Time After Time (81 page)

She hurried down the stairs and went out to the kitchen house. The fire on the hearth was still warm, so she put the kettle on to boil and started to prepare a tray of food for the men. Her knees began to shake again as she had time to think of what had happened — and what might have happened. She tried to still her trembling and concentrate on preparing food for the others, but finally, exhausted and frightened, she collapsed into a chair and sobbed into her hands.

• • •

The water boiling over and hissing on the hearth brought her back, and she rose to finish her preparations. She readied a tray for the men and a small tray for Martha. That one she carried up first.

She found Martha much as she had left her, James beside her, a look of concern creasing his brow. He looked up gratefully as Emily entered with the tray and as she left, he was coaxing Martha to sip some tea.

Emily returned to the kitchen house and brought the tray of cold meats, cheese, and bread in for the men. She found them in the drawing room nailing boards across the broken window. Jonathon saw her enter as he turned to get another nail. Handing the hammer to Mr. Gates, he approached her.

“Is this how your fellow patriots treat their neighbors?” she cried. All the anger and fear that had welled up within her burst forth.

“Emily — ”

“Where have you been, Jonathon?” The fear for his safety that had gnawed at her for months flooded over her again, even as he stood before her.

“Emily, I had to sail — ”

“For the blasted colonies!” she cried.

The other men in the room shifted uncomfortably. Emily looked over at them as if seeing them for the first time. She tried to settle her anger; she took a deep breath and fought for control. After a moment, she spoke.

“Forgive me, gentlemen. This has been a most distressing evening. Thank you for your most welcome assistance. Here, I have brought some food. I am afraid it is cold — the servants were told to leave when the disturbance began. I hope everything is suitable …” Her voice trailed off. She felt as if she were in a dream, as if it were not even herself speaking.

“Everything looks delicious, Mrs. Brentwood,” Mr. Gates spoke as he approached her and took her arm. “Here, please sit down and join us.”

He looked meaningfully at Jonathon as he led Emily to the settee. Jonathon looked puzzled and still angry. Mr. Gates poured out brandy for everyone, including Emily, and they began to eat. Mr. Gates went upstairs to check on Martha and came down to report that she was resting comfortably. He kept a close watch on Emily as the men continued to eat. She stared at the food before her but did not touch it. Finally, he crossed the room and sat beside her.

“Here, missy, drink this,” he said in the gentle voice he had used aboard the
Destiny
when Andrew had been injured. Emily looked at him, about to decline, but he pushed it into her hand and smiled. Relenting, she took a sip. The warmth seeped through her, and after a time she began to relax. The murmur of the men’s voices lulled her, and she leaned back and closed her eyes, but did not sleep. She listened as they spoke. James joined them when Martha had finally fallen asleep.

“These people have had enough. Ben Coates lost his entire plantation to British creditors. His family has owned that land since the late 1600s, and now he cannot afford even the family home,” Jonathon said quietly.

“Matthew Brookside lost everything when his mill was burned. His youngest was killed in the fire,” James responded.

Emily’s heart ached as she listened to the stories of the destruction of people’s lives being whispered in the half-light of the room. But the blame fell on both sides, for both loyalists and patriots were destroying and being destroyed.

Her strength had drained completely, and she could not stop shivering though the evening was warm.

Her eyelids felt too heavy to open and her limbs too heavy to move.

“Come, Missy, I shall help you to your room,” Mr. Gates said softly. Slowly Emily’s eyes opened and focused on his kind face. Why was it not Jonathon who stood there looking so concerned? His voice still rose and fell across the room, deep in conversation with James. He seemed unaware of Emily’s state of exhaustion.

With Mr. Gates’s assistance, she rose and started toward the stairs. She stumbled, and he supported her with a strong arm. What Emily did not see was worried brown eyes following her every move and how Jonathon began to rise when she stumbled.

When Gates returned to the drawing room, Jonathon was bidding good-night to James who was retiring to his room, and to the other men who were returning to the
Destiny
. When they had gone, he turned to Gates.

“Is she all right?” he asked anxiously.

