Emily's Vow

by Betty Bolte

  "I've decided to open an embroidery shop." The words tumbled from her mouth. Amy and Samantha stared, mouths dropping open at the announcement. Emily suppressed the nervous laugh that threatened. She twisted the tiny gold mourning ring on her right hand, silently asking Elizabeth for her understanding. She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "I do not want to be a wife and mother. Rather, I'll support myself and live the way I wish."

  Gasps expressed their surprise. Closing her mouth, Amy eased her cup onto the saucer and gazed at Emily before laughing. "You cannot be serious, Em. A spinster? You? You've always wanted a large family and a loving husband. You mustn't tease us this way."

  "I'm not joking. I do not wish to be owned by a man." Emily clenched her hands until they turned white at the knuckles. Not even by Frank, the man she once loved with all her heart. A quiver of remorse fluttered within her chest as she blinked back gathering tears.

  "Owned?" Samantha gazed steadily at her. "Come now, you do not believe such folly, surely. A husband is not a slave driver."

  "Pshaw. I've seen how men treat their wives." Emily dabbed her kerchief at the corner of her eyes. "How fathers give away their daughters with their dowry and little more than a kiss good-bye and good riddance. I'll not do it, I tell you."

  "I cannot believe what I'm hearing." Amy shook her head, rising from her seat and pacing past the carved mahogany bookcase filling one long wall. She stopped by a round table with its cut-glass decanters of maroon port and amber sherry and four glasses. Toying with the lace doily, she said, "You cannot believe your father would allow you to forgo marriage and children. You know he won't support you forever."

  "He won't have to," Emily said. "For once, Father must understand my position."

  "But Em, this is simply not done. You know this is impossible."

  "It should not be impossible. Can't you see? I cannot risk having children." Emily felt her heart contract in disappointment. She fiddled with the gold band, recalling her childhood dreams of robust sons and lovely, precocious daughters to help her and love her in her dotage. But no more.

  "All because of Elizabeth's death?" Samantha asked softly. She moved to stand near Emily and peered into her eyes. "Is that what you're afraid of?"

  Emily searched Samantha's eyes, willing her to understand. "First my mother and now my sister perished after birthing children." A tremor coursed through her. Her dear twin, Elizabeth. How she missed her happy chatter and caring ways. "Samantha, you as a midwife know even better than I do how many women die in childbirth. I dare not risk it."

  Amy paced the lavishly furnished room. Her homespun skirts brushed her ankles as she turned at each corner of the oriental carpet, avoiding the cushioned sofas and side chairs. "But, my dear, it's simply not permissible for ladies of our station to be shopkeepers. If I know Uncle Joshua, he will be furious once he hears of this ridiculous notion of yours."

  "Why is it ridiculous?" Emily drew herself up to her full height. "Other women have shops in town. The Widow Murray's bakery was one. Mrs. Dunwoody has that lovely fashion store over on Market. And, and..."

  She racked her brain for other examples, but few women desired to be independent. The coverture laws provided for wives to be supported throughout their lives. Unmarried women were merely a burden on the family, and thus encouraged or even required to marry to remove the burden and be a useful member of society. Indeed, most women wanted to be homemakers and care for their families. They only worked in shops when forced to take over their husband's business upon his death or face starvation. Raised themselves with the expectation of marriage, children, and household chores, many looked on spinsters as neglecting their duty to marry and perpetuate mankind. With a wry smile, Emily realized she used to be one of them. No more. With the death of Elizabeth, her opinion had changed.

  She snapped her fingers as more female merchants came to mind. "Mrs. Johnson sells candles and scented sachets over on Broad," Emily said. "Surely I can open a shop and sell decorated hats and gloves. My embroidery and weaving skills are both respected in town, so I shall make clothes and embellish handkerchiefs, satin shoes, even wedding dresses. I don't believe there is anything wrong with having a shop, after all. Women should have as much right as men to earn a living."

  "I don't entirely disagree with you, Emily. However, while women can help in the shops, only widows can inherit the shop from their husbands, not maidens. We cannot even own property until we're widows." Samantha laid a hand on Emily's rigid arm. "Relax, my dear. We're not criticizing."

