by Becky Lower
“Yes, sir.”
Patterson took a step towards her. “Not Mr. Lovejoy. Not sir. Say my name, please. And then we can get on with breakfast.”
Eleanor took a deep, wrenching breath. “All right. Patterson.”
He smiled at her before heading to the bedroom. “Very good. I’m taking Adam with me to the Commissary today. He wishes to help with the war effort, so I’ll make him handle some heavy boxes as we sort through the supplies. By tomorrow, he’ll probably enjoy a day at home, learning whatever you can teach him.”
He disappeared behind the door to the children’s room and Eleanor could feel her body begin to relax, for the first time since her journey started. Patterson. What a fine, comforting name. It reminded her of home. And the man himself was also fine and comforting. He had promised she could return to England in five or six months’ time. With a letter of recommendation. And a boat load of stories about life in the colonies, where she was referred to as a Tory. Enough to keep any child she might act as governess for entertained. She’d begin marking off the days until she could return home.
• ♥ •
For the first time since Margaret’s death, Patterson harbored a ray of hope. His children would be cared for during the day and be given some formal instruction. They certainly enjoyed Eleanor’s cooking, if the empty bowls in front of his brood were any indication. Now that they had full bellies, they needed to learn everything she could teach them.
Knowledge would be essential in this new country, and his children were its future leaders, so they had to be prepared. A good, formal, British-inspired education would go a long way toward making them productive members of the American society.
Perhaps, once the war ended, he and his sons could open some kind of general store. He certainly was learning how to run a store, having been put in charge of the Continental Army’s Commissary at Groton. That meant his children all needed to read, write, and add sums.
Even as hope sprang within him, he reminded himself Eleanor had arrived in America against her will and he had given her the option to return to England in the spring. He’d take whatever time he could get from her and delay the inevitable…put off figuring out an alternative until after she left. But it never hurt to keep his eye open for another lady to take Eleanor’s place in a few months. Mrs. Goodhouse might be agreeable to return, although she had wasted no time turning over the reins to Eleanor. And she had no wish to teach his children, only to maintain the house for him. The biscuit toss upon his arrival with Eleanor yesterday provided proof to him how wild his children had become without the steadying hand of his wife.
With a small sigh, he rose from the breakfast table and took a load of dirty dishes from the table to the kitchen.
“You don’t need to do that,” Eleanor bustled around the area, pouring hot water into a bowl in preparation for washing the dishes. “I could have gathered up your dishes.”
Patterson shrugged. “Been cleaning up after myself for years. It’s nothing.” He set the dishes beside the basin. “You’ll find some books and paper in the children’s room. I’ll take Adam with me today, but feel free to start teaching the others. I especially need for my children to learn how to read and add up sums.”
“Of course. Perhaps we could go to the market this morning, and get some fresh produce?” Eleanor darted a glance at him. “It’s a good way to teach children mathematics in a real-life setting.”
Patterson strode to a small desk in the living room and tugged open a drawer, withdrawing a bag of money. “This is where I keep the household money. Take whatever you need. Make sure you keep the children close to you. The streets of Groton are not safe.”
“I will guard them with my life. I’ll have Ben and Caleb show me where the market is, and we’ll buy some potatoes and carrots so I can make a stew.” She dried her hands on a towel and took the money. “You and Adam have a good day at work.”
“And you as well, Eleanor.” He and Adam left the house and headed toward the fort and the Commissary. Patterson patted his full stomach. Breakfast had been filling, and quite tasty, since Eleanor had found some brown sugar in the pantry to sweeten the oatmeal. It comforted him, since his children were now as safe as they could be in this unruly country. It comforted him, too, to have a woman in his house, caring for his family. Despite his uncle’s highhandedness in getting Eleanor to him, he appreciated the assistance, if only for a few months. The knowledge that his children were being properly cared for took a huge burden off him. One he had carried around for these past two years.
He accepted the fact his children wouldn’t have their mother in their lives, even though it made his heart clench. Adam had fond memories of her, but the other boys’ memories of her were already dimming, and little Elizabeth would never have the opportunity to experience her mother’s love. He tried to fill in the gap, but whenever he spent time with his daughter, he could see Margaret in her, and it made his heart ache. He told himself he had given over her care to Mrs. Goodhouse and others because Margaret had always handled the children until they got to the stage of being able to take steps and speak, but he was lying to himself. Elizabeth was now walking and talking, and still, he hesitated when in her presence. The pain was too great.
It was not her fault that Margaret died while Elizabeth survived. Even as his mind accepted the fact, his heart could not. So, he was more than grateful Eleanor was here to fill in the gap and provide his daughter with some love and affection, anyway. For the next six months, his daughter would be nurtured as she had every right to be.
It was one less thing for Patterson to worry about. He had a war to fight, and his home life should be the least of his worries.
Chapter Five
A s the boys led the way to the market, Eleanor carried Elizabeth in order to keep up with the band of brothers. They formed a flank around her and the little girl, their eyes constantly patrolling the crowds. Eleanor’s heart pinged. This was no way for children to live, but war and aggression was all they had ever known. This battle for control of the colonies had been waging for more than six years now, with no end in sight.
