Emily's Vow

by Betty Bolte

  As if sensing her change of heart, Frank moved closer until only an inch of charged air separated their heated bodies. Emily dragged in a breath and let it out on a ragged sigh.

  "We should determine the ground rules." Emily searched his eyes for his agreement.

  "Such as?" Frank paused, his gaze roaming her face.

  "Such as how long we'll pretend to be courting."

  "Hm. I'd think at least three weeks. That should be enough time."

  "For what?" Holding her breath, Emily waited for his answer.

  "To know each other well enough to determine whether we should marry."

  Marry? Emily opened her mouth but no sound emerged. The lamps outside the front window flickered in the light breeze from the harbor, the deep black night sky a background to their friendly glow.

  Frank stood so close his breath stirred the curls tickling the sides of her face. He smelled of peppermint, wool, and the tangy smell of ink from the press. His eyes became deep pools she wanted to lose herself in as he studied her face.

  "I should give you fair warning, my love." Frank trailed a finger over her parted lips. "I plan to kiss you."

  His deep voice flowed over her, through her, fueling the sensations smoldering in her nether regions.

  Her pulse quickened, as did her breathing. When he clasped her upper arms to pull her to him, lightning shot through her veins. Who knew a man's mouth could be so utterly fascinating? The way his lips moved as he drew closer to her, parting slowly in anticipation of meeting hers. His strength flowed from his hands, infusing her with his power.

  Fortunately he kept a firm grip on her or she would have collapsed to the floor. She started to refuse him, to remind him how inappropriate a kiss would be between them, alone without a chaperone, but no sound emerged. Closing her mouth, she stared, dreading the inevitable. Most disturbing, she wanted his kiss.

  His head dipped lower.

  Sensation competed with emotion as his lips sought hers. His kiss, warm and firm, radiated through her until even her toes tingled. On a low moan, he pulled her closer. She pressed against him, craving him. His embrace tightened as his tongue plundered her mouth, one hand cradling her head. He tasted delicious, of peppermint and rum.

  After what seemed hours of bliss, Frank gently eased his mouth from hers. She clung to his shoulders, needing his strength and stability after being rocked to her core. She should be angry about his audacity and presumption. Should. In fact, she longed for a repeat performance. Sensations swirled through her, conflicting desires and expectations filling her mind.

  "Thank you, my darling." Frank relaxed his grip, enabling her to push away and stand on her own, though he kept one arm loosely around her. "I needed that."

  She smiled, tentatively touching a finger to her sensitive lips. "I enjoyed the act as well."

  "You sound surprised." He squeezed her to him, then released her. "You hurt me with your surprise."

  "You really shouldn't have presumed to kiss me," Emily said. "Enjoyable or not."

  He nodded. "Perhaps. But you wanted to establish the bounds of our courtship."

  "With an illicit kiss?" Emily asked on a breathy laugh. She shouldn't deceive him or herself. Another act to conceal from her father. Even so, she'd do it again.

  Frank reached for her hand, caressing her thumb. "Yes, so you'll know touching and kissing constitute essential ingredients of our private times together."

  "You think highly of yourself, don't you?" Emily withdrew her hand on principle, though she had to force herself to refrain from leaning into him, once more engaging their lips. He drew her like a magnet. She must maintain her distance from him or she'd either burst into flames only he could quench, or break into pieces, never to be put back together.

  "I'm confident. There's a difference." He wrapped his arms around her in a long hug, folding her inside his protective circle. "Now, my dear, it is past time I walk you home."

  Frank excused himself to retrieve the lantern from its hook by the back door. Emily retrieved her purse from the table and waited silently for him, her body singing even as her mind whirled in confusion over this surprising turn of events. Slipping on his cloak, he locked up the shop and they walked the few blocks home in silence, Emily pondering the predicament she now found herself in.

  Once inside, he paused by her bedroom. His lips touched hers in a long, gentle kiss before he slowly released her. He reached around to open the door. Emily moved toward the opening, her escape from the tangle of emotions swirling within her. Soon she would be alone to sort through her thoughts and feelings.

