At Xander’s entrance, Selah looked up expectantly. His bearded face betrayed none of the turmoil of the moment as he greeted her mother and sat at the head of the table. McCaskey soon followed, and cassina was poured. Once they said grace, a brief lull ensued.
The factor was piling his plate high when Xander looked his way. “Good to see you this morn, McCaskey. I feared you took flight with Nurse Lineboro.”
Nearly dropping his plate, the factor stared at Xander, who sipped his cassina without expression.
“Electa—” McCaskey set down his plate with a clatter. “Nurseis gone?”
“Sometime in the night, aye, with all her belongings.”
“And some of ours,” Widow Brodie added with a frown. “But at least we shan’t have to go looking for her. She obviously left of her own free will.”
Clearly McCaskey was ignorant of the scheme. Selah felt a beat of sympathy as he grappled with the ill news, which seemed a bold rejection of his suit.
“She left no letter? No explanation?” He looked about the table as if searching for answers, lingering on Xander longest. “I—she—unfortunately I do not ken where she’s gone. She made no mention of leaving. At least to me.”
Xander resumed eating, and the conversation turned to the plans for the day. To Selah’s relief Shay appeared, calling out a bright good morning, unaware of the night’s events. Rounding the table, he kissed his mother’s cheek before taking a seat beside her.
“I am ready to go nail hunting,” he announced as he reached for the molasses. “Or whatever else needs doing.”
Xander nodded. “Eat your fill first, and then you can accompany McCaskey to the fields. I’ll be searching with Meihtawk and the dogs today.”
Selah’s heart sank, as she knew Xander was needed at Rose-n-Vale instead. But what else could be done till Watseka was found? As for McCaskey, he sat in stricken silence, staring at his untouched plate, his face florid. Distressed.
Selah struck a lighter note. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen making small beer since Cook is unwell.”
Xander met her eyes, appreciation in their depths. “Have the maids clean the garret. Shay might enjoy his own bedchamber since Oceanus will return in time. The view is unmatched.”
“I shall be content no matter where you put me,” Shay replied between bites. “’Tis good to be back, though I do miss my Powhatan friends.”
“You can accompany me on future visits if your motherapproves.” Xander pushed his empty plate away. “Once Watseka is found—”
With a choked cry, McCaskey stood so abruptly the table shook. Every eye was upon him, breakfast forgotten.
“I confess—I hardly know how to say such—” Eyes half wild, McCaskey looked to Xander. “The Indian girl is Nurse Lineboro’s doing. She goaded me into taking her. Said she wasn’t fit company for your son. She promised to marry me if I did the deed, and so I—”
“Spare the women your ranting.” Xander stood nearly as abruptly. Never had Selah seen him so riled. “Withdraw to my study.”
McCaskey moved toward the door like a chastised schoolboy. As Xander followed him out, fury stiffening his stride, Selah put a hand to her throat, trying to calm the swirl of her stomach. ’Twas the last thing she expected to hear.
“And to think we’ve hosted two such scheming plague sores beneath our very roof!” Widow Brodie’s chin shook with emotion. “I knew no good would come of the factor’s drinking—the plan was no doubt hatched under its influence—and now that no-good nurse has fled!”
For a few moments they sat in benumbed silence.
Candace finally murmured, “Be sure your sin will find you out, as Scripture says.”
Fork in midair, Shay frowned, and Widow Brodie resumed her ranting. “Well, McCaskey will lodge here no longer, nor act as factor, I’m sure, after Alexander has his say. Imagine taking a helpless child and blaming it on that fopdoodle Laurent, foul as he is!”
Nauseous, Selah excused herself, feeling shock and deep sorrow not only for Watseka but for the evil that drove mento do such grievous things. Though McCaskey had confessed to a great deal, what would be gained? Would he lead them to Watseka?
Lord, let it be.
The kitchen was blessedly quiet save the buzz of a horsefly in the rafters. All was orderly, pots and pans scrubbed and set to rights, the scent of drying herbs and the last meal lingering. Izella’s brandied peaches stood in jars of amber perfection on a near table. A low fire smoked and snapped in the cavernous hearth. Poking it, Selah stoked it to greater life.
She’d grown used to doing things in a one-handed way as her wound healed sufficiently. Of late, except for an occasional twinge, she was nearly whole. Taking up a kettle, she went outside to a rain barrel and drew enough water to begin making small beer, her mind not at all on the task before her.
As the water came to a boil, she tried to familiarize herself with Cook’s domain. The molasses was easily found, but yeast was another matter. She’d all but given up on powdered ginger when Izella returned from gathering eggs, unearthing both yeast and ginger before leaving again.
As the hearth’s fire grew hotter, Selah opened a window, inviting in a cooling coastal wind. Though she was bodily in the kitchen, her mind was in her husband’s study. She spilled the ginger, dropped a cask of raisins, and singed her apron.
