By the time Drew and Josh arrived with the new men, Mary had prepared a hearty vegetable soup with enough corn pone for all. The men servants were weak, filthy, and hungry. They partook of their meal in the clearing, then deposited the empty trenchers they shared in the pails by the door.
Constance watched as, by degrees, they filed in front of the cottage and faced Drew, awaiting his instructions. Josh stood at Drew’s left, while she and Sally were instructed to stand behind him and to his right. Mary picked up the pails of dirty dishes and headed to the creek.
Fetid shirts and britches hung on the men like rags on a cord. None wore shoes. Their newly shorn hair stuck in odd angles from their heads, while their grim faces displayed pallid complexions beneath a night’s growth of whiskers.
She recognized none of them. Her thoughts had been of Uncle Skelly on the trip over and she had taken little notice of the other men during her brief jaunts to the upper deck.
“Eight of you are to serve a seven-year term,” Drew started, “two a fourteen-year term as per your contracts. For the most part, we will be harvesting tobacco. I also have plans to build a three-level house come November.
“I will clothe and feed you well and, for now, you will sleep in the tobacco barn. When the big house is built, you may have this cottage as your living quarters.”
He clasped his hands behind his back, his shadow stretching beside him in the morning light. “At the end of your terms, each of you will receive an acre of land along with corn and new clothing. I will show you your land tomorrow. If you wish to work it on your free day, you may do so. Good behavior and hard work will be the price of seeds and tools for your land.”
Constance looked from one of the new men to another, noting their guarded expressions. And no wonder. Drew’s manner was in sharp contrast to that of the ship captain’s. They had received nothing but barking orders and immediate retribution on the ship. To now have the lure of owning land dangled before them must be a bit suspect. She tilted her head, guessing it would take a while for them to accept their master’s word as truth.
“Whatever price your crop brings will be yours to keep. I will hold your monies in an account with your name. If you want to save it, you may have the whole of it come the end of your term. If you want to use it to purchase supplies or sundries, you may give me the list and I will purchase them for you.”
He took to pacing in front of the men. “You will not be working in the fields alone. I will be there working beside you. Any man who works harder than I will be given a bonus at the end of the season.”
He stopped. The trees whispered. The hens clucked. The men kept their focus fastened to him. “I have plans for a great plantation. You are coming in at the best possible time. If you perform your tasks well and efficiently, you will act as leaders for the next group of men I purchase. Are there any questions?”
The men were silent.
He strode back to his brother. “You have already met my brother, Master Joshua, on the Randolph. He is my factor and will be leaving for England with the ship.”
Moving to stand behind Constance and Sally, he placed one hand on Sally’s shoulder and rested his other on Constance’s waist. “This is your mistress, along with my sister, Miss Sally. Members of my family and household are to be treated with the utmost respect.”
Mistress. He may have agreed to an in-name-only marriage, but no one else would suspect it as such. For he had not hesitated in the introduction of her as his wife and even placed a possessive hand to her back. She kept her expression neutral.
He took several steps forward and spread his feet. “If it is escape you have in mind, let me assure you, I will track you down. The punishment for attempted escape in Virginia is thirty-nine lashes of the whip. Have no doubt that I will catch you and administer them. Personally.”
The men said nothing.
He relaxed his stance. “This morning you will worm and weed the fields. This afternoon, you will help as needed around the clearing with any light work Mistress O’Connor or my servant, Miss Mary, asks of you, but you will stop before the sun sets. You are all in need of rest and good food. I will see you have it before I expect you to put in a full day’s work. Any questions?”
Again there were none.
“Fabric with which to clothe you should be arriving in port in about two weeks. Until then, I fear you must make do with what you have.” He adjusted his hat. “Let us away to the creek where you can wash, then we will head to the fields.”
As promised, Drew worked the men throughout the rest of the morning, then had them do light chores around the cottage. Though they were hesitant to speak freely, he hoped a sense of camaraderie would soon form. After a sumptuous evening meal, they could barely move, so, disregarding the sun still perched in the sky, Drew allowed them to retire.
Lighting his pipe, he then helped Constance carry the dishes to the creek for their washing, early evening shadows trailing behind them as they walked. He carried the heavy pots filled with noggins, while she held a pile of trenchers.
“What’s that?” she asked, indicating a flowering tree covered with creamy globular blooms in a setting of huge glossy leaves.
“A magnolia.”
“Lovely. And there are so many of them.” She inhaled deeply. “Umm.” Setting down her load, she moved to the tree, breaking off a flower and pressing it to her nose.
The rich fragrant perfume of the magnolia drifted to him. He took a deep breath, then surveyed his land, trying to see it through her eyes. Thinking back to the three years he’d spent at Cambridge University, he recalled what few trees they’d had abroad. Here, there was enough wood to supply all of England and more.
“How did the men do?” she asked.
He hesitated a moment. “In the fields?”
“Yes.”
“Surprisingly well. They seem to have reconciled themselves to their stay here and give every indication of turning into fine workers. I don’t think any of them will run.”
“No?”
