P N Elrod - Barrett 2 - Death and the Maiden

by Death

  Utter confusion seized me. I could not move or think for some moments, not because of the approaching sunrise, but out of pure shock and disorientation.

  / was no longer in the barn.

  That bit of realization was the only fact to impress itself upon my mind. Like an unwelcome lodger, it remained there, crowding out all other thoughts. I wasted much time trying to understand what had happened to me. In one instant I'd been stretched out for the day on the hard floor, and the next I was suddenly on the grass under an open sky.

  Someone must have moved me, I thought. Then I abruptly knew that I had slept the day through. It was happily anticipated sunset, not a dreaded sunrise to which I'd awakened.

  After so many days without it, I'd finally achieved it. Rest. No bad dreams, no dreams at all, only sweet oblivion.

  Thank God.

  But how had I come to be outside the barn? Perhaps Jericho had come by to check on me and had taken it into his head to shift my location, though why he would do such a thing was beyond imagining. Where-?

  Brain working again now that the surprise had passed, 1 stood and brushed myself off and looked around. I had heard something, and the noise was still with me. Human noise. human speech.

  German speech, fast and for the most part unintelligible to me.

  Hessians. Damnation. The Hessians had arrived.

  Now it seemed obvious that they had been the ones who had moved me from the barn, and, irksome as it might be, I'd have to have words with them, or at least with their commander. Hopefully, he would know more of English than I did of German, and I could righteously demand an answer to why they were trespassing on my land.

  Suffused with anger at their intrusion, I glared around and immediately spotted a sentry. I'd been taken to one side of the yard next to the barn, the outer wall of that structure being on my right. The man stood poised at the far corner, peering around it to what I concluded was some activity that did not directly affect him, but held his extreme interest. I stalked up and dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  "Entschuldigen Sie. Your commander, where is he?"

  Alas, I discovered that what my tutor, Rapelji, had taught me was true: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. My brusk though friendly greeting was violently met. The man whipped around, stared at me all wild-eyed, then let forth with as bloodcurdling a shriek as had ever been my misfortune to hear. Before I could do or say aught else, he backed away, his mouth hanging open. Though he'd lost breath for further screams, he was yet capable of an awful gasping and gagging. I thought he was having some sort of fit and stepped toward him, reaching out.

  "Nein! Nein!" came his hoarse reaction as he backed off even farther.

  He seemed to be perceiving me as some sort of threat. Before I could make any attempt to reassure him otherwise, he rushed around the corner of the barn, yelling incoherent- iy-

  Damnation again. I went after him, rounding the corner- and got my second shock of the evening as I was met by a phalanx of nervous-looking Hessians with their muskets all leveled and pointing at me. Instantly, I threw my hands high.

  "Freund!" I squeaked. "Ich bin ein Freund! Freund!" The words for "Don't shoot" were unfortunately not a part of my limited German vocabulary.

  My babbling gave them pause, though, for those first few critical seconds and they did not turn me into a sieve with their musket balls.

  While they hesitated, I added, "Where is your commander?"

  That struck a nerve. They were apparently disciplined enough to cleave to the military virtue of passing any difficult decision over to a higher authority. Some of them wavered, relaxing their tight hold on their weapons and looking to their left for guidance. Not turning my head from them, I let my eyes travel in that direction. There were several lighted lanterns about, making no difference to my vision, but helpful to their own. Standing in one such puddle of light in the doorway of the barn was a stocky man in an officer's florid uniform. I was not familiar with the trappings of Germanic rank-he could have been a lieutenant or a general for all I knew-but hopefully he would take charge now and persuade his men to calmness.

  "Good evening, sir," I said, trying to steady my voice.

  He looked me up and down as though I were some sort of lunatic on display in a town marketplace and made no reply.

  "My name is Barrett. I live here."

  His brows lowered and his full lips pushed out into a truly terrifying pout.

  "This is my land" I clarified.

  The soldier that I'd first encountered hesitantly stepped forward and saluted. The smartness of the gesture was somewhat diluted by his twisting around to keep me in sight. The officer fixed his eyes on him and gave a brief, guttural acknowledgment, apparently permission to speak. There followed a quick burst of wordage, accompanied by gestures, as the fellow accounted for himself. He pointed at me quite a lot, and at the interior of the barn.

  Oh, dear. Like the sunrise I'd missed, the reason for all the uproar suddenly dawned in my brain. Oh, dear, oh, dear, and damnation again and again and...

  "You!" The officer was addressing me. "Come here."

  Experimentally, I lowered my arms. His men did not fire. I walked over slowly, trusting that they feared him more than me. When close enough, I made a formal bow and reintroduced myself, this time with more dignity and less haste, and inquired after his own identity.

