Eyes widening, she read on.
A four-poster bed with linens of the highest quality. A walnut wardrobe and carved mirror. A pair of ornate tapestry chairs.
Fit for a bride.
The certainty swept through her like a hurricane. Surely a wedding was imminent. Such an order would fill half a warehouse. Yet another reason to disdain him—this bent toward worldly things. But was her family not peddlers of mammon, ensnaring others by their continual commerce?They themselves lived simply, yet ... had she no desire for beauty and comfort? No craving for finer things? What did she care if he was outfitting another room at Rose-n-Vale and adding to his personal inventory?
With effort, she corralled her musings if not her soreness of heart, readying the order for shipping along with all the rest. When Shay fetched her, she locked the store and they hastened toward home. If only she could leave behind her many questions as well.
“How is Father?” One look at his empty place at table was Selah’s answer even before her mother spoke.
“He’s resting after drinking a posset.”
Going to a washbasin, Selah prepared for a subdued supper. Shay was already seated, playing idly with his fork and knife. What would it be like to sup with the Naturals? Another pang shot through her. Already missing him, she was. She smiled fleetingly as her mother sat across from her, a venison pie between them. Though she’d eaten little all day, she had no appetite tonight.
“So, tell me everything. How is Cecily especially?”
Selah caught her mother up on all she’d learned, keeping her voice low so as to not disturb her father lying abed in the adjoining room. “All in all, the brides are weathering the change from the Old World well enough. There are the usual worries about so much sickness, menial work, and talk of Indian unrest.”
Shay reached for the salt cellar. “The exchange should help with that, aye?”
“Indeed.” Candace’s head bobbed. “And you are going tobe right in the thick of it. One day you’ll look back and be proud at the part you’ve played.”
He swallowed a bite, looking thoughtful.
Selah looked at her mother, whose eyes glittered as she studied Shay. “So Watseka will soon arrive on our shores.”
“Indeed, and with some ceremony, as befitting so auspicious an occasion. I pray your father is well enough to attend. He would hate to miss Shay’s going.”
“Father is a graybeard,” Shay muttered sagely around a bite of bread. “Needs be he stay in bed and recover.”
Selah shot him a chary look. “Perhaps a shop boy should be hired in Shay’s absence.”
Candace looked grave. “I fear trying to train someone in the ways of commerce is an onerous task and would only add to the strain.”
“I shall double up then. Do the work of us both.” Selah made a silent vow to rise earlier, forgo the noon meal, and work till dark.
“Nay. You are needed to help with Watseka. I plan to spend the most time with her, but your presence is invaluable to me. Somehow, we will manage merchanting too. And pray your father to a speedy recovery.”
Snoring sounded from the other room, for once more reassuring than annoying.
“Sleep is the best medicine.” Selah longed to ease her mother’s cares. “And when Father awakes, he’ll partake of this delicious venison pie. If there’s any left.” She smiled at Shay, who earned a rap on his hand from Candace as he reached for another helping.
At that they all dissolved into muted, bittersweet laughter.
16
Today wastheday.
Xander stood before his shaving stand with its looking glass, something he rarely made time for, and took in the man before him. Hardly a gentleman. No powdered wig. No ribbons or bows. No lace. His ruddy Scots coloring, the red threads in his beard, bespoke his roots. He was the image of his rough-hewn father with some of his mother’s gentling features. At hand were neatly pressed clothes fit for the governor’s chamber, a minor duty before he sought out his beloved.
“On your way, Nephew?” His aunt stood at the bottom of the stairs as he came down them. Her eyes shone. “My, how handsome ... and fragrant. Such a welcome change from the sweat of your brow.”
“Too much sandalwood?” he asked her, smoothing a sleeve.
“On the contrary. Sandalwood is sublime and hints of exotic ports. You wear it well.”
She followed him out the riverfront door, where bricklayerspaused in their work to watch him pass. He gave a greeting but didn’t slow his gait.
