A Leap of Faith (The Hands of Time: Book 2) (8 page)

Valerie set aside her sewing and stood up, stretching.  Her back was aching a bit, and she was ready to take a walk, but first she’d stop by the kitchen and ask Cook for something to eat.  She was getting awfully hungry between lunch and dinner, and needed a little something to tide her over.  This pregnancy was different than the last one.  She wasn’t as tired and sleepy, but boy, was she hungry. 

The house was unusually quiet at this time of day since the children were playing outside.  Louisa was having a tea party with her doll on the terrace
, and Finn was probably setting one of his traps for rabbits and foxes.  He loved to hunt, and constantly begged Alec to take him shooting.  Valerie was always nervous when they went off together, fearing that they would run into a band of unfriendly Indians.  There had been plenty of outbreaks of violence between the Indians and the settlers, and two white men carrying guns might appear to be enough of a threat to provoke an attack. 

Valerie strolled into the kitchen
, settling herself on a bench.  “Hungry, Mrs. Whitfield?”  Cook inquired, already knowing the answer. 

“Famished.  Is there any more of that pie left?”

“I saved a nice, big piece especially for ye,” answered Cook with a smile.  “Shall I get it?”

“Yes, please.  I wonder if there is any milk left.”  Valerie desperately wanted a glass of cold milk with her pie. 

“I just used up the last of it a while ago.  If ye’ll wait a few minutes, I will run to the spring house and get some more.  I sent Cora to fetch me some milk earlier, but she must have gotten distracted.  That girl can be so scatterbrained sometimes.  I don’t know how she doesn’t forget her own name. And I have not seen Amelia since breakfast.”  Cook was already untying her apron, but Valerie stopped her. 

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Dolly.  I’ll go.  I can use the
exercise and the pie will still be here when I come back.”  Valerie took one last, longing look at the pie, and pushed away the plate, rising from the bench.  It would keep, and she really wanted that glass of milk. 

Valerie enjoyed the walk to the spring house,
strolling through lush grass that spread like a carpet under her feet.  The air was thick with the smells of summer, the hum of insects lulling the senses.  Somewhere in the woods a lark was singing its heart out, its serenade nearly drowned out by the gurgling of the creek that ran under the stone structure of the spring house.  All the milk products were kept in there.  It was the closest thing the seventeenth century had to a refrigeration system.  The cool spring water kept things fresh for a few days before they began to spoil. 

Valerie pushed open the door
, entering the dim interior, and allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom before spotting the can of milk.  Her belly prevented her from just bending down, so she got down on her knees to pull up the can.  It wasn’t until Valerie straightened up, that she noticed something in the corner behind some empty larger cans. 

Valerie gasped as she came closer.  She didn’t need to touch the girl to know she was dead.  Her eyes stared at the ceiling, wide open and unseeing;
her mouth open as if in surprise; a pool of congealed blood glistening under her head.  Valerie dropped the can of milk and ran toward the tobacco fields, calling for Alec.

Alec stood over the body, his face a mask of misery.  “She must have slipped on something and hit her head as she fell.  That is the only explanation I can conceive of.”

“Poor Cora.  She was so young, no more than sixteen.”  Valerie closed the girl’s eyes and looked away.  It was such a waste.  “We should bury her as soon as possible because of the heat.”

“I’ll get a few men to take her to the house.  We’ll have a funeral tomorrow.  I don’t think she had any family other than her sister.  I will speak to Amelia.  I don’t want you distressing yourself.”  Alec stood up and took Valerie by the arm, leading her out of the spring house.  Tears ran down her face as she followed him back to the house, mourning the sweet, young girl. 

“Why don’t you lie down for a while?  I’ll see to everything.”   Alec walked Valerie to their bedroom and pulled back the coverlet,
inviting her to sit down.  He got on his knees to remove her shoes and stockings, a worried expression on his face.  “Just rest a while.  I won’t let the children bother you.”

Valerie tried to rest, but she kept seeing Cora’s face frozen in death.  She had seen many people die since she’d left the modern world, but no one as young as Cora.  She had been so sweet and full of life, always smiling and bringing treats for the children.  Valerie had even suspected that Finn might have had a little crush on her, being only a few years younger.  Amelia would be devastated by the death of her younger sister.  They came over from England together, selling themselves as indentured servants, but only to someone who would take them on
as a pair.  Now Amelia would be all alone in the world. 

Valerie turned her head toward the door, watching the handle turn slowly
as the door opened just a crack, a curious face behind it.  “Mama, can I come in?”