  "Muller," he said, adding in something about his rank that was too quickly spoken for me to catch. He gave a curt sketch of a bow, then jerked ramrod straight, the better to look down his nose at me.

  I asked him, as politely as I could, why he was here.

  He countered with the same question.

  I repeated that this was my land, that I lived here.

  "You live in a-"

  "Pardon?" I did not know the last word.

  He pointed meaningfully at the barn.

  I looked insulted and told him that my house was elsewhere on the property.

  "Why were you in the barn?" he demanded.

  My explanation that I'd had a long day of walking and had stopped for a rest did not sit well with him.

  "He was dead" put in my former guard, somewhat fearful- iy-

  "Asleep" I corrected firmly, keeping a bland face.

  "Dead" the man argued back.

  I rolled my eyes and shrugged, trying to give the impression that the man had lost his senses. Few of the other men were willing to give up what must have been a vivid first impression of me, either. Several nodded agreement with the guard and made surreptitious gestures with one hand that supposedly protected them against the evil eye. These may have been the very ones who had first entered the barn and found my seemingly lifeless corpse, probably not the first they'd encountered in their military ventures, but very certainly the first that had ever revived.

  "Why are you here, sir?" I asked the officer.

  But he was not to be distracted into going on the defensive and demanded a further accounting to justify ray own presence.

  "My German is poor, sir. Do you speak the English?"

  "Nein," he said flatly, as though I'd insulted him.

  "The French?"

  "Nein." This time it was a sneer.

  Sighing, I decided to forgo asking after his skill at Italian or Latin, then an idea flashed up. "Do you know Lieutenant Nash of the British? He is my friend." Well, that was stretching things a bit, but perhaps a familiar name might improve this fellow's disposition.

  "Nein. What are you doing here?"

  I repeated myself.

  "He was dead," insisted the guard.

  The other men nodded.

  The officer glared at him.

  "It's true! We found his-"

  Again, I had no understanding of this last word, but could guess that it meant "corpse" or "body." His gestures were eloquent as the man babbled on, anxious to prove his case that I was, indeed, deceased. His allies offered agreement whenever he paused for breath, then Muller had enough and
cut him off with a sharp order. He was very good at glaring, and liberally demonstrated this talent to us all. The men came to attention for him, but it was uneasily held by the guard's allies. When things were quiet again, Muller growled at the guard, who saluted and went into the darkness of the barn.

  When he emerged a moment later, he had another man with him, a civilian. The poor fellow's hands were bound and there was a rough sack over his head, but I instantly recognized him.

  "Jericho! What in God's name have they done to you?"

  Heedless now of their threat, I rushed over to him and tore away the sack. Jericho's face was covered with an uncharacteristic sheen of sweat, and he was very white around the pupils. His lip was split, and a bad bruise was swelling one eye shut. His clothes were covered with dust and torn, and his movements were slow, silent and plaintive indication of his ill treatment.

  I rounded on Muller, so white-hot with outrage that I was unable to speak. Apparently my expression was eloquent enough, for this stone of a man actually flinched before recovering himself.

  "Who did this?" I snarled, forgetting myself and using English, but Muller seemed to understand my meaning.

  "Keiller," he said to the guard.

  Keiller responded with another rapid explanation. I didn't bother to try following it, having no interest in excuses. Instead, I found my penknife and cut away Jericho's bonds.

  "Are you badly hurt?"

  "I shall be able to walk home," he said. "And if not that, then I shall certainly crawl."

  "What happened?"

  He rubbed his wrists. His hands were shaking. He was shaking all over.

  "You came out to check on me, is that it?" I prompted.

  He nodded. "It was getting on to dark. I was waiting for you to wake up when they came. They..." He gulped, clearing his throat. "Upon finding a Negro man with a dead white man, they concluded that I had killed you."

  "Oh, my God."

  "They were... their reaction was not gentlemanly. I.. they were-" He was swaying on his feet.

  "Sit down, man," I said taking his arm.

  'Wo. Not before them, I won't." He straightened with a glare every bit as formidable as Muller's. "They were going to hang me, Mr. Jonathan. Kept waving a noose under my nose and laughing. Perhaps it might not have happened, but I am most pleased that you woke up when you did."

  I stared at him, a great knot in my throat, once more at a loss for words. The situation was all but beyond speech, yet somehow I found it and turned it upon Muller.

  "You barbaric son of a whore-" I began. Muller may not have understood my words, but he could make sense of my tone well enough.

  "Mr. Jonathan, now is not the time to antagonize the man," Jericho cautioned.

  "He and his lot should be flogged for what they've done to you."

  "Agreed, sir, but presently they have the numerical advantage."

  I had more, much more, invective in me, but Jericho's reasoning had penetrated the anger fogging my thoughts. When I was once more my own master, I saw that the best course of action was for us both to get away as quickly as possible. Muller would doubtless object, but that was something that could be easily overcome.

