Tidewater Bride

by Laura Frantz

  Before long the day’s business commenced. She preferred these upriver folks. They had an earthy honesty far removed from the airs and eccentricities of James Towne. Usually few goodwives happened by, but today two came with their husbands, making much of the merchandise and asking a plenitude of questions Selah was happy to answer.

  Mother had worried needlessly. The wharf and warehouse kept a brisk pace, and then the anticipated supply ship docked, landing her waist deep in hogsheads and crates and tubs. A few willing men helped her open them, unleashing a flurry of examining and dickering and buying. Most upriver purchases were made with tobacco receipts.

  By midafternoon her head was filled with names and amounts, the little coin that had been transacted deposited in a locked box. Stomach rumbling, she caught her breath during a lull and looked east, wondering when Watseka would come. The storeroom had emptied, people carrying home their goods. A few men lingered on the wharf, one fishing off its end.

  “Good day, Mistress Hopewell.”

  The familiar voice turned her around. In the doorway stood Helion Laurent.

  “How fortuitous to find you here when we hardly exchanged a word at Renick’s gathering.” He began to move about the store, poking this or that with his ivory-headed walking stick as if loath to touch recently handled goods. “I am seeking a few items for my plantation. I expected your father to assist me.”

  “Father is home today.” She wouldn’t say unwell. News traveled fast, ill news especially.

  “No matter. Your help is all I require.”

  The way he said it—and the look he gave her—left her nauseous. A glance out the open door showed an empty wharf. Were they now alone? Her mind made fearsome leaps. Had he told the loitering men to leave?

  “Father may well appear at any moment to assist you.” The half-truth nipped at her, but fear turned her defensive.

  “So how do you find being upriver?”

  Grim with you so near.

  “I do not miss James Towne,” she said.

  He moved on, his back to her now, but ever nearer. “Even though you are no longer there, I hear reports of you. One distressed me particularly.” A close perusal of scarlet hose and a canvas doublet trimmed in white lace revealed his penchant for vanity. “I came here today not only to transact business but to warn your father. Since he is absent, I will tell you.”

  “If for my father’s ears, best wait till he is here.”

  “But the matter concerns you.”

  What could she say to this? He would tell her no matter what. She escaped to the far end of the counter, making a pretense of adjusting the scales.

  “You should know I have it on good authority that Renick woos you not for your person but for your land dowry. Such would make him the largest plantation owner in Virginia, greater than any of our more worthy officials. ’Tis no secret that is his chief ambition.” He gave a tight, hollow smile. “Be forewarned.”

  The accusation dropped into the sultry afternoon like shards of ice.

  Watseka, where are you?

  Laurent was perusing the chains now, those fetters and foot cuffs used for Africans. Father usually put them out of sight at the back of the warehouse. Why were they out front?

  Whenever Laurent moved, she moved too, as far as possible from his reach if not his gaze. Her hands straightened, dusted, rearranged goods as her mind whirled.

  He could harm me, and none would be the wiser.

  If only the supply ship had not gone farther upriver to unload more goods. If only Watseka would come. If only Father were not unwell. If only Xander . . .

  Laurent’s harsh allegations slithered through her conscience. If she did wed Xander, her dowry would become his. Legally she would relinquish it all. But did it even matter? He was already the foremost tobacco lord in Virginia. Was it true he wished to trump the foremost officials with his landowning? Could that truly be the reason for his pursuit of her? Some ignoble motive? Though her whole being cried out against the lie, the slim shadow of doubt remained.

  Hoofbeats broke through the tumult of her thoughts, followed by childish voices. Weak with relief, she traded the shadowed warehouse for stifling heat and found Xander dismounting in back, Oceanus and Watseka greeting each other amid the mess of unpacked goods.

  Xander looked askance at Helion Laurent’s horse, hobbled and ripping noisily at the marshy weeds nearer shore. His gaze swung to Selah, a dozen questions in its depths. She could not even stammer out a greeting, she felt so besmirched at having him find her with the very man he’d warned her about. She was hardly aware that Watseka approached with a small basket.

