Charity came into the parlor of her uncle’s house and curtsied before the Reverend Jonathan Clark, minister of the Presbyterian church that she and her father attended when they visited Charles Town.
“How good of you to call, Brother Clark,” she said. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that her father, who had ushered her downstairs, had not come with her into the room. “I’m sure Father will join us in a moment. He told you, did he not, that Uncle and Cousin Henry are out for the afternoon?”
“Seeing to business at the counting house, I believe,” said Clark, nodding pleasantly as they both seated themselves. He was a thin man of middle years, plainly dressed with no wig. The crown of his head was almost bald and what hair remained to him was combed up elaborately to cover it.
“Business must go on,” Charity said quietly.
“Indeed,” said Clark. He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and looked at her with so much seriousness that she had to look away. “It pleases me to see you are recovering,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile. “I left my bed yesterday and began moving about, repairing my strength. I had supper with the family, and later in the evening I walked alone in the garden.” She glanced at him and then down at her hands. “I suppose in time the wound will heal.”
“With God’s help.”
“Of course,” she said, nodding. There was silence, and she wished for her father to come. Her mind was too numb to make conversation. She was tired, no sleep last night after Isaac had failed to appear in the garden, leaving her to wait and wait until finally she had returned to her chamber and rung for Lucia to ask her if she were certain she had delivered the letter directly to him. Lucia had assured her that she had.
“It is an awesome burden that has fallen on you,” said Brother Clark.
Charity looked at him, uncertain what he meant.
“A man is more suitable to carry it,” said Clark. “But a woman is capable of it, if she seeks advice. Many a woman has managed, and some very well.”
“And such an estate as you will inherit. So prosperous a company.”
“I never expected it to come to me,” said Charity. “I have not prepared myself for it.”
“But there still is time.”
“Of course,” said Charity, smiling a little. “My father is very much alive, for which God be praised.”
Clark nodded. “Abraham can train you up to your duties, if you but listen to him.”
Charity looked at him a moment and then away. She now understood that her father had arranged this. “So he has spoken to you of the difficulty between us,” she said quietly.
“He told me a little of it.”
Charity still looked away. She said nothing.
“Henry is a fine fellow,” said Clark. “A gentleman of substance. Good family. And rather handsome, I believe, in the eyes of the ladies.”
“I am aware of his qualities,” said Charity. “He is my cousin.”
“Then why you refuse a match with him is beyond my understanding. It is certainly not pleasing in the eyes of God. Your father wills it for your own benefit, and yet you disobey him. What of the Fifth Commandment, child? Honor thy father?”
Charity was silent again. She was thinking of Isaac, remembering the shame she had felt as she waited alone in the garden, listening into the night until the watch called out the midnight hour.
“If only I could be given more time,” she said. “A year, perhaps, to better know my mind.”
“Would you put your father in his grave?” Clark asked soberly.
Charity looked at him, and he met her eyes and held them.
“You think he is that much affected?” she asked.
“I know he is. Never have I seen a man so changed.”
“Because his only son has just died.”
Clark shook his head. “That is not all that troubles him, and you know it very well. You double his burden with your stubbornness, and he is sinking under it.”
Rising to her feet, Charity walked to the window and leaned against it, looking out into the street. Her life seemed to be out of her hands. She was helpless. It would be Henry. And why should it be otherwise? It was Henry who had sat by her in her grief, who had consoled her and waited upon her with his own hands, while Isaac had refused to come to her at all. She had been foolish, and cruel to her father. Could Burnaby’s death have been God’s judgement upon her? She shook her head, unable to bear that thought.
“I am a poor sinner,” she murmured.
The Reverend Clark rose from his chair and came to her. “Let us pray together.”
Without looking at him, Charity dropped to her knees, resting her head on her hands as she gripped the window sill. Clark knelt beside her and began to pray. She gave herself to the words he uttered, drawing them into her heart, clinging to them, believing them. And when it was over, she rose to her feet and turned and saw her father standing in the doorway, his eyes glistening with tears. She walked over and knelt before him.
“Your blessing, Father.”
Abraham put both his hands on her head. “God bless you, Daughter,” he said with emotion and then drew her up and embraced her.
Brother Clark resumed his seat, and Charity and Abraham came over and sat down as well. Abraham looked happily from one to the other. “So it’s settled, is it?”
“I suppose it is,” said Charity, relieved to be at peace with him again.
“It will be a pleasure to have you a resident of Carolina,” Clark said to her.
“I only wish Charles Town were to be our home,” said Charity. “I fear I’ll be lonesome at Fairmeadow, and uneasy, too, so close to the Indian country.”
“The Indians should be of no concern to you,” said Clark. “They’re all of them loyal to us. Addicted to our trading goods, they are.”
“Yet loneliness is a real consideration,” said Abraham. “It has given me some unease, thinking on it. How would it be if you had your old Doll with you, and Timboe as well?”
“Oh, Father, would you consider it?” Charity reached out and put an earnest hand on his arm. “It would make all the difference to have them by me.”
“Then it’s done. I’ll send them down to you from Boston on the first ship.” He looked over at Clark and explained. “Doll is our old cook. And she was Charity’s nurse as well. A Guinea slave. Timboe is her son, the same age as Charity. Doll nursed them together, the black babe on one breast and the white one on the other.”
“It would be wise to send them,” said Clark. “Especially that fellow Timboe. That will give her a man among the slaves whom she can trust.”
“I thought so myself,” said Abraham. He smiled and patted Charity’s hand, which still rested on his arm. “And you’ll have your Lucia with you. And John has spoken of sending Cajoe down to Fairmeadow, so you’ll have a boy already trained to the house. Is the prospect improving, my dear?”
“Yes,” said Charity, nodding.
“When Henry comes home we will close the affair,” said Abraham. “Have done with it.”
“Close it?” said Charity, drawing her hand away.
“If Brother Clark will stay with us a while longer,” said Abraham, looking over at the minister.
“Certainly,” said Clark.
“I’ll ring up some tea, then, while we wait,” said Abraham.
“Close it?” Charity repeated, her tone more insistent.
Abraham looked at her. “Do you mean to marry Henry or not?”
“Yes, I do. But not today.”
“Why not today?”
“It’s too soon.”
“Too soon? We’ve been wading through this swamp near half a year. It’s time we reached the other side. Not a moment too soon, I’d say. My ship sails in less than a week. I’d like to see you settled into married life before I take my leave.”
“Then perhaps tomorrow, Father. But not today.”
“And what is the difference, tomorrow or today?”
“I need time to reflect. And time alone with Henry. We’ve not even spoken of this, he and I.”
“What do you mean, not spoken of it? He pled his case to you long ago.”
“But it was all quite formal. And I was not receptive at the time.”
“You’ll have all your life to talk to Henry. But if you think you must have pause before we go ahead, we can delay until tonight. Marry by candlelight if you wish. If Brother Clark can return to us then.”
“I could arrange it,” said Clark.
“Then what say you, Daughter?”
Charity took in a long breath and slowly let it out again. “You promise to send Doll to me?”
“It’s as good as done. I’ll give you written title to her this very day if you wish. And to Timboe as well.”
“Very well then,” she said quietly. She looked down at the rug.
“Tonight?” said Abraham.
She nodded.
He leaned forward exultantly and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you happy, Daughter?”
She shrugged and smiled weakly.
“It’s natural to feel a bit of fright,” said Abraham. “But you’ll learn the ways of a wife soon enough, and then you’ll be happy, I’m sure of it. This is a good marriage you’re making. A fine, sensible marriage.”
“Indeed,” said Charity. She rose to her feet, and excusing herself, she left them and went upstairs to her chamber.