by Laura Frantz
He took a step back, letting loose another curse while flinging a final warning their way. “If I encounter you further on my land, I shall shoot on sight.”
Xander swung round and faced him. “Thus adding a charge of murder to your suspected offense of kidnapping, which caused not only the death of the colony’s cape merchant but inflicted a grievous injury to his daughter, my betrothed. And now,” he said with growing surety, “fire setting and the malicious destruction of property.”
“You can prove nothing!”
“I shall prove everything.”
With that, Xander walked away into the night. McCaskey and the search party followed, the chase far from done.
38
Who could sleep on such a night?
Selah pushed aside the bed linens at dawn, looking out Xander’s windows with their sweeping views. Smoke writhed from the damp ground in places, no longer a threat but a reminder of all that was lost. In the distance the farthest fields were shadowed in a gray haze along with the remains of ruined barns and outbuildings. Nearer the house it seemed a boundary line had been drawn, blackened grasses on one side, withered, seared grasses on the other.
Rose-n-Vale had been dealt a harsh blow. But the mansion was still standing, and she’d overheard Xander say burned fields reaped hidden benefits. Still, it all paled when compared to recovering Watseka. What had the night’s pursuit borne?
Dressing hastily, she went downstairs in yesterday’s soiled clothes to find her mother and Nurse Lineboro in the dining room with Widow Brodie. They ceased speaking when she entered, their expressions guarded.
“Has there been any word of Xander?” Selah asked, joining them at table.
“I doubt he’ll return without Watseka. Though he is needed here to superintend the damage done the plantation, the child is his chief concern.” Widow Brodie reached for a teapot and coffee urn. “To celebrate that these walls are still standing, I’ve made both Turkish coffee and Chinese tea, which your mother kindly gifted me, compliments of the Dutch East India Company.”
“Coffee, please.” Selah smiled, feeling more herself than she had since their ordeal began. Xander’s homecoming had struck one worry from her list, at least.
“We were just praying for the search party.” Candace set down her cup. “Perhaps it’s best we stay on here at Rose-n-Vale for now.”
In case there’s further trouble. Selah heard all her mother did not say. How safe she felt here in company. Cocooned from Laurent especially. Even her grief seemed blunted. She had no wish to return to Hopewell Hundred. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
“Have breakfast, my dear.” Widow Brodie had hold of a savory dish. “Cook has made a delicious pumpkin pudding.”
Selah took up a spoon, her mind not on the fare before her. “Surely we can be of some help, not just sit waiting. I shan’t be a loiter-sack.”
“Well said by the future mistress of Rose-n-Vale.”
A delicious warmth stole through her. Had Xander made known his intentions? She smiled back at Widow Brodie, noting the nurse’s surprise and her mother’s undisguised delight.
“I doubt Alexander will want you laboring like an indenture,” Widow Brodie said. “Perhaps we can sew men’s shirts and breeches, knit stockings. The indentures’ quarters are half burned, their belongings with them.”
A plan was made to retrieve their sewing notions and other personal belongings from Hopewell Hundred as soon as possible.
“I can’t thank you enough for making us all feel so welcome,” Candace told her. “Izella seems quite content in the kitchen helping Cook.”
“She’s an excellent hand in the garden too. We’ve been needing more servants with Rose-n-Vale expanding. Betimes my nephew forgets the household and just supplies the fields.”
“I can certainly join you making garments,” Nurse Lineboro said. “Earn my bed and board till I settle elsewhere. Master Renick no longer needs my services, especially with Oceanus gone over to the Naturals.”
“Have you made plans to return to Britain?” Widow Brodie was good at ferreting out most anything. “Or is Virginia more to your liking than when you arrived?”
“I’m still undecided.” She gave a small, mysterious smile. “I shall ponder it more thoroughly while I ply my needle.”
