8

Widow Brodie set a lovely table. A linen cloth was anchored by a vase of cowslips, buttery yellow and so fragrant the entire dining room was sweetened. The herbed, prepared fish reclined on a pewter platter amid cobalt-blue porcelain bowls heaped with early garden fare. Despite Selah’s warning glance, Shay reached out and snuck a bite from a stack of corncakes fried to crisp perfection. A pot of freshly salted butter and fig preserves completed the feast.

But first they bowed their heads, and a scandalously short grace was said.

“Come, Lord Jesus, be Thou our guest, and let Thy gifts to us be blessed.” Xander’s voice echoed in the large, mostly empty room. “Amen.”

Selah picked up a two-tined fork, its handle of ivory and piqué work unfamiliar. Never had she eaten here. Only Shay and Father had. Xander came mostly to their table, though not for many months after he’d overheard her cross words when he returned alone from England.

Widow Brodie seemed to relish their company. Was her melancholy over the lack of a mistress on its way to being remedied? Though Xander and Shay kept up a merry discourse, supper seemed riven with new tension about the unknown lady of his choice. A miss from Middle Plantation or Point Comfort or Bermuda Hundred? Selah’s mind whirled with possibilities as she dined.

“’Tis good the day is long and the moon full for your return home,” Widow Brodie told her.

“Summer eves hold a special magic.” Selah admired a west-facing window overlooking rolling hills. “The sunsets of late seem like fire in the sky.”

“Tell me, is your private matter with my nephew settled?”

Selah took a spoonful of peas. Not to my satisfaction. “For the moment, aye.”

“You should come oftener to Rose-n-Vale. This house is suited for company, and with the new wing we shall have cause for entertainment.”

Selah took another bite, content to listen. Perhaps all this expansion meant Oceanus could come home for good.

“Soon a portico shall be under way. Alexander has drawn up plans with the brick mason.” Widow Brodie looked fondly at her nephew. “How far we have come from Virginia’s earliest days. I’m sure you’ve heard your share of your father’s stories. I can’t recall if he came on the first or second supply.”

“The second supply, aboard the Sea Venture, sailing straight into a hurricane before landing in the Summer Isles.” Selah took a second serving of fish. “I still marvel that Father survived. I’m glad Mother was spared and arrived later on the Blessing. Perhaps you were wisest of all, having only recently made Virginia your home.”

A grieved nod. “So many have been buried on these sandy shores. Sometimes I long to return to a more civilized Scotland. But a widow with naught but a nephew is destined to remain right here.”

Selah lowered her voice, eyes on Shay and Xander deep in conversation and oblivious to their low chatter. “There is your great-nephew.”

“Oceanus, aye. I oft wonder how the lad is faring. If his father was to remarry . . .” Widow Brodie cleared her throat. “But ’tis a mighty big if, I fear.”

Should she allay Widow Brodie’s fears? Tell her Xander’s revelation in the study? Pressing a serviette to her mouth, Selah swallowed the urge to share what seemed for her ears only. At table’s end, Shay was regaling Xander with his fishing exploits, in which he caught the sturgeon asleep on top of the water and engaged in a watery wrestle till the hook was set.

“I shall take you fire-fishing,” Xander told him. “I learned it from the Powhatans firsthand. We’ll fit a canoe with a clay hearth raised within two inches of gunwale height. The fire can easily be seen underwater. Then we’ll pole the canoe with javelins, ready to spear any fish that surface. Woe to the sturgeons that follow our light.”

Xander spun quite a tale. Shay hung on every syllable.

The dining room door opened and Cook entered carrying dessert, a maize-raisin pudding still warm from the bake oven. Steaming cassina was poured, the Naturals’ “black drink,” which some colonists favored. Conversation dwindled, cicadas chorusing through an open window, the drapes stirred by a sultry breeze.

Though the meal had been delicious, the mood pleasant, Selah felt increasingly sore. Now she must ponder her reply to Cecily. And Cecily, ever prickly, would not take Xander’s rejection kindly.

She spooned her dessert to murmurs of “rich” and “flavorful,” yet hers seemed tasteless given the leaden lump in her middle. Quietly she waged an unsuccessful war not to look Xander’s way without reason. She could hardly fault Cecily for sending her upriver. What woman wouldn’t be bestirred by the sight of such a man, bearded and broad of shoulder, as hospitable as he was capable at plantation managing, and dealing peace with the Naturals besides?

As supper finished she was only too ready to say, “We must be away. The hospitality of Rose-n-Vale is much appreciated.”

Within moments they were out the rear door fronting the river, Xander accompanying them. The sunset was fading, ribbons of rose gold streaking the darkening sky. Shay ran ahead with the dogs, leaving her and Xander to walk down the wide, grassy hill in tongue-tied silence. When Selah stumbled on uneven ground, Xander’s hand shot out to steady her.

“Would you like for me to talk to Mistress Ward personally and spare you the trouble?” he asked. “I’ve a matter to discuss with your father by sennight’s end.”

“I admire your willingness. But our guest is not of the temperament to delay and will likely await your answer tonight. Though I shall say nothing of the woman whose hand you hope to have.” She took a steadying breath. “Think of all the idle tongues of James Towne wagging about Xander Renick’s would-be bride.”

“And yours shall make one less, God be thanked.”

He helped her into the canoe, wading into the water to send them off, unmindful of his wet boots. Ruby barked as if bidding them farewell, and Shay laughed, the merry sound carrying over the water. Refusing to look back, Selah took up her oar, slicing the water while piecing together the scant facts before her. Xander had said little about his trip to the Naturals. Might he be considering another Powhatan bride? Might it even be one of Mattachanna’s sisters?

He’d had critics aplenty when he’d informed the council of his intentions to wed the first time. The letter he’d penned to Virginia’s deputy governor had captured her attention and her heart when her father showed it to her privately. Why, years later, did such impassioned wording woo her?

It is she to whom my heart and best thoughts are and have been a long time so entangled, and enthralled in so intricate a labyrinth that I could not unwind myself thereout.

Sadly, Selah recalled the mean-spirited tittle-tattle she’d overheard in James Towne just as readily. “’Twas an alliance made to further Master Renick’s own ambitious ends so the Powhatans would leave him be and yet aid him in cultivating the tobacco that became the pride of the colony.”

She felt a little start when Shay said, “Why are you sighing, Sister?”

“The night is beautiful, is it not?” She paddled with more vigor, determined to return her thoughts to their proper place. “Worth sighing over, truly.”

The river bore the moon’s full reflection mightily, the smooth sheen of water more gold than black. A multitude of stars blinked nearly as bright.

A true lovers’ moon.