A British Governess in America

by Becky Lower

  And just as Adam had done tonight, to preserve Eleanor’s.

  Chapter Twelve

  P atterson rode into the streets of Philadelphia and headed to the park near Independence Hall where the Continental Army was amassing for the march south. He quickly found his friend and fellow comrade from Boston, Hawk Gentry.

  “Patterson, good to see you again.” Hawk, the half-French, half-Passamaquoddy Indian greeted him warmly.

  “Likewise, my brother. How is Libby?”

  “Home with the babies and doing well. How is your brood?” Hawk placed a large hand on Patterson’s shoulder.

  “Hopefully, all is well. My uncle sent over a governess from England to care for the children. He no longer needed her, since his children are all away at boarding schools.” Patterson met Hawk’s gaze. “But the gentle lady wants no part of America.”

  Hawk’s laughter bubbled forth. “And you have not yet convinced her to stay? Have you lost your touch with the ladies, then?”

  Patterson smiled slightly. “There’s more to it than that, Hawk. You are aware of how I loved Margaret. We were a good fit for each other, since she was also a fighter. She’s a hard woman to replace, and certainly a demure and bashful English lady will not suffice.”

  Hawk dropped the subject for the time being. They joined up with the other forces who had assembled on the Common before heading out for the south. But Patterson and Hawk were headed into battle together, as they had a few years ago under Captain Morgan’s guidance. Only now, Captain Morgan was a Brigadier General. The long march from Boston to South Carolina had only begun. And Patterson was certain Hawk would not let up on his questions. Soon enough, he continued.

  “So, who is caring for the demure and gentle lady while you are gone?” Hawk bumped Patterson’s shoulder and he grimaced. They had barely left the city before Hawk started in again.

  “Adam, my eldest, has the task of taking care of everyone while I’m gone. I’m almost thankful the forthcoming battle is happening, since he had been about to run off and join the fray.” Patterson laughed. “He can barely hold a rifle. It’s near as big as he is.”

  “So, taking charge while you are gone will keep him at home for a bit longer?” Hawk’s gaze roamed from side to side as they talked quietly.

  Patterson silently approved of Hawk’s stealth. You could never take the Indian out of Hawk, which was good for both of them. He’d be the first to spot any enemy. “That’s my hope, anyway. Adam is not fond of her, since she is a Tory, fresh off the boat. Although she is quite comfortable with the younger ones. Eleanor would never be able to survive if Adam’s not there to lend a hand. I instilled upon him the heavy burden I was placing on him before I left.”

  Hawk’s gaze slid to Patterson. “Eleanor, is it?”

  “Don’t make more of it than is there, Hawk. Yes, I refer to her by her given name. She is living in my house, for God’s sake, so I couldn’t keep referring to her by a surname. We are in America, not England.”

  “What is her appearance?”

  Patterson glanced at Hawk, who had returned his gaze to the road ahead. “Why do you care?”

  “I am only making conversation, Patterson. Talk will eat up the miles.”

  Patterson adjusted the rifle in his lap. “She’s of average height, with russet colored hair. Her eyes may be brown.”

  “You are not certain what color her eyes are?” Hawk ran a hand over his chin. “That was the first thing I noticed about my Libby.”

  “Your Libby is a spectacular-looking woman, so of course you noticed her eye color. Eleanor’s not the same.” Patterson didn’t care for the way the conversation was headed.

  “So, name two things about her that make her different from my Libby.”

  “Other than her hair color?”

  “Oui. Red hair is too easy a difference. It does not count.”

  Patterson thought for a moment. “She doesn’t have the porcelain skin Libby does. Eleanor has a smattering of freckles across her nose.”

  Hawk merely nodded. “And the second?”

  Patterson had to think hard about a second thing. “She’s not a very good cook, as Margaret had been, but she makes a really tasty apple crumble.”

  Hawk smirked. “Freckles and food, eh? You have it bad for her then, my friend.”

  Patterson ran a hand over his chest. “I promised her I’d send her back to England upon my return. It is her wish to leave on the first possible ship in the spring.”

  “Why would you do so? You need her to take care of your little children. Adam may not be appreciative of her, since he has the most memories of Margaret. But if she gets on well with the little ones…”

  Patterson shook his head. “She was given no choice when she was sent here. My uncle is a very powerful man in Sussex. He would not let any of the other residents hire her, and he refused to give her a letter of recommendation to find work in London. She’d been with his family for ten years, so without a letter, she would have been unemployable, regardless of where in England she was. She had no other option.”

  “So, you will give her the freedom she craves, despite the fact she is good with the children, and she makes an excellent apple crumble?” Hawk nodded, laughter rumbling in his chest. “You are making quite the sacrifice.”

  “She deserves her freedom, just as we are attempting to gain ours with this upcoming battle.” Patterson picked up the pace of their hike. “The sooner we get the battle behind us, the quicker I can return home.”

  Hawk gave him a measured gaze. “Where Eleanor awaits.”

  Patterson scorched his friend with his gaze. “Again, don’t make more of this than is there, Hawk.”

