Time After Time (80 page)

“Nor do you!” she cried.

Jonathon was stunned as the realization hit him. “No, I suppose I do not.”

“Jonathon, what if it were reversed? What if you were forced to leave your lifelong home and sail across an ocean to England? And once there, what if everyone around you spoke of Virginia in the most derogatory ways and of Virginians as the enemy? What would you do? England is my home — ”

“No, Emily, not anymore!” he shouted.

“Always, until a year ago, Jonathon. It was all I ever knew. I want to go back.”

Silence fell between them. Jonathon turned away and walked to the window. He leaned a forearm against the frame and stared out at the blackness.

“Please, Jonathon. I asked if you would continue to sail for the colonies, and you said you must. To you it is patriotism; to me it is treason. Just as you must sail, I must return to England. I must,” she finished.

“You think I am a traitor?” he demanded.

“Yes!” she sobbed.

Jonathon’s eyes blazed into hers. “Then allow me to remove myself from your company.” He grabbed his coat and slammed his tricorn on his head.

“I sail tomorrow. I do not know when I shall return,” he stated as he opened the door. He turned to look at her then slammed the door behind himself.

Emily sank down to the bed and stared ahead at nothing, drained and angry. Life had been tumultuous over the last year and she did not know how much more she could bear. She climbed into the empty bed, strangely cold in the August night, and longed for the warmth of Jonathon’s arms. Jonathon’s treasonous arms.

• • •

The next day Emily received a curt note in Jonathon’s neat handwriting:

Emily,

Set sail today. Will return in a fortnight.

Jonathon

On reading it, she crumpled the note into a ball and threw it into the cold hearth as she swallowed down the lump in her throat.

She and Jonathon were to visit Andrew today at William and Mary College. They had seen him quite often since arriving in Williamsburg, and Emily realized how much she had missed him at Brentwood Manor. She decided to ask Martha to accompany her there, for she could not bear to stay in the house all day long. She went to find her friend.

Martha saw at once that something was amiss with Emily.

“What is it, dear?” she asked.

“I just received word that Jonathon is sailing today. He will be gone a fortnight,” she replied.

Martha would have accepted that as the entire answer if she had not heard Jonathon slam out the door last night and seen Emily’s tired and drawn face this morning.

“It must be terribly difficult for you both,” she said gently, urging Emily to confide in her.

“Yes, it is.”

Martha was disappointed that the girl said no more.

“Martha, would you accompany me to visit Andrew today?” she asked.

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Let me fetch my bonnet.”

The air crackled with tense excitement as they drove along Duke of Gloucester Street to the school. People were reading posters about the King’s declaration and talking animatedly in groups and pairs in front of the shops. Murmurs and cautious looks filled the streets as mistrust lodged deep within people’s hearts and began to take root, dividing the loyalties of lifelong friends.

Emily was oblivious to the atmosphere, for her mind was filled with confusion and anger. She would return to England as soon as possible for she could not remain in these seditious colonies.

The carriage halted before the stately Wren Building where Andrew had been waiting for them as previously arranged. He hurried over to help the ladies alight.

“Have you heard the news of the King’s declaration?” he asked excitedly.

“Yes, Andrew, and we have much to discuss,” Emily replied.

They strolled to a bench beneath a shady oak tree and sat down.

“I have decided that we will return to England,” Emily stated. Andrew and Martha looked at her in surprise.

“What does Jonathon say to that?” Andrew asked.

“Jonathon and I are on opposite sides in this issue, Drew. I believe he will agree to take us there. I have already told him of my desire to return, and you, naturally, will too.”

“I will not.”

Emily stared at her brother in stunned silence. She began to speak as if to a child.

“Andrew, you do understand what is occurring, do you not? The King has said that the colonies are in a state of rebellion. That their actions are treasonous.”

“Emily, do not treat me like a child. I understand perfectly what is going on. The colonies want their independence. I believe they should have it. Britain has not been fair at all in her treatment of Virginia, nor of any of the other colonies. Many of my friends here are carrying a heavy burden of debt to London creditors; some were forced to discontinue their studies for lack of funds. Some are in danger of losing their lands and homes. Britain has strangled trade and dealt in mercantilism. These are a proud people, Em. This is an exciting time, and I intend to be part of it.”