  Frank stopped her before she stepped over the doorsill. "I'll inform your father of my intentions tomorrow morning. Good night, my dear."

  Her heart fluttered at the endearment, but she stiffened her resolve to remain aloof. "My name is Emily." If he didn't use endearments, perchance she might keep him at arm's length until the three weeks elapsed. It was a hope, even if only a glimmering one.

  He smiled at her attempt at resistance. "See you on the morrow, Em."

  He made a half bow as she dashed into her room, heart racing at the sound of her name on his lips.

  Chapter 9

  Emily paced the bare boards of the hallway, little Tommy snuggled against her shoulder. Only a couple of days had elapsed since she enjoyed the late-night excitement with Frank at his printing office, and yet it seemed weeks. Had it only been four days since Frank squashed the offensive assault by the British brutes? So much had happened it seemed much longer.

  The early afternoon sunlight drew attention to dust motes dancing in midair, and sparkled the silken threads of her pale green skirt. Grinning with happiness, she pivoted on one foot and sauntered toward the rear of the house. Through the window of the back door she noticed the little garden struggling to retain its colorful flowers despite the arrival of fall.

  Tommy snored softly in her ear. The boy grew heavy to carry. She abandoned the idea of sitting with him. As long as she kept moving, he seemed content, though her thin slippers faced certain ruin as a result. She shifted his weight, holding him securely with her left arm, and stroked his back with her free hand. He rooted against her dress, finally turning his head so she could see his closed eyes and open mouth. The scent of lavender wrapped around her nose as she gazed on the sleeping boy.

  The back door jerked open, and Emily ambled toward it, inhaling air ripe with smoke from the cooking fires along with the pungent maritime scent. Jasmine halted when she spotted Emily approaching.

  "Tommy's asleep." Although stating the obvious, Emily didn't want Jasmine to make any unnecessary noise.

  "Yes, miss." Jasmine shifted the scarred wooden bowl brimming with apples from one hand to the other and eased the door closed. She turned questioning eyes to Emily. "You're doing fine, miss."

  Emily reached the woman and paused. "What do you mean?"

  "I've been seeing how you handle him, and you's learned quickly. You're a natural mother."

  Emily began shaking her head before her maid finished speaking. "No, I'm not. I need advice, but am not sure who to ask." Questions plagued her mind, not only about caring for an infant as it grows, but also about her future, her writing, and most important how to manage this courtship problem.

  Jasmine peered at her for a long moment, waiting to be allowed to prepare the afternoon meal. At Emily's nod, Jasmine slipped into the dining room, out of sight.

  Alone and feeling lost—a ship without a sextant to navigate her path—Emily walked up and down in the quiet house. Having no real mother nor being one herself, her motherly instincts never developed. She didn't feel comfortable sharing any of this with her aunt, for fear of the disappointment she suspected would haunt that fine lady's eyes. Had she learned nothing from her teachings over the years? Apparently not.

  Emily paced the hallway, contemplating her dilemma.

  What did the future hold for her?

  A tiny boy needed her to be a mother when she didn't know how to be on
e. The thought made her tighten her spine. Guilt slid through her before she relaxed. Elizabeth had wanted her to step in and be the mother she had planned to be for her child. Emily's stomach clenched, her breakfast rebelling at the turmoil in her heart. Elizabeth naturally loved and cared for others. Her sister's smile and good nature had won over many slaves and the old women at church alike. Emily wished she possessed the patience of her twin.

  Tommy stretched in her arms and yawned, his hands fisted as tightly as his eyes. She watched, fascinated, when he opened them and the emerging color hinted at the brilliant blue of his father, Jedediah.

  Frank's slate-colored eyes, on the other hand, evoked a sense of strength overlaid with the energy of a stormy sea. When he looked at her, she worked to recall her vow and the reasons she'd resorted to it. Indeed her armful of baby right now provided a daily reminder of what she worked to avoid. Now why did she think of Frank at that moment? She shook her head at the mystery of how thoughts connected in her brain. She needed a distraction.

