Her brother’s fascination with the Naturals, not only the powerful Powhatans but the Chickahominy, Mattaponi, and others, had no end. Somehow Xander seemed to stoke that curiosity, bringing Shay arrowheads and other fascinating items, even teaching him Indian words.
As they passed the familiar landmark of Hopewell Hundred, Selah’s heart shot from a brisk trot to a breathless gallop. Just around the watery bend loomed Rose-n-Vale, stirring her admiration—and apprehension—anew. Shay beached the boat effortlessly, allowing her to gain ground faster than she had with Cecily. They took the same path, Shay carrying the sturgeon, the pipe and tobacco hidden in Selah’s pocket. In the distance dogs barked. Would their coming be welcome? Or more an interruption? Hopefully Widow Brodie had returned from town.
As they came closer a dozen details assailed her. A flower garden she’d never seen lay all abloom, an abandoned wheelbarrow full of thistles and weeds near the gate. A weathervane spun dizzily atop the milk house. Bricklaying on the new wing continued in earnest, and workmen hardly gave them a glance, so intent were they on their task. No sign of Widow Brodie or the master.
Between the summer kitchen and smokehouse was a small courtyard, a well at the center. There they found Xander, shirtless, breeches damp. His sun-darkened neck and forearmsmade a startling contrast to his paler chest. He poured a bucket of well water over his head and bare shoulders, noisily splashing the stones at his feet. ’Twas clear he was in the fields nearly as much as his indentures.
Rising up, he spied them, his muscled frame glistening in the stark afternoon sun. Selah averted her eyes while Shay called out a greeting. Around the side of the smokehouse came the hounds, rushing them in tail-wagging delight.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Xander made no apologies as to his sodden state.
In good humor, then. Relief made Selah nearly light-headed. He had a fierce temper on occasion, was particularly mercurial after Mattachanna’s death. And given the current tobacco crop was beset with woes...
“We’ve come to inspect your scalp after your dangerous foray west,” Shay called, holding up the fish.
“A splendid sturgeon!” Xander smiled his appreciation and walked them toward the summer kitchen, where a half-blood cook held sway, her black braid dangling down her thickset back. She took the fish with a nod at his instructions.
“As you can see, my scalp is intact.” Xander’s gaze swung from Shay to Selah. “Given that, won’t you stay for supper?”
Selah’s “nay” collided with Shay’s “aye.”
Xander waited patiently. “So, which will it be?”
At Shay’s imploring look, Selah lost ground.
“Please, Sister, what would it hurt to stay and sup?”
On the second floor, a diamond-pane window was rapped, and Widow Brodie’s welcoming face appeared through the glass.
“Very well,” Selah agreed. Sturgeonwasher favorite fish. And the matter with Cecily needed settling once and for all.
They moved toward a rear door of the main house and into a stairwell, escaping the blinding sun. Rose-n-Vale had a scantily furnished parlor that seemed rarely used. Instead, Xander led them to his larger study, the leathery-tobacco scent strong. Selah had been here before with her father but rarely. The dogs followed, settling near the cold hearth out of habit, Selah guessed. The rapier above the mantel unsettled her, its shell hilt distinctive. She wondered its history.
“Wellaway!” Widow Brodie appeared, expression vexed, bearing a clean linen shirt. “Nephew, your Powhatan ways make you forget yourself.”
Xander grinned and thanked her, donning the garment as his aunt departed.
“A game, aye?” Their host gestured to a table where a chess set rested, Shay’s favorite pastime after fishing.
“Aha! I shall best you,” her brother boasted, taking a chair. “Is it true what the king says? That chess filleth and troubleth men’s heads?”
“What do contrary kings know?” Xander shrugged. “The better question is, what will your fair sister do while we play?”
“Take no thought of it.” Shay rolled his eyes. “As you can see, she is besotted with books.”
True. Selah was already standing before the tallest bookcase, a marvel of mahogany filled to the brim. There were a great many tomes here of manly interest, little that turned a woman’s head. Still, agape with the abundance, she read the titles in gilt lettering. One too many agricultural manuals from England, which seemed to have little bearing on Virginia. And a well-used copy of the popular fencing manual by the Italian grand master, Fabris.
Xander and Shay began their game. While they were occupied, Selah drifted unnoticed toward the hall, then out to the summer kitchen for a light. Nearly on tiptoe she returned to the study with Xander’s gift. His back was to her as he moved his rook, his arm suspended over the chessboard. While Shay pondered his next move, Selah came to stand behind Xander. The trumpeted pipe bowl glowed good-naturedly, and she drew on it as she’d seen her father do, not so expertly but without a sputter. Aromatic wisps wreathed the air. She inhaled again carefully, then blew the smoke out like a whisper before it crept down her throat.
Without warning, Xander shot to his feet so fast the game table nearly overturned. He turned on her, his gaze half feral. “Zounds, woman! I feared the place was on fire!”
As Jett gave a howl, Selah quickly sobered. Though the fuss was over, Xander still looked stricken. Was he remembering the terrible fire of James Towne in his youth, when a stray spark from musket fire burned all but three buildings to the ground? She prayed not, or her little jest would be in vain.
His expression eased as she apologized. “I’ve come on a matter of business. ’Tis customary to smoke, aye?”
Reaching out, he extracted the pipe from her fingers. “Unbecoming to a gentlewoman though undeniably amusing.”
Shay watched the charade with a grin as Xander examined the new pipe, holding it aloft in admiration, complimenting the design before taking a draw himself. His eyes met hers again, more silver than blue in the late afternoon’s shifting shadows. “You have fine taste in pipes, Mistress Hopewell.”
