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By the time Thomas Rodes brought the storybook downstairs to the sitting room, tea had been served. Everyone was seated and a place had been saved beside Emiline on the davenport. “Some of the writing is a bit faded, I’m afraid,” he said, handing the storybook to Uriah and then sitting down.
“Glenna began the journal when your mother was small. There’s a right accounting of your grandparents and great-grandparents. In fact, if I were you, I would send MacGreagor back for the entire gallery.”
“Thank you,” Uriah said, gently touching the light brown, leather cover.
“Uriah, you did know my father. You called him Cappy.”
Uriah instantly looked up, a worried look on his face. “Cappy?”
“Aye, he was issue of your father’s first marriage. Sir Jonathan married Nell Keyworth in the year 1727. She died of consumption just months after Cappy’s birth. Nine years later, your father married Mahala. Within that year, you came along and Cappy grew to hate you. His jealousy so consumed him, he crept into your bedchamber intending great harm. Your father discovered it just in time and in his fury, he banished Cappy from the family. Yet, Sir Jonathan loved all his sons, and Cappy was allowed to come around. He attended the balls, albeit under watchful eyes. When Grandfather was executed, Cappy had grown up, fallen madly in love with my mother, and promised to make her mistress of Merewood.”
“Merewood,” Uriah repeated. “I could never recall the name of the place.”
Thomas reached for the cup of tea on the table beside him, took a long sip and turned his attention back to Uriah. “Sending you away was not an impulsive decision, I am sad to say. Cappy had intended it for years. When your mother passed on so conveniently, he could not have been more pleased. He gladly sent the four of you off ... to where, he cared not.”
“Four,” Emiline asked.
“Two brothers and two sisters, friends since birth, who would become my mother and father, my Uncle Caleb and Aunt Elizabeth,” John answered.
“Oh,” Emiline said.
Uriah once more ran his fingers across the binding of the book. “I will never forget the day we were sent away. It was twelve long years before I found the girls again.”
“Aye, and you were not alone in your search,” Thomas said.
“I was not?”
“You see, Cappy cared just enough to send you and Caleb to your mother’s sister in Ireland. But he did not care at all about the girls, giving them to a woman he neglected to get the name of. Seeing this, Glenna went straight away to another relative – a Stuart, the Earl of Bute.”
Uriah was truly shocked. “The Earl of Bute knew of our plight from the beginning? He never said a word of it to me, not in all the years of our acquaintance.”
“Yes, but wasn’t it the Earl who came to Ireland two years later and took you back to England?”
Uriah glanced around the room at all the eyes watching him. “I had forgotten that.”
“When Glenna notified him, the Earl went straight to Merewood. He arrived too late to stop the will completely, but not too late to add a ghastly provision. To receive the full inheritance, Cappy was required to prove you were alive. And he was to restore all four of you to Merewood. Furthermore, everything was to remain precisely as you left it. On the day after her marriage, my mother arrived to find the earl’s men taking an accounting of each and every item, even drawing precise pictures of the placement.”
“But the Earl was like a father to me, he would never have wanted us returned to a man like Cappy. He took me to see the king and...”
“Then you do know the king,” Emiline interrupted.
“Indeed, we played together as boys. But go on, Thomas, why would the Earl want us returned?”
“He did not. He only wanted to find all four of you, and Cappy was afraid to admit he did not know to whom he had given the girls.”
“I see,” Uriah said.
Thomas uncrossed his legs, scooted back in his chair and crossed his legs again. “Cappy needed all four to inherit and soon realized there was no way to find the girls. Unfortunately, those were the very words he said to my mother. You see, Mother had attended only one splendid ball at Merewood, but it was enough to whet her appetite. Cappy promised she would be mistress of it all, but instead, she was the wife of a man who could not inherit and the mistress of a house she could not live in.”
Rose slipped her arm around Adam’s and leaned her head on his shoulder. “How very sad.”
