The Shopkeeper's Widow Page 4

  Delany chomped into the cake, causing it to crumble down her dress. “How can you say that when you just bristled at what George will allow?”

  “I don’t wish to leave my house. I love my son and daughter-in-law, but I like the freedom of living alone. But that’s not the same thing. You’re still a young woman. It’s not too late for you to have a family of your own.”

  “In order to have a family of my own, I would have to marry.”

  “Tom was not the man for you, Delany. But that doesn’t mean that God can’t send you a man who is the perfect match for you.”

  A picture of Field as he was when she was fifteen filled her memory. A teasing sparkle in his brown eyes. The wide smile that welcomed her presence.

  She’s just a servant.

  “Those days are gone, Sarah. I’m a rich widow, and I don’t need a husband.”

  “My son Isaac is still alone with his little Lucy. You love Lucy.”

  “Of course I love Lucy. But you know that Isaac and I are just friends.”

  “She just turned four.” Sarah’s smile warmed her face.

  “It’s not like you to be so forward.” Delany reached for the older woman’s hand. “Isaac won’t appreciate your matchmaking, let alone pairing him with me. I’m not what he needs.”

  “Oh, what does he know about it? I’m worried about him. It’s been three years since Polly died.”

  “He’ll find his way.” Delany returned Sarah’s hand with a reassuring squeeze.

  “I know you’re right. But what about you? What about children?”

  “What? People who will allow me to stay in my own home?” She laughed. “No, thank you. I have Ben.”

  “If you stay here, I won’t be alone.”

  Dismay wafted through Delany’s heart. She hadn’t given much thought to what it would mean to her friend if she left and joined the militia. If she could just have a few minutes alone, she could begin to plan and account for those very types of details.

  Returning Ben to Princess Anne took precedence over all else. Delany didn’t know what assistance she could offer the ragamuffin band of Minutemen. She just needed to do something.

  Field Archer’s problem offered the opportunity to do something more quickly than she’d had time to think. Ideas shot around her brain faster than she could capture them. First, she would have to inform Archer of her decision to help him. Then she would start on her list.

  Thunder rattled the window panes. Clouds let go the rain. A cold breeze blew through the cracks in the casements. The front door banged open. A quick glance confirmed the return of Archer and Ben. Boots scuffled up the stairs.

  “Sarah, I have to bring Ben home. Will you travel with me? After we drop him at his home, we could travel on to Pungo.”

  A resigned look on her face, Sarah said, “Of course I will.”

  ~*~

  “It must’ve dropped ten degrees in the last hour,” Field announced upon entering the drawing room, which had not grown dark enough for candles but murky enough to strain the eyes. He took a seat by the empty fireplace. Blank faces of the two ladies stared back at him. Mrs. Harrison went back to her knitting. Mrs. Fleet, ensconced at a cherry wood secretary with a stack of foolscap, dipped her quill in the ink pot and scratched across the page. He turned his gaze toward the windows and the storm coming down.

  Frustration chewed at his composure. The boxes must be removed from Mrs. Fleet’s warehouse, and they must be delivered to Williamsburg. The sooner the better, and before Lord Dunmore or one of his minions discovered he was the son of a member of the shadow government now running Virginia. He had no desire to return to England aboard one of His Lordship’s sloops-of-war.

  The difficulties surrounding this otherwise simple task confounded him. His father would never have sent him knowingly into danger; therefore, the situation was worse than when Reed Archer had sent the request. He’d confirmed Mrs. Fleet’s assessment when he and Ben had surveyed the harbor. It was infested with British sloops and tenders. Travel by boat was not possible without detection. Overland was the only option.

  The estimable Mrs. Pearse, owner of The King’s Arms, didn’t have any horses left to hire. So many people had left the borough that she retained only those horses she stabled.

  It seemed all he could do was wait. He stood and walked the length of the room.

  The only light in this gloom had been Delany’s nephew Ben. He’d turned out to be an informative guide. His devotion to his aunt was commendable.

