Tidewater Bride

by Laura Frantz

  “Given the season, I cannot simply load a cart with my belongings and hie to Rose-n-Vale.” Selah wandered farther into the woods toward a persimmon tree heavy with fruit. “Not till after the harvest.”

  “All in good time, I suppose.” Candace turned grave. “It does not help that Helion Laurent has designs to pay more visits to the tobacco wives in the outlying shires. He approached your father at the warehouse just yesterday. It seems the governor is insistent—”

  “Nay.” Selah straightened, ready to defy Harvey himself. “I shan’t accompany Laurent again at any time.”

  “Your father told him the same. Vexed, the physic was.” Candace paused in her gathering. “If you were to marry, you would be safeguarded from Laurent’s plans and purposes.”

  “His schemes, you mean.” Selah bit into a ripe persimmon, the juice dripping onto her bodice. “I trust him not.”

  “Because of his trickery regarding Mattachanna? Or is there more?”

  Much more, I sense, though I know none of it.

  Selah tossed the pit away. “Xander has warned me to give him wide berth.”

  Candace cast her an aggrieved look as they moved through the brush in search of more boneset. “Then you’d best heed your betrothed’s—for I shall call him nothing less—warning.”

  “I shall, never fear.” But she did fear, goose bumps rising on her arms at Laurent’s latest ploy.

  They fell silent, lost in their search, and their baskets soon overflowed with papaws and medicinal plants to stand them in good stead for the coming winter. Their wandering had taken them far, almost to the edges of Laurent land.

  Though there’d been no cause for alarm today, no presentiment of trouble, Selah cast her skittish gaze wide, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. A rising wind added to her angst, leaves flying and twigs snapping and causing movement in every corner.

  At last Candace called over her shoulder, “Come, let us hasten back and see how Izella and Watseka are faring with their applesauce making.”

  Xander helped Oceanus onto the mounting block, a telling skittishness in the lad’s movements. His pony waited patiently, a handsome gray just twelve hands high, rescued from a wrecked Spanish galleon a year past. From a distance Nurse Lineboro watched, a speck of linen on the portico.

  “Nurse says I might snap my neck.” Oceanus looked from the portico to Xander, his eyes wide beneath his sweep of dark hair. “What means she?”

  It means Nurse Lineboro will soon be sent away.

  “Only that you take care to learn all you can about horses so accidents don’t happen,” Xander replied. Selah aside, he desired nothing more at that moment than to wipe away the distress marring Oceanus’s face.

  “Nurse Lineboro is a fretter.”

  Xander smiled. “Some women fret, aye. Some don’t.”

  “Great-Aunt Henrietta is a fretter too.”

  “Aye, that she is.”

  The pony nickered and tossed its starred head, returning them to the matter at hand.

  “Remember, you always begin with your left foot.” He touched the boy’s new left boot. “Meanwhile, your left hand is on the horn of the saddle while your right hand belongs on the cantle.”

  Oceanus did as he bade, not sliding off to one side and tumbling to the ground like he had yesterday.

  “’Tis all about balance,” Xander told him, using a loose lead rein to coax the pony into a walk and then a gentle trot.

  Shoulders squared in a show of confidence, Oceanus bounced along atop the pony as Xander quickened the pace. “Why hasn’t Watseka come again to play?”

  “She is busy at the Hopewells’, I suppose. Would you like to visit them?”

  “Aye. But Nurse says I need another playmate.”

  “How about we see if we can find Watseka tomorrow? After my morning ride about the estate?”

  The sheer delight on his son’s boyish face hardened Xander’s resolve. He’d delayed the tobacco harvest by a sennight due to the crop needing more time, a prime opportunity to give Oceanus time too. He didn’t need reminding how important it was for the boy to be with other children. Besides, Xander needed to see Selah. The want of her was never ending.

  “What about the pony course, Father?” Oceanus looked toward the pasture behind the stable. “Going around the circles and blocks and poles and such?”

  “Soon. Once you feel you’re ready,” Xander replied, wanting him to have some say in the matter. “Soon you shall learn fencing and swordplay. Be a brother of the blade.”

