"Ginny,
well met. We have had to return early because the boat has sprung a leak."
Laughing, he tossed her the painter which she caught with automatic deftness.
Alex kept his back to her for a minute, knowing that he must turn and
dreadfully afraid to do so. "Susannah will have told you of our
guest," Robert went on, blithely unaware of the emotional devastation
around him. "Here is General Alexander Marshall." An all-embracing arm
was proudly outflung to include his guest and his cousin by marriage.
"Mistress Virginia Courtney, of whom we spoke the other day, Alex."
Relief
flooded her. He would not be unprepared then. Relief flooded Alex. She would
not be unprepared then.
He
turned, getting to his feet, the boat rocking beneath him. "I am honored,
Mistress Courtney." She stood there, smiling up at him in the October sun,
tall and graceful in her skirt of blue dimity over a white Holland petticoat, a
striped dimity waistcoat molding the soft swell of those magnificent breasts,
her waist banded by a dark blue apron of serviceable fustian. She curtsied
politely, inclining her head where the chestnut braids coiled in the way he
remembered so well.
"General,"
murmured Ginny. "How delightful to make your acquaintance. I am sure you
have realized how newcomers are a source of great excitement and much pleasure
for us."
He
stepped out onto the landing stage, close enough to touch her now, almost close
enough to inhale the delicate fragrance of her skin that was as pink and brown
with health as it ever had been during the long days of the march. The gray
eyes were as clear as ever, and there was no hiding the passion in them as she
met his own. Nothing had changed, then—nothing at all. It was as it had always
been between them, the magic that overcame all difficulties and differences.
And it
must
do so again . . . but how?
"You
flatter me, Mistress Courtney," he said, wondering how long he could stand
here beside her without touching her, how long before he enveloped her, wrapped
her in his arms, aching now with memory, allowed his mouth to drink of her
glorious sweetness, lost himself in her.
She
dropped another curtsy, then turned to Robert. "I must hurry back, Cousin.
I came only to borrow a recipe from Susannah. Giles will be looking for his
dinner soon." There, she had said the name, and now it lay, open between
them. Turning away before she could see Alex's reaction, Ginny climbed down
into her canoe. A lad unfastened the painter, dropping it into the craft beside
her. With a farewell wave, she dipped her paddle into the water and set off for
the mouth of the creek that would take her home, back to her husband.
Alex
watched her go, feeling as if he had lost her again. He knew now that just
seeing her was not enough. He had persuaded himself that it would be, that he
would see her, reassure himself that she was well and content, lay the ghost
finally, then he could go back to England and find a wife. But it would not do.
His hunger and his need, renewed, raged apace, as bad now as when she had first
left him, and he knew with absolute certainty that it would be the same for
her.
Ginny
did not know whether the tears that poured down her cheeks were tears of joy or
frustration. Both, she guessed. The sight of Alex had brought unsurpassed joy,
but now all she could think was that he was as lost to her as if he had never
reentered her life. The dreadful torment that had taken so many long months to
abate was now rekindled, racking her like a fever.
"Where
in hell have you been?" Giles yelled across the water as she appeared
around the bend of the creek.
"To
the Harringtons'," she called back with an attempt at cheerfulness, hoping
thus to avert a storm that she did not think she had the stamina for at this
point. "I wished for that recipe for mushroom sauce that you like so much,
to accompany the plover." She paddled the canoe over to the bank and threw
him the rope. Giles let it drop at his feet, and her heart sank. He looked
worse than usual, and she was well aware that his physical ailments were quite
genuine. The two wounds had weakened him significantly, and he would probably
always have borne their effects, but those effects could have been lessened
with a careful diet and regimen. But the dissolute life he affected only added
to his debilitation. It would have ruined a well man eventually.
"You
have no right to go off like that without telling me," Giles stated,
making no attempt to help her as she scrambled onto the bank, catching at the
neglected painter before it could drift off into the water.