  "No? It feels that way." Withdrawing from Samantha's touch, she strode to the fireplace. Thoughts cascaded through her mind, tumbling freely with rampant emotions into an intricate knot that settled in the pit of her stomach. Amy and Samantha wanted the best for her and spoke the truth about the difficult path ahead. The challenges and sacrifices she faced made her more determined to succeed.

  Amy crossed the room and sank gracefully onto the settee facing the fireplace. She arranged her skirts around her. The thump of Amy's hand on the needlepoint cushion invited Emily to join her. "Em, please, come sit and let us discuss this rationally."

  Emily did not move. A pop and hiss from the fire echoed through the silence. She could not move. She needed them to understand, not oppose her choice. If they couldn't accept and support her decision, she despaired of ever convincing the ladies sewing circle and even less her father. Her heart beat in her ears as she took two slow breaths.

  Amy patted the brocade cushion once more. "Em, please. Sit here with me."

  Something rigid in her spine relented. With a sigh, Emily went to sit beside her. She settled her skirts, though never as beautifully and effortlessly as Amy, who long ago perfected the art of entertaining and welcoming others no matter where she went. Emily could not hope to achieve the ease with which Amy spent her life. Being sociable came naturally to Amy. She attracted suitors as easily as a net collected fish, and Emily worried her cousin's particular style of fishing would simply lead to more troubles.

  "Talk to me." Amy laid a hand on top of Emily's clenched ones. "What is truly happening?"

  Emily stared into the fire for a moment before addressing Amy's question. Her hands trembled in her lap, and she pressed them together. "If I marry, I will be expected to have children, lots of them, no less, to support our young country. I understand what's expected but I would jeopardize my very life. It's not what I wish for my future."

  "And?" Amy asked gently. "There's more to this story, I believe."

  Her heart sank. Emily regretted confiding in her cousin her feelings for and initial intensely physical reaction to Frank. His touch on her fingers, coupled with the light kiss on the back of one lucky hand, had created a sizzling sensation throughout her body, leaving her hungry and longing when he'd stepped away. Then the ensuing devastation when he proposed marriage to Elizabeth. Recovering from the fracture in her heart proved a long, painful process, but she had managed. That episode would stay in the past, where it belonged. She squared her shoulders and searched Amy's eyes silently, trying to convey her feelings without having to put voice to them. "I don't know what you mean."

  Amy's hand tightened on hers, and her lips curved slightly. Emily closed her eyes and sighed, a tear crawling down her cheek. She brushed it away.

  No tears. No more.

  "I understand," Amy said slowly. "I, too, do not wish to marry. I'm not afraid of having children, mind. But to give up what I want to do to be subservient to a man who has all the rights and privileges of this new country while I sit by and have nothing to my name?" Winding the long auburn curl hanging beside her jaw around her index finger, Amy stared thoughtfully into the fire. "I see your point, Cousin. Perhaps it is best to be a spinster by choice and suffer the townspeople's insults than to be forced to remain at home, subject to the vagaries of men."

  "What did you say?" Emily peered at Amy. Her cousin, who loved to flirt and dance, would willingly be a spinster? "Does this have anything to do with Ben
jamin Hanson's sudden disappearance a few years ago?"

  Amy shook her head, but her action lacked conviction to Emily's mind. Amy had sulked for months after the man's departure to serve in the Continental Army. Emily suspected Amy's heart underwent the same splitting in two her own had endured over Frank, yet she refused to admit such even to herself.

  "What will Cousin Evelyn say?" Emily redirected the conversation away from the touchy subject.

  "I believe my sister will understand and perhaps even applaud my choice. Her own marriage has not been, shall we say, what she expected." Amy cast a sideways glance at Emily. "Indeed, the abuse she suffers informs my desire as much as... Gramercy, it makes no difference now. I shall join you in your vow."

  "Amy, my dear, surely you jest," Samantha said. "You'll break the heart of every bachelor in town."

  "That is none of my affair, Samantha," Amy said, then chuckled. "After all, flirtation and marriage are very different activities."

