The Shopkeeper's Widow Page 9

  “It’s time to break the hemp,” Ruben finished.

  “Then I shall help you.”

  Ruben hung his head.

  “I need to be about, Ruben,” Mary pleaded. “I can’t just lay here all day when there is work to be done.” Mary looked to Delany when she entered. “Miss Delany, you tell him. I’m not used to all this laying about. I need to do something.”

  Delany took a deep breath. “We talked about this. We have to wait on God’s timing. Little Ruben can’t be born in the tobacco field on your way home.”

  “I feel much better now than I did this morning. I feel like a new woman.” She swung her feet onto the floor.

  Ruben did not let go of her hand. “Mary.” His voice was soft. Delany almost didn’t catch it. She felt she should look away but couldn’t. Mary stopped moving. “Mary,” he said again. “Please.”

  Mary glowed then. Her entire body responded to the call of his heart. She slid her feet back under the covers, never taking her gaze from the face of her husband. “All right, then,” she said, “but bring me something to sew. I can’t lay here doing nothing.”

  Delany slipped from the room. She needed quiet to process what she had just seen. She sat on her bed in front of the window. The reds and yellows of the maple were reminiscent of the straw-colored hemp that would be worked in the next days. The process of her life and marriage had been no different from the processing of hemp.

  Her father had loved her, but Tom had not. In fairness, she did not love Tom. They came together because it suited Tom. Even Samuel and Molly had not shown her the raw scene she had just witnessed between Ruben and Mary. How had she missed the powerful thing that went on between two people who truly loved each other?

  Longing swirled with the sadness that grew in her heart. She would never experience what Mary and Ruben had. The only man she ever loved thought of her as nothing but a servant. She paced the room.

  But she loved Ben, and Ben loved her. She didn’t know her other nieces and nephews as well, but there was no doubt that she would love them just as she loved Ben. How could she not? She loved Lucy, and Lucy loved her. The brown depth of sadness began to lighten. Perhaps that was the answer. After they delivered their cargo to Williamsburg, Field Archer would be gone forever. Rather than remove to Northumberland where she knew not a soul, she could settle here and love and be loved by her nieces and nephews.

  Perhaps Sarah was right. Maybe Isaac needed a wife. She didn’t love Isaac any more than she had loved Tom. But he was good man, and she did love Lucy. She would just have to wait and see on that score, but the first part of her plan was sound. She would sell the estate in Northumberland and move to be with her family. The smoky longing that had constricted her heart relieved its squeeze, and she felt as if she could go out and face the others once again.

  13

  Dinner at the Fleet farm was always a boisterous occasion. Tonight was no different. The family, interspersed with their guests, ate their fill of roasted pork, sides of turnips floating in butter, cabbage, and corn fritters.

  Field seemed to be in his element as he joined in the clamor without reservation. A small sad string tugged at Delany’s heart. He must miss his home. His family was even larger and plenty rowdy around the dinner table as she recalled.

  “So what do you say, Delany? Shall we have goose or turkey for Christmas this year?” Sam’s eyes sparkled with amusement. She knew he didn’t care. He found his joy in his Savior and his family. She glanced across at Molly, who mirrored Sam’s merriment.

  “Goose. I like traditional things.”

  “Times change, Miss Delany,” Isaac teased.

  “Times do change, Mr. Harrison, but we help keep our values by preserving some traditions.”

  “Food. Food will help keep our values?” Isaac laughed.

  Delany felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Feasting. That preserves the values. I just like goose for Christmas.”

  Isaac smiled back at her, his countenance warm and inviting. “Good save.”

  She nodded her response and looked down the table for a safe place to rest her eyes. Field had crossed brows. She didn’t know what upset him, but she was glad it couldn’t have anything to do with her. She was all the way at the other end of the table.

  In the parlor after dinner, the younger children formed a ring around Lucy Harrison and Susan to admire the lavender riding habit Susan wore to dinner. Annette, nine, and Mary Ann, seven, their own Archer creations in hand, clearly coveted the latest in doll fashion. David, the eldest at fifteen, sat opposite his brother, Ben, at a game of chess. Margaret, eleven, chose a spot near her mother with her needle and cloth. Three-year-old Christopher presented himself to Delany with outstretched arms.

  “Up.”

  Delany lifted him into her lap and gave him a squeeze. Her heart swelled with tenderness. Yes, there was much to be said for being an aunt who was loved.

  “Aunt Delany, did you bring us a present, too?” Mary Ann asked.

  Annette grabbed her arm. “Mary Ann, you don’t ask things like that.”

  Delany smiled at them both. “Of course I did. Come with me.”

  Six pairs of wide eyes focused on her. “All of us?”

  She laughed. “Just the girls. I’ll bring back the boys’ presents.”

  “May I come, too?” Lucy piped in.

  Delany looked to Isaac, who nodded his assent with a wide grin. “Of course you can.” It was so close to Christmas Delany brought extra presents, and she was glad she did. The tension of the last weeks in Norfolk were finally loosening. It felt like a holiday.

  The wonder in the eyes of the children and the laughter that erupted at odd times added to the joy as her body relaxed. She could even keep Field Archer in perspective here on her own turf. Why this felt like her turf instead of her own house was still a mystery.