“Indeed,” Thomas said, “and by then, I was the seed of a man she hated. They were in the downstairs foyer arguing. In a fit of rage, Mother hit Cappy in the head with a candlestick. When he sunk to his knees, she hit him again. Certain he was dead, she fled. But through the window, Glenna had seen it all. She chased after Mother and forced her back under threat of arrest.
Together, they carried Cappy up three flights of stairs and laid him in a bed ... the same bed he would not die in for another twenty-nine years.”
“Good heavens,” John muttered.
“Mother was trapped. Many a night I would see her shadow move from window to window, as she strolled the length of Merewood’s ballroom, dreaming of a life she would never have. All she could do was wait for me to grow up, you see. If Cappy died, which surely he would at any moment, I would inherit. Then all we needed do was find the four of you.”
“But Cappy did not die,” Adam said.
“Thoughtless of him, wasn’t it?” Thomas asked. “And before you think me as vile as he, I remind you I never met the man. Rare were the times when any could understand his rambling. Now, I have a question, Uncle. In the storybook, Glenna wrote that she had given the girls new names before they were sent away. She neglected to mention what the names were. How did you find them?”
At last, Uriah smiled, “They had no references when they applied for a position as servants to Lady Phillips, so Mary wrote her own. She used the king as a reference.”
“But Mama never met the king,” John said.
“Nor did she imagine Lady Phillips would check,” Uriah smiled at the memory. “One day, I happened upon Lady Philip’s inquiry and...I cannot believe it.”
“What, Papa?”
“It was the Earl who left her letter on my writing desk, he must have. The girls were listed as Mary Colleen S. Jackson and Elizabeth Rachel S. Jackson. Colleen and Rachel were their true names, and the ‘S’ meant Stuart.”
“It was the girls,” Thomas added. “You had found them and the Earl had found them, but Mother had not. Not until you led me to them.”
Again, Uriah was shocked. “Me? How?”
“You came to Merewood to see my father.”
Uriah closed his eyes and hung his head. “That I did. I went to see Sir William to demand the allowance for Caleb’s schooling.” Uriah abruptly opened his eyes again. “But that was before I found them, long before.”
“And did you get the allowance?”
“How could I? The man was senseless. The woman said she would send...”
Thomas looked smug. “You left directions for her post—directions easily followed, even for a boy of twelve.”
“It was you who followed me,” Uriah said.
“You got quite good at losing me, you know. Irritatingly good on most days, even though a boy can hide where a man cannot,” Thomas admitted. “Then you took a wife and two years later, Caleb married her sister. Though we suspected, there was no way to be certain your wives were the missing little girls.
In the spring, Mother could bear it no more and set about to simply ask. We waited near your house for Mary to leave alone. When she did, Mother confronted her. At hearing the name Sir William Rodes, Mary became enraged. She denied any knowledge of him or Merewood, but her animosity betrayed her.”
Thomas took another sip of tea and set his cup back down. “My mother was delighted. She hoped to trick the four of you into confessing your true identities by promising a considerable portion of the inheritance, even unto the house if need be. Our plans were set. We donned our finest clothing, washed and polished our well-worn carriage, your father’s carriage to be precise, and set out. But when we arrived, you were gone. You had sailed...”
“To America,” Uriah mumbled.
“Aye. She did not say a word, and when we returned home, Mother hung herself in the carriage house.”
“Dear Father in heaven, not the carriage house,” John gasped.
Thomas nodded. “You could not have known, John. But you were right, I’d not set foot in the carriage house since, not even to search for the jewels.”
Emiline instantly perked up. “What jewels?”
“My dear, there were no jewels,” Thomas quickly answered. “Only a story in a book given to me by Glenna on a cold and lonely night. In it, Glenna said two men came to Merewood the eve of the executions and left a satchel filled with jewels.”
“Uncle,” Rose started thoughtfully, “you said you recall that night vividly. Were there any jewels?”
“Hardly,” Uriah answered, careful not to look anyone in the eye except John.
“It was MacGreagor who told me the jewels were a lie,” Thomas continued. “Had the thought occurred to me that Glenna might put more than one curse on me, I might not have torn up the place looking for them. Uncle, be so kind as to find the last page and read aloud.”
