by Beth White
Of course she was tired. She was also hungry and sad. But admitting that to two men headed home to see their sweethearts would have been the height of selfishness. So she would smile, shake her head, and think of riding Bonnie on the beach. Or playing bilboquet with Elijah. Or a whole list of things she could come up with besides kissing Charlie. Because all that did was close up her throat and make her nose sting.
Blinking hard to make the sensation go away, she realized Desi had stopped the wagon in Uncle Rémy’s carriageway. Oliver had already hopped out and run to the kitchen door.
She rubbed her eyes. “We’re here!”
Desi gave her a quizzical look. “Yes, we are. Where have you been?”
She sighed and looked away. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” He patted her hand. “Nobody expects you to be merry and bright, Fi, but let your family love you. All right?”
Her eyes filled again. “Stop being so kind to me. It makes me cry!”
He laughed, so she laughed too and let him help her down from the wagon. But he held her hand as they walked to the house, and she clung to it, grateful that at least one person understood what she’d been through.
Then Maddy was on the front porch, with Elijah hopping about like a monkey, and Desi let go of Fiona to hurry up the steps and embrace the two of them. Fiona stood on the walkway, smiling at their joy. Before long, Aunt Giselle came out with Aunt Lyse and Uncle Rafa, Uncle Rémy trailing with his usual dignity, and Fiona found herself entangled in a complicated family hug that went a long way to restoring her peace. It would take quite some time, she knew, to move out of the valley of the shadow, but one day she’d find herself looking back.
She had to believe that.
Elijah lay asleep with his head on Desi’s shoulder, Maddy within the circle of his arm. Chilly but content, they sat in the dark on her porch swing. The first ecstasy of reunion had passed, but she kept looking up at him, touching his hand on Elijah’s back, just to make sure he was real.
The third time she did that, he smiled and kissed her forehead. “I’m not going away. So if I fall asleep, just give me a blanket and go on to bed.”
She laughed. “I couldn’t sleep if you paid me a thousand dollars. You don’t know how I worried at the news you’d been taken prisoner.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “You told me you wouldn’t see any action.”
“I know how to handle a gun, and we were outnumbered. I had to help.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “I have to admit, it was strange to encounter Charlie Kincaid in uniform aboard the prison ship—at Christmas dinner!”
“Did he know that Fiona was in New Orleans? She was very quiet when you-all returned.”
“He knew.” Desi took a breath as if to say more, then lapsed into silence.
“What is it, Des?”
“I think I was wrong about him, Maddy. He understood how dangerous it was for her to be there, and he’s the one who arranged to have her brought out so quickly.”
“How do you know?”
“I . . . can’t say. And don’t tell her any of this. He’s gone now, and it’s best she forgets him.”
Maddy huffed. “If you’re withholding something from her, that’s the same as treating her as a child. Women are stronger than you think.”
His eyes glittered in the shadows. “I’m learning that. There’s something else I need to talk to you about, Madeleine, before I can ask you to marry me. Something that may affect your decision.”
“What is that?” She couldn’t think of anything that would keep her from Desi.
“While I was in New Orleans, I had a chance to talk to people who knew General Wilkinson.”
“General Wilkinson?” The name, so far from the context of their conversation, set her adrift. “Stephen’s commander?”
“Yes. You’ll remember that he’d been indicted more than once for collusion with traitors. He was more or less run out of New Orleans on suspicion of corruption after the Louisiana Purchase.”
“I know, but . . . Stephen said even President Washington trusted him. Stephen trusted him.”
“It seems the president was fooled in that case, because Wilkinson played both sides. Part of my assignment here was to investigate the case, and I’ve seen proof in documents and letters that never came to light at his trials.”
“Desi, was Stephen involved in those bad land deals?”
“I can’t prove it for certain, but I’ve talked to military people who knew Stephen and believe he was in on the schemes but may have thought about testifying. They say that’s why Wilkinson had him moved to the front line of battle.”