  Hawk again placed a hand on Patterson’s shoulder. “I am not, my friend. There is more there than you are yet willing to admit.”

  Patterson laughed, but got an uneasy feeling in his gut. He hoped Eleanor would be in Groton, safely with his children, upon his return. But she could easily have gone to the side of the British, and requested their help until she could return home, leaving his children to fend for themselves. Leaving him.

  The unease in his gut intensified. Her apple crumble, and her freckles, would be gone. He had to get back home as soon as possible, and the battle had not yet begun. As he strode forward, Patterson wondered which battle would be more costly. The one he now marched toward or the one he faced at home.

  Years before, he had taken part in a similar conversation with Hawk, who was denying his feelings for Libby, now his wife. Patterson had thought himself quite well-versed with regard to women, but since Margaret’s death, he’d easily diverted his attention away from women and relationships. Was he now being as bone-headed as Hawk had been? Was he finally ready to bury his feelings for Margaret and progress forward with his life? To possibly get another woman with child and witness the life draining out of her upon childbirth? He had a few weeks in which to figure things out.

  • ♥ •

  After several weeks’ march south in which Patterson and Hawk coughed at the dust kicked up by the troops marching ahead of them, they were finally going to face the British. Patterson, Hawk, and other sharpshooters from Daniel Morgan’s Provisional Rifle Corps took up their places in the center line of the double envelopment Morgan has devised as a stand against the British forces under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Tarleton.

  Hawk glanced around the area, along the Broad River, in Cowpens. “Let us hope Morgan is correct and Tarleton will march his forces forward, thinking their might will overcome us.”

  Patterson leveled his rifle. “It is a good plan. If we can entice the Brits into it, then we’ll pinch them from both sides.”

  Hawk grunted. “But we will be the sitting ducks they will be going for first.”

  Patterson nodded. “So, keep your head down. Here they come, just as Morgan had hoped.”

  The fatigued British forces barely had time to take a breath from their long march before they were thrust into battle by Tarleton. As
Morgan anticipated, the lieutenant colonel had no strategy other than numbers.

  After a few rounds, Patterson and Hawk, along with the others from the Corps, retreated, enticing the British to follow them further into the ensnarement of the double envelopment. The carefully crafted precise lines of the British troops fell apart as they ran after the retreating front line of the Continental Army.

  “We have them right where we want them, Hawk. Morgan’s plan is working!” Patterson stopped, faced the enemy, and fired his rifle again before retreating a bit more. The air became thick with smoke from their rifles, and the smell of sulfur filled their lungs.

  Before long, the British forces were surrounded on all sides, and were forced to relinquish the battle. A few still got off some shots, unwilling to give up. A cheer rose from the American troops as they started to round up the British to hold them as prisoners.

  Patterson stood from his crouch and strode away from the fray towards where Hawk and the others stood. In his haste, he tripped over a tree root and lost his footing. A British soldier rushed up behind him, his bayonet pinning Patterson’s leg to the ground.

  “Mon Dieu!” Hawk raced toward his friend, yanking his handgun from his waistband. The soldier glanced up from his pinned prey as Hawk fired. Terror showed in his eyes as he fell.

  Hawk rolled Patterson over, noticing his pant leg was turning red quickly.

  “I’m all right, Hawk. The bastard only grazed me before he fell. Thankfully, you prevented him from doing more.”

  Hawk ripped off the bottom of his shirt, forming a bandage, which he wrapped around Patterson’s leg. “That will lessen the blood loss, but we need to get you to a doctor.” He helped Patterson to his feet.

  “Thank you, my friend, for saving my sorry arse.” Patterson wrapped an arm around Hawk’s shoulders.

  “That was a lesson my father taught me long ago. Never carry a sword to a gunfight.” Hawk grinned. “Or a bow and arrow. Guns always win.”

  Together, they hobbled to the medic tent, and Patterson’s wound was bound. He glanced up at Hawk as the doctor placed the bandage in place. “At least we can now return home.”

  “Oui. With a victory in our caps. The Americans won this one. Will you be able to sit on a horse with that leg?” Hawk raised a brow at Patterson’s blood-soaked pant leg.

  “We will soon see, won’t we?” Patterson slid off the table and winced as he tried to put weight on his leg.

  “Perhaps we should wait a day or two before heading for home.” Hawk helped Patterson take a few halting steps. “You will not be able to hike all those miles. I will find us some horses.”

  “I’ll be fine by morning. We’ll leave then.” Together, they settled near the campfire and ate a crude meal cooked over the open flames.

  Patterson was tired but could not escape his fearful thoughts. The encounter with the bayonet had chilled him to the bone. The cold steel held him to the ground, as if he were a butterfly pinned to a wall. If not for Hawk, his children would be orphans of war. They were too young, and the Americans were not yet completely victorious, since one battle did not a war make. But beyond his own brush with death, the niggling fear that something was amiss at home stayed with him, a fear which burned brighter than his own near-death situation. He was at least three weeks away from home as it was. Would his children still be in Groton, and be safe, when he returned? Would Eleanor still be there, or would she have disappeared as quietly as she had entered his life? Hawk’s observations about the situation made Patterson revisit their time together.

