“Do not forsake the catechism. The child must recite it perfectly.”
“Needlework and a sampler seem in order first. Every young girl needs to learn a good vocabulary of stitches and general housewifery.”
Wishing they could go straight to the shallop, Selah watched her mother free herself from the busybodies to follow Ustis to where Xander waited with Shay. On her brother’s back was a knapsack stuffed so full the straps bulged. She’d secreted sweetmeats within as well as a letter she’d penned for times of doubt or discouragement, though she prayed there’d be none.
“Farewell, Sister.” Shay brushed her cheek with a hasty kiss as Xander looked on. “I am feeling particularly brave.”
She tried to smile, emotion choking her. All she could manage through an impossibly tight throat was one word. “Godspeed.”
Candace embraced him, her tearful goodbye tearing at Selah’s heart. But ’twas Ustis who left her most undone. He bowed his head as if to master himself before murmuring a few hard-won words in Shay’s ear, looking frail and withered beside his strapping son.
“Meihtawk will continue as emissary during the exchange,” Xander explained once they’d collected themselves. “If something should happen Shay needs knowing about—a summons to return home—he will convey that posthaste.”
Ustis and Candace embraced their son a final time, pride and sorrow mingled on their faces. “God be with you.”
In moments, Meihtawk brought Watseka by the hand towhere they stood. This close, Selah marveled anew at the child’s appearance. Slight of build, the girl had fine, dainty features. A delicate shell necklace encircled her throat.
“She is a granddaughter of Chief Opechancanough. Her mother, a Mattaponi, died of the running-sores sickness after she was born,” Meihtawk told them in accented English. “She has been raised by her aunts until now.”
Selah knelt in the grass till she was eye level with Watseka, feeling dry as an abandoned well. Sadly, Mattachanna had taught her few Powhatan words, hungry as she had been to learn English. “Wingapo.”
Pleasure flashed in Watseka’s wary yet lively eyes.
Selah held out her hand and felt a glimmer of relief when the child took it. Once Ustis and Candace made their own warm introductions, they began a slow walk to the water past their former house and garden to reach the Renick shallop. Xander spoke with Watseka in her tongue, pointing out this or that, as they pushed away from James Towne’s shores.
With a yawn, Watseka laid her head upon Selah’s lap in a manner all the more remarkable given their short acquaintance. Candace’s face softened visibly as she took in their charge. Ustis seemed lost in thought. Xander was near the bow, the oarsmen maintaining a rhythmic silence in the face of a contrary wind.
A summer storm threatened over the Chesapeake, heavy clouds as gray and purling as smoke. Likely it was already raining at James Towne and would travel upriver in time. As she thought it, the oarsmen seemed to renew their efforts. Rain was needed, but thunder and lightning were another matter, especially on the water.
By the next bend in the river, large drops had begun to pelt them. Xander quickly made an awning of a worn sail, beneath which they sought shelter. He scooped the still sleeping Watseka up in his arms and continued to hold her as they neared Hopewell Hundred.
Seated near Selah, he reassured them about Shay’s journey as well. “They’ll likely press on despite the weather and make camp along the Pamunkey River tonight.”
By the time their recently restored dock came into view, lightning was lashing them, sending them all scrambling for shore. Xander still held Watseka, who was fully awake now and looking wide-eyed over his shoulder. The oarsmen hastened away, the weather preventing their return to fieldwork.
Once home, they all began removing sodden garments. Selah’s beaver hat with its wide brim was soaked through, rain dripping from the peak of her nose. She hung her hat from a peg to dry, removed her apron, and tied another on, then started for the door again to fetch what she’d been secreting for Watseka. As she went out, she heard her mother’s voice behind her, ever ready with an invitation.
“Xander, you must stay on for a meal, or at least till the weather clears. Izella is preparing a bountiful supper. Shay’s bed is yours for the taking too.”
“I second the notion,” Ustis said. “Let us not bid you farewell only to find you lightning struck.”
Without hearing Xander’s reply, Selah made her way beneath the eave to a small shed, a scratching at the door muffled by the rain. Not wanting the pup to traipse through the widening mud puddles, she scooped him up and hurried back to the dry house and Xander’s answer.
Watseka’s expression grew more animated as Selah shutthe door on the noisy weather and released the wiggling ball of fur onto the plank floor. “From a litter at Flowerdew Hundred.”
Watseka looked to Xander. “Attemous.”
“Dog, aye,” he replied. “Attemous.”
Getting on her hands and knees, Watseka began growling as the inquisitive pup sniffed her doeskin dress and began nipping at the fringed hem with tiny teeth, which set them all to laughing. Next, she caught the pup up in her arms, its tongue a flash of pink against her merry face.
Excusing herself, Selah left for the kitchen to help with supper preparations. Candace soon joined her, finishing what Izella had started before she left to do the milking.
“Though I am happy for Watseka, I fear the wee hound will have its way with our fowl,” Candace lamented as she fried beef collops. “A kitten might have done as well.”
“We shall make sure the pup respects all poultry.” Selah poked at a kettle of greens, wondering if Xander favored ramps and onions. “Our last cat was carried away by an eagle, if you recall. At least a pup stands a fighting chance.”
Nodding, Candace brought forth a cake that had been soaking in a cupboard for a sennight. As she removed the linen wrap, the scent of spirits quashed the potent greens. “I do hopeThe English Hus-wifedoes not disappoint.”
