Tidewater Bride

by Laura Frantz

  Ustis found his voice at last. “Good news, Daughter. Xander has graciously offered to help move us upriver as soon as I inform the council.”

  Behind Selah stood Candace, her face alight with relief and joy. “Our prayers have been answered, then.”

  “Though I’m loath to separate you from your garden here, dear wife, I trust that the soil upriver is even sweeter and will soon be the pride of the Tidewater.”

  “I shall begin packing at once,” Candace replied, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ve enough seed to plant a late garden. A promising beginning, indeed!”

  “Then I’ll ready my largest shallop to transport what is needed to set up housekeeping and the start of your merchanting there.” Xander returned his hat to his head. “Shall we start at sennight’s end?”

  “No need to delay. Day after tomorrow even, if you can marshal resources and spare the time. I’m determined to move—or die.” With visible effort, Ustis stood. All seemed to hold their breath. He tottered a bit, grabbing for the walking stick within reach. Selah came forward and kissed her father’s perspiring brow while Candace returned to the kitchen to serve him his midday meal.

  “Won’t you join us, Xander?” Candace asked him. “’Tis the least we can do to thank you for all your help.”

  “Once you’re settled at Hopewell Hundred, aye. For now, I’d best ready for your departure. Expect a shallop at first light two days hence. Your livestock can come overland. I’ll supply a dozen indentures to oversee the move for as long as you need them.”

  At that, he allowed himself a last look at Selah, who was by her father’s side, helping him to the table. She looked up at him just then, almost shyly yet lingeringly, her gaze soft and warm and soul deep. It took all the breath out of him. She held his gaze till prudence returned her to her father again.

  At their collective goodbyes, Xander went out whistling. The lightness in his spirit wouldn’t be denied. He’d not whistled since Mattachanna died.

  The governor was agreeable to the move, given the prosperous James Towne store would remain open. By next morn, the newly appointed clerk shadowed Shay as Ustis sat behind the counter and gave direction when needed. Selah, along with her mother and Izella, turned the house upside down, packing and sorting and parting with all manner of things while running hither and yon to the store when needed. Such gave them no time to have any second thoughts or ponder what they’d miss.

  Selah felt borne along by a great wave as their household shrank to dust motes and cobwebs in the emptying. A new venture. A new home. A new garden, even. Though she’d been upriver many times, she’d never thought to live there. Away from James Towne she’d be away from Helion Laurent too, and any further plans to visit tobacco wives.

  Candace packed away the last of the crockery and stood, looking bemused. “Daughter, I’ve never heard you whistling before.”

  Flushing, Selah folded some linens. “’Tis a cheerful way to work.”

  “Methinks you’ve picked up some of Xander’s habits.”

  Without answer, Selah returned to her room to sweep the floor as another coverlet was bundled and carried away with all her bedding. Whistling again, she packed the few books she owned in a basket, all the while dreaming of Rose-n-Vale’s overflowing shelves. Might Xander allow her a loan of some poetry or Shakespeare?

  As promised, the Renick shallop was waiting in the dewy James Towne dawn, and Rose-n-Vale’s hands loaded the boat to the gills in the forenoon. Though Selah looked for Xander with a sense of girlish expectation, he eluded her. Perhaps he had business elsewhere or wisely concluded that managing the move was best left to her parents, with the help of so many able-bodied men.

  Light of step, she hastened to the waterfront beside the last lumbering wagon bearing their possessions, the vessel’s foremast rigged with a small, square sail. Once seated at the middle of the boat on padded barrels, Selah and her mother and Izella faced the direction they were headed, the wind skimming over their flushed features and toying with their coifs. Shay and her father were already at Hopewell Hundred, having left in a loaded canoe earlier that morn.

  Soon James Towne seemed little more than an insignificant dot on a map as six sunburnt indentures plied the oars with expert rhythm. Was it almost a relief for them to be spared a day’s toil in tobacco fields? Their accents, predominantly Scots, warmed her ears with their rich, Gaelic-laced lilts.

