Elizabeth Meyette (20 page)

Leaning over Andrew, she gently washed the area around the wound, cleaning the blood from his skin in order to see the open gash clearly. She hoped she could simply follow the path and retrieve the bullet from there. But she saw that would not be possible; she would have to cut into Andrew to successfully remove it. Her brother moaned and shifted in the bed as though aware of what was to happen.

“You will be well soon, Drew. I promise you,” she whispered.

Taking the knife from the scalding water, she again probed his shoulder to find the exact spot where the bullet lay. As if watching someone else’s hands, she saw the knife cut a slice in one direction and then across the first to mark a bloody X on Andrew’s skin. He cried out, but Emily placed a folded up strip between his teeth and he bit down on it. She continued deepening each cut until she felt the metal of the bullet against the knife. Andrew squirmed and squeezed his eyes closed, but she could not allow herself to acknowledge his pain.

“Joanna, press a cloth here,” she said indicating a place to the right of the incision. When Joanna did that, the bleeding slowed.

Emily nudged the bullet with the knife in an effort to move it toward the opening. At one point she had it balanced against the knife ready to roll it out, but Andrew moved and it fell back into the wound. She made the cut wider so she could place her index finger into the wound, and then wedged the bullet between her finger and the knife. Andrew moaned through the cloth and arched his back in pain. Emily waited for him to settle back, and with agonizingly slow movements, she balanced the bullet, gradually withdrawing it from Andrew’s shoulder. She dropped it on a strip of cloth, and then probed the wound to check for any other metal shards that may have broken off. Finally, satisfied that she had removed the entire shot, Emily washed out the wound and pressed more clean strips against it. Andrew was soaked in sweat and was panting from the pain. Emily’s forehead was also beaded with sweat and her frock was drenched.

Joanna had threaded a needle with a long, double strand and handed it to Emily.

“I am so sorry to cause you more pain, Drew, but this is necessary,” she said softly.

Taking the threaded needle, Emily began to sew the ragged edges of the wound together. Andrew bit down on the cloth between his teeth, and tried to lie still. Emily’s movements were quick and deft, and soon the gash was closed. Looking through the tray of remedies Dulcie had brought in, Emily was pleased to see the evening primrose she had requested, and she made a poultice and placed it against the wound. Gently she wound strips around it to hold it fast against Andrew’s shoulder. She saw that Andrew was no longer losing blood; she reached up and removed the strip from his mouth. Seeing the wan smile he gave her, she caressed his face.

“You are going to be all right, Drew.” She smiled at him.

“Thank you, Em,” he whispered.

Dulcie entered with a tea tray and set it on the round table near the bed.

“This lavender tea is for Master Andrew,” she said handing mug to Emily. “It will help him sleep.”

“Thank you, Dulcie,” Emily said.

“Miss Emily, you need to eat somethin’, but I dunno what will be left from those soldiers,” Dulcie said shaking her head. “I snuck some cheese and fruit for you.” She lifted a napkin revealing the food.

“Thank you, Dulcie,” Emily said taking the woman’s hand. “You always know what I need.” She smiled fondly her.

“Well, see if that lavender tea don’ help Master Andrew,” Dulcie said waving toward the tray.

Emily gently raised Andrew’s head supporting it with her arm and held the cup to his lips. He sipped the tea and nodded, so she laid him back down. After a few moments, she helped him drink more of the tea. She checked his shoulder and saw that he was not losing blood as he had been. When she looked back at his face, his eyes were closed, no crease between his brows. Soon he was breathing evenly. She knew only time would tell if he would recover, but at least now he had a fighting chance.

• • •

Emily dozed in the chair beside Andrew’s bed. He had been restless since that afternoon when she had removed the bullet, and to her dismay, he was now running a fever. Despite Joanna’s urging, she would not leave her brother’s side. Joanna was sleeping in Will’s room because, as she had told Emily, she was reluctant to leave him alone while the British prowled the house. Emily had listened to their rowdiness throughout the evening, and was relieved when they finally settled down near midnight. Since then she had been sleeping intermittently between shifts of tending Andrew.

