didn’t know if it was human or in his mind, but he listened as though it held great import.
“To everything there is a time. A time to mourn and a time to laugh. A time to sing and a time to cry. A time to give thanks and a time to know thanksgiving. To each life a season for all things to be revealed. Give thanks and know the peace of thanksgiving in all things.”
Drake waited with bated breath for more. He wanted answers. He wanted ease from this constant confused pain that gripped him. Maybe here, among these people, he would find something he sought. But there was no more. The person sat down, leaving Drake to meditate on what the speaker had said. The Ecclesiastic feel to the words was familiar; mayhap he’d heard it at a funeral, some long-ago acquaintance that barely registered on the important business of his life. But the end, about thanksgiving . . . he didn’t know that. Did it bring peace to be thankful in all seasons? Was that the message?
Drake wasn’t sure, but the remainder of the hour went surprisingly quick. At some hidden signal they all stood and shook hands with each other. Drake nodded to several men as Josiah introduced him. Looking around, he now recognized a few others from onboard the ship. They, too, must have been rescued by these Quakers.
At Josiah’s urging, Drake followed the men into another, smaller room. There, laid out before them, was a long table loaded with covered dishes. Mary Ann passed by him and dimpled prettily. “Now, ’tis time to eat.”
As she sailed by to help her mother, he joined the line that formed, answering those questions he could from the men around him, but all the while looking . . . feeling . . . for Serena.
He found her ladling something from a steaming pot into a bowl. She looked up, her eyes finding his, and then smiled at him, the connection like a thing of old, like something they’d been born to. Drake felt himself melt in the warmth that was such a part of her.
“Drake . . . let me introduce a friend of mine. A botanist, Mr. Bartram.”
Drake dragged his eyes from Serena’s with difficulty. With a slight bow he directed his gaze at the man. “Mr. Bartram, a pleasure.”
Mr. Bartram had a clear gaze that searched his. “I understand thou art recently from London?”
Drake nodded. “Northumberland, actually. But most recently, London.”
“Ah. Northumberland. Beautiful land. Yes, well, I am looking for an apprentice for my studies in botany and was wondering if thou wouldst be interested in such a trade? I have a homestead just west of here with acres of forestland waiting to be explored. I find I do not have enough time to do all the work myself.” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
Drake struggled with an appropriate response while the man continued.
“Forgive me, I presume much. Thou hast just recovered from what must have been a horrendous journey and an illness, I am told. But please, in our effort to help thee and thy fellow shipmates, is there a trade at which thou art skilled?”
A skill? Well, he had tripled his father’s estate in business ventures, making him one of the wealthiest men in the world. But what could he tell this man? “I seem to have a head for numbers. I’m afraid, aside from some general knowledge in farming horticulture—” and the ownership and management of tens of thousands of acres of farmland, he added silently—“I know little about plants.”
Drake hoped it would suffice. The mere suggestion of spending his days tromping through thick forests, identifying and cutting plants, sent genuine despair through him. He needed to take some hand in the cards fate had dealt him, so he continued doggedly while the line moved forward and men began filling their plates. “I was hoping for something in business.”
Mr. Bartram nodded to Josiah. “Mayhap he can help thee then, Josiah.” He grinned and confided to Drake, “’Tis an artist, your host. He complains often enough about the
“To everything there is a time. A time to mourn and a time to laugh. A time to sing and a time to cry. A time to give thanks and a time to know thanksgiving. To each life a season for all things to be revealed. Give thanks and know the peace of thanksgiving in all things.”
Drake waited with bated breath for more. He wanted answers. He wanted ease from this constant confused pain that gripped him. Maybe here, among these people, he would find something he sought. But there was no more. The person sat down, leaving Drake to meditate on what the speaker had said. The Ecclesiastic feel to the words was familiar; mayhap he’d heard it at a funeral, some long-ago acquaintance that barely registered on the important business of his life. But the end, about thanksgiving . . . he didn’t know that. Did it bring peace to be thankful in all seasons? Was that the message?
Drake wasn’t sure, but the remainder of the hour went surprisingly quick. At some hidden signal they all stood and shook hands with each other. Drake nodded to several men as Josiah introduced him. Looking around, he now recognized a few others from onboard the ship. They, too, must have been rescued by these Quakers.
At Josiah’s urging, Drake followed the men into another, smaller room. There, laid out before them, was a long table loaded with covered dishes. Mary Ann passed by him and dimpled prettily. “Now, ’tis time to eat.”
As she sailed by to help her mother, he joined the line that formed, answering those questions he could from the men around him, but all the while looking . . . feeling . . . for Serena.
He found her ladling something from a steaming pot into a bowl. She looked up, her eyes finding his, and then smiled at him, the connection like a thing of old, like something they’d been born to. Drake felt himself melt in the warmth that was such a part of her.
“Drake . . . let me introduce a friend of mine. A botanist, Mr. Bartram.”
Drake dragged his eyes from Serena’s with difficulty. With a slight bow he directed his gaze at the man. “Mr. Bartram, a pleasure.”
Mr. Bartram had a clear gaze that searched his. “I understand thou art recently from London?”
Drake nodded. “Northumberland, actually. But most recently, London.”
“Ah. Northumberland. Beautiful land. Yes, well, I am looking for an apprentice for my studies in botany and was wondering if thou wouldst be interested in such a trade? I have a homestead just west of here with acres of forestland waiting to be explored. I find I do not have enough time to do all the work myself.” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
Drake struggled with an appropriate response while the man continued.
“Forgive me, I presume much. Thou hast just recovered from what must have been a horrendous journey and an illness, I am told. But please, in our effort to help thee and thy fellow shipmates, is there a trade at which thou art skilled?”
A skill? Well, he had tripled his father’s estate in business ventures, making him one of the wealthiest men in the world. But what could he tell this man? “I seem to have a head for numbers. I’m afraid, aside from some general knowledge in farming horticulture—” and the ownership and management of tens of thousands of acres of farmland, he added silently—“I know little about plants.”
Drake hoped it would suffice. The mere suggestion of spending his days tromping through thick forests, identifying and cutting plants, sent genuine despair through him. He needed to take some hand in the cards fate had dealt him, so he continued doggedly while the line moved forward and men began filling their plates. “I was hoping for something in business.”
Mr. Bartram nodded to Josiah. “Mayhap he can help thee then, Josiah.” He grinned and confided to Drake, “’Tis an artist, your host. He complains often enough about the
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