Down the stairs, out the door and to the kitchens she went in search of Mrs. Lansford. The idea that everyone in the household would play some role in the preparations for Will's arrival amused Elizabeth, especially as no one other than herself, and possibly Evan, knew what was supposed to–what was going to happen that evening. She could hardly remember the last time she had been this light-hearted and easily amused. She happily anticipated many more days with the same carefree attitude.
"Good morning, Mrs. Lansford!"
The tall, gray-haired, and slightly plump woman jumped at the sound of Elizabeth's voice. She had been so intent on the numerous projects she had going that she had not heard her mistress enter the tiny building. Actually, she could only recall a few rare occasions when Mrs. Turner had even been in the kitchens—it was a place she tended to avoid at all costs. Equally startling was the abnormally early hour for Mrs. Turner to be up and dressed. She wouldn't swear to it, but Mary Lansford thought Elizabeth sounded unusually cheerful this morning. Her behavior the past few weeks had noticeably differed from what the small household staff was accustomed to. It wasn't that she was a difficult person to get along with, but there had always been a vague sense of sadness surrounding her. However, this morning, she was practically glowing.
"And good morning, to you too, Mrs. Turner. What brings you out here this morning?" Mary struggled to keep her voice from sounding too accusatory. The kitchen was her domain—she was admittedly somewhat territorial about it, and Elizabeth knew that better than anyone. Mrs. Lansford was probably the one woman in the world who could intimidate Elizabeth Turner. It wasn't so much her personality as the fact that Elizabeth was often left in complete awe of her household skills. If the truth be known, it wasn't that Elizabeth had never had any interest in learning to run a household, but that she was completely inept at it. Her talents obviously lay elsewhere.
"If it's not too much bother, I was hoping William and I could have chocolate this morning instead of tea." Elizabeth's voice took on a tone much like that of a child asking her mother for a treat.
"I think that can be managed." Mary gave Elizabeth an indulgent smile. She rather enjoyed spoiling Elizabeth and her son. "Will there be anything else?"
"Raisins – and cinnamon. If we have any."
"I suppose that means I'll need to be cooking some oatmeal?"
"Please? It's a special day," Elizabeth implored.
"Every day should be special," Mrs. Lansford reminded Elizabeth – her clipped accent making her sound as if she had just stepped off the boat from England rather than having lived in the Caribbean for nearly forty years.
Elizabeth smiled as if she had a secret no one else knew—truthfully, she did. "You're quite right. I promise that from here on out I will do everything in my power to make every day count to the fullest." With that, she turned and went back into the house.
Mary Lansford stared after her for a long while, perplexed at Elizabeth's attitude and response. While she was not an overly superstitious woman, she would have sworn that she could feel something in the air. Something was going to happen, and whatever it was, would happen soon. Of that, she was sure.
Evan Ross wasn't overly tall, but he wasn't exactly short either. His long auburn hair was neatly tied back to keep it out of his way as he worked. He was in the midst of splitting wood when he noticed Mercedes' quiet approach from the corner of his eye. He stopped what he was doing and turned to watch her. His face was expressionless, but a smile glittered in his emerald green eyes. He was happy to see Mercedes, but would never dream of telling her that. "Don't you have something else you should be doing right now?" he asked her, as he set up another log to split.
"Of course," she replied saucily. "In fact, I have extra chores today."
"Then shouldn't you be doing them?" He picked up the maul.
"I will. I have time. I wanted to ask you about something," she asked, as she up righted one of the logs to use as a perch. Evan stopped mid-swing, looked at the girl, and raised an eyebrow. Mercedes took it as an invitation to continue – no that she required an invitation to speak her mind. "Have you noticed that Mrs. Turner has been acting a bit – odd - lately?"
"Excuse me?" Evan was appalled that she would even dare mention such a thing, much less ask about it. He lowered the maul to his side.
"Oh! Don't pretend you haven't noticed. Something has had her distracted for weeks, and then this morning she was up before dawn and quite cheerful. You know how much she doesn't like getting up early. Besides that, she gave me an extra day off tomorrow. I got the distinct impression that she would rather I not even be home."
"What makes you say that?"
"She suggested I go visit friends."
Evan shrugged his shoulders. "I guess whatever she has planned for tomorrow, she doesn't want you around." He again hefted the maul in preparation to split the log.
"But this is where I live, too!" Mercedes said crossly.
"Only by her good graces. If Miss Elizabeth wants you to be out tomorrow, I suggest you do it." He pounded the maul into the log with all the force he could muster. A resounding crack echoed from the piece of wood as it began to split.
"You're no help at all, are you?" Mercedes was beginning to whine.
"How so?" Evan's curt response and raised eyebrows let the girl know exactly how out of place he felt her complaints to be. He raised the maul to prepare for another blow.
Mercedes understood Evan's unspoken rebuke and changed her tone to something more civil. "I thought you would know what has her acting so strangely. You've known her longer than I have. What is it? Ten years now?"