  His aunt, on the other hand, was a conundrum. One minute she was an ardent patriot telling him how she was joining the militia and fight for freedom. The next minute, she was a wintery adversary blaming him for putting her family in danger. Did she not see helping him helped the militia? It was just plain unreasonable. But then again, he’d never found women to be reasonable creatures. He placed his hands on either side of the window.

  Water flowed in rivulets down the cobbles of the street.

  There was one good outcome from this unexpected detour: his search for a wife was taking on clarity. The ideal bride had been a bit vague before his re-acquaintance with Delany Fleet. A girl from home would be reasonable and follow his guidance—something the socialites he’d met in London would never do. He would be the master of his home, and his bride would help him. They would enjoy quiet evenings by a fireside discussing the latest farming techniques and the fascinating results of his experiments. Children puddled around their feet at night would walk beside him during the day learning as he had done from his father about Archer Hall.

  The clouds hung dark and distended with rain. They would have to light the candles soon. At this point, the day would not lighten again.

  “Mr. Archer, I would speak with you.” Mrs. Fleet’s voice cracked the silence in the room. He turned to see her gathering the sheets of foolscap. “If you have a moment.”

  No lightness in the serious gray eyes.

  “I am at your service, Mrs. Fleet.”

  She sat behind her desk in the library and motioned him to a chair placed before her. He sat down and crossed his legs and arms and placed one finger on his lips.

  “I’m not a schoolboy, Mrs. Fleet.”

  Her cheeks bloomed a cheery shade of rose. “And I am no longer a servant, Mr. Archer.” She straightened the foolscap. “This is my desk, and you are my guest. And we have business to discuss.” She fixed her gaze on him. “I’ve decided to help you.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Just how are you planning to do that?”

  “First, we travel together to Princess Anne to deliver Ben to his parents.” He caught her gaze. “We can leave your cargo at Fleets for a day while we deliver Sarah—Mrs. Harrison—to her son in Pungo.” A slight inclination of his head and she continued. “After that, we return to Fleet farm, and you go on to Archer Hall. I will come home.”

  “Pearse has no horses.”

  “Pearse had better still have my horses.”

  Relief surged through him like a stimulating brew. That was the answer. He’d wrongly assumed she’d hire horses when she needed them. Too bad he hadn’t thought to ask Ben. He stood. “It’s best if I go alone. I’ll tell Robert to prepare to leave in the morning.” He headed toward the door.

  “No.”

  “Surely, you can see the folly of so many people traveling with my boxes. Especially Ben.”

  “Surely, you can see the necessity of removing my nephew from Norfolk posthaste. And I am sure that you have ascertained that my horses are all I have to transport my nephew.” Rising behind her desk, she rested her fingertips on its shining surface. “I cannot leave the boxes here and bring Ben home and come back again due to the risk of them being found. I cannot risk his safety by leaving him here in favor of some inanimate objects.” She took a deep breath and sat down again. “There you are. I have no choice. I must remove Ben and your boxes at once. Together.”

  “That’s a lot of driving around with my boxes. How sure are
you that we’ll not get caught?”

  “That is your problem. I will provide credentials required by the committee to travel. You provide protection.”

  “I’ll be prepared to leave at first light.”

  She laughed, and the girl he’d teased resurfaced. He paused for a beat as he remembered why he used to tease her.

  “It will take me two days at least to prepare to leave. Can you be ready in two days?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Assuming the rain lets up. We aren’t going anywhere until the streets dry out.”

  5

  Dawn came late through the fog into Delany’s library window. Mary and Ruben would meet her shortly. With so many people in the house she surmised that meeting them early would ensure their privacy. They arrived with a tray of chocolate and three cups as she had instructed. Delany sat on the settee and offered two wing chairs for her guests.

  Ruben waited for Mary to sit before he sat clutching his hat in his hands.

  Delany poured chocolate.

  “I have some news that will change a great many things for us,” she said.

  Ruben wrung his hat.

  Mary slid closer to the edge of her chair.

  “Whatever it is, Miss Delany,” Ruben took Mary’s hand, “we’ll take care of you.”

