Chapter Seventeen
Moira sank deeper into the fragrant bath water. Hotel Charleston had exceeded her expectations. The walls were solid and papered and there were men’s and ladies’ bathtub rooms at each end of the hallway. Businessmen from all over the world came and went through Charleston’s port and frequented the hotel. Whenever they ventured downstairs for an evening dinner, she and Sam met cotton and tobacco brokers, and traders of every kind of consumer goods—including African slaves.
Images of the poor souls being carted through the streets in irons scampered across Moira’s mind and despite the early September heat, she shuddered. Slave trading proved a despicable practice—and Sam agreed. He said one day his mother’s people could be the enslaved ones, being that there were more greedy white men than there were Catawba.
The last of the afternoon sunshine streamed through the second-story window. Noise from the street below wafted in along with the fat, buzzing flies. Moira swatted one away, then worked the bubbles into her hair. Over the past two weeks as she recovered from pneumonia, she’d enjoyed an evening bath to cool herself from the heat of the day. But as she’d grown stronger, she’d grown bored. Bathing was the one activity Sam and the doctor allowed her.
Meanwhile, as she convalesced, Sam purchased supplies they’d need to set up housekeeping. He’d already sent a message to his brother and mother and learned his childhood home near the smithy/livery was vacant. The small village was still in need of a blacksmith. So, after purchasing a wagon and a team of mules, a horse, and sundry other supplies, he began buying new, practical gowns for Moira along with newspapers and other publications to help pass the time. Each day Moira felt more anxious to begin her new life at the outpost.
A smile twitched her lips. So now that the doctor had pronounced her well enough to travel, Sam advised her to enjoy one last luxurious bath, for it may be the last she’d get for a long while. Tomorrow morning they’d pack their wagon, hitch up the horses, and head for the outpost.
Rinsing her hair, Moira finished up and stepped from the brass tub. The assistant, a large black woman named Harta, handed her a towel and led her to the dressing table.
“You all clean and cooled off now, Miss Moira.” Harta took the hairbrush from Moira’s recently purchased amenities and worked it through her long, straight hair. “I hears you be leavin’ us on the morrow.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Her insides fluttered with anticipation. Would Sam’s mother like her? Would the missionaries accept her help? After all, she wasn’t Brother Tobias, and now she was a married woman. Would they allow her to teach the village children? She stared down at her flat belly. Mayhap by the end of the year she’d be expecting a babe of her own.
“You be’n one o’ da nicest British ladies I ever knowed. You ain’t got your nose stuck up in the air.”
Moira smiled. “Thank you, Harta. You’re very nice yourself, you know.”
“Well, I sure does try. I sure does.” The woman peered over Moira’s shoulder. “You want I should pin up yo’ hair?”
“Yes. Thank you. We’ll dine downstairs tonight.” After tomorrow she’d not have pampering and luxury such as the likes this fine hotel offered.
Dressed again, her hair expertly pinned, Moira left the bathtub room and made her way down the hallway. The door of the room she shared with Sam stood open. Stepping inside, she saw Sam pacing the carpeted plank floor. She closed the door behind herself.
“Something amiss?”
“No.” He looked up and smiled. “In fact, I’ve a grand surprise for you.”
Moira glimpsed the slip of paper he held in one hand. “Oh?”
He strode toward her. “My brother and mother are downstairs, waiting for us in the dining room.”
“Really?” Moira patted the back of her hair, glad she’d had Harta pin it up. She’d be sure to look her best tonight.
“They’ll journey back to Yemassee Village with us in the morning.”
“They traveled a long way for dinner.”
“There is a reason for it.”
Moira tipped her head. “What is it?”
“The missionaries are with them. They’re excited to…to meet you. They couldn’t wait.”
“Then that means they’re not terribly disappointed I’m not a man.”
“They’re not disappointed. In fact, if I didn’t believe in miracles before, I do now.” Sam cupped her face and placed a kiss on her lips. “Hurry and get dressed, my darling, and we’ll go down for dinner. Wear the dress from your engagement party. I’m partial to it.”
