Elizabeth Meyette (26 page)

He could not stay confined in his room any longer, so he left his room and headed for the dining room and breakfast.

As he entered, he saw Jonathon standing at the window looking out as he himself had just been doing upstairs. Jonathon turned upon hearing Andrew enter.

“Good morning, Drew.”

“Good morning, Jonathon. How are you?” He felt foolish after he said it, for it was evident by Jonathon’s haggard face that he had not slept much the night before.

“In just a few hours I have learned how a mere infant can dominate one’s life,” he said. His smile was rueful and Andrew knew it was not due to lack of sleep.

“Grace is beautiful,” Andrew said. He stepped to the sideboard and took some sausage and biscuits. Normally his appetite resulted in a heaping breakfast platter, but this morning he was not hungry. He sat and watched Jonathon staring outside.

“Is there nothing we can do, Jonathon?”

“I am afraid I am at their mercy, Drew. Michael must return me to Norfolk for a trial, and probably a hanging.” Jonathon wiped a hand across his eyes. “I will leave Emily and Grace alone.” He turned to Andrew. “Promise me you will care for them, Drew. Promise me you will keep them safe.” He choked back a sob and Andrew walked over and hugged him and patted him on the back.

“You know that I will, Jonathon,” he said between teeth gritted against his sorrow. Releasing Jonathon, Andrew stood back, looking him in the eye. “You know that I will.”

Michael Dennings entered the room and nodded to the men.

“Good morning, Jonathon. Good morning, Andrew.”

Andrew was struck by how odd it was to see his lifelong friend standing before him in a British uniform. He recalled games they had played when their families gathered in a park or at someone’s manor for a ball. He and Michael were two of the fastest runners and often competed with each other in races. Andrew always knew that Michael was fond of his sister Emily, and was surprised when she refused his marriage proposal. Michael was crushed by that, but having seen Emily and Jonathon together these last years, Andrew understood. Now he looked at his friend who would deliver Jonathon into the hands of a British court, with their lack of mercy, who would condemn him and hang him.

“Michael, is there not something we can do?” Andrew cried.

A look of consternation crossed Michael’s face as he seemed to struggle with an inner conflict.

“Andrew, I am a soldier of King George III. I have my orders and I must act upon them.” Turning, he looked at Jonathon. “I am truly sorry, Jonathon.” He cast his eyes to the floor.

“Andrew, Michael must do this. There is no other way,” Jonathon said.

“Damn it, Michael, surely there must be something — ,” Andrew swiped his hand across the table sending his platter flying into the wall, crashing in pieces to the floor.

Michael stared at the scattered bits of food and shards of china as if an answer might lie within them. He shifted his eyes to Andrew, then Jonathon. “There is nothing.”

Jonathon nodded acknowledging the truth. “I must see Emily once more before we leave.”

Michael nodded. “I would like to speak to Emily, if she will allow it.”

The two men left together and Andrew slammed his fist on the table.

• • •

At a tapping on her door, Emily called, “Come in.” She was surprised to see Michael standing behind Jonathon at the door.

“Em, Michael would like to speak with you,” Jonathon said.

Pain shot through her as she looked at her friend who would deliver her husband to his death.

“No!” Her voice sounded harsh and her legs began to tremble.

“Emily, please — ,” Michael called over Jonathon’s shoulder.

“You arrest my husband, intend to take him to prison where he will surely hang, and you want to pay a call?” The words scratched out of her throat, cracked with anger and sorrow.

Jonathon stepped aside and gestured for to Michael come into the room. “Em, just give him one minute. He needs to speak to you.”

Emily felt the tears burning her eyes. How could she have more tears? Had she not cried enough to fill an ocean? Why would Jonathon allow him into their room — this man who would see him killed?

Michael stepped over and stood before her. She looked into his eyes and gasped. He was still in love with her; his eyes were soft and sorrowful and full of tenderness. She realized that he struggled with his duty as a soldier and his abhorrence at hurting her. Shifting her gaze to Jonathon, she saw him close his eyes and nod at her. He knew it, too. He wanted Michael to have a chance to ask her forgiveness. Her emotions roiled. How could she forgive him for condemning her husband to death? Yet there was no arrogance, no sense of triumph within him, only sorrow and remorse. She looked back at him.