Ten years. Has it really been that long? Is today the day Captain Turner would return? "Mercedes, do you know what the date is?" His task of splitting wood now completely forgotten.
"It's Tuesday," she replied, sounding every bit the proper lady she tried hard to be.
"Not the day, the date – la fecha," he added in case she had misunderstood.
"I espeak English, fine," she announced, her accent suddenly getting thicker, as it always did when she was upset or angry. Her command of English grammar was the next thing to go when she got mad. "Is May twenty-fifth or maybe twenty-six. I no know."
"Think, Mercedes! It's important," he pleaded, wondering why every conversation with her turned into the most insignificant disagreement.
Mercedes chewed her bottom lip as she tried to figure out the date. She was just about to surrender when she heard a familiar voice from behind her.
"Good morning, Evan. Is Mercedes being kind enough to keep you company while you work?" As if Mrs. Turner's behavior this morning hadn't been peculiar enough already, now she was wandering around outside—before breakfast even. It was rare for her to leave the house for anything, at least, not until William's lessons were over.
"Yes, ma'am. She was just trying to help me figure out today's date, and then she was going right back to work. Weren't you?" he said sharply to the girl as he looked from Elizabeth to Mercedes and back to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth stared him straight in the eyes. "It's May twenty-fifth."
Evan nodded almost imperceptibly. She had obviously overheard their conversation, and now he was sure he was right. Today is the day—but if Miss Elizabeth wanted Mercedes to know that, she would have told her. Mercedes stood up from her makeshift stool, nodded to her mistress, shot Evan an annoyed look through narrowed eyes, and stalked back to the house.
Elizabeth watched her go before turning back to Evan. "It would appear that you have an admirer, Mr. Ross," she laughed.
"I don't think so. She stays irritated with me for one reason or another." He looked down, noticed the partially split log he had abandoned and recalled that he had been working before Mercedes had interrupted him. Again, he raised the maul preparing to finish the job.
"Trust me: she likes you. I recognize the signs." Elizabeth smiled, as if remembering some private joke.
Evan looked at Elizabeth disbelievingly, shook his head, and decided to switch topics. "I suppose I need to double up on my tasks today too? I assume that I will be a persona non grata tomorrow too." He swung the maul. A low thump sounded as the two halves of the log separated from each other and fell to the ground.
Elizabeth sat down on Mercedes' recently vacated seat and nodded to Evan. "I just want it to be the three of us tomorrow. I have no idea what to expect. It felt like today would never come, now it feels like today will never end."
"I understand completely." Evan abandoned his task yet again. "How did William react?"
"I haven't told him yet," she admitted.
"Probably a wise choice," Evan agreed with a laugh. "I wouldn't want to be the one to keep him occupied all day if he knew. The excitement alone would be practically unbearable for him."
"It already is for me." Her eyes twinkled in amusement.
"I can only imagine. I have to say that I'm quite anxious to meet him myself," Evan confessed, suddenly serious.
Elizabeth beamed. "You'll like him. He's quiet—it takes a while to get to know him, but I think he'll like you too. He's grateful for all you've done for William and me."
Evan's forehead wrinkled in confusion. He looked perplexed at best.
"He knows about you. I told him–just bits and pieces really. We never knew how much time we would have when we saw each other. I'm afraid we tended to focus our attentions and conversations elsewhere," she said, her smile still unfading. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her dress. "I would guess that William should be heading down for breakfast any minute, so perhaps I should go back inside." Elizabeth took a few steps towards the house, stopped and turned back to Evan. "You know I consider you part of our family, don't you? That's not going to change."
Evan smiled and nodded. He knew that, but it was reassuring to be reminded of it. "I know," he said. "You just take care of being where you should be at sundown, and I'll take care of everything here."
"I never had any doubt that you would. Thank you."
Elizabeth turned from him and went back to the house. Once inside, she went to the study for paper, a pen and some ink. Normally, she would have sat at her writing desk and made her list of things to accomplish for today, but today she didn't. She returned to the dining room and took her customary seat at the head of the table, her back towards the staircase. It occurred to her as she sat that this would be the last day she would occupy this particular spot. If everything went as planned, by tomorrow she would have seceded her temporary role as head of the family to its rightful holder. Not that there would ever be an issue of her husband expecting her to be subservient, but sometimes she wished there were someone else around to take charge when she didn't want to. They had both learned a very difficult lesson about learning to make their choices together. Elizabeth didn't see any reason for that aspect of their relationship to change now.
As she began making her list, she heard the unmistakable sound of her son's footsteps coming down the staircase. He was the only person who ever took care to avoid the lone squeaky step near the top. She wondered if he would ever realize that his avoidance of that step gave him away more than actually stepping on it ever would.
"Go right back up those stairs this instant and brush your hair," she declared with motherly authority without ever once turning to look at her son. The footsteps immediately stopped, reversed direction and retreated back to the second floor of the house. Elizabeth smirked as she wondered when the day would come that he called her bluff, but as of yet, that had never happened.
