Tidewater Bride

by Laura Frantz

  He was surrounded by people who felt themselves beneath him—his indentures—and those who felt themselves above him—Virginia’s gentry. The latter despised his success, and the former held him in high regard as the standard they hoped to reach. He remained in the lonesome middle, a vacuous place where few men lived, a position that afforded few friends. He counted Selah a friend.

  Once past her guardedness, he had warmed to the woman beneath. She was not shallow of soul. Not frivolous in nature.

  The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her . . . She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.

  But did he love her? Aye, he did. ’Twas a different sort of love than the wild, reckless passion he’d felt for Mattachanna in his youth. The better question was . . .

  Would Selah let him love her?

  Till then, he had Rose-n-Vale. Mattachanna’s son. A beloved aunt. Two doting dogs. An ample table. A comfortable bed. A favorite pipe.

  An almost sweetheart.

  23

  “Glad news, Daughter! The ship bearing Oceanus has docked.”

  Selah stared at her father as she entered the warehouse with his midday meal, the welcome words no less upending because the homecoming was expected. “This very day?”

  “Indeed.” Ustis adjusted his spectacles, looking more delighted than she’d seen him since Shay’s leaving. “Xander got wind of it early this morn and has gone to meet them in James Towne by shallop. Of course, his new indentures will be kept overnight there for the usual requirements on arrival, but Xander should return with Oceanus sometime this afternoon.”

  Soul lifting, Selah set down her basket, hardly believing the happy news. Soon Oceanus would step ashore, into their waiting arms and hearts. Hardly the baby Mattachanna bore but a nimble boy, whether resembling more his father or his mother they would soon discover. Or perhaps a pleasing mix of them both.

  “I’ll remain here with you till they come.” Selah began unpacking the basket while Watseka roamed the store, poking a small finger at this or that, finally holding up a mustard pot in undisguised fascination. “Surely Mother and Izella won’t mind an afternoon alone.”

  “I daresay they will not,” Ustis agreed, partaking of a roast chicken leg. “Miss Mischief never tires. What I would give to greet the day running like she does.”

  Selah bit her lip. How keenly the old nickname brought Mattachanna’s memory back.

  “She’s adjusting well to our ways, though ’tis a struggle to keep her clothed.” Yet who could blame her? The Naturals’ dress was far more practical, allowing one to leap and dance and run without hindrance. “Needs be we reserve her English clothes for Sundays.”

  “A worthy suggestion.” Ustis stifled a cough by taking a drink of ale. “How goes her schooling?”

  “Her mind is lively, so much it astounds me. She shows remarkable ability with her sewing.” Truly, the small sampler Watseka had begun was nothing short of an astonishment. “I suppose her aunts have taught her a great many things.”

  “The women of her tribe are particularly skilled with handwork and have long been partial to our sewing notions.” He looked from Watseka to Selah. “But what is this I hear about a sparrow? Your mother says one alights on her head nearly every morn when she goes outside.”

  “It even sings a song for her. I’ve never seen anything so charming.” Smiling from the delight of it, Selah handed him a mince tart. “Have you not witnessed it?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure yet. But mayhap she needs a playmate more than a bird or a puppy. Oceanus is near her age and will be exercising a growing independence from his nurse.”

  “Perhaps today he and Watseka shall meet.” Selah looked out the open doorway to the wide river empty of all but a passing canoe. “The wind has freshened and is in their favor.”

  “A memorable day for Rose-n-Vale.” Ustis stood at the sound of distant voices. Never idle for long, he readied for more business.

  Selah observed his half-finished meal. “Shall I stay on and help you, Father?”

  “Not today, Daughter. I feel more myself, God be thanked. Go enjoy this glorious afternoon.”

  Selah called for Watseka and led her outside as half a dozen indentures passed inside. Doffing their caps, they eyed Watseka curiously, likely unaware of the exchange that had taken place. Virginia was swelling so in size that any news was often belated. The outlying plantations heard last.

  The day was indeed glorious, the heat tempered by a cooling wind. Watseka soon had an apron full of ribbed mussels so common alongshore. She held out her dripping apron. “Tshecomah.”