“Please, Michael, please. Can you do nothing to save him?” She reached up and grabbed his lapels. Crushing the scarlet fabric in her hands, she pulled him toward her. “Please, Michael! There must be some way!”

“I am sorry, Emily. I ask you to forgive me.” A single tear ran down his face.

“Michael. How can you do this?” She released his coat and stepped back. “How can you kill my husband?”

“I am sorry.” He turned and walked to the door. Stopping next to Jonathon, he spoke. “I will gather my men. Be prepared to leave within the quarter hour.” He walked out the door.

Emily ran to Jonathon.

“I cannot let you go! I will not let you go!”

Grace’s cries pierced the air.

“Emily, I have no choice.” He pulled her to him and crushed her against his chest. She felt his breath, ragged and heaving. “I must go, Love.”

“No, Jonathon, no, no, no!”

Grace’s cries cut the air, incessant and demanding.

“I love you, Em. Always remember that I loved only you.” He released her and strode to the door.

“Jonathon, no!” Emily cried, collapsing on the floor. Grace’s cries matched her mother’s.

Jonathon felt as empty as shells he had found along the shore. Hollow. The sounds of Emily and Grace’s cries echoed in his ears, blocking out any of the soldiers’ conversation or sounds from the surrounding forest. Shoulders slumped, hands tied to the saddle horn, he felt drained of energy, of life itself. There was no escaping now for no one knew where he was. He would have a quick trial and a quicker hanging for not only had he assisted the Sons of Liberty, he had sunk a British frigate. That crime would be added to the charge of treason. No, there was no escape.

At least he had kept his promise to Emily and had been there for Grace’s birth. Grace — so tiny and defenseless. Who would care for her now? Andrew, of course, but soon he would be making his own way in the world. David and Joanna. Thank God for his sister and her husband for they would be Emily’s family and help her to raise Grace. Exhausted from lack of sleep and the emotion of leaving Emily, Jonathon felt his head nodding and he dozed intermittently.

The afternoon sun slanted through the trees as they made their way along the road. Jonathon’s head shot up as he heard the approach of a rider. The soldiers reined in and circled around him, each man reaching for his musket or pistol. Through the trees they heard hoof beats coming closer, and Jonathon’s spirits rose. But bursting out from the edge of the woods, another scarlet coat appeared: Captain Walters.

He reined up next to Michael and a grin spread across his face.

“Brentwood,” he sneered. “I believe the numbers are on my side this time.”

Jonathon felt the bile rise in his throat. His hands twitched in the ropes that bound him, the desire to attack Walters charging through his body.

Walters guided his horse over to Jonathon’s. Taking his knife, he ran it along the side of Jonathon’s face.

“I am going to enjoy seeing you swing,” he snarled. “It is unfortunate that we are so far from Brentwood land. My intention had been to amuse your wife with your suffering. And amuse you with hers. I suspect my journey will take me back that way, however, so she can still enjoy my, ah, attentions. Think about that while you swing from the gallows.”

Revulsion ripped through Jonathon’s gut as he glared into the captain’s leering eyes. The thought of this bastard’s hands on Emily gripped him with fear and hate.

“Oh, so you see the possibilities as well, I see.” Walters laughed in his face. Then he turned to Michael.

“I will take over this unit, Captain Dennings, for delivering Brentwood is a personal mission of mine.” He moved as if to take the lead, but Michael guided his horse to block him.

“No need, Captain Walters. We are taking Brentwood in.”

“Indeed you are not, Dennings. I am in command now, and I order you to stand down.”

Michael stood his ground. “I believe we are of equal rank, Walters. I am in command of my troops.”

“Is that so? Well, we may have to rectify that.” In a swift movement, he drew his pistol and fired hitting Michael in the chest knocking him off of his horse. The soldiers drew their weapons, but Walters fired again above their heads.

“You are under my command now, soldiers! Put your weapons down.”

Confusion showed on their faces as they looked at one another. Trained to obey, one by one they put away their weapons.

Jonathon watched in horror as Michael writhed on the ground, blood pooling on the ground beneath him. He looked at Jonathon and tried to speak. A gurgling sound came from his mouth and from his chest. Jonathon tried to inch his horse over to where Michael lay, but Walters grabbed his reins.

