Come Be My Love

by Patricia Watters

  "That's what you think," Charlotte said, eyes fixed straight ahead.

  Elizabeth froze. "Oh... my… goodness! He's here!"

  Sarah gazed in the distance and saw a man approaching, his long strides quickly closing the gap between them. From the look on his anger-reddened face, she knew he was anything but amused by his wife's display. "Now don't let him bully you," she told Elizabeth as Charles Thurman drew closer. "Just stand your ground."

  "Stand my ground! He's furious!"

  "That may be," Sarah said, "but you have a perfect right to dress as you wish, without your husband's approval. And you must let him know that he simply cannot dictate your fashion." Seeing the scowl on Charles Thurman's face, Sarah wasn't sure she was giving Elizabeth the best advice, but then, Elizabeth must learn to stand up to her husband.

  Elizabeth drew in an anxious breath. "All right. I'll try." Sucking in a long breath, she stepped from the group and said, "Charles, I can explain—"

  "You can get the hell out of here, that's what you can do!" Charles said, taut cords standing out in his neck. He reached for her arm, but Elizabeth shook his hand away and moved to stand between Flora and Sarah. "I'm sorry you feel this way," she said, her voice faltering, "but the fact is, I intend to stay at the picnic with my friends."

  "Not in those, you won't!" Charles said.

  Elizabeth raised her chin. "You cannot dictate my fashion, Charles. I'm a grown woman, and if I choose to wear a bloomer costume, that's exactly what I shall do."

  "Like hell you will!"

  "Please lower your voice. You're creating a scene."

  "Good! Now either come with me quietly, or I'll bodily carry you off."

  "Attaway, Thurman!" a man called from the crowd that was quickly closing in around them. “Put her in her place or she’ll have you parading around in them things.”

  Guffaws of laughter rose from the crowd.

  Charles Thurman looked around at the hecklers. Grabbing Elizabeth's arm, he tugged her away. "When we get home, I'll personally rip those clothes off you."

  "What are you gonna to do then, Thurman?" another voice shouted. "She's the one wearing the pants now."

  "He'd better show her while he still can who's the man in the family," someone else called. "Looks like she needs a little taming."

  Charles Thurman said nothing, but Sarah had an uneasy feeling that once home, he'd indeed show Elizabeth who was the man in the house. She didn't think Charles Thurman had ever beaten his wife, so she assumed he'd assert his masculinity in the only other way she could imagine. For an instant, she had an image of Jon ripping off her bloomer costume and asserting himself in that way. In her fantasy, she visualized her naked back and Jon's naked front, but she had trouble filling in the details. She'd never seen a naked man before.

  "Flora!"

  "Charlotte!"

  Sarah turned abruptly to find two angry men pressing through the crowd, and from the panicked looks on the faces of Flora and Charlotte, she felt reasonably certain that Jeremy Pickering and Ned Potts had just arrived on the scene....

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jon chewed the cracker with goose paté that Mary Letitia stuffed into his mouth, all the while scanning the crowd for Sarah. He'd seen Mandi, and she'd assured him that Sarah planned to come to the picnic, but as yet, Sarah had not made her appearance. He wanted to apologize for his behavior on the beach. He'd set out to court her properly, and do it with gentleness and understanding, mindful of the faithless bastards in her life, and instead he'd behaved like a first-rate ass. If she never spoke to him again, it was no less than he deserved...

  "...like the salmon paté better, Jon?" Mary Letitia's voice seemed far away as Jon focused on a small group of women dressed in bloomer costumes, a group that appeared to be causing quite a disturbance, at least one of them seemed to be having a problem with her escort. He had her by the arm and was dragging her from the group.

  "Jon!" His mother's voice was quite close.

  He blinked and looked at her. "Yes?"

  "Mary Letitia just asked you a question."

  Jon looked at Mary Letitia, who batted her long lashes as she repeated, "The goose paté... It is your favorite, isn't it? Or did you like the salmon paté better?"

  Jon shifted his gaze to the group of women again. "Well... yes, I suppose."

  "You suppose what?" Mary Letitia sounded annoyed.

