by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
Bea liked Cook. At first she figured the woman for a slave, but soon her forward mannerisms revealed that wasn’t the case. Whomever this woman was, she wasn’t a pawn to someone else’s wishes.
The limeade was refreshing, not as sweet as lemonade, yet the sour of the limes seemed a bit more gentle than that of lemons. Cook told her the limes had grown on a tree on Ellis Southard’s property.
The shade of the trees around the cottage helped ease the summer-like temperatures. A gentle breeze blew through the windows. Bea loved the cottage. It was small, but wonderfully decorated, just like a captain’s quarters on a ship. The wood paneling, the berth that held the bed, everything was so similar to that of the Justice where she had been the guest of Captain Brighton for meals during her trip from New York.
Cook’s words brought her back to the present. “Your bed is made. Now remember what ol’ Cook says and don’t do too much today or tomorrow. Your body needs to adjust to this heat.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Dinner will be served at five. I leave to be with my family by six.”
“I understand.”
And Bea understood more than Cook realized. In New York the servants were ordered about. Their personal lives had no bearing on the time they were to devote to the family for whom they were employed. Their wealthy employers seldom gave thought to the possibility that their servants’ families might have needs, too. Here was another reason to be grateful for her parents’ example. They were sensitive to their servants’ needs. But in Cook’s case, she seemed to be the one giving the orders. Bea grinned.
“What be on your mind, Child?” Cook inquired.
“Oh, nothing.”
“The devil be in you! Don’t go lying to me. You had a thought, and a funny one at that.”
“I like you, Cook. You know your mind.”
“ ’Tis true, but I’ve been known to speak when I should have kept my mouth shut. The Good Lord knows He has a problem with me in regards to that.” Cook slowly wagged her head. “It’s not like I don’t try. Well, perhaps I don’t. Guess I’m getting set in my ways.
“Now, stay in your chemise in the house and drink lots of fluids. Just for a day or two. You may not think it proper, but child, forget propriety. You need to become acclimated.”
“Thank you, Cook. I can get over the immodesty as long as I’m sure no one will come knocking at my door.”
“Other than the child, I don’t expect you to have visitors. I’ll see you for dinner …”
“At five,” they said in unison and chuckled.
Bea lay down after Cook left. She was exhausted. The heat had worn her out. Without Cook’s help, she’d still be laced in a corset. Learning that they were rarely worn down here helped in her decision to leave it off for a couple of days. She took another sip of the cool limeade and rolled over for a nap.
The pounding on her door woke her. “Nanna! Nanna!” Bea fumbled for her housecoat and came to the door.
“Hi, Richie, what’s the matter?”
“Cook says it is time for dinner.”
“Oh. Thanks. Tell Cook I’ll be right over.” Richard ran off, and Bea closed the door behind him. She fumbled to put on one of her light cotton dresses. Fortunately, she had packed a couple.
She found the house’s decor tasteful, yet it had some of the strangest items she’d ever seen.
The table and chairs in the dining area were of a French style, and the hutch, more of a Spanish design. Oddly enough, the eclectic blend worked. Bea wondered who had decorated the house. She’d never known a man to bother with such things.
“Miss Smith.” Ellis held a chair out for her to be seated.
The trestle table was set with fine china and well-polished silver. The stemware was crystal, with flowers delicately etched on each goblet. Ellis Southard apparently had made his fortune.
“Thank you, Mr. Southard.”
Ellis nodded and took his place at the head of the table.
“Can I show Nanna my room after dinner?” Richard asked.
Bea watched Ellis from the corner of her eye, sitting up straight, careful not to show too much interest. After all, the man already thought she pampered the child.
“Yes, you may, Son.”
Bea was pleased to see admiration in Richard’s eyes for his uncle. Perhaps he had taken some interest in the child.
Cook served the dinner and sat with them at the table. It seemed odd to Bea, yet, on the other hand, perhaps it explained the familiarity with which she spoke of Ellis Southard.
