For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 (25 page)

“Do ye love him, lass?” Mama asked, settling her hands on her hips with a lift of her eyebrow.

“Of course I do, but is it enough?” She waved a hand in the air. “What if he changes his mind and comes to fancy some petite beauty who is not a giant like me? Someone who sews and cooks better and says all the right things around his friends and acquaintances. Someone who does not embarrass him.”

“Then I daresay, ’twas not true love that established the bond between ye. What is all this nonsense talk anyway? Ye do not sound like the bold and defiant lass I know I raised.” Mama stepped closer and leaned forward to better inspect Tyra in the lantern light. “Of all the people I have known, ye’ve never been one to second guess yerself. Ye knew yer own mind afore ye was two years.”

Tyra swallowed with difficulty under her mother’s scrutinizing gaze, and her breath caught. A heavy burden tugged at her heart as she tried to muster enough faith to trust God and let go. She never questioned her family’s love and devotion. She had been born among them and always felt loved by them. Donahue Morgan was the first person she had ever come to love so deeply outside of her family who did not actually have to return her love. What if he only thought he loved her and later changed his mind?

“I know my mind. ’Tisn’t my mind I am worried about.” Tyra wrung her hands in discomfort and stood, ready to end this discussion. “I shall go with you to inspect their new chamber.”

“Lass, do not allow fear to control yer heart. Every man and woman must take a risk in loving each other. ’Tis the way it is.” Mama gripped her shoulders, not allowing her to escape. She gave Tyra a gentle shake. “But if the two of ye also love each other through the eyes of Christ, yer love shall be perfect and ’twill endure.” She reached up and laid a comforting palm on Tyra’s cheek. “Remember, lass, in First John it says,
there is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear; because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.
” She turned and walked toward the door. “Now let us go down to the basement.”

Tyra followed her mother in silence, pondering what she had said. It sounded simple enough, but it didn’t feel like it. The stairs were narrow and shrouded in darkness with walls on each side. As they reached the bottom, cool air breezed over the exposed skin on their hands, face and neck. It felt refreshing, and Tyra forgot her worries as she focused in the dim lantern light. The walls were made of rock and clay mud, and it smelled of damp earth. Her skin crawled with the fear that snakes and other creatures could be lurking down here. She wanted to inspect the corners for nasty spiders and rid her brother of their troublesome presence.

“’Tis great,” Kirk said with a wide grin. He raised his arms and turned around in a circle, while Darren leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Feels like I am living in a cave.” His voice took on the tone of a storyteller filled with adventure and imagination. “I can pretend to be an ancient caveman who hunts and lives off the land with naught but my wits and knowledge. And I am already prepared.” He pointed to the bow and arrows lying by his bed against the wall. Tyra recognized the set Red Fox had given them.

“It does resemble a cave,” Darren said with a grin.

“How would ye like to make a cedar trunk to hold yer clothes and personal items?” Mama asked. “I think ’twould be good for ye to learn a new trade. A woodworker down the street might like to take on an apprentice. He had a sign in his window looking for one. I believe ye’re ready, son.”

“Really?” Kirk beamed with excitement as his eyes grew wide in surprise. “I will check with him first thing on the morrow.”

“What about me?” Darren asked.

“We shall find something for you as well,” Mama said.

“Tyra?” Hugh’s deep voice carried from above. Footsteps came down the stairs toward them. “I have some news.”

He had returned sooner than she anticipated. Tyra strode toward the stairs and met him. He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips, and she could feel herself blush. Thankful the light was dim, Tyra pulled him toward her mother and brother in the center of the room. “We were just inspecting your new quarters.”

“I will not have a chance to stay the night as I had hoped. The Patriots have accepted me as a private until I have proven myself and I can be trusted. They are pleased to use my knowledge of the British Army.”

“But why will you not be allowed to stay the night here? Have they put you up someplace else?” Tyra asked.