“Of course, darling.  Come and lie down with me for a bit.  I could use some company
, and you’re just the person I was wishing for.” 

Louisa advanced into the room and climbed carefully onto the bed, snuggling next to her mother.  She put her ear to Valerie’s belly, listening intently.  “Can I say something to the baby?  Will he hear me?”

“Why are you so sure it’s a ‘he’?  Maybe it’s a little girl, cute as a button.” 

“No, it’s a boy.  I am sure of it.  What will you call him?  Will it be Alec?”  Louisa looked up at Valerie, obviously expecting an answer.

“I don’t know.  Why do you think we should call him Alec?”

“Because you named Finn after his father
, and you named me after your sister.  There is no one named after Daddy.  I think that’s kind of sad.”  Valerie leaned over and kissed her daughter on the forehead. 

“You are absolutely right.  We should name someone after Daddy, so he won’t be sad.  Now, what about you?   You seem sad.”  Valerie could see the unshed tears in Louisa’s eyes. 

“I liked Cora,” she whispered.  “I am sad that she is dead.  I don’t think Uncle Charles liked her very much.”

“Why do you say that?”  Valerie hadn
’t expected that, so she turned onto her side to better see Louisa’s face.

“I saw them
quarrelling in the woods behind the house last week.  Uncle Charles seemed very cross, and Cora was crying.”

“What were they
quarrelling about?”  What had the girl seen?

“I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were there for a long while.  I think I’ll go play now.  I’ll see you later, Mama.” 
Louisa gave Valerie a kiss and scooted off the bed, leaving her with her thoughts. 

The funeral was a somber affair, with Alec reading the service from the Bible to the mourners gathered around the grave.  The Whitfields had their own cemetery some distance away from the house, already home to Aunt Lottie and Uncle Thomas, who both died since Alec and Valerie arrived from England.  Cora was to be the third.  Amelia cried quietly as Alec spoke the words.  There were only a few people, since Cora worked at the house and didn’t really interact much with the field workers.  Charles stood off to the side, looking pale and miserable.  He kept toying with a button on his coat, his hand jerking nervously. 

Could he have done it?
Valerie couldn’t believe that Charles would kill anyone.  He was an enigma to her, but she couldn’t imagine that he would murder a young girl.  Charles was eleven when they came to Virginia, having lived with his aunt and uncle since his own parents died of the bloody flux.  He was a sweet boy, but Valerie consistently saw something furtive and underhanded in him.  He was always charming and polite, always quick with a compliment; but he didn’t seem sincere.  He disappeared from time to time, but she had no idea where he went or what he did, and she was reluctant to question Alec about it.  They shared a nice bond, which Alec cherished, Charles being the only sibling he had left.  There had been a lot of them at one point, but death claimed a few children in infancy, Rose ran away to a convent, and Finn died.  Now it was just Alec and Charles, and Alec wouldn’t let anything come between them. 

Alec finished reading with a heartfelt “Amen” and
closed the book before picking up a shovel.  The sound of dry earth hitting the pine coffin drew an agonized wail from Amelia, then everything was quiet as the men filled the yawning grave with dirt.  Louisa placed a bouquet of wildflowers on the freshly filled grave, slipping her hand into Amelia’s as they filed out of the cemetery in silence.  They would go back to the house, where Mrs. Dolly prepared some refreshments to serve as a wake for poor Cora, but no one was particularly hungry. 

Valerie took Alec’s arm and allowed him to lead her back to the house
; her mind still on Charles.  Should she say something to Alec?  After all, she had no idea what Louisa really saw, and to accuse Charles without any concrete evidence would surely cause a terrible rift between them.  He’d never done anything to arouse her suspicion, except for that morning when she saw him coming out of the study.  Maybe he was just looking for something.  He didn’t have anything in his hands when he left, so it didn’t seem like he took anything. 

“You are awfully quiet. 
Is there something on your mind?”  Alec gave her arm a squeeze, startling her out of her reverie. 

“I
’m all right.  It’s nothing.  Just grieving, that’s all.”

“
As am I.  She was a very special girl.”  Valerie looked up at Alec.  His comment surprised her.  He never seemed to notice Cora and to call her a ‘special girl’ seemed a little out of character.

