by Becky Lower
She propped herself up against the wall, not ready for bed yet. She wished instead, to relive the evening. Raising her hands to her nose, she inhaled the lovely, delicate, scent of the lotion. Margaret’s lotion. Could she possibly take the woman’s place, not only in her house, but in Patterson’s heart? In his bed?
If she postponed her opportunity to return to England until the fall, would she and Patterson share more evenings like the one they had just had? Would their relationship progress beyond the hand-holding stage? Would she finally be able to experience the feel of his lips on hers? And, if they did share more evenings together, would she be able to leave Patterson and his children behind, come fall? She was already half in love with the man. Where would her emotions be by September?
She fingered the locket her mother had given her before she passed. “Ah, Mama, I wish you were here so I could ask some questions.” Eleanor let some of her tears fall as she held onto the locket. Although her mother had been gone for years, Eleanor still took comfort by holding imaginary conversations with her. What would her mother be saying to her now, if she had been made aware Eleanor was living in a strange new land, with a strange, intriguing man who made her stomach flutter with a mere touch? A man who obviously had a very loving relationship with his wife, if the number of children they produced was any indication. She had a feeling her mother would caution her to get on the first ship out of the harbor and return to the safety of England. To get out of harm’s way.
“Yes, Mama, you’re right. America is a dangerous place. But I’ve managed to survive.” A small giggle emerged even as tears filled her eyes. “Who would have ever thought meek little Eleanor Chastain would thrive in such a hostile setting?”
For that matter, who would have ever thought Eleanor Chastain would have been the object of an attempted rape? Plain, mousy Eleanor Chastain, with her freckled face and quiet demeanor. She hadn’t exactly set the hearts racing of the men back home.
But here, in America, could she? Had she? Or was she merely a convenience until Patterson could find a suitable woman to woo and wed?
If she stayed, she’d have to again face the wild streets of Groton. Where British soldiers roamed and took whatever and whomever they wanted. Where the battlefield was never too far away. Where the fight for one’s freedom was a daily occurrence. She took her life into her hands each time she ventured forth.
It was so unlike her existence heretofore. Her gentle upbringing and her quiet life as a governess, under the protection of the local earl, hadn’t prepared her for this.
And, if she stayed, her feelings for Patterson would grow beyond where they were now. She already loved his children and couldn’t conceive of life without them. She’d love to add to the brood with a child of their own. But if Patterson didn’t harbor the same feelings about her, if he found another woman, an American woman, to live in this house and share his bed, could she bear it?
She could always return to England, should that happen. She’d be heartsick and heartbroken, but she could always go home again.
“That’s it, Mama. I’ll stay until I can’t bear it anymore.”
It was worth taking a chance. With Patterson. With America.
• ♥ •
Patterson sat for long moments at the table, inhaling the scent of his long-dead wife. His initial thought had been to soothe Eleanor’s chapped hands. But by uncorking the bottle of lotion, he’d uncorked another bottle. The bottle he had poured his emotions into for two long years. He had missed Margaret terribly. And even though she had retreated from him while he lay near death, her memory remained. All he needed was to glance at Elizabeth and his years spent with his wife flooded back. He wasn’t yet ready to leave the memory of her to begin new memories with another. Yet, when he’d been so close to death, Eleanor’s hand had saved him from following Margaret to the great beyond.
Eleanor. With that band of light freckles across her nose. And her quiet demeanor. Yet, that quiet demeanor had helped Adam dispose of a body of a British soldier when events forced them to do so. Patterson sensed that underneath her gown he would find a backbone of steel. She was the kind of woman America needed. He owed her the chance to make a go of things here, to help her live each day showing her strength. She had already changed from the mousy woman that had been aboard Daniel’s ship. He should not shuffle her back to England, where she’d again fade into the background. Whether her time in America was with him or with another man, he hoped she would consider staying. America needed her.
She hadn’t promised to stay. She’d only promised not to leave yet. And, she’d run off tonight like a frightened little mouse the minute he released her hands. Perhaps he’d overstepped and misread things. Perhaps she didn’t find him attractive. Viewed him as merely her employer.
He sighed as he contemplated his future. Even if his leg improved, he would no longer be able to join the fight for America’s freedom on the front lines, regardless of how accurate his aim was. He’d be a sitting duck on the battlefield, since he could no longer run. He’d carry a limp for the remainder of his days. The best he could do for the cause was to work behind the scenes at the commissary and do his best to procure the many items needed for the Army to finish the fight.
But staying away from the battlefield meant traversing the battlefield in his own home on a daily basis. Could he keep Eleanor at a distance? Did he even want to? His feelings toward her were growing daily, as he witnessed her love and attention to his children. And to himself.
He would have to visit the apothecary to find a different scented lotion for her hands if he were to survive. She shouldn’t smell like his dead wife. Eleanor needed something spicier, with a bit more bite to it. He now would come home each evening to Eleanor’s brown eyes and apple crumble. He eased back into his chair.
The thought comforted him.
He puffed out a breath, grabbed his crutch, and left the house. He’d head to the local Sons of Liberty office and discuss politics with the men. It would at least take his mind off his problems at home.
