He turned his head and kissed her temple. “The smokehouse was robbed, remember.”
“Oh ... I do recall your aunt lamenting that. Sturgeon, then. I shall pick fresh flowers for the table. Examine your garments and see what needs mending or making. Meet with the new maids and learn their names.” She studied his thoughtful profile. “How do you spend your days?”
“I usually begin with a routine ride to all four corners of the plantation.” Releasing her, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his shirt. “Dinner. Desk work. Fieldwork. Supper. Sit upon the portico.” He sent a roguish grin her way. “Adore my wife.”
She flushed and pushed back the covers, retrieving her purple gown. “I shall wear my bridal attire all day to remind you.”
“I assure you that shan’t be necessary.” He began dressing in the fading dark. “Needs be I remindyouto stay close to the house.”
Her joy slipped a notch. He was so careful with her. She sensed all that weighted him, all he did not say.
“I don’t mean to alarm you, Selah. Just make you somewhat wary.”
“I understand.”
“I’ve sent word to Mount Malady for the physic to see to your wound.”
Her arm, healing slowly, was still very tender but not festering, God be praised.
A smile returned to his voice. “But nothing needs doing before our first cup of cassina together, aye?”
Twin maids. How was she to tell them apart?
Giggling, they stood before Selah after giving her a clumsy, unnecessary curtsy. Tabitha and Clarity. A third maid, Primrose, had been at Rose-n-Vale for a few months, the twins but a fortnight. All indentured orphans. Widow Brodie said the trio needed training, a taming of their high-spiritedness. Selah simply saw unschooled girls eager to please, who’d eaten too much wedding cake and drunk too much punch the night before.
“We shall meet together every morn in the new parlor to discuss what needs doing.” Selah reached out and straightened Clarity’s coif with a smile. “You can request certain duties if you like. Widow Brodie says Primrose is fond of the milk house.”
“Jings, mistress!” Primrose’s Scots speech unfurled. “I’d blister otherwise in this infernal heat! It’s so verra cool within those stone walls, I fancy myself a kelpie.”
Kelpie? Selah paused. She’d ask Xander what that might be.
“You can tend to the morning’s milking and churning, though any cheese making won’t be had till the weather cools.” Her gaze narrowed to the twins. “I heard you sisters are skilled at housework. For now, there is plenty of that tobe done after last night’s revelry. I’ll be in the garden should you need me.”
They betook themselves to their respective places in a flurry of petticoats. Selah passed onto the portico, where her mother was sewing with Nurse Lineboro, a basket of brown cloth between them. Xander’s aunt was in the kitchen with Cook and Izella amid a banging of pots and pans. The last thing she wanted was to usurp the older woman’s authority, so she stayed clear of the kitchen and made a beeline for the kitchen garden.
But what she really wanted to do was hunt for Watseka.
Anything else seemed foolish. Frivolous. Why could she not rest in the knowledge that Xander had taken Jett and gone out with another search party right after breakfast, leaving Ruby behind as watchdog? Even now the russet giant looked at her moodily from her tethering beneath an oak’s spreading shade.
Bending her mind to her task, Selah took stock of what needed harvesting in the heat-scorched garden. A great many English gourds, melons, and cabbages sprawled at her feet. Herbs ran riot, mingling with flowers and lettuces gone to seed. A soot-blackened kitchen wall supported sprawling currants and gooseberries. No rhyme or reason to this garden patch. Might she and her mother make better use of it in time?
Her gaze rose. Over the paling fence stretched a field of maize, beans, and pumpkins as far as the eye could see. A few indentures’ wives were already at work there. She dipped a bucket into a rain barrel and began watering, thoughts of her first night as mistress beneath Rose-n-Vale’s roof warming her as much as the sun upon her back. She neverthelesskept to her humble task, knowing she’d not be content to sit still on the portico like the other women.
While she watered the thirsty soil, she prayed. That Watseka would be found. That Xander and the search party would be safe. That Shay and Oceanus would return to them sooner rather than later.
Slowly a dark thought wrapped cold tentacles around her and nearly stopped her in her tracks. If Watseka was not found, or was found harmed, then they had more than the Powhatans’ coming down on them to contend with. What if the Indians refused to return Shay and Oceanus? Or did them harm?
Xander released the search party and stood alone at the Hopewells’. How quickly everything went to seed when a place was vacated. After going through the empty house again, including the bedchamber that had been Watseka’s, he passed out of doors to sit in the arbor’s shade. Jett lay beside him, panting after covering a vast amount of territory in a few hours.
To no avail.
Now late afternoon, the sun sank behind a drift of clouds on the horizon that hinted of rain. All was quiet save a lone sparrow perched atop a wending honeysuckle vine, its piercing trills sending a dart of sorrow through him.
Watseka, where can you be?
He could not ignore the slight possibility the child had run off, rejoined her people. If so, they were expending a great deal of time and worry needlessly. But neither could he return to the Powhatans yet, not while his lands lay inruins and the fire setter was free. Not till he’d left no stone unturned regarding Watseka’s whereabouts here.
He took a breath, expelling the turmoil within, only to take it back up again. If the chief’s granddaughter was not found or had been harmed, woe be to the English. The Powhatans’ wrath had been triggered by far lesser matters. Hindsight buffeted Xander with regret. Had he but refused Opechancanough’s request to keep Oceanus till the autumn... Had he but known about Ustis’s death and insisted Shay return to the Hopewells... As it was, more than Watseka’s life was now in jeopardy.
