by Laura Frantz
Shay began eating, gaze riveted to their father. Though her own knowledge of the affair was as pitted as mouse-eaten cheese, Selah knew it involved Helion Laurent and wanted to shut her ears.
“As you ken, Mattachanna was a Powhatan princess, her people being frequent visitors in the early years of James Towne to treat and to trade.”
“Mattachanna turned cartwheels with other settlement children on the common when she came here, Sister said.”
“Aye, I remember it like yesterday. Her powerful father doted on her, and rightly so. She always led any visiting delegations, walking ahead of all the rest as a sign of peace.”
“But then she grew up, became Lady Rebecca, and died.” Shay chewed slowly, digesting the facts as well. “Poisoned by the English, some say, in the Old World.”
Selah could no longer withhold a frown. Her brother knew more than they assumed.
A sorrowful nod from Ustis. “Such treachery would not surprise me. But we mortals shall likely never realize the whole story.”
“Is it true that something happened on a ship with Mattachanna? And that Captain Kersey and the physic Laurent were involved?”
A pained lull. Ustis studied his son as if weighing how much further to enlighten him. “Aye. Captain Kersey learned that Mattachanna was staying in a near Indian village and, with the approval of a secret council, abducted her. This was done to force her father to hand over English prisoners, tools, and guns stolen in raids.”
“And did the chief do as they asked?”
“Not at first. He was incensed that his beloved daughter had been taken, as any father would be.” Ustis cast a glance at Selah. Was he wondering how much she knew? Or imagining himself in the chief’s place?
“Mattachanna was quickly moved upriver and churched by Reverend Criswel beyond sight of James Towne.” Selah continued the telling. “After her conversion she became Lady Rebecca Renick.”
“Those are the bare bones of it, aye,” Ustis concluded. “One day, my son, when you are older, we shall discuss more of the matter. ’Tis unsavory supper talk.”
“I’m sorry, Father.” Ever agreeable, Shay resumed eating. “Think no more of it.”
Selah looked at her untouched plate. Truly, they were all still haunted by the shame of James Towne’s sad dealings. Mattachanna’s capture was but one of them.
“Will the Indians abuse me, Father, if I go?”
Candace drew in a sharp breath. “We shall pray each day that you are hedged from harm. Surely the Indians mean you no ill. Nor will we harm one hair of any children they send us in return.”
Candace’s unusual vehemence earned an appreciative nod from her husband. “Your dear mother is right. Keep in mind Xander would not agree to anything he felt would put you in danger. I will admit, however, that I wish another settlement child would be sent in your stead. But to your credit, you have the heart to go, and we are desperate for peace.”
Shay smiled as if to bolster them all. “Long years I have waited to join the Indians. Xander has told me much of their ways. And I believe it is as you said, Father, that we are more alike than not alike, despite our many differences. Our souls are the same.”
“Aye, just the same. The gospel is for all peoples, every tribe and nation, as Scripture says, for He made us all.”
Selah gave Shay a tender, lingering look. What changes would be wrought in him after he lived away from civilization? If James Towne could be called civilized. Would he lose his fleshy frame? Become as tall and lean as a Powhatan warrior? The whole plan seemed ludicrous but for one thing. Xander approved it. Though she didn’t endorse all that he did, she’d trust that in this matter he was right.
Still, her sisterly heart was sore. She read the same sort of sorrow in her mother’s aging face, which was sure to grow more lined in her only son’s absence.
“Xander has told me the Indian fare is quite different than our table.” Shay finished his supper. “I shall learn to use bows and arrows and hunt game.”
“I daresay you won’t miss storekeeping,” Candace admitted. “If ever a boy was made for the outdoors, ’tis you.”
“I shall do you all proud. I shan’t complain. Or be homesick. Or—”
“I do hope you are homesick.” Selah blinked away the dampness in her eyes. “We shall certainly be homesick for you.”
Shay grinned. “Perchance I shall become so brave a warrior the Powhatans will adopt me!”