  The wind freshened, pushing them along. Despite the boat being laden with so much cargo, they’d see Hopewell Hundred before noon. Silent for the first part of the journey, the women observed great herons along the river’s widening banks and bald eagles gliding overhead.

  “I fear you shall miss your garden,” Selah finally said.

  Candace smiled. “A garden is a small matter compared to your father’s health. Besides, the new clerk’s wife seems delighted to tend it.”

  Selah looked back over her shoulder. How odd to consider other hands doing their work. “Glad I am we have such a pretty piece of property upriver. Together we shall make it ours in due time.”

  “Indeed we shall.” A rare wistfulness marked Candace’s brow. “How I wish we had begun at Hopewell Hundred from the first.”

  “When you came over from England and Father was waiting for you at the fort?”

  “’Twas a true wilderness then. I was expecting his eldest brother, Jon, as you know.” She bit her lip as if the thought still saddened her. “Imagine a girl of seventeen, my passage paid, my betrothed dead of a fever on my arrival. A rocky start for one so full of hopes.”

  “But there stood Father, in mourning, waiting to greet you.” The timeworn story never failed to make Selah smile. “And after a sort you set out to woo him.”

  “Shockingly so, in hindsight.” Candace repinned her coif, which the wind had tugged free. “I was drowning in suitors, none of them the least desirable save one. Your father did remind me of poor Jon, but that is not why I chose him.”

  “You chose well.”

  “’Twas either marry or return to England. I could not endure another sea voyage, as I’d been quite ill coming to Virginia.”

  “So you proposed to him on a crisp October day when he showed you Hopewell Hundred.”

  “Ah, what a time that was.” She grew quiet, seemingly lost in the recollection. “Seven and twenty years ago. Your father, bless him, seemed as flustered or perhaps as flattered as I was bold. But our plans to live there quietly were upended when he was appointed a clerk and then cape merchant.”

  “You’ve had a good life together.”

  “Better than most. I cannot imagine a day without him.”

  How unpredictable life was, as full of twists and turns as this winding river. Selah let go of her expectations, reveling in the wind and the freedom of sailing along on so beautiful a morn, new neighbors and landmarks all around them. There, along the south shore in Warrosquoakeshire, lived the dissenting Puritans causing such a furor among Virginia’s Anglicans. Next came Herring Creek near Charles Cittie. On the bluff beyond was the sad spectacle of Henrico, gone to ruin after an earlier Indian war and never rebuilt.

  They passed their own dock, a rickety affair of neglected timber her father had promised to right, and moved farther downriver to Rose-n-Vale’s larger, far sturdier wharf. Ships oft moored there to offload cargo and take on valuable Renick exports. They drew up to the wharf and the moorings were secured. Selah was helped to land after her mother as indentures began unloading the cargo.

  A bridle path skirted the sandy shore, leading to their two-story wattle-and-daub house ringed with shade trees. Doors and windows were open wide in welcome. A stone well stood in a small courtyard, and an arbor led to a fenced if fallow garden. All bespoke a place craving occupants.

  Ustis was down by the water in the little cove nearest the house. Still leaning on his walking stick, he started for them, Shay alongside.

  “’Tis not a home without a feminine touch,” Ustis called out as Candace approached and put
her arms around him.

  “What say you, Sister?” Stepping in front of her, Shay released a gossamer-winged butterfly from his cupped hands. Its indigo hue was nearly transparent. “Father said these are found in dappled woodlands, of which we have plenty here.”

  Smiling, Selah watched the butterfly’s airy flight back toward the forest, an orange dot on its hind wings. Not one river rat did she see, nor greedy gull.

  Shaking off her lethargy from the warm ride upriver, she set to work, intent on making their beds, as they’d likely fall into them at dusk. When she grew tired, she simply drifted to a window or door to find inspiration aplenty to return to her tasks. A bespeckled fawn in a berry thicket. A clump of wildflowers she had no name for. The whisper of water in the cove a stone’s throw away. The sooner everything was set to rights, the sooner they could savor their surroundings.

