“An excellent plan, sir.” Frederick leaned against the indigo vat and dabbed sweat from his forehead with a linen handkerchief. “A trip to St. Augustine will be exhilarating.”
Brigham also used his handkerchief, heavy with perfume, but he held it in front of his nose, no doubt to deflect the indigo’s stench. “Of course you understand this will be more than a ball to please the ladies.”
Frederick gave him a slight nod. “Understood.” A weight sat heavy on his chest. Governor Tonyn would be ascertaining the loyalty of East Florida settlers, something that would not have bothered him before he met Miss Folger. Or before he read that vexing pamphlet.
“With John Stuart in the capital, we can expect a full appraisal of his talks with the Choctaw.” Brigham wore a sober expression. “The Indians trust him, and Governor Tonyn will want to spread that influence to all the settlements.”
“Does this mean they’re concerned the Indians will cause trouble here?” Frederick would not inquire whether Brigham had changed his views on the Timucua, who still dwelled in the southeast corner of Bennington Plantation, lest the officer repeat his order for them to leave.
“I suppose His Excellency simply wishes to ensure their loyalty. With traitorous militias active in Georgia and South Carolina, we could use a buffer if they turn their sights southward.”
Frederick grunted his agreement.
At the approach of several slaves leading a horse-drawn wagon filled with linen bags for drying the indigo, he stepped away from the vat. “May I offer you some refreshment?” He waved his hand toward the path to the house.
“Certainly.” As they walked, Brigham continued to fan his handkerchief in front of his nose. “How do you bear it? I would rather smell a stable in need of cleaning than indigo being processed.”
“Ah, well, the king’s navy must have its blue.” Frederick inhaled a hint of magnolia on the fresh easterly breeze and blew out the bad smell from his lungs. Long ago he had resigned himself to the unpleasant elements of managing the plantation.
“Well said, sir.” Brigham eyed him. “In the future, I shall endeavor to more fully appreciate those of you who must do such distasteful work for king and country.” His light tone and easy candor seemed sincere and quite different from his previous arrogance.
Encouraged by his friendliness, Frederick ventured a request. “Milord, I would be remiss if I did not request an invitation to the governor’s ball for my cousin. That is, if you do not consider me out of order.”
“Not at all. I had intended to include Mrs. Winthrop in my invitation. I know Lady Augusta will appreciate her company. My gallant little wife has endured much. She will be put out in the extreme when she learns the shopkeeper and his daughter will be along.”
“Indeed?” Frederick coughed to hide his excitement. “Why would they be invited?”
“Ostensibly to honor them for their courage during the fire. But of course, Tonyn will be interested in learning of their loyalties. His letter conveyed his desire to meet strong leaders in the community, men like Folger with experience in leadership, the type who might foment rebellion such as happened in Boston.” His eyes gleamed with sudden feeling. “Boston. Now that’s the place to be. What I wouldn’t give to be on the front lines instead of in this remote wilderness. In fact, before I even arrived here, I requested a transfer to Massachusetts. And I have every intention of asking the governor to use his influence to make that happen.” He shrugged. “Of course, Lady Augusta will be disappointed.”
As they passed the slave quarters, relief settled into Frederick over his decision not to keep his promise to the lady. If Brigham was determined to serve where the action occurred, so be it. Frederick would support his choice.
“In fact,” Brigham said, “I think it best to send her back to London. She will be happier there. I cannot tell her until I receive my orders, of course.” He tilted his head and lowered an eyebrow, inviting confidentiality.
“Of course. I’ll not mention it to anyone.”
They reached the house, and when Caddy pulled open the front door, Frederick followed his guest inside and called for refreshment.
Brigham’s relaxed posture revealed that he felt comfortable here, but in his eyes Frederick read the longing for a future in another place. Pity. Now that the man had become more sociable, he might have proven to be a good friend. As for Lady Augusta, no doubt she would be glad to leave this wilderness, even though it would mean separating from her husband. And, in time she would be grateful for her husband’s anticipated elevation. Then she could sail through the finest London drawing rooms with her head held high, deferring to no one and never having to socialize with those whom she considered rustics.
For his part, Frederick regarded their marriage as a good one, worthy of emulation, despite the couple’s differences. Perhaps on the excursion to St. Augustine, he could observe how Brigham planned to sway his wife to his views, for that might prove useful in Frederick’s own marriage some day. A marriage that might come about later rather than sooner if he and Miss Folger found their opinions too conflicting.
