MacGregor's Bride

by Barbara Dan

  Leaving others to consume crumb cake in the parlor, Lydia excused herself to recover her composure. As she lingered in the tiny vestibule, cooling herself off, the young lieutenant, in whose modest home they were meeting, walked in the door. Andrew Graham, like Bruce, had a thick Scottish brogue and a merry twinkle in his eye.

  "Mrs. MacGregor, you're just the person I need to speak with," he exclaimed.

  Lydia vaguely remembered meeting him at her wedding. This being their second meeting, she was surprised to have him single her out.

  "Lieutenant Graham," she smiled, "is there some way I can be of service?"

  "Yes, dear lady" he enthused. "My wife and I have been hard pressed— Well, a most pressing situation has arisen—"

  Only half-listening, she scrutinized the young officer's lanky frame unobtrusively. Like so many of America's fighting men, Andrew Graham supported his family on a meager salary. His uniform was barely presentable. Clearly, he wasn't getting rich since his promotion. Straightway she decided to take up a collection for a new uniform at the ladies' gathering. And while she was at it, his wife and children could stand a bit of sprucing up, too.

  She was still busily calculating how she might handle all this without hurting his feelings, when Andrew Graham broke in upon her train of thought with a shocking revelation.

  "Fourteen sailors arrived off the Soaring Hawk two days ago," he explained. "The British released them from a prison ship in Halifax, because they were so severely wounded."

  "And where might they be now?" she asked, merely being polite.

  Andrew gave her a sheepish look. "Why, they're staying here with me and my family. Though 'tis a bit crowded, what with fourteen men, my wife and myself, and our six children."

  His family's predicament had Lydia's full attention. "You mean, we've been meeting in the parlor, while fourteen wounded men in need of medical attention are living under this roof?"

  Lydia had visited the tiny house before. Located close to the fort, it had two bedrooms upstairs, plus a loft under the eaves for the children. By comparison, Bruce's house was a virtual palace! She did not need to be told her Christian duty.

  "Lieutenant," she smiled sweetly, "I think you're about to ask me to open my home and care for these men."

  His face lit up. "Oh, could you help, Mrs. MacGregor?"

  Under the circumstances, how could she refuse?

  "I have plenty of room, although not much furniture." Lydia hesitated apologetically, but the lieutenant had a suggestion of his own.

  "A few families have offered bedding, and I've had several ladies volunteer to care for the men until they're on their feet again," he told her.

  "Well, then, it's all settled, isn't it?" Lydia felt herself warming to the idea. If anything ever happened to Bruce or her brothers, she’d like to think someone would give them good care.

  "I'm deeply grateful." Andrew Graham bowed. "Come visit with my wife Alice. She can fill you in on the details."

  He led her into the narrow dining room, even more plain and austere than the parlor. The table, made of sanded planks, was pushed into a corner, and six men lay on pallets near the fire. The Graham's two eldest daughters were ladling thick gruel into wooden bowls from a kettle that hung over hot coals. Nearby Mrs. Graham, a tall gaunt woman with a kind but tired face, was spooning porridge into a very sick young seaman.

  Quickly Lydia joined her. "Here, Mrs. Graham, allow me to help you."

  "If you will support his head," the lieutenant's wife suggested. "The poor man is so weak. Last night, I couldn't get any nourishment into him at all."

  "Just tell me what to do," Lydia said, not at all sure she was up to the task. Fourteen! If they were all as helpless as this young sailor, it would take a good deal more help than one lone woman could possibly provide.

  After they fed the six men in the dining room, Lydia followed Mrs. Graham and her daughters upstairs. Distributing porridge, she noted the discouraging condition of the men. The stench of wounds and the men's uncleanliness and tattered clothes required immediate attention.

  The ladies downstairs might see their duty as prayer warriors, but instantly Lydia saw herself as peculiarly suited to this practical mission. Not only was her house large enough, but she possessed organizational skills that would make short shrift of the chaos she saw all about her.

  When she came downstairs an hour later, her inspection complete, Lydia already knew what must be done. "Mrs. Graham, could you issue a call for blankets, clean clothes, and approximately twenty beds? I shall also require several large wash basins."

