Emily's Vow (9 page)

Frustration churned inside. How unfair he might venture out and about, but she could not. Anger burned her throat. Thunder rumbled in the distance, signifying that the storm now hurtled past Ft. Moultrie which was situated in the middle of the harbor, and on out to sea.

"But Father—" Emily couldn't bear it. She simply could not stay cooped up in the house every day. She must make him understand. She grasped for anything plausible to convince him not to restrict her in her own home unless escorted. "Who will go to the market?"

"I can." Frank inclined his head as he winked at her. "I pass by the market on my way to and from the printing office."

His lopsided grin ignited a fire inside her. Why did he not comprehend how trapped she felt? The household and its accompanying responsibilities surrounded her, memories of fun and laughter suffocating her.

"You wish me to not attend church then?" Frantic, Emily glanced from her father's stony face to Frank.

"Of course you shall attend church, but I or Frank will be with you. Otherwise you're to find something to do here until an escort is available. Enough. This conversation is over. Jasmine!" He strode to the writing desk. Removing a small bundle of papers, he studied the pages in his hand, ignoring her.

She could not let him. This was
not
over. Not yet. She hurried to him, her damp skirts still clinging to her legs. She brushed a wet clump of hair back from her face, grimacing at the sight she imagined she presented.

"Father, please. You must hear me. I feel so trapped by being forced to stay at home unless some man can walk with me. I've walked alone through town all my adult life until the blasted British invaded. But you must know that I'll not live in fear."

Her father slammed his massive hand onto the richly embellished mahogany desk before him, its echo a gunshot in the room. Emily jumped and stepped backward, one hand flying to her mouth to stifle the cry threatening to escape. She was startled but not afraid. He would never harm her.

"Emily, you're trying my patience with this foolhardy notion of yours. The times have become much more dangerous and you do not comprehend all that you should. You must obey me." Captain Sullivan shoved the bundle none too gently into an inside pocket of his coat. His eyes flicked to the door as Jasmine appeared there. "It's about time."

Jasmine entered the room and stopped beside him, her eyes wide and frightened, and cleared her throat. "Yes, sir?"

"My cloak and hat," he barked.

Her father must be very upset to speak to any slave in such a manner. Emily gripped her hands together and waited. She sympathized with Jasmine but dared not intervene.

The slight woman bobbed once and slipped from the room. After the many years that she had worked for Emily, Jasmine knew how to handle his ire. Jasmine had served as Emily's personal attendant and housekeeper for the past ten years, ever since her father brought the twins to town to live after their aunt declared them fit to run a household. At fifteen years, Emily and Elizabeth had assumed full responsibility for managing the small house garden, food preservation, candle making, sewing and mending, and overseeing the cleaning of the house. As time permitted, Emily also read from a Bible to Jasmine until she learned to read for herself. That was an accomplishment Emily was particularly happy about, for Jasmine's benefit and edification. If the day ever came when Jasmine won her freedom, she possessed the ability to read.

A flash of annoyance swept through Emily. It simply wasn't fair. Jasmine free to leave the house and she confined to quarters. She needed a compromise and fast, before her father left and the matter closed without the possibility of revisiting it. She scanned the room, searching for inspiration. No new ideas surfaced and she turned her gaze back to Frank, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He stood, tall and handsome with twinkling gray eyes, as her only answer, whether she liked it or not.

"I do not fathom the reasons for the depth of your concern, Father." Emily met her father's eyes, pressing a hand on her stomach. "But if you're so worried about my safety, I shall renew my promise to only leave the house with a proper escort." Her heart thudded in her ears as she waited for his response. She hoped he'd agree with her renewed vow to adhere to his demand. Once he did, then she needed to investigate the nuances of the definition of the word
proper
. Spots formed before her eyes, and she forced herself to take a breath, unaware she'd been holding it.

A light flickered in her father's eyes as he returned her look. She couldn't imagine what worried him so. She had never seen her father afraid of anything. Not when she was a child and slaves threatened to revolt. Not when his three sons—her equal parts loving and annoying older brothers—somberly left to fight for the fledgling country's independence. Not even when the British bombs exploded all around town, barely missing the house as they aimed for St. Michael's steeple a mere three blocks away.

The presence of fear in her father worried her more than the threat of confinement to the house and garden.

"What is it?" Her voice emerged strained, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "What happened?"

"I take it you've not heard about the four women outside of town who were beaten and raped by the British soldiers?" His eyes glistened, his voice gentling, though still hot with outrage. "On their way to church, men attacked them. One poor soul even lost an eye in her fight to escape, though she did not evade the ravishment that followed. I took pleasure in attending those bastards' whipping. Indeed I did."

Emily gasped at the thought of the poor women and of her father relishing the sight of men being horsewhipped. Or had he actually participated in laying the lashes to the British? "That's terrible. Did you—were you at the whipping?"

Her father glanced at Frank behind her and pressed his lips together before inclining his head slowly. "Yes, that's where I met up with Frank, on his way back into town."

"Frank was there? Watching?" She dreaded hearing the rest of the story. She always pictured Frank as gentle, but first she'd seen him calmly threaten to kill a soldier, and now this. He'd grown harder than he used to be. Tougher in ways he had never been before.

"He assisted with the whipping, as I did," her father said. "As we have been pretending to be 'sworn' loyalists, we were afforded the opportunity to punish the brutes."

"The bastards deserved it," Frank said softly behind her.

"I never believed that you were a loyalist." Emily blinked at Frank then lowered her head, pondering the mix of relief and comfort surging through her at the revelation of this side of her father and Frank.