Selah breakfasted, listening as they spoke at length of the fire’s devastation. The sun was up, streaming through the windows like a benevolent guest. It cast the room in a palette of yellows, making it seem their hard circumstances were naught but a bad dream. If only Father were here—and Shay and Watseka. If only the fire had never happened. Their thoughts could be happily occupied with other things, like a wedding—
A sudden barking sent Widow Brodie to a window, where she blinked at the glorious light. “The search party has returned at last.”
Abandoning her breakfast, Selah passed into the hall, already feeling at home in the house. A dozen questions clamored, though no doubt she’d have her answers when she first saw Xander’s face.
He came in the back door, leaving Jett and Ruby outside. He was red-eyed and unshaven, sweat- and soot-stained from his collar to his boots, his eyes telling a long story, though he said nary a word. Never had she seen him so spent. She daren’t ask him anything.
She laid her head upon his wrinkled shirt as her good arm stole about his waist. “Promise me you won’t go out again till you’ve eaten and slept.”
A prolonged pause. His bristled jaw rested atop her coif. “Marry me, Selah.”
’Twas the last thing she expected to hear. Her answer was no less startling. “I will, Xander. Today, if you like.”
He looked down at her. A smile blurred his exhausted edges. Just a ghost of a smile, but it left him looking more like the handsome man she loved.
“You see, the hospitality of the house is bursting. I’ve nowhere to put you. I’ve run out of room.” He studied her, all levity aside. “So we’d best get the deed done. Today, aye.”
“I heard the itinerant pastor’s voice but a few moments ago.” She looked toward the half-open door. “Surely he’d pause to perform a wedding of only a few minutes’ making.”
He drew her close again. “Promise me you’ll wear your purple gown. The one I’m partial to.”
“’Tis at Hopewell Hundred and needs sent for.” She wouldn’t say home. Home was here. Nothing mattered so much as now. With circumstances as they were, they had no promise of tomorrow.
“I don’t want you to go alone, nor your mother, not without an escort. I’ll send a wagon with you to bring all that is needed back here as well.”
“We can go right away. The day’s young.” She looked into his eyes with certainty. “And what a glorious day it is for a wedding.”
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “But first a word, aye?”
He led her back toward the feminine voices in the dining room. All quieted when they stood before the three women still at table.
“I’ve no good news but our nuptials.” He gave Selah a sidelong smile, their fingers intertwined. “We’d like to be married today with little ado save a simple wedding supper.”
Widow Brodie clasped her hands together. “Just the tidings we need to weather such a turbulent time.”
“But mustn’t the banns be read? Three Sundays in a row?” Nurse Lineboro’s face darkened as she looked to Selah. “And are you not in mourning?”
“Mourning is seldom observed in Virginia,” Xander told her. “Here in the outer parishes, a clerk issues a license, and if one is underage, parental consent ends the matter.”
“Of which I freely give, though you have no need of it.” Candace rose from the table, looking considerably cheered. “Quite fortuitous that both preacher and clerk comprise the search party.”
Xander nodded. “Needs be we wed in the shire’s chapel rather than here. A New World custom I heartily approve of.”
“With pleasure.” Selah looked at him, feeling a dizzying pull to get it done. In the last f
ew days, waiting had seemed frivolous when life and death played out around them. “Best hasten to lay hold of my gown.”
“A walk in the sunshine shall do us good.” Candace moved toward the door. “I’ll fetch my hat.”
“And I shall consult Cook about the wedding supper.” Widow Brodie was the first to leave, smiling all the while.
By six o’clock in the evening, the chapel stood tranquil, doors open to catch the slightest breeze. Only a scant few gathered, Xander’s houseguests foremost. Though marriages in the forenoon were most common, an evening wedding was not amiss. Selah truly felt like a bride in the purple gown, her hair decorated with Rose-n-Vale’s white roses, more than happy to don a married coif. The pearl necklace Xander had given her as a wedding gift now rested upon her bodice, Watseka’s beads beneath. His tender gaze told her she was beautiful. To her great relief, he’d finally slept and bathed, his trimmed beard and best suit of clothes wooing her as much as his steady gaze.
