A British Governess in America

by Becky Lower

  Chapter Twenty

  E leanor paced from the front door to the stove and back again. Seven strides forward and seven back to the kitchen. Ben, Caleb, Daniel, and Elizabeth sat at the table and followed her agitated motions with their gazes.

  “Don’t worry, Eleanor. Papa is a good tracker. He’ll find Adam, give him what-for, and fetch him home.” Ben tried to appease her.

  Eleanor bit her lip to keep from crying out. If Patterson was clever enough to track his son and fetch him home, would he ever speak to her again? Or would he be so offended by her words he’d throw her on the next ship out of the harbor, even if its destination might be South Africa rather than England?

  She had no choice but to wait. To hope.

  “You’re so right, Ben. Your father will find Adam before he has to experience the horrors of war. Dinner’s nearly ready, so if you and Caleb can set the table, I’ll finish up.”

  She returned to the stove and mashed the potatoes, taking out her aggression in a useful way. A few of her tears fell into the potatoes, but she figured the salt from them would add flavor. She took a deep, shuddery breath.

  It won’t do to let the children see how frightened you are. Brave face, Eleanor.

  She plated the fried chicken and carried the platter and her mashed potatoes to the table. Ben carried the green beans. Caleb and Daniel grabbed for the chicken legs first. “Hey,” Ben called out. “I wanted a leg.”

  Eleanor chuckled. “It would be nice if chickens had four legs, wouldn’t it? Here, Ben, eat some white meat instead. It’s tastier than a leg, anyway.”

  Ben got a gleam in his eye as he stared at his brothers, who were demolishing their chicken legs. “Did you hear that, guys? My white meat is better than your legs are.”

  Caleb smacked his lips and set down the bones from the leg. “You only say so ’cause it’s all you have. Next time we have chicken, you’ll be grabbing for the leg again.”

  Elizabeth glanced up from her plate with tears in her eyes. “I want Papa.”

  Eleanor brushed Elizabeth’s raven curls from her forehead. “Your Papa will be home soon, honey. And he’ll be upset if he finds out you haven’t eaten your dinner.”

  Elizabeth returned to her meal, satisfied with the answer. Eleanor ran a hand over her stomach. She wished someone could put her at ease. Perhaps Patterson already had known his son would feel he had to take over on the battlefield now that his father couldn’t. Perhaps she hadn’t said anything out of line, anything he wasn’t already aware of. Would any of it matter?

  No.

  None of it would matter if Patterson didn’t return with Adam. And she really could care less what Patterson thought of her right now. Adam had assumed the role of protector and provider while Patterson was off fighting in South Carolina, and Eleanor loved him for it. Had Adam not stepped up and killed Billy Buford, she would have been raped or worse. When she’d been in England, helping to raise and educate Lord Patterson’s brood of boys, she thought she’d loved them. But the love she had developed for the American side of the Patterson clan was far stronger than anything she’d had in England. Those boys may have loved her and vice versa, but mostly in a superficial way. None had ever put their lives on the line for her.

  She put a fist to her mouth to stop the moan. It would not do to break down in front of these children. She had to latch onto the belief that Adam would come home, unscathed.

  She would accept no other outcome.

  And if he did return unharmed, she’d accept whatever fate Patterson doled out to her without complaint. While she didn’t care for yet another man determining her life choices for her, if it meant Adam returned home quickly, the trade-off will have been worthwhile.

  She fiddled with her fork while the children polished off the last of the chicken and potatoes. She’d save the bones and leftover bits of meat and make a broth. If either Patterson or Adam were harmed, broth would come in handy. And if they didn’t return, or arrived home in a casket? She couldn’t even let her thoughts go down that road because the outcome would be too awful to contemplate.

  • ♥ •

  Patterson’s skin tightened over his bones and his heart pounded. Each mile he rode increased his sense of dread. Surely, he should have caught up with the troops by now. Had he gone the wrong way? Had they taken a detour? Was he riding into a trap set by the British?