  Mary shook her head in agreement.

  Delany’s heart was full. Oh, how she would miss them. They had worked beside her since Tom died, more companions than servants.

  “I believe the time has come to return Ben to his parents.” She folded her hands together in her lap. “My plan is to leave here as soon as I can. I would like you both to accompany me.”

  Their clasped hands tightened as they agreed with each other.

  Mary frowned, “Of course we will, Miss Delany. Wherever you go, we will go with you.”

  “I am so thankful to God for you both.” Delany’s eyes pricked with tears. She took a deep breath. “I have some papers here that I will give to you later after I have signed them before witnesses, but I wanted you to see them now.” She handed them to Ruben for inspection.

  Mary read over their clasped hands.

  “Miss Delany, we still have a year with you. You don’t need to do this,” Ruben said.

  Delany looked down at the well-polished floor.

  “Ruben Tabb, the Lord has made it plain to me that now is the time.” She looked directly into the honest man’s deep brown eyes. “Just think about what’s going on around us. I hear threats to burn Norfolk from one side or the other every day. We can’t keep our vulnerable ones here any longer.” She cast a glance at Mary; Ruben followed her gaze.

  Mary sat up straight. “Oh no. You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Raids have started,” Ruben said softly still looking at the papers in his hands. “I heard soldiers say they’re searching for gunpowder.”

  “I planned to do this when the baby came anyway.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Miss Delany.” The sun shone in Ruben’s face when he looked up again.

  Mary still looked concerned. “Who will take care of you, Miss Delany?”

  Delany took a deep breath. “I know it’s time to take Ben home and bring you home. I want to come back here. But whatever happens, I know that God will take care of me. He always does.”

  “Do you think they’ll confiscate the house?”

  Delany grew faint. “I hope not. If it burns, I lose everything. If it’s confiscated, I can try to fight it with Mr. Harris.” She looked out the window at the gray day. “I don’t know what else to do. We cannot know what the future will bring. I cannot keep Ben here. I cannot travel with him alone.” She raised her hands.

  Ruben nodded. “So be it.”

  Mary and Ruben left the room still holding hands.

  In the hallway where Ruben obviously thought he couldn’t be heard, he whispered to his wife, “We’re going home.”

  “Home,” echoed Mary.

  Home? Delany hadn’t thought of home in such a long time. The house she had shared with her father in London was nothing but a floor plan and vague swatches of color now. Since coming to the colony, she and her father had lived with the Fleets, sharing a room until it was no longer seemly. They occupied separate rooms after that. They’d not had a home to call their own. James Button died just after their new home had been built. Then she’d lived with Tom. Home was not a building. Home was with her father.

  Armed with her list and work basket containing the release papers for the Tabbs, Delany clattered through the rain in her pattens. A drizzly mist congealed moisture on everything. Even an umbrella couldn’t protect her from this kind of rain. She clutched her basket close to her chest to shield the papers from the dampness.

  The Tabbs were going home. Tom’s brother Samuel and his wife Molly were the only family Delany had left in Virginia. Samuel was a steady man without the cold arrogance of his sibling. Molly had always made her feel welcome. She could trust them. They would listen and help her decide what she needed to do next. Stay in Norfolk or move to Northumberland.

  Delany stood to lose her only income if Norfolk burned down. What she’d told Sarah was true. She had wealth, but it wouldn’t last forever. Ideally, the farm in Northumberland would start producing before she sold the shop and left Norfolk. Every day, threats of burning the borough made their way to her store. No one was surprised that Lord Dunmore would burn them out, but now their own militia had added their voice to the threat. The rumored motivations were said to be to keep the British from getting a foothold on Norfolk’s harbor and to punish the Tories. Outrage was her response. Did any of them think of the people involved with all this destruction they were planning? Fleet’s Toys had occupied the same space for the last seventy-five years. All could be gone in a spark. It made her shiver.

