Come Be My Love

by Patricia Watters

  "Even if it means sleeping in the mud under this wagon, I refuse to stay in that house another night," Sarah said.

  Mandi sighed. "Well, at least we got away before the newspaper came out. Ah 'spect that's worth somethin'."

  The horses began straining and seesawing, and the more they pulled against each other, the deeper the wagon sank, until at last, mud up to the hubs, the wagon tilted at an uncertain angle.

  Feeling herself slipping sideways on the box, Sarah drew in a sharp startled breath. "Quick! Jump off before we topple over," she yelled, struggling to hold her balance as the wagon settled further. Gathering her cloak, she started to climb down, but, losing her footing, slid off and fell into the mud. Moments later, Mandi collapsed beside her. Grabbing Mandi's arm, Sarah dragged her from under the dangerously listing wagon. Mortified as the realization of what had happened gradually took hold, Sarah began to weigh her options. She couldn't leave the rig settled at such an angle with the horses still hitched, but she wasn't sure she could unhitch them either.

  "What are we goin' to do?" Mandi asked, her voice weak.

  "I suppose we'd better try to back the horses so we can get the wagon out of these deep ruts," Sarah replied, "then we’ll try to turn it around without tipping it over." Mud oozing into her boots, she trudged over and took the horses by their bridles then began urging them backward. The horses tossed their heads, jerking on the leathers, and began backing up. But instead of pushing the wagon out of the ruts, the horses balked and reared. Sarah jumped out of the way.

  Hopelessly viewing her situation, and knowing she mustn't chance spooking the horses and toppling the wagon, Sarah realized she had no choice but to send for help, which also meant facing Jon. "Doggonit!" Looking into Mandi's wide eyes, she said, "Go fetch Peterson and have him bring along a couple of stablemen and some horses to pull us out."

  Mandi closed herself in her muddy cloak. "Then we’s goin' back to the guv'nor's house?"

  Sarah peered through the unceasing rain at the vague outline of Jon's house, furious at the thought of having to face him looking as she did and allowing him to remind her how right he'd been. But she had little choice. "I suppose we'll have to," she said in a weary voice, wondering why every plan she’d formulated had gone awry. Was this some kind of punishment for daring to stray from convention?

  "You sho' you'll be all right?" Mandi asked.

  "I will if the horses stay calm and the wagon remains upright," Sarah replied. "So hurry."

  While Mandi trudged down the road toward the house, Sarah talked softly to the skittish horses. Gooseflesh rose on her arms, and her muscles felt cold and stiff. Beyond rectifying her current predicament and facing Jon, all she could think of was a warm bath and a hot drink.

  Twenty minutes later, Peterson returned with two stablemen, each leading a stocky dray horse. Peterson took one look at the wagon and said to Sarah, "Ye've done a right good job o' boggin' her down, mum. Now it's best ye get back to the house and get yerself warm. Jess and Tooley and I will see to unhookin' the pair and pullin' the wagon out. And we’ll bed down the horses in the stables and park the wagon there too.”

  “Thank you, Peterson," Sarah said. “And if it won’t be too much trouble, would you please see that the high-topped trunk just behind the seat is returned to my bedroom.”

  Peterson gave a weary sigh. "Yes, mum."

  Pulling her drenched hood over her head and clasping her cloak around herself, Sarah slogged through ankle-deep mud, her boots squelching with each step as she made her way back to the house. Although she was soaked through, when she climbed the porch steps fifteen minutes later and was met by Jon at the door, her mouth felt so dry she could barely swallow.

  For a few moments, Jon said nothing, but simply stood inspecting her. Then his mouth quirked in an ironic smile. "Ah, a little mudlark at my doorstep," he said. "What are you selling, miss? Nails? Wood? Perhaps a few spots of coal?"

  Sarah bristled at his jest. Knowing there was nothing to do now but go through the motions of redeeming a situation that was already beyond redemption, and hoping the tears of chagrin gathering in her eyes wouldn't brim over and slide down her cheeks, she replied, "I suppose you're pleased. Not only am I trapped here for the night, but you have the satisfaction of knowing that you were right, and I was wrong."

