Stranger in Williamsburg Read online

  In keeping with what she thought would be Aunt Charity’s wishes, Sarah walked past the tavern on the other side of the street. Then she crossed Waller and headed up the brick path that led from the wooden front gate to the milliner’s shop.

  At the front stoop, she stopped to reach into her basket to make sure she had the money and Aunt Charity’s samples. Then she pushed against the door and heard the jingling of brass bells announce her entry. Sarah stood waiting for her eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside to the dim interior of the shop.

  “May I help you, cherie?” a soft, husky voice inquired.

  Behind a tall counter at the back of the room, Sarah saw the most gorgeous creature she ever had seen. The woman smiled at her from soft pink lips and amused dark eyes. Her arched red-gold eyebrows perfectly matched the thick coils of dark copper hair piled high on her regal head.

  “I won’t bite, cherie,” the woman laughed. “You wanted some goods from the milliner, oui?”

  “I...I...Yes, ma’am,” Sarah finally managed to stammer. She tore her gaze from the pink nails of the small, dainty hands resting on the counter, to the high, cream-colored lace collar that seemed to hold up the slender neck.

  For a moment, Sarah couldn’t for the life of her, think why she had come here. The woman was like something from a storybook—a princess, a queen, an angel.

  She fumbled in Aunt Charity’s basket, and came up with the samples of material to match with the ribbons and buttons. She recited her needs and handed the woman the scraps of material.

  “Ah, yes, I am sure that I have the perfect match for these, cherie. Wait here, s’il vous plait?” She swept down the aisle with a rustle of silk and a whiff of some sweet, musky perfume. Sarah leaned dizzily against the counter.

  “By the way, I am Gabrielle Gordon, the milliner,” the woman introduced herself, placing samples of ribbon and buttons on the material for Sarah to see. She seemed to be waiting for an answer. “And you, cherie?” she prompted.

  Finally, Sarah came to herself enough to stammer, “I am Charity Armstrong’s niece, Sarah Moore. From Kentucky,” she added.

  “Kentucky!” the milliner exclaimed, turning to study Sarah intently. “It is a province of Virginia, is it not? A place of wildness and savages, I am told. So how do you come to be so well-mannered? Such an elegant young lady?”

  Sarah turned a deeper rose than the milliner’s dress. “Well...I...my...we....” She wanted to cry. This beautiful creature would think she was one of the very savages she mentioned. Why was her tongue so tied today?

  “Never mind, cherie. Gabrielle must learn to control the teasing. I am afraid I have embarrassed you. Pease forgive me. Do you know why I am called a milliner?” Sarah knew she was trying to give her time to collect her thoughts, and simply shook her head no.

  “Originally, the word was ‘milaner,’ one who comes from or imports goods from Milan, Italy. But what do Italians know about fashion, cherie?” She laughed a shot, husky laugh that sent shivers of delight down Sarah’s spine. “I, Mademoiselle Sarah, import my goods from Paris, France, which sets the fashion for the world!”

  Sarah knew no more about fashion than the milliner’s scorned Italians, but she found that she could laugh with her this time. She listened raptly to the soft voice, with its attractive French accent and a foreign word or two thrown in now and then, as the milliner told her about the hats and muffs, the fans and gloves, the jewelry, purses, shoes and ribbons that lay on shelves behind and below the tall counters that filled three sides of the small room.

  Finally, she wrapped Sarah’s purchases in a piece of brown paper and tied it neatly with string. She snipped the string with embroidery scissors, and exchanged the package for the money Aunt Charity had supplied from Pa’s purse. As she counted Sarah’s change into her hand, the milliner said, “Charity Armstrong’s niece, you say?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Then you are also the niece of Ethan Armstrong, are you not?”

  “Uncle Ethan is married to my Aunt Charity,” Sarah explained, “my mother’s sister.”

  “I suppose you have not seen the uncle much since you came? He seems to always be away on this business of his, whatever it is.” Gabrielle looked at her questioningly from the corner of her eye.

  “No,” Sarah agreed, “he is not at home often. He is always off on some errand. I have no idea where he goes or what he does.”

