by Betty Bolte
"Father, I must speak with you on another matter." If peace arrived soon, she must be prepared to open the doors to her shop. She watched him with hope swelling her heart.
"I'm late as it is." He slipped his long black cloak onto his shoulders. "Cannot it wait?"
Silently she nodded. The scowl on his face did not bode well for her to present her case now.
"Very well, we'll talk later." Her father picked up his walking cane from its home by the desk and tapped it once on the floor. "Frank, thank you. I'll breathe easier knowing you're with her."
As though I am not standing directly in front of him. He's handing me over to Frank as though I did not think and feel for myself. A shudder moved through her as a bitter taste filled her mouth, her normal reaction when her father treated her like one of his nags. Handed off to someone else to care for, feed, even lead around with a bit in its mouth. If anyone else treated her thus, she wouldn't be bothered nearly as much. Well, except for Frank, mayhap.
"My honor and pleasure, sir." Frank made a small bow to her father. "I believe I shall retire to my room and dress for dinner. If you'll tell me which one is mine?"
"I've had the guest room next to Emily's prepared for you. Your trunk arrived earlier by the by." Her father adjusted his hat and glanced at Emily. "With your room adjacent to hers, you can keep a close eye on her, as I asked."
"I'll do my best to keep her safe, sir." Frank winked in her direction.
Emily suppressed a cry as another shudder coursed through her. If she stayed here another moment, being treated like a prized mare to be guarded, she would explode.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll go change out of these wet clothes." Without waiting for a response, Emily fled.
* * *
She raced to her room and flung herself onto her bed. The patchwork quilt absorbed the crush of her body as she lay there, tears flowing despite her resolve. How could they treat her like a child? She sobbed into her arm, felt the tears dampen her sleeve. Hiccupped once, twice, then realized what she was doing. The pillow beneath her crinkled as she turned over and wiped her eyes. Feeling suddenly childish, she sat up and took a deep breath. They treated her as they always did, so what had changed to make her cry about it now? Feelings churned within her until she thought she'd go mad.
Elizabeth wasn't here to joke her out of this, make her feel loved and protected rather than controlled and squashed into a box. She sighed. What was the matter with her?
Pushing up from the down-filled mattress, she paced to her writing desk, sat on the embroidered seat of her chair, and removed the quill from the ink pot. As Thomas Payne did years previous with his pamphlet Common Sense that spurred men to enlist in the continental army, surely her writing could inspire other young women to stand up for their own rights. Including that of being self-reliant and independent. She anchored her turbulent thoughts on paper, settling her emotional reaction and making sense out of the jumble of ideas. Only then could she calm the inner turmoil and present a composed young lady as expected.
She scratched on the page, dipping the goose quill quickly as she captured her thoughts with ink and paper. Sometime later, Jasmine knocked on the door to announce dinner.
After assuring Jasmine she'd be down shortly, Emily sat back and reviewed her words with a contented and determined sigh. She chuckled at the imagined expressions of the townspeople when they read what she had to say.
"Let's see them control this."
Chapter 4
The next morning, the pure tones of the bell hanging on the door roused Frank from his inspection of the type set for him by his young apprentice. With a surge of surprise, he saw Dirk Reynolds, a tall, powerful man, standing framed by the open door. Dirk paused, scanning the bright interior of the printing office. His thick lips pressed together and his brows drew a straight line above his dark eyes. The door thudded shut behind the sour-faced man. What was amiss? Obviously irritated, he scowled like a cat that had lost its mouse. Dirk paced about the small office, straightening a stack of flyers blown askew when the door opened, allowing the briny breeze inside.
"That's fine, lad. We'll work this up after I help Mr. Reynolds." Casting a last look over the neatly aligned rows of metal letters, Frank nodded at his apprentice, Sawyer.
"Yes, sir, I'll get started on these." Sawyer's wide, strong hands easily grasped the heavy metal frame as he carried it to the printing press in the back room. The boy may only be seventeen, but he had the build of a smithy, with brawny arms and thick neck. Frank didn't want to face the wrong end of his fist, either.