  "Of course. My husband has already started mobilizing the neighbors." Looking exhausted, Alice Graham rubbed the heel of her hand against the small of her back.

  Lydia shoved a chair under her hostess. "Here, please do sit down. You look all in."

  "Thank you. I confess, I'm quite at a loss, trying to keep up with so many needs, all at the same time."

  Lydia glanced at the young lieutenant's wife's pinched face.

  On a hunch, she pushed a stool under the woman's feet. "Mrs. Graham," she asked in a confidential tone, "could it be that you are expecting another child?"

  A bright flush of color swept across the woman's gaunt features, and Lydia knew her suspicions had been correct.

  "As I thought," she nodded. Mrs. Graham had been slaving around the clock, sharing her meager bounty, with only the assistance of her family, while she sat at home, eating chocolates and feeling sorry for herself!

  All that had to stop. Right now.

  "Mrs. Graham, I propose to remove all fourteen men to my house today," she said with a smile. "Providing you send your two eldest children to assist me for the next two weeks."

  Alice Graham looked at her, surprised. "But won't they just be in your way? You'll have enough to do as it is—"

  "I'll need all the help I can get, including theirs. Oh, and another thing— Do you think we could recruit some unattached young women through the churches? I need a few ladies who’d be willing to live on the premises as long as their assistance is required."

  "Offhand, I can think of three ladies—no, four, I think!"

  "Splendid! Have your husband direct them to my house right away. I feel certain they will enjoy helping the war effort."

  "How can I ever thank you?"

  "By having your husband recruit volunteers, that's how. Those men need baths and a doctor to tend their wounds. I'll take anyone willing to roll up their sleeves and work." She smiled at little Becky Graham, a scrawny red-haired child of ten or eleven, whose ears were absorbing every word. "Even older children can fetch firewood and run errands."

  "You have so much energy! Talking to you is like taking a double dose of iron tonic!" Alice laughed. "You shall get all the help needed, I promise you. And thank you again."

  "My pleasure, Mrs. Graham. And please, take better care of yourself. You mustn't overtax your strength." Even as Lydia offered advice, she wondered what Mrs. Graham would think if she knew that she, too, was pregnant. Smiling, Lydia decided the news would keep.

  "Your first duty is to your husband and family, Mrs. Graham." Lydia gave Alice an impulsive hug. "Now don't get up. I shall let myself out."

  Alice Graham looked close to tears, and Lydia felt pleased that such a simple decision had meant so much to the woman.

  "God bless you, Mrs. MacGregor!"

  "Oh, He is. Indeed, He is," Lydia said softly, and suddenly halted in the doorway, brought up short by the first gentle flutter of life within her womb. Oh, Bruce, come home! The oft-repeated cry arose again in her heart. Our baby needs two parents.

  Descending the steps, Lydia prayed that she might soon learn of Bruce's whereabouts. Better still, she hoped to see him stride through the front door and sweep her into his arms. In the meantime, she welcomed the chance to be useful. It would make the time pass more quickly.

  How much work could it be, keeping a houseful of hungry, helpless males under control? This won't be all that difficu
lt, she thought confidently, as she made her way through the melting, slushy snow to her carriage. She remembered all her wild and woolly brothers constantly coming and going at her parents' home in Salem. Compared to them, riding herd on a shipload of wounded sailors would be a mere snap of the fingers.

  * * *

  "Mrs. MacGregor, I don't know how you do it!" exclaimed Sarah Mullens, one of a half- dozen single young women who had taken up temporary residence in Lydia's house.

  Since fourteen men had been brought under the MacGregors' roof in early March, more than a score of injured men had joined the ranks. As March drew to a close, most were well on their way to recovery.

  Having so many attractive young ladies at their beck and call had a civilizing effect on the men—and had sparked several tender romances. As a result, Lydia had more than enough eager volunteers to spoon cod liver oil and various and sundry tonics into willing patients' mouths, which opened with the eagerness of young birds awaiting a juicy worm.

  In addition, her volunteers did considerable good for Yankee morale by plumping pillows, reading love poetry to New London's latest batch of heroes, playing checkers, and writing letters for a handful of men who came from outlying areas of New England.

