Emily's Vow (5 page)

"It's not always weighted in the man's favor," Samantha said simply. "But are you both sure of this vow of remaining unmarried?"

"Without any doubt." Emily considered her friend for a long moment, realizing Samantha had adroitly changed the subject. Sadness shaded her friend's eyes, dimming their sparkle like clouds on a starry night.

"Yes, we shall be true unto ourselves," Amy added with a theatrical flourish of her hand, "and follow our heart's desires, rather than submit to the whimsical will of a man. Are you with us?"

Samantha contemplated the fire, dancing with red, orange, and blue licks of flame. Lost in thought, she lightly massaged the outside of her thigh. Shouts of laughter came through the window. A dog barked in response. Still, Samantha methodically caressed her leg with her fingers. Emily made a mental note to ask Samantha what had happened while she was visiting her grandmother in Savannah to cause the apparent ache in the limb. But that conversation could wait for another day. This was a momentous occasion in her life, and she wanted to savor it.

Samantha blinked and then regarded them. "I honestly never considered not marrying. The idea has its benefits, however."

Agitation mingled with hope forced Emily to her feet. She paced the room. When her father desired something, he didn't back down. He'd never give up until he had coerced her into the one act she longed to avoid. That was the problem. He wanted her to marry, and soon, for her protection, he said. She wouldn't put it past him to find her a husband despite her wishes. His demand coupled with her sister's recent death solidified the idea percolating in the back of her mind. The vacant shop wouldn't be vacant for long, no matter the obstacles placed in her way.

"So you are with us, Samantha?" Amy asked.

"Yes, but we must keep it between us, to avoid open scorn whenever possible." Samantha grinned. "After all, we've reached the upper end of marriageable age. We may as well."

Emily crossed to the center of the room, her hands outstretched. The first steps of a journey often proved the hardest. "Come, then, let us take a vow together to keep this choice our secret."

Amy and Samantha rose and clasped hands with Emily, forming a triangle of friendship.

"How binding is this vow?" Samantha asked. At the startled response from Amy and Emily, she added, "I mean, should one or the other of us change our minds, is that allowed as well?"

The image of Frank's blond good looks and gray eyes floated before Emily. No matter how handsome and fine Frank or any man might be, the vow must, for her own peace of mind, be made. An inner voice cried out in anguish when she pushed the handsome face aside, locking it away in her heart. However, she did not want to force the restriction, or the pain, on anyone else. With a deep breath, Emily said, "As long as it is not coerced upon us, but is of our own choosing, I see no need for this to be forever binding."

"Then so be it," Samantha said. "I choose to remain unwed."

Amy cocked her head and smiled at Samantha. Squeezing her hand, she said, "But you have not stated your reason. What prompts you to this decision?"

A dour smile flickered across Samantha's lips. "Let us say, I have loved and lost and will not endure such pain again."

"Indeed?" Amy quirked an eyebrow at Samantha, then glanced at Emily.

Samantha bobbed her head once as a tiny smile formed on her lips. The woman contained many secrets, secrets Emily hoped to one day learn more about so she better understood her friend. For now, Emily's relief that her confidantes stood with her swept aside her earlier uncertainty.

Emily broke away from the triangle and poured three glasses of sweet sherry. "Then we shall celebrate our agreement with a toast." Handing the glasses around, she raised hers.

"What shall we toast to?" Samantha asked.

"To life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for
all
in America." Emily flashed a smile at her comrades.

"And a more perfect union for women," Amy added, her eyes sober.

Emily tapped her glass against the others, happy yet fearing the consequences of their vow as the ring of crystal quivered into silence.

Chapter 2

The view of the amassed fleet of British ships in the harbor through the grimy window of McCrady's Tavern did little to assuage Frank's distress. What should he do now? He was only vaguely aware of the activity along the wharfs reaching out from Bay Street to the turbulent confluence of the Ashley and Cooper beyond, the mixing point of the two rivers. Seagulls and terns swooped and dived over the churning water. Dark gray clouds scudded across the pale blue sky. The British ships mingled with merchant vessels, their furled masts tugged by the wind. Hammer blows and curses carried through the open door of the tavern as coopers built barrels for shipping the products from the colony to overseas markets.

Downing half of the ale from a heavy blue glass bottle, he tried to fathom what possessed the two maids to walk alone to the ladies' gathering rather than under the protective watch of the two strong slaves. Shaking his head, he cursed aloud at the absurdity and the damned danger they placed themselves in. Were they fools?

Naive and foolhardy. Emily possessed a wild side, apparently. Someone needed to tame that out of her before she harmed herself. Or Tommy. He would speak to her father once more when he arrived. Emily had challenged the lusty men, showing her courage in the face of their threat. In the event, if any harm befell her Frank stood to answer to Captain Sullivan. Not an encounter he need ever experience, to his mind, as long as Emily behaved herself. He'd have to make sure she did.

The front door opened and abruptly filled with the bulk of the man in question, as if summoned by Frank's musing. Captain Sullivan acknowledged Frank's wave and stomped across the wooden floor to join him at the bar.

Sullivan settled onto the wooden stool. Flagging the barkeeper, he ordered an ale and eyed Frank. "Did you see Emily safely to my sister's house?"

"Yes, right before I found out I no longer have a home." Frank stared at the shiny surface of the bottle. Anger simmered to a boil at the actions the British had inflicted on him. "It was commandeered by some British officer for his quarters."

