Desire.
He swallowed past the thickening in his throat. His gaze left the bed and returned to the windows with a view of the orchard. If she’d have him, she would be mistress of Rose-n-Vale with all its color and contradictions. He vowed then and there to be an able husband in future. A better father to Oceanus.
God rest Mattachanna’s wronged soul.
14
“Sister, what must I pack to go over to the Naturals?”
“Well, let me ponder it.” Selah paused in her sewing to study her brother as he readied his knapsack. Another pang. Another bittersweet smile. “I would think, first and foremost, since you are going as their guest, so to speak, you must bring small gifts. The Naturals are partial to brass and beads, as you know.”
“Aye, of course. But what about clothes?”
“The Naturals wear precious little of that, at least in the heat of summer.”
He grinned and gaped all at once. “So, I shall not only live amongst the Naturals, I must dress like them?”
“I suppose. The council has instructed us to make suitable English clothes for Watseka.” She held up a small, nearly finished coif. “I imagine the Naturals would want you to do likewise, out of respect. You don’t want to stand out, do you?”
“Nay,” he replied vehemently. “I shall see what Xander has to say about the matter.”
Selah smiled. Xander this and Xander that. If ever a ladrevered a man ... Checking the time, she forsook sewing and offered a brief prayer for the hours ahead while engaged in a full-fledged wrestling match with dismay and dread.
“Daughter, I must speak with you.” Her father motioned her into the parlor, away from Izella’s tidying and Shay’s hearing. He went to a painted oak cupboard with their best silver displayed upon the cloth atop it and opened a small drawer. “Needs be you must carry this. For your safety.”
She stared at the small pistol he extended. Safety from savages? Or Helion Laurent?
“No need to fear, Selah. Though you’ve not practiced shooting in some time, you once handled a firearm as well as many men.”
But did she remember how to use it? The pistol felt cold to the touch. “I pray I will have no occasion to fire it.”
“Hide it on your person. ’Tis meant for reassurance. Though times are more peaceable now, one never knows what could be encountered beyond town.” He smiled, but she read something in his eyes that shook her to her buckled shoes.
When the unwelcome knock on their door sounded, Helion Laurent stood outside, a maidservant with him. Selah waited till her father came from the stable with her own saddle mare. In the light of early morn, Ustis looked unusually wan. Withered by the long winter. Where had her hale and hearty father gone? Or did his wan appearance have more to do with this circumstance?
“Godspeed.” Ustis’s cordial handshake with the physic helped smooth Selah’s ruffled feelings about the matter. “I trust your rounds will be done well before the sun sets.”
With a slight, noncommittal nod, Laurent reined his horsenorth. Selah kept behind him, glad to ride beside the maidservant. Timid and unsmiling, the girl showed no penchant for conversation, though Selah tried to draw her out.
They were well under way before the bustle of town took hold. Selah all but averted her eyes as they passed no-man’s-land with its almost eerie silence, the abode of the dead after that terrible starving time so many years before. Not far from the old James Towne fort, the unmarked gravesites held a great many bones, most of them bereft of coffins.
Midmorning found them farther downriver, where the burgeoning settlement extended. The day was cool for June, the night’s rain driving away the worst of the heat and insects. Occasionally they nodded to passersby or drew to the side of the rutted road to allow carts or livestock to pass without flinging mud on their garments.
Eventually Laurent rode abreast of her. “Your father continues unwell.”
Selah waved her hand at a passing tobacco bride. “We hope for a full recovery now that better weather is here.”
“Why does he shun my services?” Subtle accusation crept into his tone. “As the most respected physic in Virginia, I could serve him well.”
“’Tis unnecessary.” With a lift of her chin that echoed his own arrogance, she added, “As a skilled herbalist, my mother’s ministrations are enough.”
“Bah! She is naught but a rustic, woefully lacking in the skills of a London-trained healer.”
“Oh? Then why do so many in James Towne and elsewhere seek her out?”
“I doubt she has the council’s favor to dispense advice and medicines at will.”
“Sir.” The term was more epithet. “Why do you continue to bait me at every turn? Is it not in the best interest of a gentleman—though you are hardly that with your badgering—to attend to the business at hand?”
