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The East Florida heat blazed down on their covered heads as they walked the sandy road toward the sturdy wooden structure Papa had purchased for his mercantile. But Rachel could be concerned with only one matter—a poor, hungry little baby left alone in a room all day.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said as they reached the store. “There is something I want you to bring me when you return.”
He swept off his broad-brimmed hat and gave her an exaggerated bow. “Name it, milady, and I’ll sail the seven seas to obtain it.”
She dipped a playful curtsy. “Why, thank you, kind sir. But there’s no need for that. Just bring a toy for little Robby.” She sobered. “Do you mind?”
“Anything for you, milady.” He caught her hand and placed a noisy kiss on it.
“Ah, such gallantry.” Caring not a whit what onlookers might think, Rachel reached up and kissed his cheek.
After a week of planning with Mrs. Winthrop, Frederick rode into town to invite more guests to his party. His first visit had been to Major Brigham, the garrison’s new commander, who along with his stylish bride had responded eagerly to his invitation. Several others also promised to attend. With a similar response from the merchants, the party would be complete.
Frederick rode past the inn and saw the innkeeper’s wife and daughter hanging laundry on a line. Mrs. Winthrop had been aghast when he had suggested inviting them, and now her wisdom was confirmed as he observed their unkempt appearance and heard their uncouth language.
A half mile from the inn, he spied Miss Folger with a brawny fellow who was bent over her hand like an adoring swain. The young lady then reached up to kiss the man’s cheek, and an odd pang coursed through Frederick’s chest. Did she dole out kisses to every man, or was this one a particular friend? He shook his head. Why should it matter to him?
The fellow straightened and offered his arm, and the two entered Folger’s Mercantile. Frederick tethered his horse to a post under a nearby oak tree and followed them inside.
The door had no sooner shut behind him than the three inside turned to him in surprise. Was that a glare emanating from the young lady’s face, or were her eyes merely adjusting to the inside light, as were his?
“Good morning, sir.” Mr. Folger limped forward to welcome him. “How can I help ye?”
“Good morning, my good man. Miss Folger.” Frederick removed his hat, nodded to the father and daughter, and cast an inquisitive glance toward the big man behind Folger.
“Ah, ye’ve not met my partner.” Folger urged the man forward. “Mr. Moberly, this is my nephew, Captain Templeton, who now commands my old ship.”
The younger captain’s steady gaze was a clear and bold appraisal of Frederick.
In an instant, the air seemed sparked with invisible lightning. Instinctively, Frederick took on the unassuming pose he had perfected as the youngest of four sons to keep from being whipped into his proper place. Hating himself for it, he nonetheless feigned amiability and reached out to shake the other man’s hand rather than meet his challenge and put him in his place. Who was this man that he would boldly stare at a superior?
“Captain Templeton,” Frederick said.
“Moberly.” Templeton’s guarded frown softened as they shook hands. “You’ve done a right fine job in building St. Johns Settlement. Perhaps we can do business in the future.”
“Indeed?” Frederick glanced at Folger.
“Aye.” The older man’s broad smile suggested his eagerness to foster a friendship among the three of them. “A wise man’s always on the lookout for good business associates.”
“Well said.” Frederick wondered if he had been mistaken about the younger captain’s earlier demeanor.
The conversation turned to weather, the war up north, anticipated shipping problems, the feasibility of planting more citrus groves and prices of goods. All possible storms were dispelled as the three men enthusiastically expressed their concerns and opinions as if they had been in trade together for years. The amity in the air felt good after Oliver’s betrayal.
He noticed Miss Folger had busied herself with the bolts of lace and ribbons behind the counter. With her back to him, he could see the delicate lines of her ivory neck, with a few blond curls escaping from her mobcap to trail over the white collar of her brown dress.
Templeton must have caught the direction of his gaze, for he cleared his throat. “Did you wish to speak with my cousin?” His tone sounded like the growl of a protective bear.
Irritation swept through Frederick, but again, he was all amiability. “Indeed, I did.”
She turned around, puzzlement lifting her eyebrows into a charming arch. “To me?”
Frederick hesitated. “Perhaps I should say to you and your father.” He nodded to Templeton. “And now to you, as well.”
Folger appeared more than a little pleased. “Say on, sir.”
“I am planning a dinner party for those whom I consider the leading citizens of this community and surrounding areas. I should like to invite you and Miss Folger—” He included Templeton with a quick glance. “All three of you to join us one week from Saturday at my plantation.”
Their stunned expressions nearly sent Frederick into a schoolboy’s guffaw. Did these people know nothing of parties? Had they never received such an invitation?
“Why, that’s quite an honor, sir.” Folger straightened as if he had been knighted by the king himself. “Of course I accept.”
“And you, Miss Folger? Will you attend with your father?”
Her wide-eyed gaze darted from him to her father to Templeton and back to him again. “Why, I—I haven’t anything to wear to such a grand occasion.”
“Why, Rachel, what a thing to say in front of these gentlemen.” The color deepened in Folger’s ruddy cheeks. “As if yer papa couldn’t provide a proper gown for ye.”