  “Ah, oui,” the milliner commented with a knowing smile. “There are people who share your curiosity! Perhaps someday.... But tell me, Mademoiselle Sarah, why have you left the wild Kentucky to come live with your aunt and uncle here in Williamsburg?”

  “I was born in Miller’s Forks, Virginia, but my family moved to Kentucky a little over a year ago. My brother came for me last month to bring me back to Virginia to study.”

  “And what do you study, Mademoiselle Sarah? The social graces? The music and dancing? Or do they do such things in the wild Kentucky?”

  Sarah knew the milliner was teasing her again, but she answered seriously, “We need a school on Stoney Creek, where my family and some others live. I plan to be a teacher,” she added proudly.

  “Ah, the institutrice!” Gabrielle exclaimed. “But, cherie, I myself am the teacher! The tutor, as they say here. Of course, the teachers in the schools here all are the gentlemen, and only the boys are allowed to attend. I teach the young ladies to speak and write and serve tea properly, to embroider, to play the harpsichord and dance. All the social graces. But the daughters and niece of Ethan and Charity Armstrong already have a tutor, oui?”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, ma’am. My cousins had a tutor until the royal governor’s household fled back to England. The tutor went with them, and Tabitha and Abigail haven’t had a tutor since.”

  “July, 1775,” Gabrielle sighed. “I remember it well. Governor Dunmore and his household crept out of Williamsburg before dawn, like the mice afraid of the cat. And with them was the governess who tutored several young ladies from families around the town, along with the governor’s own household.

  “I met them in Boston, as they waited for a ship to take them back to England,” she continued. “They strongly urged me to go with them, but I had my heart set on a milliner’s shop, and eventually made my way here to Williamsburg. Three weeks ago, I opened this shop.” She sighed. “Sometimes I wish I had gone with them, cherie.”

  Sarah gasped. “Are you a Tory then?” she choked out, “a supporter of the king?” She couldn’t stand here passing the time of day with a Tory with both Nate and Uncle Ethan being such Patriots!

  The milliner spread her hands and shrugged her shoulders. “The blood of Gabrielle Gordon wars in her veins, cherie. My father’s cool English blood demands loyalty to the King of England, while my mother’s hot French blood cheers for the feisty colonists France is silently supporting in this Revolution.” She smiled at Sarah. “And I suppose you are a hot-blooded Patriot, also, Mademoiselle Sarah?” she asked. “Like your Uncle Ethan?”

  Sarah smiled back at her, in spite of her misgivings about Tories. “I have a brother up north somewhere fighting for the Patriots. He wouldn’t like me associating with Tories, I am sure,” she said honestly.

  “Ah, well, you can be friends with the French Gabrielle and forget the English Gordon, can you not, cherie? After all, most of these fiery Patriots once swore allegiance to the British crown, did they not?”

  “Yes, Miss Gordon,” Sarah answered politely.

  “Non, non, cherie! You must call me by the French Gabrielle.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sarah answered. Then seeing the pout on the milliner’s rosy lips, corrected hastily, “Yes, Gabrielle. Ma’am.”

  Gabrielle smiled. “That’s better, cherie. And tell your Aunt Charity that Gabrielle—the best tutor in all of Williamsburg—is available to tutor her daughters and her niece, if she so desires. Of course, if she wishes you to be tutored during the day, you would have to come here, since I must see to my shop. Or
I could come to you in the evenings, if she prefers.”

  “Yes, m...ah, Gabrielle,” Sarah stammered, backing out of the shop and almost falling backward off the stoop. She felt the flush mounting her cheeks again. Gabrielle surely thought her the most awkward girl in both the colonies and the Kentucky territory! Still, she couldn’t resist one last look back.

  As though she hadn’t noticed Sarah’s clumsiness, the milliner gave a little wave with one hand. Sarah waved back. Then she turned and ran all the way up Waller Street to where it joined Nicholson. She was very late, and Aunt Charity would be counting the minutes as carefully as she would every cent of the change Sarah could hear jingling in her basket as she ran.

  Chapter 3

  Sarah stopped outside her aunt’s front gate to catch her breath. Then she opened the gate and headed up the brick sidewalk, letting the iron ball and chain swing the gate shut behind her.