“No, we leave in less than two hours to go on a campaign to try and free Governor Burke from the clutches of the British.” She gripped his hand tighter, and he patted the top of her smooth skin in an attempt to comfort her. “I have been advised to eat a warm, hearty meal before I go. I spoke to Mrs. Wakefield before I came down, and she has agreed to make us such a meal. Apparently, there are three other soldiers who have rented rooms from her, and she would like to send us off with full bellies.”

Tyra bit her lip in disappointment. He was leaving her much too soon.
God, please bring him back to me safe and whole.

Chapter 25

25

H
ugh loaded his gun and set his powder back in the container hanging from his belt. He hoped it wouldn’t get wet in the rain pouring down around them. While gray clouds had filled the sky all day, by evening dark clouds rolled in, and with it came the wind and rain. Water poured off his tricorn hat onto the worn brown coat another soldier had loaned him. There were no more blue uniforms and all he owned was what the British Army had provided. Right now he didn’t care for his new comrades to know he had fought for the enemy, and he hoped his superior officers wouldn’t tell them.

They marched four men abreast against the roaring wind. At times it sounded like lonely wolves howling in the distance. Only the officers had horses. Hugh had left his own horse in the livery stable for Tyra and her mother in case they had need of it. He paid for the animal’s care so they would not be burdened. Reaching for the container with Tyra’s lock of hair, Hugh gripped it in his palm thinking of the tears she tried to hide from him when she had kissed him good-bye. His heart ached being separated from her, but it was filled with love and gratitude in knowing she would be waiting for him when he returned.

Only sixty men were well enough to travel on this campaign. Hugh knew his superior officers were counting on the British being too wounded to put up much of a resistance. This strategy would only work if their reports were accurate. Colonel Fanning had far more soldiers than their sixty.

He splashed through several mud puddles and hoped his old boots would hold up through the harsh conditions. As they marched on, the sound of the rain pounding the trees and earth grew louder. Glimpses of the Cape Fear River through the woods proved it now flowed over the bank at a rapid pace. Flooding would soon be a problem if the storm continued at this rate. It reminded him of the last storm they endured at The MacGregor Quest. At least this time, Tyra and her family were out of harm’s way at the boarding house. The river would have to flood a great distance to reach them, and it was unlikely.

Thunder cracked through the sky with a flash of lightning. It struck a tree above them and snapped the trunk. It swayed and teetered until it crashed over into another tree, smashing into various limbs and bringing a load down toward them.

“Watch out!” one of the soldiers from the back called.

Men scattered in different directions, but two were not fast enough. Both men were hit. One received a blow to the head, while the other was trapped beneath the larger half of the branch. Something snapped, and Hugh prayed it wasn’t his leg bone.

“Argh!” The agonizing cry ripped through the air, piercing one’s gut like a lance.

Hugh and the others rushed to pull the heavy limb off him. It took three of them as they bent to help and their voices were lost in another rumble of thunder.

“On three,” Hugh said. “One, two, three!” They strained as one unit, lifting the offending piece of wood as two others pulled the wounded soldier free. The man cried out in pain. Hugh glanced down and saw his bone protruding through his bleeding skin. The rain washed over it as fast as the blood continued to surface. Hugh glanced away and fought a rising tide of nausea. He feared the leg would have to be amputated.

Captain Longstreet rode over to the men bending over the unconscious soldier, while Colonel Robeson came to where Hugh and the other men tended to the soldier with the broken leg. He dismounted, peered at the injury, and shook his head. More lightning lit up the world around them.

“You four will stay behind.” Colonel Robeson pointed to a group of soldiers behind Hugh. “Take these two injured men back to Elizabethtown and find a doctor. Let them know the river is flooding the area and they may need to send rescuers to the local farms.” He stood to his full height and swung his arm around in a circle above his head. “The rest of you march forward!”

As ordered, Hugh stepped back in line and marched on. Over the next three hours they continued to persevere through the storm. His clothes were now so wet they clung to him like matted dirt. If they came across the British, he couldn’t imagine being able to shoot a target or reload a gun in the onslaught of this weather.

Colonel Robeson and Captain Longstreet rode their horses up front. Two other officers rode at the end of the marching soldiers, while two others flanked the sides in the middle. A blister on his right heel began to nag at him since water had managed to seep into his boots. The temperature continued to drop as he shivered in the cold rain.