“Stephen was a soldier! He was going to battle anyway!”
“Maddy, I know it’s hard for an honest, ethical person to comprehend the evil tricks people get up to when they want power or money or both. Wilkinson was a crook and a liar. It’s possible Stephen was too.” Desi released an uncomfortable breath. “As you said, you deserve truth, and one day it’s likely somebody else will tell you I was asking questions. I appreciate your loyalty to your husband—”
“I knew there was something wrong.”
“What?”
“He was unfaithful to me. I’m not surprised he would do other things as well.”
“Oh, Maddy. I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, I know.” She laid her hand on Elijah’s back. “I’m sorry Elijah may find this out one day, though I hope he doesn’t. But I’ve had time to think about it and grieve over it. Mama and Daddy have helped me see that I don’t have to let Stephen’s sin and bad judgment affect me for the rest of my life. I choose not to, that’s all.” She leaned closer to Desi. “I choose a good man who loves and obeys God and tries to do right, even when he doesn’t have to.”
“You are remarkable, do you know that?” He kissed her nose and then her lips. “So was that a yes?”
“Excuse me, what was the question?”
“Madeleine Gaillain Gonzales Burch, will you and Elijah marry me?”
“Oh, yes . . .”
JANUARY 22, 1815
Sehoy sat on the hearth beside Oliver, as close to him as she could get without sitting in his lap. Aunt Giselle, knitting in her rocker beside Uncle Rémy’s armchair, kept an eagle eye on the two of them, probably to make sure they didn’t slip off alone. Sehoy knew Oliver wanted to do just that, and of course she did too, but even an Indian orphan understood the boundaries.
“You really pretended to be me?” Israel, to Sehoy’s irritation, was regarding Fiona as if she’d rescued America single-handedly, instead of throwing away a perfectly good family for a British aristocrat with a talent for manipulation.
It was late, past bedtime, and the children were all asleep—well, except for Israel, who for once was treated as one of the adults so that he could hear Fiona’s adventures. Desi had gone next door with Maddy to put Elijah to bed. They were probably spooning as well, but after all, they were old and could do whatever they wanted. Aunt Lyse sat on the sofa in the circle of Uncle Rafa’s arm, her feet tucked underneath her. She looked sleepy, but Sehoy knew she was taking everything in with a razor intellect that could cut through nonsense at a moment’s notice.
Fiona, the center of attention, seemed lost, as if she wanted to be elsewhere. Her curly hair, still so short that it escaped the combs holding it off her face, drew attention to the fineness of her skin and the weary droop to her blue eyes. But she did manage to smile at Israel’s incredulity. “Oliver said I looked just like you—didn’t you, Ollie?”
Oliver flushed. “Well, it was dark that night!”
Everybody laughed, and he became fair game for teasing.
“We all knew you needed spectacles!”
“You should apprentice as a barber, Oliver, you have real talent.”
Oliver smiled faintly, looking at the rug. “Knowing what I know now, I’m not sure I’d do it again—send Fiona into battle like that, I mean. I saw things . . .” Suddenly he met Uncle Rafa’s eyes across the room, his gaz
e direct and mature. “But I know what you and my father and Uncle Simon went through to make sure we’re free men, not slaves of some king across the ocean. So I’m glad I went. I’d do that again!”
It was the longest speech Sehoy had heard him make in a large group, ever. She wanted to kiss him right then and there but contented herself with pressing her knee against his thigh.
“We’re proud of you, Oliver,” Lyse said softly. “And Fiona as well.”
Fiona looked away. “Thank you, Aunt Lyse. But I want you all to forgive me for worrying you.” She sighed. “This is going to sound so ungrateful, but do you think I could just go home to Navy Cove? I miss being there so much, and I want to check on Uncle Luc-Antoine and my horses . . .”
“I’ll take you,” Oliver said before anyone else could offer. “I miss home too.”