  “Truly, Father? Shall I have my own rapier?”

  “Aye. And your own fencing master.”

  “I would rather you teach me. Great-Aunt says you are the best.”

  “Alas, I have traded fencing for farming tobacco.” Sensing Oceanus was growing tired, he halted lessons. “Why don’t you find Cook and wheedle some gingerbread out of her? I believe that was what I smelled when I passed by the kitchen.”

  With a hasty adieu, Oceanus rushed headlong toward the building in question. Returning to the house, Xander faced Nurse Lineboro. She sat on a bench beneath the eave, awaiting Oceanus’s afternoon lessons. Though the hospitality of his house continued, he found her company . . . taxing. As did his dogs, from all appearances, as they reclined on the opposite end of the portico.

  “Beginning tomorrow you will continue Oceanus’s morning lessons but leave his afternoons free,” he told her.

  She seemed taken aback by his quiet words. “But his studies shall suffer, sir. He must learn mathematics, history, celestial navigation—”

  “You’ll also cease teaching him French.”

  Her naysaying knew no bounds. “But French, sir, is what his guardian required, along with Latin and—”

  “In addition to fewer studies, Oceanus needs more time for sport and friends.”

  A furious flush stained her paleness. “I suppose next you’ll have him laboring in the fields.”

  Into the tense lull came a low growl from Jett. With a quick rebuke, Xander finished what needed saying. “If Oceanus is to inherit Rose-n-Vale, he needs to learn how to be crop master at my side. Tobacco is a fickle if profitable endeavor that requires careful training.”

  She stood, no longer meeting his eyes. “I sometimes suspect you are a slave to it as much as your indentures are.”

  “You’re not far from the mark, but ’tis the way of the New World.”

  Her expression tightened. “I am weary of the New World.”

  He stepped onto the portico. “Have you given any thought to remaining in Virginia? Or should I arrange passage on a future ship to England?” At her silence, he said kindly but forthrightly, “Oceanus has outgrown the need for a nurse. He’s to have a male tutor in time.”

  Color high, she fiddled with the watch pinned to her falling band. “I shall need another month or more to decide my future. I beg you to allow me that.”

  “As you wish,” Xander replied.

  If she did return to England, it wouldn’t be for lack of offers. Not in deprived Virginia. Nor did he feel the slightest qualm about severing her tie with Oceanus. Despite the two years she’d minded the boy, he failed to sense any sort of sincere affection on either side.

  “Good morning.” McCaskey cleared his throat, shielding bloodshot eyes from the sun’s glare as he joined them. “My disheveled head is pounding, my wits lagging. I must say, your Caribbean rum and port are second to none.”

  Xander eyed him without sympathy. “You’d best hie to James Towne if your thirst continues to exceed my supply.”

  A rueful chuckle. “Meaning my intemperate habits tax you greatly.” McCaskey took the bench the nurse had abandoned. “You are not the sot I am, to your credit, Renick.”

  “The harvest commences soon, so a clear head is a boon. You’ll need to earn your gill of rum with all the rest.”

  “I suppose I should sharpen my tobacco knife.” McCaskey sighed, then raised his voice, breaking into song. “‘Hail thou inspiring plant!
Thou balm of life, well might thy worth engage two nations’ strife; exhaustless fountain of Britannia’s wealth; thou friend of wisdom and thou source of health.’”

  “How tiresome.” Nurse Lineboro motioned to Oceanus as he neared, gingerbread in hand. “Come and let us resume our lessons. After today, your afternoons will be spent otherwise.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Oceanus looked relieved. “I dislike so much study.”

  “As I once did.” Ruffling the lad’s shortened hair, Xander led the way as they went inside. He sought his study and opened the windows, the dogs circling before lying down. From the parlor, Oceanus began his lessons.

  Until the nurse and factor departed Rose-n-Vale, Xander wouldn’t marry. He wanted Selah to come to him without any guests beneath their roof. Though their impassioned time in the garden settled a great many questions between them, he sensed Selah still needed more time. More proof of a courtship rather than a business transaction. She also needed telling that her family, Shay included, were welcome to live at Rose-n-Vale permanently, if needs be.

