Surrender the Wind (37 page)

“The shot will do me no good without powder, woman.”

Juleah lifted her chin and stood her ground. “Even so, toss it away.”

His mouth twisted and he untied the pouch. With his eyes fixed upon her, Corben obeyed.

He thrust his hand out to her. She waited. Staring back into his eyes, she cocked the hammer, turned the weapon toward the pines, and fired. The blast shook her frame, and the smell of sulfur wafted against her face. At arm's length, she handed the flintlock back to Corben.

She thought she heard him sob, as he shoved the pistol back into his belt, and then rake his fingers through his hair. “If it
does any good, I regret that I … if you’d pardon my… .” He broke off, made a quick distressed gesture. “Please say nothing to Mr. Martin. I need my job—got mouths to feed. It was the drink. I need to repent and give it up.” Slowly, he moved off into the darkness, and she knew, back to his poor cabin, to his wife and children.

Juba hurried forth from the shadows. “Are you all right, Miss Juleah?”

Juleah wiped her hands along her dress, as if something mucky clung to her palms. “I think so. I told you to go back, Juba. But you kept watch over me.”

“Yes, miss. Corben might come back when you is sleepin’,” Juba said. “I’ll sleep in front of the door tonight, Miss Juleah.”

“He won’t be back.” She walked up the steps, across the porch, and to the front door. “You are the kindest of knights, Juba. Stay if you wish beside the door. I shall fetch you something for your head.”

“Where is Lucy, miss? Corben, he didn’t hurt her, did he?”

“She is fast asleep. No harm was done.”

She went inside to the gloom and heat of the mansion. Softly she whispered a prayer that the slave would be safe from the vengeance of his overseer.

T
he following day, Juleah opened a pair of French doors that led to an upper balcony. The room she had chosen faced east, toward the ocean, and she could see it clear and bright in the distance. Dunes of white sand and tall shore grass glistened in the sunshine. The surf, lined with milky foam, swept over the coast in time with the wind. The sun warmed her face, but her stomach growled with hunger.

When she heard Lucy clear her throat, Juleah turned to see the old woman carrying a tray of food. She hurried to it.

“I’m starved, Lucy. So good of you.”

Lucy blinked her eyes. “I’m not used to being inside the house, Miss Juleah. I don’t know what I can and cannot do.”

Juleah patted the chair next to her. “Well, you can sit and talk to me.”

Lucy broke into a laugh and proceeded to make up the bed with its tumbled bedclothes. She shuffled over to the window.

“A wagon loaded with goods from the shops in Charleston comin’ down the lane,” she cried. “And there's the master's coach behind it, Miss Juleah.”

Juleah leapt to her feet and looked out to see a hackney rumble down the lane in a cloud of dust. The wagon circled up to the front, and beside the driver sat a slave woman. She appeared middle-aged, refined by the way she sat straight with shoulders back and with her hands clasped over her apron. Her dress looked new, crisp and clean, in calico pink flowers. Upon her head, she wore a white turban.

Mr. Martin dragged off his hat as he exited the coach. “Good day to you, Miss Juleah,” he called up to her in the window. “I hope you are well on this fine day.”

She nodded and smiled. “I am, sir, though anxious to leave for Maryland.”

She hurried down to meet him. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she found him in the foyer giving instructions to the wagon driver. He turned on his heels and bowed low to her. His clothes were fashionable, but simple. His hair was neatly tied in a ribbon, and his face clean-shaven. He appeared no older than her father, but leaner in body and brimming with youthful energy as he hurried over to her and lifted her hand to kiss it.

“Corben explained everything to me, how you were shipwrecked.” He shook his head sympathetically. “A harrowing experience to be sure. I am so honored that you made my home your own.”

Juleah gave him a polite curtsey. “I cannot express my thanks, sir.”

Martin turned his body this way and that, as if he sought what to do next. He finally paused and said, “Your frightful event left you in rags, Miss Juleah. You may have any of my wife's dresses and whatever else you need. You’re about her size I would say.”

Although the offer was a kind one, Juleah could not take his lady's clothes unless Mrs. Martin were home and offered them to her. Even then, she’d feel obligated to repay in some way. But if she hinted of reciprocation, that would be an insult to their generous hospitality.

