Stranger in Williamsburg Page 3

  The little girl threw her one last crooked grin before they entered the dining room to take their places at the side of the long, dark table covered with a snow-white cloth and steaming dishes of food.

  As usual, Sarah felt a lump gather in her throat at the sight of her ma’s blue-flowered china sitting there on somebody else’s table. It had belonged to Sarah’s grandmother—Ma’s and Aunt Charity’s mother—and Ma had loved it dearly. It always held a place of honor in her corner cupboard in Miller’s Forks, but Ma had given the china to Aunt Charity when they left for Kentucky, afraid it would get broken on the long hard journey through the wilderness. She had taken only the teapot which already had a chip in its spout.

  Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat, and bowed her head as Aunt Charity offered thanks to God for the food. She would not think about where the pretty flowered china had come from, she vowed, as she passed her plate for a helping of crisp friend chicken, and biscuits covered with thick, white milk gravy. She caught Megan’s wink, as the little girl sank her teeth into a crunchy drumstick.

  By the time she had finished that first plateful, plus a helping of peas, spiced apples, and potatoes dripping with creamy, fresh-churned butter, Sarah was too full to care that Aunt Charity never served dessert except on Sundays and when Uncle Ethan was home.

  “It’s your turn to dry!” Abigail hissed loudly in Sarah’s ear when they had finished the meal. But Aunt Charity heard the comment.

  “You may help clear the table, Sarah, and then you are free until bedtime,” she said firmly, staring hard at Abigail. “Tabitha and Abigail will do the dishes again tonight.”

  Sarah stood up and began gathering plates. Hester Starkey usually did the dishes, with some help from the girls with clearing the table. Obviously, Tabitha’s and Abigail’s punishment had not ended.

  Sarah carried the dishes to the wooden sink in the kitchen, where Mrs. Starkey already had a tub of steaming water waiting. Then she went back into the dining room.

  “May I go for a walk, Aunt Charity?” she asked.

  Her aunt studied her intently for several seconds. “Yes, Sarah,” she agreed finally. “You may go anywhere along Nicholson Street or one block north, but be back before dark.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will,” Sarah promised. Duke of Gloucester was one block south, but she had already visited Duke of Gloucester today.

  “Williamsburg gardens are beautiful this time of year, Sarah,” Aunt Charity called after her.

  “Yes, ma’am!” Sarah called as she slipped out the back door, eager to get away from the house before she was discovered by Megan.

  Normally, she would have been glad of the little girl’s company, and she felt a twinge of guilt for leaving her behind. But she had a very special destination in mind this evening, and she wanted to go there alone.

  Chapter 4

  It is so beautiful here by the canal! Sarah thought, watching two graceful white swans glide over the quiet water below the grassy bank where she sat. Here, the water was so close she could have dabbled her feet in it, but on either side of her, the banks grew steeply toward small wooden bridges that joined the sides of the canal.

  She sighed, wising she could stay in the peaceful gardens forever. The war, which was constantly on everyone’s mind and tongue in Williamsburg, seemed as remote as it had back in Kentucky, like a story of once-upon-a-time told around a winter fire. It touched neither the beautiful flowers and trees, nor the swans and the geese.

  The swans reminded her of Gabrielle, with their long, graceful necks and royal bearing. Then Sarah laughed, as she spotted an old goose that reminded her of Aunt Charity, ordering her goslings into the water with no nonsense accepted. Then she sailed off downstream, with all of them following obediently in a row. Like my cousins and me! Sarah thought. Well, most of the time, she amended honestly.

  Footsteps on the graveled path reminded her that she did not have permission to be here, and her heart skipped a beat. Megan had warned her not to go into the gardens, but surely no one would mind. She had no intention of harming anything in this lovely spot.

  Sarah threw a quick glance over her shoulder, but saw no one. Still, she would feel better if she weren’t caught, so she slipped up the bank and through the trimmed yews and boxwoods that the gardener’s shears had shaped into green, growing sculptures. From there, she crossed a small plot of grass and entered the orchard. She had never been this far into the gardens.

