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CHAPTER9
William slicked the sweat from his brow with the side of his wrist. He’d soaked his handkerchief in water and laid it over the back of his neck, but it wasn’t doing much to cool him. Was a man meant to sweat this much when the weather was so mild? It bordered on cool, regardless of the sun beating high overhead. The breeze chilled his hot neck, and he scoffed at himself. He hadn’t lived a sedentary life, but clearing and tilling the earth was backbreaking work.
He looked out over the field, frustrated by the minuscule size of the small plot of land he’d cleared and tilled. He’d spent the entirety of the morning working and this was all he had to show for it? William fought the frustration and exhaustion that tempted him to quit. Roger was sleeping and Father was no use, so why was he working so hard?
Well, if William didn’t do the work, who would?
He scrubbed a hand over his face, hoping it would wake him more. They’d been out on the ocean late last night with mediocre success. It would take some time for William to grow adept at fishing, but he was enjoying the process thus far. He was grateful he’d saved enough money to feel as though he wasn’t in a hurry to turn a profit quite yet.
Father’s success at smuggling had allowed William to work hard and save bit by bit over the years. He had a tidy sum put away, and he fully intended to use part of it to furnish the cottage once things settled down a little more. He couldn’t leave Jack without any help—they were brothers after all, and one did not leave one’s brother in the lurch—but this was the final time.
William wanted to make a name for himself in Collacott, and he wanted it to be respectable. He found himself enjoying the area and the people. The men who fished together had something of a brotherhood, and they’d been welcoming—the opposite of what William had expected when he’d learned they were coming to a new town and joining the majority of the men in fishing the local water.
After watching his father speak to some of the congregation after church their first Sunday, William had questioned why they’d ever left Devonshire in the first place. Though he didn’t truly have to look far to find the answer: his father enjoyed the finer things in life. The opulent home and feather mattresses they’d left behind in Dorset were just a few of the reasons they’d not lived in Devon for the last twenty years.
That, and Dorset was a much more sensical location for building a smuggling enterprise from France.
William returned to the place he’d left off and continued cutting away the weeds in order to till the earth. His arms grew tired and his back sore. Birds arched overhead, and he wished just a few of the thin white clouds would cross over the sun and give him a moment’s reprieve.
Men’s voices carried through the trees behind him, and William breathed a sigh of relief. He would gladly put up with Roger’s complaints if it meant slicing his workload in half.
A tall figure broke through the treeline, and William stilled, surprised to find Mac walking his way. The man’s tall frame blocked another gentleman behind him that William didn’t recognize, and young James followed shortly.
“You must have gotten an early start,” Mac called pleasantly.
William gripped his scythe and approached the men. He’d shed his coat and waistcoat earlier, opting to work in his shirtsleeves and breeches. “What can I do for you?”
“We’ve come to help.” Mac smiled pleasantly. “I told you the men of Collacott could be relied upon to be neighborly, did I not?”
If the men of Collacott consisted of these two gentlemen, then yes, William supposed that was true. He was not one to turn down help, and with their assistance, the speed at which this field was prepared could triple.
Grinning, William nodded. “Thank you, sir. It’s much appreciated. I am grateful for both of your help.” He winked at James. “And yours as well.”
“It isn’t just us,” Mac said, looking back over his shoulder. No one appeared behind him, and William wondered if Mac was looking for Roger or William’s father. If his statement had been, in fact, a question.
He began to excuse their absence, though he didn’t know why he felt the need to protect either of them from censure. “My father’s leg prevents him from assisting me, and Roger has other things to do—”
Mac sent him a curious look that made the rest of William’s explanation die swiftly on his tongue. The man didn’t appear to care for Roger’s excuses.
Voices reached them, filtering through the trees as more men appeared. One by one they stepped out of the thin path in the foliage, filling in the empty space behind Mac until there was an army of workers standing at the ready. The men’s willingness to help him made William’s chest thick with gratitude, and he cleared his throat to cover the emotion welling within him.
“Where is Renwick?” Mac asked.
Another man with a large, bulbous nose flicked his head toward the pathway they’d just come through. “Couldn’t make it through the wood, so he’s going the long way ’round.”
Mac nodded as though this made perfect sense to him, but William was lost. Who was Renwick, and why could the man not fit through the wood?
“We ought to wait for Renwick,” Mac said. “But show us what you need done in the meantime.”
William came to himself quickly, shaking his awe for the men around him. He couldn’t believe how many had shown up to help. It was certainly a greater number than those who filled the pews on Sundays.
Mac watched him expectantly, and William nodded, filtering through his plans. He pointed to the small plot he’d already worked himself. “This is as far as I’ve gotten. I’d like to work this entire field.”
“What of the field to the east?” the man with the bulbous nose asked, coming to stand beside Mac, his forehead lined in consideration.
“Eventually, yes.” William looked to the larger field in the distance. “Someday.”
A neigh stole his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder to find a man leading a slow, thickly built horse which dragged a cart holding an inverted plow. William’s heart sped like a drum building its rhythm. Never in his life had he experienced such consideration, and it was doing odd things to his chest. That plow was going to cut down the time it would take to till his fields by an enormous margin. He was flummoxed.
Mac chuckled, slapping William on the back. He rocked forward, not expecting the force of Mac’s gesture, and caught himself before he could fall. Mac directed the men where to go and told them what needed doing. He glanced back at William for approval, it seemed, but William just nodded. Everything Mac asked the men to do were all things on William’s list. The man knew exactly what needed to be done to prepare these fields for a spring harvest.
“Welcome to Collacott,” Mac said, before turning to help the man called Renwick with the plow.
This was a brilliant welcome, indeed.