Ustis groaned his displeasure. “No warlike talk, aye? You are there to learn their language and their ways, not train to make trouble.”
“Very well. What will Watseka do?” he asked.
“She won’t mind the store in your place, if that’s what you’re thinking. Rather, she’ll work alongside your mother and sister, learning our faith, housewifery and gardening, and how to speak English.”
“I expect she knows quite a bit about growing things, like Mattachanna did, helping Xander with his crops.”
Aye, all too well. Selah forked another bite. She’d begrudged him that too. Making a field hand of his bride, ’twas said. But what if Mattachanna had wanted to work alongside him? What if such reminded her of home, her people, and eased her homesickness? Had the wags ever thought of that? Had she?
Selah smiled. “No doubt we shall learn a great deal from Watseka too.”
Candace looked a bit relieved that their conversation took a more pleasant path. “If she’s anything like Mattachanna, she’ll be a delightful addition to our household. And even if she is not—for no one can hold a candle to the pearl we remember—we shall do our best to make Watseka welcome and at ease here.”
Shay winked. “Perhaps I, too, shall find a Powhatan princess to marry.”
Selah rolled her eyes while Candace gave a chortle of amused exasperation. “At twelve years of age, you are entirely too young to be matrimonially minded, Powhatan princess or otherwise.”
“I second your mother, of course.” Ustis aimed a pointed look his son’s direction. “If I hear of you chasing through the woods after girls and not game, you shall be returned home posthaste.”
“Aye, sir,” Shay said, still smiling.
Given his amiable bent, he was likely to attract all manner of friends among the Naturals. Had that been one of the reasons Xander had recommended him before the council?
As Izella served a favored pudding, she gave Shay an extra helping. How would it be with just the three of them at table?
“Selah, are you prepared to go visiting with the physic on Monday next?” Ustis fixed his gaze on her, a note of distress in his tone. “I am unhappy about the arrangement, but Governor Harvey dismissed my concerns and would only assign a servant to accompany you.”
“Fret not, Father.” Selah forced a smile to allay his worries. If he refused the plan, he’d no doubt incur the governor’s wrath. Determined to make the best of it herself, she tried to stay atop her dread. Surely the small gifts she was taking each new bride would sweeten the task. “’Twill be good to learn how the tobacco brides are faring. I suppose we shall even call on Cecily.”
“Be prepared to give the council a report.” Ustis rose from the table to seek the comfort of the parlor. “The colony’s success depends on the happiness of these unions. And take anything else from the store that you think might be of benefit to the new couples. The Almighty has blessed us materially, and we must be generous in return.”
13
For once in his tobacco-sated life, Xander was more concerned about the affairs of his household than his fields. How could he not be when his aunt went about the house nearly clucking her pleasure, certain the nurse accompanying Oceanus to Virginia would add more life and color to their spartan existence?
“What a lovely name she has. Electa Lineboro. I wonder if she is as fair? No doubt Oceanus is fond of her.”
“Aye, aye,” he said, a bit testy from a poor night’s sleep.
She pursed her lips in displeasure. “Since learning that Selah Hopewell’s heart is
taken, I am at loose ends.”
She was at loose ends? He raked his mind for a proper reply as she continued.
“One person in particular paid her a great deal of attention at the wedding feast—Helion Laurent. I wonder if he is the gentleman she favors?”
“Laurent is no gentleman.” Though he rarely naysayed anyone, the truth would not be denied. “I was unaware he spoke with her.”
“Oh, indeed. They spoke at length. I believe you were preoccupied with some of your fellow council members, or rather former council members.”
“Former, aye,” he murmured, a sinking in his chest.
What had the physic to do with Selah? Inquiring about her father’s ill health?
They stood on the second-floor landing as the house underwent a thorough cleaning ahead of the arrivals. Duster in hand, his aunt was now staring at his dusty boots resting upon the newly scrubbed floorboards.
“Tell me again when you think their date of departure was.”