  Sarah listened. The footsteps seemed to be closer now. Desperately, she looked around for a better hiding place, and her gaze fell on a thick row of clipped green holly bushes. She ducked through a doorway formed by the gardener’s shears and a small wooden gate, and found herself on a narrow, grassy path between thick, tall greenery that overlapped above her head like a leafy cave.

  It’s smothery in here! she thought, drawing in a deep breath heavy with the musky scent of growing things. But outside her hiding place, she could still hear the crunch of gravel under shoes. Was her pursuer in the orchard now? She eased quietly down the path to where it turned sharply right. She followed the turn, then another and another, finding herself deep in the green tunnel.

  She had spent weeks traveling through dense wilderness on her journey to Kentucky and on the one back to Virginia, but never had she felt so oppressed by moist, heavy air as she did here on this twisting path among the thick, scratchy bushes. She turned to retrace her steps to the entrance, but every time she thought she had discovered the way, she found herself hopelessly trapped in yet another green, box-like room, or on a dead-end path.

  Sarah tried desperately to fill her lungs wit air, but she couldn’t get enough. She could feel panic rising. She had to get out of there! Frantically, she pushed against the prickly branches, but they grew so thickly she could not force her way through.

  Suddenly, she could stand it no longer, and began to sob aloud.

  “Ho! You there in the maze! What are you doing in there?” a man’s voice called.

  All at once, her need for rescue outweighed her fear of discovery. “I’m trying to get out!” she cried. “Help me!” Her voice caught on a sob.

  “Work your way toward the sound of my voice,” the man said.

  She ran down one path, only to come to another dead end. She ran back and took a second path. She was totally confused. Where was he? “I can’t….” She gasped for air. “I can’t….”

  “Over here, missy. Come along, now. You can do it,” the voice soothed. “Come right toward my voice. You’re doin’ fine.”

  He kept up a running, one-sided conversation to guide her, as she followed path after path until, finally, she took a last turn and saw a tall, dark shadow imposed across the sunlight at the opening.

  What would become of her now that she had been caught trespassing? Would she be arrested and carried off to gaol? Would she be put in the stocks in front of the courthouse where people would mock her as they passed?

  The smothery tangle of bushes seemed safe and comforting now, and as she watched the man come toward her, she wished she had stayed there. She moved back a step.

  “Miss Sarah, is that you?” the man asked, removing his hat respectfully. Tight, white curls sprang up as their restraint was removed, and she saw that it was the man she had given her apple juice as he stood in the stocks. What was his name? Moses? Martin?

  “Well, missy, it’s a blessin’ ole Marcus came along when he did, or you might have had to spend the night in that maze!”

  Sarah inhaled, gratefully drawing fresh air into her lungs.

  “I caught a glimpse of you on the bank of the canal when I came down to throw some stale bread crumbs to the swans and geese,” he said, “but you disappeared into the orchard before I could recognize you.”

  “What are you going to do with me?” she managed to whisper. She knew she was guilty of trespassing. There was no use trying to deny it. She had been caught in the act.

  Marcus threw back his head and laughed a deep, long laugh. �
�Mercy me, Miss Sarah!” he said. “Ain’t you the same young lady who gave me a drink of cold apple juice on a hot summer’s day, when I was in no position to get one for myself?”

  She nodded her head, wondering what that had to do with her present predicament.

  “And don’t you think ole Marcus appreciates that kindness?”

  She didn’t know what to say. Was he not going to….?

  “Besides,” he went on, “these grounds belong to the Commonwealth of Virginia now. Why, Virginia’s governor, Patrick Henry himself, now lives in this palace that was built for the king’s governor. And, so long as you keep out of the ballroom gardens where Governor Henry takes his morning and evening walks, you won’t be in his way at all.”

  “I know I had no business coming here, sir, without permission,” she stammered. “I’m sorry.”

  He waved her apology away. “You just enjoy these gardens, Miss Sarah. Ole Marcus works hard to keep them looking good, and he’s happy to share them with the likes of you. Things just seem more special when you can share them. And I’ll tell the governor all about it, so you won’t need to fear being caught again.”

