by Kris Tualla
Kirsten folded her arms in front of her chest, hating to think he was right. “Go on.”
“And if I told you about my conversation with your mother about your royal status, you would have been furious with her. True again?” he demanded.
“She told you that night? The night before you left?” Kirsten thought that might be the case, but to hear Reid confirm it now pained her anew.
“She did,” he confessed.
Kirsten hated to think of the row she and her mother would have had if she had been certain five months ago of her mother’s interference. It mattered not that the information was correct; it was the telling of it behind her back which she objected to.
Reid understood that, and he protected her by protecting her mother. Again, he was right.
“Wasn’t there anything else you could have said?” she probed.
Reid shook his head. “If I had declared how much you had come to mean to me, Kirsten, then what? You made it clear we had no future together and to leave that door open would have been futile.”
“And yet, here you sit,” she challenged.
His expression transformed and Kirsten abruptly saw the man, not the soldier. The man whose path in the last eight years had stolen away all the plans and aspirations of his youth. A man with little hope.
“Yes. Here I sit.” His voice was so low she almost didn’t hear it. He stared at her, his expression somber. “Why didn’t you tell me yourself?”
Her brow lifted. “About my family?”
“I thought I knew the real Kirsten Sven, the one you hid from all those unlucky suitors.” He sighed heavily. “It seems I was wrong.”
The unguarded pain in his eyes sent shards of guilt through her heart. “I didn’t hide it from you with any sort of purpose,” she offered. “It just didn’t seem important under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” he asked. “Friendship?”
“That’s not fair, Reid,” she retorted. Her eyes stung and she quickly rubbed away the threat of tears.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He shifted in his chair again, his features brightening a little. “Nothing will be gained by debating what was. The question to consider is, what is next?”
Kirsten felt she was on surer ground now. “What did my father say when you asked for his blessing?”
“He said no,” Reid stated casually as if the word meant nothing.
She tilted her head, puzzled. “So why are you asking me what is next?”
Reid did grin then. “Because, as I said, I told him I was going to court you anyway.”
“What if I don’t want you to?” she yelped.
He shrugged. “Then we’ll remain friends. You are my only social acquaintance in Philadelphia, Princess. I do hope you’ll take pity on me and not force me to remain on my own, day after day and night after night in my lonely hotel, while the trial drags on interminably, with no diverting company to share my meals, nor stirring conversation to keep my mind alert and my spirits elevated.”
Kirsten frowned. “That’s the longest sentence I ever heard you say. And don’t call me Princess!”
“It’s a term of endearment. I like it,” he replied.
“Well I don’t!” she snipped.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
As usual, she was confused by his twists. “What question?”
Reid leaned forward. “Will you spend time with your friend while he languishes in Philadelphia?”
“How long will you be here?” she deflected.
“Three weeks. Or less.” He lifted one shoulder. “Not too cumbersome a request, I wouldn’t think.”
“Fine. We’ll spend time together.” The pile of clothing in the parlor leapt to her mind. “I actually do have a couple of things I could use your help with.”
Reid clapped his hands together. “There! You see? You are already being rewarded for your gracious acts, Nurse.”
“Can you not call me by my name?” Kirsten huffed.
“I like endearments,” he objected, his eyes twinkling. “I always use them with my closest friends.”
“What other close friends do you torture thusly?” she demanded.
“None.” He chuckled, obviously enjoying his own joke. “You are the first, Svennie.”
“Oh good Lord!” she cried.
Reid gave her an innocent smile. “What is it you need my help with?”
Kirsten clenched her fists and counted to ten. She knew he was teasing her purposefully and she didn’t want to lose this test of wills. “I started a sewing circle,” she managed. “Well two, actually.”
“I’m afraid my stitching isn’t quite even,” he demurred.
A laugh burst from her. She couldn’t contain it. The image of Reid’s large, rough hands holding a delicate needle was too incongruous for her composure.
Reid laughed as well. “How do your sewing circles need my help?”
Kirsten stood and shook out her skirt. “Come, let me show you.”
Reid jumped to his feet. “I am your servant, Miss Sven.”
She slid a suspicious glance in his direction but didn’t comment on this formal but thankfully inoffensive choice of title. He walked beside her into the parlor that was his erstwhile home without saying anything else. Once there, she indicated the piles of new clothing.
Reid’s brow wrinkled. “What is this?”
“We have been making clothes for soldiers,” she explained, finding herself unexpectedly shy in the presence of her handiwork.
“You have?” Reid was clearly surprised. He squatted in front of the stack of shirts and began to rifle through them.
“After you told me about where you and the other men were forced to procure additional garments… Well, I made that circumstance known. And the women were eager to help,” she explained.
Reid looked up at her over his shoulder. “This is incredible. You have no idea how much these will be appreciated.”
Kirsten’s cheeks warmed with the compliment. “The only problem is that I don’t know where to send them.”