She was still sitting at the table, tapping the pen against the polished oak surface, trying to organize her seriously scattered thoughts, when William returned. He plopped down in his chair, put his elbows on the table and stared at his mother. Elizabeth was so lost in her deliberations that she didn't notice him. Nor did she notice Mrs. Lansford come in with their breakfast until she set her bowl in front of her. Elizabeth literally jumped.
"Mother?"
"Hmmm?"
"You always tell me I'm not allowed to read at the table. Shouldn't the same apply to you working?" William pointed this out while perusing the somewhat better than normal offerings for his morning meal.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and looked at her son and wondered if other mothers had to deal with children with such a strongly developed sense of fairness and equality. She knew he was just like her in that respect. Every time he pointed out some real or imagined injustice she could hear her own father's words echoing in her ears "One day, Elizabeth, one day, I hope you have a child just like you." Governor Swann had been granted his wish. Elizabeth still wished he had lived long enough to know he had a grandson, but she wasn't going to worry about that today. Today was someone else's day to meet the boy just like himself – only this one with a serious dose of his mother's personality thrown in for good measure.
"You're right. I'm sorry," she admitted.
"What's the occasion?"
"Pardon?"
"Breakfast," he said, gesturing at the food on the table.
"We always have breakfast," she answered with mock sarcasm. "I just felt like something special today."
William looked at her quizzically. She truly was acting a bit unusual today. His attention returned to his breakfast. He scooped up a large spoonful of oatmeal and examined it closely. Raisins – it had raisins in it today –those were always a special treat. Uncle Captain Jack always referred to them as humiliated grapes, but William didn't think they looked quite so humiliated now that they had been cooked into his breakfast. Granted, they had not been restored to anything like their former glory as grapes, but they didn't seem all that sad to him. He dropped the oatmeal back in the bowl and began to lazily stir it.
"William? What are you doing? Eat your breakfast."
"Are you trying to bribe me so that I'll take a bath today?"
Elizabeth started laughing. "That wasn't my intention, but now that you mention it, yes, you will be having a bath this afternoon"
"I thought you said I was getting a surprise this afternoon. Baths are NOT good surprises."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I said, "this evening," and a bath isn't your surprise, but you will have to take one to get it."
William dropped the spoon into the bowl and put his hands on his hips. "What kind of surprise requires a bath?" he asked in mock disbelief.
"This one," she answered with a smile. Her voice turned serious. "Now eat your breakfast. You want to grow up big and strong like your father, don't you?"
William looked back at his bowl of oatmeal, picked up the spoon and started to stir it again. Elizabeth watched him while she ate her own breakfast. Something was bothering him—she had an idea what, but she certainly didn't want to bring it up now. Not this close to the end.
"I don't have one, do I?" the boy asked softly.
Elizabeth looked at her son for a second, she wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about, but she was afraid that she did. "You don't have a what?"
"A father. That's what everyone says."
"Of course, you have a father," she sighed. She would be glad to be free from this type of conversation with her son.
"He really is dead, isn't he?" William looked away from his mother and stared out the window.
Elizabeth had lost count of how many times they had had these conversations. She knew if she looked closely at his face right now, she would see tears just starting to form in his eyes. She had never actually seen him cry, but she had heard him, just as she was sure he had heard her on occasion. The older William got, the more frequently these types of questions came. When he was younger it was easy to reassure him that his father was alive and would return to them one day, but the questions seemed to get harder every time. She always felt a twinge of guilt telling William that his father was not dead, when, strictly speaking, he technically was. He just wasn't dead in the traditional sense. But what point would there be in trying to explain that to a child? She wasn't sure she understood it entirely herself, but she still felt as if she were lying to her son.
"No, he's not dead. He's coming back. I promise."
"You told me he would be back before my tenth birthday." He turned back to his mother.
"He will," she reassured him. "And may I point out that you are just barely nine?" She noticed she had been right about the tears; his eyes glistened faintly from the few that he had not managed to contain.
"I'm nine and one quarter," he proudly announced.
"Oh, I'm very sorry. I must have forgotten. You're practically a grown man now. Promise your mother you won't go off and leave me while I still need you," she said with a laugh.
William looked at his mother for a moment, and then giggled, his question about his father apparently forgotten. "I still don't want to take a bath."
"Sorry, you can't talk your way out of this one. Now eat."
The pair of them had hardly finished their meal when Mercedes came into the room. "Ma'am, Mr. Tolliver is here for William's lessons."
William scrunched up his face in distaste. Elizabeth glared at him, but kept the smile on her face. She felt the same way about the tutor, but thought it improper to share that with her son.
"Please show him into the study," she said to the girl without looking at her. "William, go get your books."
"Yes, ma'am." He slowly got up from the table and shuffled towards the stairs, expecting to hear his mother's usual admonishment to hurry up. Today she didn't say anything. She too rose from the table and headed to the study to talk to his tutor.