7

Reed pushed down annoyance at the sight of Ann twirling under Griff’s arm.

“Bored yet?” Hugh whispered at his elbow.

“I thought ye found the company of ladies riveting?”

Hugh crossed his arms. “The current offerings have lost my interest. They speak of God and the weather and nothing else.”

“Would ye have them speak of tobacco futures?”

“Of course not. Women haven’t the brains for business.”

Reed wasn’t so sure. His mother had been shuttered by his father, but Reed wanted Ann in every aspect of his life. She may not be interested in tobacco rates, but what did she think of wheat? Of his hemp fields? Of day-to-day things, he found her knowledgeable. She cared about the people who worked here. The farms he owned were not just properties, they were spaces filled with people, his people, his tenants, and she showed deference for his guests. No, he was not sure women needed to know about the financial aspects of his business, but without his people, there was no business.

“I’m getting the group of us together for New Year’s Eve.”

Reed cast a puzzled look to Hugh.

“For old time’s sake. What do ye say?”

A pause entered his spirit. “What are ye up to?”

“Nothing dangerous.” The same old mischievous grin that would have taken in Reed five years ago illuminated Hugh’s face. “Just cards and a few laughs. Thought we’d hop over to Emerson’s at Tappahannock.”

Another quiet prod. He had to go if only to stop trouble.

“Honestly, Reed. I’m not sixteen any longer.”

Reed wasn’t sure if that made his old friend more or less dangerous.

~*~

A warm breeze arrived the last day of December that melted the snow into mud. Ann slid the basket containing her latest creation and a new project onto her arm and knocked on Mother Gibson’s door.

“Whatever are ye doing here, Miss Wright?”

Ann stiffened.

“I’ve come to see Mother Gibson.”

“Wait here. I will see if she is up to receiving ye today.” Catherine spun away letting the door slap closed in Ann’s face.

Ann swallowed her anger. This woman wasn’t her problem. She was here for Mother Gibson. Something wasn’t right about this situation. Ann was going to find out what it was, and she would not be intimidated by a closed door.

Warmth wooshed toward her as the door opened once more. “I’m quite sure it is not good for her, but Mother Gibson insists she will see ye.”

Once again, Ann squelched her reaction. Catherine waved her in. Ann removed her own cloak and handed it to Catherine. Ann kept her focus on Mother Gibson who was massaging her wrists in a chair by the fire.

“Ye came to see me, Little Annie Wright.”

“Last time I was here ye asked me to bring my latest carving. So I’ve brought ye my latest creation.” She pulled back the cover of her basket. Carefully, she retrieved the doll she’d made for Rebecca. She’d carved the face from a piece of pine to look like her sister. They shared the same sandy-brown hair and blue-green eyes that suggested the Chesapeake Bay after a summer gale. The dress she’d fashioned with fabric scraps from her sister’s bridal gown.

Mother Gibson reached for the doll. “Mary?” She pulled the doll close to her chest and rocked as if the doll was alive and breathing. “Sssshhhh, Mary. Mama’s here, child.” She rocked. A hum of an old hymn flowed from deep within as she consoled the doll-child.

Ann’s heart warmed at the reception of her creation. This doll had found its home. She’d carve another for Rebecca. Ann pulled the knife from her pocket and set the basket in her lap. She started to carve a small figure.

“William had a knife like that.” Mother Gibson’s eyes focused on Ann. “He carved all kinds of things. Made me a little squirrel when he came courtin’.”

Mother Gibson and Grandpa?

“Don’t be so shocked, Little Annie.” She chuckled. “We sparked for a little time, but once he saw Letitia Scott it was all over for me. I thank the Good Lord for that day. Without her I would have missed my Thomas.” Lace sleeves slid down Mother Gibson’s skinny forearms revealing red creases over blue marks on her wrists. Red ribbons which dangled from the chair spindles swept the floor. Ann searched the room for Catherine.

“Here now, ye can’t be taking that from Miss Ann.” Catherine swept into the room, placed a tea tray on the table, and took a position next to her charge.

Mother Gibson turned toward the fire clutching the doll.

“She can have it.”

Onyx eyes glittered. “Nonsense. What’s an old woman need with a dolly?”

Catherine reached around, took hold of an arm and tried to yank the “Mary” doll from her charge. A rip tore into the room. Tears filled Mother Gibson’s eyes. Ann dropped her wooden figure into the basket. She let her knife remain.

“I am so sorry,” Mother Gibson said. “Catherine is right. Ye take her.” She briefly cradled the doll and then handed her off to Ann with care.

