Forever Ashley

by Lori Copeland

  “Dinner’s on the table,” Rachel promised as she turned and walked back to the house. “I hope you like mutton and journey cakes!”

  Taking her by the hand, Aaron led Ashley up the back steps to the Reveres’ large kitchen.

  As they entered the homey dwelling, the mouth-watering smell of meat roasting over a spit in the fireplace nearly overwhelmed Ashley. After the purge, she thought she’d never be able to eat again, but she found herself looking forward to the meal.

  “Paul, I’m sure Mistress Wheeler would enjoy some hot water and a brush,” Rachel called as she busied about the kitchen, swatting youngsters’ fingers away from the large bowls of food sitting on the cupboard.

  “All right, Mama. Just let me get my boots off.”

  “Deborah.” Rachel motioned to an older girl as she unhooked a large pot from a jiggin iron. “Fetch Mistress Wheeler some water, and be quick about it.”

  The girl ran off to fetch the water as Rachel called after her. “And bring my brush and comb when you come back!” She turned back to Ashley, smiling. “Sara will show you upstairs where you can tidy up.”

  Minutes later, Ashley found herself alone in the small bedroom shared by Paul and Rachel. There was hot water in the pitcher, and a coarse white washcloth and soap setting on the washstand.

  Young Sara disappeared, then came back a few minutes later to provide a clean dress for Ashley. Overcome with gratitude, Ashley tried to thank the young woman, but Sara flushed and backed out of the room saying it really was no trouble.

  When the door closed behind the young girl, Ashley turned and surveyed herself in the clouded looking glass hanging over the washstand. She winced, deciding that she’d never looked worse. After picking up the bar of soap, she scrubbed every inch of her body, and was relieved to find she was not lice infested; then she dried herself on the coarse linen cloth that smelled of sunshine and fresh air.

  When she went downstairs later, her hair had been brushed to a lustrous sheen, and she was wearing Sara’s simple cotton dress. The green and white gingham was a bit loose in the waist and bodice and it tended to gap open if she wasn’t careful, but at least it was clean—and free of vermin.

  Rachel bustled by, carrying a large platter of mutton and a bowl of carrots. “Oh, my, you are a lovely one.”

  “Thank you,” Ashley murmured, feeling awkward in the situation. By now Paul and Aaron would have explained her presence to Rachel, and Rachel would know that the men suspected her of being a spy.

  “Come, supper’s waiting,” Rachel coaxed.

  Aaron and Paul were already seated at the table, deep in conversation. The men seemed oblivious to the state of confusion as the children scrambled for seats.

  Smiling, Ashley recalled that with each additional child, Paul simply added another chair around the table. Her smile widened upon seeing the various designs his artistic nature had crafted.

  Aaron glanced up as she entered the room, and his features softened when he saw her improved appearance.

  Meeting his gaze shyly, Ashley blushed as his eyes skimmed over her. She found herself wondering if he was involved with a woman, and was startled by the sharp pang of jealousy the disturbing thought brought.

  Rachel patted the back of the chair opposite Aaron. “Sit here, Mistress Wheeler.”

  “Please, call me Ashley,” she murmured as she slid into the seat and prepared to look as unobtrusive as possible.

  “Ashley? What a lovely name! Were you named after your mother?”

  “No, Mom just heard the name in a movie once and liked it.”

  Rachel’s smile wavered ever so slightly. “A movie?”

  “Yes, it’s….” Ashley lowered her gaze to her plate. “It’s not important.”

  Rachel returned to the kitchen for a pan of journey cakes as if it didn’t matter to her that Ashley-what-a-lovely-name was a demented British spy.

  Folding her hands on her lap, Ashley let her gaze roam hungrily over the burdened table. The scent of sizzling mutton roast and boiled potatoes reminded her of how long it had been since she’d had a decent meal. The thick slices of cornbread and freshly churned butter were like ambrosia to her growling stomach.

  Rachel took her seat, and Paul motioned for the children to quiet down.

  The noise died away, and Paul turned to Aaron and said, “It is good to have friends share our meal. We shall pray.”