He rubbed his beard with the back of his hand. “End of April, mayhap, if not before.”
“Splendid! Barring storms or piracy, we should see them any day now.” Her satisfaction knew no bounds. “How are you feeling about this noteworthy reunion?”
“On tenterhooks,” he answered, gripped by another misery.
“That stands to reason. I’d be on tenterhooks too. Not only are you being reunited with your son, you’re meeting a woman you might well marry.”
He eyed the open nursery door. “You get ahead of yourself, Aunt. ’Tis my kinsman’s futile wish for this woman, not mine. Don’t make too much of it.”
“Well, a doting aunt can dream!” she fussed good-naturedly.
“I have in mind another miss.”
She brightened again. “Do go on.”
“Would it not be wise to tell the object of my affection first and foremost?” he said.
“I suppose so. And when might this heartfelt revelation happen?”
“Not soon enough for you, I take it.”
“Really, Nephew. This hearkens back to your father’s courtship. I had nearly given up all hope he’d marry my sister, your long-suffering mother.”
“’Tis not as if I’ve never wed. I am, I remind you, a widower.”
“And need I remind you that you gave me my first gray hairs over Mattachanna? Who on earth would have imagined you’d choose a Powhatan princess!”
“I am not the only colonist to take an Indian wife, Aunt.”
“None but the chief’s daughter!” With a wave of her feather duster she retreated into her new room, only to pop her head around the door frame with a last word. “Whatever your faults, you are not stingy. I adore my new bedchamber and cannot wait for the furnishings you ordered to arrive.”
“You kindly gave up your dormer room to Nurse Lineboro. Some recompense was needed.”
He began climbing to the third-floor attic, the narrow stairwell little more than the width of his shoulders. The door at the top was open, sunlight spilling into the small space. ’Twas a cheerful, simple room with a princely view. His head brushing the low ceiling, Xander sank to his haunches before a west window, mired in a single thought.
Was Laurent pursuing Selah?
He stared past the glass, mostly unseeing. Here at the roofline of the house the vista was unmatched. Fields formed a patchwork of greens, rolling toward a haze of bluish mountains on the distant horizon that looked more watercolor. Wanderlust danced at the corners of his conscience. Whatever lay on the other side of those rolling, winsome swells beguiled him. Yet he was entrenched here, still besotted with the rivers and tides of coastal Virginia.
And wildly concerned about Selah’s circumstances.
He pulled himself to his feet, returned to the second floor, and tried to dismiss his unease over his aunt’s revelation. But even Oceanus’s room with its abundance of playthings made him no merrier. There, near the cold hearth, was the chair where Mattachanna had sat and rocked him till he grew so big he squirmed to run free. After she died, Xander had nearly burned the furniture, as its presence grieved and haunted him so. But somehow it had returned to being a lovely chair again with a mere melancholy echo.
Was that the work of grief? First the burning anger and numbing disbelief, then the slow slide toward a grudging acceptance of what was forever gone?
Over by a window, the painted, painstakingly carved rocking horse made him wonder. Had Oceanus outgrown such things? Here were enough toys to fill a future king’s nursery. Was he trying to make up for two years of absence and regret? Shuttering the thought, he moved to his own bedchamber, which his aunt had just finished dusting. She was downstairs now, humming a familiar hymn.
He stood in the open doorway, aiming for a dispassionate view. The big English oak bed and matching wardrobe were framed by colorful Flemish tapestries of foreign ports and ships. In winter the thick weave kept cold drafts out and the warmth of the hearth fire in. A pair of upholstered chairs nested near the dog irons. Here and there were a few practically placed candle stands. ’Twas the only room in which he didn’t allow the dogs. Ruby and Jett knew his preference and obediently waited at the door, watching him.
Would a feminine woman like such a thoroughly masculine room? Would she like it?
Again, his thoughts swung in her direction, she who kept to the forefront of his head and heart. Not even a day laboring in his tobacco fields dimmed his growing preoccupation. A fierce longing rent his middle.