  Thanking her, Selah shook her head. “I’m not the least hungry. Why don’t you and Oceanus have a picnic by the water? Find a shaded spot.”

  They ran off happily, leaving her alone with Xander but for Laurent. He called to her from the store, and she squared her shoulders, overcoming her revulsion, or trying to.

  “Trouble with the physic?” Xander asked her quietly. He stood before her, features sharp with concern.

  She stared back at him, entreaty in her eyes. There were no words for the wariness that uncoiled in her at Laurent’s presence, the same sick dread that overcame her when she encountered a poisonous serpent.

  Saying no more, Xander went ahead of her into the warehouse. She hung back, making sure the children were situated on the bank, if only to delay her entrance.

  Laurent raised his voice, obviously displeased with Xander’s arrival. “Renick? I thought you’d be deep into tobacco by now. I’ve not known you to wait so long to harvest.”

  Xander gave the customary merchant’s reply. “What is it you buy?”

  The rattle of chains was the answer. Selah winced, returning to the ledgers while Laurent made a frightful noise coiling the chains atop the counter.

  “I’ve need of a branding iron.”

  Selah firmed her voice. “We have none.”

  “A blacksmith is required, then, to make the brand.” He turned toward Xander, who stood, arms crossed, watching Laurent transact his business from a few feet away. “How about your smith’s services, Renick?”

  “My smith’s not for hire. He’s never worked a brand, nor will he.”

  “Still, a brand I must have. I shall seek the James Towne smith to make my mark. For now, these fetters will do.”

  Selah wrote what was owed in the ledger, but her quill halted in midair at Laurent’s next remark.

  “So, your half-heathen boy is back. He looks a great deal like your late wife. I see very little of you in him.”

  Xander drew nearer. “What concern is that of yours?”

  “’Tis a wonder you returned the child to Virginia.” After paying in silver coin, Laurent draped the chains over his shoulder. “One would think you wanted to be rid of him permanently.”

  Selah’s soul went still. She stared at the figures she’d written down, the ink a black blur.

  “Scripture says there is one who speaks rashly like the piercings of a sword.” Xander took the remaining chain off the counter. Slowly he wound it about the physic’s neck, twisting till it tightened and pinched. “Much enslavement is self-made. No shackles are required.”

  Laurent’s stare held cold annihilation. “What is that to me, Renick?”

  “’Tis your everlasting soul I fear for, Laurent.”

  With a jerk backward, he tried to free himself from the chain’s hold. It fell to the floor with a dull, clanking thud as Xander released his grip. Movements stiff with fury, Laurent picked up the chain along with the others and strode out of sight.

  Selah stood turned to stone by the quarrel.

  Xander spoke into the lull once Laurent had ridden away. “I owe you an explanation.”

  “All this has to do with Mattachanna, does it not?”

  “Aye.” He leaned against the counter, eyes on the river beyond the open doorway. “How much do you ken of Mattachanna’s ordeal among the English?”

  “After Captain K
ersey and others brought her to James Towne against her will, you mean?” At his nod, she dug unwillingly for what she knew. “Only that the council wanted to use her to bargain with her father, the chief. For a great quantity of corn and the return of stolen goods and English captives.”

  She came out from behind the counter to stand beside him. The children were wading in the river. Soon Watseka would peel off her English clothes. But for now, Selah only cared about the troubled man beside her.

  “Mattachanna was taken to James Towne by night and kept in the household of an official secretly. Word was sent to Opechancanough that she would be released with his cooperation.”

  She nodded. “But her father was slow to meet the English terms, so Mattachanna was kept.”

  “Opechancanough met most of the council’s demands but not all of them, not to their satisfaction, nor in the time they dictated.” He paused, gaze still on the river. “Time passed and Mattachanna grew more dispirited. She missed her people. Since she’d always treated the English with great favor and generosity, she felt they had dealt her an immense blow, a betrayal.”

