For Her Love (40 page)

“Not much jingle in anybody pockets ‘roun’ dis place, but we all happy. Beside, Jawara got sinting to make up for it.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “
Oh muy grande Señor, muy grande!
”

Saran pouted. “Mama, her talkin’ Spanish again!”

“Well, you gotta wait maybe two, tree year,” Ciatta explained, “den me start talkin’ English ‘round you ‘bout dese tings.”

“Oh, she’ll wait longer than that!” Grace warned.

Matu marched through the door next, carrying two earthenware cups, one in each hand. The good china had long since been sold.

“Me already tell you, Matu, me not drinkin’ dat stuff no more!” Ciatta exclaimed. “It taste like—” she glanced over at Saran and wisely held her tongue.

Matu scowled at her and held out one of the cups. Grace let go of Saran and took it. “‘Tis no use arguing. All the worker women drink it when they’re carrying or when they have any little ailment.”

Saran nodded sagely. “Aye, de cerace tea give Mama a strong son.”

Grace took a deep breath and downed the bitter contents of her cup. It was a brew made of local herbs, and Matu swore it was good for pregnant women. Once she had choked it down, she asked Saran, “Mightn’t you like a little sister?”

Saran shook her head. “A boy.”

Giles walked in through the front door. His hair and shirt were damp from washing at the pump in the yard, and he looked handsomely mussed. “No one told me ‘twas teatime,” he observed.

“You wan’ summa dis?” Ciatta asked, offering the still full cup she had finally accepted from Matu.

Giles laughed and shook his head. “The smell makes me ill.”

Grace grimaced. “Then you should try drinking it when a baby is already making you queasy.”

Beaming, Giles held his arms open to Saran, who scampered right into them. “How’s the prettiest little girl in the world?” he asked, leaning down and rubbing his pale nose against her dark one, and Grace smiled. Of course Saran preferred a brother. She was well content being her papa’s only princess. ‘Twas hard to believe she had been terrified of Giles at first.

“C’mon, Saran,” Ciatta said. “Matu an’ me take you a play wit’ de otta chil’rens.”

Saran nodded happily and skipped out the back door with Ciatta and Matu close behind.

Grace followed Giles up to their room, where he stripped off his dirty work shirt and pulled a clean one from one of two wardrobes—the one whose drawers shut completely.

“Hopefully Geoff and Faith will be here soon,” he said. “We’re certainly ready to ship.”

“Where would we be without Geoff? No one else will touch Welbourne’s goods.”

Giles just grinned. “Well, the point is we do have him. We’ve no need of anyone else. And at least our neighbors have stopped trying to burn down our outbuildings.”

Grace gave him her cynical smirk. “That may have something to do with your mentioning at church that we’ve well over a hundred free Africans held in check by nothing more than their ties to Welbourne. What was it you said? I think ‘twas, ‘I’d hate to see what they’d be capable of if anything truly terrible were to happen to this place.’“

“It worked,” he reminded her.

“So it did. I see what it was that made you a good pirate.”

“Privateer,” he corrected.

“Do you miss your boat?” she asked.

“My
ship
? Nay. This is a good life, Grace.” He reached for her, rubbing his hand over the nearly imperceptible swell of her stomach. “I never thought to have a legacy that meant much to me, but I’ll admit, I hope Saran and whoever this is,” he patted her belly, “will keep Welbourne going this way.”

“Careful. You’re beginning to sound like my father.”

“God forbid! Our children may live their lives as they please. But this place means so much to so many people.” He changed his mind and tossed the clean shirt aside. “Saran will be gone an hour or more,” he mentioned, a wicked look in his gray eyes.

“Giles Courtney,” Grace chided, “‘tis the middle of the afternoon. Have you no shame?

“None,” he confessed.

She sighed and shrugged. “Alas, neither have I.”

Much happened at Welbourne these days that had never happened when Edmund and Iolanthe had run it. Happy, chatting voices drifted from the kitchen, field and sugar workers took pride in what they wrought, and two people who loved one another made slow, passionate love while a sea breeze blew in through the window over their fevered flesh.

Paula Reed is an English teacher at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado. After surviving the tragic shooting there, she, not unlike many students and teachers who were there that day, decided the time to pursue all of one’s true passions is now. Paula’s passions are teaching and writing.

Visit her Website at
http://paula-reed.com
.