Page 13 of Echo in the Wind

Chapter 4

The village of Chichester

The next morning, Joanna, Freddie and Nora set off for Chichester. Freddie drove the wagon, the three of them sharing the bench seat. The day was sunny and cold and, since they had only a few miles to travel, Joanna had not covered the supplies they were bringing to the Ackerman family.

Chichester had long been a market town, although no more than four thousand souls called it home at present. Joanna had always referred to it as “the village” because of its size in contrast to London. It might be a quiet, unassuming place, but in the center of town stood a great medieval cathedral, its spire visible even from the Channel.

The village had the usual collection of craftsmen, among them carpenters, blacksmiths, gunsmiths, tailors and shoemakers, who did their work in stalls and shops for all to see. And there were bakers, brewers and grocers. But once the American War ended, many sailors were left without jobs; and those who had supplied the ships that had once called Chichester Harbor home struggled to earn a living.

England levied duties on more than tea and brandy. The government taxed everything, including bricks, candles and soap. Farmers were among the poorest. Joanna had known this but until she met the Ackerman family, she had not made the village poor a part of her life. And now that they were, she could not leave for London without looking in on Polly Ackerman and her three children.

Just outside the village, Freddie pulled rein in front of the whitewashed cottage. A humble dwelling to be sure, but Daniel Ackerman had taken great pride in what he had been able to provide his wife and children. Polly had decorated the windows with muslin curtains and their beds with pretty bed covers made from scraps of fabric. She kept a clay vase of wildflowers on their worn table, which brightened the small space. Outside their door, a carpet of bluebells covered the floor of the ancient woodland.

The children seemed happy enough even after their father had died. But when the ague befell the family and their mother took ill, it was as if a cloud descended over the little home. The children, who recovered more rapidly than their mother, worried they might lose their only living parent. Joanna had seen the fear in their eyes and wished to dispel it. If smuggled tea would cheer the small family, she would provide it.

No one was about as Joanna and Nora climbed down from the bench seat. Freddie lifted the baskets from the wagon and handed them down. The wagon also held blankets, clothes and firewood.

Joanna knocked on the wooden door.

It opened almost immediately and the youngest of the Ackerman children, a blonde cherub of four years named Briney, greeted them as she leaned against the doorpost. She had two older brothers, ten-year-old Danny and six-year-old Nate.

Big blue eyes peered up at Joanna from a sweet round face. “Hello, m’lady. Mum’s still in bed. Will ye see her?”

“Of course. That is one reason we have come.” Taking a tart from the basket, Joanna gave it to the little girl. “I brought this for you. There is one for each of your brothers, too.”

The child eagerly reached for the cherry tart and took a bite, smearing cherry juice over her mouth.

Joanna took that opportunity to enter. Behind her, Nora and Freddie followed.

The main room of the cottage was empty. “Where are your brothers?”

The child’s expression was glum. “Danny and Nate are gathering wood, but Danny’s not well yet.”

Joanna and Nora set the baskets on the table in the room that served as parlor, dining room and kitchen. There was no fire in the stone fireplace and the air in the cottage was chilled. Little Briney had a shawl around her slender shoulders but nothing so warm as a woolen cloak. And her feet were bare. Many in the village did not wear shoes.

“We will soon have the cottage warm as bread in the oven,” said Joanna, looking at Freddie and inclining her head toward the door.

Freddie gave her a nod and went to fetch the wood. Joanna and Nora began taking things out of the baskets. Sadly, the clay vase in the center of the table was devoid of flowers.

“While Nora sets out food, how about you take me to look in on your mother?”

Briney nodded and glanced toward the door to the bedchamber. The children slept in the loft. The bedchamber in the back that had been their parents’ was now Polly’s alone.

While still clinging to her half-eaten tart with one hand, Briney took Joanna’s hand with the other and together they walked to the bedchamber. Joanna slowly opened the door.

Polly Ackerman lay in bed, her pretty face pale and her blonde hair tucked into a muslin mobcap.

Joanna walked to the bed and sat on the edge. Polly was not yet thirty, but heartbreak, sickness and worry had taken their toll, adding lines to her face. Reaching out her hand, Joanna touched Polly’s pale forehead and breathed a sigh of relief. She was only slightly warm. “Has she eaten anything today?”

“Only the tea Danny brought her afore he went out.”

Joanna had brought them a good supply of tea and bread when she’d come the day before, but she wanted to encourage Briney, whose sweet face wrinkled with concern. “’Tis good she is sleeping. The rest will help her get well.” A smile spread across Briney’s face and Joanna drew her into a hug as the child nibbled on her tart. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, she will be fine.”

Nora peeked her head in the doorway. “Freddie’s got the fire going and the cottage will soon be warm. I’ve put the kettle on for tea.”

“Thank you, Nora.” Then turning to the child still in her arms, she said, “The boys will be hungry when they return. ’Tis good we brought food, don’t you agree?”

Briney nodded her head vigorously. “Danny an’ Nate are always hungry.”