The windows were open to the summer night taking advantage of any available breeze. The moon slipped behind clouds that teased with the promise of a cooling rain, but none had fallen so far. Emily had just settled into the chair again, when she heard the soft tinkle of glass breaking; she started up. Were those soldiers now breaking the crystal having consumed all of the brandy? But no raucous noise ensued and she wondered if she had heard the sound at all. Then, she heard a rustling on the veranda below. Stealing to the window, she stood against the drapes and peered out. The night was still, the clouds scudding before the moon again. Nothing stirred in the heavy, dark heat. Then she saw movement at the edge of the veranda. The clouds cleared and she saw two figures: Randy and David.

Her first thought was that she must warn them of the soldiers inside the house, but then she realized they must know, or else they would have entered through the front door. The front door! It was locked — she must get to it!

She jumped up and hurried to the stairs, running down them as quietly as possible; she started to cross the foyer but froze. Before her stood a British soldier with his pistol pointed at her face.

“Stop!” his voice echoed off the marble floor. Scuffling feet sounded from the rooms above them.

“I need some air — it is stifling upstairs,” Emily said.

He looked at her, his eyes narrowed, and the gun remained aimed at her head.

“Please, sir, just allow me to step out onto the porch,” she asked.

Looking up, she saw several soldiers in various stages of undress appear on the balcony and move toward the staircase. Their eyes were bloodshot from the spirits consumed, and they teetered down the stairs. Joanna and Deidre appeared at the balcony as the soldiers descended.

Suddenly she heard the sound of breaking glass from behind the study door; the soldiers seemed to shake off their state of intoxication quickly. The guard with the pistol grabbed Emily and she gasped with pain as he twisted her arm behind her. His grip was fierce as she struggled against him, and she stumbled over his feet as he turned toward the study door. He placed her before him as a shield facing whoever would appear. Joanna gasped and ran down the stairs, halting at the base when the soldier pointed his pistol at her.

“Stop right there!” he ordered.

“Please, sir, let her go. Do you not see that she is with child?” Joanna begged.

“Yes, the child of a traitor,” he said roughly shoving Emily toward the study door.

Frantically, Emily looked at Joanna and barely nodded toward the front door; Joanna looked at her quizzically, and then nodded in return. She watched the other soldiers form a semi-circle around the study, their eyes trained on the door. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily watched as Joanna slowly sidled to the front door and stood in front of it with her hands behind her back.

“You there! What are you doing?” shouted a soldier who had looked back at Joanna.

“Leave her alone, you bastard!” Deidre shouted from the balcony. The soldier looked up at her and pointed his weapon at her.

“Get down here,” he commanded.

Emily smiled to herself as Deidre slowly descended the steps, her breasts swaying beneath the bodice of her nightgown which was pulled low, captivating the soldier. Emily watched as one by one the other soldiers lost their concentration on the study door and watched her descend. Almost at the bottom, she leaned against the rail of the sweeping staircase bending forward enough to provide ample inspection of her bosom by all of them, and affording Joanna enough distraction to unlock the front door. For once, Emily was grateful that Deidre knew how to use her charms.

“What has you so distraught, officers?” Deidre asked, holding her pose. Their mouths hung open as they viewed Deidre’s half-hidden breasts propped so invitingly on the bannister.

Suddenly the front door burst open and David stood in the entrance, Randy close behind. Shots resonated as men poured into the foyer. Emily saw Joanna crouch on the floor behind the front door. Deidre fell against the steps, and Emily was not sure whether or not she had been shot. The soldier who held her pulled Emily in front of himself as a shield, and pointed his pistol into the middle of the melee.

Emily kicked at the soldier, but to no avail; his grip on her was like iron. Men fell all about her as she searched the group of patriots for Jonathon. She did not see him, and her heart sank. Had he been captured at last? She dreaded the thought of Jonathon at the hands of Captain Walters. Looking up, she saw Randy struggling with one of the soldiers who was as tall as he. They were evenly matched, and they twisted and grunted as each tried to overtake the other. A shot sounded and the two froze staring at each other as if they had just come face to face. Emily’s heart stopped as she watched Randy drop his hand
. Oh my God
, she thought, searching Randy’s face for evidence of the outcome of the struggle. The British soldier smiled at Randy, then his head dropped and he slid to the floor. She let out the breath she had been holding.

