"Devon." Mary pushed through her father's study door, knowing her brother had to be in there. "I must speak with you." She closed the paneled door behind her.
Devon laid down his quill pen and folded his hands, a look of bemusement on his face. This was the third time this week Mary had insisted on speaking to him with this tone of voice. It had to be about Cassie. His elder sister had taken it personally upon herself to make his wife the perfect colonial mistress . . . and it wasn't working. "Yes, Mary. What is it? I'm busy."
"It's he r. . ." Mary twisted her slim hands beneath her starched-white apron.
"It's who, Mary?" He picked up the quill and thumbed through a stack of documents.
She let out an exasperated sigh, beginning to pace the room. "It's her . . . Cassie. She's just impossible. Her language, her manners . . . I don't know that I can help her." She waited for her brother's response. When several seconds had passed and he'd said nothing, she spoke again. "Devon, you're not listening to me." She tapped her foot on the thick wool rug.
Devon scratched a few words on a paper. "I am listening, it's just that I've heard it at least twice this week. Just give her a little guidance. She's a survivor, she'll learn." He dipped his quill in ink and started a new paragraph.
"Devon, you are not taking this seriously enough. She's going to embarrass us all tonight, I just know it." Mary tapped her fingers repeatedly against the polished surface of the desk. "What's this?" The document Devon was preparing caught her eye. "What is that you're doing?" She came around the desk to lean over his shoulder. "A will? You're writing your will?"
"Yes. I'll be going to New Jersey shortly to meet up with the army. I want to be sure Cassie is cared for."
Mary crossed her hands at her bodice. "Shouldn't . . . shouldn't you speak with Father about this first?"
Devon shrugged. "What's the need? I'm a big boy now, Mer, you needn't keep your eye on me. Cassie is my wife and I intend to be sure she's well cared for." He sprinkled sand on the wet ink. "If I am killed, she's to have a life-long pension and a home at Marshview as long as she lives. If there is a child, he or she will inherit the plantation and Cassie's pension will be increased." He shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Well, we'll see about this!" Mary snapped. "I'll not see all Father worked for go to some, some . . ."
"Mary!" Devon's voice cracked like a whip through the room as he slammed the quill onto the desk. "Hold your tongue. Cassie is my wife. You have no part in this." He held up a finger. "Understand?"
Mary made no reply except to lower her head, but her eyes grew dark with anger.
Cassie leaned back on the carriage seat, enjoying the scenery as they followed the Saint Jones River on their way to the Faulkners'. She let out a sigh of contentment, glancing over at Devon.
Like a lord he was in tight, gray silk breeches and a quilted satin coat of the same hue, trimmed with silver galloon. He wore a gray flowered waistcoat and silver buckled black shoes with gray heels. Saints in heaven, Cassie thought, he must be dressed better than King George himself tonight. She placed her hand over his.
"You look pleased this evening." Devon rested against the back of the seat, letting the horses trot at an even pace. He was in no hurry to get to the Faulkners', where he would, no doubt, be separated from Cassie and forced to spend the evening in tight-knit groups of men, discussing the war. He liked sitting here beside his wife, listening to her light banter, feeling her body near his.
"I am pleased. I had a good day. Thank you so much for the gowns. I fear I could never wear all of them in a hundred years!" She smoothed the light lap robe Devon had put across her legs to keep the dust off her emerald-green gown with the quilted petticoat.
"I want you to have them. How did things go with Mary today? You two getting along any better?"
"Fine. She's been very helpful." Cassie refused to run to Devon telling tales. She would make out all right. The family would get used to her; the servants would lose their resentment and listen to her better. It was just all going to take time. She would fight her own battles—she didn't need Devon to defend her.
Devon smiled to himself. Cassie had been very tight-lipped about the household since that first evening meal with his family. She said very little to him about how she occupied her day while he was busy with his affairs, and she said nothing of how anyone was treating her. She didn't realize that nothing happened in the household that he didn't hear about one way or the other. He knew when Cassie "accidently" spilled ice water into Mary's lap, and he knew that when a stable boy had told her to saddle her own horse, she had threatened to take a crop to him if he didn't do it immediately. She was fighting her way to the top of the household, and earning respect as she went.
