The Sword of the Banshee (45 page)

The men continued talking and laughing. “Shut up and listen to me!” the Reverend roared.

The men looked up, running their eyes over India. There were probably fifteen men in all, lined up at benches or standing by the bar. Some of them were young and robust, others grizzly with age. They all looked like they needed a bath. It was twilight and the tavern was dark and smoky. The innkeeper had just lit tallow candles on a pewter candelabrum overhead.

“This here is Lady Allen. Some of you may have heard of her. She come up from Charleston to look for help in fightin’ the Redcoats.”

One man with long greasy hair and a pot belly shouted with a thick Scottish brogue, “We got enough fightin’ to do with the Cherokee.”

India stepped forward. “Gentlemen, I appreciate that fact, but I am sure you know that the Cherokee have aligned themselves with the British. They are a common enemy for us all.”

They were silent. Although India spoke the King’s English, years of residence in Ireland gave her an Irish accent. It was not lost on the group.

One of them asked, “You’re Irish but not from Ulster. Where are you from?”

Algernon shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

India looked at the man coolly and said, “I will take questions in a moment.”

Reverend Lamb was stunned by the confidence and pluck of this woman. She began her talk. She spoke of the siege of Charleston and reviewed the advancement of British troops along the coast. The Overmountain men listened for a few moments then began to look at each other. Two of the men started muttering, and then several started to talk between themselves. In a very short time, they had all gone back to eating, drinking, and laughing. India’s eyes flashed green. She was enraged at the insolence, but gritting her teeth, she carried on.

Suddenly there was a sharp crack on the table. Everyone stopped talking and looked up, startled. A tiny wizened old woman, doubled over with age took her cane from the table where she had slammed it and roared, “You will listen, God damn it!”

India looked at Reverend Lamb. He mumbled apologetically, “My mother.”

India was shocked; the pastor himself was advanced in age. The group begrudgingly allowed India to finish, their eyes darting at the matriarch nervously.  Instead of grilling India at the end of her speech, the Overmountain men simply got up and left the tavern.

Only the Reverend Lamb and two men remained. They came over to the table where India, Lucretia, and Algernon were sitting. Old Mrs. Lamb went to the kitchen. One of the men had dark curly hair and freckles and the other was stocky with chestnut hair and a pug nose.

“Lady Allen,” said the younger man with curly hair. “Our folk are from County Mayo. I am Carrig Muldoon and this is Arden.”

They smiled and nodded to India and Lucretia. Carrig was a handsome young man with a bright smile. His brother Arden looked as though he had been in many fights. His nose was flattened, and he was missing his front teeth. He weaved slightly as he stood before the table.

“We are Irish Catholics,” Carrig announced. “We lived here a long time before the Scots would even talk to us.”

Lucretia looked at Arden’s flattened nose and wondered if the Overmountain men had done more than talk to them.

“We’re here to tell ya not to give up,” slurred Arden. “They hate anyone coming up from the Low Country telling them what to do.”

“But I am not from the Low Country originally,” India responded.

“That is another problem for you. You’re Irish but not Scotch Irish. They hate Irish Catholics, but take heart the only sons of bitches they hate more than us are the Tories. In a while they’ll start to listen to ya.”

  India nodded. “Any suggestions on winning them over sooner?”

Carrig shrugged and said, “No, it’ll just take time.”

“We have little of that,” said Algernon. “We are losing this war.”

*           *            *

They camped by the stream near the tavern that night, and India fell asleep staring at the moon through the window of the wagon. She tried to think of ways to convince the Overmountain men to join their cause, but she was at a loss for ideas. India pulled the covers up around her. Suddenly she found herself thinking of Quinn and how he held her at night. Her stomach began to knot. She pushed this memory from her mind and turned over in bed abruptly, thinking of something else. It was difficult growing callous and cold again, but gradually the mortar on the fortress was hardening.

The following morning the rain returned and Reverend Lamb’s wife invited Lucretia and India up to the parsonage to have a hot breakfast and a bath. The parsonage was down the road from the tavern next to the Presbyterian Church. It was a two room log cabin with a field stone foundation. The homestead was tidy and well- kept surrounded by pines, maples and hickory trees. There was a barn and a small structure near the trees with smoke rising from the chimney. Lucretia spied old Mrs. Lamb carrying a large bundle of wood to the small building. The tiny woman nodded a greeting to her.

“Come in,” said Reverend Lamb’s wife who was standing at the door of the cabin. She was a tall woman with gray hair, sunken cheeks, and lips. She had no teeth. “Reverend Lamb is in the sugar house cooking sap. He will not be in all day. You ladies will have your privacy to wash up.”

There was a fire in the stone fireplace at the end of the room, and in front of it stood a spinning wheel, settle, and a large Windsor arm chair. A colorful rag rug was on the floor by the kitchen table and there was a large Bible on the mantel. India could see a tub of steaming water in the bedroom.

“You go ahead and clean up,” Mrs. Lamb said to Lucretia, and turning to India, she ordered, “You eat while the water heats up for your bath.”

Using her apron as a hot pad, Mrs. Lamb pulled a frying pan off a trivet and slid fried eggs and side pork onto a plate for India followed by some pancakes soaked in butter and maple syrup. India sighed. It felt good to have someone else in charge.

When Lucretia finished bathing, the women changed the water for India’s turn. It felt wonderfully relaxing to be bathing again. She eased herself down into the hot water, running the soap over her scalp and skin. India had mud on her body and grit in her hair from the long journey.

When she was done washing, she sat back in the tub, letting her arms dangle over the sides. All this talk about the Scotch Irish made her think of Ireland. It had been a long time since she had left home, and she felt a pang of homesickness.
If we lost the war here in America, would I flee back to Ireland?
She had never considered where she would go if they lost the war. She had, in fact, never really considered losing the war at all.
Could I flee to Ireland? Would they pursue me there?