“You should have gone to her,” Gates replied. He spoke as a friend now, his deference for his captain set aside out of view of others.

“She wanted me nowhere near her,” Jonathon said bitterly. “It will never change. She will come to resent me more and more. But I cannot give up the cause. I will not.”

“Life does not offer easy paths. But love can make them smoother.”

“I do not believe she even loves me anymore,” Jonathon said quietly.

“You do not give your wife enough credit. She is a brave, loving, dedicated woman.”

Jonathon looked at the man for a moment, and then patted him on the shoulder.

“You are a true friend, Gates,” he said warmly.

“Aye, Captain,” Gates smiled.

• • •

Muffled sounds coaxed Emily to consciousness, but exhaustion kept pulling her back into a deep, heavy sleep. When she finally, slowly came awake, the morning sun was high in the cold, clear, late–November sky. The events of the previous night seemed like a bad dream, but the acrid smell of burned wood still lingered to attest to the reality of it all.

Emily wanted to close her eyes and make it all go away, but she remembered how Martha had looked as she lay on the bed. And she remembered that Jonathon had safely returned. She rose and readied herself for the day.

The house was quiet as she crossed the hall to Martha’s door and gently knocked. Opening the door slightly, she saw Martha sleeping soundly. Reassured, she hurried downstairs and stopped in the doorway to the dining room. Jonathon sat alone at the table. He looked haggard as he rose to greet her. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Relief for his safety and excitement at his presence washed over Emily. She took in his deep-set eyes, dark circles beneath them. His face looked thinner, proof of the strain and hardship he had been under. Although a rush of concern swept over her, Emily stood her ground. Finally, she spoke.

“Jonathon.”

His name sounded like a prayer to her. How many times had she whispered it in the dark? How many nights had she begged God for his safe return? All of this was wrapped in his name as she spoke it.

“Are you well?” she asked. The question seemed hollow. She wanted to go to him; to hold him, support him, but her pride held her in check.

“Yes, Emily, I am well. And you?”

His voice flowed over her like a refreshing stream — its sound a healing balm. But the restraint it held was clear. Neither of them would relent.

“Well. I am well, thank you,” she replied.

They had remained rooted in place, frozen figures masking true questions with safe ones. Suddenly they came to life, as if aware of the idiocy of this moment.

Emily looked at the sparse sideboard. Jonathon moved to her chair to hold it for her. Their discomfort was that of a newly courting couple.

“Breakfast is wanting, I am afraid,” Jonathon said ruefully. “The servants have not returned, and I am a bit unused to kitchen duty.”

Emily looked at the cold ham, cheese, fruit, and coffee. She looked at Jonathon in amusement.

“You did this?” she smiled. “Quite impressive for a sea captain.”

Jonathon visibly relaxed at the lightness of her words. He bowed solemnly as he held her chair and swept his arm forward in a gallant gesture.

“May I wait upon you, m’lady?” he asked in mock formality.

“If you would be so kind, sir,” Emily returned in kind.

Their eyes locked with a smile that they understood as the groundwork for some painful and difficult decisions that would follow. But this moment was for adjustment and reacquaintance, and their silent, mutual agreement was to meet on lighter terms.

Jonathon piled a pewter plate with hearty fare and poured strong, black coffee and set it before her. Emily’s exhaustion and excitement left her fair game for what little morning sickness remained. Her head swam as she eyed the overflowing plate. The smell of the coffee intensified it. But this was not the time to reveal news of such consequence, so she fought the nausea down and reached for some bread.

Jonathon returned to his chair. He caught a long look at Emily before she glanced up. He ached to take her in his arms. He was concerned about the circles beneath her eyes and the exhaustion he sensed within her.

“Em, I am preparing to take you to London,” he said finally. “James and Martha will accompany us. Andrew wishes to remain here. I believe he is old enough to make that choice.”

“You seem to allow Andrew to mature much faster than I,” she replied. She regretted the remark instantly. She saw a flicker of anger in his eyes and relented.

