The Turning of Anne Merrick

by Christine Blevins

  She beat back a flutter of panic, and brought reason to her tone. “With the storms we’ve been having…”

  “Oh, when it rains we try to find shelter, or make one with deadfall and tree boughs.” With a snap of the wrists, Jack unfurled the blankets one by one, floating them over the collected mass of balsam boughs. He turned to find Anne staring up at the sky, her brow woven in concern.

  “Ah, now… you’ve no cause to fret, little noodle. We’re blessed with a crystal clear night—not a cloud in the skytml—and Ned helped me make us this nice balsam bed.”

  Anne eyed the blanket-draped boughs. “Pine branches?”

  “Almost as soft as your lovely goose-down tick back at the Cup and Quill.” Jack bounced his hand on the balsam mattress to demonstrate the springy quality.

  “Jack! You don’t really expect we’re going to”—she sputtered—“on a pile of tree branches?”

  “What were you expecting? Marquee tents and camp beds? Crystal goblets and Canary wine? Well, balsam boughs, peachy, and a starry night are the best I can offer.” Jack flopped onto the bed, folding hands under head. “This is a sight better than most mattresses I’ve laid my bones upon—and for our purpose, certainly better than the hard ground.”

  “Our purpose…” Anne repeated under her breath.

  Jack flipped onto his side, his head propped on his elbow. “C’mon, Annie! We oughtn’t quibble. As always, our time together is small.”

  “As always…” she repeated. He was right. This rendezvous in the starlit woodland bore the same brand of uncertainty and limited time frame as the handful of nights they’d spent together back in New York town. Furtive, danger-fraught trysts requiring Jack to climb from the kitchenhouse rooftop with grappling hook and rope to the window of her tiny garret room, where they would whisper the short hours away, making love in the dark—literally over the heads of the British officers she’d been forced to quarter on the floor below.

  Disappointment jammed her throat, and she was suddenly exhausted by the complicated machinations required to snatch a few simple moments together. Scrinching her eyes to abate her tears, she pulled her shawl tight to her shoulders, almost wishing she’d stayed back with Sally and saved herself the inevitable pain of yet another parting.

  “What’s troubling you, Annie?”

  She shrugged. “I just wish…” She completed her thought with another shrug.

  “I know…” Jack came to plop down beside her. “I so wish I could do better than tree boughs and brack canteen water…”

  Anne sat up, pushing her hair back. “It’s not that… It’s not about the bed. I just wish things were different for us. Less complicated. More normal.”

  “Things will be different soon. This war can’t last forever, and the way it’s been going… Well, no matter who wins, once the war’s over we’ll be wed and living back at the Cup and Quill, frolicking on a proper feather tick under a proper roof. I promise.” Jack crisscrossed his thumb over his heart. “But this is how it is for us here and now—and for now, lying with you in my arms on a bed of sweet balsam under a beautiful sky is truly my idea of heaven on earth.” He brought her hand up and placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

  “Mine, too,” she said, drying her tears with the hem end of her shift.

  Jack waggled his brow in the way that always made her laugh. “Then let’s get to it!” Hopping to his feet, he pried open the jaws of the silver armbands at his biceps, tossing them one by one into his sack.

  Anne let her shawl fall away as she stood to kick off her shoes and fiddle with the tie on the waistband of her skirt. She struggled with the knot, keeping an eye on Jack through downcast lashes, watching as he undid the buttons at his cuffs and tugged the frock shirt over his head.

  Ranging the Adirondack foothills with an aim to wreak havoc on the British army had added a quality of tough durability to Jack’s tall frame. The firelight illuminated his body, tanned Indian brown, his muscles tempered and hardened by a life lived on the run in the wilderness. As outlandish and heathen as he appeared in his Indian costume, Anne found herself quite taken with the allure of watching her man strip down to beaded breechclout.

  He looks as if he could move a mountain…

  With heart beating a war dance in her breast, Anne swiped the back of her hand to the perspiration collected on her brow, and tried to regain a semblance of normal breathing. Successful in untying the knot at her waistband, she dropped her skirt and stepped free from the heavy yardage, quelling a brazen urge to peel off the thin shift she wore as well. Lifting her heavy hair up off her neck, Anne backed away from the fire, and caught Jack in an unabashed stare. Letting her hair drop in a cascade, she fanned her flushed face with both hands.

