Length of black, silk ribbon was stretched slowly across the desktop finally coming to rest upon an open bible.
Weary eyes closed against the strain of reading. Another sleepless night, another morning arriving all too early. And more funerals.
War was a miserable thing. He was still struggling to find the glory in it. He understood the need to fight, to protect those he loved, his way of life, but he could not understand the hullabaloo, the young men who hurried to pick up a musket or sword and rush headlong into…
“Hell on earth.”
“What was that, Sir?” The Irishman asked from the next room over. Ears already damaged from too much gunfire were still recovering from the din of yesterday’s battle.
Sterling glanced up, gaze darting to the sunlight that streamed through the seams between the wall boards.
A good caulking would solve all that..
But ye are not on board the ‘Angel…this place is only yours to rent…
“War, Fionn,” Sterling muttered a moment later. He realized, too late, that the steward would not hear him a second time and the question would need repeating again. He leaned back in his chair after pushing it away from the desk. Long legs unfolded before him as good eye finally noticed the holes in the new silk stockings he wore.
She would be angry. Those were the last thing she gave ye. Ye should have worn a different, older pair…
Fingers splayed as open palm slammed down upon the desk. The noise startled the steward, his head soon poking around the edge of the doorway.
“I am sorry…”
“T’is not ye Fionn. Not ye at all!” Sterling shouted, his words dripping with frustration. Leaning down, a finger dug into one hole of the wounded silk, making it worse.
“I can fix those, sir, if ye have a mind not to pillage em further,” Fionn said.
“Does not matter,” came the doleful reply.
Nothing matters now.
“Right, sir.” The steward turned about then shifted just enough to look back at his captain. “I shall have your black coat brushed and ready. A wee bit longer, sir.”
An eternity for those that still remained.
Good eye roamed once more about the room. After the battle they had made sail for the closest harbour. Londontowne. Archangel’s new home. And his.
Sterling had agreed to rent a small tenement there, months ago, as
soon as his marriage had begun to deteriorate. He still could not bear to return to the plantation. Too many memories he was unwilling to confront and now with more dead to bury, life as it had once been, slipped completely away.
Thomas, the bitter child, would see to the property and the horses. Sarah and Sean had promised to look in on things often. Fingers reached for his spectacles before he sunk down further into the chair and dared to draw Sean’s latest letter to him. His throat tightened as he read the legal papers enclosed. So difficult to digest but he swallowed all of it.
His attention was diverted as the steward appeared once more in the doorway. Black coat, furnished with weepers was held out, ready for him to slip into.
“Give me a moment…please.” Words were choked. Hand shook as he reached for quill and ink and he signed where needed. He had severed all other contact, as requested. This was all that remained. Papers were folded, secured inside a fresh sheet, sealed and addressed before he stood.
“See that you find a rider to take these to Virginia. Tell him to make all necessary haste.”
Documents were turned over to Fionn’s keeping before body passed into the cold embrace of the mourning coat.
“Are you certain, sir?”
“What else can I do?”
No more words were exchanged. Slow step brought him to collect the bible from his desk before he left the tenement. Good eye, momentarily blinded by the sun, blinked as he adjusted to the brightness. Gaze directed to the garden, overgrown and unkempt, but promising.
Madame Lasseter will be pleased with it. Someday….soon. The babe will have hours to explore and help his mother there. Ye see, life continues… there is always hope.
Suddenly he turned back into the house and plucked the papers from Fionn’s grasp. They were returned to wait upon his desk.
Perhaps ye can send them tomorrow…but not now. Not today.
“Later,” he said as he stepped past the steward.
He straightened to his full height, shoulders squaring for the tasks ahead. He could see Adam Cyphers hurrying across the green to join him. Without a sound the two fell into step together and made their way to bury the dead. After, they would all begin again.
Copyright 2017 C.A.Salone
Photos by J. Geiger; S. Mickle; M. Fink; A. Cyphers; M. Fleckenstein
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Historic London Town & Gardens
“London Town was founded in 1683 as Anne Arundel County’s seat. Its heyday lasted approximately 100 years, but the town soon dissipated thanks to change in trade routes. The only remaining historic structure on site was the William Brown House. Built in c.1760 as an upscale tavern, the William Brown House became the county’s almshouse from 1828 – 1965. Today it is the centerpiece of the historic area, which also includes a reconstructed Carpenter’s Shop and Lord Mayor’s Tenement with kitchen garden, ropewalk, and an 18th century tobacco barn. Learn more about the history of the site in the Discover London Town exhibit in the Visitor Center.” ~ Historic London Town & Garden
“Lord Mayor’s Tenement and Kitchen Garden
Reconstructed on its archaeological footprint, the Lord Mayor’s Tenement would have been rented to London Town’s lower-class workers. Adjacent to the building is a kitchen garden demonstrating different foods colonists would have grown for subsistence. Visit Historic London Town’s events page for our next hearth cooking demonstrations in the Lord Mayor’s Tenement.”~Historic London Town & Garden
Crewe of the Archangel 