  “Nephew?” His aunt rapped at the closed study door, voice muffled. At his bid to enter, she did so, shaking her head all the way. “I bring ill news. Three salted hams have been robbed from the smokehouse. Cook believes it happened last night.”

  “While the dogs were inside and we were sleeping,” he surmised. He didn’t set a night watch. All his indentures were needed in the fields. “Mayhap we should turn the dogs loose and add a padlock, though we’ve had no need for such till now.”

  “I do think that would be wise. Though I daresay it frightens me to think the damage the dogs might do a starving thief.”

  “Better that than the hangman’s noose.” Virginia law didn’t fit the crime, he’d always thought. Not to those first settlers who remembered the pinch of prolonged hunger. “‘Men do not despise a thief if he steals to satisfy his soul when he is hungry.’”

  “Ah, Scripture has an answer for everything. Do not forget the last part, Alexander—‘but if he be found, he shall restore sevenfold; he shall give all the substance of his house.’”

  He gestured to a chair. “I suspect ’tis Africans from a neighboring plantation.”

  “Helion Laurent’s, no doubt.” She sat, looking as aggrieved as he felt. “I’ve heard what happens under his oversight. The harm done those slaves.”

  “If so, the brunt of the blame should be laid on those who made them hungry and fail to relieve them.”

  “God deliver them.” She sighed. “Such prized hams. I do hope the starving souls savor them. We won’t butcher again till November, after the first frost, so will be woefully short on pork. And you know my distaste for wild game.”

  “There’s beef to be had.” He studied her, sensing more than thievery on her mind. She never resembled his mother so much as when she was vexed.

  She met his gaze, ire giving way to fear. “Speaking of Laurent, you no doubt saw him consorting with colonial officials at our gathering. I hesitate to bring it up now, but I fear his presence bodes ill. It certainly unearths all I’ve tried to bury since Mattachanna’s passing.”

  Going to the mantel, he reached for the pipe Selah had given him. ’Twas too early in the day to smoke, but he needed a distraction. “It soured the evening, aye.”

  She looked out a window, chin atremble. “You are a man of great endurance and restraint. ’Tis a wonder you’ve held on to your temper and not run him through.”

  His gaze lifted to the sword mounted on the far wall. “Bitterness is a disease, sickening he who harbors it. Our chance to avenge Mattachanna died with her.”

  “Will you tell Selah?” Her chatelaine clinked as she took a handkerchief from her pocket. “As your bride, should she not know what transpired with Laurent? The debacle that led to your marrying Mattachanna?”

  “I’m undecided. It seems to have little bearing on the present.”

  “I beg to differ.” She dried her eyes. “’Twas all I could do to not confront the scoundrel the other night and assure him his sins will find him out.”

  “Laurent is hardened to any evildoing. I see no evidence otherwise.” His mind was a-scramble trying to recall what his aunt knew and didn’t know from that heinous time. She didn’t ken the truth about one matter. But she knew all the rest.

  “If he is hardened to his evildoing, we shall see more of it, surely.” She stood, so shaken she seemed a bit unsteady on her feet. “And now that embossed carbuncle of a physic is closer than ever before.”

  He stood, finding no humor in her Shakespearean slur. Nor was she aiming for levity. Taking her elbow, he walked her toward the door. “I sense all this company and entertaining has gone hard on you.”

  “I’m not as young as I once was. And my gout pains me more than not, despite Candace Hopewell’s remedies. Speaking of the Hopewells, have you not seen Selah since the frolic?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  She smiled. “If ever a man was marked for marriage, ’tis you. Those Indian beads of yours raise my hopes. I suppose you’ve hidden them away somewhere.”

  “Rest assured, Rose-n-Vale will have a bride.”

  “But after the tobacco harvest?”

  “Selah will decide.”

  “I pray she is as impatient as I am.”

  She stepped into the hall, turning to give him a last, worrisome look and prompting him to say, “Leave any matters about Laurent to me.”

  30

  Selah awoke, not because of her father’s loud, sawlike snoring, but because of its absence.

