by Laura Frantz
“Spanish spies, mostly. But the truth is the Spaniards have set their sights on the Caribbean and Florida and are no longer the hazard they once were.”
“Britain has a solid foothold here.” McCaskey heaped his plate with bacon and bread. “I might well decide to forsake Scotland for America in future, but I’ll not settle amongst those prim Puritans with their ban on tobacco.”
“The Puritans reside mostly in Massachusetts Bay, though a small remnant live just across the river,” Xander told them.
“What is yer number now outside Virginia?” McCaskey asked.
“Eight other colonies exist, the most recent being Maryland.”
“But none so old or so prosperous as Virginia.”
“Oh aye, the colony is a braw age, truly, nearly as auld as I am,” Xander replied, to McCaskey’s amusement. “What would you like to see next?”
“Yer water-powered sawmill.” McCaskey lifted his eyes from his dwindling plate. “With Virginia’s timberlands, ye colonists have no lack while all of Britain cries for wood.”
“And all Virginia cries for laborers.” Nurse Lineboro frowned. “Yet your port officials detained Rose-n-Vale’s indentures who put to shore with us just yesterday. The French physician raised a concern about their health.”
A concern? More uproar. Laurent had threatened to send them all back to Scotland, citing suspicion of a contagion among them. The consulting Mount Malady physic dismissed the concern as groundless, yet Xander’s bondsmen were still in quarantine, little better than gaol.
“Another reason to consider Africans.” McCaskey brandished his fork like a weapon. “Think what more could be done here with them.”
Xander leaned back in his chair, his patience thin. “Must we come to blows over the matter?”
“My apologies.” McCaskey reddened. “I am your humble factor. If ye continue exporting the quality Orinoco you do, I’ll say nae more about the matter.”
Xander looked toward the clock. “We’ll return for the dinner hour, after which I plan on showing Oceanus his pony.”
Nurse Lineboro frowned. “He’s not ridden before, sir.”
“Time to begin then.” To his aunt, he said, “I’ll leave his riding clothes to you. I believe you’ve made something suitable for him.”
She nodded. “Oceanus is so tall I might need to adjust them. But ’twill be done in time for your first ride.”
Breakfast finally over, Xander went out, McCaskey trailing, leaving the women to whatever women did in their absence. His aunt would oversee Nurse Lineboro and Oceanus in the meantime.
“She’s an industrious child,” Candace remarked as she and Selah paused from their gardening to watch Watseka at work beneath the arbor. “Her aunts have trained her well. Sad, though, she is missing a mother.”
While Candace returned to her weeding and watering, Selah took a stool and sat beside Watseka in the shade. Truly, she was a wonder of productivity. Beside her was the basket of ribbed mussels—tshecomah—they had gathered on the beach the day Xander came upriver with Oceanus. Ever since, Watseka had been toiling tirelessly at breaking the mussels into small pieces.
Though it had taken some help from Ustis and a great deal of misunderstanding due to their inability to speak Powhatan, Watseka finally obtained what she was after—a handmade drill.
“I believe she is wanting to make the mussel shell beads the women of her tribe are known for,” Ustis finally said. “I recall some of her people bringing rawrenock to James Fort early on.”
The word brought a telling sparkle to Watseka’s eyes. “Rawrenock,” she repeated with joy over and over.
“She means to make a necklace,” Selah mused, helping her whenever she could.
Though some might naysay the child’s efforts, Selah sensed it was important to her, a tangible tie to her roots in a very white world.
“I am glad to see her happily occupied. She’s an able helper in the garden and kitchen, but I sense those don’t satisfy like her bead making.”
Selah sought a great length of leather string in anticipation as Watseka rasped each shell on a sharp rock to a uniform size.
“’Twill take weeks,” Ustis murmured in a sort of awe at the child’s efforts. “In the meantime, I wonder what Shay is doing. I doubt he is as hard at work bead making.”
Despite a bittersweet twinge, Selah had laughed. “Fishing and hunting in buckskins, likely.”
They gathered beneath the arbor in the shade after supper, even Izella, Ustis preparing his pipe with the tobacco tamper Bazel McCaskey had given him. The gift turned their conversation to Rose-n-Vale, though Selah’s thoughts never strayed far from its master.
