by Becky Lower
Chapter Six
A coil of dread snaked around Eleanor’s body as she prepared breakfast for the Lovejoy children. She may have overstepped last night while talking to Patterson. She certainly said more to him last night than she had in the previous day-and-a-half combined, but she had been terrified yesterday as she and the small band of tiny souls made their way to the market.
In point of fact, she’d been terrified ever since her employer told her she was to embark on this journey. The trip outside the doors of this house placed everything clearly into focus. She had landed in the midst of an uprising against her mother country, and by working for the Lovejoy household, she was on the wrong side of the conflict. Her body had not stopped shaking since their foray into the market, and Patterson’s words last night had done nothing to reassure her.
Patterson thankfully had already left for his job at the commissary before she had risen, and she was left alone with his children. Children who were in danger each time they left the house, since the British were aware to whom the children belonged, and could use them as pawns to get Patterson to bend to their will. To get him to act as a spy for them. Be a turncoat.
Or possibly the danger existed even when they were in the house and she foolishly thought they were protected. What would she do if the British soldiers in their red coats broke into the house? Hit them with a wooden spoon in an effort to defend the children? The precariousness of her situation hit her full force after last evening’s conversation with Patterson. They were living in dangerous times, and he tipped the scale by so openly working for the Continental Army.
Lord, how she longed for the winter to pass quickly so she could return to the civilized world that was England.
She blinked away her sudden tears. There was no time for her to be morose. She’d save that for when she was behind her bedroom door. Right now, she had eggs to cook, and bacon to flip over. She should have biscuits, too. But biscuits were complicated, and she had no time for complicated this morning. She had lessons to teach. And laundry to do. And a kitchen to clean.
Eleanor thought back to her days at Patterson House, and how she was able to take her time, prepare a lesson plan for the boys, have her meals delivered to her in the nursery, and give no thought to how they were cooked, or how her gowns were cleaned. How could she accomplish all that was expected of her now?
The sizzling bacon splattered grease, which hit her wrist, yanking her out of her reverie. She bit back an exclamation, her teeth grabbing onto her lower lip. Nothing could be accomplished by her waxing poetic about her old life. She needed to get breakfast on the table.
The rest, she’d worry about later.
“All right, children. Breakfast is served.” She carried the hot skillet to the table, depositing a fried egg into each trencher.
Adam poked the yoke of his egg, making it run. “Where are the biscuits to sop up the yoke?”
Eleanor squared her shoulders. “As I recall, you hurled the last one at your father a few days ago.”
Adam’s brown-eyed gaze leveled on her. “I meant the biscuit for you, not him.”
“I’m well aware I was the intended target.” Eleanor deposited two strips of bacon on his plate. “Just as I’m aware you are planning to join the army in a few months, and fight against the British.”
Ben and Daniel giggled. Adam stuffed the bacon into his mouth and nodded his agreement.
Eleanor took a seat at the table and ate her own breakfast, the salty bacon satisfying her taste buds. “So, tell me, Adam. Once the war is over, what do you intend to do?”
“Papa has plans to open some kind of store when the war ends and expects us to help him.” Adam dipped his fork into the egg yolk and drug it across the trencher, forming little rivulets of yellow.
Eleanor picked at her food. “I didn’t ask you what your father has planned to do once the war ends. I asked what you wish to do.”
Adam lifted his head and stilled his hand. “I plan to work for the new government.”
Eleanor nodded. “An admirable goal. One for which you’ll need to be able to read, write and solve mathematical problems. How is your writing?”
“I used to be good at it, when Mama was alive. But since coming here from Boston, we don’t even have paper to write on.” Adam shoved back his chair.
Eleanor placed a hand on his arm. “You don’t need paper to be able to write. I’m going to attempt to make biscuits later on. We can spread out the flour which I’ll need to roll the dough in, and you can all take turns writing your names in the flour. How does that sound?”
She noticed Adam’s gulp of air and how his shoulders slumped. “It would be all right, I guess. It won’t be writing, but it will at least be practice.” He rose and took his trencher to the kitchen.
Eleanor’s heart beat quickly in her chest. He missed his mother. And he was being forced at his young age into being a man. To help protect his siblings, and to fight for this country’s freedom. But he was still just a boy.
They’d all spend time writing in the flour this morning. And if the biscuits were delayed a bit, so be it. These children needed to gain an education and to have some fun. While a war not of their making waged around them. Just outside the door.
She could at least give them that, for a few months.
• ♥ •
The children all bustled around the warm kitchen, helping Eleanor assemble the ingredients she needed for the biscuits. Elizabeth carefully cradled an egg as she carried it from the pantry. Caleb measured the milk, and Ben sliced the butter into little chunks. Adam carried in the bag of flour and helped Daniel spread it over the cutting board. Eleanor mixed everything together in a cold bowl, taking care not to over-blend the dough, as Cook had cautioned her. When she was nearly ready to pour the sticky mass onto the flour, she set it aside and started her lesson.
“All right, Adam. You are first. Let me see how your handwriting looks in the flour.”