A quick look showed a torn seam under Mary’s arm. Ann retrieved her needle and thread from her basket. “I’ll mend her for ye, Mother Gibson.”

Surprise brightened Mother Gibson’s countenance and brought strength to her voice. “Tea, Catherine.”

“And send for Mr. Archer.” Ann added.

“I’ll do no such thing,” Catherine said. “It’s time ye had a rest, Mother Gibson. Miss Wright, I will order yer horse brought around.” She crossed to a tea table and rang a bell.

Ann sliced the ribbons off the chair.

Catherine paled when she saw Ann rolling the ribbon.

A servant appeared.

“Bring Miss Wright’s horse.”

Old eyes full of hope caught Ann’s. “I’m not tired.”

“Come now, let’s not have any of yer feistiness. It’s time for a nap.” Catherine clattered across the gleaming room to rest hands on the back of the chair.

Ann retained her seat across from Mother Gibson. “I said send for Mr. Archer.”

“And who might ye be ordering me about, Miss Wright?”

“Ye’ll do as ye’re told, or I’ll have ye removed from yer position, and ye’ll leave this plantation before nightfall.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” Catherine crossed her arms.

“I will not leave until Reed gets here.”

“It will be a long time, because I’m not sending for him.”

Movement out the front window alerted Ann to the presence of her horse and the stable boy. Ann opened the window. “Send for Mr. Archer immediately. Ye may take my horse.”

The boy mounted and set off toward the main house.

Catherine remained posed behind Mother Gibson while Ann mended Mary. She was pleased her fingers didn’t shake as she plied her needle. When Mary was mended, Ann handed the doll back to Reed’s grandmother. “Mother Gibson, shall we have some tea while we wait?”

Hooves thundered into the yard.

Ann slipped out to the front to meet Reed.

As he dismounted, he hit the ground with a thud. Relief swept through Ann at the sight of his strong form. He grabbed her shoulders. Ann resisted the urge to step into his embrace.

“What is it Ann? Are ye hurt?”

“No, but I am very concerned about yer Grandmother.”

“Is she hurt?”

“Come see for yerself.”

They entered the front parlor.

Mother Gibson sat with Mary-doll and was rubbing her left arm.

“I do not know what the fuss is about, Reed. I am taking care of yer Grandmother just as yer father wanted.”

“Is everything all right, Mother?”

Mother Gibson looked at Ann as a mist shrouded her eyes. A shaky nod affirmed that she was all right.

“We are just trundling along as we usually do. Isn’t that right?” Catherine asked.

Ann shouldn’t have left her even for a moment. She stood in front of Mother Gibson. “Is that right? Show me yer arm, Mother.”

The rubbing slowed.

Catherine paled. “There’s nothing wrong with her arm. Is there, Mother Gibson?”

Ann gently pulled back the sleeve. Large purple and black bruises covered her forearm.

“They bruise easily is all. She bumps into anything, and she’s bruised. Ye know how they are.”

Reed knelt on one knee. “Did ye bump into something?”

The old gaze jerked to Catherine, to Ann, and then to Reed. Mother Gibson nestled Mary to her shoulder and started to rock and hum.

“This is Mary.” Ann nodded at the doll.

“She pinched me. Told me to be quiet when ye came. Said ye were just like yer father.” She stopped rocking and looked him in the eye. “But yer not, are ye?”

Reed inhaled deeply and his back became a little straighter even though he was on his knee. “No, Grandmama. I am not like him at all.”

“Ye look like him.”

“Do ye know he died?”

“Mary told me.” She closed her eyes and rocked the Mary-doll tight against her bosom.

“Would ye like to come back to the big house?”

Old eyes popped open wide. “With Margaret?”

A new voice entered the room. “Yes, Mother. With me.” Ann turned to see Reed’s mother standing in the doorway.

“Yes. With Margaret. Not Catherine.”

“I will deal with Catherine.” Quiet anger infused Reed’s words.

His mother and grandmother both retreated a step.

“It does no good to coddle them. Yer father was right about that.” A rigid Catherine stood her ground. “Ye’ll see what a burden she’ll be. I’m glad to be rid of her.”

“Ye will be quiet—” he said as he rose to his full height.

Catherine stepped back two paces.

“Ye will gather yer things. Ye leave for Williamsburg within the hour.”

“Cousin Jerome will welcome me.”

“I don’t care where ye go so long as ye never return to Archer Hall.”

Catherine huffed out of the room and her shoes clattered up the stairs.

Margaret Archer rushed to her mother. A questioning gaze engaged Ann.

“This is my Mary.” Mother Gibson supplied.

Mrs. Archer’s eyes flooded. “Mary was my sister. She died of fever when she was but a baby.”