Uriah carefully opened the aging book, turned to the last page and began to read, “Therefore, I, Glenna Ulness, do hereby attest to the truth of this writing. And as a Jacobite daughter tried and true, further charge thusly: Woe to the one, be it man or woman, who washes away the tears of a beloved Stuart child.”
“So that’s why you did not disturb the girls’ bedchamber,” John said.
“As your father will attest, the days of death and separation were days of many tears for Colleen and Rachel Stuart,” Thomas answered.
“But why did you not ever marry?” Emiline asked.
When Thomas turned to look at her, Emiline blushed. “My mother’s death introduced me to the bottom of my first bottle. I had no interest in women, no time, no money, and a father to care for. A father, who could not love me and would not die. And worse, the thought of finding the four of them, and later the jewels, consumed me. I truly believed that someday all of it would be mine.”
“Now, I have a question,” said Rose. “How did you find us in America?”
“At the inn in Shrewsbury, I happened upon four redcoats back from the war. They talked of buying fine horses at a place called Mahala. When I questioned them further, they remembered the name Carson.”
“And MacGreagor’s ship?” John asked. “How could you know it was a Carson ship?”
This time it was Thomas who grinned. “He’ll have my head if he hears I told, but there’s not a sailor alive who hasn’t wanted to sail with MacGreagor. He’s the trickiest, boldest, most cunning privateer on the high seas. And when he has taken a prize, what does the entire crew shout?”
“What?” John asked.
“Mahala!” Thomas laughed.
“Oh, no,” Uriah moaned.
“But how did you free up the inheritance?” John asked.
Uriah slumped his shoulders and shook his head. “He did not... I did. When I paid the taxes on the property, I wanted Thomas to know precisely who we were. I signed our true names, all four of them.”
“Indeed you did,” Thomas said, “and within the month, I had it all. All the money a man could ever hope for and the world was at last mine. I restored the house, bought everything imaginable and planned lavish holidays. Then MacGreagor came. He was the first guest Merewood had seen in forty years. When I showed him the ballroom, I was taken aback by his countenance. He truly glowed as he beheld the paintings of Scotland, and I envied the man. I’d never loved anything that much. I had riches beyond compare, but I had nothing still. I suddenly realized MacGreagor would walk out my door, and sail away into the arms of a family I had never met – my family.”
“Your life was bloody awful,” Uriah said. “At least I had Mary’s love and a good son.”
Emiline winced. “And to think, I’ve only an Indian raid or two in my past.”
“My dear, I think you’re very brave to live in the wilderness all alone,” Thomas said.
Again, Emiline blushed and shyly lowered her eyes. “Thank you.”
Thomas enjoyed her for a moment more before he turned back to Uriah. “There is one more thing. Before he died, Cappy called out a name I could not find in the storybook. It was Drewnard, do you know it?”
For a split second, there was a flicker of recognition in Uriah’s eyes. “Drewnard,” he repeated thoughtfully. “No, I don’t believe I do.”
*
WITH THE DOOR TO EVERY bedchamber closed and the hearths long since put out, John slipped quietly down the stairs and crept into the sitting room. As he suspected, he found Uriah standing in front of the mantel, staring at the clock. “Papa, what are you doing?”
“He knows,” Uriah whispered.
“He suspects, perhaps. No doubt they all do.”
“I do not trust the man. I might have, had he not mentioned Drewnard.”
“Then you do know what it means? Tell me.”
“Later, son, later. We must move the jewels before Emiline remembers.”
“Remembers what?” John asked.
Uriah rubbed his brow. “She once lifted the clock and remarked on its weight.” Suddenly, he stopped, “I’ve got it, we’ll put rocks in the clock. Then if she asks, we’ll show her we’ve nothing to hide.”
“And how are we to explain two grown men putting rocks in a clock?”
Suddenly, Polly was standing right behind them. “Is something amiss?”
“Good heavens, you startled me,” Uriah gasped.
“I don’t wonder. Thou art sneaking around in the dark,” Polly wrapped her arms around her husband.
