She came closer, noting they’d built a partial wall. The kitchen garden enclosure? A little trill of delight lifted her melancholy.
Cosmos greeted her, wiping his hands on his leather apron. “We’re at work with rock remaining from the lighthouse.”
“’Tis a handsome wall that breaks the sea wind.”
“We mean to finish that and a smokehouse and such before the captain’s return, or toil till we’ve run out of stone.”
“I long for spring and the first supply ship.” She looked to the beach warily. She nearly couldn’t broach the subject. “Have any more...”
He gave a yank to his Monmouth cap. “No more to bury, Miss Shaw. But that doesn’t mean we’re done. If another storm blows in...”
“I understand. You’ve all been such a mainstay. Captain Lennox will reward you handsomely for it.”
“He’s a generous man, the captain. If ye have need of anything, we’re at your service.”
She thanked him, and he returned to work whistling, further lightening her mood. She hastened back to the cottage, where she shuttered dark thoughts and spent an hour planning her garden and taking stock of the seed packets Kitty had given her, mostly flowers and herbs. ’Twas February and Candlemas, the month that requiredthe attention of a gardener more than any other. What had Mama said?If Candlemas day be fair and bright, winter will have another flight; but if it be dark with clouds and rain, winter is gone and will not come again.
Weather permitting, she’d prepare her ground and sow salad herbs, mainly Silesia and imperial lettuces, by month’s end. But the garden wall needed finishing before she set to work.
A cry arose from the drawer bed. Abandoning her seed, Esmée picked up Ruenna, who quieted at her touch. Recently fed, she couldn’t possibly be hungry again. Finding the room cold, Esmée sought the warmth of the parlor and sat near the hearth, a sliver of trepidation accompanying what had become her usual routine. Gently she pulled back the baby’s swaddling, searching for any worrisome sign.
Relieved, she placed Ruenna against her chest and shoulder, the warm bulk of her honey-sweet. All that Eliza was missing tugged at her. Each day brought telling changes to a child so young. Though the babe had been here but a fortnight, she was plumper and less wrinkled. Even her dark hair was curling at her crown.
Alice came into the parlor cradling Alden, smiling at them. “Ye’ve taken to Miss Ruenna like she’s yer own.”
“You set a worthy example,” Esmée replied as Alice took a seat opposite, turning Alden around on her lap to face the fire. “His father would be proud.”
“Aye, Johnny would be, as the imp looks just like him.” Alice kissed the top of Alden’s russet head. “I thank ye again for helping me pen a letter.”
“Once Father returns we shall post it.” Esmée took Ruenna’s silver rattle from a basket and handed it to Alden. He shook it in his fat fist before bringing it to his mouth, the tiny bells tinkling.
“He’s about to sprout a tooth. I can feel it on his gum.” Alice settled back and looked to the kitchen, her thin frame less bony than before. “Lucy is determined to fatten me. She’s baking ratafia cakes right now.”
“I thought I smelled orange flower water.” Esmée breathed in thedelightful aroma coming from the bake oven. “We shall have a pleasant tea party, we three. Celebrate being here safe and sound together.”
Alice nodded, gaze falling to her son. “If not for the island—and you and your father—where would we be? My own babe might have sickened and died. Here, away from the scourge, we’re blessed indeed.”
“D’ye think Alice will be here for a while yet, Miss Shaw?” Lucy called from the kitchen.
“At least till my sister has recovered and the smallpox fades.” Esmée kissed Ruenna’s soft brow. “My father should bring us news soon, I hope.”
Alice looked toward a window. “The weather has settled, God be praised.”
“We’ve much to be thankful for,” Esmée replied. “Ratafia cakes. Healthy babes. Spring planting. TheIntrepid’s return.”
“I hope I’m here to see ye and the captain wed.” Alice’s smile broadened. “Lucy is sweet on one of the crew, aye? We might see two weddings come spring ... and more babes the next.”
Such happy talk pushed back every dark thought, at least for the present.
CHAPTER
fifty-seven
After Candlemas, the weather brightened. Nights were clear and cool, the stars so brilliant Esmée stayed longer in the lighthouse. By day, the sun beckoned her outdoors, though shelling had lost its allure, the memory of the wrecked Guineaman too fresh. But at least no wind frothed the water into a tempest. Some days the sea merely rippled and shone like blue silk.
The garden’s stone fence was finished, so she trod the pine path to her future home, reveling in the enclosure warmed by winter’s sun. Here she turned the sandy soil with spade and hoe, uprooting stubborn weeds in such a way Eliza would deem her a field hand. Her gloves protected her from the worst blisters, and soon she’d made a solid start. No seed planted yet, but still she rejoiced in what was to come as she returned to the cottage for tea.
Washing up, she sat down at the table, only to rise again as a knock sounded and Lucy went to answer. There on the threshold stood Henri’s ancient ship’s carpenter, toting a cradle mounted on rockers. He set it before the parlor fire, and Esmée brought linens, anxiousto settle Ruenna in her new bed, as she would soon outgrow the dresser drawer.