  Jon pulled a limp tress of wet hair from her face and brushed a smudge of mud from her cheek. "On the contrary, I'm not pleased at all," he said. "I fear you'll catch your death from exposure. However, a hot bath is prepared in the upstairs bathroom, a warm comforter is waiting on your bed, and Ida is at this moment fetching for you a tray with soup and toast and hot buttered rum."

  "You were pretty darn sure we wouldn't make it, weren't you?" Sarah hissed.

  Jon merely smiled.

  After removing her boots on the porch, Sarah lifted her skirts and traipsed up the stairs, anxious to shed her soggy clothes, take the hot bath prepared for her, and remain in her room until morning. On the slender chance that the newspaper with the caustic editorial would not be released for another day, she allowed herself the luxury of optimism.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Glancing out the window later that afternoon, Sarah saw two men ride furiously up to the house, reining their horses to an abrupt, mud-splattering halt. A knot twisted in her stomach. "I don't know who these men are," she said to Mandi, "but I suspect they've come with the news."

  Mandi stepped to the window. "Ah 'spect you's right. That big fat bald one's Mayor Harris, and the other one's Attorney General Cary from the governor's office."

  Sarah looked at Mandi with a start. "How do you know that?"

  Mandi shrugged. "Ida pointed them out when we was in town. They's always together."

  Sarah looked from the mayor, an immense man sporting a beard with silver streaks, to the attorney general, a small man with pale brows and a wispy beard, and wished she could slip away from the house without being seen. That being impossible, she stepped to the bedroom door, opened it slightly and listened. Jon greeted the men at the front door. After a few moments of subdued but excited chatter, the talking stopped and all was quite. Then Jon's voice echoed through the house, "City fathers favor brothels! What the hell is De Cosmos about this time?"

  "You'd better keep reading," Mayor Harris said. "Not only has the editorial challenged your integrity and worthiness as governor, as well as the qualifications of the rest of us, but it will cause strong dissent among the citizens. Word is, the Ashley woman plans to hire only women to work in her business. The men fear she'll be a bad influence on their wives and that she'll lure their daughters away from marriage."

  Jon focused on the editorial, his face growing hot as he silently read: Several unjust legal enactments have come down from our semi-barbarous city council, the most recent being the licensing of houses of prostitution as dance halls and, now the denial of business licenses to honest citizens... "If prostitutes are allowed to practice their trade in our fair city,'" Jon continued aloud, "'certainly one decent, enterprising young woman should be allowed to practice her trade as well.'" He slapped the newspaper against his palm, and a separate sheet fluttered to the floor. "What the devil is this?" He retrieved the paper.

  "It's a handbill," Harris replied.

  "I can see that," Jon snapped, "but what's it doing in The Colonist?”

  Harris shrugged. "It seems De Cosmos included one in every copy of the newspaper. It contains quite a bit of propaganda."

  Jon turned his attention to the one-page handbill and briefly scanned the fashion plate of two bloomer-clad women, then read words he recognized as purely and unequivocally, Sarah's: A woman should not burden herself with clothes to the detriment of her health, comfort, and life. Her dress should be compatible with her needs and suited to her wants and necessities, which are individual, and not something dictated by man or church...

  Harris smoothed his mustache and stroked his beard. "It has caused quite a stir among the ladies," he said. "Some are even
in favor of the preposterous garments.”

  "I'm surprised," Jon replied. "I thought our women more provident."

  "My thoughts too," Harris said. "But, as Mrs. Harris pointed out, the garments are more suited to tending household duties than house dresses. I'm afraid she too has expressed interest. Of course, I've discouraged her."

  Jon eyed the handbill, undecided whether to throw Sarah out of the house bodily or commend her for her marketing ingenuity.

  "You'd better read the other side," Harris said. "That's where the real problem rests."