  Selah nodded, thinking Watseka’s native word more winsome. “Shells.”

  With a smile so wide her missing tooth was apparent, Watseka made it clear Selah was to load her own apron.

  “We need a basket.” Selah backtracked to the warehouse for that very item, wishing for a tiny, clean apron too, if only to appear tidy when Xander and Oceanus docked. But did it even matter when every eye would be on the long-awaited lad?

  By the time she’d returned, Watseka’s English clothes were in a little mound on the beach, the apron holding the shells protectively, her lithe self underwater in the river.

  Selah sank onto the warm sand by the discarded clothes. She’d grown used to Watseka’s ways just as the girl adjusted to theirs. Each day she performed her daily rituals, offering a smidgen of food to the fire, bathing in the river, searching for tuckahoe roots in the marshes. What she wanted with the mussels was a mystery that surely would be solved in time.

  As playful and graceful as a river otter, Watseka splashed and rolled and amused as Selah waited for the shallop. “How I wish I could join you,” she said to no one in particular.

  Her thoughts drifted toward Shay, gone nearly a fortnight. What had her brother gained and discarded during his time with the Powhatans? She missed him terribly, his empty room across from hers now occupied by Watseka, his vacant chair at table an ongoing reminder of how far he had roamed.

  Shrugging aside any melancholy, Selah removed her shoes, stockings, and garters and left them on the sand. As she waded into the cool river, Watseka came up with a mighty splash, dousing her.

  “You little imp!” Selah splashed her back, their mingled laughter floating across the water.

  By four o’clock, she was weary of dismissing vessels floating by. Then at last a speck of wood and sail took shape before her searching eyes.

  “Come and make ready,” Selah called over her shoulder as her feet left the water, the urgency in her voice getting Watseka’s attention.

  Fully clothed if slightly disheveled, they stored the mussel basket to carry home later. Hurrying back toward the wharf and warehouse, they joined several colonists coming or going, either laden with goods or waiting to load them. Selah’s wish to meet Xander and party with no onlookers was quickly discarded.

  “See who comes?” Selah gestured to the shallop as it approached. “A young friend for you, or so I hope.”

  Watseka, likely understanding little beyond a sense of expectation, trained her dark eyes on the river. Ustis came to stand beside them, lifting Watseka onto his shoulders in a surprising show of strength.

  Selah’s heart seemed to beat out of her chest as the vessel finally docked at wharf’s end. Her gaze skimmed over the six oarsmen to Xander in the stern, a stranger with him. Seated near the mainsail was a woman. Oceanus’s nurse? Near the bow was Oceanus himself. Tall. Spare. Looking little like the toddler she remembered. Not one speck of Xander did she see at first glance. All was Mattachanna.

  “Oceanus,” Selah said to Watseka, wondering if the Powhatans called him by a different name. “Master Renick’s son.”

  This was the moment she’d dreamt of, yet in the glaring light of reality the dream faded. First to step from the shallop was the nurse, hardly the gray-haired matron she’d envisioned. Every bystander’s head turned as the woman, holding Oceanus’s hand, disembarked and walked gracefully toward them.
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br />   Chestnut hair beneath a lace-edged coif. Pale skin unmarked by the pox or the sun. Clad in a gray gown neither highborn nor low, the cloth none the worse after a long sea voyage. Her expression was unreadable, and she was seemingly oblivious to so many stares. Selah’s gaze fell to the boy beside her, his eyes fastened on his buckled shoes.

  Would he not look up? Allow her to see the cast of his features?

  At that very instant he did. His dark eyes ricocheted from her to Watseka, who stared back at him unflinchingly. Truly, Mattachanna was engraved in every line and furrow of his small face. ’Twas her black hair that hung about his shoulders, her nose and jaw etched into his beloved features.

  Oceanus weaved a bit as if his sea legs had yet to catch up with solid ground. With a word to him, his nurse stepped off the pier near several hogsheads to await the rest of their party. Xander made introductions as they all gathered in a circle.

  “Oceanus fared well on the crossing, as you can see.” Xander’s hand rested on the boy’s shoulder as he stood beside him. “Nurse Lineboro accompanies him and may make her home in Virginia. My factor from London, Bazel McCaskey, is an unexpected but no less welcome guest.”