“Might as well tell her,” Uriah said. “I have found it unwise to keep such as this from a wife.”
“The jewels, you mean?” Polly asked.
“And how did you know?”
“Thou gaveth me some, remember?”
“When?” John asked.
From the foyer, Rose peeked in, saw who it was and joined them. “Why is everyone up?”
“We forgot to wind the clock,” Uriah said, going to her. “Come along, we are in need of a good rest.” With that, he ushered her back upstairs.
“Do not move,” John whispered. First, he closed both sitting room doors, walked to the mantel and lifted the clock. He handed it to her, careful not to let go until she felt the full weight. When her mouth dropped, he grinned, put the clock back and took her in his arms. “And these are but a sampling. Tomorrow, we will take a very long walk where none can hear us.”
*
“WHAT IS IT, PARSON?” John asked, stepping out the front door onto the verandah. “You look a fright.”
“Mrs. La Rue asked me to come,” Parson Sax answered, his hat in his hand. “Her husband has not come home in three days.”
“I don’t wonder, he was here three days ago quite drunk. He’s probably off somewhere...”
Parson Sax bowed his head, “No, Mister Carson. Mister La Rue’s horse came home without him and there’s blood on the saddle.”
*
HE’D SEEN THE SMOKE for miles, rising through the thick trees, then drifting eastward in the fall breeze. But getting there required that John leave his horse and hike up a steep incline of the Allegheny foothills. Finally, he found a small clearing, a haphazardly built campfire, five empty whisky jugs, and a man sprawled face down on the ground.
Cautiously, John bent down to feel the warmth of the man’s skin. He was alive. Next to him lay two pistols, a musket, and three pieces of eight. He moved the weapons out of reach, gently turned the man over and removed a long hunting knife. Then he tossed it away and sat down on the ground.
Jacque La Rue had begun to snore.
John grinned and tossed a pebble, hitting La Rue on the foot. When that did not wake him, John tossed another, and then another until La Rue opened an eye. “Good day to you, Mister La Rue,”
“Monsieur, go away,” La Rue said, turning on his side.
“I’m afraid it cannot be done. Half the Territory is searching for you. They think you have been dead these four days complete.”
“I am found, monsieur, go away,” La Rue said, his eyes crossing as he attempted to rise up on one elbow, groaned, and then collapsed. “I would die in peace.”
“Aye, but not today. Today I am forced to take you back. They have arrested Mister Chester for murder and they’ll hang him...if they’ve not hung him already.”
La Rue pushed himself up to a sitting position and quickly put his head in his hands. “He has murdered me?” La Rue asked, peeking between his fingers.
“And there’s the pity, you are quite alive. Are you injured?”
“Oui, monsieur, my heart is broken.”
John took off his hat, rubbed the back of his neck and put his hat back on. “Mister La Rue, unlike my father, I am not so easily fooled. You do not love Polly nearly as well as you hate me.”
“I am a Frenchman. We are born hating the British.”
“I grew up in Virginia, learned contempt for redcoats quite young and killed my share of them in the war. I am not British, I am an American, Mister La Rue.”
“Can this be so?”
“Indeed, and the truth be told, Papa hates redcoats more than me. Not that he’s come to love the French, naturally.”
“Naturally,” La Rue said, lightly touching his temples.
“But should we again see war with the British, you’ll no doubt find the both of us on your side. Now, shall I help you up? You have a wife waiting who loves you dearly.”
“Love? Madam Eleanor hates me.”
“Does she? Then why is it she’s not stopped crying since your horse arrived without you?”
“Madam Eleanor cries for me? But monsieur, when I touch her, she does not excite. She is without passion.”
“I see. As I recall, you took her as your wife without exhibiting the least affection. One moment she was a child, and the next, a woman in your bed. She is confused and rightly so. You have my father to blame for that.”
La Rue thought for a moment and then raised an eyebrow. “Oui, monsieur, without him she would not consent.”
John frowned. “Do you mean you desired her, even without his trickery?”
“What man could resist? She is beautiful, no?”