“An invitation should be forthcoming, something about a gathering or frolic, if I remember correctly,” Candace said, arranging her handwork in her lap.
Silently, Selah counted the days since she’d last seen Xander. An appallingly long fortnight. “With the harvest near at hand, such seems a stretch.”
“A little merrymaking sweetens the work, aye?” Ustis settled in for a smoke, leaning back against an arbor post. “No doubt the indentures deserve a frolic of their own to hearten them before the harvest. Much sickness at Rose-n-Vale of late, or so I’ve heard.”
“I’ve some tonics to help with that.” Candace plied her stitches without looking up. “I wonder how Oceanus and his nurse are faring? I’ve prayed the dreaded summer seasoning would pass them by.”
“The nurse has a frailty about her that doesn’t bode well in Virginia. She reminds me of those English roses brought over on the second supply. They failed to thrive here with the drought.” Ustis studied Selah. “I do wonder if you and Nurse Lineboro will be friends.”
Hope welled up at the words. Away from the bustle of James Towne and their ties there, did her father sense she was sometimes lonely?
“Perhaps we shall,” Selah said, watching Watseka abandon her shells to play with Kentke near the stable. “I have high hopes Oceanus will befriend Watseka too.”
“Why not go to Rose-n-Vale tomorrow if the day is fair? Take the needed tonics.” Candace perused her stitches in the fading light. “Widow Brodie always welcomes company.”
Dare she? Their long summer days were a blur of endless tasks—harvesting, preserving, distilling—which left them tumbling into bed each night with no thought of the morrow save what needed doing next. “Can you spare me the time, Mother?”
“You’ve been toiling from dawn to dusk with nary a rest. Izella and I can do without you for one day.” With an encouraging smile, Candace removed any doubt. “As your father said, a little merriment sweetens the work.”
Needing little prodding, Selah fetched a towel and clean smock from the house, then made her way to a secluded spot along the river where the rushes and cinnamon ferns hid her from view. She disrobed, removed her cap, and unpinned her hair to wash it. The cool water embraced her, sand firming beneath her feet as she walked in up to her chin.
At her back came a familiar giggle. With a splash, Watseka joined her, her despised English clothes forsaken. Lately she had lost her cap, a shoe, and an apron. While Candace tried to impress on her to be more mindful of her appearance, Watseka seemed not to understand or care. Though she was young, her Powhatan roots went deep. Since the Hopewells saw the practicality of her people’s garments, they could not scold or blame. Selah had half a mind to make herself a buckskin dress, though if James Towne’s ruling body found out, they might well sentence her to a public dunking on the ducking stool at the next full tide.
“A-visiting we shall go,” Selah sang as she scrubbed her hair and Watseka’s, trying to make her aware of tomorrow’s visit.
Watseka parroted back a few precise words. “Visit . . . boy . . . Oceanus.” She ducked beneath the water, stripping the remaining soap from her hair.
At bedtime, when they knelt to pray, Watseka surprised Selah by mentioning Oceanus again. Her quicksilver mind always seemed to leap ahead of them despite the many changes and challen
ges. Was Shay adapting so readily? Was Oceanus?
Selah tucked Watseka into Shay’s bed, crossed the landing, and crawled into her own bed. An owl hooted. The night wind bespoke a blessed coolness. Already she was craving not autumn with its colorful leafing but the icy silences and new-fallen snows of winter. Such spelled a rest from their toil. And more time.
Her last thought was of Xander. Always Xander. Hearts were such restless things, her own forever craving more. More of his company, his heartfelt words.
His kiss.
25
In the forenoon, Selah and Watseka took the bridle path alongshore to Rose-n-Vale. Rarely had she seen Renick land in summer, tied as they’d been to James Towne. Bright blue mist flowers in the open meadows gave the lush grasses a bluish hue, the same serene shade as the river on a cloudless day. Even now she imagined the burned taint of Indian summer in the air and the subtle shift of the landscape.
When Ruby and Jett came bounding over the rise to meet them, Watseka shrieked and hid behind Selah. Truly, the dogs were a frightening pair to one so young.