He smiled. “Well, they thought about it when I told them we would wash every day. Still, I don’t think any will try to escape. Josh has a great knack for discerning a person’s character. It appears his instinct didn’t fail him. The men he advised me to purchase were exactly what I needed.”
“That’s why he was on the transport ship?”
He studied her for a moment. “You saw him?”
She nodded. “He took pains to smuggle as much food and drink to Mary as he could.”
“Um. He did the same for our men. It has made their adjustment to me and the farm much easier.”
She fingered one of the creamy petals cupped in her palm. “Did he smuggle food only to those particular men?”
He frowned. What prompted that question? “There was one other man he had chosen, but who died on the passage over.”
She slowly lifted her gaze. “Who?”
He shrugged. “I know not. Why?”
Taking a deep breath, she laid the flower on top of her stack of dishes, then picked them up. “My uncle was on that ship.”
“Ah, yes. The uncle.”
She stiffened at his sarcasm and he felt a pang of regret. Regardless of whether she had told a falsehood, he should’ve kept to his own counsel until he knew for certain.
Her solemn gaze roamed over another magnolia tree.
Removing the pipe from his mouth, he readjusted the hat on his head. “I’m sorry.”
She bit her lip. “So am I,” she whispered.
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
When they reached the creek, he set the pots on the bank as a feeling of contentment flowed through him. The closing of the day was upon them, and despite the disastrous morning with the council, things were going well. It appeared his plans for a plantation would still bear fruit.
Propping himself against a birch tree, he placed the pipe in his mouth, inhaled deeply, and blew a series of smoke rings above his head. His prac
ticed eye scanned the water’s edge looking for the animals that met there to feed and hunt. The busy crossroads joining the creek and forest lay unusually still, as if sensing a human presence. Picking up a rock, he skipped it across the water. The ripples disrupted the glistening surface of the creek as the sun began its final descent in the west.
He turned to watch Constance clean the trenchers. She sat perched on the bank, her rounded eyes glued to him.
“What?” he asked.
“Aren’t you going to help me?”
“With what?”
“These dishes.”
He snorted. “Have you taken leave of your senses? I’ve already carried the pots down here for you.”
“You mean I’m ordinarily expected to carry them myself?”
“Of course. My sister Nellie did it all the time. I only got in the habit of it when Grandma took over.”
“So you carried the pots for your grandmother, then sat against that tree and watched her cleanse them?”
He frowned. “This is one of my favorite times of day and your screeching is chafing my ears. Please cease.”
Her lips parted. His eyes were inexplicably drawn to them. Their sweet taste, along with the incredible softness of her appalling hair, reared itself in front of him. Clamping down on his pipe, he inhaled too quickly and began coughing.
She dropped the trencher in her hands and rushed over to whack him on the back. He jumped up and scrambled to the creek, but the trencher was already floating away. Seeing no other alternative, he splashed in after it, still coughing.
He made it back to the bank, wet, still gasping for air. With eyes watering, he fell to his knees.
“Smoking is really a nasty habit,” she said, pounding him on the back several more times.
“You dropped the trencher,” he wheezed.
“Yes. And I truly appreciate your heroic effort in fetching it. Thank you.”
He took a deep breath. She reached out to whack him. He grabbed her wrist and held it loosely within his grasp.
“Do not hit me again.”
Her eyes rounded. “I wasn’t hitting you. I was assisting you in your breathing.”
“Constance, I have no food caught in my throat. What are you trying to knock out? The smoke?”
She bit her lower lip. “Oh. Your pardon.”
He released her wrist. “You dropped the trencher.”
“You said that already, and I thanked you quite prettily for retrieving it.”
“Do not ever drop a trencher. We’ve only a few as it is.”
“Why do you not use porcelain or silver?”
“I’ll not waste money on such as that. Trenchers do just fine.”
“Oh. Well, maybe you need to make some more while I cleanse the dishes instead of slouching against that tree.”
He handed her the trencher. “Clean it.”
She looked down at it. “I’d say this one has already been cleaned.”
“It’s been rinsed. Now it needs to be cleaned.”
“How?”
He frowned. “What do you mean, 'how’? You scrub it. How else?”
She looked around at the pots and other trenchers. “Scrub it with what?”
He tossed the trencher down. “With sand. Have you no power within your brain?”
She straightened. “I have never before scrubbed dishes.” Back rigid, she fell to her knees on the bank, grabbed a handful of muddy sand, and scrubbed.
He located his discarded pipe and again settled back against the tree.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she began. “To clean the dishes, you rub dirt on them. It’s absurd.“ She dunked the trencher into the water, then dunked it again.
He tightened his mouth. The tobacco in his pipe was wet. Turning it upside down, he tapped it out.
“How’s this?” she asked. “Is it clean, or do I need to get it dirty again?”
He looked over at her. She had pushed up the sleeves of her gown in order to wash. Her arms were covered with freckles.
“Run your hand across it,” he said. “If it’s grimy, rinse it some more. But you shouldn’t need to scrub it again.”