“Mister La Rue, I salute you. You have outwitted my father, a thing not easily done. I say, you are a complicated man. You take an Indian wife and set her aside without just cause. You—”
“Without cause? Monsieur, she tried to scalp me!” La Rue said, pulling his hair back to reveal a long, jagged scar.
John’s eyes grew large. “I’d have set her aside myself.”
“Oui.”
“The point is, at times you are a good man. You’ve been seen leaving shoes for the children of widows. You take food to the sick, and isn’t it you who tends the grave of Polly’s mother?”
“She was a good woman.”
“That she was. But Mister La Rue, you drink far more than is a comfort and then happily throw families off their land. I daresay, that is not the sort of thing your children should have to endure. The whole Territory will hate them. Now, do come along, Mister La Rue, we must save Mister Chester.”
John got to his feet, helped La Rue up and held him steady until he got his balance. “Tell me, why was there blood on your saddle?”
La Rue stared at John for a moment and began to look around. “Impossible,” he muttered.
“What?”
“The deer, monsieur, have I lost it?”
“It would appear so,” John said, kicking dirt on the fire. He collected the weapons, handed La Rue his hat and led the way down the hill. “When you are able, perhaps you might bring Eleanor, take tea with us and tell of New Orleans. I hope to see it someday.”
“You like me, no?” La Rue asked, grabbing hold of branches to keep from sliding down the hill.
“I might, once we’ve become better acquainted.”
“Then you will sell to me Gideon?”
“No.”
*
GIDEON HAD NOT COME back. In mid-November, John took Polly, Adam and another load of provisions to the Cherokee village, but Gideon was not there, nor had they seen him. Laughing Rain and Shining Woman wept for joy at the sight of Polly. The first night, what little remained of the Cherokee, gathered to hear Polly sing. By the second night, their brothers, the Chickamauga, came. And on the third night, enough Muskhogeans showed up to make a nervous Adam think of returning to Virginia politics. The Great Spirit’s daughter was back, and the meadows, the hills, the forests, the waters, and the hearts of all people seemed to leap with joy at the sounds of her music.
*
“BUT I WAS QUITE CERTAIN he fancied Emiline,” John said, slipping into his bed at Maryridge. He put his arms around his wife and held her close. “Yet, he seems not at all bothered to see Thomas court her.”
“He loves thy mother still, he told me so.”
“Are you warm enough? Shall I get another blanket?”
“Thou worries too much,” she giggled. “Thou art worse than an old hen. Besides, thy arms are the warmth I need.”
“If only I did not love you so,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“Does thou think we’ll see snow for Christmas?”
“It feels cold enough. You’ve done wonders with the place, hanging boughs and berries so cleverly all around. Have you thought of what to give Papa?”
“Emiline found a pink ribbon.”
“Why pink?”
“Thy father hopes for a boy to carry his name. Best we remind him of the other possibility.”
“I see. I cannot wait to see his joy when he learns. And what, pray tell, are you giving me for Christmas?”
“I’ve a better question, what is thy father up to? He’ll not let me in the barn.”
John moved his head away just enough to watch her face. “Polly, I don’t imagine my gift to you will arrive in time. It is winter and I hadn’t expected it to. But do allow me to tell you, even though we are a day away from Christmas?”
“Is it a sleigh for the horse to pull, warm slippers for my feet or...”
“You want a sleigh?”
“No, John,” she giggled, “I only wanted to guess.”
“I sent for your family the day after La Rue gave the land back. Are you pleased?”
Polly did not speak. Instead, she buried her face in his chest and cuddled closer. Then a tear dropped from her eye.
“I did not mean to make you cry,” he said. “Are you in pain, is something amiss?”
She wiped the tears off her cheeks, rolled her eyes and clucked like an old mother hen.
“You think to mock me, do you,” he said, his arms firmly around her, his grin widening and his eyes filling with love.
“Shhhh, thou wilt wake the family.”
“I am not afraid,” he said, laying her back and letting her hair spill onto the pillow.
