“And how is that?”
His gaze veered to Watseka, leather string in her mouth as she played tug of war with the pup. “A warrior presents his would-be bride with a gift, often some delicacy to be eaten, that conveys his ability to provide for her.”
Selah’s gaze swept his buckskin breeches and linen doublet. “I see no food on your person.”
“Alas ... given that, you are free to decline my verbal offer.”
“And if I accept? What then?”
“I approach your parents. Pay a bridewealth to them.”
“A bit like the tobacco brides, perhaps.”
“Something like that, aye. Next comes the wedding feast.”
“Are we then considered married?”
“Not until I prepare a place for you. Rose-n-Vale should do. Then we’d marry at your parents’ home.” Caught up in the moment, he’d unwittingly made it more personal, but from the look on her face she didn’t mind. “An elder officiates, breaking a string of beads over our—the couple’s—heads. The wedding feast follows.”
Another smile. Her eyes seemed to dance. And then the warmth fled her gaze. “Like you and Mattachanna.”
He gave a nod. The memory, so distant now, seemed almost to belong to someone else. “We married first before her people, then the English in church, if you recall.”
“I do. Yet somehow, courting you seems to tread on that memory.”
“How so?”
“You were—mayhap still are”—she looked to her aproned lap—“in love with her.”
“Is that your only reservation, Selah?”
“Nay.”
“There’s more, then.”
“A great many things. Shay leaving. Father continuing unwell. I’m needed now more than ever here.”
He fell silent. Such plain speaking led them down a path thwarted with weeds and thistles. Shouldn’t love be more glad-hearted? Willing to take risks, come what may?
Watseka’s soft giggling defused the tension of the moment. The pup had the leather string, flinging it back and forth between his teeth.
“Are you always driven by duty, Selah? What of your heart?”
“My heart ...” Wistfulness filled her face. “‘The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?’”
“True, aye, as is this—‘a continual dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike.’”
“Shall we exchange Scripture for Scripture?” she asked, seemingly chidedandamused. “As for me...”
He waited none too comfortably for her answer.
“I am not at peace with your working night and day and your preoccupation with plantation matters.”
“Is that all?”
“Is that not enough?”
“I sense your resistance goes deeper, is what I’m saying.” His tone was firm, yet the searching words were soft. “Let us have the matter settled between us once and for all, here and now.”