Reid moved to the pile of trousers. “That would be my part of the plan, I assume.”
“Yes.”
Reid stood. “I’ll make enquiries immediately. We should be able to send these on their way next week.”
Kirsten smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you, Stitchy,” he replied.
She punched him in the belly. Hard.
“Make that Sargent Stitchy,” he coughed. “Where did you learn to hit like that?”
“When I am sufficiently provoked, I fight back,” she proclaimed while shushing unwanted memories of another battle. “Did I hurt you?”
He shook his head. “Caught me off guard is all.”
“I’m sorry.” She stuck a finger in his face. “But you deserved it.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” he said again, but this time he smiled. “You said you needed help with something else?”
“Were you aware of the charity my ball was for?” she asked.
“Your ball?” He looked awestruck. “That was your handiwork?”
Kirsten lifted her chin. “It was, indeed. And it wasn’t the first.”
Reid’s brows drew together. “If I recall, it was to benefit wives of soldiers?”
“The Society to Benefit Wives and Families of the Injured and Fallen,” she corrected. “The monies raised are to ensure that those affected by the loss of husband or father receive the back pay owed to that soldier.”
Reid stepped backward and lowered into a chair. “How much money have you raised?”
“Thousands,” she said honestly. “But I don’t know where to send that either.”
He shook his head slowly, though his eyes never left hers. “I am duly impressed.”
She felt her blush return, climbing up from her chest. “Your particular circumstances made me aware of the needs.”
“And you took action,” he observed. “Y
ou are to be commended.”
Her cheeks flamed. “Thank you. Can you help?”
“Of course. I am honored to be able to.” His gaze grew vacant. “I believe I know exactly the person to contact.”
Kirsten felt the burden float off her shoulders. It was an easy thing to rally support. She hadn’t anticipated the distribution end of her schemes. “I am so thankful for your help, Reid.”
He regarded her again. The impish twinkle had returned, making her wary. “Anything for you, Mary Charity.”
Kirsten let out a long groan and sank into a chair. “Oh, how might I make you stop?”
Reid shrugged. “I’m still searching for the right endearment.”
“Why any endearment at all?” she objected. “You have to understand that my position has not changed.”
Reid looked at her with such tenderness that her heart gave her ribs a kick of protest. “Which position is that?”
“Marriage,” she said bluntly.
“You are still opposed?”
“Until my dying day,” she affirmed.
He leaned toward her. “That only means that while I was absent from you in body—though clearly not in spirit—no other man of worth has crossed your path.”
She blinked. “What do you mean, not in spirit?”
“Look at what you have done since I left, Kirsten.” He pointed at the clothes. “You organized two groups of women to sew clothes for soldiers because I had nothing to wear.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“And,” he interrupted, “you are raising money for the families because I haven’t been paid in over two years.”
“This isn’t about you!” she protested—despite the sudden and shocking realization that, in actuality, it was. Her actions kept Reid in the forefront of her mind. She felt a close kinship with him as she worked on behalf of other soldiers in his same situation.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“Stop saying that!” she barked.
“Has another man of worth crossed your path?” he queried.
“No!” She frowned at the implication. “Do you call yourself a man of worth, then?”
Reid looked quite confident. “Yes. I do.”
“But you have no money or prospects,” she pointed out. Her words might be cruel but at least they were honest.
He pinned her gaze with the gray steel of his. “I am worthy, nonetheless.”
Kirsten’s breath caught. “Reid. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t court me. It will only end badly. I promise you that.” The sting of tears returned and she rubbed her eyes again. “I’m getting tired,” she deflected.
Reid waited until she looked at him again before he spoke. “Your father offered his carriage to drive me back to my hotel. Would you call for it?”
Her gaze fell to his right leg. “You walked here?”
As if pulled by her consideration, his palm dropped to his wounded thigh. “I did.”
She pulled her regard back to his eyes. “You still have a limp.”
“The muscle pulls. I don’t expect it to get better,” he admitted.
“Does it hurt?”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Not enough to mark.”
“Yet you may remain in the army, even so?” she probed.
“I may leave the army after the trial is over if I choose to do so.”
“Will you?” she asked.
He gave a slow blink. “I haven’t decided yet.”
She stuffed her misgiving under a mental rock and, in spite of the flock of them, asked, “What will affect your decision?”
“Money, undoubtedly,” he began. “Without the funds I’m owed I’ll be hard-pressed to begin a productive civilian life.”
“Perhaps that consideration will be put to rest now,” she offered.
He nodded. “Thanks to your charitable efforts.”
Kirsten rose to her feet and rang for the carriage. She waited with Reid in stilted silence until George came to fetch the colonel. She walked him to the door, having no idea what else to say.
Reid swung his cloak over his shoulders and paused in the open door. Cold air turned his breath into ephemeral ghosts as he leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“I’ll be in touch very soon, Prinsesse,” he whispered in her ear. The warmth of his words sent shivers down her spine.
