Her Vanquished Land

by Diane Scott Lewis

  Rowena touched his arm. “No, Father. I’m in agreement with you.” But how long could they hold on to their fidelity to the king, or how far could they run if the rebels pursued and punished loyalists? Would her father ever change sides if the rebels won the war? How did people just throw away their convictions, even as her own wobbled? Her head throbbed with confusion.

  Sam and James drove up with the two wagons. Kayfill snorted at her from his lead tied to the back of Sam’s vehicle. Rowena glanced at her cousin. She’d discovered, overhearing Father and her cousin, they’d also come south so James could meet with a ‘contact’ here at Camden.

  She’d kept an eye on him, and he’d slipped away the previous evening.

  Was this the real reason they fled south instead of north?

  Aunt Elizabeth sighed and pressed knuckles against her back. “I don’t know if I can stand any more time in that wagon.”

  “My dear sister, I also apologize for your misery.” Father kissed her cheek. “But we must still travel through the colony of Georgia to reach Florida. We should be safe enough if we’re careful, though must persevere.”

  “May I help you onto the bench, beside your son, Ma’am?” Daphne asked with a curtsy and a smile.

  “That’s my duty, girl.” Mary nudged Daphne aside with a loud sniff. “Don’t overstep yourself.”

  “Sorry.” Daphne rubbed her upper arm, rolled her eyes, and sauntered toward the wagon.

  Aunt Elizabeth hung her head. “Maybe I’ll stay here, near my beloved’s grave.” She shuffled back toward the tavern’s wall, nearly tripping over the metal boot scraper bolted to the right of the door.

  “Mother, please, you know we cannot stay here,” James said from the bench. “I have friends in…where we’re headed, who will assist us.”

  Rowena cupped her aunt’s elbow. She looked up and down the dusty road. “Please, Aunt, sit with James, and Father can have my place with Sam. I’ll sit with Daphne.” She didn’t want her parent to suffer with his bad knee in the wagon bed.

  Aunt Elizabeth covered her face. Her slender body shook. “Please leave me alone, all of you. No one understands.”

  James left the wagon in long strides and embraced her. “We must keep moving, Mother. The rebels could be anywhere,” he whispered.

  Rowena sympathized with her but was losing patience. However, she had to act as the adult far above her years. “Remember, my father, your dear brother, needs to get safely to East Florida,” she murmured. James promised they’d find a good life there, the loyalists well-established.

  A man in plain garb, his gaze assessing, walked past them into the tavern.

  “Everyone watches us.” Aunt Elizabeth moved toward the steps. “You think I’m not aware of Robert’s plight? Or my son’s, I daresay.” She twisted at her handkerchief. “I’ll sit in the bed with the baggage; it hardly matters.” She wiped a sticky strand of hair from her cheek and left the porch. She allowed Mary and James to assist her into the wagon bed where she moaned and settled her hoops and skirt. She picked up her Bible and opened it, her head low.

  “There, now, everything will be well.” Father sounded unconvinced, his face creased with worry. He stroked the black armband on his brown frock coat. He’d discarded his wig and any fancy clothes in Pennsylvania. They presented themselves as a family moving to southern Georgia, with no mention of their war sympathies. The British had brought that province back under the crown last year, in ’79, and they hoped for an easy passage.

  “Are you comfortable, Mother?” James climbed back on the bench, his voice sad and tired.

  Her aunt thrust out her chin. “As comfortable as one can be when one’s had their heart torn to shreds.”

  Mary climbed in, snagged her petticoat on the wagon’s splintered side, releasing metallic clicks from the hidden coins; then she caressed her mistress’s shoulder.

  “We’re all unhappy and exhausted, Auntie.” Anxious to leave, Rowena gathered her skirts, which clinked with the coins sewn into the hem. “But as Father says, we must persevere.” She crawled up beside Sam. Daphne scrambled in like a puppy and nestled amid the trunks.

  “Your aunt needs time to mourn,” Sam whispered, “but I’m much relieved you are braver.”

  “I try, though I haven’t lost a well-loved husband. I still might eventually explode like a grenade.” Rowena longed for a bench cushion. Her body ached, and her skin itched from the heat, yet she stifled her complaints. Lamentations would not alter their travails.

  James and Sam slapped the long reins, and the mules jerked the wagons forward.

  When clear of the tavern and other buildings, James said, “We have to desert the main road. The rebels will check for passes before we leave South Carolina; then probably again in Georgia we’ll be questioned by the British, which should go well, but I won’t take the chance.”

  * * *

  At breakfast in a shabby tavern dining room just across the Georgia border, a man whose frock coat stretched over a pot-belly stood, tankard raised. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve just had word. A British spy was shown the Continental Hemp in Tappan, New York.”

  People gasped, shouted, or remained quiet.

  Rowena froze. That meant a hanging. She glanced across the table at Father and James. Aunt Elizabeth refused to join them and ate in her room.

  “Who was it?” a second man asked.

  “Major André of the foul British army.” The announcer of this news gazed about the room as if daring anyone to protest. “Let us celebrate!”