“Halt!” Colonel Robeson lifted his palm, and everyone rolled to a stop.

Hugh strained to see over the shoulders of the men in front of him, but the pouring rain and dark clouds made it impossible. Conversations grew louder among the soldiers at the front and some pointed at something.

“What is it?” Hugh asked aloud to no one in particular.

“The river has flooded across the road.” One of the soldiers turned to answer.

The captain and colonel continued to discuss what to do, or at least it is what Hugh assumed they were doing. A crashing and splashing sound broke through the woods. Captain Longstreet and Colonel Robeson turned their mounts and yelled commands as they rode by the line of men. Their words consumed by the noise and rumbling thunder around them. Soldiers from the front ran toward them. They were swallowed by the rushing wave crashing over them and destroying everything in its path. Hugh turned to run, but he feared it was too late.

***

Tyra woke with a terrible headache from a restless night of sleep. Not only did it storm most of the night, but she and her mother had so little space that Tyra fell off the edge of the bed and spent the rest of the night on the floor. Her back was sore and her eyes felt heavy, but she went ahead and dressed, trying to stay as quiet as possible without waking her mother.

She tiptoed past the kitchen where Mrs. Wakefield was already cooking bacon and eggs. The aroma drifted into the hallway and teased her nose until her stomach rumbled. She clenched her jaw, determined to go for a walk before taking the time to break her fast. Last night she had dreamed of floods and tidal waves—crazy things leaving her feeling uncomfortable and insecure. Tyra hoped the walk in the fresh air would help clear her mind.

Outside, the sunrise painted the sky into a mixture of pink and orange. It was gorgeous, and she wished she had the talent to capture it onto a canvas. The entire world was wet from the storm and puddles were everywhere in the street. She kept stepping right and then left to avoid them. Before she knew it, she had passed the livery stable, the church, and the courthouse. On the other side, she noticed a small brick building. A dim light shone through the front window, Tyra paused, staring inside. A man stood at a large iron printing machine. She wondered if he had news on the war. Without thinking about it, she wandered inside.

The elderly man looked up in surprise. He pressed his wire spectacles up on his nose and rubbed his fingers through his gray hair. Tilting his head, he blinked in confusion. He was so thin his bony shoulders hunched over through his wrinkled shirt. Black ink covered the tips of his fingers. “We are not yet open. I am still working on the morning edition of the news.”

“Do you need any assistance?” Tyra asked. “I write well and could help you with your stories.”

“I have never hired a woman before.” He chuckled as if the notion were insane. “I lost my apprentice when he decided to join the war. I have been on my own ever since.”

“Do you have any news about the war?” she asked.

“If I did, I would not tell you.” He went back to placing his block letters on the metal plate. “’Twould be hard for me to sell newspapers.”

“If I can read and write, what should it matter if I am a woman?” Tyra shrugged, determined to press the matter since she needed a job and could not think of anything else she could do. She was not an excellent cook or seamstress, at least not for pay. Her skills in shooting a gun, wielding a sword, or shooting archery were not in high demand for women, and most men did not want to be taught by a woman.

“Men do not want to read about business, war, or politics written by a woman. The fact you can read and write does not mean you have a good understanding of the topic, or that you should.” He turned his back on her and kept working. “Now, if you will pardon me, I have work to do.”

“How do you compete with the newspaper in Wilmington since it is not far from here?” Tyra walked toward him, trying to think of something to prove he needed her without offending him with the idea that his newspaper lacked something. “They cover both local and regional news, especially about the war.”

“I cannot afford to send reporters about the country to bring back news from other places.” He sighed, taking off his spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Since it is just myself, I cannot afford to leave the office unmanaged. I have an arrangement with the Wilmington editor. I buy a certain number of copies in exchange for the ability to reprint some of his news. Otherwise, I rely on letters from residents and friends elsewhere, and I mostly report on the town news here.”

“If you allow me to work as your assistant in the office, you would be able to travel to other places and report the news yourself.”