The ever-present aromas of salt air and roasting chicken wafted along the breeze. His stomach growled. He hoped Dirk's business wouldn't take long. McCrady's chicken and dumplings would serve his hunger well. Dirk wandered to the display of public notices pinned to a board mounted on the wall.
Time to put the act to the test. Stepping up to the counter, Frank pulled out his notebook and pencil and cleared his throat. "Dirk, what can I do for you?"
The man strode briskly to the counter. "I need to place a notice." Dirk pulled a crumpled paper from his inside coat pocket and smoothed it onto the worn pine high table.
Surely his hands were not trembling. Dirk's reputation for being stalwart in a crisis had earned him the nickname of Rocky, but only his closest friends dared call him such. And Frank was not a close friend. Frank surveyed the ranking member of the town council, surprised at the dark circles under his eyes and the tension in his mouth. Obviously something bothered him and had been for a while.
Dirk nodded at the closely written page. "Will you carry that in your paper?"
Silently, with mounting trepidation, Frank read the notice shoved toward him. He read it again, delaying, contemplating how to handle this potential tragedy. His primary job focused on pretending to care about the everyday business of the broadside while encoding military intelligence into the printed pages. He refused to engage in actions which may injure his neighbors. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet Dirk's glowering expression. "Are you certain you wish to do this?"
"I have no choice but to denounce this nonsense. I cannot be held responsible for his actions any longer."
"But he's your only son." Frank peered at him, concern a lump in his stomach.
The question remained as to the specific consequences if Dirk no longer acknowledged an heir to the impressive wealth he had built from nothing over the past ten years. Between the successful ship building business and exporting of rice from his plantation, Dirk was a prominent and influential citizen.
"No longer." Dirk pounded a hand onto the table, sending vibrations of anger spreading through the soft wood to tingle Frank's palm where it lay.
Frank lifted his hand to rub his chin, noting the light stubble forming there as he contemplated the man. He slid the paper back toward Dirk. "Give yourself some time to think about the ramifications."
"Don't try to dissuade me." Thick fingers drummed the pine. "You don't understand. That lazy boy wagered and lost my money, but no more."
"You're right about one thing. He is still a boy."
"When I was fourteen, I didn't have time for such foolishness." Dirk tugged on the cuffs of his coat irritably.
"Perhaps he needs a job," Frank suggested cautiously.
Dirk looked at him with sudden interest. "Do you want Matthew to work for you?"
Frank's throat went dry. No, he couldn't support another boy and didn't need other eyes too close to the text. Sawyer was a trusted friend's son and therefore all the help he needed. But who might? Surely someone in town could use the lad, keep him out of trouble and the family together.
The bell at the door rang before admitting Emily, her cranberry gown peeking from under her ebony cloak. She darted a look behind her before closing the door. Her soiled bonnet nowhere in sight, she wore a faded black one. Lavender wafted into the suddenly stuffy room, and he inhaled deeply. Her presence brightened the shop. He smiled, and she returned one, a simple enough exchange
. He suddenly longed to touch her hand, her hair. Simply because she arrived in his dusty office.
But she came alone.
Frank stiffened. He thought he and her father had made it quite clear she could not traverse the town by herself. When he had left the house this morning, she made no request to venture out. His ire grew as he gazed at her standing so calm while his insides twisted into a knot of apprehension and, yes, blast it, anger. He suppressed the urge to berate her in front of Dirk, not wanting to embarrass her unduly, but it took all his self-control to do so. Emily smiled benignly at him as she released the upper tie of her cloak and waited, her purse dangling from her hands.
The door chimed again as Samantha stepped inside, a gust of air frolicking in the curls gracing the ladies' napes. Frank stifled the rush of breath that escaped through his nose. She hadn't walked here alone after all. Still, Samantha did not constitute enough protection against the soldiers who roamed the streets. Damn, look at what had happened the other evening. Her father would be irate. Her father would—Inspiration struck as he watched the ladies peruse the notices on the board.