  “The fire’s so warm…”

  “The night chill is settling in, and when the dew falls, you’ll be happy for the heat cast from the coals.” Jack braced one foot to a large branch. Cracking it into manageable sizes, he tossed the pieces onto the embers, sending flakes of fire borne on heated air blinking around him in a glittery halo. Jack dropped down on hunkers, his half-crown necklet swaying to and fro as he tended to the fire. It pleased Anne to see him carry his love token near his heart, but other things not so pleasing—and some things quite strange—were also brought to light by the rising flames.

  There were the recently acquired marks earned by his devotion to the cause of liberty—the thin pink scar curving from his left eye to the corner of his mouth, the rough scapegallows scar circling his neck, and the vicious saber slash across his forearm—all his injuries yet raw and raised. Trade silver dangling from his pierced ear flickered within the tousle of long dark hair, and Anne reached out and brushed her fingers over the curious drawing revealed on his bare shoulder—a wing-spread eagle with a bunch of arrows clutched in one talon.

  “Paint?” she asked.

  “No…” He turned and flashed a shamefaced smile. “Rum—too much of it, I’m afraid. That one is mine to keep forever.” Standing upright, he clapped the dirt from his hands. “Well, our hearth is banked for the night…”

  Heart quickening, Anne took a step forward. Pulling her close, Jack slid his hands around to encompass her waist and caress the small of her back. Twining her arms about his neck, she swayed into his embrace.

  Jack nosed the top of her head. “Mmm… lavender…” he murmured. He bent to nuzzle her cheek, and whisper hoarse in her ear, “Come and lie with me?”

  Rising on tiptoes, Anne answered his question with a kiss and, kissing and spinning, they twirled a slow and erratic path to the bed. Jack pulled Anne onto the blanketed boughs in a puff of balsam fragrance, deepening their kiss with a hungry groan. Rolling to lie side by side, he ran his hand up under the hem of her shift, his rough, work-calloused palm and fingers following a slow curve from thigh to hip. Caressing the dip at her waist for a moment, Jack moved upward to cup one breast before his hand fell back to course the same slow path in retreat, ending with an impelling nudge to urge her thighs apart.

  A moan caught in her throat, and Anne began a struggle with the unfamiliar workings of his breechclout, finally tugging the swath of fabric loose enough to let slip her hand between his legs.

  “I-gods!” Jack groaned, and rolled to cover her body with his.

  Anne fluttered her eyes open to see the heavens bending over Jack’s broad-muscled shoulders, and she watched a sparkling star shoot across the sky as their bodies joined in close embrace.

  “It is a wonder, isn’t it?” she whispered. “Loving, and being loved…”

  Jack rose up to blot out the sparkling sky, and the only glimmer she could see was the amber firelight dancing in the dark of his eye.

  “Like our little crown,” he said, “fit together, we are complete.”

  “Hurry! It’s so cold without you.”

  Jack shook off the last few drops before tucking himself back into his breechclout. Tugging on the front flap to settle the fabric snug in the straddle, he went to stir the em
bers to life and added a few chunks of wood, then grabbed his shirt and scuttled back between the warm blankets. “Here, you can put this on.”

  Anne sat up and wriggled into the shirt. Once she’d negotiated the ridiculously long sleeves, she dove back into their nest, snuggling up against Jack to loop her leg over his and make a pillow of his shoulder.

  “Ooh! You are so nice and toasty…”

  Their every shift of limb, shoulder, and hip sent up wafts of sweet balsam, and Jack relished the scent with a deep, indrawn breath. “Ahhh! I think from now on, I’ll never pass a fir tree without pining for you…”

  Anne couldn’t help but laugh at his silly pun. She tipped her head to Jack’s, and they both gazed up into the heavens. “That’s a sight to see. It looks as if the angels spilled the salt cellar over the sky.”

  “You see this dusty swath arcing right over us?” Jack asked. “The astronomers call it the Milky Way—so many stars clustered so far away, it appears as mist to our eyes.”

  “A mist of stars,” Anne said. “Imagine that…”

  “Captain Feather Hat had the right of it—this is one fine night for stargazing.” Still staring up at the sky, he asked, “What was it Feather Head gave you this morning, wrapped up with a red ribbon?”

