“Ach, ’tis a mercy, really. No woman can run a plantation. The sooner she learns that, the sooner she can choose her husband. Hopefully he can make Tabletop a success again. To old Banning’s memory.”
“To old Banning,” said the other, and the two clinked their mugs in toast. “Who do you think it will be? Young Weland?”
“His mother did honor them with that welcoming party. She’s been on the hunt for a bride for him for years. Widow Tomlinson, with her fat purse and the deed to Tabletop to boot, must have seemed a godsend to her.”
Gray dug the fingernails of one hand into his thigh beneath the table and remained quiet. He lifted his mug and sipped, staring out the window, showing no interest in the men’s conversation.
“Well, if she remains in need of a man,” jested one lewdly, “perhaps I’ll go over and sow her fields. I fancy the thought, leaving the trades and becoming a gentleman planter.” He leaned back in his squeaky chair, as if he was honestly considering it. “I hear tell she’s ungainly but not bad to look at.”
“I’ve seen her. Pay no heed to the talk. She’s a fine strapping woman. Good planter stock. But ’tis a bit of truth to it—her sisters are the beauties, especially the young one. Regardless, were I a younger man, I’d be angling for an invitation to Tabletop.”
Gray started as a maid came by with his plate, a steaming fish stew, full of potatoes, onions, and cod. As he took a spoonful, he thought about the man’s words. It was true, in measure. Keturah wasn’t the obvious beauty of the trio, but it was that which was within her that had always drawn him. Her strength, her loyalty, her tenacity, and a courageousness that made her climb every tree ahead of him—the same courage that told her she should come here to the islands and bring her father’s plantation back to its former glory.
He chewed and swallowed angrily as he thought of her reported troubles, then took another bite. Maybe this was why she had been so despicable to the Negress yesterday—why, he’d never seen her act in such an uncharitable manner, regardless of who Mitilda had once been. He shook his head. Had she not been warned, lectured by Cecil and others? Had he not tried to offer himself as a helpmate, a friend, and yet been firmly put down? What kind of woman did such a thing? Left behind the comforts of home, all that was good and proper, to come to the islands?
Gray let out a hollow laugh through his nose, around a mouthful of food, admitting it to himself. My kind of woman.
Besides, he knew there had to be other reasons. It was something beyond the financial peril of Tabletop; it had to be the idea of men saying no to her—and finding a way to succeed in spite of them—that drove her.
Because Edward Tomlinson had made her believe she could do far less.
Which was why he had stayed so far away. Not sought her out. Declined the Welands’ invitation to Morning Star. Stubbornly refused to call, until yesterday, when curiosity drove him to do it. And that had ended in such a frustrating manner, he wasn’t anxious to return.
He lifted his hand and turned it over in the meager light from the window, considering the hundred cuts the cane had wrought on his skin. Was this what was ahead of Keturah too? He shook his head in dismay, his stomach turning at the thought. If it was poor form for a gentleman of the islands to be so obviously involved with the day-to-day labors of running a plantation, how would her neighbors look upon a lady doing the same?
The merchants at the neighboring table had shifted to conversations of supplying a planter for his party in a few weeks, which was sure to draw Widow Tomlinson and every other planter on the island. “Perhaps she’ll find a beau there. Among the pools of rum punch and Madeira, even the old fools begin to look appealing to the ladies.”
“Then perhaps we should attend!” said the one, hitting the other man’s shoulder. The two burst out in merriment, and it was clear to Gray then that their mugs were not their first round of rum they’d had that day.
He went on eating, grimly wondering how Ket would manage without an overseer soon. Might he find one for her? It was true that a decent man for hire was a rare thing indeed. Many were imported from other islands, wooed away for frightful sums that Gray could only dream of paying—which was why he had decided to manage his own crop and slaves, along with Philip’s steady assistance. But Ket had an inheritance … could she not spend a portion of that? Move beyond the Nevisians’ perimeter of defense to find a decent fellow to work for her?