Reed ran fingers through his hair. “I will be outside.”

Ann found Reed pacing the yard. Rage hardened his strong shoulders. Shoulders which carried more weight than she’d realized. “Yer mother is with Mother Gibson.” She offered the red ribbons in an open hand. “I think ye will find that the bruises come from these.”

He closed his eyes. Ann understood his fight for control. She’d never been this angry in her life. Not even the night Richard was lamed by Reed’s foolish prank.

He swung around to face her and grabbed her shoulders. “I would never strike a woman. Not ever.” He walked away and headed back again. “Not in my worst pranks did I ever come close to raising a hand to—how could they think that?”

Ann went to him, placed her hand on his arm. “I’ve never come so close to striking anyone. That monstrous woman—”

“Annie, I would never…” His eyes pleaded for her understanding. The anguish in his eyes released tears from her own.

“They understand, Reed.”

“I knew they wouldn’t believe me. I shouldn’t have come home.”

She pressed his arm. “No.”

“I couldn’t protect them from him. I tried. He was too big. After he died, I thought that if I stayed away, they wouldn’t have anyone to fear, but John convinced me it was my duty to take care of my family. That they needed me to set things right. He was wrong.”

“No, Reed. He was right. Ye protected them in there like no one else could.”

“I would never—”

Ann touched her hand to his cheek drawing his gaze to hers. “I believe ye.”

Agitation ceased. The wheels that had spun so furiously stilled. “What did ye say?”

“I meant it.”

“Say it again.”

“I believe ye. It will take some time for yer family to heal, but they will.”

He took a step closer. She opened her arms to receive him. He curled himself around her nuzzling into her neck. In that instant, her heart opened and joined itself to his.

“Annie.” His whisper sent a shiver down to her toes.

Her feet left the ground as joy surged through them. He spun her so fast and strong she thought she’d take flight.

“I see.” Catherine’s sneer brought them back to earth.

“I suggest ye keep still.” Reed admonished through clenched teeth.

~*~

After a dinner of turkey and oysters, Ann sat with her basket in the pink glow of a west-facing window.

“Are ye ready?” Hugh announced into the room.

Griff took a stand beside Hugh in the doorway.

“I will stay here.” Jacob looked at Mattie, who smiled at their joined hands in her lap.

“Where are ye off to?” The Vicar asked.

“Emerson’s Tavern in Tappahannock. A group of old friends getting together to celebrate.” Hugh smirked.

“Oh, well.” The vicar rubbed a hand across his lapel. “Betsy and I are heading home in the morning so we’ll have an early night tonight.”

Reed cast a worried glance at Ann. It was plain he expected her to renege on what she’d said. But she did believe in him. The work the Lord had started in him had borne fruit. The self-control he’d exhibited with Catherine proved it. If she loved him. And she suddenly realized as a sunny glow emanated from her heart, that she did love him. If she did love him, she would have to believe in him and trust him. Believe in his ability to do the right thing no matter the company in which he found himself. Even Hugh’s. How else could they make a life for themselves and their children? She offered him a smile and wink.

His eyebrows raised and he nodded. He followed Hugh out of the room.

“I see ye’ve tamed my nephew,” Clementine said in her usual loud tone. “Are ye worried?”

Ann tensed. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, I am. My son just left in the company of two who were considered quite a wild bunch in their younger days.”

“People change.”

“Not often and not that much,” Clementine pronounced. “Protect yerself.”

“Everything will be just fine,” Ann replied, though a little squiggly line started to worry her belly.

“Clementine.” Mrs. Archer stiffened in her seat. “Really. If ye could have seen Reed the other night with Mother ye wouldn’t say that.”

“If ye say so Margaret. Smith was my brother, but ye lived with him. Ye know better than anyone what he was. My observation is that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Mrs. Foster.” Mother Gibson stood from her rocker, Mary carefully nestled in her arm. “I will hear no more slanderous talk of my grandson. When God forgives He forgets.” She pointed a crooked forefinger at Clementine. “It would behoove the rest of us to give it a try.” Mother Gibson crossed the room to claim the empty seat next to Ann and took her hand. The presence of her words calmed the squiggle.

“Don’t worry about him, child,” she whispered. “God has work for him tonight. Let us pray together the work is done to His satisfaction.”

Ann closed her eyes, clasped the old hand, and prayed for Reed. She stopped when Mother retrieved her hand.

“What are ye carving?” Mother peered at the shavings in the basket.

“Knife handles. It’s a late gift.”

“For Reed?”

“Yes.”

“William once carved me a squirrel with that very knife.” She smiled and sat back with Mary.