She blushed at his wink and set off to change clothes.
“Have you the token we discussed for my mother? Don’t forget to bring it.”
“I won’t.” Moira eyed the pink dress in her arms and recalled the gold bangle Aunt Aggie had allowed her to wear to that fateful engagement party. Aunt Aggie had thought it too plain for her tastes, but said it suited Moira perfectly. Plain. She willingly offered it up as the gift to present to Sam’s mother. According to tradition, she would either accept or reject it—and Moira—into the Stryker family.
“Mama will like your gift very much.”
“I hope so.” She donned her gown. “And now I need your help.” Moira turned her back to him. “Will you assist me?”
“Of course.” Sam made quick work of fastening the tiny pink buttons. The original task belonged to the ladies’ maids whom Aunt Aggie had hired.
“Finished.” Taking her by the shoulders, Sam spun her around. “You look even more stunning than you did months ago when you first wore that dress.”
“Oh, Sam…” Moira’s cheeks bloomed like Aunt Aggie’s rose garden. “The things you say.”
His eyes darkened.
“Thank you.” Moira was learning to accept his compliments without questioning whether she deserved them. Sam promised his words were not vain flattery. He meant them.
Sam shrugged into his dark-brown frockcoat. He’d dressed in a white shirt and cravat over which he wore a cream-colored waistcoat and breeches. On his feet were black boots that came almost to his knees.
“What a handsome couple we make.” Sam kissed the curve of Moira’s neck and her knees weakened.
“I am so much in love with you that it aches.” Taking him by the lapels of his coat, she pulled him close, speaking close to his mouth. “A shame we can’t beg off dinner and stay here together.”
“Do not tempt me, woman!”
His theatrics made her giggle.
Smiling, he placed a kiss on her lips then offered his arm. Moira threaded her gloved hand around his elbow.
They made their way to the hotel’s dining room on the first floor. Only a handful of patrons were scattered about the room at this early hour. A gentleman with dark hair, suntanned face, and dusty brown suit was the first to greet them.
He and Sam embraced and slapped each other on the back.
“Moira, this is my brother, Asher.”
She gave him a polite curtsy. “Mr. Stryker.”
He bowed. “But, please, you must call me Asher. You are my sister now.”
“Very well…Asher.”
He looked back at Sam. “You look no worse for wear, my brother.”
“You look well also.”
“I am.” He smiled so broadly, Moira could practically count all his even, white teeth. “I will soon become a father. My wife, Nizhoni, is great with child.”
“Congratulations!” Sam chuckled and put an arm around Asher. “I take it your wife stayed at the village.”
“Yes. It is too close to her time.”
Moira caught sight of the woman standing in the shadows. Sam’s mother? She, too, had dark hair like Asher.
As Moira watched the other woman, she thought her demeanor bespoke of her discomfort at the waiting. Moira tugged on Sam’s arm and indicated toward her likely mother-in-law.
“Mama!” Sam led Moira toward her, and the woman stepped from the shadows. “I’d like to introduce my wife, Moira.”
The woman gave a nod.
Moira curtsyed. “I have a gift for you. I hope you will like it.” She whispered up a prayer that it would be so.
The native woman examined the gold bracelet with a stoic expression and for several long moments Moira feared she’d think it the same plain thing that Aunt Aggie did. But then a smile split her face and she pushed the bracelet over her wrist.
“I accept your gift, my daughter.” She kissed Moira on one cheek then the other. “You shall call me Meda. You have brought my son back to me, just as I predicted.” She turned to Sam. “You chose your wife wisely.”
Moira wanted to laugh. The circumstances which brought them together had nothing to do with “wise choices.”
“Nay, Mama, ’twas God who brought Moira to me, and God who brought me home.”
The older woman’s dark eyes fixed on Moira. “Again, I thank you, my daughter.”
Her words were salve on Moira’s wounded heart. “It is I who thank you. I love Sam very much.”
“I can see that what you say is true.” The woman glanced over her shoulder. “But now it is time to meet the missionaries who came to us in the winter months. They, too, believed their daughter was lost, but learned she is alive.”
