Two years it had been since her passing. Oceanus would now be four. Selah’s mind spun back to that day at the dock when the woods began to fill with autumn color. Xander and his family had embarked on the Pleasure, a handsome, forty-ton pinnace, Mattachanna’s hope to visit his homeland a reality. Waving till her arm ached, Selah watched them depart till their ship was no more than a speck of wood riding the azure horizon.
And then long months later her joy turned to gall when Xander returned and came down the gangplank alone. Where was her beloved friend? Their delightful son? Selah scoured the deck to catch sight of Mattachanna trailing behind or preoccupied with baggage. Xander seemed a bit dull-witted after so many weeks at sea, his muscled frame gaunt. The long voyage had gone hard on him. Had he fallen ill? Selah’s heart seemed to stop as her father spoke the words she could not, so thick was the lump in her throat.
“Welcome back, Xander. You have been sorely missed.” Ustis embraced him heartily while Selah stood apart. “But what of Mattachanna and your son?”
Xander answered with a terse, sorrowful stab to the heart. “Mattachanna is no more. Felled by a fever and buried in England at Gravesend.”
Ustis’s joyful expression turned slack with astonishment. Speechless, her father was.
Xander stepped aside as unsteady, sea-legged passengers moved past them. His features were tight with pain, his eyes more bloodshot than blue. “Oceanus remains in Culross with my kin.”
Another blow straight to the heart. Nary a word could Selah speak, neither in shock nor solace. She stepped back, swallowed the hot words thickening her tight throat, and ran home. After fumbling at the latch of their back door, she entered the kitchen, tears spotting her hands and coursing in warm rivulets down her flushed face. At her sudden appearance, Izella nearly dropped a copper pot. Brows arched, Candace set down the herbs she fisted and walked toward her distraught daughter.
Selah choked on the hateful words. “Mattachanna is dead.”
As her mother’s arms went around her, Candace’s own frame shook from grief. Together they stood locked in a stunned embrace.
When they drew apart, Candace took out a handkerchief and dried Selah’s tears and her own. “So Xander returns a widower.”
“That is not all. Xander has left Oceanus in the care of his kin.” Selah took a breath, voice rising, her heart rent by more than sorrow. “How dare he deprive his son of a father at such a time? Oceanus adores him. This is their home. He’s even robbed him of his Indian relations. ’Tis a cruel mind and heart he has to leave the lad amongst strangers in Scotland while—”
Too late did Selah realize the extent of her outburst. Only when a door shut soundly behind her did she cast a look over her shoulder. Xander stood with her father, hat in hands. Oh, how his piercing eyes haunted. Her ire seemed to kindle his own anguish like sparks from a forge fire.
Her father’s stern voice cut through her mortification. “I have asked Xander to share a meal with us before he returns to Rose-n-Vale, to not only partake of sustenance but be comforted in his trouble by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.”
Oh, how the timely Scripture smote her. Shattered, she fled upstairs to nurse her disgrace and heartache in the privacy of her bedchamber. Let them sup without her. How could she ever look Xander Renick in the face again?
Ever since, the shame of her hasty, heated words felt like a branded S upon her forehead. Often she had avoided him. Mourning kept him cloistered for a time. But now he was oft in James Towne . . .
Later, her mother had confided his reasons for doing what he did. But Selah felt she did not deserve to hear them. “Oceanus fell ill with the same fever that took his mother’s life. Once he’d recovered, Xander decided he could not subject a child to a long voyage, nor conscience returning the lad to Rose-n-Vale without a mother amid the ongoing perils of life in the colony.”
Further humbled, Selah didn’t dare mention Oceanus again. She simply prayed for him an ocean away. That he would be well and good and soon return to them. That he would, even at a young age, not forget his James Towne roots and his extraordinary mother.
Even now as she stood behind the store counter, another prayer lifted from her empty, contrite heart. Father, can Thou not mend this frightful feeling? Of wishing sore words unsaid?
How she longed to rewind time and set foot again on the docks, greet Xander with the solace and understanding he deserved in time of grief. But nay, ’twas too late. The bitter memory struck another lick.
Ask his forgiveness.
What? She was alone in the store, yet the voice was as clear to her as if spoken by her earthly father. But before she had time to ponder it . . .
“Ah, Mistress Hopewell, how glad I am to see you this morn. You’ve been so preoccupied with all this bride business that I’m oft left to the devices of your rascal brother!”
“What is it you buy?” Selah inquired with a smile as Goody Wyatt approached the counter.
“I’m desirous of some of your Aztec chocolate.” The aging matron leaned heavily on her cane. “But only the freshest, newly imported will do. My dear sister desires mustard powder and horseradish.”
Selah nodded. “None of your usual hartshorn or vinegars?”
“Of course, how could I have forgotten? All of them, please.”
She paid for her purchases once Selah had bundled them, and the door shut at the stroke of three. With a word to Shay in the anteroom, Selah let herself out again, this time for the timber-framed church where the remaining unwed maids were assembling. The parish rector greeted her as she entered. She paused to admire the flowers her mother had brought to sweeten the place ahead of their meeting.
Cecily appeared, tardy yet smiling. “I have a private matter to discuss with you as soon as possible. Your father said you shall do everything within your power to assist me.”
Curiosity soaring, Selah took her place before the seated tobacco brides, some who looked downcast, others smiling. Her heart turned over. These were extraordinary women who’d bravely come, many orphaned, all seeking a better life. How she wanted the best for them. Kind husbands. Rewarding toil. Healthy children. Manifold friends.
A prayer was said. Selah listened as a few women stated grievances that she and Reverend Midwinter sought to mend. One was heartbroken her husband-to-be had died the morn of their wedding. Another was in a fury her choice had been stolen by another maid. Two women wanted to return to England.
At meeting’s end, Selah took a fresh tally. Two maids remained abed with maladies while the rest were settling into their hosts’ homes and pondering their prospects. Sixteen brides were already wed, and four more marriages were to occur on the morrow.
“Well done,” the reverend said at the close with a glint in his eye. “‘Hear my soul speak, the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.’”
Selah smiled at his wit. “Shakespeare. The Tempest.”
Her gaze wandered to a near window. At almost every hour, strolling couples could be seen about town. All were adjusting to new faces, new names. These fair maids had a gentling effect on the masculine town and somehow created a wistful tug to Selah’s carefully hedged heart.
As she exited the church, Cecily caught up with her. “’Tis such a lovely spring day. I’ve a mind to go beyond James Towne. What say you?” At Selah’s hesitation, she clutched her arm. “At home in Yorkshire, we often took an afternoon stroll in the country.”