by Betty Bolte
"From what I've heard," Mrs. Manning said, leaning forward in her chair, the cup wobbling in its saucer, "the British only hold Charles Town and New York now and are desperate for soldiers and supplies as well. They are anxious to withdraw with what little honor they have left."
"Yes, they wait only for the weather to clear before they shall leave," Samantha said. "Or so I'm told."
Now where would she have heard that? Emily gazed at her friend's sublime expression. Perhaps while assisting her mother with the healing arts, she had overheard such conversation. Emily felt cut off from the happenings of town by the restrictions her father placed upon her. She must talk to him posthaste about her plans.
"Let us pray to God that this comes to pass quickly," Aunt Lucille said firmly.
"Perhaps we'll have something to celebrate at Captain Sullivan's Allhallows Eve dinner in a couple of weeks," Samantha said, her eyes sparkling.
A general murmur of agreement swelled across the room as all eyes gravitated toward Emily. She'd nearly forgotten the dinner that remained an annual social event despite the deprivations and uncertainty. Everyone attending brought some food to share with the others, whether a loaf of bread, a bowl of nuts, a pound of smoked venison, or merely some mint leaves to make tea. The coming together of the people and the ensuing chatter as they shared food, ghost stories, and singing created a happy occasion in the midst of the sorrow and worry hanging over the town. Elizabeth's haunted forest stories had been the high point last year. This year's party would not be the same without her.
Aunt Lucille clapped her hands to call for silence. "Ladies, please resume your work. When Amy and I return to the plantation on the morrow, we will carry your fine contributions with us to give to General Greene. The cold weather is fast approaching, and even if the treaty were signed today, it could be months before word reaches us from France. In the meantime, our men will need the warmth of the fabric as well as the warmth of our support."
Emily caught Amy's eye. You're leaving? she mouthed.
Amy nodded with raised eyebrows and a slight shrug. Obviously she had not known until then of her imminent departure, though the trips were never entirely unexpected, as they made them frequently. The timing depended on obtaining a pass from Colonel Balfour and arranging to discreetly meet the appropriate people to make the exchange. Indeed, Aunt Lucille instructed Amy on how to effectively "liberate" key items, such as boots and caps and epaulets, needed by the patriot soldiers so that the sentries were none the wiser. Emily frowned on deception, but in cases like this she made an exception. Sometimes the ends did justify the means.
As the conversations around them shifted to discuss the possibility of the war ceasing, the women resumed their sewing efforts.
"Em, I didn't know," Amy said over the hum of spinning wheels. "But how else can we transport these items out of here except in Mother's carriage? Our boat, while more comfortable, needs men to manage it, men the British enticed away."
"I understand, but what will I do without you here?" Emily sent her shuttle flying along the loom, quickly working in the next line of thread.
"Perhaps Captain Thomson will provide some amusement for you."
"Why would you say that? The last I saw of him, he was livid with my actions." Her inner vixen, however, delighted in the memory of his reaction. For one thing, his ire prevented him from attempting to flirt with her, enabling Emily to keep her composure.
A grin lit Amy's face. "I remember how you felt about him and, more importantly, how he felt about you before he pledged to marry your sister. Be careful, or your precious vow may be for naught."
Emily's hands trembled with suppressed emotion humming like the spinning wheels. Amy hit on the truth with precision. In order to keep to her plan, Emily must quell any hint of desire her heart clung to. "My vow is solid and will remain so. It is no matter if he is interested in me, as I do not return the sentiment."
"We shall see." Amy's grin contained a mix of support and teasing. "I wouldn't hold it against you should you choose to back out of the vow, not with Frank around. Shall I ask Samantha to chaperone while I am away, to be sure?"
"That is not necessary, unless she would find it amusing to spend time with me," Emily responded through her clenched jaw. She merely needed to focus on the sweet expression on her deceased sister's face to bolster her intentions. She must master the feelings racing through her so as to maintain the calm demeanor Aunt Lucille had taught her to exhibit no matter what occurred. Her aunt had acted as her mother for all of Emily's life, and Emily would not let her down after the trouble she'd caused the woman. The fireplace popped and crackled in the background, its warmth suddenly unwelcome in the crowded room.