“And I’ll go with you,” Sehoy said quickly. “Fiona needs another girl with her,” she added when Aunt Giselle looked at her sharply.
Uncle Rémy forestalled his wife’s objection. “That’s not a bad plan. Nardo Smith was in town today, planning to head back to the Point tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll take you down the bay on his boat.”
Sehoy jumped to her feet, thrilled to have the question so simply settled. “I need to pack my things.”
But Oliver got to his feet and took her hand before she could dart up the stairs. “Wait, Sehoy. Come outside with me for a minute first.”
She glanced at Aunt Giselle, who shrugged, and allowed Oliver to lead her out onto the porch, lit only by a small oil lamp on a table. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He walked her backward into the darkness and firmly tipped her chin up with his thumb, then bent his head to kiss her hard. When he was done, he drew away, then kissed her again more gently. “I missed you, Sehoy. But we’re going to have to wait awhile before anything happens with us.”
“Oliver . . .” She was still trying to catch her breath.
“Just listen. I’m going to court you. But you’ll have to be patient because I want to go to college like Desi, and have a business like Uncle Rémy, so I can take care of you. And that’s going to take some time.”
“I might want to go to college too.” She didn’t want him to be smarter than her.
“That’s fine.” He grinned and kissed her again. “It’s a good thing we’ll have lots of family around us all the time, isn’t it?” Drawing her back into the light, he pushed the door open and grabbed her hand to pull her inside.
JANUARY 24, 1815
DAUPHINE ISLAND
He could have walked away.
Charlie dropped over the side of the Sophie and descended the rope ladder to the tender boat that would take him and the marine unit over to the island. He said it to himself again. Judah would have let him go, he could have simply disappeared, gone to Mexico, and no one would ever have found him.
And many men would have done it in his place.
It was clear by now that Admiral Cochrane—for whatever mad notion he possessed of retaliation against his grandfather’s actions in the past, or maybe just simple power and control over one dependent upon his whims—had no intention of granting his decommissioning. And because Cochrane was his commanding officer, the Articles of War, ratified and amended by Parliament in 1779, precluded Charlie willfully going over to an enemy force, or even being found away from his duty station without leave for that matter. If he defied that law, he subjected himself to penalties up to death by hanging or firing squad.
Which made him bound, as enslaved as any of the Villeré servants, to the word of Vice-Admiral Alexander Cochrane. The only difference was, he had done it to himself. When God had delivered him to the Americans, released him from his commitment to the British cause, he’d stuck his head right back into the noose.
But he would do it again in a heartbeat for Fiona Lanier.
The difficulty at hand, however, was just as stark as that other decision. He could no longer bring himself to take up arms against her brothers or uncles or cousins. And here they were, the British fleet and army, gathered at the head of Mobile Bay for the purpose of once more attacking the poorly garrisoned little fort that he had helped defend less than six months ago.
In some ways, he felt as if he’d returned home after a long exile. The ocean breeze that ruffled his hair was cold, but somehow refreshing after the choking humidity of New Orleans and the stink of the battlefield. As the boat grounded on a sandbar, he stepped out and splashed onto the beach, remembering days of swimming in the surf at Navy Cove with Oliver and Léon, crabbing with Fiona, and coming home to boil their catch for supper. Good days.
But in many respects, he faced certain execution here. Because when they told him to aim the Sophie’s guns at Navy Cove, he would have to refuse. The soldiers at Fort Bowyer didn’t know it, but they had a brother planted in the Royal Navy. A brother who was for them, not against them.
He couldn’t help thinking of Abraham’s dilemma regarding the sacrifice of Isaac. How could a good God demand such a price? Had the patriarch known a substitute would be provided at the last second?
Letting his men proceed, Charlie stopped, turned to look at the vastness of the sea, churning waves controlled in regular tides, depths hiding a staggering variety of life. Did the God of all that really pierce the daily existence of men like Charlie Kincaid? He was no Abraham to found a dynasty that would rock the foundations of humanity for centuries to come.
