The Shopkeeper's Widow Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  Epilogue

  A Devotional Moment

  Thank you

  You Can Help!

  God Can Help!

  Free eBook Offer

  The Shopkeeper’s Widow

  Izzy James

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Shopkeeper’s Widow

  COPYRIGHT 2020 by Elizabeth C. Hull

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Contact Information: [email protected]

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  Scripture quotations, marked KJV are taken from the King James translation, public domain. Scripture quotations marked DR, are taken from the Douay Rheims translation, public domain.

  Scripture texts marked NAB are taken from the New American Bible, revised edition Copyright 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

  White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2020

  Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-5223-0301-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This one is for Bean, whose encouragement came when I needed it.

  I love ya, man.

  Iz

  Prologue

  March 1767

  Archer Hall, Northumberland County, Virginia

  “Dandelion.” Field Archer twisted the stem of the blow-ball between his fingers. “From the French, dent de lion. Literally, ‘lion’s tooth.’”

  Delany Button hopped up from where she’d sat making a daisy chain of dandelions to face him in the field dotted with yellow blooms. Her breath caught in her throat when he looked into her eyes. This was how it would be when she walked in holding his arm following the minister on her wedding day.

  She would wear a gown of silver silk. He wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her then. Papa said she had Mama’s coloring and that silver was just the thing for her auburn hair and gray eyes. Fifteen was still a bit young for marriage, but she’d heard of a girl, just last week, who married at fourteen.

  He blew the seed-ball.

  She breathed in the warmth of his breath. Filaments landed on her eyelashes causing her to snap her eyes shut. She drifted them open to see him turn and blow the rest into the field around them.

  “Ingenious,” he said. “The seeds fly on the wind. They land, take root in the soil…” Field continued to expound on the virtues of dandelions as they walked toward the house. He loved farming. He could talk for hours about the plants they grew and why they grew them.

  And when she came for her biannual visits, Delany was always glad to listen. She hadn’t heard the rest of today’s lesson for the vision of what it would be like to be in his arms.

  Perhaps tonight, at the party, she would find out. Mrs. Archer said there would be dancing and that she might attend. Field’s sister, Amity, had loaned her a gown of real pink silk.

  ~*~

  The transformed dining room gleamed. Tables had been removed, chairs lined the walls. Dozens of candles filled the room with the soft light of romance. Cool breezes from the Potomac salted the magnolia-spiced air, sailing in through large open windows on both ends of the hall, mingling with the scent of freshly polished wooden floors.

  Delany shivered. A dance. Real silk. Dreams really did come true.

  Dancers assembled in the center eager to begin.

  Others chatted merrily in groups.

  Across the room, Field stood with his friend, Simon Morgan, smiling and laughing. Belonging.

  Sweaty palms skidded down the cool pink silk when she attempted to smooth her skirts. She could almost forget she was indentured. Her father had promised that these few years would set them up for life. Once their time was finished, he would be a gentleman farmer, and she would be his daughter. Three whole years before she was free.

  Would Field want to marry her then?

  “Come on, silly.” Amity pulled her by the elbow into the room. The two skirted the dancers to find empty chairs on the wall near the end of the line. Amity took the seat that gave her the best view of Simon Morgan which left Delany with her back to Field.

  The band finished; the dancers dispersed to the sidelines. New couples formed and headed back toward the center.

  “I see your sister and her friend are free.” Simon’s low voice carried under the giggling din.

  Delany’s heart skipped in anticipation.

  Amity‘s smile radiated expectation.

  “You go right ahead,” Field rejoined. “Her ‘friend,’ as you call her, is just a servant. She’s indentured to the merchant, Fleet, from Norfolk. I assume Mama allowed her to come for her improvement.”

  Delany’s stomach clenched.

  Within an instant, Simon Morgan stood in front of Amity, offering her his hand. Dizzy and frozen in place, Delany watched Amity place her hand in his and glide toward the dancers as the chords of the next dance began. She took deep breath and rose from her seat. She took careful steps not to disturb any of the real guests and made her way softly to her room.

  1

  Circular Letter from the Earl of Dartmouth to the Governours of the Colonies

  Whitehall, October 19, 1774

  Sir:

  His Majesty having thought fit by his Order in Council this day to prohibit the exportation from Great Britain of Gunpowder, or any sort of Arms or Ammunition, I herewith enclose to you a copy of the order; and it is His Majesty’s command that you do take the most effectual measures for arresting, detaining, and securing any Gunpowder, or any sort of Arms or Ammunition which may be attempted to be imported into the Province under your Government, unless the master of the ship having such Military Stores on board shall produce a license from his Majesty or the Privy Council for the exportation of the same from some of the Ports of this Kingdom.

