He motioned to his First Lieutenant, Elijah. “Mathias, please take care of the arrangements for loading his stock. I’m late for a meeting.”
Rachel let out a deep sigh.All the while she was cautioning young Tenneh about strange men, the girl’s earthy expression of how the boy made her feel took Rachel by surprise. She’d been tamping down similar feelings herself, but it had never occurred to her to describe out loud the way Captain Halloren made her feel.
And besides, who would she tell? She certainly didn’t want to encourage young Tenneh in such thoughts, and, to tell the truth, she did not trust Mrs Chelly to keep such a confidence a secret. She could cite no specific reason to mistrust the woman, just a vague gnawing in her gut at the way the woman would never look her directly in the eyes. And then there was the question as to why she’d left Tenneh alone at the market. She would have to talk to the woman about the dangers.
Mrs Chelly came from a family of the original Krios who had migrated to Freetown years before from the English colony in Nova Scotia. She was an excellent cook and a devout member of the Vicar Berry’s small congregation. Her record at the vicarage was without blemish, and yet there was something, something Rachel couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the odd, pensive stare directed at Rachel when the other woman thought she wasn’t looking.
But then again, maybe she was seeing shadows where there were none. A brisk rap at the front door of the vicarage forced her to look up from the men’s shirt sleeves she’d been working on at for at least the last half hour. Tenneh appeared in the doorway to the parlor. “Captain Halloren is here. He’s looking for Rev. Berry. What should I tell him?”
“It’s all right, Tenneh. You can go back to the kitchen to help Mrs Chelly. I’ll go get father.”
Rachel tucked the pile of half-finished sleeves into a basket at her feet and covered them with an embroidered square of fabric. She walked down a long hallway toward the end where her father kept his study. In response to her light tapping, he cracked the door open a sliver and gazed a question with raised eyebrows.
“It’s Captain Halloren. He’s here for your meeting.”
Her father’s expression turned thoughtful. “Why, so he is. I must have forgotten…” His eyes took on a calculating glint. “Why don’t you entertain him for a few minutes? I need a little bit of time to finish this week’s sermon.”
Rachel bit her tongue. Her father’s barely concealed, clumsy matchmaking attempts were beginning to wear on her nerves.
“How shall I entertain him? Shall I sing, dance? What would you have me do?” She gave him a look calculated to show exactly how cross she was with his interference in her life.
“Rachel...please, be kind to the man. Don’t hurt his feelings.”
Her father’s tone was so contrite and conciliatory, she almost forgave him. Almost. “You do realize the front parlor is full of ladies sewing shirts today?”
“Oh.” The frown on his face meant he’d clearly forgotten the weekly gathering of women of the mission church to assemble shirts.
“Of course I’ll be kind to the captain.” With that, she spun on her heel back toward the front parlor where the poor man waited.
Chris triedto maintain a friendly but bland demeanor whilst sitting in the midst of a large group of clearly curious women. He was fairly certain the quiet in the room was unusual for a ladies’ sewing circle.
They all pretended to be absorbed in their stitches, but out of the corner of his eye he could observe their stolen, sideways glances. He wished he could disappear into the parsonage’s shabby settee, but he knew a Royal Navy officer in full kit was about as likely to disappear as an angry rhinoceros charging through the room.
All eyes swept away from him when suddenly, a figure dressed in swirling blue linen rushed into the room. He scrambled quickly to his feet. “Miss Berry.”
She nodded in acknowledgment. “Captain Halloren.”
At the questioning tilt of his head, she pointed back toward the parsonage’s long, central hallway. “My father sends his regrets. He’ll be detained a while longer and asked that I show you the school’s herb and vegetable garden. Would you like to see how we manage to feed so many mouths?”
“Of course,” he muttered, and in his haste to follow in Rachel’s agitated wake, he nearly ran into her when she stopped suddenly to retrieve the fetching, beribboned straw bonnet she’d been wearing that first time they’d met in the midst of the great chicken escape.
After tightening the ribbons beneath her chin, she warned him over her shoulder, “I hope you’re up for a long stretch of the legs. Our gardens extend well behind the outdoor kitchen.”
He caught up to her in several of his long strides. “It’s my pleasure. I enjoy a good walk after being confined to the deck of a ship for months at a time. I’d be happy to walk anywhere with you, Miss Berry.” The quick, fierce look she gave him was proof she was not amused by his inept attempt at light banter.
They moved past the cooking fire darkened kitchen hut into a copse of tamarind trees. When they emerged into a clearing on the other side, the mission garden stretched out across at least a mile squared in neat parcels delineated by raised earth ridges enclosing small pool-like rectangles. Each rectangle contained green plants at various stages of growth. At the top of the garden was a small area away from the larger garden grid.
“That’s the kitchen herb garden.” Rachel had probably noticed him staring. “We grow ginger, turmeric, cloves, cardamom, mint, coriander, and parsley there.”
“The rest of the crops…” She swept her arm in the direction of the mass of neat rectangles. “They’re maintained by our mission students.” There were at least a dozen young men tending the rectangles - hoeing, weeding, or carrying buckets of water to irrigate the rectangular earthworks. We put the cucumbers down there too.
“We grow yams, carrots, turnips, maize, tiger nuts, chick peas, and ground nuts over there with the eggplants. And then the onions, garlic, and shallots have their own plot behind them.
“All the leafy greens, like cabbage, kale, and spinach are down where Mingo is working. They need lots of water, so we try to keep them near the creek.”
“Is that the same creek that meanders close to town, where we get water for the ships?”
“Yes, it is. Very sweet water, and clean.”