"By the way"—Cassie patted Devon's hand—"I've been meaning to ask you something." She looked out at the passing scenery, enjoying the sweet aroma of wildflowers. "When do I get my ring?" She glanced at him sideways.
"What ring?" He looked behind them, waving to Carl Murphy and his betrothed, Lilly, in their carriage behind them. They were attending the Faulkners' annual party, too.
"My wedding ring, slow wit!" She squeezed his silk-covered knee. "Every girl's got to have a wedding ring . . . to make it official."
"I can guarantee it's official, love. No one would be putting up such a fight if it weren't!"
"Oh, you're being silly! I want a ring." She gave his leg a slap. "It doesn't have to be a gold ring or anything." She shook her head. "Just a married woman's band."
"No diamonds?" He lifted his eyebrows. "Do you prefer emeralds, or does the lady like rubies?"
"Devon Marsh." she huffed. "I'm being serious!"
Suddenly, they heard shouting in the distance. Urging the horses faster, Devon drove the rig around the bend in the river. Up ahead and down the bank, they spotted a knot of people and a thin black woman wailing and flaying her arms.
"My babies! My babies!" she cried, wringing her hands. "Someone please help my babies!"
Devon yanked the team to a halt. "Take these." he said, passing the reins to her hands and leaping from the carriage. Cassie stood up, craning her neck to watch Devon race down the steep bank. Beyond the muddy riverbank, she spotted a dark head bobbing in the water, then another small boy surfaced, screamed, and sank beneath the clouded water again. Not far from the struggling children an overturned raft bobbed, drifting up river.
"Stay with the carriage!" Devon ordered over his shoulder.
Cassie clambered onto the seat, wrapping the reins around her wrist, and stood up so she could get a better look. "Don't break your neck, Dev." she yelled back, wincing as he slipped and slid part of the way down the bank.
Half sliding, half running down the slick bank, Devon pushed through the onlookers standing on the mud flat. Reaching level ground, he raced along the bank, shrugging off his satin coat and dropping it into the black mire. One passerby had waded into the river to his waist and was trying unsuccessfully to throw a rope to one of the boys.
"Take the rope." the would-be savior shouted. "Take the rope before ye drown, too."
"My brother." the child cried, struggling against the incoming tide. "He don't swim."
Wading past the man with the rope, Devon dove into the murky water and surfaced, swimming with powerful strokes toward the drowning child. "I'll get him." Devon shouted to the young black boy. "You get to shore." Swimming past him, Devon stopped, treading water. "Where did he go under?" he shouted to the people on the bank. Desperately he struggled to see in the clouded water.
"My baby, my baby." the hysterical mother screamed, wading waist-deep in the water toward the son that was safe.
"There, near the log." the boy hollered, pointing behind Devon.
Taking a deep breath, Devon went under, and Cassie held her breath with him, her fingers clutched tight on the reins. She exhaled, gasping for breath, but still he didn't surface. "Please." Cassie prayed. "Please save 'im Lord and I swear I'll make Sunday services more often!"
Finally, Devon surfaced with a great splash of water, a small black boy clutched under his arm. Gasping for breath, Devon started for shore, keeping the boy's head above water.
Reaching shallow water, he stood, swinging the boy over his shoulder. The child coughed and sputtered, the water he'd inhaled pouring from his mouth and running down Devon's back.
"Thank you, sir, thank you." the mother cried, reaching out for her boy, with the other in tow. "You pulled him back from the grave. God bless you, sir. God bless."
Gently Devon handed the child to his mother. "He'll be all right, just swallowed a little water," he assured her. The boy choked and his eyes fluttered open. Sobbing, he flung his arms around his mother's neck and clung to her frantically.
Devon turned to the older brother. "That was a brave thing you did there, son, trying to save him. You didn't lose your head." He patted the beaming boy on the shoulder. "Now I want you to promise me something."
"Yes, sir. Anything, sir." He bobbed his head up and down.