  The girls bounded into the room behind her and climbed up on the bed.

  Delany dug down into her trunk and produced three more cloth wrappers. She had labeled them by ribbon color: blue for Margaret, red for Annette, and yellow for Mary Ann.

  Two wooden boxes of map dissections, one of England and Wales, the other of Scotland, were for the older boys. A third held a coach and six for Christopher.

  ~*~

  For Field, the room cooled when Delany left it.

  “She never forgets the children.” Molly smiled at Sarah and turned toward Field. “I am certain that every girl child within her reach has one of your mother’s dolls. They are treasured around here, I can tell you.”

  “My mother will be gratified to hear it.”

  “When did she start making dolls?”

  “I believe she started when she was but a girl. My father told us that she tore many a pocket keeping her carving knife secreted for use at any time.”

  Molly and Sarah laughed.

  “I bet she became a master of the darning stitch.” Sarah focused back on the sock she was stitching.

  Field laughed. “I wouldn’t know about that. I can vouch for her ability to mend anything.”

  The ladies smiled with a nod and returned to their work. Silence embraced the room.

  This whole room was like his family on a typical after dinner gathering. His mother would sit in her chair working. Sometimes it was a doll or a Nativity. Sometimes it was mending. His father would read or play his violin. Their children, his brothers and sisters, were seldom quiet. Of course, the youngest in this house were upstairs with Delany. When they returned with their restless noise, the home would more closely resemble his own.

  Field’s contentment deepened as he sat next to the fire. It was as close to the feeling he had at home as he had gotten in the last four years. Four years. He would never do that again. It was too long to be gone from hearth and family. They had written, of course, but he still felt detached from them. As the eldest of seventeen, some of his youngest siblings had barely been in short pants when he’d left. He hoped he’d recognize them and that they would r
ecognize him.

  The closest to him was Amity. Still unmarried, Amity lived at home. Her letters had been filled with dances and parties but no suitors. It puzzled him. At twenty-seven, she should have been married and have at least one or two children by now. Perhaps she, too, was holding out for love. It had never occurred to him before that their parents’ example of love and affection in marriage could be a hindrance to their children’s happiness.

  He had been fifteen when he’d charged into his father’s library and caught his mother on his father’s lap in a secluded window seat. His mother had tried to hop out of his father’s lap and compromising position, but his father’s arms held her there.

  “What can we do for you, Field?” His mother actually giggled.

  He had forgotten what he came for and turned to escape. Neither of them called to stop him. He was still waiting for the woman who would love him like that, who would conspire with him and giggle.

  If he’d been willing to settle for someone with the proper credentials and skills, he’d have been married years ago. Even Horsey Hester would fit that bill. Was Amity holding out, too?

  The girls ran into the room before Delany, clamoring for their mother’s attention. Each was showing their new doll dresses and, with the exception of the eldest, asking for help to change the dress of the dolls. Lucy Harrison climbed up in her grandmother’s lap and rested her head. As the girls arrived, Christopher ran out the door.

  Delany came in carrying three boxes in one hand with Christopher on her hip.

  Field stood, but Isaac beat him to her side.

  “Let me,” Isaac said relieving her of the boxes.

  “Thank you.” Delany bent down to place Christopher on the floor and sat on a low stool next to him.

  Isaac handed the boxes to her with a smile that she returned, much too gladly for Field’s liking.

  Delany gave Christopher his box and helped him open it. The child’s eyes filled with glee. It was a fine set of coach and six. It recalled his own sets of coaches and soldiers and the happy hours he’d played with them.

  The map dissections made by Spilbury were some of the finest he’d seen. The mahogany wood still smelled of the polish used to bring it to a shine. The maps were the very latest. What fine choices Delany had made for the boys as well as the girls.

  Later, Field lay in bed staring out at the night. In two days’ time, he would work like a field hand breaking hemp. It had been years since he’d beaten the straw until it revealed its inner fibers. He took a deep breath. It would be good to stretch his muscles. He’d been inside too long.

  Delany’s bright smile brushed across his memory. She was relaxing, and no wonder. Norfolk, with its threat of fire and quartering troops, would strain anybody’s nerves. On her family’s protected ground, Delany blossomed. All through dinner, she’d laughed and teased as he’d not seen her do since she was a child at Archer Hall. The children delighted in her and she in them. Except for him, she’d engaged with all of those present including Isaac Harrison.

  Harrison would be a good match for her. He was close in age to Delany. She clearly liked him and doted on his daughter. They were well-suited in station also. Unlike himself, Isaac Harrison was a farmer, not a plantation owner. Delany would fit right in to Harrison’s world.

  Field’s own world was different. He had a plantation to run. There was the General Assembly—when the current crisis was over anyway. He had every expectation that he would succeed his father in civic duty as well as familial duties as head of the Archer household.

  Isaac Harrison didn’t have the same responsibilities; he didn’t need to travel in the same circles—places that a former servant would never fit in. All of this was logical. It was fact. It rankled.

  Was he starting to care for her? Surely not. She’d caught his eye, and that was all.