“They mean no harm,” Selah reassured her as the dogs began sniffing and wagging their long tails. “Gentle giants, truly. One day Kentke may be as big.”
Shading her eyes from the sun, Selah started up the rolling rise to the house with the gamboling dogs so glad of their company. Midway there, she turned back to take in the river that Xander continued to call the Powhatan. Whatever it was, it flowed serenely past on this windless day, toward Shay.
At the back of the house were carpenters, not the bricklayers of before, erecting what looked to be a portico. A little thrill of discovery went through her. Brick by brick, column by column, Rose-n-Vale was coming into its own. Again, that feeling of sneaking up on the main house from behind and not approaching the proper if little used front door nagged her. Last time they’d found Xander at the well. Where was he now?
They passed the formal flower garden with its arbor, every inch abloom with aromatic roses. Watseka peeked in a window of the summer kitchen, the din of crockery within rivaling the hammer-wielding workmen. Selah’s heartbeat seemed nearly as clamorous, her tongue tied the closer they came. All aflutter she was, and they’d not seen one whit of the master.
“Welcome, Selah!” Widow Brodie appeared at a side door. No matter that she had a houseful, Xander’s aunt made them feel at home. “And this must be Watseka!” She winced as a hammer struck. “Come inside at once. We shall reward your long walk with refreshments from the Summer Isles.”
Into the shadows of the main house they went, the riverfront door soundly shut on the dogs.
“I’ve brought some of Mother’s tonics for the indentures who are unwell,” Selah told her, darting a gaze into Xander’s empty study.
“Glad I am of that. You could have carried nothing better.” She took the basket. “Mount Malady’s physic came and went but dispensed little. These will certainly help relieve the misery.”
“Let us know if more are needed. Mother is filling the new stillroom with every conceivable remedy, both from the woods and our James Towne garden. Thankfully, Father seems on the mend.”
“God be praised.” Widow Brodie led the way into the small parlor and shut the door on the din. “I pray all this racket is done by the festivities.”
Selah hardly minded the noise. The sound of progress, Father always said. “I’m quite smitten with your portico. I hope you smother the posts in roses.”
“You must tell Alexander the very same. Men can be so . . . practical. That we have any flowers at all is Mattachanna’s doing. Otherwise all would be planted in tobacco.”
Selah smiled. “Orinoco-n-Vale sounds quite unpoetic.”
A rare cackle. “Quite!”
As their hostess took Watseka by the hand and excused herself to bring refreshments, there came the light tap of footsteps on the stairs.
“Mistress Hopewell?” Into the parlor stepped Nurse Lineboro. “You caught me napping—or trying to.” She rolled her eyes as the hammering resumed. “I heard talk of tonics. A sleep remedy is sorely needed.”
“Oh? I shall do what I can. You’re welcome to our stillroom should you want to visit in future.”
Nurse Lineboro took a leather chair that looked newly arrived from England. “Such a masculine domain. I confess to not feeling entirely comfortable here.”
Selah made no reply. For a servant, albeit a nurse, the woman seemed a bit high-minded and free with her opinions. Yet the refinement in her voice and carriage bespoke a genteel upbringing. “Handsome is as handsome does,” Mother would say. Mulling it, Selah took a seat. She’d make no hasty judgments as she had with Xander. Whatever her foibles and faults, Electa Lineboro was lovely to look at, her gown a deep blue, its slashed sleeves embellished with white satin ribbon, her hair covered by a lace-edged cap.
“’Tis too hot here to enjoy the outdoors. And this house, though large, has few amusements. I confess that I—” A horse’s high whinny cut short Nurse Lineboro’s words and sent her to the nearest window. “The men are back—with Oceanus intact, I hope. He’s frightfully afraid of horses.”
The tramp of booted feet and another door opening deep within the house led to Ruby and Jett’s frenzied barking and Watseka’s sudden appearance. Selah didn’t miss Nurse Lineboro rolling her eyes again as she faced the open parlor door. Amused by the melee, Selah stayed near the window as dogs and children and men poured forth into the small space, followed by Widow Brodie with too few refreshments. Out the door she went again to remedy such before anyone said a word.