"I want you to teach him to swim."
"Yes, sir. Tomorrow, if'in Mam'll let me."
Devon spoke to the mother. "Are your children slave or free?"
She straightened her back, peering at him through dark lashes. "Born free, sir. My John he's a smithy in town."
"John Freeman." He nodded. "Your oldest has got a head on his shoulders. Speak to your husband. If he comes to Marshview, I'll give him honest work and he'll learn to read and write."
"Well, thank you, sir." She smiled shyly. "I'll speak to John tonight."
Devon made his way back up the bank, reaching down to swing his muddy coat over his shoulder. Dropping the reins, Cassie leaped out of the carriage and ran toward him.
"Get back!" He held up his hands. "You touch me and you'll have this black slime all over you, too." He picked up his boots and came to her in stocking feet.
Cassie stopped short, but after seeing he was unhurt, she burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her palm.
"What's so funny?" He raised an eyebrow, wiping a smudge of mud off his cheek.
"You! Look at you, you've ruined your fancy suit." She pointed at him, her voice laced with a mixture of pride and amusement.
"Good God, what have you done, Devon?" Carl Murphy came from behind the carriage. "Gads, you stink!" He pulled a lace handkerchief from his sleeve and held it to his nose. "We saw the whole thing. What could you have been thinking of? That suit was worth twice the price of that slave boy!"
Without a word Devon slammed Carl in the mouth with one muddy fist, sending him reeling backward. Stepping over the man's prone body, Devon started for the carriage. "Shall we go, love?"
"What is it?" Cassie lay flat on her stomach across Devon's bed, her legs swinging in the air. From there she could watch him, submerged in a great tub of water, trying to wash the dried black mud from his skin.
After Devon's rescue they had continued on to the Faulkners' but then begged off, saying Devon had to return to Marshview to change and bathe. When they had arrived back home, a messenger had been waiting for Devon.
Devon folded the paper over, his wet hands making the ink run. "I've been transferred to John Haslet's company. The Blue Hens have been directed by Congress to report to General Washington in Amboy, New Jersey." He had expected as much. He had joined the troops in New England because he hadn't wanted to wait until Delaware formed its own regiment. But now, he belonged with his neighbors and friends. "I've been made a second lieutenant."
Cassie spoke softly. "I knew ye'd been transferred." She watched him cautiously, waiting for his reply.
"You knew?" He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, you knew?" He came out of the tub, reaching for the soft towel she'd thrown over a chair for him. "No one knew about this but Colonel Haslet and my commander."
Cassie rolled over on her back, thinking that maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut. Some people were queer about this sort of thing. "I dreamed it."
He sat down on the bed, still dripping. "What do you mean, you dreamed it?"
"My father says it's a gift. His mother had it, too." She took a deep breath. Would he accuse her of being a witch?
"Cassie, what are you talking about?" He stood to dry himself off.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "Sometimes. . . sometimes I have dreams, and then they happen." She stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows from the lamp dance across the white plaster. "I dreamed you were being wrapped in a thread of blue and red, then I saw you march, I heard the sound of cannon, the beat of the drum." She rolled onto her stomach. "I wish ye didn't have to fight. But I know you do."
Devon looked unconvinced. Could she foretell the future through dreams? He'd heard of odder things. Cassie was not a liar. She thought she could dream the future—whether she could or not, he didn't know. "Well, you tell me the next time you have one of these dreams; maybe you could dream up the redcoats' next plan of action and we could save General Washington a lot of time and effort." he teased.
Cassie relaxed, relieved that he was taking this so easily. "I love you." she whispered across the room.
Chapter Nine
"Ouch!" Cassie stuck her thumb in her mouth, tasting blood. "I told you I'm not very good at this." She shot Mary a sour look, leaning to face the needlework again. "Let someone else do the sewing. I'd be much better suited to copying maps, counting kegs of powder, or taking down information on the men in the regiment. Look at this!" She held up the bloodstained cloth. "Have you ever seen such a mess in your life? No one'll ever recognize the damned thing!"