  The door of the neat brick house opened suddenly, and Hester Starkey scowled down at her. “Where’ve you been?” she asked. “Your aunt will be asking questions, and you’d better have answers!”

  Sarah looked up at the dour old housekeeper. Her hair was pulled back so rightly into a tuck that it stretched the skin over her cheekbones. Sarah felt sure the unfriendly face had been set in those hard lines for so many years that it would crack like old china if she tried to smile. Probably the woman had never smiled in her entire life.

  It didn’t pay to be on Hester’s bad side, though, so Sarah simply answered, “Yes, ma’am,” as she edged past her and entered the dim front hall.

  “Sarah, is that you?”

  Sarah swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Yes, Aunt Charity, and I’ve got some wonderful news!”

  Her aunt appeared in the parlor doorway. “Have you now?” she asked doubtfully, eying her niece from eyes that could have been those of her sister, Della, Sarah’s mother. Only Aunt Charity’s lacked the warmth and love Sarah was accustomed to seeing in her mother’s eyes. Aunt Charity’s hair is lighter than Ma’s, too, she thought, and it has that red-gold tint, but it would be just as curly, if she ever let it down.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sarah went on, summoning all the excitement she could muster into her voice. “I’ve found a tutor for Tabitha, Abigail, and me!”

  “A tutor?” her aunt repeated. “I presume you know I require a lady, and one with sundry accomplishments to bring to the job?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sarah repeated.

  “Well, speak up, child! Who is this tutor you’ve found? Where does she live? I know everybody in Williamsburg, and I know of no available tutor since the governor’s family left.”

  “Her name is Gabrielle Gordon. She lives on Waller Street, and she’s a milliner. I had to go there to get….”

  “I know of no millinery shop on Waller Street,” Aunt Charity interrupted. She ticked off the street’s buildings and their owners on her fingers. “Then there’s Christiana Campbell’s Tavern, and next to that, the small brown house rented by the apothecary’s apprentice. To my knowledge,” she finished, “that’s the entire street.”

  “Gabrielle Gordon’s house is that little brown one next to Christiana Campbell’s,” Sarah said. “I suppose the apprentice moved out. She hasn’t been there long. Anyway, her shop is in the front room, and she lives in the back. She said she could teach us there during the day, or here in the evenings.”

  Aunt Charity smoothed her hair, then her spotless white apron. “All right, Sarah. I’ll talk with this Miss Gordon and see if she’s suitable. Did you get the things I ordered?”

  Sarah handed her the basket. “Your order came to exactly the amount you sent, and the change from Pa’s money is in the bottom, wrapped the way you sent it.” Sarah was proud of her success with the shopping, and hoped it would please her aunt so she would be allowed to do it again sometime.

  As Aunt Charity counted the change and inspected her purchases, Sarah stuck her hand in her pocket to finger the few coins she had left. She was surprised to discover the forgotten tin cup. Quickly, she covered its bulge with her hand so her aunt would not see it.

  “Very good, Sarah,” Aunt Charity said, with a tight little smile of approval. “You may go to your room and freshen up before supper. Tabitha and Abigail are helping Hester prepare the table this evening.”

  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief as she forced herself to walk sedately down the long hall and up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with Abigail. She was sorry her cousins were still being punished by having to do kitchen duty, but she was glad to have a few moments to herself. She was glad, too, that Aunt Charity had been distracted by her news of a tutor, and had not asked too many questions.

  Sarah hoped her aunt would approve of Gabrielle Gordon. She tingled with excitement just thinking of spending time with the beautiful half-French, half-English lady. And she hoped they would go to the milliner’s cozy little brown house to study, away from the cold, appraising eyes of the Armstrong household.

  Aunt Charity wasn’t really unkind, she reminded herself. She was just a serious woman, busy with her household affairs, especially since Uncle Ethan was away so much.

  Again, Sarah wondered briefly where he went and what he did on those long journeys that sent him back home exhausted, but in a hurry to leave again. She wished he were there more often, for the place was livelier and more pleasant when her uncle was home.