The young lady’s corresponding blush bespoke her modesty, a pleasing sight.
Frederick looked at Templeton. “And you, captain?”
Templeton shook his head. “I thank you, sir, but I’m afraid I’ll be on my way to London by then. I’m setting sail from Mayport in a few days.”
“Ah, I’m sorry to hear it.” Frederick found himself meaning those words. After those first sparks had been extinguished, the fellow had inspired a certain confidence.
As for doing business with him, Frederick had much to consider. After Oliver’s betrayal, how could he ever trust another man? Especially an American.
Chapter Three
“Can ye beat that?” Papa stared after Mr. Moberly as he rode away. “Inviting us to a dinner party. Calling us ‘leading citizens.’”
Jamie raised one eyebrow and traded a glance with Papa. “A good opportunity.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel looked from one to the other. Was this another of those secrets they kept from her, things they called “men’s matters”?
“Why, business, daughter.” Papa took up his shipping log and quill and made notes. “’Tis a great honor for Mr. Moberly to stamp his approval on us. It’ll bring more customers.”
“Indeed it shall.” Jamie leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “Now what do you suppose I could bring from London to further foster his good opinion?”
Papa tapped his quill against his chin. “Hmm. He hires ships to deliver the plantation’s products to England and bring back what’s needed here.” He stared out of the window for a moment. “I’ve got the notion they’d like to increase the population with decent folk, more tradesmen and such, not the lowlife camp followers that plague the regiment, nor the Spanish who stayed on after England seized these lands.”
“Humph,” Rachel said. “Please do not tell me you want Jamie to import more Englishmen, tradesmen or no. It is beyond enough that English sympathizers from the Carolinas are arriving here every week.”
“And welcome to them.” Papa bent toward her in his paternal fashion. “The more that come from South Carolina and Georgia, the better it will be for everyone, for they’ll understand the land more than an Englishman. And consider this. King George gave the good citizens of New England plenty of opportunities to populate both East and West Florida. Ye can see how few have accepted his invitation.”
“And, if not American colonials,” Jamie said, “why not more English?” He sent Rachel a brotherly smile. “The ordinary Englishman’s no threat to your patriot cause, especially way down here in East Florida. They’re like Uncle Lamech here, people who want a chance to build a life in a new place.”
“Yes, so you both have said. Never mind that they will all be willing to join a militia in support of the Crown.” Rachel would not add that she had never wanted a life in a new place. Papa had announced she would accompany him to East Florida, and that was that. With a sigh, she ambled across the room toward the material display and ran a finger over a bolt of fabric. “Papa, will you let me take a length of this mosquito netting to protect Sadie’s baby? He’s a mass of bites this morning, poor boy.”
“And how’s Sadie to pay for it, might I ask?” Papa had returned to his accounting and now peered at her over his reading spectacles, eyes narrowed.
Rachel lifted her chin and stared back, mirroring his look. She had backed down in the discussion about the English, but she would not back down in this matter. For countless seconds, she faced his “captain” glare that had always made his whalers tremble.
Jamie coughed and hummed a flat tune, then drummed his fingers on the counter. The hammers of the men working on the living quarters echoed above them. A bird of some sort sent out a plaintive cry in the marshes behind the store.
Papa did not flinch, nor did Rachel.
“If you do it for the least of these—” she began.
Papa slammed his logbook shut. “What shall I do with ye, my girl? Given yer head, ye’d give away the entire store.”
Pulling the bolt from the display, Rachel hurried to his side and placed a kiss on his gray-stubbled cheek. “Perhaps Mr. Moberly will make more purchases with his gold guineas. That should balance everything out.”
She glanced at Jamie, whose face had reddened in an obvious attempt to stifle his amusement. She never would have put up such a fight in front of any other of Papa’s crew. Measuring out an appropriate length of the sheer material, she cut, folded and wrapped it. “May I take it over right away?”
“There’s a limit to my surrender, daughter. Look.” Scowling, he pointed out the window. “Customers are headed this way. Ye can take it when ye go for yer noon meal.” His expression softened. “Have ye noticed the mosquitoes come out in the evening? The tyke will be fine until then.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
Jamie left, and customers entered to shop. Several soldiers came to purchase tobacco, and one bought a new pipe. An Indian family, speaking in their Timucuan language, studied the various wares and selected a large cast-iron pot. The tanner’s wife bought a box of tea. One of the slatterns who followed the soldiers eyed the finer fabrics with a longing eye. Repulsed by her sweaty smell but also filled with pity, Rachel watched the woman move lazily among the displays. Papa greeted one and all as if they were old friends, even taking time to learn a few native words from the Indians.
The morning passed quickly, and soon Papa gave Rachel a nod. She placed her bonnet over her mobcap, fetched the wrapped mosquito netting, and then hastened out the door.
The sun stood at its zenith like an angry potentate pouring fiery wrath upon all who dared to venture beneath him. Perspiration slid down Rachel’s face and body, stinging her eyes and dampening everything she wore. Perhaps she should ask Jamie to bring her a new parasol from London, for her old one was bent and tattered.