  He had no answers. The only cohesive thought he had was he had to bear the blame for this. If he had been of sound body, he would have been marching off with the troops instead of his son doing so. But he was not of sound body, and right now, he was not of sound mind, either. The horse’s hooves rang out on the road and each time other sounds registered Patterson’s heart jumped.

  His mind warred with himself so much he didn’t notice the cloud of dust until it clogged his throat. He slowed his horse to a walk, even though his mind screamed at the delay. He had to make sure he wasn’t trailing a British troop. He rode into the forest which hugged each side of the road and forged ahead of the band of men kicking up the cloud. Lodged behind a tree, Patterson stilled his ragged breath and peered at the road. The strains of the fife and drum finally registered over his pounding heart, and the familiar tune of Yankee Doodle was music to his ears. He waited for the troops to come into view, to make certain this wasn’t a trick by the British. A rag-tag army appeared, farm boys and sturdy blacksmiths and wheelwrights marching down the road to freedom. Patterson’s breath whooshed out of him and he mounted up again, eager to find his son.

  He broke out of the woods and steered his horse to the head of the group, led by men on horseback. “Where’s your commanding officer?” The men pointed to their leader.

  He pulled alongside the head officer. “I’m looking for my son.”

  The man laughed. “These men are all sons of someone.”

  Patterson ground his teeth. “But my son is only thirteen. He followed your troops out from Groton this morning.”

  The man finally glanced at him. “Permission to search the ranks, then. We’re stopping soon for the night.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Patterson saluted the officer and kept his horse to the side of the road, inspecting the men as they marched on by.

  Patterson had almost given up hope when he spied his son, near the back of the battalion. Adam’s step was lively, and a grin split his face as he bounced along to the familiar tune Margaret had used to send her children to bed. Now, his child was headed into battle. Patterson’s heart lurched when he spied Adam and he leapt from the horse and ran into the crowd.

  “Adam!” He grabbed his son in a bear hug and didn’t let go until the stragglers passed them by.

  Adam wrestled away from his father. It occurred to Patterson his eldest had put on some muscle. He latched onto Adam’s arm.

  “You’re finished with being a soldier, son. You’ve got Eleanor worried to death.” Patterson held onto Adam.

  “I’ll just run off again then.” Adam struggled to loosen Patterson’s hold.

  “No, you won’t.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  Patterson shook his head. “Well, then, let’s make a pact. You hope to replace me at the front line, but you’re too young yet. The battlefield is no place for a young man. The gore and destruction turn my stomach, and I’ve got a lot of years on you. But, since you’re eager to contribute to the cause, I’ll take you to work with me each day and you can help with the supply line side of things until you are fifteen. Then, I’ll let you join the army.”

  Adam hesitated, and Patterson’s heart dialed down a notch.

  “I’ll agree to your idea, on two conditions.”

  Patterson loosened his hold on his son. “What kind of conditions?”

  “First, you take me with you when you’re picking up merchandise from the pirates.” Adam got a gleam in his eye as he stared his father down.

  “It’s dangerous work, son.”

  Adam nodded, and waited. When had he grown so tall? He now was on
eye level with Patterson. He stared into his son’s brown eyes that so matched his own and let out a breath. “All right.”

  “And second, the day I turn fifteen, you’ll let me go into battle. No backing down.” Adam raised his chin and stared at his father.

  Patterson nodded again. And prayed in two years’ time, this war would be over.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  E leanor rushed out of the house when Patterson and Adam rode up and wrapped her arms tightly around the boy. “I’ve been so worried about you, Adam. Don’t ever give me cause to fear for your life again, do you hear me?”

  Patterson stood patiently by his horse as Eleanor and his son had their moment. He had no idea how she’d react to him, but he was positive it wouldn’t be with the same amount of concern. She hadn’t even cast a glance in his direction yet.