Amy pivoted on her seat by a low table and caught Samantha's eye from across the room. Seeing Amy's wave, Samantha rose, grabbed up the pile of shirts, and, wending her way around the multitude of wheels and women, soon joined her friends.
"Samantha," Emily interjected quickly but quietly so others would not be distracted from their work, "would you care to visit me while Amy is away? She seems to believe a chaperone is necessary for me to keep to my vow." She did not know what Amy may have detected to make her think Emily might break her oath so soon. But company would be pleasant, nevertheless. Emily mentally shrugged. If it made her cousin feel better, she would request Samantha's help.
Samantha dropped the shirts on the chair seat, rested her hands on the back of the chair and nodded. Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter as she fought a smile. "Of course. I'll bring the basil over with me for Tommy's tea to calm his tummy, as well. We'll have a nice visit."
"There, now I can leave for a few days knowing my cousin is well attended."
"I will try to stay out of trouble while you are away," Emily promised with a wink. Catching movement at the door, she glanced in that direction and her laughter died in her throat. "Oh, fiddlesticks."
"What is it?" Amy followed Emily's glare.
Frank occupied the door, scanning the room. The air electrified as he surveyed the crowd of ladies, obviously seeking her. His height enabled him to see above the heads bent over their work or chatting amicably. Raking a hand through sandy-blond hair, his gaze neared where Emily stood. Emily caught her breath but tamped down the surge of tension his presence created inside her.
"He's here to take you home, I presume?" Samantha folded a shirt and added it to the stack on the table.
"Us, actually, I believe." Emily presented her back to her tormentor. No reason to submit to his bidding until forced to do so. Yet she could still feel the weight of his gaze when he spotted her.
"He needn't bother on my account." Samantha added to her growing pile. "I know how to handle the brutes."
"Mayhap, but we shan't ever find out as long as he is around." Emily crossed her arms. "I won't tolerate this much longer. Does he think that little of me?"
Amy chuckled. "Or that much? Ah, I fear he has seen you."
* * *
Frank entered the large room, impressed with the many spinning wheels, looms, and women squeezed into the elegantly decorated space before him. The polished wood floor peeked from beneath the furniture and dresses crowded together. And the noise—he had not contemplated the volume inherent in a roomful of women and looms. Women acted quiet when the menfolk accompanied them, as expected of the genteel women of town. He searched for Emily's distinctive golden curls. Finally spotting the back of her head as she spoke to Amy and Samantha, Frank cleared his throat. The deep bass sound caught the attention of several women closer to him.
"Captain Frank. How lovely to see you!" Mrs. Abernathy glided to where he stood inside the door. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"
Frank noted with satisfaction the look of resignation on Emily's face as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her brown dress needed to be replaced with something brighter, more like her personality. He could envision her in golden yellow with a fine white lace bonnet and matching gloves. In time he'd see to it. At
least she had agreed to the captain's request for Frank to look after her safety. Their initial meeting had gone smoother than he hoped, given his new though pretend position in town. He doubted he would be accepted as a loyalist, especially after fighting as a patriot. Hell, he wasn't so sure about his mission as a spy and what it meant.
"I've come to escort Miss Emily and Miss Samantha home before the storm arrives." He noted Samantha smirking at him as thunder rumbled overhead. He bristled. Was she laughing at his concern for their safety? They'd best accustom themselves to it.
He straightened the lace edging dropping from his cuff. When he glanced back at Emily, he saw her watching his hands. Then she met his look steadily. What was she thinking? Could she be remembering his hand holding hers, as he thought of often, God help him, even while married to Elizabeth?
"How kind and considerate of you, Frank, to see to their safety," Mrs. Abernathy said. Raising her voice, she called across the room, "Girls, please, gather your things. I shall not have you soaked to the skin this time of year. Jasmine, please ask Solomon and Richard to dismantle the loom for Emily."