“It is indeed a kind offer, sir. Excuse my English manners, but I feel strange taking your lady's clothes.”

“She’d insist. I’ll be in trouble enough with her when she finds out you lived out here in a shanty among my slaves. You must allow me to offer you suitable attire for your journey as a way of making amends.”

“Well, I would not want your lady to be angry with you, sir. I accept your offer.”

Martin's face beamed. “That is fine, Miss Juleah. Now, in addition to proper clothing, my coach shall speed you north to your uncle. However, I hope you might consider staying longer.”

Juleah's heart leapt in her breast. She was one step closer to Seth, and the silver lining to her plight would be to see her dear Uncle John again. She did not wish to seem ungrateful, but had to make her desire known.

She stood aside as the wagoner carried in a wooden box. “I am quite anxious to make my journey, sir.”

“I understand.” Martin moved to the door and motioned for the slave woman to come inside.

Juleah pressed her lips together in thought. She had to speak up. “Mr. Martin, your slave Juba pulled me from the sea. If it had not been for him, I would have perished. Is it wrong to be grateful to the man who saved my life?’

“Indeed, I would say not.”

“And Lucy has cared for me very well,” Juleah told him.

He looked about for Lucy. “Has she?”

Formality aside, Juleah put her hand out to him. “Promise me you will treat them well, Mr. Martin.”

Mr. Martin looked at her bewildered, then grasped her hand. “I’ve no reason to do otherwise, I assure you.”

She wondered, could she leave without telling Mr. Martin what Corben had tried to do to her? Did he not have the right to know what kind of man he had in his employment? It was a risk to tell. She thought of his wife, Abigail, and their children. No, she would stay silent for their sakes and pray that one day Corben would relent and give up drink.

With a graceful glide, Mr. Corben's slave came inside the house and paused in front of Juleah.

“Miss Juleah, this is Jenny. She's my wife's maid.” Martin dropped his gloves in his hat and set it on a table. “Jenny, find this lady something appropriate to wear for traveling.”

Jenny turned and led Juleah up a winding staircase to a grand bedroom done in white. A large canopy bed sat to one side done up in eyelet lace, cluttered with pillows that had golden tassels. A dressing table and mirror were beneath the window, stocked with brush and comb, powder and ribbon boxes. Jenny opened a clothes cupboard stuffed with gowns, day dresses, riding jackets, and more. She drew out several items and laid them on the bed.

“These are fine clothes.” Jenny shook out the hem of a satin gown. “You can choose whatever you wish. I’ll pack them for you.”

“I can take one,” replied Juleah. “These are Mrs. Martin's clothes.”

Jenny spread the gown over the bed. “Well, she wouldn’t mind. She don’t need them.”

Jenny's comment puzzled Juleah. “Why?”

“She's been gone six months.”

“A long time to have been away. Mr. Martin said she would be returning soon.”

Jenny shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Mrs. Martin died over the winter. Pneumonia. Mr. Martin, he been grievin’ fierce. I think it did something to his mind. He tells folks she's away and coming home soon. I guess it gives him comfort.”

Jenny shut the cupboard door and turned the latch until it clicked. “You need to change out of those awful clothes, miss. The driver will be here any minute.”

“Already?” Juleah pulled loose the ties of her bodice.

“Yes, Miss Juleah.” Jenny walked over to the window and threw open the sashes. The breeze rushed inside. “I heard what happen to you, about the ship sinking and you bein’ in the sea. Good folks they are down on the beach. They’ll take care of anybody needin’ help. I imagine you can’t wait to get back to your folks.”

“Yes, I am lonely for them, especially my husband.”

Jenny poured water from a china pitcher into a washing bowl. The lavender soap smelled heavenly. Juleah ran the silky foam over her skin, through her hair, and inhaled the heady fragrance. “I have taken such things for granted.”

She chose what she believed was the least expensive of Mrs. Martin's clothes. It’d be wrong to take advantage of the situation. It fit her to a tee, a pale blue dress of lawn with modest lace and a linen chemise. Jenny took out of a box a pair of silk opaque stockings with matching shoes.

The moment Juleah had finished dressing she hurried from the room, downstairs to the front door. She wanted to thank Mr. Martin, but he was not in the house. In the distance, she saw him as he walked across his field toward the woods, his hand stretched out as if to clasp another.