  Nor did she. Eleanor kept her arm tightly woven around Adam’s shoulders as she shepherded him into the house without a backward glance. “Let’s get some food into you, Adam. You must be starving after all the marching you’ve done today.”

  Patterson’s stomach clenched again, as it had when he searched for his son. This time, though, it wasn’t his son’s safety he feared. It was Eleanor’s wrath.

  He stabled the horse, Blaze, in the carriage house and gave him an extra measure of oats. The horse had been run hard on the way out of town and deserved to be treated with respect. Unlike Patterson himself. He dropped his head, burrowing it in Blaze’s mane, reluctant to enter the house. “Ah, old boy. We got Adam back safely. Now, I just have to figure out how to win Eleanor’s approval again.” The horse nodded, as if in agreement. Or maybe he only wished to be rid of Patterson, to shake him off. “I hear you, boy. I’m tired, too.”

  He left Blaze to doze in the stall and headed inside. It was his house, after all, and one mere wisp of a woman would not make him cower in his boots. He could rid himself of her at any time. He puffed out a breath and closed the door. The kitchen was dark. Eleanor hadn’t left a trencher of food warming on the stove as she normally did. As he’d come to expect. Nor had she bothered to light a candle.

  Patterson inched his way into the room and stopped when he made out the soft sound of crying. Blinking to adjust to the darkness, he finally glimpsed Eleanor, sitting alone at the table. She had a fist to her mouth and sobbed quietly.

  “Eleanor?” he whispered, moving forward.

  Her head turned to him, and she gasped. But even in the darkened room, he could see the adjustment her body made. Her back stiffened and her tear-filled eyes sought his.

  He slid into a chair next to her and placed a hand over hers. She drew away from his touch and took a shaky breath. “Thank you for finding Adam and dragging him home.”

  “He hadn’t gone far, and he didn’t have to witness any actual battle. He’ll be all right.” Patterson shrugged. “But in order to get him to agree not to run off again, I promised he could help me at work each day, including meeting the ships carrying contraband.”

  She gasped again and her gaze seared him, even in the darkness. “Why would you agree to put him in harm’s way?” She pounded a fist on the table and hissed out a breath. “Need I remind you, he’s but a boy?”

  “A boy about to become a man, in a country at war for its freedom. For his freedom. Need I remind you he’s already killed a man?” Patterson’s hold on his temper finally frayed.

  Eleanor swept her gaze over him. “No. I need no reminders of that night. It’s something I live with every day.”

  “Boys grow into men quickly here, Eleanor. You can’t judge Adam’s development using the same measure as you did for your English boys.” Patterson kept his voice even, although he wanted to rail against her and her judgment of him.

  Then, as if he suddenly lost his air, he sank back into his chair. “That’s not the worst of it. I told him when he turned fifteen, I’d let him join the battle.”

  He caught her sudden intake of breath. “Why would you agree to that?”

  “Because he would do so, with or without my blessing. This way, I’ll at least have some knowledge of where he is. I won’t have my heart in my throat every time he leaves this house for the next two years.” Patterson rolled his shoulders, feeling every bit of the strain he’d been under since Eleanor burst into his office. “All we can do is pray the war will be over before he hits that milestone.”

  Eleanor sighed and scraped the chair back from the table. “I suppose that’s all we can do. Good night, Patterson.” She rose and made her way to her room.

  Patterson could feel the chill in the air as she passed by him. He wondered how many hours it would be before she requested passage back to England. Perhaps he needed to strike first. Not give her the advantage. He tugged a hand through his hair. She’d not been given a choice to come here, and he had told her only a few nights ago her life choices were now her own and he wouldn’t command her one way or the other. Yet, here he was, contemplating sending her away. He was no different from his uncle, just on the other side of the ocean.

  • ♥ •

  Eleanor made it to her room before her legs gave out on her. Relief mingled with dread was not a good combination. She had not been able to hug Adam tightly enough. The boy was brave and mature beyond his years, but that was the way of life here in America. Patterson was correct about that, at least. Children didn’t remain so for long. Still, he was but a boy. She had never seen a more welcome sight than when Patterson and Adam rode up behind their home.

