On this they agreed. Overcome by a twist of pathos, Xander fixed his attention on the elaborately carved corner post of the chief’s dwelling. Yet it was Oceanus’s face he saw. A baby, not a boy. “Once he returns, I will bring him to see you here. Surely he has the look of his mother about him and perhaps you yourself.”
With a nod, Opechancanough’s warmth vanished. “Let us now speak again of other, more serious matters. My spies bring a bad report. Of late, we learn that the white chief, Harvey, attempts to sway the Susquehannock and lesser tribes to serve as guides in expeditions to make war on us.”
Spirits leaden, Xander listened, unsurprised at news of further scheming. “I keep no company with Harvey as I have decided to step down from the governor’s council. I know nothing firsthand.”
A long pause, filled with purling tobacco smoke and displeasure. “Yet surely you hear secondhand of the mischief the governor and his men make? Though you are not among them, their treachery knows no end.”
“I do know this ...” Xander exhaled a wisp of smoke. “Beware of armed slavers sent to harm or capture any Naturals on the borders of English settlements, the tributaries foremost.”
Another nod. “It is as you say. There was harm done recently to the Nanticoke.”
Xander longed to dissolve the ill will at play. “In the pursuit of peace, I recently came before the council to ask that two or more royal commissioners investigate and handle any and all disputes between Indians and English. To establish accountability and rectify wrongs done.”
“How was this proposal received?”
Badly.Harvey’s arrogance had been contemptible. Xander cast about for an answer, hesitating till the tightness in his throat eased. “I am still awaiting action.”
Passing Xander the pipe, Opechancanough lifted his eyes heavenward. “Then what I am about to propose to you might help smooth the way.”
6
The May day was balmy, the sandy beach occupied by children at play. One old man was roasting oysters over a fire, shells strewn at his bare feet, gray smoke billowing with the unmistakable tang of the sea. He held up a pearl with a toothless grin as Selah and Cecily passed by in search of Shay’s canoe hidden in the reeds.
“’Tis my first foray up this river.” Cecily put a tentative foot in the boat, trying to be graceful while Selah prepared to push off. “What do you Virginians call it?”
Selah handed her an oar. “The Naturals named it the Powhatan, the English the James.” Thrusting the canoe into the water with unladylike strength, Selah jumped in and seated herself in the stern.
“My, such a rustic mode of transport.” Cecily looked askance at her own oar once they were under way. “How do you navigate without getting all wet?”
“Practice,” Selah said simply, buoyed by her many childhood jaunts upriver, an expertise born of coastal life. “If the wind holds, we’ll be pushed along as much as we paddle.”
“Though you are adept with the oar, it seems quite a masculine pursuit. I’m afraid I’m little help.” With awkward strokes, Cecily fixed her attention on the shore. “What if we overturn?”
“I pray not. Can you swim?”
“Nay, but I’m sure you can.”
“I’ll keep to the shallows. You enjoy the shoreline from the bow. Soon you’ll see plantations, tobacco fields, wharves, and all manner of watercraft.”
“I do believe upriver is best.”
For a time, they glided along in silence, taken with the vast blueness that made Virginia’s largest river so memorable. Selah felt remarkably free and unencumbered, the sunlight warm upon her back. On such a sublime spring day, she wouldn’t ponder Xander’s journey toward the western mountains that marked the river’s beginning. Or her father’s persistent aches and pains. Or Helion Laurent’s increased visits to the store. Or—
“Look over there near that pretty cove,” Cecily called over her shoulder. “A house appears to be abandoned.”
“’Tis my father’s property, Hopewell Hundred, meant for my brother in time.”
“Why does it sit empty?”
“The tenant died last year.” She’d not confess he’d been felled by a tomahawk while hunting on disputed territory. Steering the canoe away from the sight, Selah said, “Keep your eyes open and prepare to be delighted.”
They traversed another winsome blue bend in the river, and Cecily’s paddling ceased. “Who owns that comely hill just ahead?”
Truly, Rose-n-Vale was perfectly placed. “’Tis home toAlexander Renick, whom you’ve met.” Always, that wistful twinge followed, the beauty shot through with the bittersweet.
“A commanding house, fairer than any I’ve seen in James Towne.” Cecily gave a sigh more of delight than exertion. “And bricked more than timbered. Fit for a handsome master. Shall we land the canoe and rest?”
“I suppose.” Selah aimed for the sandy shore and a widespread oak, which offered both shade and privacy. Well out of sight of any at Rose-n-Vale.
