The contracts for indentured servants could be bought and sold. Tessa had heard mention of how badly some young women were treated. And that was why she chose Anya from the half dozen servants on the ship.
'You must not worry so about earning your place here. And now that you've done more than a day's work and 'tis hours yet before supper needs to be started, take the rest of the afternoon for yourself.'
'But I-'
'Jonah suggested there were old clothes of his sister's stored in the attic. Mayhap you would like to head up there and choose a few more work dresses for yourself, and something nice for church.'
'Thank you, mistress.' Anya bowed her head and scurried away, her worn homespun skirt snapping with her quick gait.
'Not many fine women married to rich men in this village, or any other for that matter, would treat a servant girl that way.' Jonah's lazy step brought him closer.
Her skin heated and prickled, anticipating his touch. 'Kindness will not make an industrious person lazy. I've found 'tis a common misconception.'
'Aye.' He wrapped his arms around her and drew her full up against his chest. Substantial and hard as steel. She leaned her cheek against his breastbone and heard the dependable beat of his heart. 'Father is refusing to drink your tea.'
'He can't refuse, Jonah.'
'I know. Trust me. I'll find a way to convince him to drink that putrid brew.'
'You? I was looking forward to doing battle with the old man.' She laughed against him, rejoiced in the vibrating rumbling of his chuckle beneath her ear.
'I hate to deprive you of such fun, but I'm worried about Andy. 'Tis not like him to take to his bed in the middle of the day.'
'Mayhap he needs a stronger dose of birch bark tea.' She wrapped her arms around her husband and hugged him tight, but when she withdrew, shadows darkened his eyes.
Mayhap he worried about his brother, 'twas only natural. But ever since she had revealed her heart to him, told him she loved him, she feared… aye, 'twas only fears. He hadn't answered her then, but hadn't he already confessed his feelings for her when he first proposed? And again many times over in his every word and deed.
'I will see to your brother.' She brushed a kiss across his mouth and he kissed her back, fiercely, passionately, erasing any question, any doubts.
Jonah watched his wife disappear in the dark stairwell, her skirts swishing around her slim ankles, then melding with the shadows. Her step brushed light on the wooden stairs above, and he ached at her absence. The new dress he'd bought her from the seamstress sat in its wrapping on the table by the door, forgotten in her haste to see to others.
He could not fault her, for 'twas why he married her. He ought to be glad she lived up to his expectations and made his marriage a good one. But it bothered him too, for Thomas' words and his own shortcomings weighed heavily on his conscience.
Father was recovering and may not be as infirm as the surgeon led them to expect. He looked robust, muttering curses and complaints over Tessa's bird dropping tea. He had seen her grind the herbs himself, but Father tended toward hyperbole.
He was left with a wife who loved him. Who held such tender, magical feelings for him, even after he told her what he was, no hero, no great soldier to esteem, but a man like any other. She still loved him.
'Father, you're not drinking the tea.'
'This tastes worse than the mud in the road after haying season when all the horses and oxen have been trodding up and down it.' Father's face puckered after another minuscule sip.
' 'Tis one of Tessa's brews that saved your life, you stubborn old man.' Thank God for Tessa and her herbs. 'You had better do what she says, because I need you alive and well, just as my brothers do.'
'Have you tasted this brew?' Sparkles of humor and downright willfulness flicked in the corner of his mouth.
'Nay, although I've heard you describe it in great detail.' Wryly, Jonah reached out and caught the cup before Father could upturn it into the hearth.
'Boy, if you value my life, let me accidentally spill this horrid tea.'
'I heard that.' Tessa swirled into the light, her braid flicking over her shoulder, her dress shivering around her slender woman's curves. Aye, but she looked a sight. 'Samuel, spill all the tea you want. I have more.'
'She's a feisty one, Jonah. What do you plan to do about it?'
'Hope she never gets mad at me,' he teased, but at the lines etched around Tessa's mouth and the way she did not tease back, he tensed. 'How's Andy?'
'I'm not certain. He complains of a bad headache, but it doesn't seem to be responding to my herbs.'
' 'Tis because your herbs are likely to kill a healthy man,' Father spoke up. 'Is my son ill?'
'I don't know. He has no fever, no other complaints.' Tessa's voice softened. 'I know of some roots that when crushed and added with the bark made a powerful pain killer. Andy said he often gets headache, just not this bad.'
'I will help you.' Jonah rose, leaving his father with a look of warning. 'Don't even think about dumping out that tea.'
'I could accidentally spill it.' The old man looked defiant. 'You'll never know.'
'A tea that putrid will leave a stain anywhere you pour it.'
'And an uncommonly bad smell.' Father's humor came thin, worry wrinkling his face, draining the life from his eyes. 'See to Andy. I hope he has not contracted this same illness.'
' Tis a headache, nothing more.' Though Jonah did not feel assured as he went to join Tessa in the kitchen.
She stood at the counter, pestle in hand. A sound variety of earthy smells, of roots and barks and dried leaves, scented the air around her. 'Your father thinks I'm torturing him, but he needs to take his medicine for at least one more week. We cannot risk a return of the fever. His lungs are not strong enough to survive another bout of that sickness.'
'I know.' Jonah laid his hand on her shoulder because he liked touching her. 'You have my support. I trust you with my family. With my life.'
'Oh, Jonah.' She turned and folded herself against his chest and held him so hard. He could feel how much she cared for him. Thomas was right-aye, he'd made a terrible mistake. He had not misled her. He just had never imagined that a practical spinster with more sense than any woman he'd ever met would harbor a heart so tender.
And he would not hurt her. He would never let her know how cold his heart, how desolate. He kissed her brow, those silken curls tickling his chin, and cradled her close. Rain started to tap at the windows, driven by a somber wind.
Chapter Thirteen
A knock on the front door drew them apart. She hated moving away from him, but she'd given Anya the afternoon off. 'I had better answer that before Samuel decides he feels well enough to do it.'
'Aye. Let me.' He pressed a quick kiss to her brow and then marched away.
Tessa searched through her basket and laid out the crocks on the counter, one by one. She heard the door open and a woman's voice talking fast and high. It sounded like Prudence Bowman.
'Tessa.' Jonah pushed through the door, his face tight. 'Someone is here to see you. She says her daughter has fallen ill.'
A foreboding drew tight in the pit of her stomach. 'Send her in-'
'Tessa!' A pale faced woman, dressed in a fine gown and cloak, pushed past Jonah in the threshold and tumbled into the kitchen, windblown and rain specked. 'Thankful woke up yesterday saying she didn't feel well, and now she has a fever. She is coughing and fretful.'