Frank turned his attention back to Dirk. "I'm sorry I don't need another apprentice, but I know someone who might be interested." He folded the paper and handed it back to Dirk. "Why don't you hold on to this for now? Let me speak to Captain Sullivan and see if he could use a strapping young lad on one of his ships." He would likely see Captain Sullivan when he walked the ladies home. He'd protect Emily, even if that meant from her own doings. He simply must find a way to convince her to listen to reason and follow the simple directives he and her father had demanded for her wellbeing.
Dirk grasped Frank's hand with his own bear paw and pumped until Frank thought his arm would break. But the scowl had now transformed back into the man's normal contented demeanor. Sunshine broke through the scattered clouds outside and illuminated the small office, shining on dust motes dancing in the air. The ladies drifted to the other end of the office, looking at the set of pamphlets he'd ordered from Philadelphia and Boston. Concern swept through him as Emily picked up one to peruse. Politically savvy northern men held some provocative ideas they shared with the people. Perhaps he should steer these sensitive ladies away from those concepts for their own good. Emily spoke quietly to Samantha, their delicate murmur adding to the sounds of Sawyer setting up the press in preparation to print the notice of the town meeting on the morrow. Frank's stomach growled, reminding him of the time. Did everyone have to invade his quiet office at the lunch hour?
"Thank you." Dirk finally released Frank's hand. "You've given me hope for him. I knew not what I would do with the boy."
Frank smiled, trying to ignore the lavender teasing his nose as well as the growing hunger gnawing his belly. "Now off with you. I'll be in touch as soon as possible."
With a wave of his hand to Frank and a tip of his hat to the ladies, Dirk sauntered out of the office. The bell jangled wildly as the door thumped closed.
Frank wiped his hands on his heavy printer's apron and looked at Emily before nodding at Samantha. He worked to calm his temper before he spoke or his words, no matter how well-intentioned, would not be heard. He cleared his throat and placed his hands on the table.
"Ladies, you do comprehend it is not safe for you to be about alone?"
"Come now, Frank, do not act so aggrieved. I did not come alone. Samantha is with me as my proper escort." Emily chuckled and shook her head. "After all, we came all this way to visit you."
"So I see." Frank gazed at them, trying to quell the reckless pride he felt in knowing they risked their safety for the pleasure of spending time with him. Or did they want something?
The differences between the two women amazed him. They were night and day. Samantha all black-haired, green-eyed beauty and Emily, so full of light. She wore her blonde hair in a bun with a few curls left hanging down her neck, a style he never saw her wear prior to her sister's death. In fact, she'd grown serious. He had not heard her laugh since his return, and her face remained fragile as porcelain. Although formally no longer in mourning, she still wore somber clothes to mourn the capture of the town and the gold ring in remembrance of her sister. Since he could not attend, he hadn't received a similar ring when her father dispensed them prior to the funeral. A pang of regret shot through him that he'd not been able to break away from the fighting to attend, yet his sense of duty and honor insisted he could not leave his comrades with one less man to fight.
Emily walked to where Frank waited, and laid her purse on the counter. "I have something, an essay, I'd like for you to publish." She withdrew a folded set of papers from the interior of the purse and clutched them tightly.
"An essay?" Frank's awareness of what Emily had gone through after her twin's death enabled him to view her differently now. He had never truly considered her loss, too consumed as he had been with pressing interests to see beyond his own conflicting feelings.
Emily glanced at Samantha, who picked up one of the flyers on the counter and read it. The smooth curve of Emily's silken neck drew his attention like steel filings to a magnet. Frank swallowed hard as desire speared through him. Taken aback by the sudden reaction of his lower extremities, he moved closer to the counter.
"It is on social deportment of young ladies in our town," Emily said. "Of how women should behave, in other words, including receiving the necessary education to enable them to run a venture."