  "Let's venture outside, shall we?" Emily tucked the end of the baby blanket around him. At the sound of her voice, Tommy blinked at her. "It's hard to wake up sometimes, isn't it? Some fresh air will do us both good."

  She hurried outside before anyone stopped her. She would only visit the yard so she refused to believe she needed an escort. The sun warmed her face even as the light breeze pulled a stray lock of hair into her eyes. Wrapping it behind her ear, she shifted Tommy into a more secure hold and babbled to the child, grateful for the faint sun warming her skin.

  Fortunately he seemed to enjoy the outdoors. How much could he see? How well did his eyes work? Could he smell the dying flowers all around him? When would he start walking? Running? What would she do when he became a little boy playing in the street with the other children?

  Preoccupied by her thoughts, she wandered through the garden, making a mental note to remove the suckers from the artichokes, trim and dress the asparagus beds, and sow the radish and lettuce. She chatted with the boy about the flowers preparing for a long winter's nap and the birds darting among the leaves and branches, searching for fallen seeds and scurrying bugs.

  "They don't want to be caught out in the cold, and the danger of frost harming them," she said. "Every creature and plant has to protect itself."

  A blue jay swooped in front of her and landed beside a nearby rosebush, where the white petals clung to the green stems in a vain hope of surviving the coming winter. An errant gust caught the petals and freed them from their grip, the delicate blossoms tumbling to the ground.

  Tommy squirmed in her arms, and his eyes scrunched up, ready to start wailing. "Tommy, baby, please." Fussing over the child, Emily started walking toward the house.

  "I'm glad you found time for a walk outside."

  Emily looked up quickly at the familiar voice. "You're back!"

  In short order, a smiling Amy embraced Emily and then confiscated Tommy. The flash of light glinting from her gold chain necklace caught the boy's attention.

  Emily propped her fists on her hips in frustration as Tommy stopped screwing up his face to cry and became entranced with the small gold balls spaced on a fine chain around Amy's neck. "How do you do that?"

  Amy chuckled and tossed her curls. "It's natural for women to know how to care for children."

  "Not for me." Emily swallowed the frustrated panic filling her throat as she paced beside her cousin. Despite Jasmine's assurances, she did not feel as though she would ever be comfortable as Tommy's mother. Mayhap she'd learn from Amy's example if she paid closer attention. They went back inside the house, entering into the dimness from the bright sunlight. "It's time for his afternoon tea, so to speak. Let's change his diaper and then take him to Mary."

  "I'll carry him." Amy joggled Tommy in her arms, his eyes widening in surprise. Her laugh floated down the stairwell as they climbed the last few steps. She paused at the top and looked steadily at Emily. "Perhaps he senses you don't want him around."

  "Not wanting him has nothing to do with it." Emily crossed her arms and returned Amy's gaze.

  "Then why do you keep foisting him on others to care for him?" Amy pried Tommy's fingers from her necklace and waited for Emily to respond.

  "I don't." Emily grimaced, remembering her conversation with Samantha earlier. "Perhaps I have, but he's not my son. I try to ignore the resentment that my sister didn't live to rear her own child. She wanted that more than anything else in this world."

  "Granted, but plans change," Amy said, her smile weary. "My arms shake from holding Tommy. He's an armful of a little boy, isn't he?"

  "Definitely." Emily took Tommy into her arms. She led the way into the bedroom where she expertly swapped the soiled diaper for a pristine one.

  "Amazing how you've perfected the task in such a short period of time, Cousin." Amy chuckled and clapped her hands twice. "Well done."

  "Fumbling and practice, and lots of both, too." Emily patted the final fold in place and picked up Tommy, who cooed and burbled in response. "Come along, little one, time for supper." Pleased by Amy's compliment, she grinned, happiness diffusing through her. "If you're hungry, we can grab a snack as well."

  Amy bobbed her head in eager agreement. They deposited the boy with Mary and soon sat together at the dining table. Autumn sun filtered through the lace curtains, dappling the worn floor boards.

