The Rebel Spy (18 page)

“What?”

She shoved him back. She fled for the railing of the porch and emptied the contents of her stomach. Warm hands touched her back, tentatively at first. His hands grew more confident when she didn’t jerk away.

She retched over the side. Standing upright she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sucked in the cool night air.

“Are you all right?”

She turned into him. Her head landed against his chest. He stumbled backwards. She sobbed against him and he pushed his arms around her while she cried.

“Shh.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Give me your hand.” She pressed his hand against the top of her swollen stomach.

Under his hand the baby rolled and kicked. He laughed out loud. His smile beamed and he looked down at her. “Marry me, Tamsyn.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss to the back of it. “Marry me and go with me back to Boston.”

“James,” she whispered.

“Yes?”

The baby moved against the palm of his hand again and he grinned.

“You have to take a bath.” Her stomach rolled with nausea. “You stink.” She pushed him back and turned toward the railing.

****

James shifted from one leg to the other in the empty dining room of the Hart home.

“No.” She held the steaming cup of tea in her hands. She could hear her mother and sister-in-law moving about the kitchen.

He growled and ran his hand through his hair. “Why not?” He paced the smooth wooden floor. His jaw began to tick.

“Look at me, James.” She waved her hand across the swollen body. “I don’t even walk over to see Davis and Vera. They live next door. Do you think I want to travel by train across half a dozen states?”

“But Tamsyn, George and Abigail want you at their wedding.”

“I am very sorry, but I will not be there.” She sipped the tea. Lavinia made the best chamomile tea.

“In Boston you could have a real doctor. Not a half-trained midwife.”

Dishes clattered in the kitchen.

“You have done it now,” she smirked.

“Done what?”

Sharp footsteps hurried out of the kitchen. “Half-trained midwife?” Lavinia stood in the archway between the rooms with her hands placed on her hips.

James straightened.

“My brother may not have gone to your fancy medical school in Boston, but he is not some half-trained midwife.” Lavinia glared at him.

“Your brother is a doctor?”

“And served on the field, same as you.” Lavinia stared up at him her jaw working.

“I apologize.” James offered a jerky nod.

“Oh, I’m not done.” Lavinia took a threatening step toward him. “I want you to know if it were up to me I would have tossed you out onto your ass the moment you stepped onto the porch.”

James looked to Tamsyn for help. “Lavinia, it’s all right.”

He needed to fear Lavinia far more than he needed to fear Davis.

“Don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want to do,” Lavinia ordered. “And I
know
you don’t want to go back to Boston.”

Upstairs the baby cried out. Lavinia moved toward the stairs and her son.

Tamsyn waited until Lavinia was gone. She’d heard her mother slip out the back door.

Gone to have her nightly smoke, no doubt.

“I don’t belong in Boston.” Her hand rested on her belly.

“If it’s because of Hester, we can arrange to stay somewhere else.”

She sighed.

“Tamsyn…”

“Stop. No more.” She pushed herself away from the table and stood awkwardly. “I don’t wish to hear anything further.” She turned her back on him and smiled. “You can sleep on the sofa in the parlor.” She left him in the dining room while she hurried to take the stairs.

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

His voice slid over her ears. Rough and smooth all at the same time. “And what question was that?”

“I asked you to marry me.” His voice was deep. Rugged. Masculine.

“No, you didn’t.” She kept her back turned to him. “There was never a question. There was an order. Marry you and go back to Boston. I’m not one of your soldiers.”

She continued up the stairs. Davis had been kind enough to move a rocking chair into the room. She pulled the blanket off her bed and walked to the chair. Davis had situated it next to the window so she could look out over the mountains behind the house. She didn’t bother changing into her night dress. It wouldn’t be the first night she’d sat awake through the night and stared out the window.

She rubbed soothing circles over her stomach. She dropped down into the rocking chair and placed the quilt on her lap.

At least, this time, I have something new to think about.

****

James rested his chin on his palms. He’d shaved before he left Boston. Now, the stubble itched. He slipped out of the house just as the sky started to brighten in the east. The morning air was chilled but humid, and James found himself fascinated as the sky lightened and pink stripes reached across the sky.

He felt for the train ticket, still tucked into his jacket pocket. The train was scheduled to depart at mid-morning. If he planned on returning to Boston today he would need to leave soon.
What the hell am I supposed to do now? I can’t leave her here. But I can’t force her to go either.

When the sun started to peek over the mountain he heard the door creak behind him.

“Good morning,” he called.

“Oh, I didn’t realize anyone was awake.” Mrs. Hart stopped short. The door closed behind her.

His gaze flickered over the poised older woman. She clutched a pipe and a packet of tobacco in her hand.

“Sleep proved difficult.”

“As it should,” Mrs. Hart said. “Are you returning to Boston today, then?”

Mrs. Hart moved to the railing where she stuffed her tobacco into the pipe while she waited for his answer.

“I can’t leave without her.”

“She made it clear last night she doesn’t intend to leave with you.” Mrs. Hart lit the pipe and took a deep puff. “Don’t think for one moment, Mr. Steele, I will allow you to bully or force her onto a train.”

“How can she refuse to go with me?” he growled back with soft anger.

Mrs. Hart cast him a sharp and disapproving glare.

“I love her. She’s carrying
my child
.” He softened his voice. “How can she refuse?”

“Try this, Mr. Steele.” Mrs. Hart offered him her pipe.

Not wanting to offend her, he accepted the pipe reluctantly.

“Go on, try it.”

He put the tip of the pipe in his mouth.