  I am, Sir, your most o
bedient humble servant,

  DARTMOUTH

  30 September 1775

  Borough of Norfolk, Virginia

  With a startled swipe of her arm, Delany Fleet brushed Noah’s animals to the floor. Still grasping the tiny wooden giraffe from the set she’d been arranging, she hurried toward the door of her shop and the sound of the drum.

  Outside, fifteen British soldiers marched up the narrow, mud-caked street. Bayonets glinted in the early afternoon sun. Redcoats crisp against white lapels. Black boots marched in cadence with the drum.

  Her heart thumped with the beat. Behind them, in the harbor, the fourteen-gun sloop-of-war, Otter, leveled its barrels at the borough.

  People streamed out of their shops and houses to witness the spectacle.

  Delany had grown accustomed to the sight of soldiers making a nuisance of themselves around Norfolk, but this formal display of British military strength took her breath away. It was Lord Dunmore’s latest ploy to control the “rebellious” Virginia colony. If only all this unrest would go away. She’d worked too hard to lose everything in a game of politics in which she had no part.

  The soldiers marched two abreast, a wall of hewed stone. The men towered above her own sixty-inch height, faces wiped of all expression.

  Their power stirred in her rebellious emotions she thought dead with her late husband, Tom. The spell broke when her nephew, Ben, arrived at her side. She pulled him close. At thirteen, Ben itched to join the militia. This display wouldn’t help matters. Forgetting the open shop, she and Ben followed the crowd as the column made a turn onto Main Street and arrived at the Virginia Gazette.

  The drum stopped.

  The wall broke into parts and entered the small building. The sounds of wood scraping and splintering, men yelling, and boxes crashing to the floor burst into the street. The crowd, with backward glances at the wharf, resisted only in murmurs.

  Delany stood mesmerized. A white-hot spot of indignation began to build in the very core of her being. How would John feed his family? Who would be next?

  “The shop!” Delany’s heart nearly stopped when she remembered the unlocked door, “Ben, run. I left the shop open.” People from all over the world washed up on Norfolk’s shores. The neighbors wouldn’t rob her, but who knew all their neighbors in a seaport?

  Ben took off running.

  Short, scruffy Josiah Dean beat the drum to assemble and call the militia to action.

  Delany searched the crowd for signs of the militia. No one answered the call. Where were they?

  A hundred people watched as the wall reformed. This time they did not march as their arms were full of John’s property: press types, ink pots, paper, and components of the press itself. Frank Cumming and Joseph Smith, bookbinder and journeyman, stumbled in their midst when pushed and prodded by armed guards.

  Delany headed back toward her shop and Ben, continuously searching the crowd for any sign of resistance.

  Josiah’s drum continued to call.

  The soldiers climbed into the skiff waiting to take them back to the ship. Once aboard, they shouted huzzah three times and rowed away from the borough.

  A shiver of anger shook Delany as she re-entered Fleet’s Toy and Curiosities Shop. A quick glance at the shelves and windows assured her of no disturbance save her own scattering of Noah’s animals.

  “Did the militia come?” Ben pressed against the window glass as the dispersing crowd passed by.

  “No. Frightened by the Otter’s guns, no doubt. That was Josiah Dean you heard on the drum.”

  “They better not come here.” He mimicked shooting his rifle. “I’ll kill them.”

  “No. You. Won’t. And if you keep talking like that, I’ll have to take you back to your papa.”

  His arms flopped down to his sides. “Aunt Delany, we can’t just let them come in here.” Ben looked around the shop. “Papa would want me to defend you.”

  “Benjamin Fleet.” She gave him the stern look that always shut him up. “Enough.”

  He turned back to the window.

  “Have you finished your sums?”

  Without answering, he left the window and headed to his desk in the back room.

  Swallowing her anger, she bent down to pick up Noah’s animals. Inspecting each for damage, she replaced them gently on the display shelf. It had taken her days to persuade Ann Archer to let her sell the toys. She smiled at the memory of the gentle lady.

  This was her shop. Her future depended on the income she earned from the toys and other items she carefully chose to stock. Soon, she would have enough saved to leave Norfolk’s muddy, congested streets for the country. If only Lord Dunmore would hold off for another year. The house on her new farm in Northumberland County would be finished, and she would be safe. Her own land. A home that was truly her own, where she’d never been a servant. A place that no one could take from her. A place from which no one could take her. Now that was something that would make Papa proud.

  The door opened, and Sarah Harrison entered. A few minutes later, Nanny Settle arrived, followed by Lucy Spitler. All three members of the prayer group assembled at the table in the back room. Delany picked up her Bible from under the counter and joined them.