Men could be cruel to each other, but the idea simply did not relate to the men in her own life. However, the incident explained Frank's concern much more clearly than anything else revealed today. His participation in the punishment of villains such as those men reassured her of his position on ravishment. Still, despite the newly revealed risk, she must be permitted out of her own house in order to keep her sanity. Even if it meant walking with Frank at her side.

Swallowing hard at the horrific images in her mind, she took her father's hands. "But surely you don't believe that would happen on the streets of Charles Town? The women here are not poor country folk without any sense, after all."

"Perhaps not," her father acknowledged. "Yet I already lost my wife and one daughter, and my three sons are out there somewhere." He waved one hand in the direction of the still-shuttered windows. Tears threatened as he looked at her. "I won't lose you, too."

Emily hugged him fiercely, awed at the telltale glistening of his eyes. She rested her head against his heart, as she had all her life. The reassuring rhythm of its steady beat calmed her.

Frank coughed, and she stiffened, pulling away from her father. She looked into her father's eyes, saw his concern and love. Standing on her tiptoes, she quickly kissed his cheek. Turning to Frank, she raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

"You have no control over whether the British or loyalists harm you, my dear." Frank rose from his seat and joined them. Crossing his arms over his chest, he cocked his head as he regarded her silently. "They are stronger than you and grow more desperate each day."

"They've never bothered me. Not really," she added quickly and forced a smile to her face, intertwining her fingers together in front of her.

Frank arched an eyebrow at her allusion to the previous evening's events but kept silent. Jasmine hurried into the room, bobbing a curtsy to Emily's father as she handed him his cloak then slipped from the room once more. Emily longed to follow Jasmine, but she must face the situation before her. She must stand on her own now and for her future.

"They wouldn't dare hurt me." She squared her shoulders to present a confident appearance. She turned to her father and smiled. "I am a lady, after all."

"If you honor me, you shall do as I say. You must know that officers do not always behave as gentlemen. You must be circumspect with your behavior. But..." Her father hesitated, his eyes on Frank for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh as Frank inclined his head in apparent agreement to a silent question. Her father shook his head slowly. He held up one admonishing finger at Emily. "Very well. I prefer you stay inside, away from any chance of harm, but because I love you I shall relent this time. But do not leave the house without my knowledge and Frank as your escort, understood?"

"Yes, sir." Emily held her tongue with an effort.

Worry lurked in Frank's steady appraisal of her. No, 'twas not possible. He surely didn't care about her. He only came back because of his sense of duty. She simply reminded him of his dutiful promise to Elizabeth. Emily resented the need for Frank to escort her anywhere. Not only was he a man, but he was, well,
Frank
. And she didn't want to feel his heat and experience yet again their shared awareness. She merely wanted to adhere to her vow, move on, and be in control of her own future.

"Father, I must speak with you on another matter." If peace arrived soon, she must be prepared to open the doors to her shop. She watched him with hope swelling her heart.

"I'm late as it is." He slipped his long black cloak onto his shoulders. "Cannot it wait?"

Silently she nodded. The scowl on his face did not bode well for her to present her case now.

"Very well, we'll talk later." Her father picked up his walking cane from its home by the desk and tapped it once on the floor. "Frank, thank you. I'll breathe easier knowing you're with her."

As though I am not standing directly in front of him. He's handing me over to Frank as though I did not think and feel for myself.
A shudder moved through her as a bitter taste filled her mouth, her normal reaction when her father treated her like one of his nags. Handed off to someone else to care for, feed, even lead around with a bit in its mouth. If anyone else treated her thus, she wouldn't be bothered nearly as much. Well, except for Frank, mayhap.

"My honor and pleasure, sir." Frank made a small bow to her father. "I believe I shall retire to my room and dress for dinner. If you'll tell me which one is mine?"

"I've had the guest room next to Emily's prepared for you. Your trunk arrived earlier by the by." Her father adjusted his hat and glanced at Emily. "With your room adjacent to hers, you can keep a close eye on her, as I asked."

"I'll do my best to keep her safe, sir." Frank winked in her direction.

Emily suppressed a cry as another shudder coursed through her. If she stayed here another moment, being treated like a prized mare to be guarded, she would explode.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll go change out of these wet clothes." Without waiting for a response, Emily fled.

* * *

She raced to her room and flung herself onto her bed. The patchwork quilt absorbed the crush of her body as she lay there, tears flowing despite her resolve. How could they treat her like a child? She sobbed into her arm, felt the tears dampen her sleeve. Hiccupped once, twice, then realized what she was doing. The pillow beneath her crinkled as she turned over and wiped her eyes. Feeling suddenly childish, she sat up and took a deep breath. They treated her as they always did, so what had changed to make her cry about it now? Feelings churned within her until she thought she'd go mad.

Elizabeth wasn't here to joke her out of this, make her feel loved and protected rather than controlled and squashed into a box. She sighed. What was the matter with her?

Pushing up from the down-filled mattress, she paced to her writing desk, sat on the embroidered seat of her chair, and removed the quill from the ink pot. As Thomas Payne did years previous with his pamphlet
Common Sense
that spurred men to enlist in the continental army, surely her writing could inspire other young women to stand up for their own rights. Including that of being self-reliant and independent. She anchored her turbulent thoughts on paper, settling her emotional reaction and making sense out of the jumble of ideas. Only then could she calm the inner turmoil and present a composed young lady as expected.

She scratched on the page, dipping the goose quill quickly as she captured her thoughts with ink and paper. Sometime later, Jasmine knocked on the door to announce dinner.

After assuring Jasmine she'd be down shortly, Emily sat back and reviewed her words with a contented and determined sigh. She chuckled at the imagined expressions of the townspeople when they read what she had to say.