“Patterson! Good to see you.” The huge Scotsman, Angus McDougall, greeted him with a crippling handshake. “What brings you out on a night like this?”
“I couldn’t sleep, and didn’t care for any grog from the tavern, so here I am. Is there anything going on I need to know about?”
Angus took a seat next to Patterson. “You may not want grog, but how about a wee dram of Scotch whisky?”
Patterson grinned. “I will never pass up some of your good whisky, Angus.”
Angus poured the golden liquid into two shot glasses. As Patterson picked his up and peered at it, Eleanor’s brown eyes with flecks of gold passed through his mind. Her eyes were the same hue as the whisky. How had he been unsure of her eye color when Hawk had asked him about them?
He sipped the alcohol quietly. Even from a safe distance, she crept into his mind. He shook his head and focused on what Angus was saying.
“There was a battle up near Nova Scotia, between our French allies and the Brits. The Frenchies seized the British convoy, loaded with coal, and took it, along with the leaders of the frigates, to Boston.” Angus laughed. “So at least the residents of Boston will be warm come winter.”
“And the ships?” Patterson thought of what he could do with two frigates.
“In control of the French now. Which means they’re on our side of the war.” Angus poured another helping of whisky for them.
Patterson picked up his drink and stared at it before he took a sip. The liquid warmed his insides but was unsatisfying. “I fear my days on the battlefield have come to an end, Angus.”
“Aye, I ken tell. But on the upside, you’ll be able to go home each evening to that bonny lass who’s caring for your children.” Angus clinked glasses with him.
“So, what you’re saying is I’ve exchanged one battlefield for another, eh?”
Angus roared his laughter, but Patterson grimaced at Angus’s assessment of his situation. He was a m
an of action, but he could no longer participate in the war. Nor would he participate in nightly lovemaking, as had been his pleasure with his wife. This was not the way his life was supposed to play out.
Chapter Nineteen
E leanor’s days fell into a pleasant routine. If working your fingers to the bone could be considered enjoyable. Each day, she cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner for seven people. She tended to Patterson’s leg wound, which was healing nicely. He barely even limped anymore. She did laundry, as best she was able. And the best part of the day happened when she gave the children a bit of instruction and was warmed by how their quick minds picked up on her learning. Even the baby, Elizabeth, had begun to recite her ABCs.
But what she cherished most was the end of each day, when Patterson arrived home and they could spend a few quiet minutes at the table, sipping tea and getting acquainted with each other. He regaled her with his early life in America, days before the war consumed his time.
“Have you ever lived anywhere other than Groton?” Eleanor urged him to continue to paint the picture of his life before the war. She needed to better acquaint herself with this new country. “Well, of course you have. Your friend, Hawk, lives in Boston. You must have known him there. By the way, you should write to him once your leg improved.”
“Aye. He’s a good friend. I grew up near Boston. That’s about a hundred miles north of here.” Patterson scratched his chin. “Someday, I’ll return. It’s home.”
“Have you ever been to England?” Eleanor chuckled and shook her head. “I’m answering my own questions before you do. The earl told me he hadn’t seen you since you were a lad. And since he’s never been to America, you must have spent some time in England.”
“That I did. I was just about the same age as Adam and my parents thought I should live in England for a time to obtain a good education, go to Eton as Father and his brothers had.” Patterson glanced around the room. “But I would have none of it. England is too tame for my liking. Besides, Margaret was here.”
“Yet, you must have had some advanced learning, in order to perform your work for the Army as you do.”
Patterson grinned. “We do have institutes of higher learning even here in America. I attended Harvard, near Boston.”
“And once the war ends, what do you plan to do for a living?” Eleanor prodded. After all, his answers would affect her decision to stay or go.
“If I were a free man with no children, I’d head west from the coastline.” Patterson heaved a sigh and patted his full belly as he leaned back in his chair. “But I’m getting soft, thanks to your cooking.”
Eleanor could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. “You’re saying my cooking is good?”
Patterson’s eyes twinkled. “Not when you first arrived here, but you’ve much improved. And your apple crumble is something I’d fight for.”
“So, tell me about the west.”
“From what I hear, it’s wild and untamed. Filled with deer, wild pigs, and other good meat. It’s the kind of place where a man could carve out his own life, not be ordered around by another.” Patterson flicked his gaze over her. “But it’s a pipe dream for me. Adam will probably be the one to strike out on his own, and I’ll take the rest of the brood back to Boston.”
Eleanor wrapped her hands around her cup of tea. “The west sounds wonderful. I can appreciate its appeal. I don’t care for having my life choices dictated to me.”
Patterson stood and grabbed his jacket, fetching a container from the pocket. Then, he returned to the table and pried one of her hands from the cup. He opened the container and poured some of the cream onto her hand and worked it into her skin. She sighed and sank into the chair. His touch soothed her, made her feel safe.
He lifted her hand to his nose and inhaled. “Perfect. I had the apothecary come up with a new fragrance for you. It has a hint of roses, and a bit of patchouli to match your personality. You’re a gentle English rose but you’ve a bit of spice to your nature as well.”