“Where are you going, Brentwood?” His horse stepped in front of Jonathon’s blocking his view. Jonathon glared at him. Inching his horse over again, he looked beyond Walters and saw Michael’s lifeless eyes staring at the sky.

• • •

Andrew sprinted to the stables as soon as the soldiers were out of sight. He was worried that the troops would take all of their horses, but it would have slowed them down too much to do so. And Michael would not have been so vindictive. He ran to Neptune’s stall and led the horse out to saddle him. Turning, he saw Jenny standing at the door. His heart stopped and he stood stock still.

“I am going with you,” she said.

As he looked at her, her mouth set in a firm line forcing the dimple to show. Her eyes flashed slate gray above her green riding outfit. She stood, feet planted, arms folded and he knew there was no arguing with her.

“We have no weapons,” he said.

She pulled a knife from a sheath tucked in her waistband, and he smiled at her.

“You are amazing, Jenny.” His voice was soft, and he longed to reach out and pull her into his arms. But he held his place, and she looked away.

“I have no plan.” Andrew raised his arms feeling helpless. “I just know I cannot simply stay here and allow Jonathon to be taken without a fight.”

Jenny nodded. “Let us discuss possibilities as we ride.”

They saddled the horses and set off in the direction of the troops. They rode in silence for a while, and Andrew longed to tell Jenny what had happened between him and Deidre in the barn. He knew this was not the time for it; they had to concentrate on freeing Jonathon. He turned his thoughts to options they had, but he never lost mindfulness of the nearness of Jenny. When the breeze shifted, it carried her scent of lilac with it, and as he scanned the woods on either side of the road, his gaze always lingered a little longer to the left where he could glimpse her profile.

“I think we can ride to Stephen Alcott’s in an hour’s time. We could send out some of his workers to area plantations to bring help,” Andrew suggested.

Jenny nodded. “Yes, that might work, although the British will have quite a lead on us. They likely will reach Norfolk before we can catch up with them.”

“At least we would have reinforcements — and weapons. We would probably arrive before Jonathon is — ,” He could not finish the sentence. His eyes clouded with tears and he blinked them away before Jenny could see them.

“What could we do, Andrew, just the two of us?” Jenny asked.

Andrew thought for a moment. “We have only the knife, Jenny. We would be up against the whole troop of armed soldiers.” He thought for a while. “If we stole up to them at night and found Jonathon … I am sure they will have him tied up; we could free him, perhaps. But if they have guards … ”

They looked at each other. They had to try something.

• • •

Emily sat on the floor of her bedroom rocking an inconsolable Grace. She had tried nursing her, but to no avail. The baby’s cries continued. Emily clutched her head with one hand, pulling on her hair to anchor herself for she felt she was losing her mind. Her sides ached from sobbing, her breasts throbbed as her milk came in, and her eyes burned from crying. Grace’s cries tore at her heart, and so did the thought of Jonathon in the hands of the British. She remembered the marks on his back from the cat-o’-nine-tails when he was in the cabin. They would do worse this time in payment for his escape, and then they would hang him. Her heart felt like it was being torn in two, thudding within her chest.

“Oh, God,” she sobbed as Grace wailed.

Joanna came in and rushed over to Emily.

“Emily, dear, let me help you!”

Emily gratefully handed Grace to her, but the baby continued to wail. Joanna tugged the bell pull to summon Dulcie. She placed Grace in the cradle momentarily while she helped Emily into bed. Propping her on pillows, she wet a cloth, wrung it out and laid it across her forehead. Gasping, Emily tried to calm herself and breathe evenly. Joanna picked up Grace and cooed softly as she paced the room with her.

When Dulcie arrived, Joanna quickly gave her instructions. The woman left to acquire what was needed. Grace’s wails lessened, but the she was still discontented.

“Emily, Grace is hungry, but you need to calm down before you will be able to nurse her.”

Emily nodded, breathing deeply and trying to overcome her misery. Dulcie returned with a tray and poured chamomile tea for Emily. Still shaking, Emily took the cup which rattled against the saucer. Her despair was easing with the gentle ministrations of these two women. She sipped the tea and laid her head back on the pillow. She needed to concentrate on her baby for this moment. She looked at Joanna and nodded. Joanna eased Grace into her arms, and the baby cried and struggled at first. Emily’s heart sank; she did not have the strength to bear Grace’s demands, but what was she to do?