Samantha raised a questioning eyebrow before gathering her skirts in one hand as she crossed the room to a chair by the fireplace. What was that about? After all, he merely wanted to ensure their safety. Emily stood overseeing the preparation of her loom for the short walk home. Good, she at least behaved as he expected her to. This time, anyway.
While the two black men broke down the heavy loom and bundled it for the walk home, Frank watched impatiently as the three young women hugged each other in turn in farewell. Lightning flashed beyond the windows. Did they not understand the fierceness of the threatening storm? Coupled with the fact that he had postponed several important meetings so he could see them safely ensconced in their own homes, he grew concerned. He remained silent and calm with an effort, impatient to be off.
Emily hugged Mrs. Abernathy fiercely before releasing her with a smile. "Farewell on your travels, Aunt Lucille."
"Be safe here." Mrs. Abernathy met Frank's eyes, and he nodded. "I believe Frank will see to that."
"I'm sure he will." Samantha chuckled.
Frank stiffened at the sound of her throaty laugh. "It is my duty to protect my family."
"Duty, yes, you've always done your duty," Emily clipped out, anger singeing each word. "That does not make it less annoying to be treated as though I do not have any sense."
"That is what you deserve for acting recklessly." Frank stepped closer to her. The sweet scent of lavender surrounded her. He inhaled deeply as he cradled her bundle of sewing. "If you had done what your father requested, you would not have ended up in such a spot last evening."
"Nothing we could not handle," Emily replied. "A couple of belligerent British apes pretending to be tough men."
"In the middle of the street nothing too bad would have happened." Samantha turned to address the older woman. "Mrs. Abernathy, I have a few shirts finished to go with you." She handed her the small stack.
A crack of thunder shook the house as lightning again flashed outside. Frank flinched. Another southern storm to batter the town. Hopefully not another hurricane developing. Frank had slogged his way home through the remnants of the last hurricane and did not relish the idea of repeating the experience. He'd nearly drowned in the sloppy mud and onslaught of rain. He learned later the British ships had arrived earlier than necessary to avoid that particular storm. So they were in town longer, the men more frustrated and embarrassed at failing to win the war, which led them to be belligerent. But their actions proved even worse beyond the limits of the town. Within the town's confines, the British officers could more readily hold the men accountable when they overstepped. Even so, crimes against the citizens occurred daily. All the more reason he needed to protect Emily and Tommy. He gripped Emily's arm in preparation for ushering her bodily from the room if necessary, but Mrs. Abernathy's voice stopped his exit.
"You sew beautifully, Samantha. The stitches so evenly spaced and firm. I'm sure the men will be proud to wear them." Mrs. Abernathy hugged the stack to her chest as she looked from Samantha to Emily and back to Frank. "But Frank is right to be impatient. Now off with you before the storm hits. We will send word as to when we will return."
"You will be back in time for the ghost stories and festivities?" Samantha asked.
"We wouldn't miss it," Mrs. Abernathy confirmed.
"Farewell, Amy." Emily shook off Frank's grip and clasped her cousin's hands in her own. "I will miss you."
Samantha put an arm around Emily's shoulders. "I'll keep my word and visit you. We'll be fine."
"Is it wise for Amy to go with you, Mrs. Abernathy?" Alarm arced through him. They simply did not fathom the dangers lurking beyond the town gates, where the rule of law weakened with each mile.
The woman's mouth actually curved into a smile. "It is necessary."
"But Madam, you must protect yourselves."
"I refuse to live in fear even during a war." She laid a hand on Frank's arm. "Do not worry, young man. We will have an escort."
Frank relented though his angst over their safety settled like cold, congealed gravy in the center of his stomach. "Very well, then. With the fighting so near and the British desperate for men and supplies, I beg you to not let your guard down because of talks of peace. The fighting continues despite the rumors."
