Selah eyed the concoction as well as the receipt book open on the kitchen table. “Your cake, you mean?” Big and round and the color of an autumn nut, the cake boasted the best dried fruit and spices to be had, nutmeg foremost.
“Watseka’s welcome cake.” Candace eased it onto a platter. “Let us hope she likes it.”
“’Tis a wonder you kept it from Shay before his going.I daresay Father and Xander will waste no time with it, if Xander stays.”
“He is to stay, aye.” She stole a look at Selah as if gauging her reaction.
Heartened—and flustered—by the thought, Selah took down their best pewter and glass. There seemed a special intimacy about sharing a meal. She’d sensed it especially at Rose-n-Vale. Remembering the lovely posies set upon that linen-clad table, Selah dashed outside again, only to find little could be had but a few sodden wildflowers.
When supper came, Ustis and Xander took the table’s ends while Watseka sat by Selah across from Candace, hardly leaving them room to miss Shay.
“Xander, would you honor our table by blessing what we are about to partake?” Ustis asked.
Selah sensed Xander’s surprise, her spirits sinking.Oh, Father, can you not pray instead?
They joined hands and bent their heads, even Watseka, who was a fine mimic.
“Guide us, Lord, in all the changes and varieties of the world, that we may have evenness and tranquility of spirit, that we may not grumble in adversity nor grow proud in prosperity but in serene faith surrender our souls to Thy most divine will, through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
Their joined hands released. Dumbstruck by the beauty of his prayer, Selah sat unmoving for several seconds. Beside her, Watseka squirmed off the bench to approach the hearth’s fire, where she offered the dying flames a small portion of the meat upon her plate. A satisfying sizzle sent her back to the table.
Xander had a ready explanation. “’Tis Powhatan customto throw a bit of food into the fire as a thanks offering before eating.”
Ustis harrumphed while Candace simply managed a small smile as supper commenced. Out of the corner of her eye, Selah watched Watseka try her first English meal. Bypassing her utensils, she partook with her fingers very neatly and carefully, savoring every bite of her collops. Corn pone and greens, familiar to her though perhaps prepared differently, also disappeared.
At the serving of the cake, Watseka gaped. Though the night was overwarm, Selah poured the girl some herbals in a tiny cup.
Cake promptly devoured, cup empty, she began yawning again, clearly worn out from her long day. Who knew how far she had traveled before coming to James Towne? And Shay? Was he even now seeking shelter? She turned her uneasiness into a silent prayer. The damp did her brother no favors, oft leading to chest infections and the pursuit of some remedy.
Removing Xander’s dishes, acknowledging his murmured thanks, she kept her eyes down, glad for the steadying routine. When the men moved to the parlor, she wiped the table clean, wishing her topsy-turvy feelings were as easily discarded as the supper crumbs.
21
Ustis, exhausted by the day’s events, his chest rattling with that stubborn cough, took to his bed, Candace following. Once their bedchamber door shut, ’twas only Selah, Watseka, and Xander in the parlor now. Rain mellowed from a downpour to a patter, and the house finally cooled. Full and dry, they sat and watched Watseka play with her pup. To her delight, Xander untied the leather string binding his hair in a careless queue and gave it to her as enticement.
Leaning back in Ustis’s chair, clearly the most comfortable, he stretched out his legs and crossed his boots at the ankles. With Selah beside him, near enough he could catch the herbal scent of her, he pondered spending the night. His aunt didn’t expect his return till tomorrow, and his tarrying might ensure Watseka’s adjustment was more comfortable for all concerned.
But none of that explained his dallying.
’Twas this sudden closeness, so beguiling, that kept him rooted and opened the door to pondering their future. A future far beyond this sodden eve that might well thwart the coming harvest to a languid winter’s night before his ownglowing hearth, Selah by his side, and nothing more pressing to ponder than choosing a favorite pipe.
Thus ensnared, he threw caution to the wind. “I suppose this might well count as courting.”
A stunned silence. And then Selah laughed. A laugh so high and musical it had the ring of a bell. She looked sideways at him beneath long-lashed eyes. “Are you making sport of romantic matters, Xander Renick?”
“Nay. I just do not know how to proceed.”
“Are you seeking my permission?”
“I have been seeking your permission for some months.”
“But not in words.”
He shook his unkempt head. “A lingering look. A tarrying.”
She smiled then, somewhat shyly, her eyes never leaving his. “Have you spoken to my father?”
“Not yet. The timing continues unfavorable. Besides, you know I am not one for bowing to custom. Mayhap it bears considering to court as the Powhatans do.”
