For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.
Duly chastised, Esmée closed her eyes and confessed all dissatisfaction. Who was she to discount the man if he was the Lord’s choice for her? Many married for reasons other than love. Was it not better than life alone? Yet was that reasoning not flawed? Didn’t Nathaniel Autrey deserve more than a half-hearted bride?
As for remaining a spinster, she’d grown used to her solitary state. But she did not sit idly by and lament she had no mate. Her hours were filled with family. The almshouse. Business. Friends. And she was about to become an aunt, if not a wife and mother.
Life was all about how you looked at it, was it not?
CHAPTER
twenty-seven
The next morn, Henri and his crew sailed from York with the tide. Theirs was a quiet passage, the blustery weather of the previous day and night a memory. The shallop soon had them across the Chesapeake, the island before them a shimmering mirage. High above the pines and dunes and beach heather rose the finished stone tower, soon to shine a piercing light to mariners. No more kindling sporadic bonfires on cliff tops to aid navigation, nor witnessing ships dashed to pieces on reefs or other perils of the deep.
“If there’s to be a war, the light shall go dark lest the French be guided by it,” the admiral had told Henri. “But in times of peace ’twill be a sure boon for ships coming and going, whether in stormy seas or no. Virginia should have risen to the occasion long ago.”
“The Norfolk architect who designed it will soon make a final inspection,” Henri replied, though the satisfaction he expected to feel was denied him. Why, he didn’t know.
“You’ve seen it through to fruition and have shouldered considerable expense.”
“’Tis a beauty at such a great height and crafted of local granite.” Henri carefully enumerated the details that had occupied him since he’d first taken to the sea and seen countless lights around the globe. “Hanging oil lamps, at least twelve of them, though candles will suffice if oil is scarce. A platform around the light’s lantern room will keep the glass free of snow and ice in bad weather. And a small cannon has been cast to answer ships in the fog.”
“Much like the Boston harbor light.” The admiral had looked pleased, even proud. “Lord willing, it shan’t be so cursed.”
Henri contemplated it now. Lord willing, it would only be a blessing, not just to the coming lightkeeper but to all those who encountered it. His vision was but one step from being realized. Nay, his and Esmée’s vision. Though he’d seen the project to a finish, he’d not forgotten it was her idea from the first.
“There’s but one matter that confounds me about Admiral Shaw.”
Henri had nearly forgotten Ned was close. The chaplain moved nearer him in the bow.
“He seems somewhat reserved about my pursuit of his daughter,” Ned confided, his tone perplexed. “And more than a little surprised.”
“As I wasn’t privy to what passed between you, I can offer little insight,” Henri replied, trying to dismiss his meeting with Esmée on the stair. But every detail badgered him like sand fleas. Her fragile expression. Her wind-tossed hair tumbling to her shoulder. The beguiling way she held his gaze.
“I presumed my ties to Mount Autrey would be of more merit than being a simple sea chaplain.”
“Admiral Shaw is an opponent of slavery. He may well wonder why a chaplain would espouse such by living there, even if you don’t inherit the plantation.”
“A predicament I’ve no peace with myself.” Ned shook his head.
“You should know he and Mrs. Shaw were among the founders of a Rhode Island society for freeing those in bondage. His daughter is assuredly of the same mind.”
“Then I am in a maddening quandary, am I not? A mere nephew, yet tainted by my relation. It does not help that the overseers are said to be cruel to Mount Autrey’s slaves.”
“Consider manumitting the enslaved Africans if it’s in your power to do so. Employ tenant farmers instead.”
“Like the mother country.”
“Cease growing tobacco and turn to more profitable endeavors like grain and white wheat.”
“You are ahead of your time, Captain. And you sound a farmer at heart, not a sailor.”
“Truth be told, I’ve grown weary of the sea.”
“Yet the governor and his minions are so desperate to foil the French they’ve agreed to all your terms, even your African crew.”
Henri said no more as two jacks reached for the mooring lines with which to dock. With a lightness he didn’t feel, Henri leapt to the pier.
Ned followed, expression still grim. “You’ve not yet said what you think of her.”
Henri walked on, caught off guard by the question. Had the admiral told Ned of his and Esmée’s former tie?
Finally he faced Ned, well out of earshot of the rest of the crew. “What do I think of her . . .” Heat sidled up his face, much as it had done when he was in the stairwell alone with her. Dare he say it? Speak truthfully. “I was in love with her once.”
Ned’s soberness turned to astonishment, and he parroted the words back to Henri. “In love with her?”
“Once,” Henri stated firmly. “I hardly know her now.”
Ned stared at him. “You’ve never spoken of it.”
“’Twas long ago. Before you came aboard. It seemed of little consequence.”
“May I ask what happened to end your misalliance?”
“I scarce ken how to frame it.” Henri shrugged. “She wanted me to stay on land. I craved the sea.”
Ned looked aggrieved. “You spurned her.”
“Nay.” The mere thought raked Henri’s composure. “’Twas mutual. And I do not care to remember.”
“If ’tis still sore, then some feeling must remain.”
Henri turned away, done with the conversation. “Tell the men I want a meeting at six bells in the forenoon.”
They parted, Henri going to look at the light tower but mostly at the finished keeper’s cottage a stone’s throw from it. A short, covered passage connected the two for protection in times of inclement weather. Pushing open the cottage door, he paused before entering, trying to see it with new eyes. He’d taken care to furnish it comfortably, culling items from his travels and carefully storing them in the ship’s hold with the future lightkeeper in mind.
Twin Venetian wingback chairs upholstered in blue tapestry with a nautical theme rested by the fireplace. On a game table was a Russian scrimshaw cribbage set. Tole lanterns hung from the beamed ceiling, each unique. A teak shipwright’s trunk adorned one plaster wall beneath a shelf that held a spyglass and tide tables. He was partial to the humble ship’s barrel for storage in a kitchen corner and the handsome chest of drawers in the bedchamber, its painted surface of a ship at full sail. The generous bed was hung with soft if plain linens. Sparse, well intentioned, and well crafted, the cottage simply lacked a keeper.
His next order of business was to supply just that, one he could oversee till he sailed under a letter of marque for Virginia. Decision made, he still craved a different sort of future.