Page 125 of Dawnlands

Caskwadadas nodded. “Very few. Usually they are found. But somehow, we have to get back to our lands. We can’t stay here in hiding forever.”

“We go home?” Rowan whispered as if it were a promise.

“We go home,” the older woman answered. “Now: you sleep, I’ll watch. Then the boy can take his turn to watch.”

“He won’t fall asleep?”

“He was born one of the People,” Caskwadadas said. “He won’t fall asleep.”

Caskwadadas was right. The Peabodys decided that the new servant must have had an accident looking for the dog. They squabbled briefly about whether he should have been sent out at all, and Mr. Peabody ordered a search party to shout and listen for Rowan at the upper part of the creek, where it brushed against the cane fields, and Dora Peabody said they should look in the cane fields for the pug, as he was far more valuable than an indentured servant.

Mr. Peabody rode to the neighboring plantation to tell them of the runaways—a slave and her boy—and stayed for a grand dinner; but no one searched the little creek near the house, and would not have dreamed of hacking their way through to the deeper forest. The overseers could not ride their horses on the tiny wandering tracks, and they would not dismount and walk in the blistering heat. They could not send slaves without an overseer, for fear of them running off or plunging to their death over the cliffs, and the woman they called “Kitonckquêi” and her son were not worth more than a day’s absence from the fields, which were growing high and needed constant weeding.

The overseer swore that the mother and son had just run off, as Indians were always running off to die in the forest. “They’ll get lost and starve to death,” he assured Mr. Peabody as he rested in his chair in the shade after dinner.

“Forest has got fruit trees, hasn’t it?” Mr. Peabody demanded irritably. “They can eat them?”

“Half of them are poisonous, and you can’t live off berries and nuts,” the man from Bristol told the man from London.

“True.” Mr. Peabody was pleased at the thought. “She’ll starve to death out there and her brat with her. Serve them right.”

FOULMIRE PRIORY, SUSSEX, AUTUMN 1686

Julia, in a dream of snobbish delight, ate dinner with the best friend of the Queen of England, and found, as they drank tea together after dinner, that they shared an extraordinary number of opinions, likes, and dislikes. Encouraged by Livia’s smiling interest, Julia told her about her childhood home in Cheapside in the City, her father’s membership of the Goldsmiths’ Company, and the development of his business, which was now lending money so far afield that they were issuing their own receipts for deposits in London, which could be cashed in the West Indies, and taking in monies there that could be drawn on in London by returning planters.

Livia was fascinated; but said that she, herself, knew nothing about business. She said that although trade in the City was a very good beginning for a family, she could not bear to live on a wharf.

“The noise!” Julia shuddered. “I try to visit only on a Sunday when it is quiet.”

“Yes, but then you have to attend St. Olave’s Church,” Livia whispered with a smile.

Julia widened her eyes to show her disdain for the wharfingers’ parish church. “Oh, I know! The sermons! The vicar is halfway to being a dissenter.”

“I go to the queen’s chapel,” Livia told her.

“I’ve heard it is very beautiful?” Julia asked longingly.

Livia threw up her hands in a pretty gesture. “The paintings! The music! But you must hear the choir. You could bring Hester.”

“I don’t think Dr. Reekie would…” Julia knew that Rob would not like his daughter to attend a Roman Catholic church. But the temptation of the court was too much for her. “We should be delighted. Delighted!”

“I’ll write you a note,” Livia promised. “Are you attending a drawing room this season?”

Julia’s family had never had an invitation. “Hester is too young as yet,” she said quickly. “I want her a little older before she goes out in society.” She hesitated. “So wealthy an inheritance can be a burden…” she hinted.

“You are your father’s only heir?” Livia asked acutely. Her dark eyes strayed across the parlor, where Rob and Matthew were playing Game of Goose, bending over the board with the three girls. Mia’s laugh rang out, and she slapped Matthew’s hand away from her winnings.

“Exactly,” Julia confided. “As Hester is ours. I shall have a puzzle when I plan her marriage. I know no young man whose fortune is her equal.”

“I can advise you,” Livia offered. “I know everyone. And with no daughter of my own, I shall take an interest.”

Julia was briefly silent, awed by the prospect opening before her.

“And she is a little lame?” Livia mentioned quietly.

“It’s nothing!” Julia was quick to assure her. “She wears a brace at night only till she is fully grown. Her foot will come straight, we are assured of it. And it’s not…” She could not find a polite euphemism. “It’s not in the blood.” She flushed. She wanted to say that it would not be passed on to any future noble children; but she saw a reassuring nod from Livia and realized that the older woman completely understood.

“And anyway, a generous dowry would compensate…” Livia smoothed over the moment.