| |
After a night of torrential rain, Sunday dawned with blue skies in the small town of Kamouraska. Snow still clung to the peaks of the Charlevoix mountains, and the seawater was bone cold as it washed up on the beach. Church services were finally over, and the shops would be able to open since on the day of the Lord it was illegal to open before noon. Churchgoer or not, the laws had to be followed. In her opinion, she would rather be in the company of sinners than in a structure of sanctimonious saints with their sins neatly hidden from the world. Then again, she was a progressive woman. Leaving Paris to live in the unexplored wilds of Canada had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Did she regret her choice? No, but did not dare go much farther. She thought about New York, but from what she heard, women her color weren’t seen as much more than kitchen staff or a bed warmer. She could make many choices, but right now, she was content. When she wasn’t, Ophelia would think on such things.
She walked into town from her stone cottage that sat right on the limits where the cobblestone ended and the rocky road to the journey to a new settlement began. It was the highlight of her Sunday; the air had lost the morning chill for slightly warmer temperatures. Compared to the winter where the snow was thick, it was a treat to walk without the hem of her skirt getting wet.
She had her chores set; pick up her wash from the local woman who did it weekly because, progressive or not, she hated the wash; next the baker, the butcher, and pick up her regular supplies from the market.
Sans the candlestick maker.
The wordplay on the nursery rhyme made her smile. Making sure to keep to the cobblestone and avoid the pools of mud from the rain was like a puzzle game; she wanted none of the heavy earth on the hem of her good leather coat or her dress.
“Ophelia! Ophelia Pascal!”
Hearing her name being called by a loud, shrill voice put a damper on her pleasant afternoon. Ophelia rolled her eyes and pasted a smile on her face to see a woman running toward her and from the opposite side of the street, no less. Bettina Hansel was a gossip and busy body who was engaged every other month. She dropped men as quickly as she could count if their money couldn’t sustain the spoiled, lavish lifestyle given to her by her parents. Ophelia hid her smile as Bettina stepped into a mud puddle, and the bottom of her light blue dress was instantly caked in dark mud. Bettina looked down with a cry and a frown, but it didn’t deter her from making her way toward Ophelia.
“Bettina,” Ophelia said cordially.
“Didn’t you see me, Ophelia? I’ve been calling your name forever,” Bettina said with a pout. It may work on men or her parents, but it didn’t on Ophelia.
“You called my name twice, precisely,” Ophelia pointed out. “How can I help you today?”
“I didn’t see you in church,” Bettina said. “One would think being a teacher who molds the young minds of our town, we would see you in the pews.”
“You never see me in church, Bettina; the weekend is when I plan my lessons for the week,” Ophelia said calmly. “Being from Paris, we modern women were not required to sit in the pews under the pretense of Godliness.”
She loved throwing it at Bettina and her friends that she had lived in Paris while they did not; it always set them in their place and took them down a peg from their pompous pedestal.
“I was going to invite you to the tea house but from the way you dress,” Bettina looked her up and down. “My word, Ophelia, are you only wearing one petticoat? And what is that horrid coat you have on?”
“I call it versatile wear for warmth as opposed to frills. How many petticoats are too many, Bettina?”
A voice spoke up from behind them, and Ophelia’s smile was instantly genuine. Marie Demonte was one of the town’s doctors, and the only female one at that. The male physicians hated the fact that she was trained at some of the best colleges in England, used eastern remedies and herbs taught to her by the indigenous tribes of the Americas. Marie brought better ways to treat and take care of women with female issues, and she could use a pistol better than most men.
When Ophelia came into Kamouraska, they became fast friends, especially after there was a council dispute about her being hired as a teacher. Her credentials were impeccable, but of course, her skin color made some wary. Ophelia was one of only three people with darker skin in town, with the other two being older and married to each other.
“Doctor Demonte.” Bettina cleared her throat.
“Bettina, I haven’t seen you for your monthly check-up,” Marie said calmly. “No new perspective husbands on the horizon?”
“I’ll be in this week, Doctor,” Bettina said stiffly. “I am off to tea with Louisa and Charlotte, good day to you both.”
“Don’t you want to go home and change before that mud sets and stains your dress?” Ophelia asked sweetly. “Being a teacher, I can tell you scientifically that mud can change the fabric while staining it, and it can rip with a stiff wind.”
Bettina’s eyes widened. “Really? I should go home and have my girl soak it.”
Ophelia nodded solemnly. “You really should.”
Bettina hurried away, and after she crossed the street Marie chuckled. “That girl is as stupid as a box of rocks to fall for your bullshit.”
“Serves her right. She crossed the street just to be catty to me.” Ophelia began to walk away, and Marie fell into step beside her. “You’re up before three; I am impressed.”
“Didn’t take long to separate those fools from their money at cards last night. I was only semi-drunk.” Marie grinned.
“It's so unladylike to be a drinker and a card shark,” Ophelia teased her friend.
“I smoke too and sleep with men who are not my husband if we’re counting transgressions,” Marie added.
“I miss a good lover.” Ophelia sighed. “Being twenty-seven, I heard Bettina and her friends call me the spinster schoolmistress.”
“Which bothers you more, no lover or your spinster title?” Marie asked.
Ophelia laughed. “The lover part—a good man who doesn’t smell like fish or the animals he traps in the mountains would be sublime.”
“They clean up pretty good after a bath,” Marie said. “John Barlow is a tall, big brute of a man and the things he does—”
Ophelia held up her hand. “Don’t tell me; I’d rather not be jealous of you right now.”
“At least you are not like Bettina and her crew. Twenty-four years old and every few months they pay me to say their hymen is intact for their fathers and new beaus.”
“So that’s what you meant,” Ophelia gasped. “Isn’t that breaking some kind of privacy oath?”