  After joining hands, Paul said the prayer, asking the Lord to watch over them, particularly in the perilous days ahead.

  When the prayer was finished, Ashley saw Rachel squeeze Paul’s hand lovingly.

  Bedlam broke loose as the adults’ plates were filled, then the children’s, and everyone turned their attention to the business of eating.

  Once her initial hunger was satisfied, Ashley began to pay more attention to what was going on around her.

  Turning to the small child seated next to her, Ashley smiled. “And what’s your name?”

  The boy lifted his fork, took careful aim, and let loose. A piece of hominy came sailing through the air and hit Ashley in the middle of the forehead.

  “Joshua! Stop playing with your food. Mary, see to your brother,” Rachel reprimanded sharply.

  “Yes, Mama.” Mary reached over and spooned a large gob of potatoes into the boy’s mouth.

  Discreetly wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, Ashley turned her attention to the friendly bickering going on between Paul and Aaron. Judging by their amicable banter, they had been good friends for a long time.

  “Ah, we’ll beat these Britishers as quickly as we whipped the French,” Paul joked as he buttered his third piece of journey cake.

  Rachel shook her head, an indulgent smile playing across her features as she passed the meat platter to Aaron. “Pay no heed to him, Aaron. You know how he prattles.”

  Aaron laughed, and Ashley decided she liked the sound. It was deep and masculine and sent little shivers fluttering through her. He was so powerfully attractive that she found herself just staring at him.

  “But I agree, Rachel. It only took seventy years to send the French back home. We should turn the British back in a good deal less time.”

  Paul good-naturedly joined in Rachel and Aaron’s laughter.

  Ashley forked another potato, smiling as she silently shared their lighthearted banter. The struggle between England and France in the New World had begun in 1690, lasted through four colonial wars, ending with the French and Indian Wars.

  “Of course,” Paul said. “It ended because they heard I was prepared to join the fray.” He laughed heartily, recalling his youthful years. “When news spread that French soldiers along with the Indians were attacking the borders of the colonies, I clapped my hat on my head and set off in search of excitement. Being twenty-one, I was prepared to defend Fort William Henry single-handed, if necessary. But alas, I spent the summer sitting around, cleaning my rifle, polishing my sword, and swatting flies! There were thousands of flies at Lake George the summer of fifty-six!”

  Aaron laughed. “And it still took seven years for the French to realize the danger they were in!”

  “Well, think how long the skirmish would have lagged on had I not determined to go!”

  The men shared another laugh, and everyone at the table joined in as if something funny indeed had just transpired.

  “Ah, ’twas a wonderful time,” Paul recalled, his face alight with memories as he reached for the mug of white wine Rachel was pouring.

  Ashley felt a sense of near envy as she listened to the companionable bantering. For the first time in her life, she saw how nice it would be to have a large, warm family like this one to come home to every night.

  By the time the meal was finished, Ashley’s head was nodding.

  “We must go.” Aaron’s voice came to her through a drowsy mist. “She grows exceedingly weary.”

  Laying her hand on Aaron’s shoulder, Rachel said softly, “You must treat her kindly, even though you suspect the worse
.”

  “Rachel, have you ever known me not to treat a woman kindly?” Aaron rebuked.

  Rachel took an affectionate swat at him. “I have known you to be the worst of scoundrels, Aaron Kenneman. Now see that you treat this lovely creature with respect!”

  Aaron turned to gaze at Ashley, whose head by now had nearly fallen to her empty plate.

  “I will treat her kindly,” he conceded.

  Stirring, Ashley murmured, “Thank you for the wonderful meal and for lending me a clean dress, Rachel.” Ashley thrust her hand blindly into her bag, fumbling for the object she wanted. “I’d like you to have this.” She extended her blue Cover Girl compact to Paul’s wife.

  “Oh, ’tis too much,” Rachel cried, her eyes growing wide at the lovely offering.

  Lifting her head, Ashley smiled sleepily. “Let me show you how it works.” She snapped open the lid, displaying the small mirror and pressed powder. “See? You carry it with you to powder your nose. It isn’t much, but you’ve been so nice…”

  While Rachel oohed and ahhed, the children’s eyes sparkled with delight as they gathered around their mother to view the fancy gift.