“Shall we pray?” Ellis offered a brief prayer of thanksgiving.
At least he prayed over his meal, she thought. Was it possible he was a Bible-believing Christian? That would answer at least one of her prayers for Richard and his future life with his uncle.
“Cook and I often eat together, Miss Smith. She’s been invited to move in and live here, but she prefers her own small cottage with relatives cluttering up the place.” Ellis forked another morsel of fish.
Can the man read my mind? Bea scrutinized Ellis’s blue-gray eyes, catching the hint of a smile within them. Her heart warmed a bit.
“Mr. Southard, you know that isn’t the way of it. I’m the elder of the family and they expect me to keep the order.”
“Now, Cook, your son is old enough to be the elder. You just like telling folks what they ought to do.”
Bea found the playful bantering comforting and informative.
“Nanna,” Richard broke in, “Uncle Ellis bought me a fishing pole and he said we could go fishing.”
“That’s wonderful, Richie.”
“Richie?” Ellis whispered the question.
“I’m sorry. Richard,” Bea corrected herself. She needed to remember this man was very formal.
“Richie seems a fine name for the boy,” Cook muttered, and played with a morsel of fish on her plate.
“Nanna always calls me Richie.”
“Enough,” Ellis snapped.
Bea fought back a surge of anger. She did not intend to have this child raised by a brute. She saw no cause for him to bellow.
Ellis continued. “If you wish to be called ‘Richie’ by Miss Smith that is fine.”
Cook quickly finished her meal. Bea hustled down the rest of her dinner in silence. No sense lingering and possibly angering Mr. Southard again. Richard excused himself from the table as soon as he swallowed his last bite. He walked around and stood by Bea’s side.
“Nanna, can I show you my room now?”
“Yes, I would like that.”
Bea couldn’t retreat up the stairs fast enough. Richard slipped his tiny hand in hers. She cherished his touch, and her heart tightened again. How could she possibly live without him?
Richie’s quarters seemed to shout out “boy’s room.” Intrigued by the fact that Ellis had managed to acquire a few toys, she found herself suddenly wobbly and confused. Perhaps it was the heat? She sat down on the bed and patted it. “Richie, bring me a book and I’ll read to you.”
He grabbed one of his favorites. “Nanna, I want to sleep with you tonight.”
Bea kissed the top of his head. “Oh, Richie, you’ll be fine in your new room. Didn’t your uncle Ellis say you can look over to my cottage from your window?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got an idea. What if I place a candle in my window for you to see? Then you’ll know I’m there.”
Richard simply nodded.
“I love you, Richie.”
“I love you, Nanna.” He turned in her arms and embraced her hard. He was scared. This would be the first night he didn’t have her close by his side. She held him tight. It would be the first night in four years she wouldn’t be close to his side either. O Lord, thanks for this time of embracing. She swallowed her tears, not allowing them to flow.
“Nanna?”
“Yes, Richard.”
“Can you sing ‘In Peace’ for me?”
“Sure, honey.” And Bea began to sing the
familiar Bible verse she had turned into a lullaby so many years before.
“In peace I will both lie down and sleep.
For thou alone, O Lord,
makest me to dwell in safety.
Psalm four: eight.”
Ellis stood just outside Richard’s doorway, his heart heavy like a sack of salt. Compassion for this woman and his nephew overwhelmed him. How could he separate them? They truly loved and cared for one another. She’s the only mother the boy has ever known, he realized. Elizabeth died when Richard was barely one. So much death for such a small child.
He shouldn’t have snapped at the dinner table. His words with Cook after they departed were not pleasant. She chastised him for his behavior. How could he explain that he was still having a hard time dealing with the loss of his brother? They had been close as children and had corresponded constantly as adults. He knew Richard’s intimate thoughts about war and the massive destruction of humanity he had seen. He knew how such things had grieved his brother.