*
CHRISTMAS EVE HAD COME to Maryridge and with it, large fluffy snowflakes. The day was filled with children playing in the snow, coming in to warm themselves and then going back out. The men, African and whites alike, kept the hearths ablaze, enjoyed pipes and talked about politics and women. The women baked cakes and pies, kept watch over the children, tried to guess Uriah’s surprise and talked about men.
Cesha tried to be as cheerful as the others. She was free, but there would be no happy Christmas for her without Gideon. For weeks, she had filled her lonely hours with work, but this day, her work was finished and there was nothing to do but sit and talk.
It was Rose who finally asked the question everyone had avoided, “How did you end up in France?”
“A French general bought me and sent me there to tend his wife,” Cesha explained. “I was heavy with child. When I arrived, the wife took one look at me, accused me of bedding her husband and threw me out.”
“And the general allowed it?” Polly asked, sitting down beside her at the kitchen table.
“He was not there, he stayed in America,” Cesha answered, looking down at her simple brown frock and white apron. “I had no money, no papers, and nowhere to go. For days, I walked the streets of Paris begging for food. No one noticed I was a slave with no master. Worse still, I knew no French. I could have run away had I known which direction to run. Finally, a white woman took pity on me and gave me shelter. A month later, Reanie was born. When the general’s wife heard that my child was completely African, she took us both back. I think she feared her husband would hear what she had done.”
“No doubt she did,” Polly said, laying strips of dough crisscross on top of an apple-pie. “Was she unkind to thee?”
“Not until her husband came home. In less than a week, she again accused me of bedding her husband and sold me away...but she kept Reanie.”
Rose finished wiping a plate, put it in the cupboard and then joined them at the table. “She kept your child?”
“I would have shot her,” Polly said.
Cesha giggled. “I thought to poison her myself.”
“Where’s she sends you?” Lilly asked, dipping fresh water out of a bucket into her dishpan.
“To an elderly widow,” Cesha answered, toying with a freshly ironed dinner napkin. “This woman was very kind and I liked her. At first, she spoke only French and I did not know that many words. Then one night she took me aside and confessed she was actually British.”
“A Brit living in France?” Rose asked.
Cesha shrugged. “Even her French husband did not know. She missed speaking English and was surprised I spoke so well. It was then I told her about Gideon being sold into slavery. In a rage she sent a letter to Mister Rodes. I prayed Mister Rodes would come, but I did not believe it.”
Lilly left the dishes to sit down at the table. “It be Massah Rodes what comes to get ya?”
“It was,” Cesha smiled. “And my old mistress nearly fainted when he and MacGreagor showed up to buy Reanie. Miss Polly, could you send a post to France for me? I’d very much like to tell the kind woman we are safe.”
“I’d be pleased,” Polly said, getting up to put the last pie in the Dutch oven.
Cesha’s expression turned sad. “If only I could tell her I found Gideon.”
“He be back,” Lilly comforted. “He’s say he’s come’n back, soon as he can.”
“Of course he’ll be back,” Rose put in. “He feels safe here.”
“I do hope you are right, I miss him so very much,” Cesha said.
*
WITH DINNER LONG SINCE over and the dishes washed, Polly led the way upstairs to the small sitting room. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, tasty treats were spread out on the table and the room was filled with the scent of pine boughs and berries.
Polly chose a chair near the double windows overlooking the snow-covered backyard. She gathered the children around her, waited for the adults to sit down, opened Uriah’s Bible and began to read the Christmas story. “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Ceasar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem.”
Seated in the back of the room, Uriah leaned closer to John, “Son, I desire a word with you,” he whispered, nodding toward the door. He quietly got up and led the way halfway down the stairs.
“What is it, Papa?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Uriah started, glancing at the open door, then grabbing John’s sleeve and pulling him further down the stairs.
“Yes, go on,” John said.
“It occurred to me I might have been remiss in your education.”
“In what way?”
“Well, it’s just that this is your second wife and neither has managed to conceive. Therefore, I wondered if perhaps you might have...questions.”
“Questions?”
“Yes, about...you know.”
John grinned and quickly hugged his father, “Papa, I love you,” he said, hurrying back up the stairs.