“Let’s hurry and buy what we need and then get off the streets.” Eleanor picked up the pace as they neared the market. She wished to scurry back to the house and hide, but she needed to take the time to impart some education to the boys while she had the chance. It was easier to learn if you could use a practical setting rather than a book.
She focused on Ben as he fondled the shiny apples. “How many do we need, Ben, if we buy one for each of us and two extra ones?”
He closed his eyes for a second and stuck his tongue into the corner of his mouth as he counted on his fingers. “We’d need nine then, but Elizabeth only eats half at a time.”
“Very good, Ben. Pick out nine of them and place them in this bag.” She tugged the burlap bag she’d strapped on her body over her head and handed over the money to pay for the apples. She bought carrots, potatoes, and an onion before declaring they were done. The bag was full and heavy, but Ben carried it as if it weighed little as they made their way back to the house. He and Caleb chatted the whole way back, pointing out landmarks to Eleanor, so she could find her way back to the market on her own next time.
British troops, in their bright red uniforms, were around every corner. She had taken comfort in their presence while living in England, but here, they eyed her speculatively and she returned their guarded gazes with one of her own, keeping a hand on Ben’s shoulder. Did they recognize the children as belonging to Patterson Lovejoy? Or were they merely suspicious of everyone who lived in the colonies? The words of caution from Patterson resonated with her. The streets weren’t safe here in Groton, and her fellow countrymen were the reason. The sooner she could get the children back to the safety of the house, the better.
Once she got them back, she filled their trenchers with a piece of beef between slices of bread, apple slices, and watered-down cider. Elizabeth nodded off, laying her head on the table next to her food,
so Eleanor put her down for a nap. The three boys remained at the table, taking turns reading from one of the books Eleanor found in their room, while she cleaned up the plates from lunch and started dicing onions and carrots for the dinner meal.
As Ben predicted, Elizabeth only ate half of her apple, so Eleanor added the other half to the stew she was preparing, along with the beef, carrots, and onion. The apple not only added a sweetness to the stew, but it thickened up the broth, saving on the need for flour. Eleanor tasted her creation while it cooked, and her taste buds were pleased with the results.
“Cook at Patterson House would be pleased.” Eleanor whispered as she dipped her spoon into the stew once again. Her two weeks of instruction had been very basic, but had opened up a whole new realm of creativity to her. Maybe she’d send her beef stew recipe back to Cook to give her something new to fix for the earl’s family.
She returned to the table and helped little Daniel as he stumbled over the words. “How old are you, Daniel?” So far, she’d only guessed the ages of the children, except for Adam, who had announced his intention to join the Army on his next birthday when he became thirteen. And she had figured out Elizabeth’s approximate age, since the earl had told her Patterson’s wife died while giving birth to Elizabeth two years prior.
“I’m four years old.” The boy straightened in his chair.
“And already, you’re reading so well?” Eleanor heaped praise on him, figuring he hadn’t been given much attention in the past few years.
His little face lit up. “I have trouble with the big words.”
“You’ll get there. Let Caleb read for a bit and you follow along with the words.” Eleanor positioned the book in front of the middle child. “You must be around six?”
Caleb’s gaze rose from the book to meet hers. His brown eyes were a replica of his father’s. “Seven.” He tucked his chin. Shy. And quiet. Eleanor would need to pay special attention to him.
She may have trouble getting used to living in such a small dwelling, especially after the largesse of Patterson House, which she’d called home for ten years. She may feel unsafe on the streets of Groton, in this place called Connecticut. And she may have a long way to go to learn how to cook a decent meal. But her heart ached for these children, who had no mother to nurture them. Only a father, who had a war to fight and not much time or energy left over for a family. Already, this band of children had burrowed their way into her soul. Until she could return to England, she would give them all the love and guidance she could.
But in the end, she’d leave them, just as their mother had. She bit her lip as she bit back the thought. It was not the same at all. Was it?
• ♥ •
Patterson opened the door to his quiet home late in the evening. Adam had worked beside him all day at the commissary and was so relieved when the exhausting day was at an end, he fairly flew home to grab a hot meal and a warm bed. Somehow, a day filled with lifting heavy boxes and loading them onto carts didn’t have quite the same appeal to a young boy as grabbing a rifle and marching all over the country with his mates. Yet, both parts of the operation were of equal importance in order to keep the Continental Army going, and Patterson hoped the day’s efforts were enough to stifle any notion of running off to war when the boy celebrated his thirteenth birthday.
Patterson’s day didn’t end when the commissary closed for the evening. He had a meeting with the Sons of Liberty. Although the group meeting in Groton was not comprised of the same people as in Boston, he was still deeply involved in the effort. Actually, he was grateful, he supposed, that these men were not the ones he’d known in Boston. None of this group had ever met his wife, so they couldn’t reminisce about her with him. He’d relocated his family as soon as Elizabeth was weaned for that very reason. Grabbed the appointment to the commissary gratefully, even though it meant moving his children away from all that was familiar. Where memories of his wife loomed around every corner.