  The ladies of New London washed and ironed; some baked extra loaves of bread and pies; and a sharp-eyed old hunter stopped by now and then with venison or a wild turkey. All this assistance from the community should have left Lydia free to concentrate on assigning duties, but it didn't. Word spread quickly, and for every wounded man brought in, another volunteer appeared on her doorstep, usually a spinster with an eye to catching herself a man. In no time, the MacGregor household was swelling to its outer limits.

  That's not all that is swelling, thought Lydia, who had let out the waistline on all her dresses for the second time since she took on this project. New London's gossips would have a field day, once they got wind of her pregnancy. Ah, well, she couldn't do a thing about that!

  Right now, she had to keep her corps of volunteers too busy to succumb to a similar temptation, or her reputation would be in shreds!

  For the second time that morning, Lydia climbed to the top of the house. The widow's walk was one of the few places where she could escape the constant barrage of questions—and the sight of eager volunteers fussing over lovestruck males. Indeed, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore all the romances blooming right under her nose. Sometimes she found it harder to endure than the unceasing battle she waged against disease and pain and loss.

  Still musing, Lydia raised her spyglass to view the British navy hovering off the Point. Two frigates, a ship-of-the-line, and four cruisers lurking offshore had cut off all outside ships from entering the harbor.

  Suddenly the rattle of carriage wheels caught her attention. Leaning over the railing, she shifted her glass. Turning into her drive in his ridiculously old fashioned black carriage, Robert Harris came driving up behind a pair of smart new bays. His wife, it seemed, had come to spend the day as a volunteer.

  "Bruce sends his love," Robbie Harris called up to Lydia, as he solicitously escorted his wife over the melting snow and into the house, and her joy knew no bounds.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "You've heard from him?" Lydia shrieked. Completely losing her composure, she rushed down the stairs and gave Mr. Harris an enthusiastic hug.

  Robert blushed at her fervent kiss, delivered under the watchful, somewhat startled gaze of his loyal wife. Beside herself with joy, Lydia turned and kissed his wife with equal warmth.

  "This is wonderful!" She clapped her hands excitedly. "What news? Is he well? Don't just stand there, Mr. Harris! Tell me everything!" All the while she was dragging the pair into her parlor. "I am so glad you've come!"

  "Easy, lass, easy!" Harris laughed, quite overwhelmed by her reception. "He's in Westerly, and he's—"

  "I have a brother and sister-in-law in Westerly," Lydia broke in eagerly. "I shall go to him at once."

  "He pulled in for water an' ship's provisions last night," Robbie said. She was so jubilant, he hated to put a damper on her happiness. "He leaves on the afternoon tide."

  Lydia's smile faded. "This afternoon?" She swallowed hard, and the tears, unbidden, sprang to her eyes. "Then I won't get to see him?"

  "Ah, lassie." The old Scot, growing misty-eyed himself, gently patted her arm. "I know how disappointed ye must be." But then he brightened a bit. "I'm on me way to see him this mornin.' Perhaps I could take him a message?"

  Instantly her grief vanished. "Mr. Harris, if you're going to Westerly, I'm going with you. I can deliver my own message!"

  "All that way, just for a few minutes?" Harris shook his head. "It'll take all mornin' to get there, an' then some."

  "Don't try to talk me out of it." Lydia flagged down Sarah Mullens in the downstairs hall. "Sarah, fetch my cloak, please."

  "The roads are hazardous this time of year," Harris warned.

  "Oh, let her go!" Mrs. Harris exclaimed, giving her husband a baleful look.

  He threw up his hands. "I guess I know which side me bread is buttered on." He chuckled. "All right, Mrs. MacGregor, but don't ever say I didn't warn you about the roads."

  Lydia gave a whoop of joy and overpowered him with another kiss. Then, donning her cloak with flourish, she fastened a broad brimmed hat with egret plumes atop her golden curls. "Mrs. Harris, will you take charge of things while I'm gone?"

  The woman beamed. "My pleasure. And give my love to our Bruce."

  "Before I'm finished, Bruce is going to know a lot of people in New London love him," Lydia said with a mysterious smile.

  Then she dragged Robbie Harris outside. Before he could assist her into the carriage, she pushed him toward the driver's box. "Don't spare the horses on my account," she said mounting the carriage steps.