“What kind of answer is that?”
“Monsieur Carson,” little Reanie said, darting out the door and down the stairs, “you forgot the surprise.”
“No, I did not, it is not yet time.”
“What time is it, monsieur?”
“Come along, I’ll show you,” he said, taking her hand. “We’ve a very fine clock downstairs.”
“Oui, monsieur, I have seen it,” Reanie said, letting go of his hand at the bottom of the steps and racing through the foyer into the sitting room. When he finally caught up, he walked to the mantel, easily lifted the clock – minus the jewels, and brought it to a table. “You can tell time, Can you not?”
“No.”
“I see. Well then, this is the long hand. When the long hand moves to the top, it will be time.”
“Oh,” Reanie said, climbing into a nearby chair. She put both elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands.
“Very good. I’ll expect you to notify me,” he said, leaving to go back upstairs.
The long hand moved once, twice, then a third time. But it was still a long way from the top. The front door opened, a gust of cold air filled the room and then it closed. Reanie started to hop down, but just then, the long hand moved again. Shrugging, she put her chin back on her hands to watch. The long hand moved twice more.
“Hello,” a black man said, his large frame filling the doorway.
Her big brown eyes grew large as she watched the stranger walk to the hearth and stretch his hands out over the fire. “Are you my père?”
“Your what?” Gideon asked.
“My père? You know, Papa.”
“Oh, I don’t imagine I am.”
“Oh,” Reanie said, letting out a long sigh and then turning her attention back to the clock.
“Tell me, who sings?” Gideon asked, turning his hands to warm the backs. His hat and coat were off, but he still wore a long woolen scarf around his neck.
“Madame Polly.”
“Indeed? John has found her?”
“Oui, monsieur. Her song is beautiful, no?”
“Very,” Gideon answered, turning his backside toward the fire. “And where have you come from?”
“France, naturally. I was born there.”
“Naturally,” Gideon said, rubbing his hands together.
“Monsieur, is you a slave?”
Gideon smiled. “Some say yes, some say no. For the most part, I am free. Have you a name?”
“Of course I do, it is Reanie.”
“And how did you get from France to Maryridge?”
“Mister Ickaker brung us.”
“You mean brought you.”
“Oui, across an ocean this big, monsieur,” she said, stretching her arms out wide. Even so, she kept her eyes on the clock. “The ship rocks, monsieur, very much. And Mister Ickacker nearly fell off,” she went on, covering her mouth to giggle. Reanie suddenly hopped out of her chair, raced across the room and climbed into one closer to Gideon. “Monsieur Ickacker has only one arm.”
“Do you mean MacGreagor?” he asked, sitting down across from her. His hands were still ice cold so he began rubbing the warmth back into them.
“Oui, he’s a Scotsman. What’s a Scotsman?”
“It’s rather like an Englishman, only farther north.”
“An Englishman!” Reanie said, her eyes lighting up. “I’m an Englishman too, monsieur.”
“Fancy that, an Englishman born in France. Did MacGreagor come with you?”
“Oh no, he could not. Monsieur Ickacker is needed at sea. Monsieur Rodes—”
Gideon instantly stopped rubbing his hands. “Rodes?”
“Uh huh, he’s a Brit. I already know what a Brit is. He’s come with us. He’d have it no other way. I like him, he’s funny. Monsieur...Monsieur...”
Gideon did not answer. Instead, he stared at the little girl with delicate features. Her hair was in a bun, just the way Cesha... “It cannot be,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Reanie suddenly put her hands on top of her head. “I forgot the clock!” she said, scrambling back to the first chair. She studied it for a full minute until finally, it moved again. “This clock is too slow. Monsieur Carson has a big surprise. Monsieur Carson is very old. He is cranky when he’s woked up. We must be very quiet, monsieur. Lilly says, ‘Miz Ross, you best keep that Reanie...’”
“What did you say?” Gideon interrupted.
“What?”
“Reanie, did you say Mrs. Ross?”
“Of course I did. That’s her name, isn’t it—Madame Cesha Ross.”