Even if the circumstances they now found themselves in left them on tenterhooks, they joyfully entered into the sacred moment and pledged themselves to each other before God.
“. . . keep her, to love and entreat her in all things according to the duty of a faithful husband, forsaking all others during her life; to live in holy conversation with her, keeping faith and troth in all points . . .”
The vow saying paused as Xander pulled something from his pocket. A posy ring? Pleasure overrode her surprise as he placed it on the third finger of her left hand. Decorated with quartz crystal, the gold band glittered in the shadows. Was something inscribed within the band’s circle?
Xander leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Time shall tell I love thee well.”
Any remaining doubts she’d had about his devotion faded to the furthest reaches.
Hands clasped, they faced the small gathering as husband and wife. Clapping and fiddling accompanied them on their return to Rose-n-Vale as a tenant played the traditional wedding tune “Black and Grey.” Supper was already laid on the dining room table, a bounteous offering of late summer’s best, every dish and platter laden with seafood and garden fare, even a bride’s cake and groom’s cake. Izella and the maid wove in and out of the full dining room, replenishing cups and empty dishes.
Selah fought back tears as a toast was made by her mother in her father’s stead. But sorrowful as they were that Ustis and Shay and Watseka were not among them, they made the most of the occasion. For just a few sweet hours, the darkness of the present was swept into a shadowed corner. In the new wing still bare of furniture save a few hastily assembled benches and chairs, Selah and Xander led a dance, then bade the festivities continue without them.
Slowly they climbed the stairs while the fiddling continued below. On the threshold of their bedchamber, he swept her off her feet into his hard arms and carried her in with a defiant spring in his step, the trill of her laugh following.
39
Well before first light they awoke. Though the sun had not yet tiptoed into the room, a new day lay ahead, a blank canvas waiting to be filled by them both. Xander propped himself up on one elbow and slowly wound a tendril of his bride’s fair hair around one callused finger.
“Selah . . . Hopewell . . . Renick.” A smile of genuine joy broke over his face. “Mistress of Rose-n-Vale.”
“Good morning, Husband.” She yawned behind her hand. “Such feels right. Content.” She kissed him, long and lingeringly, growing used to the brush of his beard. “If I can make you forget your troubles for just one night, I am a happy woman.”
“’Tis not as I would have it, our beginning.”
“But we are together, and that is all that matters.” Selah kissed him again, longing to remove the regret in his gaze, the pressing cares of the coming day. “Our pleasures are doubled, our griefs halved.”
“Aye.” Xander lay back, one sinewy arm behind his head. “How shall you spend your first day as mistress?”
“Drinking cassina. Eating leftover bride’s cake.” Pondering all the possibilities, she laid her head upon his bare shoulder. “Have devotions with Mother in the parlor. Consult Cook as to the bill of fare.”
“Dinner?”
“Of course. What are your favorite dishes?”
“Anything that is set before me. With gratitude. I am ever mindful of the starving time not so long ago.”
“A fine ham, perhaps.”
He turned his head and kissed her temple. “The smokehouse was robbed, remember.”
“Oh . . . I do recall your aunt lamenting that. Sturgeon, then. I shall pick fresh flowers for the table. Examine your garments and see what needs mending or making. Meet with the new maids and learn their names.” She studied his thoughtful profile. “How do you spend your days?”
“I usually begin with a routine ride to all four corners of the plantation.” Releasing her, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his shirt. “Dinner. Desk work. Fieldwork. Supper. Sit upon the portico.” He sent a roguish grin her way. “Adore my wife.”
She flushed and pushed back the covers, retrieving her purple gown. “I shall wear my bridal attire all day to remind you.”
“I assure you that shan’t be necessary.” He began dressing in the fading dark. “Needs be I remind you to stay close to the house.”
Her joy slipped a notch. He was so careful with her. She sensed all that weighted him, all he did not say.
“I don’t mean to alarm you, Selah. Just make you somewhat wary.”
“I understand.”
“I’ve sent word to Mount Malady for the physic to see to your wound.”