  Treading carefully, she felt her way in the dark from bedchamber to stair and then parlor. Outside all was shimmering starlight, the harvest moon in full flower, the night too fetching to sleep.

  One sweep of the now familiar homeplace told her where he was. Beneath the arbor, the most fragrant bower to be had by day or by night. She approached in his line of sight, not wanting to startle him. Mother must have been tired indeed to not have missed his presence.

  “Dear daughter, what are you doing awake?”

  She sank down beside him on the bench. “I missed your snoring.”

  A chuckle softened his craggy features. “Yet your mother sleeps on, God rest her. She has been tired of late.”

  “Why are you out here, may I ask?”

  “Is it any wonder?” He gestured to the sky. “‘Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these,’ so said the prophet Isaiah.”

  “Methinks there is something more besides.”

  The warmth of his hand on hers assuaged her worry. “You are a most perceptive daughter.”

  “What is it, Father?”

  “I am simply missing Shay, as surely you must be.”

  “Has it been but a month since we stood in the dust and heat of James Towne common and bid him goodbye? It seems far, far longer.”

  “Love doesn’t wait well. Love is always missing the other.”

  Truer words were never spoken. ’Twas the same with Xander. An aching restlessness. An endless absence.

  Father continued in quiet tones, “We shall soon have news of Shay. Xander told me he will go to the Powhatans once the harvest is under way.”

  “Glad news.” Selah squeezed his hand. “Still, it makes me miss Shay no less.”

  They sat in silence for a time, the chirrup of crickets an enduring night song. A wolf howled in the far reaches, so distant it lost its threat. ’Twas a velvety darkness—the warmth, the moon-washed blackness.

  When he took a deep breath, she detected that dismal rattle in his chest. “Wherever Shay is, we are beneath the same sky, the same heavenlies. Somehow that seems to lessen the distance.”

  “A comforting thought.”

  She tilted her head back, gazing on a particularly bright North Star. There’d been such a star guiding them home after Rose-n-Vale’s frolic. The beloved memory made a woozy melt of her middle. The bench. The beads. She’d lost count of Xander’s kisses. He’d not only kissed her back. He’d k
issed her soundly. And left her in a sort of lovestruck trance ever since.

  In the presence of her father, shame crouched at the door of her heart. She and Xander were not yet betrothed. Was there such a thing as a chaste kiss or embrace? Had they done wrong in the garden, wooed by the beads and the seductive secrecy of finding themselves alone?

  “Good night, Father.” With a last squeeze of his hand, she left him, praying he’d be abed again soon and sleep the night through.

  As for herself, thoughts of her beloved kept her wide awake. Marriage beckoned, sanctifying untoward desires. Any day now he would come for her. Their time would be at hand. She would be Xander’s bride. Selah Hopewell Renick.

  How sweet the sound.

  Before dawn, her mother gently shook her awake. “Needs be you tend to the merchanting today, Daughter. Your father is having one of his spells.”

  The unwelcome news brought Selah upright. Father’s difficulty breathing seemed to worsen in the dog days of August. She dressed and breakfasted hastily. A sloop was expected with supplies, having docked at James Towne the day before, where the larger store took the lion’s share.

  Candace’s brow was pinched with worry. “Perhaps Watseka should accompany you. I don’t like the thought of you alone.”

  “I’m hardly alone, Mother, especially on supply-ship days. In the afternoon, send Watseka with something to tide me over till supper if you like.”

  “Very well. But should you need anything . . .” Candace laid a hand upon Selah’s cheek. “Would that one of Xander’s greyhounds went with you.”

  “Father’s flintlock is hidden in the storeroom if needs be.”

  The reminder only earned her a pained look. Selah pressed a kiss to her father’s perspiring brow and started off, trying not to let any concerns rob her of morning’s glories.

  Before her the broad river, bestirred by a humid east wind, wore a ruffle of white lace. By the time she reached the wharf, the sun at her back had dampened her stays and whetted her thirst. This early, none were at the store. She unlocked the doors and entered in, then prepared the scales and ledgers, rearranged ells of cloth to better display them, and restocked depleted wares.