Randy turned toward Emily and the soldier who locked her in his grip.

“Let her go,” he commanded pointing his pistol at the man.

In answer, the man raised his pistol and Emily felt the cold metal against the side of her head.

“Go ahead and shoot; she will die with me,” he sneered.

Randy held his position, but did not fire. Like statues, the men stood frozen. The soldier cocked his pistol and a shot rang out. Emily jerked up as the soldier fell beside her, his eyes open in wonder at what had just befallen him. David ran to her from the side and caught her as she slumped to the floor.

“He is dead, Emily; you are safe,” he said.

Trembling, Emily surveyed the area around her. As if in a dream, she watched the scene, each person seeming to move slowly. Joanna slowly stood up, holding the door jamb for support. Bodies carpeted the floor in front of her, crumpled and contorted in gruesome poses. One man stared up at her, dead blue eyes sending a chill along her spine. Deidre rose slowly from the steps, dazed, her nightgown still low and open in the front. Two wounded British soldiers were being hefted up by members of Jonathon’s crew, while the dead British were being dragged out the front door leaving swaths of crimson ribbons behind. One of Jonathon’s crewmen was seriously injured, blood pooling beneath him a stark contrast to the white marble floor. A man from the Raleigh Tavern lay dead beside a British soldier their arms eerily outstretched toward each other as if in friendship. As if at a signal, several house servants gathered to help the wounded and carry away the dead.

David helped Emily up and took her into the parlor, easing her down on the settee. Joanna followed and as he lifted Emily’s feet to lay them across the settee, Joanna propped pillows behind her head. Then falling into David’s arms, Joanna began to tremble and cry. Dulcie entered with tankards of ale.

“This is all we got left, Master David. Them British drank all your good brandy and wine,” she said, shaking her head.

“Thank you, Dulcie.” He took the tankards and gave one to Emily. Turning to Joanna, he put his arm around her to steady her as she drank. Emily watched the tender scene wishing that Jonathon were there to comfort her. Or, would he be comforting Deidre? Then another thought struck her.

“Andrew,” Emily said attempting to rise from the settee.

“I will see to him,” Joanna said.

“Where is Andrew?” David asked, looking around as if he would appear.

Joanna explained what had happened earlier that day.

“That must have been just before we engaged them on the road,” he mused.

“David, did you fight all of those British soldiers?” Joanna cried looking back at the small number of men who had accompanied him.

“Well, there were many more of us. Jonathon brought crewmen, and Randy and I brought men from Williamsburg … ”

“Jonathon was with you?” Emily gasped as she sat up. “Where is he? Is he all right? Why is he not with you now?” She fired questions at him.

David sat beside her.

“Captain Walters escaped our ambush; Jonathon chased after him. I do not know his whereabouts at present, but I do know he will chase Walters to the end of the earth for what he did to you.”

Emily stared ahead wondering where Jonathon was at that moment. He was a skilled marksman and an excellent rider, so she had no doubt he would engage Walters. But Walters was ruthless and dishonest. There was no telling what he would do to entrap Jonathon.

“Emily, you have had an exceedingly difficult day, and you need to rest. When you are able, Jonathon charged me with explaining all that occurred between him and Deidre. I will await your permission to have that conversation with you. At present, we need to care for Andrew and the wounded. And for you. You were extremely courageous tonight.” She saw the admiration in his eyes as he smiled at her.

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Emily nodded and closed her eyes. Sleep overtook her immediately, so David and Joanna left to attend to the others.

• • •

Slop, swish, slop, swish.

Emily awoke to this strange sound. A crick in her neck reminded her that she had spent the night curled up on the settee. Slowly raising herself, she craned her neck in each direction until the muscles loosened, and then she stretched and rose.

Slop, swish, slop swish.

Curious, she opened the parlor door to see Jedadiah mopping the marble floor; the bucket of water was brownish red, and ribbons of red ran through the path left by his mop.