  Jolted by his sudden shift, Anne kept her tone level and her answer honest. “A dagger and sheath his Indian friend fashioned from the skin of the snake Sally and I killed.”

  “Hmmmphf…” Jack grunted. “He has an Indian friend?”

  Anne nodded. “But not near as nice as Ned. In truth I’d rather not talk about Pepperell or anything else to do with the damned British. Tomorrow will be here soon enough.”

  Jack lay quiet for such a long time, Anne startled a bit when he pointed to the northeast and asked, “Do you see the brilliant star—right above the tip-top of the tallest pine tree?”

  “I do…”

  “The brightest stars in the sky are Sirius, Canopus, Alpha Centauri, Arturus, Vega, and Capella. That brilliant star right there is Capella.”

  “Capella,” she repeated. “How is it you know so much about the stars?”

  “At Parker’s Press we printed a celestial map—a star chart of all the constellations—a beautiful copper engraving with hand-colored illustrations of all the mythological creatures and real gilt borders. Mr. Parker allowed me to take a plain copy to color on my own, and I have to say, I did a fair job of it. I have it still—packed away with my things at my brother’s farm.”

  “One day we can hang it in our print shop.”

  “On a clear night like this one, I would bring my chart up to Parker’s rooftop and sort out the business of the sky.” Jack rubbed his bristly cheek to Anne’s hair. “The time I first kissed you, the day the Stamp Act was repealed—I remember how I wished I could show the stars to a girl like you.”

  Anne pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And here you are—your wish come true.”

  Jack sat up. “I’d wager that’s why Feather Head’s offer to take you stargazing sent me more than a bit mad…”

  “None of that! Not tonight.” Anne pulled him to lie flat, and settled her head back on his shoulder. Once she could feel him relaxing to enjoy the sky, she asked, “The bright star up and to the right of Capella—what’s it called?”

  “That is… Alpheratz.” He leaned his cheek to her head, and pointed. “Now follow on a diagonal down from Alpheratz—those next two stars are Mirach and Almach. The string of three belongs to the constellation Andromeda.” Jack tipped his head away, and back again. “Makes no sense to me, but by the illustration on my chart, the Greeks determined those stars formed the image of a naked woman chained to a rock…”

  “Why is she chained to a rock?”

  Jack turned to face her, resting his head on the crook of his arm. “Because, like you, Andromeda was very beautiful, but unlike you, Andromeda had a very vain mother—Cassiopeia, Queen of Ethiopia.” Jack turned onto his back, drawing a zigzag on the sky with his finger. “There’s the constellation Cassiopeia—just above Andromeda.”

  Anne tugged his arm down. “But the story…”

  “The story. Let’s see…” Jack pushed a swath of hair from his face. “Though Cassiopeia was a queen, she was still a mere mortal woman—and a stupid woman at that. Stupid enough to boast to all and sundry about her daughter’s beauty, and even claim Andromeda was more beautiful than the Nereids…”

  “The Nereids?”

  “The daughters of Poseidon—the nymphs of the sea.”

  Very solemn, Anne said, “Never a good idea to taunt the gods.”

  “As you have so wisely discerned, Cassiopeia’s bragging is a terrible affront to Poseidon. In anger, he unleashed a horrible, hideous sea monster named Cetus, directing him to wreak havoc on the land and people of Ethiopia. Cetus is…” Jack sat up abruptly and craned his neck. “I don’t see where Cetus is—hidden by the pines, I think…”

  Anne pulled him to lie down. “Finish the story.”

  Jack settled back into his warm place. “The Oracle warns the King and Queen of the coming catastrophe, and tells them the only way to save their land and people is to give their daughter to the monster in sacrifice.”

  “They don’t…”

  “They do. They strip poor Andromeda naked and chain her to a rock out on a barren island, far from shore.”

  “What terrible parents…”

  Jack shrugged. “Should they have sacrificed the multitude of their people for the life of one daughter? If they did, you would say, ‘What terrible monarchs.’”

  Anne gave him a thump to the chest. “So she’s chained naked to a rock, and Cetus is on the way…”

  Jack picked up the thread. “… And Perseus the Hero just happens to fly by and see Andromeda…”

  “Fly by?”