"I recall hearing something about your family's house a few months ago but didn't think more on it seeing as you weren't needing it at the time." Sullivan swigged his ale and glanced at Frank. "Damn shame. Where will you stay if not your family home?"

The captain's fatherly appraisal made Frank aware of how much this war had cost him. First his little brother killed in battle. Then Elizabeth in childbirth. Now his home confiscated as well. He flung a prayer to heaven that the rumors of imminent peace came true.

"I know not, having learned of the theft only an hour ago." If he hadn't seen for himself that the enemy occupied it, he'd still be in the dark. They apparently did not feel the need to inform the previous owner of the outrage. Then to see the blasted loyalist, Major John Bradley, the buffoon responsible for the ill treatment of Emily and Samantha, emerge from the three-story brick mansion only darkened his mood.

After he met with the ill-tempered Colonel Balfour, it proved short work to discover the facts behind the fate of his family home. He learned that only days after Jedediah departed town to join the militia for his year of promised service, the British swarmed the property, confiscating everything. Frank had not spent more than a day at a time in Charles Town since he signed up to fight for the country's freedom from English rule. Major Bradley specifically selected the place for his commander, he'd been told, but no one he spoke with understood why. In the event, his reasons remained superfluous.

The facts endured as facts. The bastard had stolen his property, and Frank planned to steal it right back. The question remained how.

"We have an extra room you can stay in until you find your feet," Sullivan said, bobbing his head in emphasis. One thick eyebrow rose as Sullivan glanced at him. "One that will suit you perfectly."

"Thank you, sir. If it's not inconvenient, I'd appreciate that." He could think of worse places to stay. Indeed, the offer fit his plans nicely. This turn of events allowed him to abide under the same roof as Emily and Tommy, very convenient on many counts. He tapped his bottle against Sullivan's, returning the grin.

"Not so fast. There's a catch," Captain Sullivan replied, smirking. "I'd ask you to continue to help me keep an eye on my daughter."

He could live with such a condition. He longed to keep both eyes on that woman, with or without her father's request. Emily glowed with life and joy, and he became a better person when he drew near her. He'd allowed himself the thrill of kissing her hand and experiencing the electric awareness flowing between them. A pang of regret surged through him when he considered the time lost with Emily as a result of his duty to claim his brother's child as a son. He swallowed the emotion filling his throat. Keeping his voice even, he asked, "Any particular reason you wish me to watch over Emily?"

"I've some business deals I need to work through over the next few weeks, which may take me out of town for a day or two, possibly longer." The captain glanced around before continuing. "Emily can be headstrong and temperamental as well as impetuous. I need someone with a firm hand on the reins. Understand?"

Indeed he did. He understood how to balance between the knowledge needed to accomplish a difficult task and the ability to manage others' actions. Working as a spy for the patriot cause while posing as a loyalist broadside printer and officer meant walking a thread that could break at any moment. Although he had never contemplated taking over his brother's business, it did provide a means for encoding troop movements and other military status for the forces waiting outside the town limits. Although the foraging-related clashes across the countryside were sporadic, innocent folks still ended up hurt and killed. He would do anything in his power to stop unnecessary abuses. Even stay in an office all day when he longed to see the wonders of far-off lands.

His earlier studies at Oxford taught him about the wealth of knowledge waiting for one who traveled the world. He channeled his thirst for adventure into supporting the creation and now rebuilding of the Charles Town Natural Museum. The specimens that arrived recently on one of Sullivan's ships gave him encouragement as they rebuilt the fire-gutted museum collection. He and the others working with him had stored the precious items in a rented warehouse until after the war ended, hoping the bombs and fires, as well as prying British eyes, steered clear of the new items.

"Yes, sir, I do." He tapped his bottle against the captain's again. "You have my word."

"There's an empty stall for your horse, as well."

"Much appreciated. I'd prefer to trust the care of Mr. Abernathy's fine thorough bred horse to your groom instead of the boys at the livery."

"Indeed, as you should. Abernathy would have my hide if I let anything happen to his horse," Sullivan said on a chuckle. "After all the time he's put into developing the line, he may never speak to me again."

"I'll do my best to not let you down, sir." Frank raised his bottle.

Returning the salute, Captain Sullivan drained his ale. "I must go. I'll leave her in your hands while I handle a shipment arriving today. I'll see you for dinner this evening."

After Sullivan left, Frank ordered another drink while he thought through his next steps. Living in the same house as Emily changed things in ways he needed to contemplate. Working through her resistance to him would take time, but he could do it. No issues there.

"Are they off tonight?" a deep voice muttered behind him, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Keep your voice down," came the gruff response.

"Ain't nobody here who knows about the ships."

"I said shut it." The sound of a blow, probably to the head, followed.

Frank heard the tenor of the men's voices but could no longer discern their words. He scanned the tavern's scarred bar, where he sat on an equally abused stool. He alone occupied a stool now, but as he surveyed the tables crowded into the small space, he saw two burly men sitting at a back table, heads together. From their soiled, loose-fitting shirts and red kerchiefs about their necks, they likely hailed from one of the ships making ready to sail. Whether legally or as privateers, he knew not and would not inquire. No good could come from poking his nose in where it did not belong. He returned to his ale, contemplating the bar surface.