  Sarah felt tears gathering behind her eyes at his kindness. And all because she had impulsively given him her cup of apple juice earlier today! It was like that verse in the Bible that said, “Cast thy bread upon the waters, and after many days, it will return to you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, with a curtsy.

  “You just call me Marcus, Miss Sarah. And if ever you need a friend, all you have to do is yell, and ole Marcus will come runnin’!”

  “Thank you, Marcus,” she said again.

  He placed the old hat back on his head and turned to go. Then he turned back. “It seems to me that I’ve seen you somewhere before, besides in front of the stocks on Duke of Gloucester Street.”

  Sarah was sure she had never seen him anywhere else. “I’m Charity and Ethan Armstrong’s niece from Kentucky,” she explained.

  “Kentucky?” he repeated, and Sarah saw pain shadow his eyes.

  “Do you know someone in Kentucky?” she asked, wondering if he had family there who had died or been killed. He looked so sad.

  He shook his head, walking toward the ballroom gardens. “I don’t know, missy,” he said. “My wife and child were sold to a slave trader who claimed he was heading for Kentucky. But I never believed it. From what I hear, the market for slaves in Kentucky is small. I think he took them farther south to be sold to some cotton planter.”

  “Sold?” she echoed in horror, skipping a step to catch up with him. “But you said the governor’s lady gave you free papers before she went back to England. Didn’t she free your family, too?”

  “Dulcie and Sam didn’t belong to Governor Dunmore. They belonged to a James River plantation owner who would have sold his own mother for two farthings!” He stopped walking and stared sadly off toward the palace, his thoughts obviously much farther south than the elegant pink brick building in front of them. “I’ve just always hoped they were bought by a kinder master,” he added.

  “Did you ever try to find them, Marcus?” Sarah asked.

  He nodded. “I finally picked up the trail of that trader in South Carolina, at the slave market in Charleston. But, out of all the poor folks sold on that block, nobody could remember a beautiful, brown-skinned woman with a little boy who looked just like his pa clinging to her hand. To them, you know, we all look alike.”

  Sarah didn’t know what to say. It was so awful! There had been no slaves in Miller’s Forks, and none on Stoney Creek. Even here where some people had slaves, the Armstrong household had none, for Hester Starkey was a hired servant, not a slave. How would it feel to belong to a master, to have to do whatever he said, no matter what?

  “My little boy was so scared when they tore him out of my arms and forced him on that wagon!” Marcus went on. “And Dulcie was hugging him to her, trying to comfort him, with that hopeless look in her eyes like she had died inside. That look is burned into my brain like a brand, Miss Sarah. I don’t reckon I’ll ever forget it to my dying day. My Dulcie could sing like an angel, but I’ve often wondered if she’s sung a note since that terrible morning.”

  Sarah felt tears stinging her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I just don’t understand how anyone can own someone else, anyway. Don’t we all just belong to God?”

  He smiled, and began walking again, this time toward the gates. “You know that, Miss Sarah, and I know it, but some people take for themselves what rightfully ain’t theirs to take.”

  He sighed deeply. “Since then, I’ve looked, and I’ve sent word. Colonel Armstrong has tried to locate them. Governor Henry has tried. I think he would buy them and bring them back here for me. But it seems they’ve dropped off the face of the earth without a trace.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said again.

  “Well, it’s been a long time, Miss Sarah. I reckon little Samuel would be a big boy by now. And ole Marcus has learned to live day by day with his grief pushed down where it’s bearable. The good Lord won’t put on us more than we can bear, if we just trust Him to help carry the burden.”

  He stood lost in thought for a few moments. “These gardens are my family now, missy. I was so glad Governor Henry asked me to come back to work here after he moved into the palace. He’s a kindly man, and a fair one. The minute he rode into town and found me in those stocks today, he demanded I be set free.” He chuckled. “I’m not likely to see anybody as angry as he was, not twice in one lifetime!”

  Suddenly, light touched his dark eyes. “I know where I’ve seen you before, Miss Sarah!” he exclaimed. “In the Armstrong pew with your aunt and cousins at Bruton Parish Church!”