Adam’s tongue crept to the corner of his mouth as he wrote his name with his finger. His cursive was strong, and he embellished his name with a curled line under it. “There. John Hancock put a similar line under his name on the Declaration of Independence so everyone would be certain to see it.”
“Very good, Adam. Someday, your name will be on an official document, too.” She placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and noticed he leaned into it rather than shrug her off. The contact only lasted a short minute before Eleanor ended it. She would tread slowly.
She erased Adam’s name from the flour, dusted off her hands and glanced at Benjamin. “You’re next.”
He narrowed his gaze. “I don’t want to. It’s not fair! Adam has a short name and mine’s so long.”
Eleanor laughed. “Elizabeth is the one with the longest name, not you. But for now, why don’t you just write ‘Ben?’”
He stepped up to the cutting board. “Yeah, Ben’s shorter than Adam. I’ll do that.” He took his time with the three letters, but in the end, Eleanor could easily read his name in the flour.
“Very nice, Ben. Maybe tomorrow you could start adding the rest of the letters one at a time.”
Caleb didn’t make eye contact as he took his turn. He hesitated before positioning his finger over the flour. He glanced up, and Eleanor caught the tears in his eyes. “I can only print my name. Mama had planned to teach me how to write it, but she died before she could.”
Eleanor not only placed a hand on his shoulder, she wrapped him in a hug. “I can teach you.”
He buried his head into her shoulder and Eleanor could feel his hot tears soaking through her gown. She held onto him until his tears abated, her biscuit mix forgotten. Another lost boy. His tears finally subsided, and he raised his head.
“Can you teach me now?” Caleb wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
She drew his name into the flour. “That’s your name in cursive. Now give it a go and duplicate it under my writing.”
He drew in a breath and placed his
finger in the flour, drawing carefully. He finally stepped back and Eleanor studied his work.
“A very good first effort, Caleb.” The ‘C’ might be a bit wobbly, but it was a start. “I’ll have to see if your father can give us some parchment so we can practice with a quill and ink instead of flour.”
Eleanor hoisted Daniel up and he eagerly printed his name in all uppercase letters. DAN. He smiled up at her. “Papa taught me.”
“Nicely done, Daniel. I’ll teach you the rest of the letters in your name, too.” She set him down and picked up Elizabeth.
“Can you draw in the flour, too?” Eleanor printed a big ‘E’ in the flour. Elizabeth bent over the board and dipped her fingers into the white flour, forming grooves in the pile as she laughed, but no letter.
Eleanor set the baby down and sighed. She had her work cut out for her, not to mention biscuits to make. As the children took up their places at the table, playing with blocks while Adam read from a newspaper, she stared at the messy pile of flour. What had she gotten herself into? She wiped the still damp shoulder of her gown and finished mixing the dough before she plopped it onto the mound of flour.
Cook had cautioned her to treat the biscuit dough carefully and not over-mix it, but all she wished to do was to pound it into a pulp. She should not be here, in this dangerous country. She should not care that these children were rudderless without a mother’s guiding hand. She should not quake in fear when she came across a man in a red uniform. They were her fellow countrymen, for goodness sake! But these children were in her care, and if the soldiers had any plans of using them as leverage against Patterson, she’d have to fight them. Her idea of courage to this point had been to leave the only home she’d ever known and head to London to find employment. The thought of even doing that much had tied her stomach into knots. How had her life gotten so far off course?
Bloody hell.
Chapter Seven
P atterson rubbed his tired eyes and stared at the ledgers on his desk. Supplies for the Continental Army were depleted as quickly as they arrived and were stored. The constant movement of supplies in and out exhausted him. Not for the first time, he wished this war would come to an end, one way or the other, so he could spend time with his children, instead of turning over their care to a total stranger. And a Brit at that. She was probably filling their heads with the idea that British rule was not such a bad thing, and all this fighting was a wasted effort.
He stared at the ledgers again and heaved a sigh. Even though he was a loyal member of the Sons of Liberty, he, too, questioned whether all the turmoil and fighting his family had lived with for years was worth it. Even if the British finally were routed and sent back across the Atlantic, could the colonists manage to govern themselves? Could they form the republic that had been laid out in the Constitution and figure out how to become a great nation?
It would be up to his children, and their children, to take the prize of freedom and make something of the country. Right now, he should head for home and instill in his brood the responsibility he and his fellow countrymen were giving them, instead of letting their education be placed in the hands of some cultured English lady.
Except, she was the reason he hesitated heading for home. With each conversation they had about the children, he again was reminded he had lost his soul mate. And, for the sake of his children, it was his duty to find a replacement wife. Yet how could he marry another? Be intimate with another when he’d sworn never again to get a woman with child? It was hopeless, but he agreed the least he could do would be to carve out some time to spend with his children. He sighed again and sank into his chair.
“Long day, eh?” The tall, imposing figure of his commanding officer, William Harris, poked his head into the room.
Patterson stood. “Yes, sir. No sooner do we get some supplies in than they are gone again.” Patterson stood. “We did get in a box of boots from Boston, though, which was as welcome as it was unexpected.”
