, deep green color. In a move to acknowledge her mourning and quiet any qualms, John provided a black kerseymere shawl for her to drape over her shoulders. Emily deserved nice things in her life—she’d suffered long enough.

  The day he’d arrived with that shawl, she’d had a small package wrapped in brown paper for him. How she managed to be so shy at times, then so fiery at others, never ceased to amuse him. She’d blushed and quietly handed him the package.

  “Oh, look at this!” he’d exclaimed as he caught sight of the handkerchiefs. “Em, these are—”

  “Little nothings,” she’d demurred.

  He’d lifted her face to his. “Emily, I don’t ever recall anyone giving me a gift just because their heart told them to. I’ve been given birthday and Christmas gifts, but those were times when others traditionally make an effort. You—you did this, and I can’t figure out how you made the time to do them.” He’d folded one and tucked it into his pocket then and there. “But I’m thankful you did.”

  He always kept one of them in his pocket. She�
�d made enough for him to have one a day for a whole week. He stuffed his hand in his pocket now and wadded it up as he struggled again for the millionth time to decide what to do once his brother docked.

  On his way home, John had decided to inform her of Edward’s impending arrival. The caretaker’s cottage sat next to the drive leading to the main house. It would be unfair to leave Emily unprepared for the sight of him. John had yet to discuss Edward with Emily and seek her opinion. Strong-willed as she was, he suspected she’d decided on a course of action.

  “Oh!” Emily’s pretty green eyes went huge when she glanced up and spied him. She closed the Bible and set it blindly on the small table beside her. “I didn’t realize you were there!”

  He chuckled softly. “When a woman is in the presence of the King and three cherubs, a man may as well be invisible.”

  A soft smile lit her face. “Now all of the wee ones are fat as cherubs, aren’t they? ’tis a welcome sight.”

  “Seeing you read the Word is every bit as wonderful.” He tore his gaze from her before he embarrassed them both. He set the nappies on the table. “Where’s Mary? I thought she was helping you.”

  “I let her go to the stables. Duncan said Blackie is whelping, and Mary wanted to see the puppies right away.”

  “I hope they hurried. Blackie’s had three other litters, and she’s quick about it. I suppose Mary and Duncan are claiming one apiece.”

  “Oh no! Surely not!” Emily gave him a shocked look. “Duncan knows better than to expect such a thing!”

  “Ahh, I understand.” John nodded sagely. He paused for effect and fought a smile. “Duncan knows you get pick of the litter, Emily.”

  Emily spluttered, then started to giggle.

  Mary dashed back to the door and announced breathlessly, “There’s seven of ’em!”

  John crossed the floor and picked up Gracie’s babe. “Em, grab Timothy. Mary, you take Violet, and let’s get going. I want to see the puppies, too!”

  Emily gave him a scandalized look. “I’m thinking I ought not take the babes to such a place.”