A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) (28 page)

Louisa cried softly as two sailors sewed Bridget’s body into some sacking.  Bridget had managed to hang on for another week, but finally gave up the fight.  Her last few days were filled with agony -- physical and mental.  Louisa knew she was tormented with guilt over what she had done all those years ago, desperate for a priest to give her absolution.  She’d never seen anyone receive last rites, but she had to help.  There was no minister on the ship, the captain holding Sunday services himself, so Louisa decided to ask him for help. 

Captain Reeves was surprised to see Louisa as he opened the door to his cabin.  He was an older man who’d been sailing since he was a boy.  At first, Louisa found him slightly intimidating, but she quickly learned that he had a keen sense of humor as well as a kind heart.  He’d been a lot more approachable since the situation with Evie, always asking after her and even making her a present of a little carved
ship.  She was too young to play with it, of course, but in time, she might enjoy it. 

Louisa looked around the cabin, wishing her and Kit could have accommodations that size.  The first mate’s cabin wasn’t nearly enough for the three of them.   

“How may I be of service, Lady Sheridan?” the captain asked politely, ushering her inside.  He immediately sensed her agitation and went to pour them both a drink, giving Louisa a moment to compose herself.

“Captain, may I borrow your
Bible?”  The captain looked at her in surprise, the bottle frozen in his hand. 

“Certainly.  I thought you might have had your own,” he said smiling, as he poured two cups of brandy, offering her one.

“As you know, we left in somewhat of a hurry,” Louisa murmured, embarrassed.

The captain just gave her a conspiratorial smile.  He was fully aware of the reason for their departure.  “What do you need the
Bible for; if I may be so bold as to ask?”

“I need to perform last rites for Bridget
O’Brien.  She’s Catholic, you know.  I thought maybe I would find some appropriate passage and read it.  I’m afraid it’s the best I can do for her under the circumstances.” 

The captain took a sip of his brandy
, considering her predicament.  “Actually, I might be able to help.  Three members of my crew are Papists, but they prefer to keep their faith a secret, for fear of being discriminated against.  I believe one of them spent a year at a seminary in Italy.  He wasn’t able to complete his education, due to the fact that his family fell on hard times and could no longer afford to pay his way.  Would you like me to have a word with him?”

“I would be most grateful, Captain.  It would mean so much to Bridget.  She’s suffering terribly, and I’m not sure how much longer she will last.”

“I see.  I’ll send for him right away.  Why don’t you return to your maid’s cabin and I will send the man along if he is willing.”  Captain Reeves set his cup down on his desk and pulled the Bible out of the top drawer, handing it to Louisa.  She left the captain’s cabin, praying that the man would be willing to help.  He might not feel comfortable to take the role of a priest upon himself, but at this point, that was her only hope.  Louisa let herself into the cabin, sitting across from Bridget. 

Bridget’s breathing was hoarse, her thin chest rising and falling under the blanket
; her skin stretched tightly over the bones.  Her face was gray, her hair greasy from sweat and lack of washing.  Louisa wet a clean rag in the basin of water and wiped Bridget’s face.  Her eyes fluttered open in gratitude before closing again. 

“It won’t be long now, yer ladyship.  ‘
Twill be a relief to leave this world.  I can’t take much more of this pain,” she breathed, her face contorted with suffering.  Louisa smoothed a strand of hair off Bridget’s face, wishing she could do something to help.  “God bless ye, Louisa.”

Louisa put aside the rag as a soft knock disturbed the quiet of the cabin.  She was surprised to see Will
Lawson, his face tense as his eyes met hers.  “The captain sent me,” he said quietly as Louisa motioned for him to enter.

“Thank you for coming, Mr.
Lawson.  Can you help?” 

The young man looked at Louisa, his eyes agitated.  He was tall and thin, with intelligent dark eyes and a warm smile.  Louisa had noticed him before since he stood out from the rest of the crew, his speech educated and cultured, but they’d never really spoken.  He usually brought up milk for Evie, but
preferred to give it to Bridget rather than to herself or Kit.  Had he known that Bridget was a Papist and felt more comfortable with her? 

“Your ladyship, I don’t want the rest of the crew to know about my faith.  There’s a lot of ill
feeling toward Catholics, so I’d rather keep my head down, if it’s all the same to you.  I can help you here, but please don’t ask me to read the funeral service.  The captain would be happy to do that for you.” 

“Thank you, Mr.
Lawson.  The captain mentioned that you spent some time at a seminary.”

“Yes, it was my life’s ambition to become a priest.  I attended a seminary in Rome, but my father died during my second year, so I had to come home to take care of my mother and sisters.  Now I will never go back,” he said sadly.  “I’m not an ordained priest, but I know how important it is to receive last rites, so I’m happy to help.  Shall I do it now?”

Louisa nodded as Will took a small vial out of his pocket.  “It's oil,” he explained, sitting down next to Bridget on the narrow berth.  Louisa remained quiet while the young man went through the steps, starting with Penance, Anointing, and then Viaticum.  She wasn’t sure if what he was doing was correct, but Bridget’s face seemed to relax, a look of rapture on her face as Will made a sign of the cross on her forehead with the oil he brought.  It seemed as if a heavy weight had been lifted off her chest, leaving her cleansed and free. 

