“Nonsense!” Candace waved a hand, her voice carrying across greening patches of ground. “Come join us. A lovely spring morn awaits.”
Cecily came down the path, linen skirts swirling. “I asked your maidservant your whereabouts, but she could not answer. Why does she not speak?”
“Izella is mute, injured by a slave trader coming here years ago.” The lament in Candace’s tone never faded when speaking of their faithful maid. “We took her in, helped her heal,and employed her, though we do not own her. She communicates in hand gestures.”
“Aye, she pointed to the garden. A shame she is deprived of her tongue. I told her to expect a suitor.”
“And who is it today?” Selah voiced the question they asked every morn. Of the half-dozen suitors Cecily had entertained since arriving, none had found favor.
“Richard Peacock of Indigo Hundred.” Cecily took the seat Selah offered her. “I must say, becoming Goodwife Peacock sounds quite colorful if nothing else. But I know so little about him. Please enlighten me.”
What could she say about a man she’d always found rather ... ordinary? “Being a gentleman of the first fashion, he is well named.” Selah dwelt upon the good. “A man of his word who settles his debts in a timely manner at our store. Prefers rum to port and is fond of candied ginger. A faithful churchgoer.”
“He comes well recommended then,” Cecily mused. “A fine prospect. The others, nay.”
Selah and her mother exchanged glances. Courtship was fraught with complications. Ustis had already chased away one suitor who’d played his lute beneath Cecily’s window one moonlit night. But ’twas the Sabbath, after all, and since 1618 music had been banned on that holy day. Outlandish tales about lovestruck swains and unsure maidens abounded. One man was reputed to have even swum across the James River to reach the lady of his choice at a distant plantation.
Leaving them to their chatter, Candace rose and resumed her weeding as the sun spread more light across the garden’s colorful enclosure.
“Why are you not storekeeping?” Cecily asked, picking a yellow crocus to tuck into her bodice.
“I needed to speak to Mother a moment but best hasten back,” Selah answered as she turned out of the garden gate. “I shall be home eventually, anxious to hear more of Goodman Peacock’s pursuit.”
Cecily’s low laugh followed her down the lane. “Don’t forget the brides’ meeting at church this afternoon.”
“Three o’clock, aye.”
Selah returned to a store brimming with men perusing trinkets to aid their courting. Her father raised a concerned brow over her sudden departure, but she simply smiled, and he returned to his ledgers.
All morning she kept busy, glad for the distraction, amused and touched by turns with the men’s choices. Shoe buckles in satin-lined shagreen cases. Deep red and pale pink coral necklaces. Toilet water with hints of orange flower and musk. Small gifts that bespoke good intentions and the social standing of the giver.
If Master Renick was bride seeking, she doubted he would need any additional enticements. Rose-n-Vale was fetching enough. As for his personal merits ... Those quicksilver eyes. That elusive half smile. The dark mane of hair that couldn’t decide whether to curl or lie straight. Or was it more his character? Stubborn Scot that he was, he was as remarkable as Mattachanna in many ways.
What was it that turned her thoughts to him? Her desire to see him reunited with his son? Selah knew her old friend would be unhappy with their separation. She missed Mattachanna asshe missed Oceanus. Her fondness defied the grave. Once she and Mattachanna had been no bigger than minnows, turning cartwheels across James Towne’s common, picking fruits and flowers in her mother’s garden, admiring trinkets at the store. Often present when her kinsmen came to trade or make a treaty, Mattachanna was a ready, willing playmate. Though other folk shunned the Naturals, even their children, Selah’s parents made no uncharitable distinctions. Miss Mischief, her father called Mattachanna affectionately. She was ever merry and given to pranks.
Two years it had been since her passing. Oceanus would now be four. Selah’s mind spun back to that day at the dock when the woods began to fill with autumn color. Xander and his family had embarked on thePleasure, a handsome, forty-ton pinnace, Mattachanna’s hope to visit his homeland a reality. Waving till her arm ached, Selah watched them depart till their ship was no more than a speck of wood riding the azure horizon.
And then long months later her joy turned to gall when Xander returned and came down the gangplank alone. Where was her beloved friend? Their delightful son? Selah scoured the deck to catch sight of Mattachanna trailing behind or preoccupied with baggage. Xander seemed a bit dull-witted after so many weeks at sea, his muscled frame gaunt. The long voyage had gone hard on him. Had he fallen ill? Selah’s heart seemed to stop as her father spoke the words she could not, so thick was the lump in her throat.
“Welcome back, Xander. You have been sorely missed.” Ustis embraced him heartily while Selah stood apart. “But what of Mattachanna and your son?”
Xander answered with a terse, sorrowful stab to the heart.“Mattachanna is no more. Felled by a fever and buried in England at Gravesend.”
Ustis’s joyful expression turned slack with astonishment. Speechless, her father was.
Xander stepped aside as unsteady, sea-legged passengers moved past them. His features were tight with pain, his eyes more bloodshot than blue. “Oceanus remains in Culross with my kin.”
Another blow straight to the heart. Nary a word could Selah speak, neither in shock nor solace. She stepped back, swallowed the hot words thickening her tight throat, and ran home. After fumbling at the latch of their back door, she entered the kitchen, tears spotting her hands and coursing in warm rivulets down her flushed face. At her sudden appearance, Izella nearly dropped a copper pot. Brows arched, Candace set down the herbs she fisted and walked toward her distraught daughter.
Selah choked on the hateful words. “Mattachanna is dead.”
As her mother’s arms went around her, Candace’s own frame shook from grief. Together they stood locked in a stunned embrace.
When they drew apart, Candace took out a handkerchief and dried Selah’s tears and her own. “So Xander returns a widower.”
“That is not all. Xander has left Oceanus in the care of his kin.” Selah took a breath, voice rising, her heart rent by more than sorrow. “How dare he deprive his son of a father at such a time? Oceanus adores him. This is their home. He’s even robbed him of his Indian relations. ’Tis a cruel mind and heart he has to leave the lad amongst strangers in Scotland while—”
Too late did Selah realize the extent of her outburst. Only when a door shut soundly behind her did she cast a look over her shoulder. Xander stood with her father, hat in hands. Oh, how his piercing eyes haunted. Her ire seemed to kindle his own anguish like sparks from a forge fire.