  Jon caught a flash of lilac—lilac bloomer costume, lilac bonnet, lilac and lace parasol. There was no question who it was. "I suppose you're right," he said distractedly. Ever since their steamy encounter on the beach, Sarah's face had mocked him daily. He longed to feel her arms about his neck, and her lips pressed to his, and her body warm and yielding in his arms...

  "Jon!" Mary Letitia said, exasperated. "You’re making no sense. I asked you a question.”

  He met Mary Letitia's smoldering gaze. "You did?"

  "Honestly, you are simply not here with us." She pursed her lips, and when Jon said nothing, she sighed. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, but I had hoped we could spend some time together enjoying the day, visiting and talking."

  Jon eyed her dubiously. "Talking about what?"

  Dorothy stamped her small booted foot. "You are being ungracious and rude to Mary Letitia," she said. "She has packed a lovely picnic especially for you, she has set aside this day from her busy social schedule to spend it with you, and you are being absolutely insufferable."

  "I'm sorry," Jon said, his gaze shifting back to Sarah and the two remaining women, whom he now recognized as Flora Pickering and Charlotte Potts. He also noted that Jeremy Pickering and Ned Potts had appeared on the scene and were dragging Flora and Charlotte away.

  "Sorry isn't enough," Dorothy said. "You owe Mary Letitia the courtesy of a response."

  "It really doesn't matter," Mary Letitia said, giving Jon's mother a tight smile. "Why don't we just find a nice quiet place off to ourselves and have lunch... Jon?"

  Jon noticed that Sarah seemed to be having trouble with a group of men who appeared to be teasing her mercilessly. One had her bonnet perched on his head, another was prancing around with her parasol over his shoulder, and several others were jousting among themselves, perhaps not completely in humor. From the looks of it, things could get nasty.

  "Excuse me, Mary Letitia... Mother," he said, breaking from the group. Ignoring his mother's gasp of outrage and Mary Letitia's lamentable appeal, he strode toward the crowd.

  As he closed the distance between him and the group surrounding Sarah, he saw Amor de Cosmos leaning against a tree, looking on in amusement. Beyond de Cosmos, Mayor Harris, Sheriff George Heaton, and Israel Needham—one of the members of the city council—were approaching from the opposite direction. Sheriff Heaton arrived first on the scene. He rapped the brawling men across their backs with his Billy club, halting what promised to be the start of a sizable skirmish. "Break it up, gentlemen. The fun's over. Give the lady back her things."

  The men handed Sarah her bonnet and parasol, then stepped back, leaving her to face Sheriff Heaton, Mayor Harris, and Israel Needham. Sarah settled her bonnet on her head and snapped shut her parasol. Then she tightened her lips and waited.

  George Heaton tucked his Billy under his arm and assumed a surly stance. "I could arrest you, young lady," he said, eyeing her bloomer costume with obvious disapproval.

  "Arrest me on what charge?" Sarah asked.

  "Inciting a disturbance."

  Jon stepped out of view. Knowing that Sarah was in no danger now, he decided to watch and see how she'd talk her way out of her predicament. She seemed to be adept at that sort of thing. And he didn't imagine she'd want him waltzing in and rescuing her, being the independent woman she fancied herself to be...

  "Me inciting a disturbance!" she exclaimed. "I was merely walking across the green with my friends, tending my own business, when those ruffians accosted us. We did nothing to precipitate their callow behavior or immature actions."

  "But you did have the cho
ice of turning around and leaving the area," Heaton said. "You had been given a clear warning by their actions that things could get out of hand."

  Sarah glared at the sheriff. "In other words, I am expected either to submit to degradation and leave the scene, or carry the burden for the actions of a group of infantile men. That is most typical of the times."

  "Miss Ashley," Israel Needham said, "Sheriff Heaton could also arrest you for selling your garments from Wellington Brown's store without a business license."

  "If you're referring to the bloomer costumes Mrs. Potts, Mrs. Thurman, and Mrs. Pickering were wearing," she said, her voice rising with ire, "I did not sell them. I gave them away."

  "How do we know that?"

  "You don't. But that's the way it is."

  "I don't believe you, nor, I imagine, do any of the other men here."

