Elizabeth Meyette (28 page)

“How is not important, Jonathon. The why is what we must attend at present.” Andrew said as hurried over to Walters and began stripping him of his coat and breeches while Jenny turned away and concentrated her attention on the forest. Tearing off his own breeches, Andrew donned the British uniform. Clapping the tricorn on his head, he grabbed the musket, bayonet and pistol Walters had carried. “Now for my charade.”

He crept back into the trees heading in the direction of the camp. The others followed, Randy supporting Jonathon. Circling the campsite, Randy helped Jonathon to sit, propping him up against a tree with a clear view of the camp.

Across from them at the edge of the camp, beyond the light of the campfire, Andrew marched not speaking. The soldiers watched him, looking at one another and shrugging their shoulders. Andrew wove through the trees, and then headed back into the woods. He shot his pistol into the air, and reappeared a few yards from where he had been. The soldiers stood and gathered at the edge of the woods observing the strange behavior of their captain and murmuring to one another. Silently, Randy crept into the camp gathering weapons while Jenny stealthily moved among the horses untethering them. They returned to Jonathon helping him to walk toward the road.

Andrew slipped deeper into the woods drawing the curious group after him. Now they were chuckling at the bizarre behavior of their leader. Nudging and pointing, they started to laugh as he disappeared into the woods. Suddenly they heard hoof beats and saw their captain ride off into the night. At the same time, a shot cracked and their horses, spooked, ran in every direction, some trampling through the campsite. Racing back the soldiers scrambled in confusion searching for their weapons and trying to catch their horses. In the chaos, they did not hear the sound of two other horses galloping down the road.

• • •

Grace’s whimpering brought Emily awake. She stretched and rubbed her eyes, burning with lack of sleep after a restless night. Rising, she leaned over Grace’s cradle and caressed the baby’s hair.

“You look like your father, Grace,” Lifting the baby into her arms, she cooed at her, and as she changed her wet linen clout, she talked of Jonathon. “You will know your father, if only though my words.” Tying the strings of the dry clout across Grace’s stomach, Emily then slipped the wool flannel pilcher over it finishing with a dry cotton gown.

The weight of her sorrow was like a physical burden that ached in her heart and dwelled in her mind, but she had to be strong for Grace; it was Jonathon’s last request. She tried to sing a lullaby as she nursed the baby, but the sad, sweet words caught in the tightness of her throat. She rocked and snuggled and kissed her baby, but for now that had to speak for her.

After feeding and dressing Grace, Emily freshened up. The room was already stifling in the morning heat, so Emily dressed in a light cotton frock, cotton stockings and soft leather slippers. She could not remain confined in her room for even with the windows opened wide, no breeze moved the lace curtains. Cradling Grace in her arms, Emily headed downstairs.

Entering the dining room, Emily realized that just being there lifted her spirits a bit. Cradling Grace in one arm, she began to spoon fruit onto her plate. The smell of Dora’s cooking made her aware of how ravenous she was for she had eaten little since Grace’s birth.

“Emily, let me help you,” Joanna said as she entered the room.

Juggling Grace and the plate had been tricky, and Emily was happy to hear Joanna’s voice. She turned and offered either to Joanna, who laughed and chose Grace.

“Of course I would choose to hold you whenever possible,” she said softly to the baby.

Emily smiled at her realizing how blessed she was to have such a supportive sister-in-law. Joanna had been her companion through many trials, a voice of reason, a sympathetic ear, and a wise counselor. As Emily selected biscuits and cold meats, Joanna continued to speak softly to Grace. Setting her plate on the table, Emily poured coffee for Joanna and herself and joined her at the table.

“Are Andrew and Jenny back?” she asked.

Still gazing at Grace, Joanna replied, “No, not as of this morning.”

“I worry for their safety. What can they be thinking? They cannot go up against a troop of armed British soldiers.”

“Perhaps that was not their plan, Emily. Perhaps they went to seek help.”

Emily thought about this. Maybe if they rode like lightning, found a group of men who were armed, mounted and ready to ride, maybe then there was hope. Her heart sank at the thought of Jenny and her brother in danger. She buttered a biscuit as she pondered the possibilities of their mission.

“How long will it take them to get to Norfolk?” Emily asked.