Or was he? Someone had intervened to miraculously rescue him on more than one occasion. First in a storm not far from here, and recently as he scrabbled over a wall into enemy lines.
Hope flickered to life. Perhaps the plan was not at an end.
Later that night, he sat at a campfire with officers from the Sophie and the Carron, quiet while they drank rum, told bawdy jokes, and reminisced about the carnival days of waiting in Negril Bay for deployment.
“There was that pretty native girl that cooked sauce for the admiral,” chortled a lieutenant named Cassell, looking over his shoulder at the big tent, some distance away, where Cochrane already slumbered. “He thought he was the only one dining at that table.”
“Generous, was she?” someone else jeered.
General laughter, then Spencer, captain of the Carron and second in command of naval forces, elbowed Charlie. “Careful what you say in his presence, though—right, Kincaid? Cochrane can be a dangerous man to cross. I don’t know what you did to get on his bad side, but I wouldn’t count on him ever turning you loose.”
Charlie stilled. “What do you know about my request to resign?”
“Just that it was approved at the same time we got word to come here. Cochrane has been boasting that he’ll hold on to that letter until he dies—or you do, whichever comes first.”
“Would you—would you swear to that, sir?”
Spencer’s eyes widened. “My career depends on his goodwill, laddy. Besides, how could I prove it?” He shrugged. “His word against mine.”
The conversation moved on, and Charlie lapsed into silence again.
The letter had come. Cochrane had lied to him. Eventually Charlie would be able to contact his grandfather and gain verification of his release, but that could be a long time off—certainly after the impending battle over Fort Bowyer ran its course. By that time he would be either in the brig for insubordination or dead.
He surged to his feet. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I have just recollected an important duty I’ve neglected to complete.”
He walked off into the darkness.
20
FEBRUARY 7, 1815
NAVY COVE
Fiona woke to a series of lightning jags that lit her room like the noonday sun, followed by a crashing roll of thunder. She sat up in bed, at first certain she was at the Battle of New Orleans, but a quick pat of the bedclothes encountered Sehoy’s shoulder.
Home. Navy Cove.
In the darkness she took a couple of breaths and lay back down. No way to tell the time, but she f
ound herself wide awake, nerves thrumming. The horses would be frightened. She should go out to reassure them.
Her dress hung on the back of the door. Quickly she put it on over her nightgown, located stockings and boots, then went to the entryway for Sullivan’s old coat and hat—the only items remaining from that disreputable wardrobe. She was going to get soaked—it was raining buckets, probably had been for hours—but what was the difference between that and going swimming?
Her boots were full of water by the time she reached the barn. Thunder continued to roll, and lightning lit the doorway as she fumbled for tinder and flint. She could hear the goats rustling and bleating in their stall, Bonnie and Washington kicking walls in their anxiety.
With the lantern finally aglow, she hurried to Washington first. His big dark eyes rolled, showing her the whites, and he jerked his head away when she reached for him. “Come on, big boy,” she crooned. “Just a lot of noise. Nobody’s going to—”
A hand clamped her shoulder.
She screamed and dropped the lantern.
“Fiona! It’s me!”
She was grabbed from behind in arms like iron bands. Kicking wildly, she reared her head backward, connected with something hard, and her assailant howled.
“It’s Charlie, you little—!”
She went limp. “Ch-Ch-Charlie?”
“Yes.” He let go of her.
She whirled and found him nursing a reddened, rapidly swelling cheekbone. “You’re dead!”
“Clearly I’m not.”
“Why did you scare me like that? I thought you were dead!”
“I was going to wait out here until morning and then knock on the door like a gentleman. I should have realized you would come out to check on the horses. Can’t you control the weather around here?”
She waved off his pathetic joke. “The dead part, Charlie. They said you went over that wall, and they couldn’t find your body.”