  “By jove, ’tis a striking trinket!” Paul vowed as he perused the offering that could be found at any twenty-first century discount store for $5.79.

  And “by jove,” it wasn’t bad for a spur-of-the-moment gift, Ashley realized when she saw the way Rachel’s face gleamed for having received such a wondrous token.

  And Ashley was only too happy to be able to give it to Rachel Revere. It was a minuscule repayment for a lovely dinner, unflagging kindness, and a gloriously clean dress.

  Chapter Seven

  The ride back to the Black Goat was bone chilling, the night dark and cold with a threat of rain in the air. Ashley’s teeth were chattering by the time they reached the inn even though Aaron had stopped halfway back to insist that she wear his coat.

  The tavern was filled with the usual rowdies as Aaron and Ashley threaded their way through the smoky room.

  “Aye, gov’nor! You’ve not had your fill of the doxy?” one man jested loudly.

  “Back again, aye, Doc?”

  Aaron smiled, waving away the men’s ribald comments. He moved Ashley determinedly toward the narrow staircase.

  “And a fine hello to you, too.” Ashley muttered beneath her breath.

  Aaron rested his hand on the small of her back as they climbed the steps. The room they were sharing was even smaller than Ashley remembered. The bed seemed to dominate the room tonight. The more she was with Kenneman, the more acutely aware she was of what an alluring man he was. If circumstances were different, she might find him extremely desirable.

  After closing the door, Aaron tossed the key on the dresser. Ashley walked to the rocker and sat down, her eyes drifting shut with fatigue as he struck a flint to the linen wick lying in the shallow, metal, grease-filled dish. She was so tired her hair hurt. She was desperate for sleep, yet she couldn’t bear the thought of spending another night in the chair.

  “Has anyone decided what they’re going to do with me?” She pulled the clip from her hair, then ran her fingers over her scalp, basking in the relief the motion provided.

  When Aaron didn’t answer, she opened her eyes to confront him. “Well?”

  He had seated himself on the bed and was beginning to remove his boots. She could see that he planned to ignore the question.

  “Are we going to play let’s not answer Ashley again?”

  After tossing the second boot aside, he reached inside his coat pocket for a smoke. “It has been decided.”

  She sat up straighten “It has?” Her pulse quickened. “When?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “At the Green Dragon?”

  “Yes.”

  Ashley wasn’t aware that the men had discussed her plight. She thought they had been talking about the British again. Her eyes narrowed. Oh, they were so sneaky. She thought she had heard everything they’d said, but apparently she hadn’t.

  “What are they going to do with me?”

  Her heart was hammering now. Had they decided to hang her? Or worse, were they going to subject her to a ducking stool where passersby could throw objects or insults at her? She glanced at Aaron. No, he wouldn’t permit them to do that to her—would he?

  “It is nothing for you to be concerned about,” he said quietly.

  “Nothing for me to be concerned about!” Ashley scrambled to her feet and began pacing. Nothing for her to be concerned about! “What are you planning to do with me?”

  “Wring your troublesome neck like a Sunday chicken.” Aaron stood up and moved to the window, trying to cover his amusement. She had been a disreputable looking sight when Warren had rescued her from the jail. Laughable, actually, if she hadn’t been so ill. Dirty, pale from the dose of puke, the spunk had been momentarily taken out of her. But she had quickly regained her spirit. He would have to watch her even more closely or she would be sure to attempt another ill-advised escape.

  His features sobered as he stared down on the darkened street. His orders were to return Ashley Wheeler to Gage at first light, in any form he deemed suitable. The muscle in his jaw pulsed as he thought about the responsibility he’d been assigned. He could kill her swiftly— which could prove to be messy and not particularly to his liking—or he could return her to Gage unharmed but knowing she knew more than she should about the colonists’ plan to thwart the British. The choice, as well as the consequences of error, would be solely his. He frowned, knowing that he had already made his choice. He would see that no harm came to her.

  Ashley suddenly stopped pacing and turned to face him. “I demand to know what you plan to do.”