  The sight of the cheery little shop warmed away her cold, gloomy thoughts. She opened up the door to find Ann’s dolls on the top shelves still smiled a greeting. Tiny cups and saucers awaited tea. Noah’s animals still mingled freely outside their ark. Newfangled puzzles sat in their boxes waiting to show the way to new places.

  It was ten o’clock now. In an hour, she would walk down to see David Harris. Until then, she would pack up the most important parts of her inventory. Some she would take home; others, like Ann’s dolls, would go with her to Princess Anne.

  She was perched on a ladder reaching for a doll on the top shelf when the front doorbells jingled, and John Crawley entered.

  “Mrs. Fleet.” His tone dripped wantonness.

  Dear God, don’t let him touch me. She gripped the ladder tightly and climbed down quickly, before he could trap her.

  “Allow me,” his voice was closer now.

  Anger strengthened her resolve as the reality of what he must be thinking of her derrière swinging in his direction filtered into her mind. Her feet were on the floor before he could ask her again. She took a glance at the small timepiece pinned to the bodice of her dress. “Mr. Crawley, I must apologize. I have an appointment in exactly thirty minutes. What may I do to help you this morning?”

  “I have come to discuss a matter of some importance.”

  A chill gripped Delany’s heart, and she clasped her hands together. Not now. It had been coming for some time. She’d known that, but not now. She bustled over to stand next to the counter to provide space between them. Guilt embroidered the edges of her resolve. She did not wish to witness his embarrassment.

  “Mrs. Fleet,” Crawley paused to wipe his hands down the front of his coat, “may I call you Delany?” He closed his eyes and continued without her consent, “Delany, when my excellent friend Tom married you, a woman who had been indentured to his house, I cautioned him.” He opened his eyes and began to pace the room. “’Tom,’ I said, ‘don’t do it. You’ll be miserable.’” He took a deep breath and paused his pacing, “But it was I who was wrong.”

  Delany gripped the counter.

  “Yes, my d
ear Delany, it was I who was wrong. I watched your marriage. And after Tom died, we became friends.” He continued moving about wiping a finger here and there across her shelves. “It has been some time that I have been desirous of a wife. Now that a decent interval has passed since Tom’s death, I think it’s time.”

  Despite the forewarning, Delany’s heart sank.

  He moved toward her. “I have come to ask for your consent to be my wife, my dearest Delany Fleet.” He reached out to grasp her hand.

  Delany retracted to the farthest reach of her counter and took a deep breath. She had no wish to hurt him, but that didn’t change her feelings or her estimation of his character. The greed and mean-spiritedness she’d seen grow in him not only repulsed her, it frightened. The lecherous look in his eyes got worse every day. He coveted her store. He didn’t want her.

  “Mr. Crawley, I am sorry.” She faltered, “I have no wish to hurt you. You did come to my aid in a time of crisis.” She tried to look at him kindly.

  He smiled and nodded. Apparently, he hadn’t heard the first part of what she said.

  “I cannot marry you.”

  Crimson rose in his fat cheeks, and his dark eyes turned to rock. “It’s because of that Mr. Archer, isn’t it?” A lustful gleam now glowed in his dark eyes. “I saw how you hung on to him yesterday.”

  “My friendship with Mr. Archer’s family is none of your business.”

  He backed up from the counter and turned as if to leave then lurched around to face her again. “You don’t think that he will marry the likes of you, do you?” He laughed. “Gentry like him don’t come looking for wives among the servants.” Cold laughter rang again. “You’re naught but a servant and always will be. Despite this store and whatever trimmings you put on.” He waved his arm in front of her and stepped in close.

  She turned her head to deflect the stench of his breath.

  “You and I are the same type, Delany Fleet. We work for money.” His mouth widened to a broad grin. “He’s too good for the likes of you.” He grinned at her again before he turned and left.

  Delany waved her hands in front of her face to dispel the trailing smell John Crawley left in his wake. How could so young a man smell so dissipated? He was not much older than she was, about the same age as Field Archer. But what a difference. John had been very kind when Tom died, showing her how the ledgers worked and other necessities of running a store. He had changed in the last couple of years.