India sat up suddenly, clutching the sides of the tub. For the first time since she started this fight in America, she truly considered the possibility of losing the war.
The thought of a life without Phineas and Quinn was grueling. The thought of a life without purpose was unfathomable.

India stood up abruptly, water sloshing onto the floor. Her heart was pounding as she dried herself off and pulled on her clothes. With shaking hands, she laced her green brocade bodice and twisted her hair into a knot.

Lucretia was startled when she walked out of the bedroom. She knew something was wrong with India, but she knew not to ask questions.

When they had finished helping Mrs. Lamb clean up, India mounted her mare and returned to the wagon. Reverend Lamb had arranged for another meeting at the tavern that night, and she needed to do some chores at the campsite then work on her speech. Late in the afternoon, she sat in the wagon at a small drop leaf desk with a quill in her hand. For the first time in her life, no words would come. Her mind was empty. She had been writing speeches for years, as far back as the early days with Colm, and now she could think of nothing
.

Rubbing her forehead, India tried again, but her mind was blank. She dropped back into her chair.

Can’t you see?
No words are coming because it is over. The British won in Ireland, and they have beaten you in America. This pathetic group of backwoodsmen cannot turn the tide of this war. It’s too late. It is over.

India did not know how long she sat at the desk, but when she heard a knock at the door, she realized that it had grown dark. It was Lucretia and Algernon. “It’s time,” Algernon said solemnly.

She nodded her head and followed him up the hill to the tavern. When they opened the door, Reverend Lamb and the Muldoons were seated at a table. No Overmountain men had come to the meeting.

The innkeeper brought them tankards of beer, and India stood up to address the small group. By rote, she recited a speech she had delivered a hundred times to the repparees back in Ireland, but her words seemed hollow and her movements wooden. India had lost her passion.

Suddenly the door burst open and several Overmountain men stumbled into the room. They scowled at her and sat down on the benches. More men continued to file into the tavern and sit down. Several of them tripped as they crossed the threshold as if someone was pushing them from behind.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” someone bellowed at the door. “I saw these lads on the road, and they told me to join them.” It was Quinn Calleigh followed by Ian. Ian let go of the arm of one of the men he was forcing into the the tavern when he spotted India.

Quinn looked at her and roared, “A
female
leading a meeting?
This
I have to see.”

India blinked in disbelief and her lips parted. Quinn smirked and sat down. He looked as if he had been riding hard for days. He wore a dirty linen shirt, vest and breeches. His boots were spattered with mud and his hair was hanging in dirty tangles around his face. Yet, in spite of the mud and fatigue, there was a sparkle in his eye when he looked at India.

She raised an eyebrow then continued as if there had been no interruption. The Overmountain men settled in and listened sullenly while she suggested sabotage and harassment techniques and explained the strategy of waging a war of attrition. Quinn remained quiet. When India finished, the Overmountain Men asked no questions and offered no ideas. Their surly attitude continued. They ordered drinks and talked among themselves.

Quinn and Ian brought tankards of beer over to the table where India sat with Lucretia, Algernon, and the Muldoons. Reverend Lamb joined them as well. India noticed that Quinn still limped, but when he saw her looking at him, she looked away. Thoughts of his tawdry liaison with Emilee infuriated her, and the hurt and betrayal tortured her.

He sat down beside her and she caught a hint of his musky scent. A thrill passed through her body and this angered her further.

“Hello, Carrig, Arden,” Quinn said, addressing the Muldoons.

They nodded a greeting in return.

Quinn ran his eyes over India. For an entire week he had rehearsed his first words to her when he saw her again, and now his tongue was tied. All he could think about was running his lips down her neck and sliding his rough hands over her smooth breasts, yet there she sat, stiff and unyielding as ever.
Well I can be angry too. Why is she so quick to believe the worst in me? Why am I forever chipping away at that frigid exterior?
It is no surprise the Overmountain men will not listen to her. Her icy beauty is unapproachable. That homespun attire is no disguise. The aristocratic upbringing and patrician demeanor can not be hidden
.

In spite of himself, Quinn said to India, “All this tonight was to be expected. When I started recruiting sharpshooters up here years ago, I got the same cold reception. Take heart, these men are worth waiting for. They are the best in the Colonies.”

“It is not you personally, Lady Allen.” Reverend Lamb said apologetically, “They are worried about spring planting now and renewed raids from the Cherokee.”

“Thank you,” India said graciously, but she knew the truth. “Thank you for rounding them up tonight,” she said looking at Quinn and Ian.

They shrugged.

“Too bad we don’t have that lassie from Ireland here,” stated Carrig Muldoon.

“Who?” asked Algernon.

“Fitzpatrick was her name. She raised hell with the British a few years back in the old country. They’d listen to her.”

India's eyes grew large.

“Orangemen actually joined her fight,” Carrig continued.

Algernon shook his head and chuckled, “Someone is telling tales.”

“It’s true,” Arden Muldoon chimed in. “The bloody English bastards were taking
their
religion away too.”

Reverend Lamb nodded his head, “That’s why a lot of them came here. They didn’t want no part of the Church of England. A few of them had relatives that stayed home and joined her rebellion instead.”

India stared straight ahead. No one seemed to notice but Quinn. He knew what she was thinking and cold fear washed over him. He held his breath, watching her closely.

Reverend Lamb changed the subject but neither India nor Quinn heard him. Suddenly she stood up and announced, “Gentlemen, thank you and good night.” Everyone looked up with surprise as she pushed her chair back, picked up her skirts, and walked out the door.