  18

  Twilight found them atop crates, eating stale bread and smoked fish beneath the front eave of the house. The trestle table was set into place after supper, leaving them all looking forward to breakfast. In the kitchen the huge hearth bore the needful pots and pans, mostly Izella’s doing. Their prior tenant, God rest him, had been a carpenter by trade as well as farmer. Little touches everywhere bespoke his artistry—the carved stairwell, the leaf and vine embellishment on the mantels, deep window seats. Each a gift.

  Near dusk, the golden wink of fireflies seemed otherworldly amid the deep green woods as the day drew to an extraordinary hush. James Towne was nothing if not noisy. Rarely did it settle, even on the outskirts where their former house had been. But here on a distant shore there was simply the sigh of the wind and crickets’ chirrup.

  Father was asleep. She could hear his snoring. Mother was reading their Bible by candlelight. Shay was somewhere along the river’s edge with a pine-knot torch. Selah found herself alone in the parlor, still trying to make a place for things so that her parents would have one less task upon awakening. Yawning, she cast a longing look at the stairs. Her bedchamber was up them, across from Shay’s, both small yet with a winsome view.

  She stooped to dust the dog irons at the hearth, then straightened as a new sound intruded upon the stillness. Hoofbeats? Faint at first and then fading to a barely perceptible walk, as if the rider feared they’d be abed or wanted to surprise them unawares. Her pulse picked up and then settled. Naturals had no horses, though they did try to steal them.

  Still feeling a flutter of alarm, unsure where their musket was, she moved to the open front door that faced the small courtyard. The half-moon was generous, outlining the rough edges of woodpile and well and fence.

  A horse nickered through the blackness.

  She leaned into the door frame, bone weary yet hopeful. “Who goes there?”

  “Your nearest neighbor,” came the quiet answer. “And his faithful steed, Lancelot.”

  Xander.

  Bereft of words, she stepped outside into the moonlight as he swung himself down from the saddle. “I meant to arrive before dark, but the needs of the day held me fast.”

  “’Tis good of you to come.” Pleasure warmed her voice. “You’ve met many a need here even in your absence.”

  “Meaning you Hopewells wore out my indentures.” He faced her, smiling. “A fine night for riding. I saw your light from a ways off. A pleasant thing after so much darkness.”

  She peered into the shadows surrounding him. “No Ruby and Jett?”

  “They remain behind to fret my aunt.”

  This she didn’t doubt. “Can I fetch you a drink?”

  “Nay.” He came nearer, head turned toward the river’s edge where the fireflies were the thickest. “Is Shay fire-fishing?”

  “Aye. He seems to need no sleep.”

  “He’s safer here than at James Towne. No unruly sailors or sots.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew something that was all a-rattle as he passed it to her. “Needful seed.”

  “Nicotiana tabacum?” she teased. “Sweeter than the breath of fairest maid, said one poet.”

  “None of the noxious weed, nay.”

  “Thank you. Mother will be especially grateful. We’re anxious to start planting in the morning, test your upriver soil and see what grows here.”

  “Tobacco foremost.”

  “I shall leave that to you. And Oceanus, in time.”

  “Mayhap sooner than later. He’s due to arrive any day. You should see the nursery—” He halted, as if uneasy delving into such personal matters. “His bedchamber resembles a small battlefield, complete with wooden soldiers and a rocking horse and all manner of amusement.”

  ’Tis not play-pretties he needs, but you.

  She held her tongue. She’d not repeat her foolish foible upon his return about leaving Oceanus behind. Nor follow with another wrenching apology.

  “A welcoming home awaits him.” Her heartfelt words seemed to ease him. “I’m sure you’ve left no stone unturned as to his coming.”

  “And you?” He looked toward the house, light framing the windows.

  “I sense I shall feel at home here too. Moving seems to have given Father a new vision, new hope. And as I said, Mother is ready to plant a garden.”

  She gestured to a makeshift bench made up of barrels and a wood plank. They both sat, a respectful space large enough to fit Shay between them.