  “Perseus is just returning from a quest to kill Medusa and he has a pair of magic winged sandals—but that’s another story. Anyway, Perseus falls instantly in love with Andromeda.”

  “And he rescues her!”

  “Not exactly. A canny fellow, he first flies to Ethiopia and wrangles a deal with the King and Queen: He agrees to destroy Cetus in exchange for Andromeda’s hand in marriage. Of course, they agree. Perseus flies back to Andromeda just as Cetus is about to gobble her up. Perseus goads Cetus into rising out of the water, and makes him gaze upon the Medusa’s decapitated head, which he happens to carry in a magic sack…”

  “How handy!” Anne giggled.

  “Cetus is instantly turned to stone, Andromeda and Perseus are married, and they live happily ever after. When they died of ripe old age, Athena placed them in the sky as constellations.”

  Anne asked, “Which one is Perseus?”

  “Right there, just below and to the left of Andromeda.” Jack snaked his arm beneath Anne’s shoulders, and pulled her close. “Keep your eye on Perseus and you might see a shooting star this time of year.”

  They lay quiet, watching the sky for some time, when Jack whispered in her ear. “I’ll rescue you from any monster—land or sea.”

  “I know.”

  Anne blinked awake to a deep violet dawn. The celestial mob had dispersed with the onset of daylight, leaving behind only a few twinkling stragglers—the brightest of these high in the sky overhead. She barely whispered its name.

  “Capella.”

  Dreading the advent of daylight, like a magical incantation to keep the sun at bay, she whispered the names of all the stars that had climbed higher into the sky, calling them back to the horizon. “Capella. Almach. Mirach. Alpheratz.”

  Jack’s arm lay warm and heavy across her middle. She turned to see his features masked by a blanket of her hair, tiny wisps flying up and down on the whistling in and out of his breath. Anne gathered her tresses into a tail over one shoulder, and turned to lie in a curl on her side. Sleeping Jack matched her movement, and without any words they settled in to nest together like two cups in the cupboard.

  “Mmmghh…” Jack said to the b
ack of her head. “We ought wake.”

  Fully awake, Anne said, “Not yet.”

  She lay warm on their balsam bed, relishing the rise and fall of his chest against her back when, to her horror, a robin fluttered down to land just beyond the fire ring, his rich red breast startling in the predawn light.

  The early bird, she thought, reminded of the red-coated regulars up at dawn readying for the day’s march. She watched the robin hunting for its breakfast, hopping here and there to peck at the dew-soaked ground with its beak.

  “A redbreast,” Jack whispered into her neck.

  “Mm-hmm…” she said. “Pay him no heed.”

  But the robin would not be ignored. Hopping to perch on the log seat, he began his morning song. Cheerup, cheerup, cheerup, cheerio!

  Jack gave her shoulder a little shake. “Ned will be here soon.”

  Anne covered her ears, trying to shut out every sound and every reason signaling the time had come for them to leave their private universe.

  “One night’s not enough.” Her voice wavered, near tears.

  Jack leaned up on his elbow and stroked her hair. “You’re right. It’s not enough.”

  Cheerup, cheerup, cheerup, cheerio!

  Reaching down, Anne scooped up a small rock and hurled it at the robin, sending it fluttering up into the trees.

  “Oh, Annie…” Jack wrapped her tight in his arms, and she turned and buried her face in his chest, but she could still hear the damned robin singing in the distance. She peeked up at the sky, searching the cerulean blue. “I don’t see it anymore…”

  “See what, Annie?”

  “Capella.” A single hot tear trickled out the corner of her eye, and her chest ached with sudden panic. The earth was still spinning. Time had not stood still. She bolted up, unable to stay her tears. “I know I have to go back there—and I will—but I want—no—I need for you to understand this one thing…”

  Jack shifted to sit facing her, and he brushed back the mad tangle of hair from her face, his eyes deep pools of worry. “What is it?”

  Anne met his eye, and took hold of his hand. “In order to serve the cause we so believe in—to fight how I can to win our country’s liberty—I find myself doing things that in any other world would seem untrue to you. To us. You must know I’m not.” She pulled Jack’s hand to lie over her heart. “I belong to you.”