“Then you will fight for the colonies?” she gasped.

“I shall fight for no one. I shall observe, I shall learn. But I shall cheer for them, yes.”

“Andrew, I cannot believe this of you.”

He took his sister’s hand in his.

“This is a troubling time, Em, but an exciting one. If you feel you must return to England, so be it. But Jonathon and I must do what we believe, also.”

• • •

Emily was shaken by her visit with Andrew. It was inconceivable that he could support a cause that was, to her, so wrong. She took comfort in the sympathy that James and Martha Cosgrove showed her. They agreed with her assessment of the situation and had decided to join her on her voyage to England.

Leaving the colonies couldn’t happen soon enough for Emily. Tension mounted throughout the fall. Although Virginia did not see the battles that were waging in the northern colonies, Lord Dunmore was increasingly infuriating the local patriots. He ordered printing presses to be confiscated and in October ordered the seizure of all ships off Hampton and the burning of the town. The militia drove the British off, but tempers were flaring and loyalists and patriots were squaring off to fight.

Emily was preoccupied with concern for Jonathon. He was to have returned from his trip a month ago and she had heard nothing from him. The news of the attack on Hampton frightened her, and she feared for his safety.

She was preoccupied with something else, too. It was becoming difficult to keep her breakfast down, and she was exhausted by afternoon. She had also missed menstruation and was certain that at last she had conceived. The fear and confusion that possessed her were not enough to overshadow elation that, logically, she found strange, but could not deny.

James and Martha had lost their effervescent sparkle. James looked drawn and thin. A constant look of concern touched his face, and he seemed to glance out the window as if to check the street many times. Martha tried to hide her worry behind false gaiety, but Emily saw through it, though it endeared the woman to her even more.

The atmosphere was one of waiting. In the evening, as they sat in the drawing room reading and embroidering, it seemed as if all ears were stretched to listen. The clock ticked off the minutes in the ominous silence. Each time a rider passed the house, Emily’s fingers would pause as she stared, unseeing, at the work in her hand. James and Martha would exchange sympathetic looks when the horse passed and Emily’s shoulders sagged as she continued sewing.

The war continued to rage in the northern colonies and Canada, and news spread quickly to the southern colonies. Fights broke out in the streets as insults flew and honor was upheld. Troops from British ships were pillaging the towns and villages up and down the coast causing many loyalists to change their sympathies. And through it all one question swirled in Emily’s head —
Where was Jonathon?

Early in November Lord Dunmore, now on a warship off Norfolk, ordered Virginia placed under martial law. Two weeks later his troops met a militia marching toward Norfolk to aid its defense. Armed conflict had come to Virginia.

Another agonizing evening of waiting settled around Emily and the Cosgroves. The air seemed heavy and oppressive, and James in particular seemed on edge. Emily’s nausea was easing, but she still fought fatigue. Her back ached as she leaned over her work, and a yawn overtook her once more.

“Emily, dear, why not get some rest?” Martha said gently. The strain of the past few months was evident in Emily’s thin face with its dark circles under her eyes.

“I think I will — ” she stopped in mid-sentence and listened.

James jumped up from his chair and ran to the window. The sound of raised voices grew louder, and he turned to the women in alarm. “I had heard this was happening elsewhere, but I never thought to see it here. They are coming to burn our house.”

Filled with panic, Emily fought back a cry of fright.

Martha rose and went to the window where she saw a crowd of men, some bearing torches, approaching the house.

“No,” she wailed. “They cannot!” She grabbed the lapels of James’s longcoat. “James, we must do something. They will kill us all.”

James dashed to the gun cabinet and removed two fine pistols. Then he rang for a servant.

“You two must flee through the back of the house. I shall hold them off for as long as I am able.”

The servant arrived, his eyes wide with fear.

“Gather the others and go wherever you know you will be safe,” James instructed.

