Tears glittered in her eyes. He’d not meant to issue a challenge. Ruing it, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, no matter what her answer would be. Finally, it came.
“I would have you remarry for heartfelt reasons, not base practicality like the tobacco brides. With a genuine depth of feeling, a sincere heartfelt commitment, nothing less.” Her shimmering gaze turned him on end. “Is it wrong for me, nearly a spinster, to want to be the object of your best thoughts and intentions?”
That look she gave him. Entreating. Expectant. It rent his open heart. If not for Watseka he would take her in his arms and silence her endless queries.
He leaned forward, hands outspread. “Selah, how can I prove to you—”
A storm of coughing sounded from the bedchamber. Selahstood as the door opened and Candace appeared in her nightcap and gown.
“Daughter, can you bring dried horehound leaves mixed with honey? Perhaps that will soothe your father’s chest and help him sleep.”
“Of course.”
Xander pulled himself to his feet. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Your being beneath our roof is comfort enough.” Selah started for the kitchen. “If Father takes a turn for the worse...”
“I’ll retire, then, but am ready if the need arises.” He started for the steps with a candle, having been told Shay’s room was to the right of the landing.
He kept his tread light, not wanting to aggravate an already sleepless situation. On his way he gave a passing glance at Selah’s half-open door. A small bed, a washstand, a desk and chair within. One small rug lent softness and color. Still, it looked so spare he felt a qualm over his own sumptuous bedchamber.
Shay’s room was even more spartan, deprived of both his presence and possessions now on their way to the far frontier. Xander shut the door and opened the sole window. Sitting, he tugged off his boots and sank atop the feather mattress, which was far too warm for a summer’s day and much too short. Shay was more round than tall.
But sleep was not on his mind tonight, his thoughts overfull of their storm of words with every attending emotion below. In time he heard Selah climb the stairs, her feet a whisper on wood. Her door shut, yet another barrier betwixt them. Within the confines of her room he heard a faint rustling as she and Watseka readied for bed.
He had made a stab at courting Selah, and the outcome was less than he had hoped. But he, of all men in Virginia Colony, was known for his persistence. In tobacco cultivation.
And now in courtship.
Yawning, Selah arose before first light, leaving Watseka asleep upstairs. All were still abed but Izella, who laid the fire for breakfast. Assuming Shay’s chores, Selah first fed the chickens, then let the pup scamper about untethered as dawn lit the eastern sky. Heart full of last night’s honest exchange, she paused beneath the garden’s tattered arbor, the tangle of coral-hued honeysuckle most fragrant at first light. Her gaze rose to the roofline and Shay’s open window. No doubt Xander was an early riser—
“Morning, Selah.”
The low voice bade her turn. Skirts swaying, she faced him as he approached from the well, water buckets filled to the brim. How had she missed him?
“Good morning, Xander.” Oh, his name tasted sweet. For a few fleeting seconds this seemed their house, their dewy morn. “You must be anxious to return to Rose-n-Vale.”
“Not particularly.” His eyes were smiling. Reassuring.
She’d not slowed his pursuit then. All her naysaying of last night fled with him so near.
“The work will always be there.” His gaze left her and took in the sunburnt yard already inching toward midsummer. “But moments like these, nay.”
He strode past her and set the fresh water within the kitchen’s open doorway while she began pulling weeds inthe garden, mightily distracted. Taking hold of the wheelbarrow, he rounded the stable to the woodpile and set the axe to ringing, sparing her father the exertion. A gentling stole through her that this man, the best of Virginia, would perform so menial a task.
Soon finished with the early morning chores, they stood together and watched the sunrise, a glory of red gold that kept them captivated till the sudden appearance of Watseka. Naked as a jaybird, she flew out of the house to greet her pup. The sudden commotion started the rooster’s crowing and Xander laughing. Selah rushed toward Watseka, scooped her up, and returned her to the house and the clothes they’d made her. Within minutes, looking considerably more uncomfortable, Watseka returned outside dressed in a miniature version of what Selah herself wore, down to the coif covering her black hair. But her tiny feet stayed bare.
“’Tis her custom to bathe at first light.” He swung Watseka up onto sturdy shoulders. “A practice the odiferous English should follow.”
Selah warmed all over at his bold words, thankful she’d bathed just yesterday. “Then I shan’t prevent her in future.”
Watseka sank her hands into Xander’s tousled hair and asked him a question in her tongue. Replying, he set her on the mounting block, only to see her scamper toward her pup as fast as her English clothes allowed.
As Selah watched, he left the courtyard to turn the cow to pasture, then retrieved his horse, signaling he would soon depart. But first breakfast.
“Can you help me cook?” Selah called to Watseka once they were in the kitchen, passing her a long-handled woodenspoon. Though Watseka understood little English, she stood raptly by the porridge pot.
“Supawn.” She pointed her spoon at the bubbling contents.