“I do not know. I suppose it will depend on their route and what they encounter along the way.”

“Once they reach Norfolk, there is no hope for Jonathon for it is a Tory stronghold. I doubt there will be any to help him there.”

Joanna looked up from the baby, tears in rivulets down her cheeks. Emily’s sorrow grew as her heart reached out to embrace the sorrow of Jonathon’s sister. She wondered how she would endure this agony. Her eyes fell on Grace, asleep in Joanna’s arms, her eyelashes soft against her cheeks, her tiny fists balled and pressing against her cheeks.

This is how she would endure.

• • •

Dawn greeted the group with thin light that flickered through the trees. Jonathon awoke to a searing pain in his thigh; reaching down he tried to loosen the tourniquet made from the sleeve of Captain Walters’s coat. Randy had efficiently tied the scarlet cloth around his upper thigh stemming the bleeding, and there was no untying it. The remainder of the jacket was a pile of charred ashes in the fire.

They had ridden for a few hours to distance themselves from the soldiers, not that they could have followed for most of the horses followed their trail leaving the British to travel on foot. The ride and loss of blood had weakened Jonathon, but he gritted his teeth against any complaints; they had saved his life. He looked across at the three of them just waking, and he smiled to himself. Who came up with such a crazy plan? Whoever it was, it worked.

Randy rolled over and looked at him.

“I see you are still alive. Good work.” Rising, he strolled off into the woods to relieve himself. When he returned, he grinned at Jonathon. “I imagine you would like a short walk in the woods yourself.” Jonathon smiled gratefully and took the arm that Randy offered. Stiff from lying on the ground, he grunted as he stood, leaning heavily on Randy.

When they returned, Jenny and Andrew were awake silently laying out the food Stephen Alcott had provided. Jonathon watched Jenny spreading out the food, carefully avoiding Andrew’s eye. Andrew, in turn, kept glancing at her, his eyes soft, telling of his longing. Whatever had occurred between them involved pain and forgiveness; he hoped they would reconcile.

“We need to remove that bullet,” Randy said. “There is no water nearby, and it would be best if we could find someone more adept than I. Do you think you can travel this morning, Jonathon?”

Jonathon nodded as Jenny handed him some ham. Biting into the meat, he realized how hungry he was. Was it just a few hours ago that he had eaten that stew? How the threat of death can disrupt the concept of time.

After eating a quick breakfast, they mounted their horses and turned in the direction of Williamsburg.

• • •

Andrew watched Jenny as she rode in front of him, her slender body swaying in unison with the gait of the horse. Her hair was a black river cascading down her straight back. When she turned to view the surrounding woods, her profile was striking, high cheekbones and upturned nose enchanting. They had not spoken since leaving Brentwood Manor other than to discuss plans for Jonathon’s rescue. Occasionally their eyes would meet and he watched for any indication that she was willing to listen to his explanation about Deidre. But she would not hold his gaze; instead she looked away.

He had been amazed at her clear thinking as they plotted Jonathon’s escape. She had been the one to suggest distracting the soldiers rather than go in with guns blazing, and he saw the wisdom of her plan since they had no guns. How fortunate that Walters had decided to take Jonathon away from the group soon after they had arrived. Just a few minor adjustments to the original plan and it all fell together. Yes, Jenny was an amazing woman, intelligent, beautiful, and intensely angry with him. He had to find a way to convince her that he wanted no part of Deidre Manning. He frowned at the thought of that woman who had tried to destroy not only his happiness, but Emily and Jonathon’s as well.

He looked back at Jonathon and was shocked at his ashen face. He was listing, and only Randy’s outstretched arm supporting him kept him in the saddle. Andrew knew it was imperative to remove the bullet and bind up Jonathon’s wound as soon as possible. Turning to look ahead, he scanned the road and observed that the trees were clearing up ahead; they were approaching the countryside near Williamsburg. He nudged his horse into a canter and pulled ahead of Jenny.

“I am going to ride ahead and find a place to stop and care for Jonathon,” he called as he passed her.

Several miles up the road, he came to a modest farmhouse with chickens pecking at the front yard and children tending lambs in the pasture. A woman emerged from a hen house with eggs cradled in her apron.

