Cecily’s expression turned conspiratorial as her voice faded to a whisper. “No man I’ve seen since making landfall I deem your nephew’s equal. But tell me, why was Master Renick not amongst the throng of eager men at the docks? Is he above taking a tobacco bride?”
Widow Brodie pursed her lips as if pondering her reply. As blood kin and housekeeper and aware of his many habits, she knew best. “Alexander is a man of singular intentions. His days are a blur of tobacco cultivation, and his horribly ill-bred greyhounds—”
“I adore dogs!” Cecily replied with equal vehemence. “The fawn-colored greyhounds especially.”
“His are but red and black, though he jests about sending to England for the coloring you describe.” Her aging face collapsed into fiercer wrinkles. “I do not share your fondness for canines, but a finer man you’ll not find on Virginia soil.”
Cecily leaned forward. “Tell me more.”
Candace eyed the study as Ustis and Xander passed into the adjoining parlor. “You see, when our men first came to James Towne, most were genteel English, unaccustomed to laboring and hardship. That sort soon foundered. But Master Renick is cut of a different cloth. He simply rolled up his sleeves and got to work, fearing no Indian or wild animal or anything else. After many trials, he cultivated seed from the West Indies, a milder, sweeter tobacco than what had come before. We carry it in our store, though most is shipped to England to fetch the best price.”
“Surely there is more to the man than his tobacco.”
Precious little, Selah thought, breathing in the fragrant pipe smoke.
Widow Brodie sighed as a burst of masculine laughter issued from the adjoining chamber. “He has a young son—”
“A son?” Cecily’s countenance clouded.
“He is a widower like so many.” Widow Brodie’s tone turned mournful. “We all grieve the loss of Mattachanna—”
“Matta—anIndian?” Cecily’s eyes narrowed. “How is it that a man of his supposed standing took such a bride? Are not these natives as the newspapers describe? A rude, barbarous, naked people who worship the devil?”
At that very moment Xander’s gaze pivoted to them from where he stood by the hearth. Had Cecily’s voice carried?
Candace put a finger to her lips. “Lady Rebecca was her Christian name, God rest her. She was a believing Anglican, baptized in the faith, second to none with her catechism, schooled by Reverend Criswel himself before her marriage.”
This passionate defense was met with scandalized silence.
Stemming a sigh, Selah steered the conversation to safer shores. “Master Renick is but one of many eligible men. But in truth, our recommendations may not dovetail with your affections.”
Curling her nose, Cecily took a fan from her pocket and stirred the smoky air. “I shall proceed with due caution. Glad I am we brides may court at our leisure, though I shan’t impose on your hospitality overlong.”
“Marry in haste, repent at leisure,” Widow Brodie cautioned. “I’ve often pondered marrying again, but at my advanced age...”
“You’ve not one foot in the grave,” Candace told her. “Though Rose-n-Vale would be loath to lose you.”
“Alexander is in need of a wife more than a housekeeper,”Widow Brodie said. “Perhaps then he could remedy that sad situation of his in Scotland...”
Cecily nearly pounced on that slip, opening her mouth to inquire further, when Selah intervened. “Please, let us speak of other things.”
Candace nodded. “Tomorrow Shay will give a tour of our humble town to all the tobacco brides, starting at the fort, or what is left of it, then the old church and current marketplace.”
“What of the plantations so talked about outside of town? I should like to live inland or upriver, away from the coastal swamps and miasmas the ship’s captain warned about. Be mistress of my own plantation.” Cecily snapped her fan shut. “Besides, we brides were led to believe JamesCittiewas quite populous. A bit more refined than we have found it to be.”
“There are some lovely vistas east of here that might suit your fancy,” Selah said. ’Twas her dream, too, to flee town. She couldn’t fault Cecily for that, yet she did not care for the ambitious glint in her eye. Was she a schemer? A shrew? Looking to her aproned lap, Selah put down the ungracious thought. “There’s many a man in need of a wife at Bermuda Hundred, the plantation at the falls of the James upriver. A picturesque spot.”
“Nearer the Naturals?”
“Aye, but we have come through a second war and are trying to keep peace.”
A very tenuous peace, Selah did not add. Many of their friends and neighbors had been killed in the Indian wars. How they themselves had survived the last conflict was nothing short of a miracle. The Powhatans were a powerful people, unwilling to be a conquered nation or be Christianized. If notfor Xander and the few men like him whose continual overtures to honor and keep peace...
“I feel a bit wilted.” Cecily yawned again, this time more openly.
But the men showed no signs of weariness as the conversation continued robustly. Selah stifled her own yawn and helped Izella clear away the empty cups and dishes.
“To bed with you.” Candace spoke briskly when Cecily drifted toward the parlor. “In the morning we’ll have mush and mulberry syrup at first light.”