  Jon flipped the handbill and read the block of print, which gave him clear, definitive insight into the woman he had intended to seduce into eager submission: With present-day laws, women are forced to be dependent on men. Universities and colleges deny entry to women, so there is little for a woman to do but sew and stitch, or teach for wages far below those of a man; nor can she practice law or hold public office. She can own property, yet she must pay taxes without representation. As it stands, all manner of men--drunkards, rowdies and immoral and ignorant men—have the right to vote, yet the same is denied sober, moral, righteous, and intelligent women of the community. We must band together and demand our rights, our right to reform our dress, to pursue our education, to seek our choice of employment, to acquire equality under law, and to obtain the elective franchise...

  Attorney General Cary gave Jon a hard-edged look. "It's this sort of thing that creates discord and starts revolts... women with their proclamations and indoctrinating, preaching ceaselessly until the established is put up for debate, the traditional becomes anomalous, and the system collapses under dissension."

  "He's right, Jon," Mayor Harris said. "The last thing we need at the moment is the Ashley woman stirring up the women here. Soon we'll be facing a mob of willful women dressed in breeches, demanding the same rights as men. Then we'll find wives leaving husbands and family and marching to rallies and holding conventions. It's happening in the States. The woman's an agitator and she's got to be stopped!"

  Jon felt the first wave of trouble brewing. Sarah's self-appointed crusade could create problems, especially if the men of Victoria took the position of Cary and Harris.

  Cary pulled a paper from his leather folder. "This just arrived and frankly, Jon, things aren't looking good right now, especially if this thing with the Ashley woman gets out of hand. We could end up facing a female rebellion, the type of thing that must not get back to the Crown."

  Jon took the paper Cary offered, noting at once the gold-embossed insignia of the royal government. A scowl knitted his brow as he read the dispatch informing him that the assistant to the colonial secretary would be arriving in less than two months to ascertain the state of the economy of both Victoria and New Westminster, evaluate the situation, and make a recommendation to the royal government regarding confederation. If union was indicated, he would also advise the Crown which city was better suited to become capital of the province, and which governor should head the expanded colony.

  Cary arched a brow. "De Cosmos jumped at the chance to use the incident with the Ashley woman not only to push for union, but for the removal of you and the rest of us from office. And calling us a council of cock-headed imperialists doesn't help much either."

  Mayor Harris dabbed the moist crown of his balding head with his handkerchief, shoved the wadded cloth back into his pocket, and said, "Maybe we should reconsider our objectives for the moment and let the woman have her license just to keep things quiet. I doubt if anyone will lease a store to her. Maybe then she'll decide to give the whole thing up and go back to the States."

  Jon returned the dispatch to Cary. "Things would be a damn sight quieter around here if she did," he said, wondering why fate had sent Sarah Ashley bursting into his life at this critical time. If not for the arrival of the Crown delegates and the impending threat of unification, she would not have been of any consequence in the colony, just more of an inconvenience. But the thought of her returning to the states troubled him. He glanced up the stairs in the direction of her room.

  Sarah closed the door. "Go back to the States!" she said to Mandi. "They'd like that, all of them. Well, we might be stranded in Jon's house for a day or two longer, but I refuse to let those days slip idly by. Maybe I have no license, and no one will lease a building to me, but if there is an interest in my garments as the mayor said, then I want to find a place where I can display them and start taking orders. And I think I shall start by talking to Mrs. Dewig-Gertz."

  "Who's she?"

  "Someone Josephine told me about, a lady who might be able to help us. And we'll start our search by calling on her tomorrow morning. For now, locate the governor's courier and have him deliver one of my calling cards to Mrs. Dewig-Gertz. Then notify Peterson to unload the footlocker with the bloomers and the small trunk with my walking dresses—"

  A sharp knock interrupted her. "Miss Ashley," Ida called through the door. "The governor says to come to his library at once."

  "Oh, he does, does he," Sarah said, nettled at what appeared to be more of a command than a request. "Then, by all means, please inform him that I shall be right there." Of course, she wouldn't be. Some women might jump to the snap of Jon's fingers, but she refused to be one of them. Deliberately procrastinating, she sat at the dressing table and fiddled with her hair, and dabbled with her cap, and trifled with the lace at her throat. His imperial highness could just sit on his lofty throne and wait, and brood, until she was ready to see him.