  Aaron walked to the table, lifted the betty lamp, and lit his smoke.

  “Are you going to…kill me?” she asked softly.

  His eyes met hers. “You are not to concern yourself with fate. Whatever my plans, you cannot alter them.” There it was again, that strange irrepressible urge to protect her when she looked at him with her innocent, wide eyes. Forget her, Kenneman. The matter is out of your hands.

  Sinking back onto the chair, Ashley swallowed the lump of fear crowding her throat, her mind churning. If she was to be done away with, it would have to be soon. Paul Revere was fated to make his famous ride the following night.

  Seeing her distress, Aaron rested his hand on her shoulder. “Sleep, little one.”

  Ashley stood and moved woodenly toward the bed. If this was to be her last night, she planned to spend it sleeping in a real bed. After throwing back the coverlet, she crawled wearily between the rough sheets. “You might as well sleep with me,” she offered quietly.

  Aaron’s hand paused on the way to his mouth for another draw off his smoke.

  Drawing the pillow over her head, Ashley wondered if she should have phrased the offer differently. She wasn’t inviting him to “sleep with her,” only to share the bed. There was no reason for both of them to lose another night’s sleep. The way it sounded, they would both need their strength come morning.

  Aaron was annoyed to see his hand begin to shake. Was she actually inviting him to her bed? He couldn’t go—he couldn’t sleep with a spy.

  He turned to stare out of the window again.

  “Are you coming to bed?”

  He stiffened as her muffled voice penetrated his thoughts. “Not now.”

  “You’d better, it’s getting very late.”

  Then again, he thought, who would know if he momentarily succumbed to her charm? Perhaps on the morrow he could take her to the Anglican clergy and entrust her to their safekeeping until he could best decide her fate. Once there, she would be out of the way, properly provided for, and he could be assured that she would not be carrying information back to Gage.

  His gaze traveled back to her shapely form lying beneath the blanket. No reasonable man would condemn him for so small and meaningless a lapse of discretion, so why not seize the opportunity to pass
the hours until dawn in a most pleasurable diversion?

  Half asleep, Ashley felt the straw ticking move a moment later as Aaron eased between the sheets beside her.

  “Don’t take your half out of the middle,” she murmured drowsily.

  “What?”

  “Don’t hog the middle of the bed.”

  Aaron lay back, frowning. Hog the middle of the bed? Was she now implying that he was a swine? She was a puzzling wench! He settled beneath the blanket, patiently waiting for her to make the first advance. Since she had suggested the romp, he would let her seize the initiative.

  When several minutes had passed and the expected overture failed to materialize, he edged closer.

  Ashley’s eyes opened slowly as she felt his arm circle her.

  “You are a winsome noodle,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. “Your invitation was unexpected, but I concede it will be a most pleasant diversion,” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck.

  Sitting up, she slapped him hard.

  Stunned, he moved his hand to his cheek as he sat up and glared back at her. “What was that for?”

  “I’m trying to sleep.”

  “But…you invited me into the bed,” he accused.

  “To sleep, not to fool around!”

  “Fool around?” Aaron was not acquainted with the strange parlance. “What does this expression, ‘fool around,’ mean?”

  “It means you struck out. Now, if you want to live until morning—” Ashley dropped back onto the pillow and jerked the blanket tightly back in place, “—stay on your own side.”

  “’Twould be a pleasure!” He snatched the blanket to him as he rolled to his side. ‘Twas a rare time Aaron Kenneman “struck out.” Whatever that meant.

  She yanked the blanket back.

  He grabbed it away again.

  Exasperated, she hauled it back and rolled into it.

  The room grew quiet as the two surly inhabitants of the bed tried to sleep. An hour passed, a restless hour spent tossing and turning.

  “Aaron?”

  Aaron tensed as her voice broke into his semiconscious state. “What?”

  “Do you have someone you care about?” Ashley knew a man as attractive as Aaron Kenneman must have someone he cared about, who cared about him. Yet somehow she hoped he wasn’t involved. If he said he was, she would feel oddly betrayed somehow, and that she knew was ridiculous. “A girlfriend?”