  The candle in the window each night was a small, but welcoming gesture she had offered him. Saving the last of the dessert his children would have otherwise devoured reminded him of the many times his wife had done the same. Had she made these overtures because she was developing feelings for him, or did she merely feel she had no choice in the matter?

  Patterson closed his eyes, wishing he had some whiskey or grog to quell his pain. Getting drunk might allay the pain from his wound, but all the grog in Boston had done nothing to allay the pain in his heart once Margaret died. Only the passage of time had begun to take care of that. He ran a hand over his chest, surprised to find the leg wound was the only pain he was currently feeling. Was it time to proceed with his life? With an impoverished spinster, who wished for nothing more from him than a return ticket to England?

  He needed to get home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  W inter descended hard and fast in Connecticut as January gave way to February. Even though Adam found wood to chop up for the stove, the dwindling supply of logs made Eleanor bank the fire right after dinner, and it only took an hour or so for the house to go cold.

  She huddled under several blankets with the children in the main room of the small house. The single candle provided little light, but it mattered not. Eleanor had read the book she was sharing with these children many times when she was back in England with her charges there. She had memorized vast portions of it, but Elizabeth kept herself occupied turning the pages for Eleanor. They finally got to the end of the story and Elizabeth closed the book.

  “Time for bed, children. Do you have any last thoughts of the day?” Eleanor waited, while they formed their ideas.

  Caleb spoke first. “I hope Papa comes home soon.”

  Eleanor let out a sigh. “That is my hope as well, Caleb.”

  Adam had been staring at the wall during the discussion, but he now shifted his gaze to Eleanor. “At the market today, there was talk the battle Papa was fighting in the Carolinas had ended with an American victory. He should be home any day now.”

  Eleanor bit her lip. She hoped Patterson would be home soon, as well, for different reasons. The first ships back to England would be leaving in less than a month. But if Patterson was killed in the battle they were referring to, she would not be the only one returning to England. She’d have to take these children with her.

  “Well, then, if your Papa is expected home any day, you all need to get your rest, so you’ll be able to welcome him back. To your beds now, all of you.” She hurried the young ones down the hall and into their respective beds. After a few minutes, she returned to the main room where Adam still sat.

  “What is it, Adam? What did you not wish to say in front of the others?” Eleanor had gotten used to Adam’s mannerisms by now and was aware he did everything he could to protect his siblings from the war waging around them.

  “There is still no one searching for William Buford, so we’re safe, at least for the time being. A lot of the troops have run off instead of facing battle, so perhaps his commanding officers have written him off as a runaway.” Adam shrugged. “But we still need to decide what to say to Papa about it.”

  Eleanor’s stomach churned as she relived that awful night from a few weeks ago. “Why must we tell him anything?”

  Adam leveled a gaze on her. “Because he’ll see the blood on the rug. On the floor. Even though Ben mopped it up the best he could, the evidence remains.” He waved his hand in the direction of the spatters. “And even if he doesn’t see them right away, one of the young ones will say something sooner or later.”

  Eleanor hugged herself in order to control her shaking limbs. “I suppose you’re right. We need to tell him something. Although I don’t see why we can’t just relay the facts to him. Isn’t the truth of the situation enough?”

  Adam stood and paced back and forth. “If Billy Buford spoke to anyone about you, it’s only a matter of time before someone comes knocking, asking after him. Even if they never find the body, they might piece it together that the last place he spoke of was coming to this house to see you. We need to have a story ready in case that happens. In order to cover what really happened. And Papa needs to tell the same story. His work with the Army has already put him under surveillance by the British. Finding out we killed one of their own here in this house will be all that is needed for them to take action against Papa.”

  Eleanor bowed her head. “So, it
is my fault now that your father is in danger. Is that what you’re saying?” She lifted her gaze. “Then, we shall tell him everything, exactly as it happened. We have no need to make anything up. The truth is awful enough. But I believe you are right—we need to come up with a story we all can agree on to tell the British if we have need. That way, your father will be prepared should anyone figure out where Billy was that night.”

  “You don’t mind telling Papa how that man tried to have his way with you?”

  Eleanor wiped away her tears. Adam would rather make up a story to protect her innocence than to tell the truth. How very sweet of the boy. She took a breath before she rose from the table. “We’ll tell your Papa everything exactly as it happened, Adam. I’d feel the same way had Billy succeeded before you shot him. My virtue is not at issue here. Your father’s safety is all that matters. But I’m grateful to you for considering my reputation. And for killing the bloody bastard.”

  Adam couldn’t control the small grin that formed. “We made a good team that night, didn’t we?”

  She placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder, surprised to find he was almost as tall as her now. When had he grown? “Not just then, Adam. You and I have kept the home fires burning while your father was off fighting. Let’s pray he comes home soon. Off to bed with you, now.”