He refrained from telling them of the recent ravishment of several women at the nearby town of Monck's Corner. In the event, it served no purpose to worry them. He and Captain Sullivan had witnessed the flogging of the culprits, but that did not negate the abuse the unfortunate women had suffered at their hands.
Anger curdled his stomach as he recalled Emily's bonnet in the foul British soldier's hands. The ladies did not appreciate how close they had come to experiencing the same treatment as those poor women. To take precautions seemed sensible and not an undue burden as the ladies seemed to imply.
"Now be off." Mrs. Abernathy took Samantha by the arm and walked her to the door, calling over her shoulder, "Come along, Emily."
Frank waited for Emily, but she glared at his arm as if it were a rattlesnake before slowly gathering her skirts in her left hand and wrapping her right hand at his elbow. Resisting a sarcastic retort, Frank patted her hand and smiled at her.
"That was not so bad, was it?"
She looked up at him with indignation. "Let us go."
She waited for him to step off, but he hesitated. No warmth shown from her eyes, yet he could not allow her to venture along the street alone. The very idea of her putting her reputation or, worse, her life at risk chilled him. The barbarous British best not even touch her. What would Elizabeth have said if he allowed her sister to be injured? He glanced again at the solemn face with eyes of liquid sapphires.
Studying her silently, he realized she resisted his company. Her animosity hung between them, palpable and intense. She used to look at him with welcoming eyes but now those same eyes peered at him with distrust. He'd need to work on changing her opinion of him. For now, it mattered not. In the event, he had promised her father, and Frank's word was his bond.
Grimacing, he grasped her elbow and ushered her down the stairs and out the door.
He would see her safely home no matter her desires.
Chapter 3
Emily held her head high, neck stiff, as she endured the four-block walk through the wind and darkening sky to her virtual prison. She'd left the nasty bonnet at home this morning, unable to consider wearing it before it could be thoroughly cleaned. Gusts of wind grabbed her curls, whipping them about her face. Frank's charms entertained Samantha until they reached her home on King Street, and their lighthearted debate over the best herbs for curing a stomachache allowed Emily to nurse her resentment without being called upon for her opinion. Just as well, given her mood. After saying good-bye to her friend, Frank again cajoled her into taking his rigid arm. She easily ignored the familiar heat rising through his cloak and the iron m
uscles beneath her hand. However, the electrical current passing between them made it impossible for her to think straight.
Drawing on every bit of self-restraint Aunt Lucille had taught her, Emily schooled her expression and continued the normal sway to her walk, despite the unrelenting march of Frank's strides. Ahead of them, the slaves carried the loom and materials, racing the storm home. She would prefer to shake off his escort and make her way home alone after the way he treated her, if doing so would not prove his point. No, better to behave as a lady rather than succumb to the delicious temptation of giving in to her wayward thoughts.
A burst of wind sent her tresses into a chaotic dance, reminiscent of Medusa's snake hair. She tugged the mass from her eyes with one hand. The long skirts of her day dress whipped about her legs, plastering across her thighs and tangling with her cloak, making it difficult to keep up with Frank's pace. A broadside blew past, and he cursed under his breath.
"Frank, wait." She slipped her hand from his arm and stopped. Richard and Solomon, striding fast ahead of them, kept moving, glancing at the dark, tumultuous clouds gathered above. Jasmine followed the men at a dogtrot to keep up, one hand holding on to her kerchief covering her dark curls. Emily longed to be with them as they disappeared down the street. She glanced up through her rioting hair at Frank and saw the storm clouds gathering in his eyes as well.
"We have no time; the storm is nearly upon us," Frank said, reaching for her arm. "We must get ourselves safely home."
She started to follow, then blinked at him, confused, when his words seeped into her brain. "What do you mean home?"
"Not now, Emily. Let's go." Frank urged her to follow him, but she refused.
"Explain, or I'm not going anywhere with you." She set her jaw and braced her feet, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited. He couldn't possibly mean what he'd just said. A coldness having nothing to do with the increasing rain encased her bones. Fat drops made tiny craters in the dirt, which soon blended together at their feet as the rain fell harder.
