CHAPTER SEVEN
May, 1789
Ann heard her name called while she examined the newly arrived fabric from Manchester. It sounded urgent, and for a dreadful moment, Ann feared another disaster at the mine until she realized she heard no siren.
“Ann!” The storeroom door flew open and Toby’s frame filled the gap. He looked like he had run all the way from the Penventen office.
She dropped the bolt of material she was holding. “What’s wrong? What are you doing here? Is it the mine?”
He shook his head, and worry creased his brow. “James has news from England.” He took a deep breath. “His father has died. That makes him Lord Penventen.”
It was Ann’s turn to frown. She didn’t know much of James’s family other than the fact they weren’t close, but surely that wasn’t enough to rush all the way down here.
“I presume that means he has to return to England, but why…” Ann stopped. All of a sudden she knew why. “You’re going with him,” she said. It was not a question.
Toby nodded once. “First thing tomorrow, we’re going to hunt for the first ship back to England.”
“Why you? What about the mine?”
“Mac can manage the mine on his own for a spell.” Toby paused and looked behind him.
The patrons were halting their conversation in an attempt to eavesdrop. She marched to the storeroom door and slammed it. Patience let out a squeak.
“What about us? You promised Andrew to take him fishing for his birthday next month.” She hated the words the moment they left her mouth. They sounded weak and manipulative, two things she prided herself on never being.
Toby looked pained. He glanced down and fiddled with the brim of his hat. “It’s complicated, but I need to go with him. There are more than just family obligations. I wish I could tell you more but I’m sworn to secrecy and I won’t break my word.”
Pain welled from beneath Ann’s ribs, making it difficult to breathe. Tears welled close to the surface. Raw emotions vaguely similar to those she felt after Robert’s death simmered to the surface. Her vision swam.
Toby took her by the elbow and urged her to sit on a barrel. With both her hands in his, he knelt before her.
“Marry me,” he said in a rush.
“What?” Ann stood. It was obvious he was making up plans as he went along.
“We can be wed on the ship. We’ll honeymoon in England; we’ll be back before…” Toby stood also, and then paused, seeing her thunderous countenance.
“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in all my born days,” she announced.
His expression turned from astonished to crestfallen, and Ann’s heart fell with it. She caressed his face, and the creases around his eyes and forehead softened a little. Ann replaced her fingers with her lips.
“I feel very deeply for you,” she whispered between each kiss, “but I want to be sure. And I have responsibilities—to Andrew and to the business. I have to be sure.”
She placed her arms around him He stepped into her embrace and held her tight.
After long moments, they broke apart. Toby’s eyes seemed to glisten silver, but Ann couldn’t be certain, as tears welled in her own eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Toby.”
* * *
14 February, 1791
Ann attended the first of the funerals for the men recovered from the Yankee Star roof collapse.
Her mourning clothes, packed away more than two years ago, smelled musty despite being aired and felt strange on her, even though this black had been her constant wardrobe in the year following Robert’s death. She stood at the back of the throng, the brisk late winter winds pushing at her back.
One of the bitterly weeping widows was being comforted by her family as the first bit of sod thudded onto the coffin.
Today she had made her decision. The portrait of her husband Robert now lay in a chest, along with other keepsakes Andrew would one day treasure in memory of his father.
One by one the mourners filed by, dropping clods of earth into the grave or small posies of brightly colored greenery and flowers. Small snowflakes flittered and danced in the breeze before settling on the ground.
Ann dropped the larger of the two bouquets she held in her hand.
She clasped hands with the widow and offered her condolences. She knew what it was to experience love and loss, but she would not linger with the mourners who huddled around the bereaved today before drifting back into their own lives, satisfied the work of comforting had been complete.
One month, three months, six months after today—that’s when those families would need a shoulder to cry on, a friendly smile to encourage the telling of beloved memories, a timely reminder that pain eases and that it’s all right to go on.
Ann drew away from the crowd and wandered toward another part of the cemetery, one she knew well, and took a path she had trod nearly every day for two and a half years.
One small headstone that stood among many others drew her. The grave was well tended and established.
With her black-gloved hand, she brushed the face of the stone free of snow to read the engraving, although she knew the words by heart.
Robert Andrew Sellars
1759-1787
Beloved husband and father
Died a hero at Penventen Mine
“Robert, Toby comes back this week,” she said softly, placing the posy of multicolored pansies at the base of the stone. “Thank you for Andrew, thank you for the years we spent together…”
Ann shook her head and cleared her throat. “We will never forget you, but it’s time for me to move on. If—when Toby asks again, my answer is going to be yes.”
She stood and placed her hand on top of the stone. Snow eddied about her, brought in by the northerly winds, which grew stronger as the day wore on. Midafternoon and the light was beginning to dim.
Up at Coal Hill, there was a pinpoint of light, a glow, which was the camp where the rescuers toiled at the Yankee Star. Six dead had been recovered yesterday, and worse still, it was feared only the dead would now be brought back from shaft seven. Two weeks after the disaster, a dozen men were still unaccounted for in a roof fall thought to extend for many hundreds of yards. But until all hope had gone, searchers would continue digging and families would continue hoping.
Ann said a prayer for them and walked out to the street. She watched the mourners walking back to Reverend Greenwood’s for refreshments. Patience and Dan, Patience’s would-be beau, waited with the buggy.
She dismissed them, preferring to walk the three blocks back to the mercantile alone with her thoughts.
In the place of Robert’s portrait on her dressing chest was the watercolor of Toby. The artist was indeed gifted. She had captured the intensity of his silver eyes, the strength of his shoulders, and the fullness of his lower lip. She looked at it and remembered more than his fine looks.
She drank the image in, remembering his humor, his kindness, his passion, and his integrity. Ann missed him with a longing that ached in her soul as well as her body.
She rounded the corner, and her heart quickened at the sight of a familiar horse waiting on the street outside the mercantile.
Tears of joy, hot and salty, melted the frosty flakes of snow falling on her face.
The horse’s owner turned and sprinted toward her, then swept her up in his arms and spun her around. But Ann was giddy without that.
“You made me a promise, Ann,” said Toby, his voice raw. “You promised an answer.”
“Yes!”
Toby steered her out of the increasingly heavy falling snow to the shelter of the mercantile, where it seemed a throng of people waited—Ruth, Patience, Andrew and some others she didn’t know.
He tugged on her hand to pull her attention back to him.
“Yes, you promised me an answer? Or is the answer yes? Put me out of my misery, Ann, for pity’s sake, please.”
“Yes, I’ll marry you!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, although Ann hardly heard it.
She loved him, she was as sure as she had ever been of anything in her life, she loved Tobias Jackson and knew their future lay together.
Always.
THE END