Heather tried to ignore Mrs. Blakemore’s response as Mary and Jean stepped nearer to her. Mary handed her a bolt of calico and one in amber linen. She leaned in close, a stunned expression on her face. “Mama, what—?”
“Not now, dear,” Heather whispered. “Are these the only other fabrics you want?”
Mary nodded. “May we wait outside?”
“Aye. I will join you after I settle with Mrs. Parker.”
The girls wasted no time in departing the shop.
Still attempting to ignore the argument at the far end of the shop, Heather dipped the quill in ink and wrote on a piece of parchment how much fabric she wanted. A glance at Mrs. Parker confirmed the poor proprietress was clearly embarrassed.
Mrs. Blakemore’s gown shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the window. “Your excuses for staying in the colonies will seem foolish when war lands on your doorstep. Your husband can practice law in England. You and George will be received by all in good society. Surely he will decide in favor of his family’s wellbeing.”
Margaret’s face grew flushed and nearly matched the pale coral of her bodice. “You needn’t concern yourself about us. George will know if and when we should leave. He believes our grievances with the King may still be settled.”
“After the battles up north, any Loyalists remaining in Virginia or any of these colonies will not be safe for long.” Mrs. Blakemore walked to the counter and nodded at Mrs. Parker. She retrieved her purchases and shuffled out the door as swiftly as her cane would take her, leaving Margaret Lamont visibly upset.
Heather spotted a chair nearby and sat. Feeling lightheaded, she closed her eyes. Mrs. Blakemore’s commentary had been unnerving. She was still haunted by her father’s tales of wars with England and the family members who had been lost. Scotland had been crushed. That the Colonies would wage a conflict with England was unthinkable.
Mrs. Parker finished cutting the fabric and put down her shears. “I’m sorry for the disturbance, ma’am.” Her voice was low and her cheeks crimson.
“’Tis fine.” Heather returned to the counter. “Would you be able to have these packages delivered to the Duncan home within the next couple of hours? We will be leaving the city later today.”
“I will have my son make the delivery,” Mrs. Parker said.
“I appreciate that.”
With her purchases paid for, she approached Mrs. Lamont, who was seated in a chair near the window, her cheeks still reddened from the confrontation.
“’Tis good to see you again, Heather.” Mrs. Lamont stood and curtsied. “I hope you and the girls were not distressed by the fracas.”
“Please, don’t give it another thought. These days there is constant talk of the hostilities wherever one goes. It seems to have everyone in short temper. I’m headed back to the Duncans’, but please give our regards to your husband and children.”
“Your kind words are appreciated.”
Heather curtsied and joined Mary and Jean outside. They walked toward Fairfax Street.
Mary picked a blossom from a tree planted along the road. “I cannot believe how rude Mrs. Blakemore was to Mrs. Lamont.”
Jean shook her head. “And loud. Why would she say those things in such a public place?”
Heather took a deep breath. “Perhaps Mrs. Blakemore was having a bad day. We need to get back to the house and see if Jean’s mother needs any help with dinner preparations.”
The warm breeze energized her. Children’s voices playing in the distance and the rhythmic clacking of horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets reminded her why she enjoyed their family’s visits to Alexandria. They had just crossed to Princess Street when angry shouts and a loud noise, like wood shattering, echoed from the nearby alley.
Mary reached for Heather’s arm. “I think the sound came from over there.” She led them to some bushes, where they could observe without being seen.
Five boys pounded and kicked each other ruthlessly amid angry accusations and strangled yelps.
Heather put her hand to her throat. “Jean, ’tis your brother.” Why was Donald fighting? At seventeen, he was well past the age of schoolboys’ rows.
The warring factions broke apart at the sound of an approaching chaise.
Donald’s voice boomed. “Go running home to your mother, you Tory.”
Three boys stormed off, their derisive retorts becoming less audible with each step.
Donald and Braden stooped, picked up their hats, and brushed the dirt from their clothes. They dabbed at their cut and bruised faces.