  “We are Rose-n-Vale’s nearest neighbors.” Ustis shook hands with the man and made introductions of his own. “This is my daughter, Selah, and our charge from the Powhatan nation, Watseka.”

  “An Indian child? How extraordinary!” McCaskey’s gaze passed from Watseka to Selah. “Mistress Hopewell, is it?”

  She smiled in affirmation, warming to this swarthy Scot, whose open countenance bespoke a warmth and congeniality oft missing in fractious Virginia.

  “We’ve long prayed for your safe arrival,” Ustis said. “Now we shall pray the New World treats you kindly. Your transport is waiting. We shan’t delay you any longer, though we hope to see you on the Sabbath.”

  “Not only the Sabbath,” Xander announced, hat in hand. “Once our guests gain their land legs, Rose-n-Vale will host a gathering.”

  “Sounds delightful,” Selah said, catching his eye.

  Pulling free of Selah’s hand, Watseka crossed to Oceanus. He took her gift of a mussel shell with a slightly bewildered smile, turning it over in his hands before Watseka all but skipped back to Selah’s side.

  “Thank you,” Oceanus said when prompted by Nurse Lineboro.

  Xander gestured toward the waiting wagon where baggage was being loaded. “Not so fine as your Old World conveyances, but the journey isn’t far.”

  “’Tis good to feel land beneath my feet. I’d rather walk beside the wagon.” The factor stared into the distance as if already envisioning Orinoco fields. Reaching into his pocket, he turned back toward Ustis. “In honor of Virginia’s hospitality, here is a gift from the mother country.”

  “Honored, thank you.” Ustis accepted the brass tobacco tamper with a nod of his grizzled head. “A welcome addition to my collection.”

  Looking slightly crestfallen, Watseka spoke a single word as they departed. “Pa-naw.”

  ’Twas enough to turn Xander around with a smile. “Farewell, Watseka, till we meet again. Pa-naw.”

  Watching them depart, Selah felt cast adrift from the tall, hatted man with his back to her, a jumble of new people and events between them. Yet had she not just stood with him in the warehouse shadows several days before, weak-kneed over his wanting her to be his bride, the mistress of Rose-n-Vale? Such a forceful, passionate declaration now seemed no more substantial than river mist. Nor, understandably, had he paid her much attention today beyond the usual polite exchanges.

  His last words returned to her like a cold tide, prickling her skin and leaving her shaken.

  “I will not give you what you are yet unsure of, thus forming a bond between us that might well break.”

  24

  Overnight, Rose-n-Vale assumed the feel of a tavern, its chambers no longer suffused with a dusty, sunlit stillness. Now the house seemed small and a bit moody as Xander bumped into guests at every turn, the factor’s unexpected arrival adding another unsettling element to a burgeoning household.

  “My, Nephew, our abode overfloweth.” His aunt’s brows rose in wonder when he appeared earlier than usual the next morn to gain a few minutes of undisturbed quiet.

  As if sensing his mood, she served his cassina in silence before retreating to the summer kitchen to give instructions to Cook for the meals of the day. Alone in the dining room, he sat in his usual place, eyeing empty chairs that were no longer simply chairs but would soon hold complex strangers. Nurse Lineboro foremost.

  Dismissing his uncle’s glowing letter about her, he pondered Oceanus instead. Though bearing his mother’s mark, the boy showed little of Mattachanna’s fire and free-spiritedness thus far. Had being reared in the shadow of an overbearing relative and an especially attentive nurse made him a bit guarded and withdrawn? Seasick at the start of the voyage, he’d then fallen ill with a chest ailment. His rattling cough concerned Xander. Mayhap once Oceanus regained his health he’d come into his own.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  Xander pulled his gaze from the diamond-paned windows to greet the nurse. She approached the table hesitantly, eyeing a porcelain pot on a tray, the fragrance of cassina potent.

  “Your aunt tells me there are no servants’ quarters in this house.” Selecting a cup, she poured the brew, then cooled it in her saucer once she’d sat down. “Might I ask what it is I’m drinking?”

  “A native beverage.”