He shook off his gloomy thoughts as he opened the door, praying the squeak wouldn’t waken his family. Eleanor had placed a candle in the window again, and the scent of beef stew beckoned him to the wood stove. Comforted by her actions, he took the warm trencher and sat at the table alone.
Her bedroom door opened, and Eleanor emerged, having donned a wrapper over her night rail.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I tried to be quiet so I wouldn’t awaken anyone.”
She joined him at the table. “I wasn’t asleep. But if you wish to be alone, I’ll return to my bed.”
“No, it’s fine.” He raised his fork and saluted her. “Another tasty meal, Eleanor. Thank you.”
She brushed a hand through her hair. “I’m glad you are enjoying it. My skills in the kitchen are very basic, but I’m finding I enjoy experimenting with the dishes. Elizabeth’s leftover apple made its way into the stew.”
Patterson glanced at the stew for a moment. “Good. Let nothing go to waste.” His glance returned to Eleanor. “If we have apples in the house, I take it you found your way to the market without any problems?”
“Yes.” She fidgeted with the tie on her wrapper. “May I ask a question?”
He nodded.
“As small as they are, your boys formed a shield around Elizabeth and me as we made our way through the streets. I should be the one protecting them, not the other way around.” She rolled her shoulders. “What kind of training did you give them, to have them take such a defensive position?”
Patterson glanced up from his meal. “The kind of training that has kept them alive since their births. This war’s been going on for years, and it’s all they’ve ever known. My job with the army puts crosshairs on my back, so I’ve had to train my children to be able to defend themselves anytime they wander out on the streets. To take care of each other.”
“But they’re just children!”
Patterson stabbed a carrot with his fork. “They are the children of the revolution. They are the future statesmen of the country. And they are all well aware of the reasons why we are fighting.” His gaze slid from the carrot to her. “People die in the streets every day, Eleanor. Until we win this war, we will never be safe from tyranny.”
She clasped her hands atop the table, and Patterson put one of his over her tightly formed fists. “I don’t mean to frighten you, but Groton is a tinder box. The majority of the supplies keeping the army going are shipped here, since the port is so good.”
“And you’re in charge of them?”
He nodded and quickly removed his hand from hers.
“Everyone in Groton, British and American, is aware of this?”
Again, he nodded.
“So, your children are in danger each time they leave the house, because of your position?” Eleanor’s fists grew tighter.
Patterson nodded again. “Yes, the Brits have threatened my family before, and undoubtedly will again.”
“Dear Lord, what has your uncle gotten me into?”
“I apologize again for my uncle’s behavior. You can return to England in the spring and be out of harm’s way, Eleanor.” Patterson glanced around the darkened room. “Although, I am grateful to come home to a clean house, with a warm plate of food waiting, and my children asleep in their beds with their bellies full.”
Eleanor exhaled a soft sigh. “Your children are delightful. Daniel’s already reading well beyond his years, and Caleb is responding well to me, even though he is terribly shy.”
“I’m glad you approve. These past few years, without a mother to guide them, have been hard on the little ones. The patchwork of help I’ve been able to assemble since Margaret’s death is a poor substitute for the real thing.” Patterson smiled.
Eleanor abruptly rose, forcefully sliding back the chair. “Then perhaps your time would be better spent finding the ‘real thing,’ for the sake of the children. You need to consider getting married again. I will be leaving in a few short months and will be extremely grateful to return to my homeland. Your chi
ldren will again face a loss of a woman they’ve come to know and rely on. How many times can they do so? Elizabeth is in desperate need of a mother, as are your other children.”
Patterson glanced up. Then, he tossed his napkin on the table. “You know not of what you speak. It is not an easy task to give my heart to another while I’m still mourning the loss of my wife. And I am in the midst of a war for my family’s freedom from tyranny.” He stood as well, and picked up his soiled trencher. “I’m doing the best I can, for both my children and my country. Good night.” He could barely control the growl in his voice.
She faded into the darkness of the rest of the house, and even though she closed the door to her room quietly, Patterson could hear the intended slam in his head. Up until she’d started telling him what he should be doing, he’d been enjoying their conversation about his children. It had reminded him of talks he used to have with Margaret.
But Eleanor wasn’t Margaret. Not even close. Although he did enjoy the smattering of freckles across her nose, which took her face out of the realm of the porcelain-cheeked highbred English ladies and made her somehow more American. He cleaned his plate in the basin, letting his tears for his dead wife mingle with the water. His gut clenched once again, and he doubled over the sink.
Eleanor truly didn’t know of what she spoke. She was a young woman who had been under his uncle’s protection for years, so she had no knowledge of what was expected when a man took a wife. It was not merely so his children would have another guiding hand. A man and woman needed to forge a loving relationship with each other, as well. And look what that loving relationship with Margaret had accomplished. He’d killed his wife. It was every bit the same as if he’d held a gun to her head. Killed her with love. He would never again feel comfortable making love with a woman, so how could he even begin to contemplate marriage to one?
He scrubbed the tears away, ran a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. He’d thought he had no tears left, but all it took was a late-night conversation with a woman about his children and here he was, sobbing into the basin again. Would his sorrow never end?
