Bleu picked up the broken furniture, thrown about and tomahawked beyond repair, and fed it to the hearth’s fire he’d made. Light streamed across Griffiths’ desk that he guessed was untidy at the best of times. Littered with papers and spilled ink and pounce, some of the damaged ledgers were beyond recovery.
Where had Griffith kept the paperwork for his indentures? Usually a contract was torn in two so that each party, master and servant, could have a portion. Once the contract was fulfilled, the two pieces were brought together to prove the authenticity of the papers. He eyed a corner safe, locked, and wondered its contents.
Working through the forenoon, he saved what he could, setting aside what might be restored, and cleaned up the rest. He longed to be outside on so fair a day. By now, had he not been waylaid, he’d have been far closer to the Rivanna River. Yet whatever kept him here gave him a measure of peace despite the tragedy. It would be wrong to ride on in the face of so much ruination—and he felt obliged to see that the woman and boy changed hands safely.
Brielle Farrow. Titus Owens.
He could hear them both elsewhere in the tavern. Titus continued to straighten the bar’s disorder while the soft patter ofBrielle’s footsteps sounded overhead as she came in and out of rooms and opened and closed doors.
Finished with Griffiths’ office, he began a slow walk about the tavern’s interior, peering out window after window on all floors, climbing to the attic eaves where Titus told him they slept. Here the territorial view was expansive, reaching to the Blue Mountains and beyond. Coming downstairs again, he stepped onto the porch to find Brielle already there talking to one of the militia.
She turned toward him. “Titus asked me if you could take us to the gravesite.”
Her face was so entreating he’d have taken her to Philadelphia and back. “Bien sûr.”
Of course. “The chosen ground is well to the west of the tavern beyond the orchard.”
“A comely place.”
Titus appeared and Brielle took his hand, knowing this would be hard for him. “Perhaps you can make a grave marker for Tamsen. You’re good at working with your hands, with wood.”
“I reckon Griffiths won’t begrudge me using his carving tools.”
All those tools, of no use to their bondsman now.
“You could make a cross,” she encouraged. “Tamsen would have liked that.”
The day wore on, Titus helping Bleu with all the outside chores usually managed by eight tavern servants while Brielle kept busy inside. So far no new lodgers had appeared. Were they now wary of the crossroads? She didn’t blame them. After so much carnage it might take time to return to its usual bustling routine.
Toward suppertime, Titus brought the woodworking tools inside. Head bent, he worked quietly in a corner while she preparedsupper, wondering how long the militia would stay. They’d been eating in the public room. As it was, between kitchen and larder and despite the raiders pilfering supplies, she had enough to feed a small army. In a bold, unarmed moment, she’d even sneaked to the garden for more peas and new potatoes.
When Bleu returned inside at dusk, he plunged his head then his hands into a wash bucket near the back door. Watching him, she tried to keep from smiling as he stood upright, running his hands through his dark hair to slick it back, his queue ribbon falling to his booted feet.
“Permit me.” Coming up behind him as he dried his hands on a clean linen towel, she retrieved it, standing on tiptoe to tie it into place. He held still as she made short work of the ribbon, securing it, her fingertips brushing the silk of his hair and finding it as soft as her own.
“Merci.” Turning round, he looked to the set table in question.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, retying her apron.
“Ravenous,” he replied.
“I’ve madecretons.”
His eyes lit again, their deep blue startling her all over again. “Merci.”
A shyness beset her. “I might not have remembered my mother’s recipe well though I often helped her cook…”
He brought a finger to his lips briefly and she smiled as his hand fell away and he took a seat at the table, clearly ready to eat though she was still waiting on the bread.
“It’s the least I can do after what you’ve done for us.” She kept busy at the hearth with the meal’s final touches as she talked. “Staying on here. Seeing to our wellbeing.”
“I am in no hurry to get to where I am going. Not when a need arises.”
Titus looked up from where he was whittling, wood shavings at his feet. “Where are you headed exactly?”
“To see my sister along the Rivanna River. She lives there with her husband and their sixenfants turbulents.”
Brielle nearly laughed at his phrasing. Six children, turbulent or not, seemed like heaven on earth.