  Fifteen-year-old Tabitha was wrapped up in plans for her marriage in a year or so to Seth Coler, though he didn’t know it yet! Tabby thought of nothing but learning to run a home, making things for her dowry chest, and getting down to Chowning’s before her unsuspecting chosen one came out to slop the pigs.

  Sarah entered the big room with dark, heavy furniture that she shared with thirteen-year-old Abigail. Abigail was half a year older than Sarah and never missed a chance to point that out. She also never missed a chance to point out the fact that the room they shared belonged to her. She was always telling Sarah to use only this little space in the closet and that tiny drawer in the dresser, and to sit on this chair and not that one, and to make sure she slept on her own edge of the tall, four-poster bed, and that she didn’t touch anything at all of Abigail’s.

  Sarah wished she could share a room with seven-year-old Megan, instead. Only Megan made her feel welcome in this house. Meggie’s small, cozy room was at the back of the house, tucked under the sloping eaves, and Megan left no doubts about her wishes to share everything with Sarah. She wanted to be with her every minute.

  Sarah poured a little water from the tall, pink-flowered pitcher into the basin and washed her face and hands. She dried them carefully on the linen towel and hung it back on the rail at the side of the washstand, exactly as she had found it.

  She peered into the small oval mirror, and inspected her face hopefully. She sighed. It seemed that all the beauty in the family had been unfairly distributed among her aunt’s children. Tabitha, with her soft brown hair and contented gray eyes, looked more like Sarah’s ma than she did. And Abigail had the fragile, china-doll look of Aunt Charity, with pale blue eyes and blonde hair with a hint of red in it. Even little Megan promised to be a beauty someday, with her father’s laughing brown eyes and dark hair, and with the added blessing of Aunt Charity’s curls.

  “And here you stand, Sarah Moore, in all your glory!” she mocked. “That hair as straight as a stick, and those green cat’s eyes, and freckles scattered over the Irish nose between them!” She sighed again and smoothed the skirts of Abigail’s outgrown dress, rediscovering the cup hidden in her pocket.

  Where could she put it for safekeeping? In Miller’s Forks, she had had a room of her own in which to keep her treasures. In Kentucky, she had had a small wooden box she kept under her bed. Here, there really wasn’t much room in her one tiny drawer, though she had few possessions to store there, anyway.

  Could she set the cup on the shelf above her end of the closet? No, Abigail had things in there. She would find the cup and Sarah would have
to explain. Somehow, she didn’t want to share her cup, or its story, with Abigail, or with anyone.

  She examined the etching on its side. The cedar tree reminded her of the one in the Armstrongs’ backyard, out behind Meggie’s bedroom window. That tree seemed almost human sometimes. When the wind blew gently, it murmured and whispered to itself. When the wind blew hard, it moaned and sighed in agony. She often sat listening to it, trying to figure out what secrets it might be trying to tell her.

  The tree on the cup looked like a cedar, with its branches set in motion by the wind. And that bird clinging to its top branch—was it an eagle? The Patriots sometimes used an eagle to represent their cause. Did this sketch have something to do with the war? She had no idea what that design meant, if anything, but the cup would always be special to her, for she had bought it with Nate’s money; she had shared its contents with someone in need; and on the day she had bought it, she had met Gabrielle.

  Finally, Sarah tucked the cup into the small deerskin traveling bag Ma had made her for the trip back to Virginia. Surely Abigail wouldn’t look in there. She certainly had no business doing so!

  Sarah had just replaced the bag in the closet and shut the door when she heard Megan calling her.

  “There you are, Sarah!” the little girl exclaimed, bounding into the room. She flew across the floor, and caught Sarah around the waist in a hug as big as her small arms could manage.

  “It’s time for supper, Sarah,” Megan announced, tugging at her hand and heading for the door. “Old sourpuss Hester has fixed fried chicken, and no matter how mean she is, her fried chicken is ‘licious!”

  “Megan!” Sarah scolded. “You mustn’t call Mrs. Starkey ‘sourpuss’! Even if Abigail does.”

  “Well, she is a sourpuss, Sarah. I know that if she ever smiled her face would just break all over.”

  Sarah smothered a giggle, recalling her own thoughts about Mrs. Starkey and cracked china, as she ran down the stairs behind Megan.