How much longer would he put off telling her his feelings were no passing fancy?
Should he decide upon a date to profess his affections? Timing was everything. At night, in that languorous lull between weariness and sleep, he allowed himself to consider approaching her in her garden. Or should he speak with her father first? His desire for her grew by the day, his hopes for a happy home again along with it.
But her regard of him? How austere at times. Hardly a speck of warmth to be had. And yet, sometimes . . . sometimes he felt a turning, a kindling on her part. Laughter lurking in her eyes. Had he imagined it? Nay. More than once there’d been a telling, lingering look. A flicker of unspoken approval. Even . . . dare he profess it?
Desire.
He swallowed past the thickening in his throat. His gaze left the bed and returned to the windows with a view of the orchard. If she’d have him, she would be mistress of Rose-n-Vale with all its color and contradictions. He vowed then and there to be an able husband in future. A better father to Oceanus.
God rest Mattachanna’s wronged soul.
14
“Sister, what must I pack to go over to the Naturals?”
“Well, let me ponder it.” Selah paused in her sewing to study her brother as he readied his knapsack. Another pang. Another bittersweet smile. “I would think, first and foremost, since you are going as their guest, so to speak, you must bring small gifts. The Naturals are partial to brass and beads, as you know.”
“Aye, of course. But what about clothes?”
“The Naturals wear precious little of that, at least in the heat of summer.”
He grinned and gaped all at once. “So, I shall not only live amongst the Naturals, I must dress like them?”
“I suppose. The council has instructed us to make suitable English clothes for Watseka.” She held up a small, nearly finished coif. “I imagine the Naturals would want you to do likewise, out of respect. You don’t want to stand out, do you?”
“Nay,” he replied vehemently. “I shall see what Xander has to say about the matter.”
Selah smiled. Xander this and Xander that. If ever a lad revered a man . . . Checking the time, she forsook sewing and offered a brief prayer for the hours ahead while engaged in a full-fledged wrestling match with dismay and dread.
“Daughter, I must speak with you.” Her father motioned her into the parlor, away from Izella’s tidying and Shay’s hearing. He went to a painted oak cupboard with their best silver displayed upon the cloth atop it and opened a smal
l drawer. “Needs be you must carry this. For your safety.”
She stared at the small pistol he extended. Safety from savages? Or Helion Laurent?
“No need to fear, Selah. Though you’ve not practiced shooting in some time, you once handled a firearm as well as many men.”
But did she remember how to use it? The pistol felt cold to the touch. “I pray I will have no occasion to fire it.”
“Hide it on your person. ’Tis meant for reassurance. Though times are more peaceable now, one never knows what could be encountered beyond town.” He smiled, but she read something in his eyes that shook her to her buckled shoes.
When the unwelcome knock on their door sounded, Helion Laurent stood outside, a maidservant with him. Selah waited till her father came from the stable with her own saddle mare. In the light of early morn, Ustis looked unusually wan. Withered by the long winter. Where had her hale and hearty father gone? Or did his wan appearance have more to do with this circumstance?
“Godspeed.” Ustis’s cordial handshake with the physic helped smooth Selah’s ruffled feelings about the matter. “I trust your rounds will be done well before the sun sets.”
With a slight, noncommittal nod, Laurent reined his horse north. Selah kept behind him, glad to ride beside the maidservant. Timid and unsmiling, the girl showed no penchant for conversation, though Selah tried to draw her out.
They were well under way before the bustle of town took hold. Selah all but averted her eyes as they passed no-man’s-land with its almost eerie silence, the abode of the dead after that terrible starving time so many years before. Not far from the old James Towne fort, the unmarked gravesites held a great many bones, most of them bereft of coffins.
Midmorning found them farther downriver, where the burgeoning settlement extended. The day was cool for June, the night’s rain driving away the worst of the heat and insects. Occasionally they nodded to passersby or drew to the side of the rutted road to allow carts or livestock to pass without flinging mud on their garments.