“Liberty Gentry has been most generous, hasn’t she? For each pair of her fancy shoes she sells to the British officers’ wives, she donates a pair of work boots to the cause. So unwittingly, the British are supporting our troops.” Major Harris barked out a laugh.
“She is a fine lady. We became acquainted when I lived in Boston. Her rooms were directly across the hall from the office of the Sons of Liberty.” Patterson shrugged off some of his exhaustion.
“Well, head on home to your children, Private. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so you have the whole day to catch up with them.” The major saluted Patterson before pivoting on his heel smartly and leaving the room.
Reluctantly, Patterson snuffed out the candle, and dragged his tired body home. Once again, Eleanor had a left candle in the window for him, and a plate of food on top of the stove. He uncovered the meal, inhaling the scent of fried chicken. To his surprise, the chicken was accompanied by a biscuit. Mrs. Goodhouse had not returned to help out, as far as he was aware. Had Eleanor made these? He took his dinner to the table and sank into the chair.
He had only taken a few bites when the door to Eleanor’s room opened and she joined him at the table.
“Good evening, Patterson. You are very late tonight.” She lifted her gaze from the table.
“You needn’t wait up for me every night, Eleanor.”
She waved a hand through the air. “I hadn’t yet retired. I was reading from my Bible, which I do every evening. It comforts me.” She focused on him. “Speaking of the scripture, do you have a particular church you take the children to?”
He nodded. “Yes. I pointed it out to you the day you arrived in Groton. The large white building in the center of town.”
“I’m sorry, I’d forgotten. There was a lot to take in that day. May I attend with you then, tomorrow?”
Another piece of his heart broke off. Margaret used to insist they attend church together whenever he was not off fighting. Since her death, he’d become a bit lax in his attendance, claiming to need a day at home to get caught up. He glanced around the room. It was clean. The serving plates and trenchers were washed and put away. His children were asleep. He could not use the same old excuse. Church tomorrow, with his children and Eleanor, was on his agenda.
“Of course, you may come with us, Eleanor. It may not be the same type of service as what you had in England, but it is the Lord’s house.”
She rose from her chair. “I’m certain your church will suffice. I should get to sleep then. Good night.”
Patterson followed her movements as she disappeared behind her bedroom door. He took his soiled plate to the kitchen and rinsed it off before blowing out the candle in the window and heading to his own bed.
Belatedly, he recalled he’d forgotten to ask her about the biscuits. But he hoped there were enough left to have another with breakfast before they headed to church. Together. His American children and a British governess. Dear Lord. If any family needed help from above, it was his.
• ♥ •
Patterson had to admit, Eleanor had done wonders for his children in the short span of one week. They were clean, their clothes were tidy, and their hair combed, at least, if a little unkempt. He’d have to carve out some time next week to give the boys haircuts. Little Elizabeth sported braids today, as Eleanor carried her into the church.
He caught the surprised glimpses of several men in the congregation as they got their first look at Eleanor. There were not enough women in America, so any new lady would attract attention. Eleanor, with her smattering of freckles keeping her face from being classically beautiful but instead approachable, and obviously comfortable around children, made her instantly appealing. Patterson stared down the men who were eying her as if she were a fine delicacy. She was under his protection until she was placed on a ship headed back to England. And, unless he totally misread the situation, she was still a virgin. That was the only reason his eyes narrowed. The slight tightening in his chest was merely due to his protective nature. Surely, nothing else.
She glanced over at him and smiled. “Quit glaring. You’re in the Lord’s house,” she whispered, placing a hand on his forearm.
He eased back in the pew as the men lost interest. He could breathe again. The familiar hymns furthered his ease, and while the sermon wasn’t as rousing as some of the editorials in the weekly newspaper, it was pleasant enough. Patterson enjoyed the relaxation, fully aware quiet moments like these were few and far between.
Following the service, Major Harris strode up to him as he stood outside the church with his children and Eleanor.
“Nice to see you in church again, Private. Who’s your lady friend?” The major cast a glance to Eleanor, who had bent over to talk to Caleb.
Patterson gritted his teeth. “Her name is Eleanor Chastain. My uncle sent her here to help me out. She’d worked for him for years, but he no longer had need of her. His children are all off at Eton now. She did not wish to come here, but my uncle made it impossible for her to find work elsewhere. I promised to send her back to England in the spring with a letter of recommendation, so she could find a new post in London.”
The major kept his gaze focused on Eleanor. “Might you not convince her to stay? She does have a rather nice arse. I wouldn’t mind dipping into her.”
Patterson’s jaw ached as his teeth ground together again. “Please, major. She’s a gently bred English lady, not a wench, and deserving of your respect.”
The major took a step back and stared at Patterson. His gaze wandered back to Eleanor, who had now bent over further to take Elizabeth’s hand and whisper something in her ear. The major’s attention fluttered back to Patterson, who stood quietly, but whose hands had fisted. “Ah, I see. You’d rather be the one to do the dipping. Well, have at it, man. I’ll attempt not to keep you at the office so late anymore.”
He slapped Patterson on the back and strode away with a laugh.