Marie snorted. “I can point to more than a handful of people who knew her in a biblical way. It is not a secret.”
“What are you doing this evening? Would you like to come to dinner?” Ophelia asked suddenly.
“Another night, I have plans that must be kept.”
“John Barlow?” Ophelia teased.
Marie nodded and rubbed her hand. “We have a spirited game of slap and tickle planned for tonight. He does have a partner who doesn’t have a woman—”
“No thank you. I think I’d like to choose my own playmate,” Ophelia answered. “Even though most men in this town are terrified of me, for some reason the color of my skin seems to make them more hesitant than anything else.”
“You’re a woman, independent, and you have your own mind. I think that’s what terrifies people more than your skin,” Marie replied. “You and I are not like the Bettina’s who reside in Kamouraska.”
“Does that mean I will need to put an advertisement for a man in the papers or mail order a husband?” Ophelia said with a laugh.
“If extreme measures are necessary, so be it,” Marie answered. “I have to go to the office; there is a new family settled at the base of the mountain, and they don’t have much. The baby is sick, so I told them I would see him free of cost. I’m going to try to convince that family to move closer into town, and her man can work as a fisherman. He is having no luck at trapping, and John said he’s useless at it.”
“That is completely awful; let me know if there is anything I can do. I can get extra goods from the store if they need it.”
“I may take you up on that.” Marie pulled one of her thin, spiced cigarettes from the pocket of her coat. “John has a small place a little way outside of town he wants to offer until they can do better. It has a good stove and sturdy walls. It’s better than the tent and the night chill coming in. They will need a few warm blankets and other things to get started.”
“I have extra; call on me when you’re ready.”
After saying goodbye, she went about her business for the day. More than once men looked at her in interest, but as soon as she met their gaze, they looked away.
“Mail order lover may be my only option,” she murmured to herself.
With her packages in her bags, she made her way back through the town, ready to get home and make a hot pot of coffee. The streets had more people walking arm in arm or women going to the shops to pick up what their family needed. Hats that perfectly matched outfits were perched on heads like the plumes of an exotic bird. Ophelia wore her hair in a simple braid down her back and abhorred the fashionable headwear. If changing her way of dress or mannerism to that of the likes of Bettina was the way to find a suitor, she would rather be alone. Marie gave her hope because of the way she was, and now she had her trapper named John.
“You, darkie.”
She was so deep in her thoughts she didn’t notice she almost walked past her house until a deep voice called out and pulled her from her reverie.
“Excuse me?” Ophelia instantly bristled at the words.
“Do you know where the Lachlan Manor house is located?” he asked from on a tall black horse. His accent was definitely Scottish; Ophelia had heard it before.
“What did you call me?” Ophelia asked crisply.
“I said ‘darkie’; that is your color, is it not?”
“It is my color but not my name or a polite way to address me. Do you address others by their physical characteristics? White man or black mustache or redhead with a large bosom?” Ophelia asked.
He shook his head slowly. “I do not.”
“I or anyone you meet with my ethnicity should not be ‘darkie.’ It is offensive. Since you don’t know my name, Miss or Ma’am would have worked instead of ‘darkie,’ like I’m beneath you or I am living off your servant wages. I am none of those things to anyone.”
His lips twitched with a smile. “What are you then?”
“I’m a teacher at the local girl’s school.” She raised her head defiantly. “If you need a question answered, you ask politely.”
“Excuse me, an educated woman,” he teased.
Ophelia stifled a curse word. “More educated than you, I expect.”
“Aye, I’ll grant you that.” He inclined his head. “My apologies, Ma’am; my name is Laird Euan Campbell; might you direct me to the Lachlan Manor?”
“Turn around. You passed the gravel path that leads up there,” she answered. “The sign is overgrown with vine, since no one has lived there since I’ve been here.”
“That’s about to change,” he answered. “I own the property now and plan to make a home and life here.”
“I am overjoyed for you.” Ophelia heard the sarcasm in her tone. It was his fault, so she didn’t care.
“All right.”
He grinned, and damn it, he was handsome. The Laird Euan Campbell had thick, dark hair cut neatly at his neck, and longer curls fell over his forehead at the front. His shoulders were broad, and he sat upright in the saddle of his horse. His coat was open to reveal a crisp white shirt that was undone further down and catching her gaze as it revealed the beginning of hair on his chest. The man had amazing green eyes and a jawline with a short, scruffy beard. The boots he wore spoke of travel between the dust and the scruff. Ophelia was instantly intrigued, but she wouldn’t say it.
“Anything else?” Ophelia asked as the silence stretched.
“No, I was waiting for you to finish looking me over like I was a stallion to market,” Euan replied.
“I-I was not!” Ophelia declared hotly. “You are... rude!”
“So, the path with the vines overgrowing the sign, yes?”
“Yes.”
He turned his horse and started the animal into a trot before he looked back to where Ophelia stood. “Are you not going to tell me your name, Lass?”
“No,” she said the word sweetly but reveled in her small victory as she took the last few steps and went through her gate.
He laughed as his horse cantered away and as if showing off, he took the stallion to a full gallop. The town would be abuzz with talk of the new resident of Kamouraska. If he was a bachelor and opening the manor house, every single woman would be lifting their skirt to give him a sniff before the end of the month.
Bettina.
That one name made her grit her teeth. Now, she would be seeing that tart practically racing her coach to take the turn to the manor house nestled in the small stand of trees.
Ophelia made an effort to put the rude Laird out of her mind and work on her lesson plan for the week. She had her coffee in hand and added a dash of whiskey to warm her from the inside out. His deep laugh reminded her of the warmth that curled in her stomach from her drink and the dark rich color of her drink was akin to the color of his hair. Damn it all to hell, he was causing as much of a ripple in her house as he would in the streets of Kamouraska.