  ***

  Jon paced impatiently, irritated at being kept waiting. Sarah was a clever bit of baggage, he gave her that. To reverse her setback and use it to her advantage by appealing to Amor De Cosmos, the man who had the greatest power to skew and distort an issue, was a master stroke. One couldn't help but admire her pluck. Maybe Cary and Harris were right. Maybe she could stir his female population to the brink of insurrection, if not poise it on the razor's edge of civil disorder, which would place his cabinet in a dangerously vulnerable position politically. And now with De Cosmos on her side, primed for editorial attack, any further grievances from her, however incidental, and the integrity of his administration wouldn't be worth a tinker's damn.

  But despite the discord she was causing, he couldn't put her from his mind. He also realized, with some misgiving, that his feelings went deeper than simply lust for a beautiful woman. But he'd hold those feelings in check, not be the mooncalf he'd been with Caroline.

  As for Sarah moving to the cottage, the sooner the better. Staying here, she'd continue to bring chaos. As it was, Louella refused to come out of her room as long as Sarah remained in the house, Josephine was becoming increasingly headstrong and unmanageable, and his mother viewed Sarah's opinionated, unfeminine assertiveness as ill-bred and vulgar. He could only imagine her outrage on reading De Cosmos's editorial, and seeing Sarah's handbill.

  Hearing light, quick steps and the swish of skirts, he glanced around to see Sarah standing in the doorway, her coppery tresses tumbling about her shoulders. Dressed in a wrapper of indigo velvet, with white lace at her throat, and a white muslin breakfast cap trimmed with tucks and delicate embroidery, she looked soft and enticing, and exceedingly feminine. The sight of her made his blood thrum. Noting the firm line of her mouth and the sparks of indignation in her eyes, he realized she was ready for battle.

  She gave him a cool, crisp smile. "You summoned me, Your Excellency?"

  Vexed by her sarcasm, Jon replied, "You're damn right I summoned you. You could have let me know in advance that you planned to slip a knife between my shoulder blades. Do you have any idea what your recent visit to the newspaper has done?"

  Sarah batted her lashes in what Jon recognized as a carefully planned attack, and said, "Why no, but I'm anxious to find out. Unlike you and your political puppets, Mr. De Cosmos was willing to come to my assistance. Did his editorial help my cause?"

  "You know bloody well it did!" Jon slapped the paper on his desk. "It could also help tip
the fragile balance of the colony's economy!"

  "Tsk, tsk, tsk," Sarah clucked, shaking her head with feigned empathy. "How terribly worrisome that must be for you." She stepped around the desk and peered over his shoulder. "May I read what Mr. De Cosmos has written?"

  As she leaned close, Jon caught the warm woman-scent of her: the fresh aroma of soap and the sweet fragrance of lavender water. He shoved his chair back and stood. "By all means. Please be seated."

  Sarah lowered herself into the chair and picked up the copy of her handbill that had been included with the editorial. "What a novel idea," she said, perusing it with delight. "Why didn't I think of that? It should advance my advertising efforts significantly. Mr. De Cosmos is an absolute genius." She set the handbill aside and picked up the editorial and began silently reading. Then her mouth began to twitch, as if she were holding back a smile, and she said, "I'm sorry, but you have to admit that the image of a city council sporting rooster heads and gathered around a long table in that ridiculous-looking birdcage structure you call the legislature building is quite comical." She glanced up. "Really, Jon, you're making far too much of this," she said, parodying his words in the forest. "Why not consider it a learning experience? After all, as a man in a man's world, certainly you don't believe that one lone female could tip the fragile balance of the colony's economy?"

  Jon shot her a baleful glare. "You'd better enjoy a rollicking good laugh while you can," he said, "because you might not find things quite so humorous if the colonies unite and free trade goes by the wayside. Free trade, as you may not be aware, is the means of keeping trade in Victoria. The end of it would adversely affect all merchants."

  Sarah shrugged indifferently. "My being denied the right to trade, by the advocates of free trade, does not leave me worrying too terribly much about the state of affairs in Victoria," she replied. "Nor do I feel remorse over the editorial."