"Cassie!" Mary's eyes flew open, her mouth in a reproving pucker. "The ladies . . ." She let her voice trail off, nodding at the other women in the circle.
Cassie groaned, sliding down a little in the uncomfortable straight-back chair. "Ye Gods." she muttered beneath her breath. "I'll sure be glad when it's time to go. I'll be a hell of a lot more use on the front."
"What did you say?" Devon's sister Corinna dropped the insignia she was embroidering onto her lap.
Cassie's head bobbed up to find half a dozen pairs of eyes staring at her in disbelief. "I said I'd be glad to get to the front, where I'd really be of some use to the men." She rose to her feet, dropping the flag on the chair. "I've got to get some air before I fall face down on the floor." She tugged at the neckline of her light blue lutestring gown.
Mary and Judith came to their feet at the same time, rushing to be the first to get to Cassie.
"Cassie, I'm afraid there's been some terrible misunderstanding." Judith followed her out of the parlor and down the hall toward the front door.
Mary interrupted, pushing her way nearer to Cassie.
"Have you lost your wits?"
"Really, Mary, I think you could have a little compassion." Judith admonished.
"What are you two babbling about?" Cassie went through the front door, the two sisters still hot on her heels. A gust of sweltering August air hit Cassie and she leaned back against the rail of the front shop. Devon's sisters did nothing but fight among themselves, so she never paid them any mind.
"Compassion! Compassion!" Mary shouted. "Let me tell you, I've had just about enough of this little tart."
"Mary!" Judith hissed. "Hush your mouth!"
"I will not! It's high time someone put her in her place!" Mary spun around to face a wide-eyed Cassie. "You're not going with Devon. You're not going anywhere, Miss Lightskirts. You're going to stay right here and learn how to behave properly. For shame on you! First you coerce my brother into marrying you with a sway of those hips and then you say you're going to ruin the Marsh name by traipsing after him like an army camp whore!"
Cassie drew back, as shocked by Mary's forwardness as by her words. Did she really hate her that much? Why? "What are you talking about?" Cassie snapped, her temper rising. "Of course I'm to go with him. You don't think I'd stay here with you!"
Judith tried to get between her sister-in-law and her sister, but to no avail
. "Ladies, ladies . . . please. This is all a misunderstanding."
"It's none of the sort." Mary shrieked. "She ought to just pack her bags and leave before she does the family any more dishonor." She curled her upper lip. "Oh, that's right. She doesn't have anything to pack, does she? Didn't come with a stitch!"
Cassie grabbed the bodice of Mary's gown, and pushed her fist up to the woman's face. "You'd better keep your mouth shut before I blacken your eye! I've had just about enough of you . . . you got it?"
By this time several servants had gathered around and were watching the three women with amusement. "Cassie, please." Judith murmured. "Let's go inside and speak civilly to each other."
"Why should I? She hasn't had a kind word for me since I came. What have I done to her?" Slowly, she loosened her grip on Mary's gown. "Now tell me what she's talking about, about me not going." she directed to Judith. "And you keep your mouth shut!" She gave Mary a shove.
Judith lowered her head. "You're not going."
"What do you mean? Of course I'm going. He's my husband. Cassie O'Flynn goes wherest her husband goes."
"It's not our way." Judith shook her head, stepping out of Mary's path. Mary ran through the front door wailing, her hands wound in her apron.
Cassie's cheeks grew rosy. She had a sick feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. "Of course I'm going." she repeated. "He couldn't expect me to stay here. Not where I'm not welcome." A lump caught in her throat, tears stinging her eyes. She knew Judith wasn't lying. Why would she?
"It will be better, Cassie." Judith reached to touch her arm but Cassie snapped it out of reach. "They'll come to accept you."
Cassie shook her head, staring at Judith, light brown wisps of hair escaping from her linen cap. Was this what she was doomed to become? Little more than a housemaid to husband and children? Would Devon really leave her behind? He wouldn't . . . he couldn't.
"Where are you going?" Judith ran after her, slamming the front door behind them. "Cassie! Wait! You can't go in there. Father's there, it's a business meeting."
The Officer's Desire Page 9