  Emily hugged her, the inner coil of tension relaxing as she grasped the fact she may not have to walk this path alone. "We need a nicer way to refer to ourselves than spinster, though, don't you think?"

  "Definitely. But what?" Amy asked.

  Emily tapped a finger against her chin, letting several possibilities run through her mind and discarding them as quickly. "A single man is called a bachelor, which is considered honorable." She wanted a positive word to refer to herself but could not think of any terms equivalent to spinster that didn't also carry a negative connotation. "William Shakespeare was known for creating new words; why not follow his lead?"

  "He made up words?" Samantha set her tea down. "I was not aware."

  "I'm amazed, my friend, that we found something you didn't know." Amy laughed. "Emily would. She's read everything he ever wrote."

  "Bachelor girl?" Emily asked.

  "That's a possibility," Amy said slowly. "Though I'm not sure about the girl part. We're a bit beyond girlhood, after all."

  "True. How about bachelor-ette then?" Emily suggested. "The '-ette' addition makes it feminine."

  Amy shook her head. "No, it sounds too funny. Perhaps we should avoid mentioning our desire to remain unwed and then we avoid the worry altogether."

  Samantha glided to sit on a side chair, her shimmery green dress pooled around her, reflecting the flicker of flames in the fireplace. She leaned back in the chair, her right hand resting on her leg. "Am I correct in that you both wish to remain unwed? To forgo the pleasures of having a husband?"

  Samantha's reference to the physical relations between husbands and wives in this setting surprised Emily for several reasons. She had not known her friend possessed such intimate knowledge of sexual relations. Indeed, having only become friends with Samantha the year before, surely there was much to discover about her past. Emily found herself practically holding her breath, waiting to hear what Amy prepared to say.

  "Pleasures?" Amy leaned forward, one eyebrow lifted in question. "I cannot think of any pleasures associated with being married. From what little I've heard, the event is short and no fun. At least not for the woman."

  "It's not always weighted in the man's favor," Samantha said simply. "But are you both sure of this vow of remaining unmarried?"

  "Without any doubt." Emily considered her friend for a long moment, realizing Samantha had adroitly changed the subject. Sadness shaded her friend's eyes, dimming their sparkle like clouds on a starry night.

  "Yes, we shall be true unto ourselves," Amy added with a theatrical flourish of her hand, "and follow our heart's desires, rather than submit to the whimsical will of a man. Are you with us?"

  Samantha contemplated the fire, dancing with red, orange, and blue licks of flame. Lost in thought, she lightly massaged the outside of her thigh. Shouts of laughter came through the window. A dog barked in response. Still, Samantha methodically caressed her leg with her fingers. Emily made a mental note to ask Samantha what had happened while she was visiting her grandmother in Savannah to cause the apparent ache in the limb. But that conversation could wait for another day. This was a momentous occasion in her life, and she wanted to savor it.

  Samantha blinked and then regarded them. "I honestly never considered not marrying. The idea has its benefits, however."

  Agitation mingled with hope forced Emily to her feet. She paced the room. When her father desired something, he didn't back down. He'd never give up until he had coerced her into the one act she longed to avoid. That was the problem. He wanted her to marry, and soon, for her protection, he said. She wouldn't put it past him to find her a husband despite her wishes. His demand coupled with her sister's recent death solidified the idea percolating in the back of her mind. The vacant shop wouldn't be vacant for long, no matter the obstacles placed in her way.

  "So you are with us, Samantha?" Amy asked.

  "Yes, but we must keep it between us, to avoid open scorn whenever possible." Samantha grinned. "After all, we've reached the upper end of marriageable age. We may as well."

  Emily crossed to the center of the room, her hands outstretched. The first steps of a journey often proved the hardest. "Come, then, let us take a vow together to keep this choice our secret."

  Amy and Samantha rose and clasped hands with Emily, forming a triangle of friendship.

  "How binding is this vow?" Samantha asked. At the startled response from Amy and Emily, she added, "I mean, should one or the other of us change our minds, is that allowed as well?"