“I am too old.” He shook his head and plopped his spectacles back on his nose. “I like my current arrangement.”

“If you change your mind, I am staying at Mrs. Wakefield’s.” Disappointment filled her. She would probably end up cleaning people’s laundry for meager change. “Are you certain you do not have any news about the war? I have not heard from my father and brothers in a long time, not since one of my brothers was killed.”

“I am sorry about your brother.” He turned back to placing his letters again. “It may be because they are stuck in Yorktown, Virginia, on the battlefield.”

“In Yorktown? What do you mean?” Tyra asked, trying to remember where Yorktown was in Virginia. Her mind went blank, and she longed for a map. Lately, her sense of direction seemed impaired, much like the chaos in the world around them. The colonies had been at war for so long she had forgotten what life was like before the fighting began.

“I do not want you spreading this news on the street, but the latest is General George Washington has General Lord Cornwallis trapped in Yorktown. The British have nowhere else to turn. Washington is besieging them on one side, and there is naught but the sea on the other.” He turned and gave her a meaningful glance. “The war may soon be over.”

“The door burst open and a young man hurried in breathing hard. “Some soldiers returned wounded. The Cape Fear River has overflowed!”

***

The water flipped Hugh’s feet from under him and the force of the impact took his breath away, especially the cold temperature. Something slammed into his side, and it felt like someone’s boot kicked him in the head. He fought to stay conscious as the current dragged him under. He kicked to the surface and broke through to gasp for air. It was too dark to see anything, and the clouds hid the light of the moon and stars. Just as he caught his breath again, the water slammed him into a tree.

Hugh wrapped his arms around the trunk, clawing at the bark until he grasped a sturdy limb and hung on. The water kept climbing. He took a few moments to catch his breath before reaching for another sturdy branch above him and forced himself up. At times, the tree swayed in the wind and from the impact of the current and other objects hitting it. He listened as men screamed and cried out for help, and there was nothing he could do but survive.

After what seemed like hours, the cries stopped, the storm calmed, and the water reached a steady level, but never to the height where he had climbed. His muscles ached as he hung on in one position. Throughout the night he talked to himself and sang songs to stay awake, and when his patience was near an end, he talked to his Maker. He talked for so long he began to feel as if he wasn’t alone—as if God was right beside him—listening to everything. It gave him comfort, something he desperately needed when his arms were so weary he could no longer feel them.

The words
, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee
kept repeating in his mind. He was not like Tyra and had never memorized Bible Scriptures, so he hoped his mind was not playing tricks on him. He wanted to believe those words. As the voices of his comrades had long faded into darkness, Hugh did not want to be alone. He had a feeling this was going to be the longest night of his life.

Dawn finally came and with it the long awaited sunlight he had prayed for. Somehow he had finally fallen asleep and managed to keep himself positioned in the tree where he had taken refuge. He glanced down and realized the water had receded several feet. He wondered if anyone else had survived. His fingers were stiff and almost frozen to the tree. He made a fist and pressed his fingers out like a fan and repeated the process to get his blood pumping to his fingertips. With slow precision, Hugh began to move each part of his body until he thought he could manage to climb down the tree and swim. More than anything, he dreaded lowering himself back into the freezing water, but he couldn’t remain here forever, so it had to be done.

He feared pneumonia would overtake him as he plunged into the water. Hugh swung his arms and kicked his legs, determined he would not freeze to death before he found another resting place or someone came to his rescue. His lungs burned, and his head pained him with fatigue. After a while, numbness set in, and he feared the worst. “Lord . . . please . . . help me . . . keep going.”

“There is someone!” a voice said in the distance, but Hugh was too weak and numb to respond. Even though he could no longer feel his body, he willed his arms and legs to keep moving. “Hurry! He is in trouble.”

A rowboat appeared beside him. Voices kept talking to him, but he could not understand what they were saying. He knew they spoke English, at least he thought they did, but his mind was so foggy. He continued to shiver as he tried to speak and his lips trembled. “Cold.”

“Yes, I know,” the voice said. It sounded like Tyra, but he could not be sure. Perhaps his mind had conjured her up in a dream.