Louisa finished her meal before walking up on deck to take a little exercise.  She hoped she wouldn’t run into Mr. Sheridan.  She had been giving him a wide berth since finding his wife’s letter, preferring to keep her distance.  It was easy enough during the day, but at night, when the ship was quiet and her mind unoccupied, thoughts of Christopher invaded her brain.  She missed his company and good humor, and the look in his eyes as she turned in his arms on the bridge still haunted her.  He had wanted her –- badly.  Almost as badly as she wanted him.  She found herself searching for him every time she came up on deck, hoping to catch him gazing at her.  Louisa wondered if he had ever been unfaithful to his wife.  He was a sailor after all, and that saying about a girl in every port probably wasn’t too far off the mark.  She had to admit that there was something honorable about him, but she barely knew the man, so it was probably just wishful thinking. 

Louisa looked around the deck, sensing tension among the sailors.  She looked up at the sky.  Clear and blue, so no storm was brewing.  Captain Fellow
es was looking at something on the horizon, his spy glass gripped tightly in his pudgy hands. Louisa followed the direction of his gaze.  She could just make out a ship.  It was hard to tell how big it was from a distance, but she was close enough to see the captain’s unease.  The captain said something to the first mate, who glanced in her direction, before replying quietly, his mouth tense, his eyes anxious.  What was going on?  As far as she knew England was not at war with anyone, so it couldn’t be an enemy ship. 

Louisa turned to Mrs. Collins, who was huffing and puffing after climbing the stairs.  The older woman was white to the roots of her hair, her hands shaking with nerves. 

“Mrs. Collins, what’s happening?”  Louisa could see Mr. Collins going up to speak to the captain.  He seemed awfully agitated, gesturing toward the ship in the distance. 

Mrs. Collins put her hand on her ample bosom, trying to catch her breath.  “It appears to be a pirate ship,
Mistress Jamison.  They’ll know more once the ship gets close enough to see its colors.”

“Pirates?!”  She hadn’t read anything about pirates.  Her idea of pirates was Johnny Depp sashaying on the deck of the
Black Pearl
, slurring his words from too much rum. 

Mrs. Collins nodded her head vigorously.  “I must go see to Anne.  She is in a state, poor thing.”  Mrs. Collins lumbered back down to her cabin
, leaving Louisa to wait for answers on her own.  The reverend stood back, observing the scene, but didn’t approach.  He seemed to have finally realized that Louisa wasn’t interested in his attentions and had been keeping his distance.  Suddenly, Captain Fellowes bellowed a command, and all the sailors within hearing distance sprang into action, running down to the cargo hold, and reappearing some time later with barrels.  Christopher Sheridan descended from the bridge and walked over to Louisa. 

“What’s in those barrels, Mr. Sheridan?”  Louisa had a sinking feeling in her belly, knowing that whatever he told her wouldn’t be good.

“It’s gunpowder, Mistress Jamison, but please don’t be alarmed.  At this stage, it’s just a precaution.  We must be ready.”  He was looking down at her with an intensity she hadn’t noticed before.  Usually, there was a smile playing about his lips, and a twinkle in his eye, but today Christopher Sheridan looked positively grim.

“Ready for what?”

“Louisa, that ships looks like a Barbary pirate ship.  Once they spot a merchant vessel, they are not likely to leave it alone.  They seem to be changing course and heading directly toward us.”   His hand reached for her and held it for a moment before letting go.  “I must return to the bridge.”

“Wait.  Who are they and what do they want?”  Louisa had never heard of Barbary pirates. 

Christopher Sheridan drew her aside as Mr. Collins walked right past them, angry and agitated.  “The Barbary pirates are corsairs who sail mostly out of North Africa.  They use the ports of Tunis and Algiers as their base.  Their cruelty is legendary.  Their main goal is to seize a ship and its cargo, and take as many Christian prisoners as they can.”  The first mate looked away as he said that, gazing out over the calm ocean, avoiding eye contact.

“What do they do with their prisoners?” Louisa whispered, horrified. 

“They take them back and sell them at the slave markets.  If a prisoner happens to be a wealthy individual, they might allow him to write a letter asking his relatives to raise money for a ransom.  Most captives are never heard from again, especially the women.  They disappear into the harems of the Ottoman Empire, or end up being serving girls or kitchen maids.  I won’t let them harm you, Louisa.  You have my word.”  With that he walked off toward the bridge, leaving Louisa openmouthed and terrified. 

Was this really happening to her?  Only a month ago she was still working at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, surrounded by priceless
paintings and civilized people.  Today she was on a seventeenth century merchant vessel about to be attacked by Muslim corsairs; who might either kill her, or take her captive and sell her into slavery.  She let out a hysterical giggle.  At this point, she wasn’t sure which fate was worse.  She would have to go down and break the news to Agnes.