  Once seated, with Ben stationed by the doorway, Sarah opened with a short prayer and read from Matthew chapter eighteen. Afterward each had an opportunity to pray. Nanny Settle prayed for John Holt’s family. Lucy Spitler prayed for Norfolk and the colony. Sarah Harrison prayed for the soldiers. Ben prayed for the militia to be “brave and fight like men.” Silence stretched thin as they waited for Delany.

  Sarah was right; they needed to pray for both sides. It was never clear to her which side the Lord was on, and as He was the Lord of individuals, she had resolved to keep as neutral as possible. That had changed yesterday when a musket had been fired into Norfolk from another of Lord Dunmore’s four sloops-of-war, the King Fisher. Lord Dunmore had declared it an accident.

  Today was not an accident.

  Delany seethed.

  “Delany, do you wish to pray?” Sarah prompted.

  “No,” Delany whispered.

  Sarah ended with a final prayer for wisdom.

  Ben hopped up and bolted out the back door with the final “Amen”.

  Three women, their eyes filled with concern, faced her.

  “Delany, are you feeling well?” Sarah asked.

  “I am so angry I don’t know how to pray.” Delany stood. “How dare they come here and steal John’s press?”

  “I’ve been on edge since that musket ball flew yesterday.” Nanny clutched the gloves in her lap.

  “I heard it hit Calvert’s warehouse,” Lucy added. Her blue eyes grew large as she looked around the table.

  “It fell short and landed in the water,” Delany replied. “But that is not the point—”

  Sarah, her voice calm, interrupted. “The good news is that no one was injured.”

  “Yes,” Delany continued, “but I’ve got to do something. I can’t just sit here and let them take everything.” The militia at Kemp’s Landing was the only option. She would go to Kemp’s Landing. Lord knew what she could do to help.

  “Mr. Spitler says we are to remove to North Carolina immediately upon my return this afternoon. Our effects are already loaded onto the wagons.” Lucy stood up and prepared to leave.

  Nanny reached out and took Lucy’s hands in her own. “Mr. Settle says we will leave also. That shot yesterday was enough for him. He says his wigs will be as welcome in North Carolina as they are here.”

  “Perhaps we will know each other there?” Lucy trembled. Tears were close behind.

  Sarah reached out, and they all joined hands for the last time. “All will be well. We can pray from wherever we are, and we will write to each other.”

  If the mail gets through. Delany left it unsaid, but they all knew the realities of the current occupation of Norfolk by its royal governor.

  “Yes,” they chorused together as they tearfully a
greed. The ladies walked to the front of the shop, and Nanny and Lucy left together.

  Delany still held the door latch when Sarah turned to face her.

  “That just leaves us.”

  “Same time tomorrow?”

  Sarah smiled. “Yes.”

  Delany swung back into her shop looking for something to punch and rushed right into Field Archer’s chest. At once surrounded by strong arms and a strong need to bathe, Delany forgot to breathe.

  “Aunt Delany,” Ben laughed, “Mr. Archer is here to see you.”

  “So I see, Ben.” She looked up into his twinkling brown eyes and stepped back a proper distance. Of course his height had not changed, but he had filled out. His chest was broad and solid. She pulled her hands back to her chest before she let them slide over to his shoulders. It was Field Archer. He was right here in her shop.

  “Mrs. Fleet.” His baritone strummed a girlish cord of humiliation that she thought long gone.

  Before she could respond, the door opened again.

  “Well, Mrs. Fleet, that’ll show them, won’t it?” John Crawley’s fat face was slick with glee. His small black eyes gave her the usual once over that made her feel exposed. She squelched a shudder and moved behind the counter.

  Field turned his back to them and moved toward the toy shelves.

  “The association will back down now.” Crawley wiped his hands down the front of his brown frock coat. “It won’t be long before we can get our ships out of here. We are saved, Mrs. Fleet.”

  “What does his lordship want with a printing press?”

  “To silence the dirty-shirts.” He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his coat. “No voice. No followers.”

  “It remains to be seen, Mr. Crawley, what the militia will do.”

  “We just saw what those yellow-bellies will do.” He bent forward over the counter, enough that she could smell his luncheon ale. “It will all be over soon, and we can get back to business.”

  “Was there something you needed, Mr. Crawley?” Delany stepped back from the counter and took a glance at Field hoping for an interruption. Seeing only his back, she gazed at the shelf beneath. A new box of wax inserts for missing teeth caught her eye. “Some plumpers for Mrs. Crawley, perhaps?”