“Thank y
e, Father,” she whispered, her eyes closing in exhaustion. 

“Rest in peace.”  The young man rose to his feet, ready to leave. 

“You’ve done her a great kindness, Mr. Lawson.  I wish I could repay you in some way,” Louisa said. 

“Repay me by keeping my secret, your ladyship.”  He bowed to her, taking his leave. 

Louisa sat next to Bridget, taking her hand.  It was hot and dry, the bones already brittle.  Bridget opened her eyes with difficulty; her pupils dilated in the dim light of the cabin.

“Thank y
e,” she breathed and closed her eyes.  Louisa didn’t need to check her pulse to know she was gone. 

Abbie leaned against the wall of the stall, thankful that no one was there to see her.  The wave of dizziness had passed, replaced by nausea.  She had been feeling unwell for a few days now, especially in the morning.  Could she be with child?  She wished she had someone to talk to, but she couldn’t tell her mother, and Martha wouldn’t know much.  Did it truly happen that fast?  She’d lain with Finn just that once.  No wonder her mother had insisted on a bundling bag both times Gil stayed over.  Abbie thought that sewing him into a sack for the night was a silly precaution, but apparently, her mother had the right of it. 

The wave of nausea finally passed, leaving Abbie panting and sweating.  She had to get on with her chores.  The cow wouldn’t milk itself
, and the eggs wouldn’t get collected.  With Finn gone, she and Jonah were doing most of the chores since Martha was making final preparations for her wedding, sewing madly.  The wedding was in less than two weeks.  Abbie hoped that Finn would be back by that time.  She couldn’t wait to see him again.  Sam had promised to come for the wedding as well, if he could get leave.  It would be a merry occasion with music and dancing. 

Abbie stopped pulling the udders momentarily, lost in a fantasy about her own wedding.  She envisioned herself and Finn, standing in front of the minister as he read the wedding service, the church packed with family and friends.  She would get a new frock for the wedding, and maybe even attach some fresh flowers to her bonnet.  Her fantasy was interrupted by another wave of nausea.  Abbie had just enough time to run outside before she was sick into a bush.  Finn better hurry
back or she might have a lot of explaining to do.

The tavern was silent and dark, locked up for the night; a feeble chink of light just visible between the shutters of a second-floor window.  Finn picked up a few pebbles and threw them at the shutters one by one, hoping this wasn’t Cissy’s window.  He didn’t want to talk to her.  The shutters finally flew open, the irate publican appearing in the window.

“What
’d ye want?  Get ye away from here, or I’ll be coming down with me gun.”  He looked like he meant it, but Finn wasn’t leaving.

“I must speak with you urgently.  Please let me in.  It’s a matter of life and death.” 

The man squinted into the darkness, trying to make out Finn’s features.  He looked torn between closing the shutters and hearing Finn out.

“Please.  It’s very important,” Finn said.

“Oh, all right.  Meet me by the door,” the man said with an exasperated sigh as he closed the shutters.  Finn walked around to the door of the tavern, waiting for a few minutes until the publican finally came down.  He’d put on an old dressing gown, his nightcap still on his bald head.  “What’d ye want with me, boy?”

“My name is Finlay Whitfield.  May I know your name, sir?” Finn asked.

“Colm McVie.  Now, state yer business and leave.”

“Mr. McVie, four men were taken into custody by British soldiers tonight, and they will be hanged come morning.  I need to contact
someone in the Militia, and I think you can help.”  Finn watched the man’s face carefully, but the publican kept his features blank.

“
And what makes ye think I can help ye?  I’m neither a rebel nor a Royalist.  I keep me nose clean of all that.  I’m just trying to make a living, so I serve British and American alike.”

“Mr. McVie, your tavern has been used by rebel agents as a meeting place.  I think you know that, or at least your daughter does.  I can’t imagine that you are not sympathetic in some way.  I’ve seen you with your customers.  You know everyone who comes in the door,
and I’m sure you know where their sympathies lie.  I have no doubt that you know how to find the Militia.  Please help me before those men die.  One of them is my future brother-in-law.”  Finn was momentarily stunned by referring to Sam as his brother-in-law.  It wasn’t until that moment that he admitted out loud that he wanted to marry Abbie, but even if he didn’t, the Mallory family meant a lot to him, and he would do everything in his power to save Sam.

“Ye’re a smart lad, I’ll give ye that.  The Brady farm is a mile east of here.  Ask for Noah, and tell
him Colm sent ye.  He’ll help ye.  As for Cissy, she won’t be sitting down comfortably for some days to come.  I tanned her hide this evening for betraying those men.  I ken how scared she was, but she should have kept her mouth shut all the same.  Now, get on with ye.”

“Thank you, Mr. McVie.”  The tavern-keeper didn’t reply, just grunted before shutting the door behind Finn.  He took off at a run.  There was no time to lose.

