When he took a deep breath, she detected that dismal rattle in his chest. “Wherever Shay is, we are beneath the same sky, the same heavenlies. Somehow that seems to lessen the distance.”
“A comforting thought.”
She tilted her head back, gazing on a particularly bright North Star. There’d been such a star guiding them home after Rose-n-Vale’s frolic. The beloved memory made a woozy melt of her middle. The bench. The beads. She’d lost count of Xander’skisses. He’d not only kissed her back. He’d kissed her soundly. And left her in a sort of lovestruck trance ever since.
In the presence of her father, shame crouched at the door of her heart. She and Xander were not yet betrothed. Was there such a thing as a chaste kiss or embrace? Had they done wrong in the garden, wooed by the beads and the seductive secrecy of finding themselves alone?
“Good night, Father.” With a last squeeze of his hand, she left him, praying he’d be abed again soon and sleep the night through.
As for herself, thoughts of her beloved kept her wide awake. Marriage beckoned, sanctifying untoward desires. Any day now he would come for her. Their time would be at hand. She would be Xander’s bride. Selah Hopewell Renick.
How sweet the sound.
Before dawn, her mother gently shook her awake. “Needs be you tend to the merchanting today, Daughter. Your father is having one of his spells.”
The unwelcome news brought Selah upright. Father’s difficulty breathing seemed to worsen in the dog days of August. She dressed and breakfasted hastily. A sloop was expected with supplies, having docked at James Towne the day before, where the larger store took the lion’s share.
Candace’s brow was pinched with worry. “Perhaps Watseka should accompany you. I don’t like the thought of you alone.”
“I’m hardly alone, Mother, especially on supply-ship days. In the afternoon, send Watseka with something to tide me over till supper if you like.”
“Very well. But should you need anything ...” Candace laid a hand upon Selah’s cheek. “Would that one of Xander’s greyhounds went with you.”
“Father’s flintlock is hidden in the storeroom if needs be.”
The reminder only earned her a pained look. Selah pressed a kiss to her father’s perspiring brow and started off, trying not to let any concerns rob her of morning’s glories.
Before her the broad river, bestirred by a humid east wind, wore a ruffle of white lace. By the time she reached the wharf, the sun at her back had dampened her stays and whetted her thirst. This early, none were at the store. She unlocked the doors and entered in, then prepared the scales and ledgers, rearranged ells of cloth to better display them, and restocked depleted wares.
Before long the day’s business commenced. She preferred these upriver folks. They had an earthy honesty far removed from the airs and eccentricities of James Towne. Usually few goodwives happened by, but today two came with their husbands, making much of the merchandise and asking a plenitude of questions Selah was happy to answer.
Mother had worried needlessly. The wharf and warehouse kept a brisk pace, and then the anticipated supply ship docked, landing her waist deep in hogsheads and crates and tubs. A few willing men helped her open them, unleashing a flurry of examining and dickering and buying. Most upriver purchases were made with tobacco receipts.
By midafternoon her head was filled with names and amounts, the little coin that had been transacted deposited in a locked box. Stomach rumbling, she caught her breath during a lull and looked east, wondering when Watseka would come. The storeroom had emptied, people carrying home their goods. A few men lingered on the wharf, one fishing off its end.
“Good day, Mistress Hopewell.”
The familiar voice turned her around. In the doorway stood Helion Laurent.
“How fortuitous to find you here when we hardly exchanged a word at Renick’s gathering.” He began to move about the store, poking this or that with his ivory-headed walking stick as if loath to touch recently handled goods. “I am seeking a few items for my plantation. I expected your father to assist me.”
“Father is home today.” She wouldn’t say unwell. News traveled fast, ill news especially.
“No matter. Your help is all I require.”
The way he said it—and the look he gave her—left her nauseous. A glance out the open door showed an empty wharf. Were they now alone? Her mind made fearsome leaps. Had he told the loitering men to leave?
“Father may well appear at any moment to assist you.” The half-truth nipped at her, but fear turned her defensive.
“So how do you find being upriver?”
Grim with you so near.
“I do not miss James Towne,” she said.
He moved on, his back to her now, but ever nearer. “Even though you are no longer there, I hear reports of you. One distressed me particularly.” A close perusal of scarlet hose and a canvas doublet trimmed in white lace revealed his penchant for vanity. “I came here today not only to transact business but to warn your father. Since he is absent, I will tell you.”
“If for my father’s ears, best wait till he is here.”