  Sarah's eyes sharpened and her lips pinched tight with resentment. Scanning the faces of the men, she leveled her gaze on Sheriff Heaton, and said, "By not possessing the vote, I, as a woman, have little influence over you male politicians, so I must submit to laws from which I have no redress." She held out her hands for the handcuffs. "So arrest me."

  While the sheriff stared at Sarah's outstretched hands, seeming at a loss what to do, a man bellowed, "Go ahead and arrest her, Heaton. Then maybe our women will settle down again."

  "That's right," yelled another man. "If she's not stopped, our women will be paradin' around in our trousers, makin' us do the cookin' and cleanin'."

  "Yeah, Heaton! Arrest her!"

  The crowd began to push and shove, pressing ever closer. Sheriff Heaton raised his Billy and whirled it about his head. "Here, here, gentlemen," he yelled. "Let's just settle down." But the crowd ignored him. Then one man took a jab at another, and before long, Sarah stood in the middle of a circle edged by brawling, pugnacious men. Seeing Sarah's plight, Jon shoved his way past the onlookers to where two men seemed determined to beat the living daylights out of each other at Sarah's feet. He grabbed one man by the arm and the seat of his pants and hurled him out the way, then pulled the other from the ground by his lapels and shoved him aside. Taking Sarah by the arm, he said, "Come on."

  Sarah jerked her arm loose. "I will not!"

  "What do you mean you will not?"

  Sarah lifted her chin a notch. "Exactly what I said. I refuse to go with you, and I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

  Jon took her arm again, this time more firmly. "You're more capable of making a fool of yourself. You just about got yourself thrown in jail."

  Sarah tugged against his firm grip. "That's my business, not yours. You have no right to continually interfere in my life."

  "Someone had better interfere," Jon said, dragging her through a crowd that parted for them to pass. "If you had any sense you'd pack away that ridiculous outfit and let the moths have it."

  Sarah took a deep, gasping breath. "Ridiculous outfit!"

  "Yes! Ridiculous outfit! It makes you look like a clown." Jon tugged her, struggling and stumbling against his grip, toward his coach.

  Sarah attempted to shake off his hand but couldn't. Glaring at him, she said, "I suppose I should dress more like Mary Letitia!"

  "That might be a start!"

  "If she's so perfect, then why aren't you with her?" Sarah quipped.

  "Because I’d rather be with you," Jon said, "but for the life of me I don’t know why."

  "Nor do I. And would you please release my arm."

  "Not until I have safely escorted you to my carriage and taken you away from here."

  As he ushered her toward the coach, Amor De Cosmos intercepted them, tipped his hat to Sarah and said, "Miss Ashley, it's nice to see you again. I hope my editorial was helpful."

  In spite of Jon's grip on her arm, Sarah managed a gracious smile. "Yes, thank you, Mr. De Cosmos. It was very helpful."

  Jon tugged her away from him. "Beat it, De Cosmos."

  De Cosmos ignored Jon and fell into step beside Sarah. Peering around Sarah, he said to Jon, "Tell me, Governor Cromwell, have you changed your views on confederation? Have you even given it any thought in the past few weeks?"

  "Get the hell out of here, De Cosmos."

  "May I quote you on that?"

  "Only if you want that pretty mustache shoved up your nose. Now get out of here before I lose my temper and forget I'm a gentleman."

  "You're not a gentleman,” De Cosmos said. "Actually, you're little more than a somewhat civilized savage. However, I believe I have enough for my next editorial." He looked at Sarah. "Oh... and by the way, Miss Ashley. Your brothers stopped by my office. Nice chaps."

  Sarah gave him a rueful smile. "No, Mr. De Cosmos, my stepbrothers are not nice chaps. They are a couple of boorish charlatans, as you will undoubtedly learn very soon. But perhaps they'll be of some use to you. Good day."

  "Good day, Miss Ashley. Governor." De Cosmos stopped walking, and Jon and Sarah continued on.

  Jon kept his eyes straight ahead. "You didn't tell me your stepbrothers were still here."

  "I only just found out."

  "Then I'll do something about it."

  "No! And I'll thank you to leave me alone. It's because of you and... what happened on the beach, that they have more mud to sling."

  "Nothing happened on the beach."

  "Maybe not from your single-minded viewpoint."