  "Herr Muller, we are going home now." I stated this as inarguably as possible, looking directly into his eyes. "You will excuse us." It was very polite, despite my hot feelings, but polite German was all I had. Fortunately, it served. I did not know Muller well enough to be able to read any subtle changes in his otherwise fierce expression, but my influence must have worked. He made no objection when I put a supportive arm around Jericho and led him away. His men, taking this as assent, parted before us. Some were very anxious to keep a goodly distance.

  "By God, this is enough to turn me into a rebel myself," I growled as we left them behind.

  "I would not recommend it, sir."

  "Damnation to the bastards. Why not?T

  "Because if this is how our friends treat us, how much worse might we receive from our enemies?"

  "I'm so sorry, Jericho. This is my fault."

  "Hardly, Mr. Jonathan." He paused in his walk, gasping a bit. "May I ask to simply lean on your arm, sir? I fear your well-intentioned assistance is somewhat painful to my ribs."

  I let go of him and offered to run ahead and fetch the carriage and Dr. Beldon, but Jericho insisted that we could be home by the time I'd returned with help, and so it proved. With him holding onto me for balance, we hobbled up one of the graveled paths to the house. When we were close enough, my shouts brought forth one of the stable lads and all of the dogs. The noise attracted more people, more help, and finally Dr. Beldon arrived to assume his duties as a physician. I was very glad to turn the responsibilities of caretaking over to him.

  "Jonathan?" My father came striding over even as Beldon supervised Jericho's removal into the house for treatment. "What in God's name is going on?"

  After several unavoidable repetitions as more of the household came by to listen, I concluded my story to Father in the library. He understood from Elizabeth the purpose of my visit to the barn, and neither of them offered any objection to my slightly expurgated version of the facts. The important issue for us was that there were unwelcome Hessian soldiers squatting on our land.

  "Beasts," said Elizabeth, in reference to Jericho's beating.

  "You shouldn't have been out there to start with," said Mother, sniffing. "Perhaps next time you'll stay home."

  Since her comment had added nothing of merit to the conversation, I readily ignored it, as did everyone else. Perhaps we'd gotten used to them after all this time, making the task easier.

  "Samuel, tomorrow you will immediately go and seek recourse about having them removed from the property," she said. "This is intolerable. Next thing you know they'll be begging for food at our very door."

  "It's more likely that they shall simply take it where it stands in the fields," he said.

  "Then you will find a way to prevent that. They're here to fight the rebels, not steal from the King's loyal subjects. If they want food, they can take it from the seditionists but not from us."

  "I'll do what I can, Marie."

  "See to it." She jerked her chin up in a most insufferable manner, but my father suffered it. Argument with his wife was both aggravating and futile, so once more he refrained from doing so. She turned a cold eye on me. "And this time you will help him, Jonathan Fonteyn. You've no illness or injury to excuse you from an honest day's work anymore. This constant shirking is to end. I didn't spend all that money on your education for you to lie about the place doing nothing, What would people think?"

  I considered that other people would hardly find my apparent inactivity to be in the least interesting, but kept that opinion to myself. "I'll do what I can, madam," I said, assuming Father's acquiescence. It seemed the wisest course.

  Her expression was such as to indicate she found my response to be irritating, but not so much so as to upbraid me for it.

  Dr. Beldon came in just then. "Your man is going to be all right, Mr. Barrett," he told me. "There's some extensive bruising and a couple of cracked ribs. He is in some discomfort and will be for some time, but he should eventually make a full recovery."

  "Thank heaven for that. And thank you for your kind help, Doctor."

  "To be sure, I am only too happy to-"

  "That's another mistake that should be corrected," Mother interrupted.

  Beldon cut himself short. He'd had much practice at it in her company.

  The corners of her mouth turned down more deeply than usual as she looked at me. "If you'd sold that creature off and hired a proper English servant as I'd told you to do years ago, none of this would have happened."

  I took in a sharp breath and glanced at Father. He shook his head ever so slightly. That particular conflict had long been put to rest; Mother was talking only to hear the sound of her own voice. She was overly fond of it, I judged.

  "Well," said Father, standing up. "There's naught to be done about any of
this tonight, so let's try to forget about it for a few hours. Marie, would you like to partner me at cards against the doctor and Mrs. Hardinbrook?"

  Good God, but he was anxious to distract her to make such a proposal.

  "Not yet, Samuel. I've some news of my own to impart."

  He tried to put on a friendly, interested face, and almost succeeded. Mother's idea of news often turned out to be disappointingly trivial.

  "I received a letter today from one of my cousins in Philadelphia. She says that conditions there are perfectly horrifying. The streets are awash with traitors, and their treatment of loyal subjects is a disgrace. She has wisely accepted my invitation to stay here until things are put right again."