If she is even aware of their plans, he thought bitterly. Could they truly be doing such a thing? Did they not have bigger concerns to captivate their attention?
Hurriedly, he finished the last of the stew, gulped down his mead, and dropped a coin on the table. He’d been waiting for her to send word to him, to ask for his counsel. But if the planters were circling round to tie her hands before she’d even begun, then he had no choice but to intervene. Friendship, if not honor, demanded it.
Yes, at my earliest opportunity, he thought, snugging his tricorn hat firmly on his head, strengthened by his decision.
Twenty times, Ket started to say something to Mitilda on the way back to Tabletop. But over and over she was torn between chastising the woman for cornering her into hiring her brother—which was sure to infuriate the neighboring planters—and clasping her hands in sincere gratitude for helping her find a solution.
But there never seemed to be the right moment for either.
It mattered little; Mitilda looked not in Ket’s direction, which would have been the final catalyst. Primus and Gideon were silent too, leaving only the crunch and squeak of the metal-covered carriage wheels against gravel as they moved down the road and around the island, heading home. Perhaps they were all thinking what Ket was thinking. What have we done?
The only thing I could have, she corrected herself. This is my plantation, my responsibility. Yes, her sisters had a partial interest. But it was her name listed first on the will as the heiress in line. Her sisters had shares, she knew, to provide for their dowries. And yet if she did not generate enough funds to keep their London and Nevisian creditors at bay, she’d soon find herself funding those dowries herself, out of Edward’s remaining fortune.
Is this of you, Lord? She prayed silently, passing another plantation with a small group of slaves’ cabins set among a grove of fruit and flowering trees to provide shade. Have you given me a way to succeed here, at last, no matter what my neighbors might think?
But as she prayed about it, exploring that habit as if greasing a long-rusty wheel—and gazed across one plantation after another as they passed by—she recognized the spark of hope in her heart. She knew she’d had little choice, hiring Matthew Rollins. While cane was planted year-round on the island, the main crop for most planters had been in for a good three months to take advantage of the prime growing season—June through September. She’d learned from Gray that it was important for plants to reach a decent maturity before autumn’s hurricane season, so they had a better chance of surviving wind and flood. Yet she’d read enough in her father’s journals that said sometimes mature cane had a greater propensity to fall or get uprooted in strong winds. Sometimes young plants fared better.
To her, it all seemed as if the process of planting cane was more a gamble than a science. And today she’d gambled that Mr. Rollins would help her make Tabletop a success.
———
Her sisters received the news fairly well. In truth, neither had had a suggestion for her each afternoon when she returned from Charlestown without the company of a newly hired overseer. She thought Selah was relieved to know it wouldn’t be a man on the order of Angus Shubert, who seemed to wheedle his way closer to her at every neighborly function he could. Verity had given her a hard look when she told them both that Matthew Rollins was Mitilda’s brother, as if she wondered if it was wise to bring him here. “Might he not hold some ill will toward us?” she whispered, eying Selah warily, who was working on her embroidery. Together, the elder sisters tried to shield her from the worst of things.
Keturah thought about that. “I sensed no ill will,” she whispered back. “Perhaps fear. Doubt. But that would be natural for anyone in his shoes to feel. And yet, Verity, think of it. If we are not able to make a go of this plantation, if our fortune dissolves, there shall be no annual stipend for Mitilda and Abraham. She has a vested interest in our success.”
Verity nodded thoughtfully.
“In any case, could the man truly blame us?” Ket went on, rising to stride over to the window to watch the sun sink into the ocean, leaving broad skirts of orange and red trailing in the sky behind her. She leaned down on the wide sill, feeling the weariness of the day seep from her neck muscles down to her feet. “Would they not,” she said, turning to cross her arms and lowering her voice so only her sister could hear, “be somewhat grateful to us? After all, did Mitilda not gain stature as Father’s … housekeeper, as well as her freedom.”