Frank heard a note of uncertainty in her usually self-assured voice. What caused her worry? He well understood why he felt a bit disconcerted, but she had not noticed his body's betrayal. And wouldn't as long as he stayed close to the counter.
He gazed at her eyes, sparkling with a hint of challenge. Rose lips invited his kiss. The sprinkle of freckles across her otherwise pure skin tempted him to reach out and stroke her dainty nose and porcelain cheeks. With a supreme effort, he restrained himself. The pious people of St. Michael's would frown upon him making advances toward any woman so soon after he became a widower. Especially his dead wife's sister, a concept grating against their basic principles. Yet he longed to do exactly what society forbade. Not for the first time, either. One day, his desire for her would likely overcome his restraint. He hoped Emily would understand when he did make good on his plan to court her, woo her back into his life. How much longer must he deny his longing? The throbbing in his groin echoed his impatience.
"Well?" Emily swallowed, her long fingers wrinkling the pages. She gazed at him steadily, searching his face.
"I can't print your essay, Emily." As much as he'd like to help her, he couldn't.
Her smile wilted as her eyes narrowed. "Why not? You haven't even read it. Are you afraid?"
Afraid? Frank shook his head. He feared nothing and no one. Except maybe her father. And that fear was more for her benefit than his. Surely she discerned her father would object, no matter how well written or what it said. "Your father, as well as the rest of the men in town, will not tolerate a young lady such as yourself contributing to the broadside. It's not proper."
"Surely everyone will understand it is only opinion, given that it is an essay." She held out the page and leaned toward him to emphasize her point.
The deep valley created by the bodice of her gown drew his eyes, and he had to work hard to swallow the lump rising in his throat. He forced his gaze back to her challenging stare.
"Well, Frank, am I right? Or is it because it's a woman's opinion and not a man's that has you shaking in your boots?"
He cleared his throat and forced his eyes to the page shoved into his hand. He must control himself. To concentrate. Blinking to clear his thoughts, he focused on the words and thought about how people would interpret them. Her ideas raised many points sure to provoke strong opinions in town.
"I cannot, my dear." He pressed his lips together to stop the wish that he could help her. "Mayhap later, after the war is over and folks settle into a more normal rhythm, but not now." He handed back the pages.
; "I see." She folded the paper and slipped it back into her bag on a long sigh. She looked at Samantha, still absorbed by the pamphlet in her hands, before facing him. "Then I may as well ask my other question."
She glanced away and back at him, a touch warily. What surprise was she about to reveal now?
"I noticed the shop next door is vacant. The Widow Murray's old place. Do you know anything about it? Who owns it?"
"Em," Samantha said softly, one eyebrow raised.
"Read your treatise, Samantha." Emily stared at Frank, eyes challenging him. "This is my business."
Frank hesitated. Emily's question coupled with the warning tone in Samantha's voice alarmed his instincts. Empty shops abounded now, what with so many people having fled the area prior to the British besiegement. Add to those the people who left to escape persecution in the besieged town or who had died during the fighting. What was this about? "It's available, so I hear. Why do you ask?"
Emotions battled across her face. Her smile faded as she opened her mouth to answer, then swallowed hard. "I—"
The bell rang sharply behind them, and they turned to see Captain Sullivan striding through the door. The sounds on the docks beyond filled the small room as the wind rushed in until he closed the door with a bang.
"Emily?" Captain Sullivan blurted. "What is amiss? Why are you here?"
"Father, I—Nothing is wrong." She stopped and swallowed hard, glancing at Frank and Samantha. She gathered her purse before continuing. Samantha stepped closer to her side, silently supporting her friend. Emily slowly tied her bonnet strings. "Our business here is concluded. We were about to leave for home."
"I shall go with you," the captain said. "I have yet to have my supper."
"Then we'd be pleased to have your company." Samantha inclined her head.
"Miss Samantha," the captain said, recovering. "How lovely to see you again. 'Tis a beautiful afternoon, don't you think?"
"Indeed, sir." Samantha gave him a small smile. "May my parents and I expect you and Emily for dinner this evening as planned?"
