by Mary Davis
“I have no name, so introductions are unnecessary.” She paused. “Are you going to put me in your jail or the stockade?” She would rather be in jail than on display in the stockade. She swallowed hard. “Or am I to stand before the firing squad?”
* * *
Firing squad? Lieutenant Charles Young nearly choked on a laugh. This girl had quite a deep well for the dramatic. “I’m sorry, the firing squad is off duty at the moment. You will have to suffer my company.”
How old was this raven-haired beauty with eyes the color of the ocean? Fifteen or sixteen? Her face was round, almost heart-shaped. When she came of age, she would so securely steal a man’s heart, he would be helpless. Her every wish his command.
Nay, she would have a gaggle of boys falling over themselves to capture a morsel of her attention, hoping for a passing glance.
Under his scrutiny, she shifted in the chair. “If the death of a British pig could start this war, then imagine what will happen when they find out what the British have done with me.”
Charles contained his smile. He would like to see her reaction to a little teasing. He leaned closer. “No one will ever know. We British are adept at disposing of bodies.”
The girl gasped.
He did laugh then.
She couldn’t possibly believe him. A gullible, melodramatic little thing. But how could anyone take a so-called war seriously when the only casualty was a pig shot ten years ago, starting it all? Since then, it had been a peaceful standoff.
He would ease her fears. “I promise you, milady, no harm will befall you whilst you are in my charge.”
“Am I supposed to trust the word of the enemy?”
“Enemy is a rather discordant term.”
“Then what would you call people on opposite sides of a war?”
He thought a moment. “Spectators in a game of chess, awaiting a just outcome.”
“Spectators? Well, spectators can walk away from a game. And this spectator is going to do just that. Good day, sir.” She stood.
“You can’t go until you’ve had tea. It wouldn’t be proper. Please take your seat.”
She sat back down.
Private Coats entered and set a second china teacup and saucer on the desk next to the pot of tea. “Shall I pour, sir?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The soldier poured from the white china teapot into a matching cup on a saucer and then held up a small crystal pitcher. “Cream?”
The girl’s eyes widened, and she shook her head.
From the expression on her face and from her comment about the firing squad, Charles suspected she thought they might be trying to poison her. He gave a nod to the private, who poured cream into Charles’s cup.
Charles motioned to the soldier to put half a teaspoon of sugar in his cup.
Coats gave him a questioning look but spooned in the sugar. He then held up the bowl toward the girl. “Sugar?”
She eyed the bowl and nodded.
The soldier ladled in a spoonful. When the girl still eyed the sugar, he scooped another spoonful. She nodded, evidently liking her tea sweet.
Charles excused the soldier and held out the girl’s cup of tea to her.
When she hesitated, he said, “You saw him pour everything from the same containers. It’s safe.”
She took her cup and stirred it.
He sliced open a scone and made a production of stirring the clotted cream and the strawberry preserves before spreading some of each on both halves. He handed her a plate with one portion of the cut biscuit. He’d made sure she could see that he was eating and drinking the same as he gave her. So, unless he was poisoning himself, she would know the food and tea were safe.
She tilted her chin up. “Is this to be my last meal?”
Her tone wasn’t that of fear, but more like a challenge.
“You seem to think we English are barbaric. I assure you, we are quite civilized.” He took a bite of scone and a sip of tea. “When I am confident you are sufficiently refreshed, I will see you safely out of camp and on your way home.”
“You expect me to trust the word of the en—”
“You wound me. Please refrain from calling me that, for I would never think of you as my enemy. You are far too fair.”
“Then how should I think of you? A spectator armed with a sword and gun?”
He glanced at the weaponry he always wore. “Think of us both as residents on opposite sides of a fence. We are just trying to determine to whom this fence belongs.”
“Well, this fence is definitely American.” She nibbled the scone.
Was she baiting him? “The Oregon Treaty states otherwise.”
“I am afraid you need to brush up on your reading. The treaty clearly portioned these islands to America. Anyone can see they are south of the forty-ninth parallel.” She sipped her tea.
“Yet they are on the English side of the strait.”
“The wrong strait. Haro is the strait in the treaty, not Rosario.”
“I beg to differ. It is all in the interpretation.”
“And the English are obviously masters at misinterpretation.”
This girl was fun to parry with.
“We would argue otherwise.”
“Argue all you like. That still wouldn’t make you right.”
They could go round and round on this and never acquiesce. He sat on the corner of his desk. “Do tell me your name.”
“It is inconsequential. After today, you’ll not have need of it.”
“Pray tell why not?” She was a cunning one.
“You will either release me or have me shot.”
He laughed. She was certainly amusing. “Did you enjoy our formal garden?” He’d watched her on a number of occasions gazing at the garden from her perch on the hill. She’d even ventured down a few times when she’d evidently thought no one was around, but never advanced inside the gate. He had always let her be. But today he’d been helpless when she and her brother entered. He had been inexplicably drawn to her.