It was well past midnight by the time Noah Brady finally managed to assemble a few men.  There were five of them, including Finn, seated around the table in Mr. Brady’s kitchen.  Mrs. Brady put out some bread and butter, apples, and a pitcher of cider before going back to bed, annoyed at being disturbed in the middle of the night.  Finn could hear a child’s voice coming from the back bedroom, frightened by the sudden activity in the house.

“Right,
lads.  According to Finlay, the men will be hanged come morning.  We don’t have much time.  We have one chance to get them out, and if we fail -- they die.  Any suggestions?”  Noah Brady obviously held a position of leadership, although Finn had no idea what the hierarchy of the Militia was like.  

“Here’s what I think, Noah.”  The man who had spoken was introduced to Finn as Davey Peterson.  He was thin and wiry, in his early thirties, with
black eyes and thinning dark hair tied back with a ribbon.  “The regiment has only been in the area for a month, so the fort was hastily constructed using planks, dirt, and sharpened logs for the outer wall.  There are several crude wooden buildings for the officers, but the foot soldiers are still quartered in tents.  Their main objective has been to confiscate any military supplies they can find in the area.  As you know, patrols have been scouring the countryside, seizing anything they find from gunpowder to weapons.” 

Davey looked around the table to make sure that he had everyone’s attention before continuing, “
Now, the British usually choose strategic locations for their forts, allowing for good visibility on all sides and open ground that would make any approaching enemy visible.  This fort hasn’t been constructed with the same foresight.  As Finlay has mentioned, the back of the fort faces a wooded area which leads to a swamp.  I reckon whoever chose the location thought that the swamp would prevent an attack from that direction.  A swamp might stop an army, but it won’t stop a few local men who know it like the back of their hands.  That’s our only advantage.  We must approach the fort from behind.”

“All right.  That sounds reasonable.  What do you propose we do once we are behind the fort, Davey?” 
Noah asked, giving voice to the obvious question.  Davey smiled, enjoying the tension in the room and his moment of glory. 

“I say that we get our hands on anything flammable:
whale oil, gunpowder, tar.  We douse as much of the outer wall as we can without alerting the guards to our presence, then set the whole thing aflame.  By the time they get their bearings, the fire would have taken hold.  Now, as commanding officer, what would you do?  You would evacuate the fort before the fire spread to the inner structures, but you have no idea what’s awaiting you outside the walls.  You’re obviously under attack, and you have no inkling of how many armed men will be waiting for you once you open those gates.  You are trapped inside the burning fort, which creates chaos and panic.  You’re damned if you do, and you’re damned if you don’t.  Prisoners would be the least of their concerns.”  Davey smiled again, looking around the table at the men listening to him with rapt attention. 

“That’s a fine plan, Davey,” Norman Mills said, stroking his beard, “but how do we get the men out?”

“We sit back and wait.  Now, a regiment is usually a thousand men strong, but the 14
th
Foot has been spread over the area, leaving no more than two hundred men at this location.  They won’t have enough water inside the fort to put the fire out.  Sooner or later they will have to open the gates, or the back door, giving us our chance.”

“Chance to do what?  There are five
of us and two hundred of them,” cut in Peter Whatley.  He was a burly man in his forties, with a graying beard and shaggy hair.

“Davey is right, Peter.  We can’t get in, so we must get them out.  That’s the only choice we have.  We have the advantage of surprise and the knowledge of the terrain.  We’ll have the cover of trees, while they will be out in the open.”  Noah looked around the room to see if anyone else disagreed.

“We don’t stand a chance, Noah.  No matter how panicked or exposed they are, that’s still fifty men to each one of us.  The odds are impossible,” Peter sat back in his chair, challenging Noah.

“Peter, you are free to leave.  No one will think any less of you.  You have a large family to care for
, and you don’t need to risk your life in vain.  Anyone else feel the same way?”  Noah looked around the quiet kitchen, his eyes settling on each man in turn. 

“We must try,” Norman said, rising from his seat.  “At the very least, we’ll buy
our men some time and give them a chance to escape during the chaos.  Count me in.  We have to do this before the sun comes up; catch them at a disadvantage while they’re asleep.” 

“We best get going then.”  Peter rose from his seat, slinging his musket over his shoulder.  “There’s no time to lose.
  Noah, what have you got in the way of burning things?  We’ll have to stop by my place.  I have several barrels of tar.”

Finn stood up, ready to follow the men
outside.  “Hold on there, Finlay,” Noah called out to him.  “You’ll need a gun.  You can shoot, can’t you?”  He handed Finn a musket, which had obviously been taken from the British, and a bag of powder and shot. 

“Yes, I can shoot.”  Finn knew he was a decent shot, but he’d never shot at a human being.  He’d already killed two men.  How many more deaths would he have to have on his conscience?  But that didn’t matter now.  He had to help Sam.  Finn followed Noah out into the night.  The men were already assembled in the front yard, waiting for him and Noah.  Finn looked around their eager faces, wondering how many would live to see the next day.