  She looked puzzled. “But I haven’t seen you at church, Marcus.”

  He chuckled. “And you’re not likely to! Folks like me—free or slave—sit up in the north balcony.”

  They had reached the gates, and Sarah slipped through them. Then she was surprised to see him do the same, and turn to lock the gates behind them. She had assumed he lived there on the palace grounds, but he walked with her toward Nicholson Street.

  “Don’t forget what I said now, missy,” he said when they reached the Armstrong house. “These are uncertain times, and you never know when you might need a friend, even such an unlikely one as ole Marcus!” Chuckling, he walked on to Botetourt Street and turned north.

  “Good night!” she called after him. “I won’t forget!”

  “It’s about time you got back, missy!” Hester Starkey said from the doorway. “I was about to lock you out!”

  Sarah smiled up at her, thinking how different Hester was from Marcus. Surely she hadn’t faced such tragedy as his. Yet she was as bitter as a green persimmon before the frost turned it mellow. And Marcus was…well, not exactly happy, Sarah supposed, but at least content.

  She wished she could be more like him, but it seemed she was always wanting something she couldn’t have. In Kentucky, she had wanted to be back in Virginia. In Virginia, she wanted to be with her family in Kentucky. And if she were back in Kentucky, what would she want then?

  Chapter 5

  Sarah woke to singing birds, the sweet scent of Aunt Charity’s pale pink roses carried into the bedroom on a soft summer breeze, and the tantalizing smell of pancakes cooking. She knew it was early. The air wasn’t hot yet, and the sun was just peeking over the windowsill. Careful not to touch Abigail, she rolled over on her back and stretched until her toes touched the footboard.

  Then she remembered. Today was Sunday, and her new blue dress was ready to wear to church. But even that exciting prospect was overshadowed by the fact that they began their lessons tomorrow morning with their new tutor!

  “She seems genteel and learned,” Aunt Charity had announced over supper a few nights ago, “…and I’ve engaged Miss Gordon’s services as a tutor for the three of you for four weeks. At the end of that time, we will evaluate your progress and decide about further lessons.�
�

  Sarah hugged herself in anticipation. How grand it would be to see Gabrielle again, to introduce her to Tabitha and Abigail, to listen to her charming French accent as she instructed them in the skills young ladies needed to survive in these busy modern times!

  First, though, there was Sunday and the new blue dress to experience. Sarah rolled over and off the edge of the featherbed onto her feet. She held her breath as the tall bedstead creaked, but Abigail just turned over onto her stomach, stuck one arm up under the plump feather pillow, and began to breathe deeply again. Sarah knew the other girls would have to get up soon, but she relished these early morning moments alone.

  Sarah poured a small amount of water from the pitcher into the bowl and quickly washed her face. She replaced her white nightdress with her new blue dress, and covered it with one of the white aprons Aunt Charity insisted the girls wear to keep their dresses clean. Then she tiptoed from the room, sat down on the top step, and pulled on her shoes and stockings.

  Her thoughts on Gabrielle and the glorious mornings ahead, Sarah had the table set for breakfast and was helping Hester carry food into the dining room when Aunt Charity came in and took her place at the end of the table. Sarah was rewarded for her efforts by a rare, approving smile from her aunt as they listened to her cousins stumble, half asleep, down the stairs to join them for breakfast.

  Then they were bustling about, Abigail bewailing the fact that she couldn’t find the ribbons that matched her pink dress. She accused first Sarah, and then Megan of taking them. “If I can’t have a new dress to wear, it seems I could at least have hair ribbons to match my old one!” she whined to Tabitha.

  Tabitha, dressing contentedly even without the benefit of a new frock, was dreaming of seeing Seth Coler at church and hardly noticed Abigail’s tantrum.

  Aunt Charity noticed, though, and quickly put an end to it. “Here are your ribbons, Abigail, in the dresser drawer where you put them the last time you wore them,” she said sharply. “And you owe Sarah and Megan an apology, young lady!”