  “Why do I ken there’s more than what you’re saying?” He leaned forward, hands fisted. “Are you homesick?”

  “Homesick for James Towne? Nay. I simply long for a more settled life,” she confided. “One in which I don’t fear some tattooed warrior or skulking malady might rob me of those I love.”

  “Life in this New World has always been full of obstacles and dangers.”

  She looked up. The stars seemed bright and sharp as glass away from the smoky haze of town. “Do you ever feel the tug to return to Scotland?”

  A thoughtful pause. “Scotland has its own pitfalls, starting with a ship’s passage. If we’re to win this new land, we must stand firm right where we are. Raise sons and daughters to come after us and carry on what we have started.”

  “You must think me a spoilsport with all my murmurings.”

  “You’re no spoilsport, Selah Hopewell. Simply a lass in need of a fresh apron and a good night’s sleep. One who has better things to do than sit with a Scotsman when they both must rise before first light.”

  She looked to her apron, knowing it was a soiled, wrinkled mess even in the humid dark. She pulled at the strings, then balled the apron between her hands. Neither of them made a motion to go. That solaced her too. The space between them had shrunk by half now. Had he moved? His face was cast in craggy profile, the scant, silvery light giving her a glimpse of the aging, bearded man he might one day become.

  Another bittersweet pang shot through her. Time was so fleeting. Yet all of life’s uncertainties seemed sweetened by company. Starlight. The dwindling close of a busy day. She dug in her pocket and produced his handkerchief, clean and folded into a tidy if wrinkled square.

  Holding it out reluctantly, she offered its return. His hand did not rise to meet it.

  “Mightn’t you keep it?” Pitched low, his voice held a rare poignancy. “Though I hope you have no need of it.”

  Oh, I shall indeed have need of it. When you take your leave tonight. When Oceanus arrives. When Shay goes.

  In answer, she returned it to her pocket, sensing a tiny thrill. A heartfelt bridge had been built. He could not know how she had treasured that small bit of cloth, even putting it under her pillow when she slept. Nor had she wanted to wash it and remove all trace of him. And all the while she had wondered . . .

  How would his hand feel upon her hair again? Her skin?

  A tickle was her answer—the barest brush of his knuckles upon her heated cheek. They swept downward till they rested beneath her chin, tilting her head upward ever so slightly. Slowly he leaned in and closed the distance between them as her heart beat fast as a captive bird’s wing. Would he . . .
kiss her?

  But his hand fell away as a rush of footsteps had them both looking again at the river.

  “Xander? That you?”

  “Who else?”

  “Look at this!” Shay held up his catch with one hand, the spear with which he’d caught it in the other. At Xander’s praise, his smile widened. “Father shall have a fine striped bass for his breakfast.”

  “No doubt you’ll teach the Naturals some fishing tricks.”

  “Ha! I should like to teach and not only be taught.” He passed inside the kitchen doorway, leaving them alone again.

  But the sweet moment betwixt them was lost. Or simply postponed?

  Selah stood reluctantly, bringing an end to their unexpected meeting. “You must be weary from a day’s labor and then graciously calling on your new neighbors.”

  He didn’t deny it. “Fare thee well, dear Selah. It sits sweetly with me that you’re not far.”

  With that, he called for his horse and swung himself into the saddle with a seamless grace she never failed to note. Though her head tugged her inside, she let her heart sway her into watching him till the darkness swallowed him whole, the faint sound of his whistling unable to alleviate the sudden lonesomeness in his wake.

  19

  Soon their new home was nearly unpacked, and the warehouse along the waterfront opened its doors. A mere half mile separated the two and was easily had by a brisk walk or by horse. Most of their upriver trade came by boat, some by horse and wagon.

  Though their start was smaller and the warehouse not yet full, business was brisk once word spread that outlying plantations didn’t have to venture clear to James Towne for supplies. Since Ustis knew nearly everyone in the colony, hearty shouts of welcome and parting farewells rang out from morn till late afternoon. Somewhat revived, he did not rely on his walking stick as much.