He also knew that Richard had a problem being home alone with his son—that he saw his beloved wife etched in his features—that each glance brought back the painful memory of her death and rekindled his guilt for having gone to fight the accursed war. Ellis knew all the secret thoughts of a man unable to cope with his wife’s death. His brother had even been tempted to just leave the child in his nanny’s care and head for the western frontier. And yet there were other times when responsibility and duty were paramount in his brother’s life. He had planned to train young Richard to run the farm, teach him business and how to turn a profit.
Ellis eventually concluded that war played havoc with a man’s mind. He wished never to partake in such an event. He had been in Key West when Florida seceded from the Union and when the Union soldiers took over Fort Zachary Taylor. The captain ordered all those sympathetic with the South off the island, and the rest were given the option to stay on the island and not fight. Thankfully, few left the island before the orders to leave were rescinded.
Ellis never had to fight. He’d never been forced to take sides. Now that the war was over, the island was beginning to recover financially from its losses.
The beauty of Bea’s voice lulled him away from his thoughts as he watched her caress the gentle blond strands of Richard’s hair. He longed for a woman to stroke him with such a loving caress.
How long had it been? Ten? No, fifteen years since he walked away from Heather, her father, and his shotgun. They had been foolish young people who thought they were in love, only to discover it was simply infatuation. Had it been love, he would have returned for her when he was older and brought her to live with him. Instead, once out of her sight, her memory, their “love” had grown cold.
No, he was not a man to be trusted with a beautiful woman. He groaned inwardly and left them to their own loving union.
Chapter 4
The warm glow of morning sunlight lapped the palm fronds outside her window as a rooster crowed. Bea ached to be with Richard. This was the first time since his birth she hadn’t been at his side, the first morning she wasn’t in the kitchen making breakfast for him. She felt useless. She snuggled back under the sheet, having discarded the other bedcovers within minutes of retiring last evening. The small nub of a candle remained on her windowsill. She’d let it burn far longer than needed, just in case Richie would call out for her.
Needed her? She snickered. “He’s adjusting just fine with his uncle, Lord. I’m the one who is having a hard time with it. Perhaps I should return home.”
She waited for some earth-shattering revelation to bellow from the heavens. At this point she’d even settle for that still small voice spoken of in the Bible. Something, anything. She needed advice, direction. Her world was collapsing and the only verse of Scripture that seemed to placate her was Ecclesiastes 3:5, “A time to embrace …”
Disgusted with her self-remorse, Bea flung the sheet off and sprang out of bed. The room spun. She sat back down on the bed, clasping the edge of the mattress for balance. Her body trembled uncontrollably. Her hands felt clammy. What was happening to her? She closed her eyes. Her head began to pound.
She’d lived through hot weather before. Cook said to stay in her chemise and she had. So why was she so unsteady on her feet?
Beatrice’s shaky hand grasped the water glass beside her bed and slowly lifted it to her mouth. Snow hadn’t fallen yet back home in upstate New York, but she knew the pond was icing over. In a week’s time she’d gone from freezing temperatures to sweltering heat. She dipped her handkerchief in the basin and dampened her brow.
Perhaps she should remain in bed. Bea eased her body slowly back upon the mattress. “O Lord, help me, I’m so dizzy and weak,” she mumbled in prayer, then closed her eyes and collapsed into the cool darkness of her mind.
Ellis couldn’t get over Richard’s constant chattering. Questions, he had a million of them. Carefully, he answered them one at a time. Richard was a handsome child, and his eyes were so penetrating. When those eyes looked at him, Ellis felt as if they pierced his soul.
“Uncle Ellis?”
“Yes, Richard?” Ellis scooped another section of passion fruit from its yellow rind.
Richard held up his half-section of the fruit and asked, “What’s this called?”
“They call it passion fruit. Some, I’ve heard, call it grapefruit.”
“That’s silly.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t look like a grape, and it’s much bigger.”
Ellis chuckled. “I suppose you’re right, Son.”