  He had not seen her equal in all his search for a wife. He had not been able to stop thinking of her since they had become reacquainted two weeks ago. He was almost prepared to forget the unsuitability of her former indentured servitude. On the issue of servants, he had not yet run into her like. Not only did her servants eat at her table, she was friends with former slaves. Her former slaves. At least one of them. It would never do.

  14

  “You shouldn’t go alone.” Samuel leaned against a sturdy bookshelf in his library while raking his fingers through his chestnut beard. “I’ve been so busy, I haven’t been out to the house in a couple of weeks.”

  “Really, Samuel. You know I can take care of myself.” Delany reached out her hand. “You have only to give me the key.”

  Samuel’s fingers toyed with his beard, the hefty key in his other hand. “I’m too busy to escort you today,” he spoke as if she hadn’t said a word. “I’ll speak to Archer.”

  Delany stepped forward and reached out her hand farther. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I’ll speak to him anyway,” He handed Delany the key as he passed by her to exit the room.

  Delany hurried up the stairs to retrieve her cloak, but before she could make it across the yard to the lane which led to Tom’s house, Field was at her heels, firelock in tow.

  “I was told you might need some company.”

  She threw him her most withering look. Hopefully, he would just go away. She didn’t want any memories of him in Tom’s house. She would fill it with the laughter of her nieces and nephews, not with tears over what might have been. It would be hard enough to say good-bye to him this last time. Despite all she’d done to guard herself, she still liked his company more than she cared to admit. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her widowhood bumping into his memory in her own house.

  “As I told Samuel, I can take care of myself.”

  “Mrs. Fleet, I have no desire to overstep your wishes, but it isn’t safe.”

  “Safe for whom, Mr. Archer?”

  “Well, me, of course.”

  She had to laugh. They continued to walk toward the lane.

  “Well, then, you should stay here where there are plenty of people about to protect you.”

  “Ahh, yes. Except, you see, this time, I am the one with the gun.” He grinned.

  She felt her face burn. She’d been in such a hurry to outrun Samuel and Field that she’d forgotten to bring her rifle.

  “I will concede that I forgot my gun,” she said with a nod.

  The road that led to Tom’s house was lined with trees in full fall glory.

  “It is a lovely day for a stroll. Might I ask where we are going?”

  “Tom’s house.” Delany pointed toward the bend in the road, “You can’t see it for the trees, but it’s just there past the curve in the road.”

  “I didn’t realize there was another house.”

  “Oh, yes. Tom’s father built two houses: one for each of his sons. He’d hoped to keep them close to home.”

  “It didn’t work.”

  “No. Tom couldn’t stand to be away from the city for more than a day or two. So Samuel has kept it for me. They use it for a guest house when theirs is full.”

  “So, not that often.”

  “Right.”

  Field stopped.

  “What is it?”

  “Sssh.” Field placed a finger across his lips. He looked in front and behind them. “I can’t see another soul on the road.”

  Delany smiled. It was true. There was no one, only the two of them. Just as when she’d followed him around as a girl. The sun-caught edges of his brown hair glowed red. His face relaxed into a look of appreciation. Only this time she wasn’t a girl, and the house they were about to visit was her own.

  “If I have my way, I will never go back to London,” Field stated and continued down the road.

  “Never seems like a long time for a planter such as yourself. I would think you would enjoy the society and the activities a large city like London has to offer.”

  He paused in front of her. They were close enough that she could reach her fingers into
the red glow and test its smoothness.

  “There is not one street in London, unless maybe in the deepest hours of the night, where one may walk and be alone. Certainly none so peaceful as this.” His amber-brown eyes shone with joy at his surroundings.

  Father God, give me the strength I need for when he goes home. I don’t know how I will face it again. “You have missed your home, I think,” she said.

  He stopped, brown eyes taking in her features. “More than I can tell.” His soft voice caressed her ear and sent gentle waves down to her heart. He was close enough to kiss her, dangerously close.

  Dangerous.

  She swung away from him and continued toward the bend in the road.

  The house came into view once they had passed the curve in the road. Set back from the road, it looked like an etching with a brick façade and symmetrical windows on either side of the front entrance. Long grass bent in the breeze. Samuel had taken good care of Tom’s house.

  Delany pushed the key into the lock. The tumblers fell, and she pushed the door open. Field followed her into the spacious hall. It was as she remembered. Honeyed wood lined the walls below the wainscoting; burgundy wallpaper rose to the ceiling. It appeared to be in good shape. Not so well looked after as if it was lived in, but it hadn’t gone to seed either.

  Empty. It was peaceful and quiet and empty. There was no ghost of Tom lingering in its shadows. Delany took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Peace entered her heart as it soared with thanksgiving. She could make it her own.

  She followed the hall past the staircase, through the large room at the back of the house to the back door. On the back porch, as she had instructed, stood her waterfall. The only interest she’d ever shown in the property was to add the waterfall. She hadn’t been back since Tom’s death, fearing something she couldn’t name. Now she knew her fear had been without foundation.

  “You are very quiet.” Field was close enough that she could smell the scent of leaves he carried with him. She turned to face him.