As she passed the large yard beside the inn, she heard a commotion—Sadie’s shrill voice screeched for help above the chaotic squawking of chickens and geese. Rachel hurried around the corner of the clapboard building, where she saw the young woman tussling with a soldier amidst the innkeeper’s fowls, a plump goose the object of their struggle.
“Let ’er go, ya blunderhead.” Sadie tried to kick the red-uniformed man, without success. “Ya’ve no right to take ’er.”
The man cursed and continued to grasp the goose’s neck. “Gi’ way, girl. I’ve a right as the king’s soldier to take what I need.”
“Ya’ve got yer own provisions in the regiment,” cried Sadie.
Her sob cut into Rachel’s heart, stirring memories of the time a brutish soldier invaded her sister’s house and took food from the children’s plates. Then he had threatened Rachel and Susanna with something far worse. Enraged by the recollection, she dashed toward the altercation.
“Brazen wench, let go.” The soldier cuffed Sadie on the face, but though she cried out, she held on to the goose.
“Stop it, you horrid monster.” Rachel dropped her package and, with hardly a thought of what she was doing, grabbed a length of wood from the nearby woodpile and slammed it into the man’s ear. Her hands stung from the blow, and she dropped the weapon as his tall, black leather cap flew to the ground.
“Ow!” He grabbed his ear and released the now-dead beast. Turning to Rachel, he glared at her with blazing eyes and took a menacing step toward her.
Lord, what have I done? Terror gripped her, and she searched for an escape.
But he glanced beyond her and stopped.
“What’s all this?” A familiar English voice resounded with authority behind her.
Rachel turned to see Mr. Moberly astride his horse, staring down his aristocratic nose at the scene. His gray eyes flashed like a shining rapier in the shadow of his broad-brimmed hat. Despite the day’s heat, a strange shiver swept through her body.
“Good thing ya come along, gov’ner.” The soldier tugged at a lock of his hair in an obeisant gesture. “This wench refuses me a soldier’s right to provision, and this ’un…” He waved at Rachel. “She done assaulted a king’s soldier, is what she done.” He stepped toward her as if about to return the blow. “’Tis a hangin’ offense.”
“Take another step—” Moberly bent forward and pointed his riding crop at the soldier “—and you’ll be the one to hang.”
The man stopped, his eyes wide. Rachel could see his fear in his slack-jaw expression. Did Moberly really have that kind of power?
“Chiveys, gov’ner,” Sadie cried, “he just killed one o’Ma’s brood geese.”
“I’ve a right to take provision as needed.” The soldier retrieved his tall cap and shook off the sand clinging to it. He winced as he placed it above his bloody ear.
“I shall speak to Major Brigham about the matter.” Moberly dismounted. “I shall also see he requires you to repay the innkeeper for the loss of his goose.”
“Repay—?”
“Are you contradicting me?” Moberly’s stately posture forestalled any appeal.
“No, sir, yer lordship.” The man stood straight and lifted his hand into a salute.
“What is your name, private?”
“Buckner, sir.”
“Well, now, Buckner, get back to your duty.” Moberly pointed the riding crop toward the street.
“Yes, sir.” The soldier hastened around the corner of the inn and disappeared from sight.
Moberly stepped near Sadie, and his stern expression softened. “Hurry to pluck and dress it, girl, so it won’t be a complete loss.”
Her face still flushed, Sadie cast a confused look at Rachel and then at Moberly. “Aye, sir. I’ll do that.” She curtsied to each of them. “Thank you, miss.” And away she dashed.
Moberly now gave Rachel a gentle smile, and she thought the heat might flatten her on the spot. Gratitude for his rescue warred within her heart against her scorn for all things English.
“I must say, Miss Folger, I have never seen a lady quite so, um, bold in defense of a less fortunate soul.” His gray eyes twinkled. “But I must also say I quite admire you for it.”
“Indeed? I did no more nor less than the citizens of Lexington and Concord this past month when your British soldiers attacked them.” Rachel could not believe her own words. The man had just saved her from assault.
Puzzlement swept across his face, as if he had no idea of the matter. “I beg your pardon?” Then his eyebrows raised in clear comprehension. “Ah. I see. May I surmise you favor the cause of the thirteen dissenting colonies?” His thoughtful expression held no condemnation or disdain.
Before she could respond, the injury to her left hand began to sting, and she looked down to see several splinters embedded in her bloody palm.
“Why, Miss Folger, you’ve been wounded in battle.” He stepped forward and seized her hand to inspect it. A frown creased his forehead. “I shall send my personal physician immediately to make certain no infection sets in. If left untended, this sort of wound can become quite serious, especially here in the tropics.” He drew a white silk handkerchief from his waistcoat and wrapped it around the injury. “This should protect it until he arrives.”
Shame dug into her. Had she misjudged this man? She pulled her hand away.
“Thank you, sir, but please don’t trouble yourself.” She tried to brush past him, but his large horse stood in the way. Confusion filled her. She spied the forgotten package of material.
Anticipating her direction, he hastened to retrieve it and held it out.
“Yours?”
