One
May 1780
St. Augustine, East Florida Colony
The instant Dinah saw the three naval officers, she ducked into the mercantile and hid among the stacks of goods. To her relief, the men, grandly uniformed in indigo wool, gold braid and black bicorne hats, continued up St. George Street. Yet she could not help but notice the well-formed profile of the captain among them. A strong jaw. High cheekbones. Jet-black hair tied back in a queue. She wondered what color his eyes were.
What was she thinking? She quickly turned her attention to a display of awls and knives laid out on a shelf.
“How may I help you, Miss Templeton?” The rotund, middle-aged proprietor approached her, admiration gleaming in his dark eyes. “Some silk for a new gown, perhaps? My latest shipment of lace has arrived and—”
“No, thank you.” Dinah lifted her basket of lavender flowers from her arm and held it like a shield as the widower moved closer. Coming in here had been a mistake. “I do not require anything.” Tension tightening in her chest, she hurried toward the door.
He reached it first, and his eyebrows arched. “I have tea from China and…”
Dinah drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin. “Please allow me to pass, Mr. Waterston.”
He mirrored her posture, although his shorter height did not reach hers, and he sniffed. “I must say, Miss Templeton, for a girl with no family, you certainly do put on airs. Would you not prefer to be mistress of your own home instead of living with Mr. and Mrs. Hussey?” His shoulders slumped, his gaze softened and his lips curved into a gentle smile. “You could do worse than marrying a responsible merchant such as myself.”
A twinge of pity softened her annoyance. “As I have told you before, sir, we truly would not suit.”
Even if she found the merchant’s offer appealing, which she did not, his reminder of her orphaned state did nothing to recommend him, nor did his reference to her living situation. She did indeed have relatives, but they were all far away. And yes, she would like to be mistress of her own home. But in truth, not one of the many unattached men in St. Augustine suited her, in spite of her friends’ attempts at matchmaking. After four years in this small city, she had no doubt God had consigned her to a state of spinsterhood.
“I wish you a good day, sir.” She slid past Mr. Waterston and walked out into the street, lifting a silent prayer of thanks that the encounter had ended without unpleasantness. She encountered quite enough unpleasantness every day at home.
Coming to this city had not been her preference, but she’d had no other choice. Even before the beginning of the war that now raged in the northern colonies, she had felt twice displaced. Her parents died when she was very small, and her relatives had been unable to take her in. Then, when the dear spinster ladies who reared her died of a fever, the elders of the Nantucket Friends Meeting placed her with the Husseys, for Mrs. Hussey had also been reared by the Gardiner sisters. Once the war began to escalate, Artemis Hussey insisted upon removing to this safe haven, where no rebels could threaten to tar and feather him for his Loyalist views. Over these past four years, he had grown more and more disagreeable and usually aimed his dissatisfaction at Dinah rather than at his wife, Anne.
But as Dinah continued on her way, thoughts of Artemis vanished amid the chatter and clatter along the dusty street. When she reached the Parade, the grassy common in front of the governor’s house, she approached several well-dressed ladies who were whispering behind opened fans, their admiring stares aimed across the green lawn.
Elizabeth Markham, a friend near her age, beckoned to Dinah. “Did you see those handsome naval officers who just passed this way?” Her fair cheeks bore a rosy hue, as they always did when the subject under discussion included fine-looking gentlemen.
Dinah stared in wonder at the phenomenon upon her friend’s countenance, for she herself never blushed. “I did see them, yes.”
“Indeed, they are proper-looking gentlemen.” Elizabeth’s mother sent her daughter an indulgent smile, then touched Dinah’s arm. “Dear Miss Templeton, you must join us for tea at the Rose Room.” She waved her hand to take in the others in her little gathering. All the ladies added their approval of the invitation.
“I thank you, Mrs. Markham.” Dinah nodded toward her basket of lavender. “Perhaps after I complete my errand. Tea would be just the thing.” She hurried past the group.
The ladies’ jasmine and rose perfumes mingled with earthy street smells, all swept along by a warm ocean breeze. Throughout the Parade, vendors hawked their wares, everything from cast-iron kettles to candles to live chickens to freshly cut meat, while the squeals of children at play echoed across the lawn. Two gentlemen Dinah knew from St. Peter’s Church doffed their hats, bowed and greeted her with the customary pleasantries. She returned a curtsey but excused herself from further conversation. Instead, she continued up St. George Street toward her destination, maintaining her distance from the British uniforms. They no doubt were on their way to Fort St. Marks, and her objective was a little farther away.
To her right lay Matanzas Bay, and a new ship—a British frigate, if she was not mistaken—bobbed in the mild current, sails furled to its three tall masts. Last evening, she had heard the bells ringing from the Anastasia Island watchtower, signaling a ship’s arrival over the bar. No doubt those officers came from the vessel.
After a walk of perhaps a hundred yards beyond the city proper, she saw to her dismay that the officers had continued past the fort and turned in at the military infirmary, her own objective. She released a long sigh. Perhaps she could slip into the building without notice. If she had not promised to bring the lavender for Dr. Wellsey’s patients, she would delay her errand and return to have tea with Mrs. Markham and the other ladies until the officers went elsewhere.
The familiar odors of sickness and lye soap met Dinah’s nose even before she opened the hospital’s front door, for all the windows of the building were open. She dismissed her own discomfort. Dr. Wellsey’s patients suffered enough with wounds and diseases. Perhaps the fragrance of her flowers would help diminish the unpleasant smells.
Hurrying into the wide entry room, she brushed her straw hat off and let it hang by its ribbons down her back. As she made her way toward the surgeon’s office, she caught a glimpse of the officers in the next chamber. With haste, she slipped into the small office and then out the side door to the herb garden to make certain the plants had sufficient water. Through the hazy glass of the back window, she saw the captain bent over a man on a cot, one hand resting on the sailor’s shoulder. Every nuance of the officer’s relaxed posture bespoke sympathy and concern, not the hauteur one might expect. He had removed his hat, revealing a broad, smooth forehead. Now he lifted his gaze toward the garden window, and she ducked back into Dr. Wellsey’s office, her heart pounding. She hoped the captain had not noticed her presence, or if so, had assumed she was a servant.
Setting her basket on the floor beside the desk, she capped the inkwell and sharpened the feather quill. If not for her and Joanna, the good doctor’s wife, his infirmary and home would be in complete disarray. She found a cloth and dusted his bookshelves and journals, taking care not to disturb the many carefully labeled bottles. Once while dusting, she had lifted a small urn of medicine and hours later was still able to smell the pungent odor of bear grease on her fingers.
The deep rumble of male voices echoed from the inner chambers of the infirmary. This would be the best time to make her escape unnoticed. Pulse racing, she made certain everything was in order, then placed the basket of lavender in the