“Tamsyn said your mother blends her own coffee.” Mrs. Hart smiled. “I would like to try it one day.”

“This is good,” he said with surprise. The earthy flavor of the tobacco mixed with something else. Something fruitier. He passed the pipe back to her.

“Have you told her?” Mrs. Hart puffed again.

“Told her what?”

“That you love her.” Mrs. Hart puffed casually. Her eyes seemed to search the mountain top in front of the house.

He opened his mouth to speak but quickly snapped it closed. He’d not told her he loved her.

“If you intend to go back to Boston, Mr. Steele, you should be on that train today.” Her eyes roamed the horizon. “The weather is about to change and you may find yourself stuck here.”

****

James stared down at the tiny baby in his arms. Swaddled in a blanket his mother sent just after Christmas, the baby slept.

“James,” Tamsyn’s voice called to him, dry and exhausted.

His gaze fell on her. She pulled the baby from her breast. He smiled. The baby’s eyelids fluttered but settled back in a well nourished slumber.

“Yes, my love?”

“Can you put the babies in the cradle?” she croaked, her voice hoarse from labor. He moved to the side of the bed where the cradle sat waiting and laid the oldest of his daughters down first.

Rose.
She came screaming into the world just after midnight, crowned by a blazing tuft of bright red hair. He smiled and touched the hair.

Abigail will love it.

He moved to lift his second born from Tamsyn’s arms. Tamsyn’s deep breathing told him she slept. He turned his gaze on the small newborn in his hands.

Clare.
She’d been their surprise. Smaller than her sister she’d been born alert, and simply watched the people bustled around her. Both girls were delivered by their grandmother. Betsy Hart calmly coached her screaming daughter through every wave of pain.

He’d refused to leave her. The fear in her eyes when the first strong pain rolled over her body made up his mind. He wouldn’t leave her side.

Lavinia’s brother showed up minutes after the delivery was over. He settled Clare into the cradle next to her sister. Davis found the half completed cradle in the barn.

James hadn’t heeded Mrs. Hart’s advice. An early snowstorm forced him to miss the train. He spent the next month working diligently on the cradle. Davis helped him with the finer points of woodworking, and he learned Davis or his father had carved most of the furniture in local homes.

Outside, large wet snowflakes fell. James thought about his parents in Boston. He had sent word months before of the situation. His mother’s letter, along with the blanket arrived just before Christmas. She informed him George and Abigail’s wedding had been beautiful and everyone was sorry he missed it. She also hinted there might be news of another wedding soon.

Robert and Suzette have officially declared their intentions for each other. They are a good match. And I dare say it is about time they accepted what everyone else knew months ago.

Recalling his mother’s words brought a smile to his face. Abigail had tucked a note inside as well.

Since you failed to return for the wedding I am forced to relate this to you in a letter. Frances Amory made a brief appearance. I know you will be horribly saddened to hear you have been replaced. He is much older and has bad teeth. Tell my newest sister-in-law that Boston is not the same without her.

Love, Abby

He’d asked Tamsyn to marry him twice more. Each time she told him “not yet.” He spent many nights on the uncomfortable sofa in the parlor.

Tamsyn smiled each night before retiring to her own room. “Now you know how I feel.” She’d placed a kiss on his cheek and climbed the stairs.

****

Just after delivery, while the doctor checked the babies, he once again whispered into her ear, “Tamsyn, I love you. Will you marry me?”

She turned to look up at him, tears streaked her face. “Yes.”

His grip tightened around her in shock. “Why not before?”

“Because I didn’t want to waddle at my own wedding.”

“You should have told me. I would have understood.”

She laughed. “No, you would have begged me to waddle at my own wedding.” She slipped her hand into his. “When the wisteria blooms in the front yard. Under the big oak tree.”

“You won’t go back to Boston?” he asked one last time.

“No.”

“Then I need to send my parents a telegram.”

Heavy flakes fell. He would never make it into town and back before the road was impassable. His telegram would have to wait.

The slamming of the front door echoed through the house. “James Steele!”

James cringed. His gaze landed on his twin daughters. They didn’t move from their sleep. Tamsyn groaned and rolled onto her stomach but continued to sleep. He rushed out of the room.

A sharp “shh” was followed by an even sharper reprimand from Lavinia. He hurried down the stairs, a wide smile spread across his face. George stood with his head low while Lavinia instructed him in proper manners.

“George. What a surprise, my friend.”

“Do you know how hard it is to get here in the winter, James?”

Abigail appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a thick wool cloak.

“Abby, I’m told we arrived just in time,” George whispered. “Seems James and Tamsyn have a surprise.”

James stepped forward and pulled the cloak from his sister’s shoulders.

“What is it?” Abigail demanded.

He placed a kiss on her cheek. “Tamsyn agreed to marry me this morning.” He tossed a smile over Abigail’s head to Lavinia. “She said when the wisteria blooms.” He scratched his head. “Lavinia will have to tell you when that is because…I’m not sure what wisteria is.”

Lavinia laughed. “Spring, James. Wisteria blooms in early spring.” She shook her head and left them at the bottom of the steps.

“Now, if you promise to be very quiet…” He pressed his fingers to his lips. “We can go upstairs to visit.”

A word about the author...

A native Carolinian, April holds a bachelor’s degree in history. She has written a few historical articles for a local magazine, published two short stories within a genealogical collection, and one short vignette titled “The Box” in
Erotic Treats
by Rhonda Plumhoff.

She currently resides in South Carolina with her husband and three children.

April can be reached at:

Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.