“Mistress Hopewell.” Xander pulled off his hat. “Brave of you to join us.”
“Indeed, Master Renick. Rose-n-Vale hums like a hive.”
Oceanus stood beside Watseka, clearly pleased at having a pint-sized companion. From a pocket he withdrew the shell she’d given him as if to show her he’d not forgotten. “May I go out and play now, Father?”
Xander gave a nod. “Aye, you’ve earned it.”
“Don’t you want something to slake your thirst first?” Nurse Lineboro asked him.
“From the well?” He looked at Xander again.
“Or the kitchen. Cook has more than well water.”
“I shall show Watseka my new pony on the way. Mayhap she can help me name him.”
Xander winked at him. “Even a Powhatan name is most welcome.”
Nurse Lineboro took him aside but not out of earshot. “Be ever mindful that ponies kick and bite.”
Dismayed by her chastening, Selah took in Oceanus’s riding clothes, the miniature doublet and dark breeches. On his feet were the buckled shoes he’d arrived in, not boots. Bound for the cobbler next, no doubt. His long hair, so bountifully black, was shorn. Overnight he’d achieved full-fledged boyhood. As he left, he gave a courtly little bow, further tugging at her heart.
“He’s quite the wee gentleman, obedient and obliging,” McCaskey said in earnest approval. “But a bit of an old soul for one so young.”
“Lord willing, the latter will change.” Xander stepped aside as his aunt reappeared bearing a tray.
She served sugared lemon water in pewter posset cups, fresh mint atop each. Selah sipped hers gratefully, wishing they were on the half-finished portico instead as they took the seats scattered about the parlor.
“How does Oceanus take to the saddle?” Selah ventured.
“He’s asked to bring his pony inside the house.” At her smile, Xander added, “He wants nothing to do with the wooden rocking horse in his bedchamber.”
“Save it for a brother or sister then.” McCaskey grinned, looking to his right. “D’ye not ride, Nurse Lineboro?”
“I’ve had little opportunity to do so, though I might need to master it if I stay on in Virginia.”
“I thought I overheard you discussing your departure plans with Widow Brodie.”
“I’ve not yet decided.” She flushed, gaze traveling to Xander. “Master Renick hasn’t said he no longer needs my services
.”
Xander held his tongue, and the room stilled uncomfortably.
“I confess Virginia has cast its spell on me.” McCaskey drained his drink with relish. “In the words of one former colonist, I am overcome by the ‘fair meadows and goodly tall trees, with such fresh waters running through the woods as I was almost ravished at the first sight thereof.’”
“Stay on, then,” Xander said. “Cast your lot with the rest of us, a motley assortment of men and not nearly enough women. Here you’ll no longer be concerned with importing tobacco as factor but growing and exporting your own.”
McCaskey stroked his clean-shaven jaw. “I suppose I must grow a beard as you ruffians do.”
“Nay, all that is required are callused hands, a willingness to work, and a sound knowledge of Orinoco.”
As the men talked, Selah took out her fan and stirred the heated air. To her relief, Xander went to a window and opened it, hinges creaking. McCaskey began questioning him about indenture contracts, leaving Selah to manage conversation with the now sullen nurse.
“I can only imagine how hard coming to a strange land must be,” Selah said quietly.
“I had little choice in the matter. My circumstances forced me into the role of nurse since my parents perished in the last plague that swept through Britain.” Nurse Lineboro looked to her lap, smoothing a fold of her skirt. “I thought by coming to Virginia I might better my chances of marrying bereft of a dowry.”
“Husbands are as prevalent as tobacco, truly.”
An arched brow. “Yet you remain unwed. Have you no suitor?”
Did she? Though Selah’s entire being coaxed her to look at Xander, she would give nothing away.
“Of late, I’m needed more at home. My brother is away, you see, and my father continues unwell.”
“Your father . . . a kind, capable man, Widow Brodie says. A friend to the Indians. How is it having an Indian child beneath your very roof?”
“Watseka is delightful, and mastering English much faster than we are her tongue.”
“Isn’t it unusual for so small a girl to participate in such official dealings?”