  Releasing the brake, Robbie took her at her word. "Hang on to your new bonnet, Mrs. MacGregor!"

  Lydia did just that, and was glad that she did! They rattled down the road, made doubly treacherous by snow and ice. When they came to the ferryman down on Bank Street, Harris paid the toll, and they were swept across the Thames on a rope pulley.

  Half an hour later, the old Scott had her jouncing about the leather interior like popcorn fluff. On top of that, a case of hiccups, inspired by the unusual turbulence, occupied her all the way to Stonington Village.

  As they slid about on a stretch of ice, Lydia gave up the springy horsehair seat, along with her dignity. Landing unceremoniously on the floor, she saw the wisdom of staying there, since there wasn't so far to fall every time Robbie Harris whipped the carriage around the many hairpin turns in the winding road. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself between the two sturdy seats in the carriage.

  Being Robbie Harris's passenger was like being a flea on the back of a mad dog. She had often heard him speak of giving up a career at sea. "No aptitude," he'd said. Well, his navigation on land also left a great deal to be desired, Lydia thought, giving in to dreadful thoughts of revenge.

  At last he crossed the old wooden bridge into Westerly and headed south on Watch Hill Road. Lydia felt the carriage settle into a rhythm that was still runaway, but at least Harris now had all four wheels on the road at the same time. A remarkable achievement, Lydia decided, her instinct for survival almost eclipsing her desire to see Bruce.

  And then they stopped.

  The carriage springs vibrated as though applauding their safe arrival. Lydia took a moment to catch her breath. She was still gathering her wits together when she heard her husband's hearty voice boom out a greeting: "Robbie! I knew you'd come, man."

  "Aye, lad. Wild horses wouldna keep me away," was Harris's triumphant reply.

  Wild horses, indeed! Lydia thought, lying in a crumpled heap in the bottom of the carriage. Before she could right her appearance, the door opened.

  "Lydia!" Bruce gazed in disbelief at the tangle of petticoats and raised skirts. Her legs were spread wide, feet and arms braced against the carriage sq
uabs. She held one shoe in her hand; the other lay on the seat. Her favorite plumed hat had lost most of its dash and dipped over one eye in a bedraggled fashion.

  Lydia blew the feathers out of her face and gaped foolishly up at the gorgeous man sporting a wicked grin. She slapped away the hand he proffered and struggled to free herself from the volumes of fabric that held her tiny frame captive.

  Bruce guffawed at the sight of his dainty wife, sprawled like a stuffed turkey in ruffled pantalettes. "Of all the zany—" he started to say, but caught himself. He thought her the most beguiling, seductive creature he had ever laid eyes on, but he also saw that she was not amused by her present predicament.

  Leaning his muscular shoulder against the open door frame, Bruce adopted a cavalier stance. "Mrs. MacGregor, I presume?" He rubbed his jaw, speculating what to do with the ravishing beauty within the carriage.

  Harris bustled forward, full of apologies. "Ah, lass! I do beg your pardon!" he exclaimed.

  Falling back on years of social conditioning, Lydia drew herself together like a tiny pouter pigeon wrestling with a tornado. Her violet-blue eyes shot Bruce's old friend a chilling message; then she gathered her mantle about her and, tripping, fell headlong into Bruce's waiting arms.

  As those wonderfully strong arms enveloped her, Lydia closed her eyes and momentarily surrendered to a heady uprising of lust. But this being neither the time nor the place, she fought off the urge. Instead she planted a demure peck on Bruce's cheek, before giving Robbie Harris, who stood hunched against the brisk sea breezes, a castigating smile.

  "Mr. Harris," she said sweetly, "Do you not think, having wisely given up the sea, a man of your years should hire himself a driver?"

  Robbie blushed. "Aye, perhaps you're right," he agreed, more humbled than if she'd given him a tongue lashing. "But I got ye here all in one piece, now didn't I?"

  "Just barely," Lydia said and, glancing up, saw Bruce's shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Snuggling up against her handsome giant of a husband, she felt impervious to the biting chill in the open harbor, and to all other surroundings as well. She heard his heart's happy thud against her ear and for the first time in months, felt that all was right with the world.