“Keturah,” Verity said with a gasp, glancing toward Selah in protective alarm, “we must not speak of such things.”
“We must, Ver,” she said, lifting a hand toward the window. “This place is … wild. Barely tame, despite how it might seem, from her people to the land itself. Can you feel it? It is as if Nevis has reluctantly allowed us to stay, but is doing her best to send us back on the next ship to England. This finding an overseer was but our first battle. She’ll bring more, undoubtedly. And we must be prepared to face those battles together.”
Verity frowned. “Are you suffering a fever? What an odd thing to say, Ket.”
“Is it?” she asked in response, knowing she should be doing something to assuage her sister’s fears. After all, ladies of London never spoke in such a manner, introducing such fanciful thoughts. She could hear them now, in their salons and closets twittering on about Lady Tomlinson and the outrageous things that came out of her mouth. As if the land had a mind of her own! Such things were the domain of poets, not respectable society. Everyone knew that.
Everyone but me, she thought, turning back to the window and staring at the lingering sunset. Maybe one had to learn to treat Nevis as a welcome friend instead of a potential enemy. Perhaps addressing each day as a battle to be fought rather than a welcome invitation was the wrong approach.
What are some of the things I like about this new friend so far? Her thoughts turned immediately to the beach and the welcome feel of the water around her ankles. “Girls, go and fetch your bathing smocks,” she said. “I want to take you to the beach for a swim.”
“Alone?” Selah asked, letting her embroidery hoop sag in her hands.
“Without … without a bathing machine?” Verity asked. “Attendants?”
Keturah grinned. “Attendants and bathing machines are the English way. Let us go and swim as the Nevisians do.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
That evening, on his way back to Teller’s Landing, Gray caught up to Captain McKintrick on Lower Round Road. The man looked far more ungainly astride the mare than he ever did on the deck of his ship, but he was whistling a merry tune.
“Ho there, Captain!” Gray greeted when he turned to see who was coming.
“Why, Mr. Covington,” the man said with his warm brogue. “’Tis good to see you. I take it that I head in the right direction, to reach Tabletop?”
“Indeed,” Gray said, pulling alongside the man. “I’m going there myself. I learned something in town I feel I must discuss with Lady Keturah.”
“Ah, so I see. We’ve reprovisioned and our hold is full. We sail for the Carolinas on the morrow.”
“And so you wish to say farewell to the Banning women?”
“Indeed,” he said, sliding a look Gray’s way that seemed to say, At least to one woman in particular. “I awaited an invitation to come and call, but ach, do ye ken I received naught but silence?” The man seemed a bit miffed, confused.
Gray gave him a rueful smile. “If it helps, they have not reached out to me either. And yet I can tell you that there is a great deal to accomplish, on both plantations. I know the Bannings have had much to negotiate.”
“Aye, well I can imagine. This thing you caught wind of in town—I take it gave you fair alarm.”
“Yes,” Gray said, hesitating. “I figure I may as well offer my counsel, even if she does not wish for me to share it.”
“These women are a rather stubborn sort, are they not, man?”
“Indeed.” Especially Keturah.
“Uncommon in many ways. Quick of wit. Fair of countenance. Ever since they left my ship, I confess I’ve missed their company. And I’m right curious about their plantation. It will do me good to know where she—they,” he hurriedly amended, “have found themselves settled.”
“You mean, Captain, that you would like to envision her new home as you pen letters to Verity,” Gray teased, cocking a brow.
The captain laughed under his breath and shook his head as if in wonderment. “Why is it that the minx now seems to occupy my every free thought? I dinna think when she first crossed my deck that she’d fair cross into my heart by the time our voyage came to an end.”
Gray smiled with him, even as the captain’s words rotated in his mind. He wished he had an answer for him. But was it not the same for him? Day in and day out, he had sought a reason to come and call upon Ket, to share discoveries and trials and solutions. To visit with her to see if she was learning what she must to survive. And now he hungered for a way to help her through this challenge in finding an overseer.