Eleanor inhaled sharply. Patterson thought she was spicy! She sniffed her hand. He was correct. The scent did suit. Sweet yet musky. Delicate, yet spicy. “Whatever will the good folks of Sussex have to say about me now?” She chuckled again.
“You can return home to England anytime you wish, Eleanor. Your life choices are now in your own, sweet-smelling hands. I will never take that choice from you. Although my wish is for you to stay.” He worked the cream into her other hand, gently massaging her palm and fingers.
Eleanor nodded. “I told you I’d stay until you were healed and able to once again take command of your family. I still have a few months before the ships stop departing for England. I’ll give you my decision before then.”
He stood then but kept his hand on her shoulder. Her skin prickled where he touched her. “As you wish, Eleanor.”
He removed his hand, and she instantly missed his touch. The enveloping warmth between them disappeared when he lifted his hand.
He exited the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts and one dying candle. She placed a fist to her mouth to stop the wail from escaping. England was her home, but Patterson made the west in America sound appealing. Patterson made America appealing. She had fought bouts of homesickness ever since she stepped onto the ship bound for this country. She’d cried buckets of tears, afraid and alone. Now, she feared if she did return to her homeland, she’d cry buckets of tears over what she left behind on this side of the Atlantic. Whatever could she do?
• ♥ •
It was late August, and the battle for America’s freedom was heating up again on multiple fronts. With help from the French, the Americans could sense victory and were eager to get the war over with. Even though Patterson still would prefer to be part of the action, his leg wound prohibited him from doing so, and he was oddly content with the fact. His appetite for battle was at odds with his appetite for apple crumble. Along with his appetite for the woman behind the apple dish, who also made his mouth water. Ever since he’d spent hours with the apothecary coming up with just the right scent for her, he accepted the fact she occupied more of his thoughts than she should. His contribution to the war effort would now be away from the front lines. Had he become lazy or merely weary? The years of fighting were taking their toll on him. He rubbed his leg and tried to focus on the ledger in front of him.
Muffled sounds emerged from the hallway. Someone was attempting to enter the commissary unannounced. Patterson rose from his desk and took hold of the rifle which was always loaded and ready for trouble. It would not be the first time the British had tried to invade the fort.
“I need to speak to Patterson Lovejoy! It’s urgent!”
Patterson’s heart tripped as he made out the voice. What was Eleanor doing here?
He dashed to the hallway, where Eleanor struggled to escape from the armed guards. “What is it, Eleanor?”
“Adam’s gone!” Her hands were fisted as she shrugged off the guards. Her hair had loosened from its bun, leaving tendrils of auburn floating around her cheeks.
Patterson’s stomach plummeted. He’d feared this day was coming. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Eleanor. Perhaps he’s merely visiting a friend?”
Eleanor shook her head, tendrils flying. “No. His rifle is gone, and some of his clothes are missing.” She stared at him. “Where is the closest battle?”
Patterson ushered her from the room. “I will find out, and I will cart him home. This is not for you to worry about.”
“I should have kept better watch on him, since he’s been making overtures of his intentions for months now.” Eleanor wailed.
“Why haven’t you mentioned it before now?” Patterson stared at her.
She bit her lip. “Because you can no longer enter the battlefield and he wished to take your place.”
Patterson ran his hand through his mop of hair. “So, the situation is all my fault?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you meant it, am I
right?”
“Just find him and return him to me, Patterson, please?” Tears filled Eleanor’s eyes. “He’s only a boy.”
“It may take me a couple of days to find him and get him back home.” Patterson led her to the door. “Please stay with the other children.” He held onto her hand. “Tell me you’ll be there when I return.”
“Of course, I will, Patterson. I need to see Adam safely back at home, don’t I?”
Patterson released her hand and took a deep breath. “I’ll not come back without him.” She left the room and the reality of the situation sunk in. The boy was putting himself in harm’s way since his father could not. Since Patterson now preferred to spend his nights at home with a full belly rather than march from one battle to another, living on scant provisions and with the ever-present fear of being killed. Patterson would have done the same if the situations were reversed. Fear gripped him, along with pride. He swallowed the bitter taste as he hobbled to his commanding officer.
“We sent a battalion out this afternoon,” Major Harris nodded. “On their way to Pennsylvania to join forces with Archibald Lochry. From there, they’re going to join with George Rogers Clark and head west.” The major scratched his chin. “But I didn’t see your son among them.”
“He probably tailed along behind the battalion. Tell me what path they are to follow, and I’ll go find him and box his ears.”
“Don’t be too hard on him, Lovejoy. It’s boys like him who will become our country’s leaders.”
“If he doesn’t die first.”
Major Harris delved into the stack of papers on his desk and handed a note to Patterson. “Here’s the route they’re scheduled to take, unless they run into trouble along the way.”
“Permission to leave my post, sir.” Patterson stood at attention, although he had trouble standing still.
Major Harris waved his hand. “Go then. Fetch your boy. Then hurry back here. We need you both.”