  But then there was Patterson.

  She had spoken out in anger when she deduced Adam had left home. And still, anger prevailed. If Patterson hadn’t been so reckless as to get himself injured in battle, none of this would have happened. If he hadn’t put country ahead of family.

  But weren’t they one and the same? Eleanor sank to her bed and clutched her midsection, muffling her sobs with one hand. Wasn’t Patterson also brave and mature beyond his years? Wasn’t his patriotism part of what made him so special? Made her fall in love with him in the first place?

  Eleanor’s body snapped upright. Where had that thought come from?

  “Oh, Mama, I’m in a peck of trouble,” she whispered as she clutched her mother’s locket around her neck. “I railed against him when I was so frightened about Adam, and now he’s going to put me on the next ship out of here, just as I’ve admitted to myself that I’ve fallen in love with him.”

  Eleanor scooted back on the bed and propped herself up against the wall. Patterson’s room was on the other side of the wall, and she wondered what he was doing. Was his back up against the wall on his side? The idea that he could be only inches away from her warmed her, even as her anger still sparked, as if it were a dying flame in the wind, and tiny sparks reared up and flew off with the wind. She dreaded his next move.

  Her anger burned itself out, and dread became despair. She might as well begin packing her things in the morning. Patterson would not abide a person in his home who despised him. Who thought he was a lesser man because he now had a permanent limp when he took a step. She had implied as much, and Patterson would be well within his rights to quickly dispatch her from his sight.

  Her anger had been fueled by fear for Adam. Surely, in the light of day, he’d understand. Just as she finally understood what had sparked the anger.

  She placed her head on the pillow and forced herself to cease her tears. Crying had so far not done her any good. It had not prevented her from having to come to America from England. And now, it would not prevent her from having to return to England. She needed to rely on herself, instead of having a man dictate what she would do. She needed a plan. A solid plan that Patterson would have no control over. If he wished for her to leave his home, she would do so. But she was not about to return to England. She rather enjoyed living in America. She’d have figure out a way to stay here.

  She propped herself up on her elbows as her idea took shape. That was it! She’d hire herself on with one of the British generals who was h
ere with his wife and children. She’d be able to glean information on the movement of the British troops and then pass it on to Patterson, or if he refused to speak to her ever again, she’d approach the major of the commissary. She’d met him at church a few times and was certain he’d listen to her. She’d become a spy for the Revolution! She’d cement her place in this country. If she played her part well, the war could end before Adam celebrated his fifteenth birthday, and he’d safely grow to adulthood.

  Instead of dreading the morning, she now could barely wait for it. She’d discuss her plan with Patterson. Surely, he could see the wisdom in it. He’d not put her on the next ship out of port. He might not wish for her to be in his home any longer, but he’d have to agree with her idea. Wouldn’t he?

  To be on the safe side, she crawled out of bed and dropped to her knees. A good prayer to the Almighty never hurt. If a bolt of lightning struck her down, she’d have her answer that the plan hadn’t been as solid as she thought. But barring any lightning strikes, her excitement escalated as her ideas took shape.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  E leanor and Patterson hadn’t had time to talk to each other this morning, since he and Adam left the house before she woke up. She’d been unable to get to sleep for hours after she retired, since her plans bubbled up in her head, formulating and then dissolving as she blew holes in every scenario. She had never attempted subterfuge before and had no idea how to go about it. She needed Patterson’s advice if she were to manage it. Now that she’d made up her mind to stay here in America, she wanted to be part of the Revolution, just as Patterson was. Just as Adam wanted to be.

  Her thoughts left her more unsettled than ever. She feared he’d return home tonight, having already booked her passage back to England on one of the ships he was meeting in the harbor. She would have to wait until this evening to discuss her plans, such that they were, and hope Patterson would see beyond his anger and agree she could be of use to the Revolution.