"You
were asleep," Ginny snapped, tying up the boat, *Had I woken you, you
would have cursed me up hill and down dale, husband. I know better than to
disturb you from the whiskey oblivion, and if I waited for you to wake to ask
your permission everytime I have to go somewhere, we would starve and the
wilderness would swallow us again in no time—"
"Put
a bridle on that scold's tongue, wife, else I do it for you," Giles
hissed, grabbing her wrist with a vicious twist.
Ginny
stood still, struggling to regain her composure. *You are hurting me," she
said quietly. The pressure of his fingers increased, and tears of pain pricked
behind her eyes. "Please, Giles-"
"How
do I know you've been to the Harringtons'," he demanded, not slackening
his grip. "Once a whore, after all . . . There's plenty around here who'd
be glad of what you have to offer."
The
words today struck terror into her heart, whereas before she had just shrugged
them off. Now, with one man, she would have them true, and she could not keep
the fearful knowledge from her eyes. She dropped her head instantly and stood
in submissive silence, while Giles breathed heavily. Then he released her
wrist, pushing her away from him so she stumbled. "Get up to the house. I
am hungry and thirsty, and that good-for-nothing wench does not know one end of
a cookpot from the other. I'll not be left here again while you're gallivanting
about. Just you remember that unless you want me to take a stick to your
back!"
Coward!
Ginny accused under her bream. Weak, ineffectual, dissolute coward who had to
take his frustrations out on her. And there was not a damn thing she could do
about it. It wasn't as if he ever really hurt her, just spiteful prods,
pinches, and twists. And as far as the law and the community were concerned, a
man was entitled to take what measures he deemed necessary to correct a
neglectful, scolding wife. She could go whining to the Harringtons and be
assured of their sympathy, but they could do nothing either and would only be
embarrassed.
Giles
came into the kitchen and flung himself down at the table, watching morosely as
she fried eggs in a whirlpool of butter. "What's to do at
Harringtons'?" he asked after a while. Tom Brigham says there's
preparations for a party."
"I
told you about it last night," Ginny reminded him, knowing it was
incautious but unable to maintain her attitude of submissive docility.
"They have a visitor from England, come to observe the House of Burgesses
for Parliament." She paused, sliding the eggs onto a platter. "He was
a soldier, I understand from Susannah, and is offering advice on defenses
here."
"Soldier
for Parliament, of course," Giles stated, taking the plate without a word
of thanks.
"I
should imagine so," Ginny replied. "If he's here on Parliament's
business, it seems a reasonable conclusion. Anyway," she went on swiftly,
"there is to be a grand gathering next week, the entire neighborhood
invited from as far as twenty miles up river and down to Jamestown." She
turned her attention to cleaning a basket of mushrooms, remarking, "I have
promised Susannah that I will help her with the preparations. Unless you forbid
it, I will need to spend the two days before the party at Harrington Hundred. I
will instruct Lizzy as to how to care for you properly."
"How
can I forbid it, if you've already promised?" Giles grumbled, wiping up
egg with his bread.
"It
is little enough to do in return for their kindness." Ginny regretted the
words instantly as a dull flush mottled her husband's complexion.
"Are
you accusing me of ingratitude?" he demanded.
"I
was stating the plain truth." She shrugged. "We owe them a debt that
I doubt we can repay except with small services of the kind I am willing to
perform for Susannah. I should be glad, however, if we could see our way to
managing without their assistance before the winter." She threw out the
latter statement with little hope of it producing any reaction but another
tirade, but at this point she found she did not care whether she annoyed him
further or not. "You should go to Jamestown when the next ships come in
and hire labor so that we may release your cousin's men. I am sure he has need
of them himself."
“I’ll
go when the next slave ship comes in," Giles said, his tone surprisingly
moderate. "We’ll do best to buy several negroes—cheaper in the long
run."
