Another nod. “It is as you say. There was harm done recently to the Nanticoke.”
Xander longed to dissolve the ill will at play. “In the pursuit of peace, I recently came before the council to ask that two or more royal commissioners investigate and handle any and all disputes between Indians and English. To establish accountability and rectify wrongs done.”
“How was this proposal received?”
Badly. Harvey’s arrogance had been contemptible. Xander cast about for an answer, hesitating till the tightness in his throat eased. “I am still awaiting action.”
Passing Xander the pipe, Opechancanough lifted his eyes heavenward. “Then what I am about to propose to you might help smooth the way.”
6
The May day was balmy, the sandy beach occupied by children at play. One old man was roasting oysters over a fire, shells strewn at his bare feet, gray smoke billowing with the unmistakable tang of the sea. He held up a pearl with a toothless grin as Selah and Cecily passed by in search of Shay’s canoe hidden in the reeds.
“’Tis my first foray up this river.” Cecily put a tentative foot in the boat, trying to be graceful while Selah prepared to push off. “What do you Virginians call it?”
Selah handed her an oar. “The Naturals named it the Powhatan, the English the James.” Thrusting the canoe into the water with unladylike strength, Selah jumped in and seated herself in the stern.
“My, such a rustic mode of transport.” Cecily looked askance at her own oar once they were under way. “How do you navigate without getting all wet?”
“Practice,” Selah said simply, buoyed by her many childhood jaunts upriver, an expertise born of coastal life. “If the wind holds, we’ll be pushed along as much as we paddle.”
“Though you are adept with the oar, it seems quite a masculine pursuit. I’m afraid I’m little help.” With awkward strokes, Cecily fixed her attention on the shore. “What if we overturn?”
“I pray not. Can you swim?”
“Nay, but I’m sure you can.”
“I’ll keep to the shallows. You enjoy the shoreline from the bow. Soon you’ll see plantations, tobacco fields, wharves, and all manner of watercraft.”
“I do believe upriver is best.”
For a time, they glided along in silence, taken with the vast blueness that made Virginia’s largest river so memorable. Selah felt remarkably free and unencumbered, the sunlight warm upon her back. On such a sublime spring day, she wouldn’t ponder Xander’s journey toward the western mountains that marked the river’s beginning. Or her father’s persistent aches and pains. Or Helion Laurent’s increased visits to the store. Or—
“Look over there near that pretty cove,” Cecily called over her shoulder. “A house appears to be abandoned.”
“’Tis my father’s property, Hopewell Hundred, meant for my brother in time.”
“Why does it sit empty?”
“The tenant died last year.” She’d not confess he’d been felled by a tomahawk while hunting on disputed territory. Steering the canoe away from the sight, Selah said, “Keep your eyes open and prepare to be delighted.”
They traversed another winsome blue bend in the river, and Cecily’s paddling ceased. “Who owns that comely hill just ahead?”
Truly, Rose-n-Vale was perfectly placed. “’Tis home to Alexander Renick, whom you’ve met.” Always, that wistful twinge followed, the beauty shot through with the bittersweet.
“A commanding house, fairer than any I’ve seen in James Towne.” Cecily gave a sigh more of delight than exertion. “And bricked more than timbered. Fit for a handsome master. Shall we land the canoe and rest?”
“I suppose.” Selah aimed for the sandy shore and a widespread oak, which offered both shade and privacy. Well out of sight of any at Rose-n-Vale.
Cecily stood when the canoe stilled, then stepped from its rocking bottom onto the shore with far more grace than when they’d launched. “’Tis ironic that we’re on Renick land and ’tis Renick I wish to discuss.”
Despite her misgivings, Selah spread a blanket on the sand. She offered Cecily a flask of cider, a sense of foreboding building. Cecily’s interest in Xander was no secret, so her next words hardly came as a surprise.
“I should like you to go to Rose-n-Vale”—Cecily handed back the flask with the hauteur of a queen giving orders—“and ask the master if he is of a courting mind.”
Forthright, she was. Straight to the point as any man. Still . . . “For so delicate a matter, perhaps you should send my father instead.”
“On the contrary. I think you may be more persuasive. Your mother tells me you were a friend of Master Renick’s former wife. Matto . . . ?”
“Mattachanna.”
“Ah. I’ve yet to see an Indian. What was she like?”
“Beautiful. Gracious. Astute.”
“A pity she died young.” Cecily made a contrary face. “The only fly in the ointment is this. I shan’t want charge of a half-breed boy.”
Cecily’s distaste was commonplace yet unpalatable. Selah bit her tongue, her thoughts veering in a new, nettlesome direction. Was that yet another reason Oceanus was left behind? So Xander’s remarrying might have no obstacles?
Cecily reached for a twig in the sand. “He hardly seems the devoted father, leaving his son behind in Scotland.”
Selah chafed at both the slight and the truth behind it. Their separation tore the heart out of her. Did Xander not feel it too? Why had he not heeded Mattachanna’s dying plea to not part? True, the latter was just rumored, but . . .
“You are a friend of his aunt, are you not?” Cecily fixed her with a near glare. “Visiting Rose-n-Vale wouldn’t be amiss.”
“Under pretense of speaking with Widow Brodie?” Selah shook her head. “I would not go in deceit.”
“Ha! We must be coy in these affairs of the heart. Play it sly.” Cecily smiled as if the matter was settled. “Your father said you would do everything in your power to assist me.”
“My assistance is hardly needed. A man like Alexander Renick knows his own mind. The very thought of appearing in his study about any bride business makes me shudder.”
“Well, I cannot do it. The council gave you charge of these fair maids, of which I am one.”
Selah schooled her temper. “Truth be told, I cannot see you at Rose-n-Vale.” There, she had said it. The resulting offense on Cecily’s face was plain. “I don’t see him remarrying, is what I’m saying. He is ever preoccupied with his crops, his many indentures, the affairs of Virginia. Even now he has gone over to the Naturals. He has little time for courting and less for a bride.”
“The right maid might change that. He strikes me as a shrewd, perceptive Scotsman well deserving of a wife equally so.” Cecily’s confidence remained undimmed. “Say you’ll go to him when he returns and plead my case.”
“You realize that living on a plantation—one of the Hundreds, as they’re called—places you at greater risk for Indian attack?”
“I suppose so.” Cecily shrugged her slender shoulders. “But James Towne holds no charms for me. Already I feel hemmed in by all the fences and rowhouses there, few and crude as they are. I belong in the country.”