  “’Twas exactly that.” Even now Selah recalled the shock her own family had felt at the treachery done to a young woman who meant no harm. “She was soon removed from James Towne to another unknown location upriver.” Here Selah’s knowledge unraveled. Amid such secrecy, she had been denied a visit to her old friend, leaving her to speculate where Mattachanna was. How she was. “There Reverend Criswel supposedly watched over her and instructed her in the catechism and our faith.”

  Xander ran a hand over his bearded jaw. In the harsh afternoon light it glinted red. “She was placed in Criswel’s care, out of sight of James Towne, because she was with child.”

  With child.

  The straightforward words failed to take root. Selah simply stared at him as all her preconceived notions came crashing down.

  “During her early captivity in James Towne, Helion Laurent, acting as physic, forced himself on her.”

  The sharp intake of breath was Selah’s own.

  “To hide both his wrongdoing and her pregnancy, the council decided upriver was best. But Mattachanna grew ill in both body and spirit. Her sister was sent for as Criswel feared she might die.” His grieved gaze met hers. “I was sent for.”

  “You? Why?”

  “I was one of the few who could speak freely with her in her native tongue. She trusted me. I knew her father, her many kin, from living amongst them as a youth. She told me what Laurent had done to her.”

  Selah looked to her knotted hands. “Carnal knowledge . . . such is a punishable offense in Virginia.”

  “An accusation easily made and hard proved.”

  “But—”

  “If you are as well connected as Laurent, especially so. After he had offended the chief’s daughter in such a way, all was silenced lest another war ensue. Even the Powhatans punish such a crime by death.”

  Never had he looked so troubled, the slight grooves worn by time and weather in his handsome features taut. She schooled her ire and listened, though she wanted to cover her ears instead.

  “I met with the governor and his foremost officials and told them what Laurent had done.” The dismal outcome was mirrored in his hard expression. “Their response was that carnal knowledge resulting in a child necessitates consent.”

  What? Was there no justice? No recompense? Selah tried to tamp down her welling dismay. “And so Laurent escaped the hangman’s noose. But what of Mattachanna?”

  “Reverend Criswel—a good, God-fearing man—knew it would be best if she came under someone’s protection by marriage. I was the logical choice.” At last a sliver of light came into his face. “By that time, I was thoroughly enamored with her. We were wed. Rose-n-Vale became her haven. Oceanus was born, the son I had long hoped for but who was not my own.”

  Nay, not his own but his sworn enemy’s.

  From outside came the sound of bubbling laughter. Not Watseka’s but Oceanus’s. The joyful intrusion spread a balm over the ill feeling left in Laurent’s wake. Yet in the ensuing silence, a new sorrow began to unspool inside Selah. How she had misjudged Xander.

  Her mouth felt dry, her tongue tied. “I have a confession.”

  He looked at her, his eyes glittering with emotion. If ever a man could undo a woman in a glance . . .

  “I have thought wrongly of you for years.” Tears nearly closed her throat. “I’ve been a fool to believe you sent your son far away from you in a callous gesture when he is not even your son, when his very presence must remind you of what that vile—”

  “Nay, Selah.” He swallowed, the cords of his own throat tightening. “He is all I have of Mattachanna. And I choose to believe her beauty and her character trump any evildoing Laurent did her.”

  She slipped her arms about his waist and laid her head upon his chest. Long moments passed as the truth took root. She let go of the lie that Xander wanted to wed her for ignoble reasons. She would not even give that voice.

  Outside the laughter ebbed. Oceanus appeared at the door, holding out Watseka’s English garments. “She says she is a beaver.”

  With a sudden, bottomless laugh, Xander banished all remaining tension from the room. “Soon I will take you to pay a visit to your grandfather the chief, and you will see that most of your kinsmen do not wear a great many clothes in summer. Watseka is only following her custom.”