  She took a sip, steam obscuring her pale features if not her distaste. “I’m finding little about Virginia that resembles Britain, including sitting at the master’s table.”

  “You are welcome to Cook’s table in the summer kitchen, if that is your preference.”

  “I offer no complaint, sir. ’Tis just that your choice of guardian was an exacting man.” She sighed, confirming what he’d suspected about his aging uncle. “Children and servants remained out of sight below stairs unless sent for.”

  He took another drink. “Brave New World, indeed.”

  “’Twill take some getting used to, these little freedoms.” Opening a fan, she began wafting it about. “I’m afraid Oceanus had a fitful night, given the insects and the heat.”

  “He’ll adjust soon enough.” Xander looked again toward the windows. The sun rode the horizon, shimmering over the river in its sultry climb. Newcomers fared badly in the summer, especially the sweltering days of August. “He’s fast asleep, or was when I looked in on him before breakfast.”

  “His chest still ails him. I suppose you heard him coughing in the night.”

  The troubling sound added a new layer of angst. Suppose Oceanus was sickly from a lack of fresh air and exercise? “I’ve sent for a physic to examine him. Expect his arrival later today.” Done with his cassina, Xander eyed the clock, ready to begin his morning ride. “Now seems a good time to tell you I want the boy breeched.”

  “Breeched?” Her cup rattled when she set it down. “Oceanus is but four.”

  “Four seems a great age, when boys here are oft put out of coats sooner. His hair needs cutting too.”

  Without his blackish mane, Oceanus would be far cooler, yet Nurse Lineboro was regarding Xander as if he’d called for a scalping instead. Heat seared his neck at her reaction, leaving him more at sea about parenting the lad.

  He forged ahead. “Tomorrow morn we’ll have a meeting about Oceanus’s time in Scotland, his schooling and life there. My kinsman sent a number of reports the last two years, but you no doubt have your own thoughts as his nurse.”

  “Indeed I do, sir.”

  When his aunt came back into the room, the stilted silence had her casting him a questioning look. A heavy tread on the stairs led to McCaskey’s appearance, his jovial nature a balm for what had gone before.

  “Cassina, ye say? I must try it.” Sitting, he took an appreciative sip once Widow Brodie filled his cup. “Bracing. Like a stiff Scots headwind. And . . . maize? Corn pone? Nae bannocks?�
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  “Nae oats, nae bannocks,” Xander replied. “Corn abounds here but only a wee bit o’ wheat.”

  “I’ll nae complain.” McCaskey smiled at Nurse Lineboro. “A pleasant night, I hope?”

  “Not in this heat, I’m afraid. Nor did Oceanus fare any better.”

  “A pity.” McCaskey’s joviality dimmed. “I’ve heard some Virginians have their Africans cool them with feather fans at bed and table to combat both the insects and the weather.”

  The nurse turned inquiring eyes on Xander. “Might that be arranged?”

  Arranged? He set his jaw to quell his aggravation. He usually shunned unsavory talk at table, though these newcomers were understandably curious. “You’ll find no slave labor here. I can easily recount for you all the woes Virginia has inflicted on itself since the first ship carrying Africans docked.”

  “God forgive us.” His aunt shut her eyes for the briefest second. “Let us forgo the details.”

  With a wince, McCaskey took another sip of cassina. “Still, more slavers are bound for Virginia than any other port. And most planters prefer slave labor over indentures.”

  “Yet Rose-n-Vale’s tobacco exports outstrip every planter in the Tidewater without them.” ’Twas Xander’s best defense.

  “To my great pleasure as yer factor.” McCaskey’s smile showed uneven white teeth. “Such a frightful clamor for Virginia’s Orinoco. British buyers continue to prefer yer leaf o’er all else, and now ’tis on the continent, especially sought after by the Dutch, making the Spanish seethe with indignation.”

  “Is it true the Spaniards inflict the death penalty for any selling their tobacco seed?” Nurse Lineboro asked as she sampled a corncake at the urging of Xander’s aunt.

  “They threaten, aye.”

  “Our ship’s captain reports Spanish vessels are oft sighted in Chesapeake Bay.” Her anxious eyes sought Xander. “Virginia remains on alert for the Spanish threat, do they not?”