“It is very beautiful. I grudgingly admit it is one thing the English can do.”
He smiled. “So we are not all deplorable?”
“Just because one can grow a flower or two does not make one inherently virtuous.”
“We do know how to brew a fine cup of tea.” She couldn’t possibly argue with that.
She seemed to think a moment as she took a sip. “It’s all right. I’ve made better.”
She was not going to give him anything. Except the formal garden. Sort of. “Did you like the scone?”
“It was a little dry.”
A laugh burst out of him, overtaking him before he could contain it.
This girl was a spark of charming diversion in an otherwise languid “war.” He wished he’d made her acquaintance on her first visit to the formal garden. Life here the past two months would have been far less tedious.
Her mouth twitched.
He couldn’t tell whether she wanted to laugh as well or break down in tears. He would like to see her laugh. Or at least smile.
He was sure she had the most lovely of smiles.
Chapter 2
Rachel schooled herself. She would not laugh. She would not laugh. She would not laugh.
It had been fun to banter with this officer. He so wanted her to find good in the English. The English ways had long intrigued her. And he was so easily baited.
Though she loved listening to his accent, could listen to it all day, she needed to get home. “I am quite refreshed and will take my leave now, Leftenant.”
He stood and bowed to her. “I will escort you.” He ushered her outside.
She headed straight for the hill.
“Do y
ou wish to visit the gardens before you depart?”
“I wish to get to the hill. The garden is the straightest route.”
“You can’t scurry up that hill!”
She had scurried down that hill and back up. Many times.
“Let me get a buggy and drive you home,” he said.
She couldn’t let him do that. Papa would shoot him on sight. Then this war would really heat up. “I will be fine. Good day.” She pushed through the garden gate and hurried across to the one on the other side.
He laughed. “You aren’t seriously going that way?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I can’t let you climb a hill.”
“I assure you, I will be fine.” The sooner she was away the better. She’d already lingered far too long. She started up the hill.
“I promised no harm would come to you whilst you were in my charge, and I intend to keep that promise.” He climbed behind her.
The faster she got to the top, the sooner he would be on his way.
Halfway up, he said, “Your dress is all dirty back...here.”
He was looking at her backside? Not that he had much choice from where he was. She stopped to tell him she would manage without him, but straightening caused her balance to shift, and she felt herself tilting backward. She flung her arms out to steady herself, but to no avail.
Her descent stopped abruptly.
“I’ve got you.” His hands were about her waist. “You’re safe.”
Was she?
He set her upright. “Aren’t you glad I’m escorting you now? You could have tumbled all the way down.”
No. If it weren’t for him, her concentration wouldn’t have been broken and she never would have lost her balance. “Thank you.”
At the top, she thanked him again so he could leave.
He glanced around. “Which way is your home?”
She waved her hand toward the south.
“But there isn’t any path. How will you find your way?”
She pointed. “Through those bushes, keep the water to the right, and I’ll be home in a jiff.” It would take her close to an hour, tromping around bushes and over fallen trees. “I can find my own way.”
“Now, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you off on your own?”
“English.”
He took in a slow breath. “I am a gentleman first. And a gentleman worth his salt wouldn’t allow a lady to walk home unattended. I shall protect you from harm.”
“Harm from what?”
“From wild animals, of course. Mountain lions, bears and wolves.”
She forced herself not to laugh at that ridiculous notion. “There isn’t anything more dangerous than little ol’ foxes in this forest, and they wouldn’t get close enough to people to harm them. The only animals I need worry about are the two-legged kind.”
He cracked a smile. “Then I shall protect you from them.”
It was quite unlikely there would be any other people in the forest between English Camp and the American residences. He fell into step beside her but soon had to fall back for her to squeeze between bushes.
He stopped and gripped his sword hilt. “I heard something.”
“Maybe it is one of your bears or mountain lions.” She kept walking.
He caught up with her. “Are you truly not afraid of bears and mountain lions?”
“If I were to meet face-to-face with either, I would be terrified and in need of assistance. But since there are neither on these islands, I am not afraid.”
“No bears or mountain lions? Fascinating.”
“Didn’t you know that?”
“I only arrived two months ago and haven’t learned about the wildlife.”
She came to a downed tree. Traversing it would be most unladylike. But going around on either end would be impossible at this juncture.
The leftenant bent on one knee with his other raised. He patted his level thigh. “Step here.”
How gallant. She did and climbed over.
As the leftenant was about to hoist himself over, he spun around, drawing his sword with a swoosh.
At the sharp end of his blade stood Lindley brandishing a stick. “Leave my sister be.”
Rachel leaned on the log, trying to reach for the leftenant’s arm to stop him. “Don’t hurt him. He’s my brother.” She’d thought Lindley had run home.