She pushed the curls away from her face with her shoulder, then ran her hand across the trencher. Frowning, she dunked it back into the water.
He sighed, looked at the stack of dirty trenchers, then the sun lowering in the horizon. They were going to be here all night.
Pulling away from the tree, he grabbed a trencher and knelt beside her. When he finished, she snatched it from him and ran her fingers over it.
“It’s grimy,” she said and handed it back to him.
He looked at her with disbelief. “It’s perfect.”
Slowly, a smile crept onto her face. “Easy, now. I was merely jesting.”
Jerking the trencher back, he dropped it to the side and started on another. The sloshing of the trenchers continued as they worked in companionable silence. In the distance, a woodpecker tapped out a staccato beat while a persistent dragonfly patrolled the shoreline, briefly lighting on the old raft before resuming his restless flight.
Drew had cleaned five noggins, two trenchers, and both pots before she’d finished her fourth trencher. Grabbing it from her, he proceeded to finish the last one. Rolling down her sleeves, she stood and watched.
“Well,” Josh said, “isn’t this a pretty picture.”
Dropping the trencher in the creek, Drew jumped up and whirled around.
Constance quickly reached in and retrieved it, shook the water off, and handed it to him. “Do not ever drop a trencher. We’ve only a few as it is.”
He ignored her. “What do you want, Josh?”
Josh eyed Drew’s sodden breeches but said nothing of it. “I came to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye?”
He nodded. “We’re going to Nellie’s. I need to say good-bye to her and Grandma. I’ll leave from there in the morning.”
“We’re going to Nellie’s? Who’s we?” Drew asked.
“Mary, Sally, and I.”
“Why are Mary and Sally going?”
“Because.” He darted a glance at Constance.
Drew frowned. “Because, why?”
“Because it’s your wedding night, you beetle-headed knave,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Why do you think?”
Drew reddened. “It’s not necessary.”
Josh lifted an eyebrow.
Drew grabbed Josh’s arm and propelled him several yards down the path, well out of Constance’s hearing. Still, Drew waited to speak until she’d turned and began stacking the clean noggins inside the pots.
“We’re not to have a real marriage, if you will.”
“What are you talking about?”
Drew lifted his hat and settled it back on his head again. “I’m merely providing Constance with the protection of my name to satisfy the council. When her father returns, she plans to have the marriage terminated.”
“On what grounds?” Josh asked, obviously appalled.
“On the grounds that she was forced into marriage and on the grounds that the marriage hasn’t been consummated.”
Slapping Drew on the back, Josh laughed. “You gorbelly. I almost believed you for a moment.”
“I’m deadly serious.”
Josh paused. “No. Surely you jest. Drew, look at her. She appears to be endowed with all a woman should have and more. If you but bridle her and slip her some sweets, she’ll be eating from your hand long before I return.”
“You overstep yourself, Josh. That is my bride you speak of.”
“A bride most begrudging, it seems.”
“Even so, you’ll hold a civil tongue in your head when you refer to her. I’ve given her my word on the annulment matter and that’s an end to it.”
“Given her your word? To abstain until I contact her father? But I won’t be back for eight extremely long months. Why would you do a fool thing like that?”
“Because she might not die before you r
eturn, and if she doesn’t, I do not want to contend with the possibility of offspring, much less a wife.”
“This was your idea?”
“Of course not. It was her condition for marrying me.”
A myriad of expressions crossed Josh’s face. “Sweet saints above. In the cottage... Is that what she wanted to discuss with you in the cottage before the ceremony?”
Drew blew a puff of air from his lungs. “Yes.”
“By trow, never have I heard of anything so absurd. ‘Tis folly for sure.”
“Probably, but leave Mary and Sally just the same. There is no need to take them.”
Josh shook his head. “Everyone in the colony knows it’s your wedding night. Regardless of what the situation is, you must at least pretend to have a real marriage or no telling what Emmett will stir the council to do.”
Drew drug his hand down his face. “A fie upon it.”
“Mary and Sally will go to Nellie’s with me tonight. I will send them back come morning.”
Drew sighed and extended his hand. “Best so.”
Josh grabbed his brother’s hand. Leaning forward, the men embraced.
“God speed, Josh, and be careful. I’d appreciate your returning to factor my tobacco. If you get caught in the cross fire of that war, it will really put a cramp in my plans.”
Josh chuckled and pulled away. “I’ll be home come spring.”
Drew nodded.
Josh strolled back down the path to Constance. “Take care of him for me, Lady Constance. I do not want to be a plantation owner. Being the second son suits me quite nicely.”
Standing, Constance smiled. “He’ll be fine. You have the letter I wrote for my father?”
He nodded. “I have it.”
“When do you leave?”
“On tomorrow’s tide.”
“So soon?”
“The seaworthy old girl’s anxious to go looking for cargo and has no reason to linger here.”
Constance clasped her hands together. “Well, then. Have a care.” He lifted her clasped hands to his lips and kissed them. “I’ll find him, Lady Constance.”
She took a deep breath. “Thank you. And Josh?”
“Yes?”