“If only we had the capability of knowing just where he was and when he’d return,” Father confessed. “’Tis a risky mission. The future of the colonies might well depend on it.”
“Perhaps he’s spared the pox. I cannot recall if he’s already had it.” The possibility he had not sent a new terror through her. But surely all those ports, all those peoples, had made him immune already.
Lord, please, hedge him from harm, and all his crew.
Haunted, she kissed the baby’s velvety brow as her initial shock faded over the unexpected arrival. There was little she could do about Henri. Or Eliza and Quinn. Providence had given Ruenna to her keeping, and she’d do her best to love and protect her in the meantime.
CHAPTER
fifty-three
Father left at dawn. He bid his first grandchild goodbye stoically, if reluctantly, before returning the sloop to York. Esmée wondered if he would ever see Ruenna again. If the babe sickened and died in her care, mightn’t Quinn and Eliza blame her?
At least the wind and weather were favorable this morn, hastening his departure. Esmée stood on the pier and waved, a sinking feeling inside her. If ever she’d missed Father’s strengthening presence, ’twas now.
She returned to a cottage lusty with the cries of both babies. Hurrying inside, she took Alden and amused him with her chatelaine while Alice fed Ruenna. As she listened to Alice recount Eliza’s travail, the room grew still.
“’Twas dreadful, Miss Shaw.” Alice’s face was drawn with worry. “Lady Drysdale had such a time of it, laboring nigh on two days. The physic was called in at the first pains, then the midwife at the last, who said the babe had not yet fallen down...”
’Twas all Esmée could do to sit and listen to the details of her sister’s travail. Eliza was not long-suffering in nature, yet she’d enduredchildbirth only to sicken with smallpox. Now, weakened from the birth as she was, would she even survive?
“Lady Drysdale’s lying-in should have been far easier.” Tears came to Alice’s eyes as she finished feeding Ruenna. “It grieved me to see her babe whisked away into my keeping so soon.”
“Merciful days,” Lucy murmured in sympathy, poking at a gammon roasting on a spit. “How did her ladyship come by the pox?”
Alice’s slim shoulders lifted. “Lord Drysdale suspected a kitchen maid brought it into the house. Every morn we were all summoned to Lady Drysdale’s chamber to get our orders for the day, ye see. The poor maid was always there too, up till she sickened and died. But every house in Williamsburg seemed to have someone down with it, so who can say how it began?”
“We’re thankful to have you on the island if not in the townhouse,” Esmée reassured her. “And ’tis my job to make sure you’re eating bountifully and resting.”
Alice smiled a bit wearily. “My Alden doesn’t seem to mind sharing, though it’s a bit tricky minding two babes when both fuss to be fed.”
They traded infants. Alden was awake and active, Ruenna asleep, her rosebud mouth white with dried milk.
“Have you enough clouts?” Lucy asked, moving from hearth to table.
“Admiral Shaw brought as many things as the coach and then the sloop could hold.” Alice looked toward Esmée’s bedchamber, where two trunks rested. “A shame we couldn’t have carried away the babe’s beautiful cradle with its silk hangings. A humble drawer seems sorely lacking.”
“Thankfully, the babe doesn’t mind a whit.” Esmée settled back, wishing for a rocking chair. She was growing used to the feel of Ruenna in her arms, no longer on eggshells fearing she might drop her. That this was Eliza’s child hadn’t quite taken hold, not when she saw more of Quinn in her tiny features.
“She’s a quiet little miss,” Lucy remarked, reaching down to stroke Tibby’s back.
“Glad I am of it when Alden is nothing of the sort,” Alice mused, kissing him on the brow. “Right out of the womb he fussed. I do wonder though...”
Esmée looked up. Alice’s hazel eyes held a timid question.
“D’ye think Miss Ruenna may have a touch of the pox? I fear for both babes. The pox steals away the young and old especially.”
“I pray not.” Feeling Ruenna’s forehead, Esmée breathed another silent prayer. ’Twas trying enough worrying about Eliza and Quinn. And all of Virginia. What if one or both babies came down with the disease? She looked at Lucy quietly peeling potatoes. Had Lucy had the pox?
“I’m as like as the babies to come down with it.” With a little moan, Lucy continued her simple task. “I’ve had other distempers but not the pox.”
“You’ll likely be well here on the island,” Esmée sought to reassure her. “But if there’s the first touch of fever...”
Lucy gave a bob of her fair head and set the potatoes to boiling. The aroma of roasting meat filled the kitchen, following Esmée out to the parlor as she moved to a window, Ruenna still in her arms. The gray landscape turned the lighthouse a starker white. Beyond it were two merchant vessels, a weighty presence in the water but toy-sized at such a distance.
Ruenna stirred and made a face. Despite feeling overwhelmed, Esmée chuckled then wrinkled her nose as an unmistakable odor overcame the more palatable aroma from the kitchen.
“I see you’re going to cause me a great deal of fuss and bother during your stay,” she said softly, moving toward the bedchamber. “Your grandfather was wise to bring a great many clouts.”