“Jonathon, this has been difficult for all of us. I appreciate your generosity in taking us to England. Will it not be dangerous for you, though?” she asked.

“Getting out of Yorktown may be difficult, but so far I have had no trouble. We must stop at Norfolk en route, and that is a concern. It is a Tory stronghold, so my ship will not be welcome. But James will acquire papers from Dunmore that should ease the situation. It will be a brief stop. I cannot sail with you all the way to London. I have a friend who will meet us and deliver you safely,” he explained.

The impact of what this meant hit Emily full force. An ocean would separate her and Jonathon — perhaps forever. Tears stung her eyes, and her throat ached. She could not bear to think of the danger Jonathon would face throughout this conflict.

“Jonathon — ” she began but her throat hurt too much to continue.

Jonathon saw the tears streaming down her face, heard the pain in her voice. He wanted to go to her but was still uncertain of her feelings for him. She had called him a traitor, and the sting of that word still held. He understood her anger, torn loyalties, and confusion. But his convictions held, too, and he could not relinquish them. He was torn also, for his beloved Emily hurt, and yet she did not seem to want his comfort.

“Emily, what can I do for you?” he asked gently.

“Jonathon, I am so frightened,” she sobbed.

He rose and slowly went around the table to where she sat. Tentatively he placed a hand on her shoulder and patted it. He felt awkward and, for the first time in his life, at a loss for how to treat a woman.

He knelt beside her, one arm across the back of her chair, as she continued weeping. The strain of the last few months was apparent in her face. Gently, Jonathon reached up and held her face in his hands. He brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“Em, I am sorry that you hurt so badly.”

She raised her eyes to his, they glistened, but she smiled through the tears.

“Jonathon, I am so glad you are here,” she cried and threw her arms around his neck. His arms wrapped around her eagerly, and she dissolved into tears of relief, confusion, and fear. They held each other close, able to comfort, able to support, but unable to compromise.

Emily’s sobs began to subside. Her face was still buried in Jonathon’s shoulder. His hands caressed her back and ran through her hair. He whispered reassurances softly and pressed his lips against her temple. Emily wished they could remain like this forever — just lock out the world with its wars and suffering and insulate themselves in this moment. She knew better.

Reluctantly she pulled away, noting every detail of his face, his eyes, his hair, committing each to memory for a time soon when she would not see them.
Perhaps forever.

Jonathon smiled softly at her and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes.

“My sweet Em,” he whispered.

It forced an answering smile from Emily. She touched his lips and brushed his hair back.

“Jonathon, I am so frightened for you. It will be very dangerous for you to transport us. How will you — ”

“I shall have no trouble in Yorktown, Em. My ship is familiar there, and my friends are many. James will obtain the necessary papers for me to sail into Norfolk. There could be trouble there, but his influence should ease our arrival. From there we shall head out to open sea. I shall be unable to put in at London; I have a friend who will assist me and take you safely to your home.”

The last word caught in his throat and fell on the air like a dead weight. It sounded discordant to Emily and she stiffened.

“Jonathon — ” she cried.

“I thought I could make you love Virginia as I do, Em. I was wrong to try to force you. I wanted to share what makes me happy with you so it would bring you happiness, too. But it does not make you happy. I have taken you away from what does, and I am sorry,” he said.

“Jonathon, my love, I have never known such happiness in my life as you have brought me. I am proud to be your wife, proud to be mistress of Brentwood Manor. Virginia is everything you promised and more, and I have begun to love it as my own. I cannot lie to you and say I support the patriots’ cause — I do not. But I love you, Jonathon. I cannot be an ocean apart from you; I want to stay here with you. Perhaps there will yet be resolution — some kind of merging of patriot demands with British loyalty. And our child can be one of the first born in this new era.”

Emily had not quite meant to break the news like that, but she had become so absorbed in the excitement of the moment that she blurted it out.

“Emily, there is not much hope right now of — ” Jonathon stopped in mid-sentence. He blinked a couple of times as her words sunk in. He looked into her eyes. “Our … our … child?” he stammered. “Emily?”

She nodded, breaking into a wide grin.