“Uncle Ellis?”
“Yes, Richard.”
“How come Nanna isn’t having breakfast with us?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps she overslept this morning.”
“But Nanna always is up before I am.”
It was odd that Beatrice hadn’t come over for breakfast. He had told her the precise time for meals, and she was expected to join them. “Possibly she’s tired from the heat.”
“How come it’s so hot here?” Richard asked, working his spoon back and forth until the fruit spit at him.
“Because this part of the earth is closer to the sun.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know, other than that’s the way the Good Lord made it.”
“Oh.” Richard popped a seed out of his fruit.
“Uncle Ellis?”
Ellis didn’t think he’d ever heard his named called out as many times as this lad had called him in the past hour. “What is it, Son?”
He held up the large seed. “If I plant this seed will it grow?”
“I reckon so. Would you like to do that?”
Richard’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “Can I?”
“Sure, but we need to let the seed dry for a day or two first.”
“We had to do that with the corn.
“Uncle Ellis, did you live at my daddy’s farm when you were a boy?”
“I sure did. Even helped plant some corn.”
“How come I never saw you?”
Out of the mouths of innocent children, Ellis inwardly lamented. “I was busy here with my sponge business.”
“How do you grow sponges? Do you plant seeds like corn?”
If he answered that question, he’d be late for certain. Ellis wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Richard, I’d love to tell you all about sponge-fishing, but if I don’t get to work, my men will not go to work, and work is what pays to put the food on the table and roof over our heads. So maybe we can revisit this later?”
“All right.” Richard grabbed his napkin, wiped his mouth and hands, and promptly stood. “Where do we go to work?”
The boy intended to go to work with him. Ellis took in a deep breath. He needed a break. But he wanted to be accessible for the child.
“Richard,” Cook called. “I need you to go and visit your Nanna.”
Ellis didn’t pass up the opportunity. “Would you look
after Nanna today? I’m sure she’s having trouble with this heat. You’d be a big help to me if you kept an eye on her.”
“All right.” Richard scurried out of the dining hall, his feet pattering down the hall.
“Thanks, Cook.” Ellis turned to her and smiled.
“The boy is most curious, I’d say. But he’s a smart one. Truth be told, I’m worried about Miss Smith. She should have been up here by now. I haven’t seen any movement in the house. I’m a bit concerned.”
“She’ll need your care today. Can you handle the child as well?”
Cook raised her hands to her ample hips. “Now who do you think cared for my young ’uns?”
Ellis held back a grin. He’d known she’d rise to the challenge. But if he had asked her straight out, she would have given him an hour-long lecture about how she wasn’t “hired to be no nanny.”
“Now, you take that smirk right off your face. I know what you be thinkin’. Besides, I like the gal.”
Ellis chuckled and left before anyone could cause him further delay. He was already a half-hour late, though he’d still arrive before his men.
“Nanna! Nanna!”
Bea heard the pounding at her door. She even heard Richie calling her. Yet try as she might, she couldn’t roll her body out of bed. Every time she tossed herself over to her side she became dizzy. Her voice was weak.
“Richie,” she breathed. Could he hear her? O God, help me.
“Uncle Ellis, help!” His nephew’s scream reached his ears just as he rounded the gate. “Help!”
Beatrice … Miss Smith … trouble. Ellis turned back and ran toward the cottage.
Richard stood outside the door, crying. “Help, Uncle Ellis, Nanna won’t come.”
Ellis lifted the iron latch and flung open the door. He rushed toward the bedroom and found Beatrice wrapped in her bed-sheet. “Richard, go get Cook.”
“Is she all right?”
“She will be, Son. Please, go get Cook.”
Thankfully, Richard didn’t have any more questions. Beatrice was as red as a cooked lobster, and he knew what that meant. She needed to be cooled down and quickly. He reached for a rag in the basin. The water was warm. He dampened it anyway and applied it to her forehead.