The roomy coach and four awaited her.

“Miss Juleah,” said Jenny. “Mr. Martin wanted me to give you this. It is for your journey.” She held out a leather pouch filled with coins.

Tears filled Juleah's eyes. “It is too much.”

Jenny pressed her lips together and stepped back.

“I cannot take it.”

“Would you like to go hungry on the way, miss?”

Juleah hesitated. “Well, thank him for it. One day, I will pay him back.” She boarded the coach, and her heart moved within her. The only payment she could offer she offered in prayer for Mr. Martin.

Lord, be kind to him and ease his grief.

She lifted her hand in farewell to Lucy and Juba, who stood by the side of the lane, Lucy in her faded dress and Juba with his straw hat in his hands.

Seated inside the coach, she closed her eyes. Relief to be leaving filled her. When the coachman's whip cracked above the heads of his steeds, the coach jerked forward and rolled on. It swayed and glided over the sunlit road through the Carolina dust. Locusts shrilled in the trees, and pine groves shaded the road.

Hours later, as the day strengthened, she went to draw down the window shade where the sun was strongest, but paused to see fields of corn wilting in the heat. Hedges of pokeberry and wild sumac mingled with snowy Queen Anne's lace along the road. She pulled off her hat and gloves and laid them on the seat beside her. Then, she raised her skirts up over her calves and kicked off her shoes. The breeze whisked inside, brushed against her skin, and she drifted off to sleep and dreamed of Seth.

Twenty miles from Virginia, they left fields of corn for sunny fields of tobacco. It took several days to go through Carolina
and the Commonwealth. Twice they were delayed at tollhouses, but the toll-keepers were at least helpful. They informed the driver what lay ahead the next ten miles, the streams to cross, what bridges were out, and where they would find a modest inn to spend the night.

When the left rear wheel caught in the mud after an evening rainstorm, it took a half-hour for the coachman and his fellow to pull it out. It had been a deep hole and sucked the wheel down within it up to the hub. The horses strained, but soon the coach righted and they were on their way once again.

They crossed the James River by barge near Williamsburg, then the York and the Rappahannock, where the bridges were in good repair despite a heavy winter. Heading east, they traveled along the St. Mary's River, into the town that bore its name. The church steeple loomed above the treetops, and the road that led through the town lay dusty that morn and hard as stone.

Breaking at a roadside inn, Juleah sat alone near a window where daylight poured golden through glass. A plate of food was brought to her, and she glanced at the innkeeper and thanked him with the grateful expression of her eyes.

The window where she sat faced east. The fatigue in her body caused Juleah to set her chin in hand and stare out at the bay and a stormy horizon beyond it. Through the mist that gathered, she saw a tall ship with stark white canvas sail toward the wharf. Had it come from England or some other faraway place? For a brief moment, she observed the passengers that stood at the rail, women in broad hats, men in felt tricorns. Alone at the bow, stood a young man dressed in a dark suit of clothes. She could not make out his face at such a distance, but imagined he was handsome.

For a moment, she dreamed he was Seth.

T
he choppy water, the shoreline that hugged clay bluffs. Forests of spruce and elm, marshlands filled with seabirds and cranes, caused Seth's grave blue eyes to stare on with longing. Sadness seized his heart, for in the majesty of this place, one thing lacked—the company of his wife. Life was empty without her. With a struggle he leaned against the rail under the weight of grief.

Gulls glided in the rigging of the vessel. Snowy clouds mounted the sky. Breathing in the air, the coming rain merged with the scent of the water. The Chesapeake had a certain earthy fragrance, as if the life within it meant to flaunt its abundance to the one who passed over it. The water in the bay turned pallid green in the sunlight. Where it merged with the warmer waters of the river, a deeper blue fingered through the viridian hues like intertwining vines. Here Seth disembarked.

Turning up the collar of his coat, he stepped into the street. The thump of hooves and the churn of wheels made him step back. A coach rumbled down the road toward him. The horses’ manes whipped in the wind, and their nostrils flared. He caught a brief glance of the woman inside as it rolled by.
Her profile, the soft curve of her cheek, the shade of her hair as it fell in twists over her shoulder, and the wide-brimmed hat that shadowed her eyes fled past him.