  "We'll talk about that later."

  "No... we won't!" Sarah said, her heart pounding in hammer like thumps.

  Jon said nothing but continued to tug Sarah toward his coach. Across the road, a group of young women gathered near Jon's coach. With enthusiasm, they cheered something or someone hidden from view. Jon eyed the young women with concern. "What the devil is going on?"

  As they approached, a female voice delivered a stirring oration from behind the coach: "We are not senseless, weak-minded creatures without opinions of our own," the voice rose with fervor. "We are man's equal, not his slave. So we must go forth with confidence and meet obstacles with courage..."

  Blood rushed from Sarah's face, and her voice caught in her throat when she realized who the speaker was. As they rounded the coach, she spotted Josephine, still wearing her bloomer costume and gesticulating from atop the stump of an ancient red cedar, about the same instant Jon did. Jon sucked in a sharp breath and bellowed, "Josephine! Get in the coach at once!"

  Josephine looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. "Papa!" Standing rigid, she faced her father and said in a contrite voice, "I was only telling Nettie and Glory and Annie and the others about my bloomer costume. No one else saw me."

  "And no one will, is that clear?"

  "Yes, Papa."

  Jon turned to Peterson. "Take her home at once, Peterson, and return here to collect the others. I suspect that very shortly Lady Cromwell will want to return to her quarters." He turned to Josephine. "And you, young lady, are to go directly to your room and stay there until I get home, is that clear?"

  "Yes, Papa." Obediently, Josephine jumped down from her stump and climbed into the coach. As the vehicle pulled away, she peered out the window and waved to her friends. The consternation Sarah had seen on her face moments before had been quickly replaced with a sanguine smile, and Sarah had the uncomfortable feeling that Jon had not had the last word with his headstrong, independent daughter.

  Jon nudged Sarah into the phaeton and she sat stiffly while he climbed up beside her and took the reins. He gave the command, and when the big bay bolted forward, he said, in a firm voice, "I'll thank you to stop filling Josephine's head with such nonsense as wearing bloomers and touting women's rights."

  Sarah saw the sullen resentment in his face. "I never encouraged Josephine to wear bloomers to the picnic. That was solely her idea."

  "But you bloody well gave her the idea, and the bloomers."

  "I gave her the bloomers, not the idea to wear them to the picnic. She managed that on her own. And I gave her the bloomers with the stipulation that she would not wear th
em unless she had your approval, which she obviously has not received. She's a very independent young woman, in case you haven't noticed."

  "Too damned independent."

  Sarah rested smoldering eyes on Jon's firm profile. "I should think that you, being the father of two daughters, would be more concerned for their plight. With present-day laws, they're compelled to be solely dependent on men."

  Jon snapped the whip, driving the horse to a faster clip. "They'll be dependent on men of my choosing. I assure you, my daughters will be treated with the utmost respect and kindness by their husbands, or the men will have me to deal with. But if Josephine persists in following your path, no man will have her."

  "Then, according to you," Sarah said in a tight voice, "if a woman aspires to anything greater than tending a house, dressing as her husband dictates, and devoting herself totally to his wants and needs, she's not even deserving of a husband."

  "That would be a start!"

  Sarah clamped her mouth shut and glowered at Jon. The man was intolerable. His words an outright insult. Feeling her anger rising, she said, "Just because a woman chooses to have a mind of her own, you consider her unworthy of a husband. Well, maybe you deserve a simpering little fool like Mary Letitia Windemere with her highborn airs and her shallow demeanor."

  Jon turned the phaeton into the lane to Sarah's cottage. "Who's talking about Mary Letitia?"

  "She seems to have been occupying your time of late," Sarah said.

  "I've spent more time trying to avoid her," Jon shot back, pulling alongside the cottage.

  "Your mother seems to approve of her," Sarah said, somewhat incongruously, distracted by the fact that Jon had pulled into her driveway instead of parking the buggy out front.

  He eyed her steadily. "My mother will not select my next wife, should I be that fool again."

  Sarah digested that comment. "You object to your mother selecting your wife, yet you insist on choosing your daughters' husbands. Isn't that a bit inconsistent?"

  "I know what's best for my daughters. They don't."