Her arm, healing slowly, was still very tender but not festering, God be praised.
A smile returned to his voice. “But nothing needs doing before our first cup of cassina together, aye?”
Twin maids. How was she to tell them apart?
Giggling, they stood before Selah after giving her a clumsy, unnecessary curtsy. Tabitha and Clarity. A third maid, Primrose, had been at Rose-n-Vale for a few months, the twins but a fortnight. All indentured orphans. Widow Brodie said the trio needed training, a taming of their high-spiritedness. Selah simply saw unschooled girls eager to please, who’d eaten too much wedding cake and drunk too much punch the night before.
“We shall meet together every morn in the new parlor to discuss what needs doing.” Selah reached out and straightened Clarity’s coif with a smile. “You can request certain duties if you like. Widow Brodie says Primrose is fond of the milk house.”
“Jings, mistress!” Primrose’s Scots speech unfurled. “I’d blister otherwise in this infernal heat! It’s so verra cool within those stone walls, I fancy myself a kelpie.”
Kelpie? Selah paused. She’d ask Xander what that might be.
“You can tend to the morning’s milking and churning, though any cheese making won’t be had till the weather cools.” Her gaze narrowed to the twins. “I heard you sisters are skilled at housework. For now, there is plenty of that to be done after last night’s revelry. I’ll be in the garden should you need me.”
They betook themselves to their respective places in a flurry of petticoats. Selah passed onto the portico, where her mother was sewing with Nurse Lineboro, a basket of brown cloth between them. Xander’s aunt was in the kitchen with Cook and Izella amid a banging of pots and pans. The last thing she wanted was to usurp the older woman’s authority, so she stayed clear of the kitchen and made a beeline for the kitchen garden.
But what she really wanted to do was hunt for Watseka.
Anything else seemed foolish. Frivolous. Why could she not rest in the knowledge that Xander had taken Jett and gone out with another search party right after breakfast, leaving Ruby behind as watchdog? Even now the russet giant looked at her moodily from her tethering beneath an oak’s spreading shade.
Bending her mind to her task, Selah took stock of what needed harvesting in the heat-scorched garden. A great many English gourds, melons, and cabbages spraw
led at her feet. Herbs ran riot, mingling with flowers and lettuces gone to seed. A soot-blackened kitchen wall supported sprawling currants and gooseberries. No rhyme or reason to this garden patch. Might she and her mother make better use of it in time?
Her gaze rose. Over the paling fence stretched a field of maize, beans, and pumpkins as far as the eye could see. A few indentures’ wives were already at work there. She dipped a bucket into a rain barrel and began watering, thoughts of her first night as mistress beneath Rose-n-Vale’s roof warming her as much as the sun upon her back. She nevertheless kept to her humble task, knowing she’d not be content to sit still on the portico like the other women.
While she watered the thirsty soil, she prayed. That Watseka would be found. That Xander and the search party would be safe. That Shay and Oceanus would return to them sooner rather than later.
Slowly a dark thought wrapped cold tentacles around her and nearly stopped her in her tracks. If Watseka was not found, or was found harmed, then they had more than the Powhatans’ coming down on them to contend with. What if the Indians refused to return Shay and Oceanus? Or did them harm?
Xander released the search party and stood alone at the Hopewells’. How quickly everything went to seed when a place was vacated. After going through the empty house again, including the bedchamber that had been Watseka’s, he passed out of doors to sit in the arbor’s shade. Jett lay beside him, panting after covering a vast amount of territory in a few hours.
To no avail.
Now late afternoon, the sun sank behind a drift of clouds on the horizon that hinted of rain. All was quiet save a lone sparrow perched atop a wending honeysuckle vine, its piercing trills sending a dart of sorrow through him.
Watseka, where can you be?
He could not ignore the slight possibility the child had run off, rejoined her people. If so, they were expending a great deal of time and worry needlessly. But neither could he return to the Powhatans yet, not while his lands lay in ruins and the fire setter was free. Not till he’d left no stone unturned regarding Watseka’s whereabouts here.