Donald’s chest heaved as he beat the dust from his breeches. “Do you think we convinced Everett and his friends?”
Braden brushed the dust from his stockings. “This settles nothing, but I doubt we shall be bothered by those cowards again. Hey, your face is bleeding. Want to stop by my house and wash up before going home? No one will see us. My uncle will not be there, and Aunt Lucy has gone to visit her sister.”
“Sure. I’m in no hurry for my parents to see me this way.”
Heather and the girls watched the boys leave in the other direction. Mary’s eyes followed their departure as she adjusted her cap. “Donald and Braden were brave to take on those bigger boys.”
“Come, girls,” Heather said. “We need to get back.”
Within minutes, they arrived at the modest two-story house on Oronoko Street. They were halfway up the walk when Mary turned to her. “Mama, are you going to tell Donald and Jean’s parents about what happened just now?”
“Nay, I think it best Donald tells them.”
Jean had a sly expression. “I cannot wait to see how Donald explains this.”
When the front door opened, Maggie Duncan’s smiling face greeted them. “Were you able to find everything?”
Heather glanced at the girls. “We found fabrics for some new dresses for Mary. Mrs. Parker will have them delivered soon.”
They followed Maggie past the parlor into the large kitchen. Tables had been pushed together to accommodate the two families.
Jean tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “I want to show Mary something upstairs.”
“After you set the table.”
The smell of roasting chicken made Heather’s mouth water. “What can I do to help, or would you prefer I gather the children?”
“Adam and Matthew should be back soon.” Maggie wiped her hands on her apron and tucked a few loose brown curls back into her cap. “I’m about finished here. Care to check on the boys out back? Mark is supposed to be supervising the younger boys.”
Heather smiled. Her nine-year-old stepson was most likely avoiding or bossing the younger children. “Aye.” She headed to the service yard, where she spotted Mark perched in a crook of the apple tree, reading a book.
The two youngest Duncan boys and her four-year-old Douglas played with marbles underneath the sprawling branches.
Mark closed his book when she sat on the bench behind the house. “Miss Maggie asked me to ‘watch over the boys.’”
“You have taken that quite literally.”
“Have Pa and Mr. Duncan returned yet? I’m hungry.”
“You are always hungry, son. They are due back soon. Come down from there and sit beside me.”
“Ma, I climbed the tree to get away from the boys, and they are still there.” Mark climbed down from the tree, managing to bring twigs and leaves with him, which disrupted the younger boys’ game.
The boys scowled as Mark walked past them and sat beside her on the bench.
She brushed some pollen from Mark’s dark wavy hair. With each passing year, he looked more like his father.
“Where is Donald?”
She bit her lip. “I’m sure he will be home in a bit.”
“Are we still going home this afternoon?”
“Aye, we must get back. Managing the ordinary and making sure the guests are cared for is a big responsibility, so we need to return to the Green and relieve the Gordons.”
�
��I wish we could stay longer.”
“I know, but Polly has not been well lately, and their boys only help with the horses and carriages. We are blessed to have them as tenants. Were they not there, we could not get away.”
“Philip and Todd asked if I wanted to go fishing with them when we got back.”
She shook her head. “’Twill be too late when we get home today, but tomorrow, perhaps when the chores are finished. I think some fresh fish would be more than welcome.”
“There are no guarantees we will catch any, Ma.”
She smiled and patted his leg. “I need to get back to the kitchen. Please see that you and the boys wash before coming inside.”
Maggie opened the door and stood in the doorway. “Matt and Adam are back.” She handed Heather a bowl and a slotted spoon. They stepped inside, and Maggie pointed to the steaming pot of water hanging from the trammel over the hearth. “You can put the vegetables in there. The men are in the front room mulling over the latest rumors from Boston.”
Heather sighed. “Will this political fuss never end? Did the girls tell you about the confrontation we witnessed at Parker’s Millinery?”
