Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [53]
In the hall, where meetings open to everyone and town-wide activities took place, she walked to the fireplace at one end of the room and gripped the mantel. Above her, a portrait of the town founder, Peter Bourne, hung in all his outmoded splendor of embroidered satin coat, lace jabot, powdered wig, and patch, beside a firm, unsmiling mouth. His dark eyes seemed to bore into hers, accusing her. How dare you taint my town with your female incompetence.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” She pounded her fist on the carved wooden edge of the mantel. “She didn’t die from childbirth.”
As many times as she’d gone over that night in her head, she could find nothing wrong with her actions. Yet, if she were more experienced, had gone through her own lying-in, maybe she would have worked out something she was too young and naive to see.
And if she weren’t so young and empty in her heart and her soul, she wouldn’t have succumbed to the charms of a certain Englishman and let him hold her hand.
She glanced from the council room door to the front entrance. It stood open to the sunshine and crystal blue sky, washed clear of clouds after the previous day’s rain. A long walk along the beach would do her good. She may as well leave. From the moment Wilkins divulged knowledge of her behavior the day before, she knew she’d lost. They would discredit her. She wouldn’t be able to support herself or Patience and Japheth or assist Sally Belote in getting help for her baby.
“So much for God taking care of us,” she muttered and started for the door.
“Miss Eckles,” Mayor Kendall called from the council room entrance. “Tabitha, come back. We’ve reached our conclusion.”
14
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“We’re going out in your boat?” Tabitha looked so dismayed, Raleigh wished he’d planned a day on the beach, fishing from one of the coves or digging for crabs.
“I thought you’d like to be on the water.” He glanced from her white face to the open water. “It’s a perfect day. Not too sunny. Not too rough, though the wind is kicking up a bit.” He gave her what he hoped was a coaxing smile. “And you used to always like going out on the Marianne.”
“That was before the men around here started to disappear.”
“From land.” He set his jaw. “The last five have been from land.”
“Well, yes, but Raleigh—” She gazed at him from eyes that revealed she’d enjoyed too little sleep lately. “It’s not safe for you. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, for you to be taken up again.”
The tenderness of her voice warmed his heart. She cared about him. She still cared. When he’d called Monday night, a time calculated to coincide with the city council meeting’s aftermath, she had talked with him in the garden for half an hour, though she’d refused to discuss the council meeting more than to say no one was forcing her to stop her practice—yet. Before he left, she agreed to spend the following afternoon with him, as long as no one needed her care.
He prayed the only care she would give would be to him—smiles to soothe his fears, words to heal his envy of that upstart bondsman, perhaps the touch of her hand to restore his soul to a state of a free conscience.
“Not even the British are crude enough to take up a woman,” Raleigh said to reassure her. “Everyone who’s disappeared has done so at night.”
“And you came too close the other morning.” Her look was direct, piercing despite the soft blue-gray of her eyes beneath the brim of her straw hat. “How did you do it this time?”
Raleigh’s gut tightened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why would they let you go last Monday, if they didn’t before?” She clasped her elbows and looked like nothing so much as a stern schoolmistress asking for an explanation of why his slate was empty instead of full of sums. “Your birth hasn’t changed.”
“Different captain.” Raleigh shrugged and leaped onto the deck of the single-masted boat. “Some of them are decent fellows.” He held out both his hands to her. “Now come on board. We’re losing the ebb tide.”
“All right.” Her movements slow, appearing as though she still doubted the wisdom of