  The image of Frank's blond good looks and gray eyes floated before Emily. No matter how handsome and fine Frank or any man might be, the vow must, for her own peace of mind, be made. An inner voice cried out in anguish when she pushed the handsome face aside, locking it away in her heart. However, she did not want to force the restriction, or the pain, on anyone else. With a deep breath, Emily said, "As long as it is not coerced upon us, but is of our own choosing, I see no need for this to be forever binding."

  "Then so be it," Samantha said. "I choose to remain unwed."

  Amy cocked her head and smiled at Samantha. Squeezing her hand, she said, "But you have not stated your reason. What prompts you to this decision?"

  A dour smile flickered across Samantha's lips. "Let us say, I have loved and lost and will not endure such pain again."

  "Indeed?" Amy quirked an eyebrow at Samantha, then glanced at Emily.

  Samantha bobbed her head once as a tiny smile formed on her lips. The woman contained many secrets, secrets Emily hoped to one day learn more about so she better understood her friend. For now, Emily's relief that her confidantes stood with her swept aside her earlier uncertainty.

  Emily broke away from the triangle and poured three glasses of sweet sherry. "Then we shall celebrate our agreement with a toast." Handing the glasses around, she raised hers.

  "What shall we toast to?" Samantha asked.

  "To life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for all in America." Emily flashed a smile at her comrades.

  "And a more perfect union for women," Amy added, her eyes sober.

  Emily tapped her glass against the others, happy yet fearing the consequences of their vow as the ring of crystal quivered into silence.

  Chapter 2

  The view of the amassed fleet of British ships in the harbor through the grimy window of McCrady's Tavern did little to assuage Frank's distress. What should he do now? He was only vaguely aware of the activity along the wharfs reaching out from Bay Street to the turbulent confluence of the Ashley and Cooper beyond, the mixing point of the two rivers. Seagulls and terns swooped and dived over the churning water. Dark gray clouds scudded across the pale blue sky. The British ships mingled with merchant vessels, their furled masts tugged by the wind. Hammer blows and curses carried through the open door of the tavern as coopers built barrels for shipping the products from the colony to overseas markets.

  Downing half of the ale from a heavy blue glass bottle, he tried to fathom what possessed the two maids to walk alone to the ladies' g
athering rather than under the protective watch of the two strong slaves. Shaking his head, he cursed aloud at the absurdity and the damned danger they placed themselves in. Were they fools?

  Naive and foolhardy. Emily possessed a wild side, apparently. Someone needed to tame that out of her before she harmed herself. Or Tommy. He would speak to her father once more when he arrived. Emily had challenged the lusty men, showing her courage in the face of their threat. In the event, if any harm befell her Frank stood to answer to Captain Sullivan. Not an encounter he need ever experience, to his mind, as long as Emily behaved herself. He'd have to make sure she did.

  The front door opened and abruptly filled with the bulk of the man in question, as if summoned by Frank's musing. Captain Sullivan acknowledged Frank's wave and stomped across the wooden floor to join him at the bar.

  Sullivan settled onto the wooden stool. Flagging the barkeeper, he ordered an ale and eyed Frank. "Did you see Emily safely to my sister's house?"

  "Yes, right before I found out I no longer have a home." Frank stared at the shiny surface of the bottle. Anger simmered to a boil at the actions the British had inflicted on him. "It was commandeered by some British officer for his quarters."

  "I recall hearing something about your family's house a few months ago but didn't think more on it seeing as you weren't needing it at the time." Sullivan swigged his ale and glanced at Frank. "Damn shame. Where will you stay if not your family home?"

  The captain's fatherly appraisal made Frank aware of how much this war had cost him. First his little brother killed in battle. Then Elizabeth in childbirth. Now his home confiscated as well. He flung a prayer to heaven that the rumors of imminent peace came true.

  "I know not, having learned of the theft only an hour ago." If he hadn't seen for himself that the enemy occupied it, he'd still be in the dark. They apparently did not feel the need to inform the previous owner of the outrage. Then to see the blasted loyalist, Major John Bradley, the buffoon responsible for the ill treatment of Emily and Samantha, emerge from the three-story brick mansion only darkened his mood.