As she watched him descend the steps and pull himself into the carriage she realized that perhaps princess wasn’t such a bad endearment after all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
February 15, 1782
“State your name and rank.”
“Reidar Magnus Hansen of Boston, Massachusetts, a Colonel in the Continental Army,” Reid complied.
“Tell us when you arrived in Philadelphia and your reason for coming here.”
Reid nodded at the line of five gentlemen seated on the raised dais in front of him.
“I accompanied the New Jersey Regiment to Philadelphia and arrived on September second of last year,” he began. “That regiment planned to move on the next morning, but I was staying behind to meet with General Rochambeau, who was expected to arrive in Philadelphia the next day.”
“Did he?” one of the men asked.
“I cannot say,” Reid answered. “I was prevented from meeting with the French because I was injured in the explosion.”
The man who asked the question looked down and shuffled some papers. “Of course. Here you are.”
“How badly were you hurt?” another man asked.
“I was temporarily blinded, half-a-foot of searing metal was shot into my right thigh, and I was severely concussed,” he replied.
“Back to the French,” the paper-shuffler asked. “Do you know why they were coming to Philadelphia?”
Reid nodded again. “They expected to restock their provisions before heading south.”
“Food?” the second man asked.
“And their arsenal. Weapons, gunpowder, shot,” Reid clarified.
The first man glanced back at his papers. “Did they?”
Reid threw him an incredulous look. “Do you have any idea what happened here?”
The man glared at him. “Were they able to restock before the explosion?”
“No, sir,” Reid growled. “The explosion happened before they arrived. I believe that was the point.”
“The point of your statement?” a third man asked.
“No!” Reid barked. “The point of the explosion!”
The second man hit the tabletop with a gavel, sending a shot-like report around the walls. “Everyone calm down!” he ordered.
Reid chewed his tongue.
Second Man pointed the gavel at Reid. “Is it your contention that the explosion was not an accident?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And are you saying the explosion was set off to prevent the French from restocking?”
Reid blew his relief out rounded lips. Someone here was paying attention. “Yes, sir.”
“And do you have proof of this?”
“I am here to testify about what I knew before I arrived, and what I saw that night.” He paused. “Where do you want to begin?”
The five men glanced at each other. Paper-shuffle-man turned back toward Reid.
“Tell us your story,” he instructed. “We’ll stop you if we have any questions.”
Reid nodded and made himself as comfortable as he could in the hard chair. This could be a long afternoon.
*****
Kirsten stepped back from her handiwork. The note she received from Reid at midday instructed her to make individual packets of the garments, matching the pieces. In other words, he wrote, imagine the man who will wear that shirt, those trousers and smallclothes, and these socks, and match the sizes.
She huffed. Obviously.
Once she had all of the clothes sorted she would have two of the maids tie the bundles and label them tall, short, or average. The leftover garments would
be the seeds for the next crop. She was looking forward to her next gathering of ladies so she could tell them the good news that their efforts were finally headed to where they were intended.
Now she counted her packets. Fifty-nine. Too bad that the last shirt was so huge and the last two pair of trousers so slim, or she could have constructed an even sixty packets.
“Oh, well. I’m out of socks anyway,” she said aloud.
“You’ve done a very good thing here,” Marit responded as she walked into the room. “How many soldiers will benefit?”
Kirsten spun to face her mother. “Fifty-nine.”
Marit looked at the few scattered garments left over and chuckled. “I see what you meant. Sixty would be nice and neat.”
“Does Pappa have any clothes we could add to the last bundle?” Kirsten asked.
Her mother nodded. “I’m certain we can come up with something.”
“I’m to take these on the morrow to the hall where Reid’s trial is being held,” Kirsten said. “Apparently there are some highly placed officers in attendance and they will see the clothes distributed.”
Marit glanced at her. “So you want the extra clothes this afternoon.”
Kirsten gave a cajoling smile. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Ah, you are my daughter,” Marit sighed and patted Kirsten’s shoulder affectionately. “It’s no trouble at all.”
Marit turned away but Kirsten stopped her. “Mamma, wait.”
She hadn’t thought to bring the subject up, but it felt like a boulder plunked down between the two of them, disrupting the flow of her life. She needed to talk about it.
Marit turned to face her again. With her blue eyes and fading blonde hair her mother was still a beautiful woman. Kirsten saw her own future in those aristocratic features.
“Why did you tell him?” Kirsten whispered.
Marit pulled a deep breath. “So now you know. Did he tell you?”
Kirsten nodded, not trusting her voice.
“It was for the best, Datter. I saw the way you looked at him that last night—and he at you.”
“But—oh, I don’t know,” Kirsten sputtered.
Marit led Kirsten to the settee and moved a stack of clothes to the carpet so they could sit. Kirsten let her mother take charge, wishing with all of her being that she could be a young girl again with an entire world of possibilities ahead of her. Marit sat facing Kirsten and gripped both of her hands.