“Aye. It seems everyone is at odds these days.”
Heather placed the bowl of vegetables on the table. “Mary and Mark will be in a pout this afternoon when we leave for home. The children still speak of the year they spent with your family. There are many interesting diversions and friends in town, but farm life with all the chores is a mite less appealing to young people.”
Maggie handed her a wooden trencher of bread. “They would miss their life and friends in the country. They enjoy coming here for visits, but they favor the freedom of farm life.”
Heather laughed. “But not all the work.”
Maggie spooned butter into a bowl and placed it on the table. She counted the settings—four adults and seven children. “But the Gordons have proved to be reliable help.”
“Polly and Thomas have been a treasure helping to manage the farm as well as Stewart’s Green these past four years. They are hard workers, and their sons have been good friends with the children. Todd is very responsible, and Philip is as strong as many a man.” Heather gazed out the window. “We have all benefited from the arrangement. I’m a bit worried about Polly. She has had a rough time carrying this babe.” She took a deep breath, and her hand grazed her stomach. New life. She lifted her head as a familiar heaviness formed in her chest. This time will be different.
Maggie gave her a gentle hug. Her soft brown eyes were full of love and compassion.
Maggie had probably attributed her melancholy to the death of her six-month-old. Painful memories of wee John as well as an earlier miscarriage continued to surface.
God had been faithful in the past by blessing them with Douglas, so she would trust that this babe would live. She had so much to be thankful for, particularly now with the new bairn growing in her belly. Should she tell Maggie about this expected child? Nay, she would wait another month or so, just in case.
Jean and Mary entered the kitchen just as Maggie peered out the window again. “Girls, please ask the boys to wash for dinner. Jean, do you know where Donald is?”
“Perhaps he has gone to visit Sally Lamont.” Jean gave Mary a knowing grin before they went outside in pursuit of their brothers.
Heather tilted her head. “Is Donald sweet on Sally?”
Maggie chuckled as she cut up the roasted chickens and placed the meat on a platter. “The lad takes notice of any budding lass, even your Mary. She certainly is growing to be a lovely young lady.”
“Mary is not yet fifteen, a wee bit young for courting. Aye, she is bonnie and a delight most of the time.” Heather took the bowls to the table. “But she can also be as prickly as a porcupine.”
Maggie’s lips quirked up. “Raising boys is so much easier.”
Matthew sat in the Duncans’ parlor, gazing out the window. Stephens’ pleas continued to haunt him. He would weigh the consequences of accepting or rejecting the assignment and seek the Lord’s direction.
Adam took a puff from his pipe. “I wonder if Virginia will be next. The recent attacks near Boston will require the colonies to respond.” He got up from the chair and closed the parlor door. “No need to upset the ladies.”
Matthew shook his head. “An assault on Virginia, the most British of all the colonies? Perish the thought. And what do you think the response would be? Most of us have family in England or Scotland. I suspect we will have a reaction before Virginia is targeted.”
Adam slammed down his pipe. “’Twill be David fighting Goliath, and the outcome will be the same. Fortunately, our militia has General Gage and his lobsterbacks on the defense now.”
“An interesting analogy,” Matthew answered. “But Britain has the largest navy in the world and a strong army presence, particularly in the north. Our untrained colonial militias operate independently and have no unifying command. If war comes, it will tear our communities in two and cause a civil war that knows no boundaries.”
“There can be no retreating after what happened in Massachusetts. Lord North and the King must understand they have pushed us too far this time. They shall realize the folly of fighting three thousand miles across the sea.”
Folly. Indeed, both sides might soon realize their folly in this fight. Matthew stood and waited for Adam to do the same. They headed toward the kitchen. “My friend, you and I cannot solve these problems. The Continental Congress meets again next month. I venture much will be determined there in the way of organizing our forces. Whatever the outcome, all the colonies will have a representative say in our destiny.”
But what would his role be? Could he remain neutral as he had hoped, or would he—and his family—be pulled into this fight?