"We
have no quarters for them," Ginny pointed out, hiding her grimace. There
was something eminently distasteful about this idea of owning men. The right to
liberty was one embedded in the heart and soul of all Englishmen. How could
they so easily, in the interests of expediency, suspend such a right for
others?
"They'll
build their own," Giles replied, as if he had thought the matter through
thoroughly. Obviously, he had, Ginny realized with some surprise.
"It
will be winter soon, Giles. They cannot come here without shelter."
"The
colder it is, the quicker they’ll work."
Ginny
tossed mace and nutmeg into the saucepan containing the mushrooms and bit her
lip on the retort. There was little point fighting a battle in advance of the
action, and, at least, the matter of her visit to Harrington Hundred was
accepted, and Giles knew in principle of Alex's presence, which knowledge
seemed somehow and in the strangest way to legitimize that presence.
She
was planning adultery with every shake of the saucepan, preparmg herself,
laying the foundations for something that was as inevitable as the sunrise. And
she felt not a shred of guilt; her heart sang, her blood danced, her skin
rippled in wondrous anticipation. She was back in destiny's hands.
Chapter
26
Ginny
wiped her streaming eyes on her apron, blinking as a stubborn easterly wind
blew the smoke from the central fireplace back into the primitive cabin where
the only chimney was a hole in the woven swamp reeds and marsh grass of the
structure.
The
old Indian woman, sitting cross-legged at the fire and stirring something in a
pot, was quite oblivious to the noxious fumes. Muttering, she beckoned to
Ginny, pointing at the bunch of dried grasses and forest plants. Ginny nodded,
listening to the identification of each one. They all had medicinal properties,
and Ginny had early learned the need to find substitutes for many of those of
her homeland. She had come upon this medicine woman some weeks ago when they
had both been simpling in the woods, and with a curious mixture of sign
language, the few English words known by several of the men in the village, and
their shared interest and skill, they managed to communicate remarkably
effectively. Last month, Ginny had helped in a particularly difficult delivery
of twins in the village and ever since then her visits had been received with
more than tolerance.
She
kept her visits secret from her own people, however. There was still
considerable mistrust between Indian and settler, and with good reason,
although an uneasy truce had been in operation for more than a decade. Trade
between the two still flourished, but it was conducted with military caution,
and the ease with which Ginny wandered in and out of this village would be
viewed as criminally negligent, even by the relatively enlightened Robert
Harrington.
Now,
she offered the old woman a small vial of aquamirabilis that she had prepared
with cloves and other spices that would not be available to the Indian. It was
a much-relied-upon tonic and had most soothing properties. Her companion
sniffed, sipped, and nodded, replacing the cork top carefully. The morning's
lesson paid for, Ginny rose from her cramped position on her knees, smiled,
bowed, and went out into the village.
The
day was mellow and sunny, a few fallen leaves crackling beneath her feet,
although the majority still clung in coppery splendor to the tall trees forming
a canopy over her head. The village was set in a clearing in the woods some
distance from the nearest bridle path so Ginny had covered the two miles from
home on foot, enjoying the quiet and the solitude, the opportunity for peaceful
reflection on this new quirk of fate, if, indeed, that was what Alex's arrival
was. She presumed it must be coincidence. He would hardly pursue her,
indissolubly wed to Giles Courtney, across the hazardous ocean ... or would he?
The.
unmistakable rustle of crushed leaves, the sudden prickling of her scalp told
her that she was not alone. Indians, perhaps, but no Indian would cause that
alerting crackle of leaves. Subduing the panicky fluttering that threatened to
flare as her overly vivid imagination began to run riot, she stepped out
faster, calculating how far she was from the bridle path, whether running would
achieve any-thing. The crackle came again, and she began to run, not stopping
to wonder why she should have this nameless fear, her mind straining toward the
bridle path as if by thinking of it, she could bring it closer. The crackling
behind grew more pronounced, and then the sound of feet moving swiftly.
Someone, something, was coming after her. There were boar in the woods, and
bear, and the devil only knew what else. . . .