Emily rose, her legs trembling with fear. “James,” she said, “do you have other arms? I can shoot fairly well.”

He looked at Emily tenderly. “Thank you, dear, but you and Martha must leave immediately. I insist.”

“I will not leave you, James!” Martha cried.

“Nor I,” Emily agreed.

The crowd had arrived in front of the house and was shouting at the gate. Firelight from their torches illuminated the blackness of the windows, and angry voices yelled insults and threats.

James seized another set of pistols, handing one to each woman. He kissed Martha’s forehead and started for the front door.

“You two stay here. I recognize some of these people; perhaps I can talk some sense to them.”

He opened the door and the voices died down. “Friends, please. Violence between us will not further our cause — ”

“Your cause is different from ours!” a voice rang out.

James looked around the crowd as they jostled and vied for position. He saw several familiar faces, some he even had considered friends. He appealed to one of them.

“Ben, we have been friends for years. Granted, we have divided loyalties right now, but — ”

“Loyalist! Tory!” another voice shouted. Then from somewhere in the crowd a large egg was hurled toward James’s head. He ducked in time to avoid being hit, but he was shaken. He straightened and held up a hand.

“Please, violence will not help — ”

“Tell that to your redcoats,” someone yelled.

Martha and Emily rushed to James urging him inside when a voice rang out, “Burn the Tory’s house down!”

At this James drew a pistol and the crowd quieted.

“Leave my house!” he roared.

Voices rose and as one the crowd began to move forward. Emily raised her pistol and fired once above their heads, knocking off the hat of one of the torchbearers. Again, as one, the crowd stopped.

“They cannot hold us all back!” a voice shouted, and again they advanced.

This time James fired at the ground between them but they surged forward, coming up the walk and flowing across the neat front yard. One torchbearer lowered his fire to the yew hedge while others swarmed to the other side of the house. Just then horses’ hooves thundered up the road, and a powerful rifle discharged into the night air.

“Stop!” Jonathon’s baritone rang out, and the crowd turned to stare. Riding along with Jonathon was Mr. Gates, and behind them were three other crewmen.

“It is Brentwood!” Emily heard a man nearby say. Suddenly people scattered in all directions as Jonathon jumped from his horse, his face glowering. He grabbed one man and brought him face to face.

“Get water; all of you get water now!” he roared at him.

Pushing the man away, he ran to the well. Mr. Gates and the three crewmen followed, and a bucket brigade, including the man Jonathon had caught, was formed. They doused the yew hedge and that wall of the house that had caught fire. Emily and Martha dashed back in the front door to see one of the curtains ablaze. Martha ran forward, grasped the material, and ripped it from the windows. Throwing the drapes on the floor, she began stomping out the blaze. Jonathon saw her through the window and, breaking the glass, handed a bucket of water inside to Emily, who grasped the heavy, sloshing bucket and drenched Martha and the draperies. Then she tore upstairs to check the rooms on that wall of the house. Everything appearing all right, she rushed back to Martha.

The woman sat on the floor surveying the damaged room, and her eyes filled with tears. Emily brought a quilt from the corner chest and wrapped it around Martha’s shivering shoulders. The voices of the men floated clearly through the broken pane. The fire had been contained, and the damage was limited to the yew hedge and the east wall of the house.

Drawing Martha to her feet, Emily led her upstairs and eased the shaking woman onto her bed. She took out a warm nightgown and assisted Martha into it. The woman seemed in shock, staring straight ahead as she shivered in her gown. Emily folded back the bedclothes and urged Martha to lie down.

“I shall make us some tea, Martha dear,” she said gently. Then she hesitated, not sure if she should leave her alone. She rang for a servant remembering as she did so that no one would respond. She looked down at Martha and concern welled up within her. Martha stared at the ceiling, still shivering, her eyes dry. Emily sat beside her and took her hand. It was icy cold.

“Martha, will you be all right if I leave for a short time?”

Martha nodded, but still Emily hesitated. At that moment James entered the room, rushed to his wife, and drew her into his arms. Emily rose and slipped from the room.