A few minutes later, the Stewart and Duncan children gathered for the meal. Just thinking about her affection for this family brought tears to Heather’s eyes. It had been Maggie, as well as the Reverend Mr. Northrup, who had convinced her she should marry the widowed father, Matthew Stewart, that warm April day five years before when he purchased her indenture.
Maggie drew back the curtain at the window and looked outside. “Now, if only Donald would come home.” She turned to the children. “Do any of you know where Donald might be or why he is late?”
Silence.
Mary approached Heather and whispered, “Will you say anything if he does not return?”
“Aye.”
“Must we go back to the farm this afternoon?”
“We leave shortly after dinner, as planned,” Heather said. “Your father will be eager to get home if those clouds in the northwest mean a storm is gathering.”
Heather watched the men enter the room. Adam Duncan wore a solemn look, and Matthew had a clenched jaw. Please, no more talk of conflict with England.
Matthew’s fleeting glance at her and the subtle shake of his head forbade any inquiry.
Heather watched Adam, the stouter of the two men, take his place at the head of the table. His usual jolly disposition had changed considerably. The flush on his face showed from the top of his steenkirk to the sparse growth of brown hair that began well back on his forehead.
They all lowered their heads as Adam, still standing, offered a prayer. “Heavenly Father, we ask Your blessing for this meal. All we have comes from You. May this food strengthen our bodies to Your service.” Most eyes around the table looked up, expecting the prayer to end there as it usually did. But he continued, and they looked down again. “We ask for wisdom to know Your will, guidance as we pursue it, and courage to accomplish the task ahead. In our Lord’s name, we pray. Amen.”
Matthew’s brown eyes locked on hers when Heather raised her head.
Adam glanced down the table to the empty seat. “Where is Donald?”
Maggie patted Adam’s hand. “I’m sure he will have a good explanation, dear. It is not like him to be late for dinner.”
Adam’s lips did not even twitch toward a s
mile. “Donald will answer for his absence later.”
Jean looked at her father. “Why are you angry, Papa? Surely not because Donald is late.”
“My ill temper has more to do with a discussion Matt and I had with some men at Brady’s, lass. Some people’s inability to reason beyond their own self-interests infuriates me.”
Mark passed the bread to Matthew. “Are you also angry, Papa?”
“Our conversation was irritating.” He looked at Maggie. “I’m thankful to the Duncans for hosting our family these past two days. I hope we can reciprocate soon.”
Maggie smiled. “We shall visit in June when we go to see my sister in Leesburg.”
With the mention of a visit in just a couple of months, the heavy mood lifted, and the two families enjoyed the dinner. When the meal ended, Matthew and Adam retreated to the parlor. Maggie and Heather were at work in the kitchen when the delivery boy from Parker’s Millinery Shop brought the parcels. Heather set them on the table and returned to her work.
Maggie handed her a towel. “What are you going to do about the letter from Boston?”
The letter. Another thing that weighed heavily on her mind. “We still have not come to a decision.”
“Do the children know about it?”
“Nay,” Heather said. “We will address that when we have settled on what to do.”
The kitchen door that led to the service yard opened and closed.
“Donald!” Maggie’s shout pierced whatever peace remained. “Your face!” She rushed to her eldest son. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
CHAPTER 2
Matthew watched Adam flinch at Maggie’s shriek. The Duncans’ oldest had obviously returned. He followed Adam to the kitchen. Inside, Heather touched his sleeve and pointed to the clock on the mantel. He nodded.
Adam approached his son still standing by the door, a grimace on his bruised face. “Son, where have you been?”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Donald took a deep breath. “Braden Campbell and I ran into some trouble a few blocks back, and I wanted to wash before coming home.” Two deep cuts and several swollen and reddened bruises were a vivid contrast to his pallor. “We went to Braden’s house.”
A Heart for Freedom: He longs for freedom, but won’t risk the lives of those he loves. Page 2