  The chores associated with caring for an infant seemed never ending. Emily thanked the good Lord for her slaves' assistance. This experience made her even more aware of how the forced limitations on a girl's education prevented learning necessary skills, such as direct knowledge of how to treat wounds and book learning about government, history, and nature studies needed to share with her children.

  Emily felt unprepared for either aspect of her life.

  Hmm, that thought could be spun into an essay. She'd need to ponder the subject more when she had time to think on it, while puttering in the garden or dipping candles.

  "I met General Greene while I was away." Amy spread apple butter on her corn muffin.

  "What was he like?" Emily bit into a slice of apple, juice dribbling down her chin. She dabbed her face with a linen napkin to remove the sticky rivulet.

  "He personally thanked us for the cloth and boots."

  "Is he as kind as they say?"

  "Yes, quite the gentleman," Amy said. "His gratitude made me feel like we really helped. And..." She paused for effect, eyes gleaming.

  "Must I beg?" Emily leaned forward.

  Shaking her head, Amy grinned. "And he said they will retake the town whether or not the peace treaty is signed. Either peaceably when the British evacuate, or by force if necessary."

  "How much more of this waiting must we endure?" Reclining against the hard-back chair, Emily sighed. "It's interminable. I cannot even recall life prior to the start of this war."

  "Seems like it's been all my life instead of half of it," Amy agreed.

  "How long will you stay in town this time?" Please say you'll be around to help me through this nonsensical courtship farce.

  "Not long, I'm afraid. Mother asked me to help her again. Alone this time."

  Emily stared in horror at her cousin, her personal interests pushed aside. "Must you? What if you're caught?"

  "I won't be." Amy prepared another corn muffin and took a delicate bite. "I'll wear my widest skirts so they won't see anything I tuck underneath. I've already sewed a few things into the waist. I'll be fine."

  "What will you take?" The sentries searched the wagons and carriages with swords, spearing into piles of clothing, looking for people trying to escape the confines of the town without proper passes. More than one smuggler had suffered death on the spot.

  "General Greene said they need whatever lead we have to make ammunition," Amy whispered, casting around to ensure no one overheard. "But keep that to yourself."

  "Oh, Amy," Emily breathed. "Please be careful."

  Amy patted Emily's hand in reassurance
. "I've watched how Mother does this. I'm sure I'll have no problems at all."

  Emily's instincts quivered despite her cousin's calm assurance.

  * * *

  "Equal education indeed. Why does a young girl need formal education?"

  The question, more of a declaration actually, made Emily look up from her weaving. The ladies gathered in the upstairs parlor of Aunt Lucille's house, but this time indulged in more talking than sewing. She'd been silently composing her next essay, one forming around the radical idea of how women should be able to represent their own interests and even sign contracts, when the woman's voice broke through her thoughts. Frank had grumbled about the essay in question but held to their deal. She listened to the ensuing conversation with interest.

  Darlene Walters stumped her way across the parlor, her long skirts rustling with each step. Her opinions always seemed to enjoy the force of fact among the townswomen. Whatever she said guided the others. Change in such an atmosphere became hopeless, because the other women acted like sheep instead of individuals. The situation rankled Emily's nerves. How could they fall into step so easily with one person's point of view? Surely their brains functioned independently.

  "Wh-y, Dar-lene, just like that lil ol' paper said, so's they can teach their younguns how to be proper citizens." Fanny Norris, a petite woman sitting to Emily's right, set her chair rocking, her painted fan waving before her face. A newcomer to the town after her husband's death at the battle at Cowpens early last year, she spent all her effort supporting the aims of the patriots and spoiling those of the British. Across her lap lay an unfinished shirt, its left sleeve dangling. Her southern drawl infused the atmosphere, painting smiles on the other ladies' faces.

  "It's such a grand idea for our new country," another woman added. "Don't you agree?"

  With all her heart. Emily paid close attention to the discussion, though she made a show of passing the flying shuttle back and forth, and tapping the weft thread snuggly into place after each pass. The rhythmic motion of weaving provided a steady beat as background to the ladies' conversation.