Chesapeake Tide by Jeanette Baker Page B

picked up her pace, aware of his gaze on her back, conscious of her six extra pounds, willing her pounding heart and wobbly legs to respond normally. Did she want to see him again? Her pulse accelerated. He wasn’t quite the same as she remembered. He looked like the old Russ Hennessey, but there was something more there, a sophistication, an absence of bravado, an honesty that appealed to her. He wasn’t as model-beautiful as Eric, but to Libby he was better-looking in a rugged, masculine, take-charge kind of way. Russ Hennessey was the kind of man who would always be in control. Seventeen years ago his protective, alpha-male tendencies had rankled the young Libby Delacourte and she’d chosen a different kind of man, a man who believed a woman should shoulder her own burdens and half of his. Now she was of a different mind. It would be a tremendous relief to have someone take care of her once in a while.
    There were a million questions she wanted to ask. Tracy Wentworth was one of them. She knew Russ would marry someone, but she never imagined it would be Tracy. The Tracy she remembered refused to swim in the bay for fear of ruining her mascara and wetting her hair. In school she’d been excused from physical education because her milky skin couldn’t tolerate the sun. She was always leaving class to take some sort of prescribed medication for her delicate constitution. Personally, Libby thought she was a classic hypochondriac. She’d gone out with Mitch for a while and Libby had tolerated her in the spirit of maintaining a friendship with Russ’s brother, but Tracy’s cloying manners and pretentious attitude toward anyone who lived on the wrong side of the creek made it difficult. Libby was relieved when Mitch broke off the relationship and surprised to learn from Shelby Sloane that Russ had taken up with Tracy less than a year after Libby had left for California. It was almost insulting. Russell Hennessey had been a catch. He deserved someone infinitely more worthy than Tracy Wentworth. To his credit, the marriage had been a brief one. But there was a child. Libby sighed. A child meant forever, no matter how one wished it otherwise.

Eight
    D rusilla Washington shook the dirt from the plant in her hand and frowned. These budding sweet potatoes with their stunted stems and oddly shaped leaves were the least appetizing she’d ever harvested. Odd that they were so small when the ones she’d picked the other day were perfect. Hopefully, these plants weren’t typical. Otherwise, if the crop continued to grow poorly and if there weren’t more pregnancies in the migrant worker’s camp she wouldn’t be able to add to her nest egg this winter. She knew Verna Lee would take care of her, even take her in, if Drusilla was of a mind. The girl had a strong sense of family. But Drusilla had her pride and she liked her independence. She would stave off the day when she could no longer do for herself as long as possible.
    She thought of the woman who had come to her the day before. The girl was young and very near her time. Her husband had promised Drusilla a healthy portion of his day’s earnings for assisting at the birth. She could buy a week’s worth of groceries with the money, maybe even a luxury or two she normally didn’t allow herself, like a half dozen soft-shelled blue crab or a good ham with a bone in the middle. Her stomach growled. She folded her blanket and took down her umbrella. She would stop by the woman’s shack just to be sure the herbs she’d given her yesterday were working their magic.
    A low moan and the anxious black face of the young husband answered her knock. “She be at it since early mornin’,” he croaked, rubbing his hands nervously on his overalls. “If I don’ git to de fields, I won’ be gittin’ my wages.”
    â€œYou run along,” said Drusilla. “She don’t need you now.”
    With a