“How wonderful for them.” A slight twist of envy pinched Moira.
She followed Meda across the dining room to where a gray-haired man sat opposite a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat. The man stood and Moira’s legs turned to gelatin. If it weren’t for Sam’s arm around her waist that suddenly seemed to hold her up, she’d surely be a heap on the darkly-stained floor.
“Papa?” It couldn’t be. He and Mum were dead.
Weren’t they?
Moira swung her gaze to Sam, who wore a broad smile. “Your grand surprise.”
She could barely breathe.
Papa rushed forward and pulled Moira into a snug embrace. His familiar woodsy scent enveloped her, and she heard him weep. “You are a sight to behold.” He gently pushed her back and peered into her face. “And how lovely you’ve grown over these many months.”
Moira blinked. Her mouth went dry. Lovely? Papa thought she was…lovely?
The slender woman wearing the hat turned, and Moira glimpsed her partially disfigured face. The fire.
“Mum?” She ran to her. “Mum…oh, Mum!” A sob escaped as they embraced.
Mum wept softly against Moira’s shoulder.
“I thought you and Papa both perished.”
“We assumed the same thing about you,” Mum said.
“But why didn’t you come for me?” She stepped back and turned to Papa.
“I did return, but it was two days later. Your mother stayed behind at the hospital as she needed medical care.” Sorrow filled his gaze. “I asked everyone, but no one had seen you or knew of your whereabouts. Before long, I needed to evacuate for fear of another uprising. Your mother spent many months in the hospital, and once she was well enough to travel, the Missions Board sent us to America.”
“And what of you, Moira?” Mum asked. “Where have you been?”
“In England. The doctors said I was in shock. And I don’t remember anything other than bits and pieces until finally came to my senses at Uncle Tyrus’s home.” She pulled back and extracted her hankie from her reticule.
“Tyrus?” A deep frown settled on Papa’s brow. “But we contacted him. He didn’t tell us you were there.”
“He didn’t tell me you were alive either.” Moira pushed back her shoulders. “And he was about to marry me to a monster! Furthermore, Uncle Tyrus spent much of my inheritance with riotous living.”
Papa’s face reddened.
“But then Sam rescued me.” Moira stretched out her hand and Sam stepped forward. “Papa, I want you to meet my husband.”
“It’s an honor, sir.” He gave a polite bow.
“Likewise, sir.”
The men shook hands.
Papa puffed out his chest a bit. “Moira’s mother and I are well-acquainted with your family. We have prayed diligently for her ‘prodigal son.’” Papa chuckled. “I never dreamed he was my son-in-law.”
Sam grinned. “God does work in mysterious ways, does He not?”
Mum laughed softly despite the obvious tears of joy in her eyes.
Papa turned to Moira. “I will deal with my brother Tyrus.”
“Don’t bother, Papa. Sam helped me collect most of my inheritance before we left England. I’m sure Uncle Tyrus wasn’t left with much if any money at all. Let that be his just desserts.”
“Nay, daughter. The law ought to be involved.”
“I would ask you to leave the matter alone, sir. At least for now.” Sam placed his hand on the small of Moira’s back and glanced around the room. “I, too, had a mission, and it would be best if we did not alert British authorities.”
The storm in Papa’s gaze dissipated. “Ah, yes, well…then we shall let it be for the time being.”
Asher politely seated his mother at the table behind Mum and Papa.
“Shall we sit also?” Sam indicated the empty chairs around the same table.
He seated Mum first and then held a chair for Moira. When Sam sat down, Moira glanced at the faces around the table. She’d gone from feeling alone in the world to having a loving husband and now an entire family, complete with her own parents and a niece or nephew on the way.
God certainly had done exceeding, abundantly, and above all she’d asked or ever thought possible.
“To God be the glory!” Papa said exuberantly.
“Hear, hear!” Sam chuckled. Reaching beneath the table, he took hold of Moira’s hand. She gave him a smile.
“Yes, indeed,” she murmured. “To God be the glory!”
The End