“Good day, Mistress. My friend has been shot, and I wondered if we could stop here to tend to his wound.”

The woman looked at him askance, eyeing his soiled, rumpled clothes. The children had come up to stand beside her, and she shooed them indoors. Turning back to Andrew, she set her mouth in a firm line and shook her head. At the sound of another horse, she shielded her eyes with her hand and looked down the road. Jenny rode up and reined in her horse beside Andrew. Andrew watched her take in the situation and then speak.

“Good day, Mistress. We are in sore need of water and clean cloth to tend my uncle’s wound. We would be happy to pay you for any inconvenience we may cause.”

The woman continued to stare from one to the other.

Andrew caught Jenny’s glance before she took a deep breath and continued.

“My uncle was shot by a British soldier … ”

The woman grunted, and then a smile slowly lit her face.

“You fought those lobsterbacks? Well, where is your uncle, Lass? Bring him here.” Her face broke into a wide grin. Thankful that he had shed Walters’s jacket, Andrew spun his horse around and sped back to Randy and Jonathon.

Galloping back, he reined in his horse when he reached them.

“There is a farm up ahead that will take Jonathon in for care. The lady of the house is obviously
not
a Tory,” Andrew shouted as he rode up to them.

“Not a moment too soon, lad, for I think Jonathon is done in,” Randy said.

In a short time, they reached the farmhouse and Randy slid Jonathon off his horse. Supporting him on either side, Randy and Andrew brought him into the house and into the back bedroom indicated by the woman. Laying him on the bed, they started tugging at his breeches causing Jonathon to cry out in pain, but the woman brought in a sturdy kitchen knife and efficiently cut the pant leg through exposing the ragged wound in his leg. Blood had clotted around the hole, and bits of fabric from Jonathon’s breeches clung to it.

“That is a nasty one,” the woman said. “I shall bring some water.”

Andrew watched Jenny follow the woman out of the room. Randy grunted.

“She is a fine lass, that one.”

“Yes,” Andrew answered still staring after her.

“You had best hang on to her, Lad, or someone else will snatch her away.” He clapped Andrew on the back. “Now let us see to this rascal.” He turned to Jonathon and began to rip back the rest of his pant leg.

Jonathon’s unfocused eyes stared out of a pallid face, and he mumbled. Andrew knelt beside his bed and spoke to him softly.

“We are about to remove the bullet, Jonathon. Then you can rest and heal.”

Returning in a few minutes with a basin of hot water and a clean sheet, the woman motioned to Jenny to tear it into strips. Despite the heat, the woman lit a small fire in the hearth and held the knife blade in it for a moment, then instructed Randy to place a folded strip of cloth between Jonathon’s teeth. Andrew’s stomach lurched as the woman thrust the knife point into Jonathon’s wound and twisted it, pulling upward. Like a spray, blood and the bullet shot out of Jonathon’s leg. He arched his back and cried out in pain against the cloth clenched in his mouth, and then he passed out. Still kneeling beside him, Andrew looked down to see blood spatters crimson against his white shirt. Bile rose in his throat, and he fought the urge to retch closing his eyes against the scene. He breathed deeply and bit his lip to stem the waves of nausea. Looking up, he saw Jenny’s pale face staring at Jonathon’s leg, the quivering black curls around her face mute witness to her trembling. Rising, he crossed over to her and placed his arm around her waist. Her body quivered as she leaned into him.

As if she performed this procedure every day, the woman simply said. “There. It is out.”

Taking a folded quilt, she placed it beneath his leg to elevate it, and then carefully bathed the wound with fresh water. She applied a poultice to the wound and the scent of lavender and chamomile filled the room.

Jonathon stirred. Rinsing out another cloth, she placed it across his forehead.

“We shall see,” she said. She looked at each in turn, and Andrew, for the first time, noticed how clear and alert her eyes were. Her gaze settled on him as he stood with his arm still around Jenny’s waist, and a smile settled on her lips.

“This is a place of healing,” she said in a soft voice. Then she looked back at Jonathon.

“He will recover, but it will take time.”

“I shall return to Williamsburg to fetch a wagon so we can take him back to Brentwood Manor,” Randy said.

The woman raised one eyebrow and looked at him for a moment, “He should not travel for a while,” the woman warned.