  “She isn’t the only beaver hereabouts.” Selah took the clothes and impulsively kissed Oceanus on the top of his thoroughly wet head. “Meegwetch.”

  “That means ‘thank you.’” He smiled up at her. “Meegwetch.”

  “Good words.” She smoothed his hair back, wondering when Xander had had it cut. Perhaps at breeching, as was common. She searched for any telltale sign of Laurent in his sweet face.

  Lord, may it only be Mattachanna I see.

  With another smile, he ran off with the boundless energy of a boy not yet five.

  “Where is your father?” Xander’s question turned her around.

  “Unwell, thus I am here in his stead.”

  “What happened here today before I came? With Laurent, I mean.”

  “Nothing of consequence, as you arrived soon after. But if you had not come when you did . . .” She all but shuddered. “Save for the Almighty, rogues such as he are hard to redeem.”

  “I suspect ’tis not only Mattachanna who has suffered at his hands.” Xander’s gaze held a warning. “Or who else will.”

  Selah returned to the counter and closed the ledgers. “If you would see me home . . . I have no heart for merchanting today.”

  Together they toted most of the remaining goods inside the storeroom before locking up, then called the children to follow once Watseka was dressed again. In the bright sunlight, with the river gliding on as before, the shore soothed by a freshening wind, Selah could almost believe nothing had changed. Yet in the span of a tense hour, her small world had turned on end. Everything before her held a different cast, including the man whose saddle she shared. The boy running ahead of them after Watseka. The precious memory of Mattachanna.

  She herself.

  31

  Once home, Xander helped Selah dismount, his hands lingering at her waist. “Have you given any more thought to the beads?”

  Smile returning, she looked up at him. “I can think of naught else.”

  “Nor can I.” His countenance eased. Had he somehow been unburdened by all he had told her? “Once the harvest is well under way, Oceanus and I will head west to the Powhatans. Have you anything for your brother?”

  “I’ll gather some small things to give him. How long will you be gone?”

  “Long enough to ascertain how the exchange is faring. When I come back, we’ll talk more about the future.”

  She blinked into the glaring sunlight that snuck beneath her hat brim, wishing she could go with him. How she missed Shay. The world he’d gone to was strange, indeed. She craved but a glimps
e.

  Behind them came Ustis’s raspy voice beneath the arbor. “Home early, Daughter?”

  “For today, Father.”

  “I’ll explain if you want to go inside,” Xander told her.

  Her first thought was to leave the matter to him. But what would he share? That Laurent had bought chains and made insulting remarks, and a fight had nearly ensued? That she sensed the presence of evil every time he drew near?

  “Please.” She touched Xander’s sleeve. “Say nothing to Father. His health cannot take it. I shan’t return to the warehouse alone. Surely that is caution enough.”

  “I’ll ask him for your hand, then.”

  Would he? Could so much happiness and heartache coexist in one day?

  Stunned, she walked toward the house. Her mother was near the well, listening to Watseka and Oceanus tell of their picnic. Selah sought the empty parlor, still able to hear the murmur of her father’s and Xander’s voices outside.

  With effort, she bent her thoughts toward the small knapsack to prepare for Shay. Some sweetmeats, perhaps. A trinket or two for him to share with new friends. Nothing that would slow Xander. Already she missed him. Though she tried to push today’s confrontation aside, it seemed to set the stage for another acrimonious encounter. Some retaliation by Laurent. ’Twas not only for herself she feared.

  Removing her hat, she stole a look at herself in a looking glass. Pale as frost. Surely that bespoke her turmoil. And yet, Xander was even now asking for her hand—

  “Selah.”

  Xander had come into the parlor. Was he leaving? The day had flown. Four o’clock shadows were creeping across the courtyard behind him. Yet another goodbye. The harvest and the journey would soon be upon them. Time in all its sweet fleetingness seemed to gather round, causing her to impress his beloved features on her heart like flower petals between pages.

  His voice held a jubilant beat. “Your father has given his blessing.”