But then, Mother and Father often held different opinions, and their deep affection for one another was obvious to any who would see it. Yes, that was it. Couples must expect to have differences. It was the duty of the man to set the course for the marriage and the duty of the wife to follow him. As long as their love was constant, Frederick need not be troubled by Miss Folger’s disagreements with him regarding the futile rebellion or the necessity of slaveholding. Nor need he feel forced to reveal all to her. As he’d seen with Major Brigham and Lady Augusta, there were some things women could not comprehend and therefore did not need to know.
“Señorita Rachel.” Inez’s voice held a note of humor. “If you do not stop lifting the lid, the lamb will never cook.”
“Yes, I know.” Rachel replaced the lid, then removed her apron and hung it on a wall peg. “You know when to add the vegetables.” She counted tasks on her fingers. “The pies and bread are baked, the butter fresh-churned, the tea and lemonade are—”
“Please, señorita.” Inez took her arm and gently tugged her toward the door. “I have cooked much food in my life, and no one complains about its taste.” She tucked a loose strand of hair into Rachel’s coiffure. “See, you are going to ruin my hard work.”
Rachel squeezed Inez’s hand. “Thank you for giving up another Sunday morning.”
Inez’s eyes shone. “It is my gift to Dios. Now, go to church. Pray for us. And we will pray for your nice dinner for el patrón.”
With a laugh, Rachel hurried across the yard just as Papa emerged from the back door.
“Papa, you look quite handsome. Mrs. Winthrop will be impressed.” Mischief got the better of her. “That is, if you mind your manners and do not slurp your stew.”
“Is that how you show respect, girl?” With his chin lifted and his broad-brimmed felt hat cocked at a rakish angle, he put his fists at his waist as a breeze caught his coat and blew it wide like a cape.
Rachel’s breath caught. How truly handsome he looked—as grand as when he had stood on the quarterdeck of his ship shouting orders to his whaling crew above the roar of ocean waves. How she longed to throw her arms around him and kiss his fresh-shaven cheek. But he would only tell her to belay such foolishness.
“Is this better?” She gave him an exaggerated curtsy.
“My lady, may I be so bold?” He offered his arm, and the glint in his eyes revealed his merry disposition.
“Yes, good sir, you may.” She set her hand on his arm, feeling the strength that had propelled countless thousands of harpoons. “Papa, I am pleased you and Mrs. Winthrop have formed a friendship. Today Mr. Moberly and I will be discussing our friendship further.” She dared not say courtship. “Will you give your approval?”
“Ye know yer mind, Rachel. I’ll not deny ye yer happiness, even as I never denied Susanna hers.”
“But the other day, you seemed concerned about it. You said I was making friends with the enemy. You, who care nothing for the revolution.”
She felt him stiffen for the briefest moment.
“I would not have yer heart be broken, child.” His tone was soothing but sad. “Do not give it away too freely. But when ye do, give it entirely.”
Happy tears stung her eyes. That sounded very near a blessing to her.
As the church came into sight and parishioners gathered from around the settlement, two thoughts struck her. First, Papa, always so straightforward before, had not answered her question about making friends with the enemy. And second, with no time to question him, she must set aside her concerns and prepare her heart for worship.
Visiting this humble church for the third Sunday in a row, Rachel felt at home. She nodded or spoke soft greetings to other parishioners as she and Papa found their pew. Even though the pews were not bought or assigned, everyone seemed to sit in the same place they had before, like well-mannered children taking their seats around a large family dinner table. The Father’s table.
Seated beside Papa, Rachel offered up her customary prayer that he would understand the message of salvation. Soon peace swept into her soul, but she could not be certain whether it was an assurance from the Lord or because Mr. Moberly and his party moved into the pew in front of her.
Reaching his accustomed spot, Mr. Moberly turned. “Good morning, Miss Folger, Mr. Folger.” His dark gray eyes communicated good humor, and his soft voice rumbled in a rich baritone against Reverend Johnson’s opening intonations.
Although she managed to return his smile and nod to Mrs. Winthrop, Rachel’s knees went weak. Lord, forgive me. This is our time to worship You. But once again, for the next two hours, she required much self-control to remember Whom this service was about.