some water boiling.”
“Oh, Miss Tabbie, you’ve never gone and hurt yourself.” Patience poked her head around the frame of the open door. “What if someone’s about to deliver and you can’t use your hand?”
“No one’s about to deliver.” Tabitha slipped into the kitchen and plucked a bunch of comfrey leaves from a jar.
“That’s what you was thinkin’ last night.” Patience swung the water kettle over the hearth and built up the fire. “You thought you’d have a peaceful night of it, and look what happened.”
“It’s not likely to happen again,” Tabitha said, spooning leaves into a teapot and bracing herself for the rotting garbage odor of the healing herbs.
At least she hoped it wouldn’t. She wished to avoid nights where patients died and strangers wandered her beach.
A shudder ran through her, the chill of a cool breeze on a hot, sunny day. Her hand shook, and she spilled the leaves across the table and onto the floor. First the thorn punctures, now a mess to clean up. If she wasn’t careful, the man would have her walking into the ocean instead of along the tide line.
If she saw him again, which was unlikely. As small a village as Seabourne was, she rarely dealt with the mayor and consequently not his servants. She and Letty met while marketing. They exchanged friendly greetings, but Tabitha wasn’t a servant, even with her position as a hireling. She was a professional for all she was a woman, and Letty, with her Old World ways, disapproved of hobnobbing between classes.
And Mrs. Kendall, were there to be a Mrs. Kendall, would never have passed the time of day with Tabitha unless she needed her medical care. Tabitha often felt caught in the middle, neither fish nor fowl, but far too much alone. If she had a husband, women would know where to place her, how to fit her into their gatherings and entertainments.
After cleaning up the spill, she snatched up a cup and dipped water from the simmering kettle to pour in the pot on the table. The rank stench of the comfrey rose on the steam, smelling of anything but an herb possessing its soothing and healing powers.
“I’ll return to the garden until that steeps,” she said.
“Are you avoiding me?” Patience fixed her with an unwavering stare.
Tabitha arched her brows. “Why would I do that?”
“Huh.” Patience plucked onions from a basket and snatched up a knife. “You don’t want to talk about Mr. Trower coming back.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Tabitha traced the punctures on her palm with a forefinger, then gave Patience a sidelong glance. “But I’m sure you do.”
“I do.” Patience sliced through an onion as though she needed to kill it. “I know you want a family, a real family, not just me and Japheth, but I’d make sure that man intends to stay for real before I tumbled head over heels for him again.”
“Never fear that.” Tabitha laughed. “I’m happy he’s still alive and well, but I’m not ready to repeat the kind of mistake I did with him.”
Like trust him to be faithful more than she did anyone, including God.
Patience set down the knife with a clatter. “You got to trust someone if you want a family, child.”
“It won’t be Raleigh, not for a long time.”
“You’re sure of that?”
Tabitha nodded. “I’m sure.”
Because, as she returned her attention to the punctures on her palm, she couldn’t hold Raleigh’s face in her mind’s eye, though he had left her house less than an hour earlier. She saw dark eyes surrounded by powdered waves and a cocky grin.
And that frightened her more than the idea of giving her heart back to Raleigh Trower.
6
______
Blood spurted. He gasped and dropped his utensils with a clatter.
“My apologies,” he managed with all the stoical training life with his father had taught him. He grabbed a serviette from the sideboard, wrapped it around his hand, and exited the now silent dining room with his back straight and head up.
In the
“Oh, Miss Tabbie, you’ve never gone and hurt yourself.” Patience poked her head around the frame of the open door. “What if someone’s about to deliver and you can’t use your hand?”
“No one’s about to deliver.” Tabitha slipped into the kitchen and plucked a bunch of comfrey leaves from a jar.
“That’s what you was thinkin’ last night.” Patience swung the water kettle over the hearth and built up the fire. “You thought you’d have a peaceful night of it, and look what happened.”
“It’s not likely to happen again,” Tabitha said, spooning leaves into a teapot and bracing herself for the rotting garbage odor of the healing herbs.
At least she hoped it wouldn’t. She wished to avoid nights where patients died and strangers wandered her beach.
A shudder ran through her, the chill of a cool breeze on a hot, sunny day. Her hand shook, and she spilled the leaves across the table and onto the floor. First the thorn punctures, now a mess to clean up. If she wasn’t careful, the man would have her walking into the ocean instead of along the tide line.
If she saw him again, which was unlikely. As small a village as Seabourne was, she rarely dealt with the mayor and consequently not his servants. She and Letty met while marketing. They exchanged friendly greetings, but Tabitha wasn’t a servant, even with her position as a hireling. She was a professional for all she was a woman, and Letty, with her Old World ways, disapproved of hobnobbing between classes.
And Mrs. Kendall, were there to be a Mrs. Kendall, would never have passed the time of day with Tabitha unless she needed her medical care. Tabitha often felt caught in the middle, neither fish nor fowl, but far too much alone. If she had a husband, women would know where to place her, how to fit her into their gatherings and entertainments.
After cleaning up the spill, she snatched up a cup and dipped water from the simmering kettle to pour in the pot on the table. The rank stench of the comfrey rose on the steam, smelling of anything but an herb possessing its soothing and healing powers.
“I’ll return to the garden until that steeps,” she said.
“Are you avoiding me?” Patience fixed her with an unwavering stare.
Tabitha arched her brows. “Why would I do that?”
“Huh.” Patience plucked onions from a basket and snatched up a knife. “You don’t want to talk about Mr. Trower coming back.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Tabitha traced the punctures on her palm with a forefinger, then gave Patience a sidelong glance. “But I’m sure you do.”
“I do.” Patience sliced through an onion as though she needed to kill it. “I know you want a family, a real family, not just me and Japheth, but I’d make sure that man intends to stay for real before I tumbled head over heels for him again.”
“Never fear that.” Tabitha laughed. “I’m happy he’s still alive and well, but I’m not ready to repeat the kind of mistake I did with him.”
Like trust him to be faithful more than she did anyone, including God.
Patience set down the knife with a clatter. “You got to trust someone if you want a family, child.”
“It won’t be Raleigh, not for a long time.”
“You’re sure of that?”
Tabitha nodded. “I’m sure.”
Because, as she returned her attention to the punctures on her palm, she couldn’t hold Raleigh’s face in her mind’s eye, though he had left her house less than an hour earlier. She saw dark eyes surrounded by powdered waves and a cocky grin.
And that frightened her more than the idea of giving her heart back to Raleigh Trower.
6
______
Blood spurted. He gasped and dropped his utensils with a clatter.
“My apologies,” he managed with all the stoical training life with his father had taught him. He grabbed a serviette from the sideboard, wrapped it around his hand, and exited the now silent dining room with his back straight and head up.
In the
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