The leftenant lowered his sword, and Lindley struck. The leftenant caught the stick, twisted and disarmed Lindley. He sheathed his sword. “If you are going to come at a man with a weapon, you need to know how to wield it.”
The foolish leftenant handed the stick back to Lindley. As he reached for another stick from the ground, Lindley swung at him.
“Lindy, no!”
The leftenant’s hand flew up and grabbed the stick, but he didn’t look up. He disarmed Lindley again. His stick was longer than her brother’s. He broke it over his knee to the same length and handed Lindley back his.
Lindley swung.
The leftenant blocked. “Spread your feet apart like this and bend at the knees. It helps you move and avoid your opponent’s blows.”
Lindley did as instructed and swung.
“Good. Hold farther down on your sword.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. It wasn’t a sword. It was a silly stick. This was better than a second slice of pie to her brother. She would never get him home now.
* * *
Charles parried with the boy for a couple of minutes before he noticed the girl tramping away through the forest. “Your sister has gone off.”
Lindley shrugged. “She don’t like sword fighting. She says boys are silly. Well, I say girls are silly.”
“We should catch up to her.”
The boy scrambled over the log, and Charles followed suit. His uniform would be in dire need of cleaning when he returned.
Charles watched the girl up ahead lithely maneuvering through the underbrush of berry bushes, weedy grasses, some kind of wild rose and skunk cabbage. “What is your sister’s name?”
“Rachel. Didn’t you know that?”
“She refused to tell me.”
The boy shook his head. “See, what’d I tell you? Girls are just plain silly.”
If she could hear their conversation, she gave no indication of it.
“How old is she?” Maybe in a couple years, if this peaceful war was still raging, he could come calling.
“Twenty.”
Charles jerked his head around and stared at the boy. He must have misunderstood. “This sister. Rachel.”
“Rachel is twenty. Alice is eleven. Winnie is seven. Edith is five. And Priscilla is just a baby. I’m twelve.” The boy advanced on a bush and gave it a slashing blow.
“Hold your sword up. If you are attacked by something a bit more vicious than a bush, you want to be able to ward off your opponent’s blows.”
Lindley assailed a maple sapling next. His stance was improving—not by much, but improving.
“If she’s twenty, then she must have a husband,” Charles said. Why this husband would let her traipse through the forest alone was confounding.
“Ew! No!”
“A beau?”
The boy shook his head.
That pleased Charles. Though he didn’t know why.
Even with the lad pausing to assault the undergrowth, they gained on the girl.
After more than a mile of walking up and down the terrain, over branches, around bushes and trees, Rachel stopped and turned. “You can return to your camp.”
“My honor would be blemished if I did not see you safely home.”
“For your safety, it’s best if you don’t go any farther. I have my brother to see me the
rest of the way. And with his sword lesson, I’m sure I will be quite safe.”
She was teasing him for instructing the boy.
He scooped up her hand.
She drew in a sharp breath and held it.
Did she think he was going to bite her? He bowed over her delicate fingers. “Milady, my day has been brightened by your presence. You have utterly charmed me. ‘Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow...’”
“‘That I shall say good night till it be morrow.’”
Was she simply finishing the quotation? Or was she promising to return? He hoped the latter.
He gazed into the oceans of her eyes. Twenty? Why wasn’t this beauty married? Certainly she had suitors. If she had not been American and on the opposite side of this nonexistent war, he would have been on her doorstep, asking to call on her.
Lindley made a false retching sound, wrapped his arms around his middle and stumbled away.
So dramatic interludes must be commonplace in this family.
“My knight has run off. I should go and see to his safety.”
Charles dipped his head. “Good day, milady.”
* * *
Rachel’s heart thudded in her chest. The leftenant had been so gallant. And it had been lovely and fun until Lindley tried to come to her rescue.
“Where have the two of you been?”
Rachel jerked her head up.
And there was Papa’s disapproving look she’d tried to avoid this morning.
“We lost track of time.”
“You have worried your mama.”
She knew better than to point out that Genevieve was not her mother. Instead, she nodded. “I’m sorry, Papa.” She hoped Lindley didn’t tell Papa where they had been.
Lindley gripped her hand behind her back and squeezed. “Sorry, Papa.” He would not tell.
“If those English didn’t live within shouting distance, I wouldn’t worry so much. You must be more careful.”
They were a bit farther than shouting distance, but not much. “We will,” she said.
Her brother echoed the promise.
Papa shook his head, unable to keep up his stern face. “Your mama saved you both some supper. Go eat.”
“Thank you.” She kissed Papa on the cheek and then scurried into the house behind Lindley. She wasn’t as hungry as her brother must be. She’d had the benefit of tea and half a scone with clotted cream and delicious strawberry preserves. And the scone had been so delicate it almost melted on her tongue. Her mouth watered just thinking about it.