“Ah, there it is,” he said, gesturing to the old stone pillar that marked the front entrance of Tabletop.
Captain McKintrick turned his mare’s nose down the lane and whistled lowly. “Quite a view,” he said. “If I wasn’t one who favored the waves, this would not be a bad second option. Where does your plantation sit?”
“Just to the south,” Gray answered. “My view is nearly as grand, but here, with Saint Christopher and Saba there on the horizon … well, ’tis something, isn’t it?”
“Aye. ’Tis indeed.”
They rode through the deepening shadows of the trees, past the slave cabins with newly patched roofs and freshly hewn boards. He could sense their eyes—wondering who came to call at this hour—but it wasn’t until they reached the house that he actually saw someone.
Primus came out the door and onto the front porch steps. “Good evening,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel that was slung over his shoulder.
“Good evening, Primus,” Gray said. “Are the Misses Banning and Lady Ket at home this evening?”
“Well, they are and yet they are not. They said they were off for a stroll to the beach and perhaps a swim.”
“A swim, ye say,” Captain McKintrick said, eyes alight with interest.
“Perhaps we ought to wait here for them to return,” Gray said.
But then they heard a shriek in the distance, followed by a fainter scream on the wind. The men shared a quick glance of alarm, then turned their horses down the path that led to the beach, racing downward. In seconds they were on a knoll above a line of coco plum bushes along the sand and pulled up, eyes searching for the women.
Captain McKintrick laughed first. The three women were playing—shrieking and shouting as they dunked and chased and splashed one another. Above them, Brutus took lazy turns in the air as if keeping silent watch. “Saints in heaven,” McKintrick said. “Have you ever seen anything as bonny as that, man? Why, they’re veritable sirens. I have half a mind to join them.”
Gray nodded and grinned. They did look lovely, with their hair slicked back from their faces, bobbing among the waves. He felt a sudden pang in his chest, remembering what it had been like to swim with Keturah at the swimming hole as children, but knowing it was hardly his place—or Captain McKintrick’s—to do so now.
It was Keturah who caught sight of them first, and she stilled and lowered herself to her jawline in the water before whispering something to her sisters. The other two hurriedly faced them.
“Ho, there!” called the captain
merrily. “Forgive our intrusion, ladies. We heard your shrieks and hastened here to make sure all was well. I see that it is more than well.”
“Quite!” Keturah called back primly. “Is there something the matter, gentlemen, or is this purely a social visit?”
“Purely social,” said the captain, even as Gray said, “Perhaps both.” They looked at each other and shared a smile tinged with regret.
“We shall await you at the house,” Gray called, taking off his hat and putting it to his chest, then bowing his head. “Come at your leisure, ladies. We do not wish to curtail your fun.”
“We will attend you shortly,” Ket said.
The two reluctantly turned their mounts back up the hill just as Gideon and Primus reached the beach, chests heaving after the run. Clearly, they had been as alarmed as Gray and McKintrick had. “All is well here,” Gray said. “The women are only having a bit of sport. They intend to join us at the house but need a bit of privacy as they dry off and dress.”
“Oh yes,” Primus said, leaning down to put hands on his knees, his back to the sea. “Very good,” he panted. “I’ll return shortly and see that you gentlemen receive refreshments.”
“That will be grand, Primus.”
Slowly the two men took to the path, not rushing their mounts now, aware that the climb was steep for the slaves. It heartened him, however, to see how they had risen to what seemed like their mistresses’ call of distress. Clearly, the men felt some responsibility for the ladies’ care.
They reached the house, dismounted, and Cuffee was there to take their reins. Grace was at the door, eyes wide with alarm.
“All is well,” Gray said to her. “They were merely … cavorting.”
“Oh, good. Come in, gentlemen,” she said shyly, “and I shall fetch a pot of tea. Or would you prefer something stronger? A bit of wine perhaps?”
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