  Rowena thought this a Tory stronghold once more. She hid her surprise by sipping her rich buttermilk. The smell of hoe cakes and sharp beer now nauseated her.

  The people present raised their cups or tankards, many with hesitation and cautious glances. Father and James slowly raised theirs. They finished their meal. She ate little of the bland porridge, with no molasses available to sweeten it.

  “General Washington wanted to exchange André for that turncoat Arnold, but I suppose that didn’t work out.” The pot-bellied man laughed. A few people joined in. One couple rose and left the room.

  Father and James chuckled, too, to appear amiable. Rowena grinned over her dismay and held up her half-empty glass. Finally, they too folded their napkins and quietly departed the dining room.

  Upstairs, in the chamber Father shared with James, Rowena insisted on joining them. They’d found this place late last night after rattling over backroads, nearly losing a wagon wheel.

  “Damn the cowards,” James groused, his hands in fists. “They should have done the exchange.”

  Rowena rubbed her cheeks as if that would chase away apprehension. “Losing the major is a terrible blow for the British spy system.”

  “As you can see, there’s much unrest here. A sharp division of loyalties.” Father turned to James. “Have you given up this business of secret services?”

  “I’ll take my mother to her new home,” James raked fingers through his straight brown hair, “then proceed as I have been to help our troops.”

  Father clasped her cousin’s upper arm. “I know you must follow your duty. I respect that, but I’ll still worry about your safety, along with my sons’.”

  “James, are you in touch with Mr. Pritchard?” Her concern burned like hot coals.

  “Not since he went to West Point to confer with General Arnold.” James crossed his arms, his long face gaunt. “Yes, he’ll be, or already is, in great danger.”

  Rowena pressed on the throb in her neck. A burr of a voice entered her thoughts. She might soon hear of Derec’s hanging.

  “Pritchard is your accomplice, you’ve said? The Welshman?” Father folded his nightshirt and placed it in his suitcase.

  “He is. And I suspect our Ro is sweet on him, as lack-witted as that would be.” James’s eyes cold, he didn’t say it as a taunt, but a fact.

  “Sweet? Is that so?” Father faced her, his gaze questioning. “It seems my daughter has many secrets herself. Tell me about him,
dear.”

  “Ask James; he seems to know more than I do.” She headed for the door after that curt reply, her anger directed at her cousin. “I’ll make sure Aunt Elizabeth is ready to leave. Excuse me.”

  “Inform her we must depart at once. It will take at least two weeks to traverse Georgia,” Father said, sounding disappointed by her refusal.

  Out in the corridor, she leaned against the wall and gathered the few threads of her courage that remained.

  Once again loaded up in their wagons, they trundled past cypress and hickory trees. Inkberry shrubs showed their dark berries. Fragrant Mountain Laurel, shed of their blooms, grew in the hilly region they traveled through, near the middle of the colony.

  Aunt Elizabeth dabbed her face with her handkerchief. “Why can’t we settle in Georgia if it’s restored to British rule, Robert?” They hadn’t told her about the incident in the dining room.

  “Even though Georgia is under the crown, the rebels fight to bring it back to their United States. Augusta on the South Carolina border and the coastal cities are constantly under siege,” Father replied. “We noticed in the last tavern that it’s hard to tell where there’s support for us, or against us.”

  Would they be welcome anywhere, Rowena fumed, her thoughts in a dismal twist? Her squared shoulders forced her body not to droop.

  * * *

  At a heavy rustle in the bushes an hour later, she tensed. A black bear lumbered out, stared at them, then continued to the other side of the path. Aunt Elizabeth clung to Mary. The mules twitched their ears; Kayfill tossed his head and whinnied.

  Minutes passed and the bushes rustled louder. A horse and rider stepped into their path. The scruffy-looking man grinned, displaying a missing front tooth. Another rode up beside him. Their clothes ragged, they wore no uniforms and sported round hats rather than cocked ones. The second man had a patch over his right eye like a pirate she’d seen illustrated in a story book.

  Rowena’s pulse jumped. She slipped her pistol out from under her skirts.

  Sam and James halted the wagons.

  The man who resembled a pirate leaned forward on his saddle, his good eye like flint. “You folk are far off the main road. Hiding from someone, aye?”

  “I give you good afternoon.” Father caressed the stock of the blunderbuss. “We’re merely traveling and are peaceful people.”

  “A good noon is it?” Gap-tooth dismounted and so did the pirate. Their gazes swept over both wagons. They appeared in their twenties, bedraggled and unshaven. “You interrupted our tracking of that bear for food an’ fur.”

  “And now you owe us. But at least we has pretty ladies to take tea with.” Pirate snickered. Rowena laid her hand over her gun.

  “A shame they’re all in mourning.” Gap-tooth surveyed the black armbands, his tone arch.

  “What do you want?” James asked, impatient and angry. “We have naught worth stealing. Let us pass.”

  “We’ll see ‘bout that.” Pirate rubbed his stubbled cheeks and strode toward Sam’s wagon.

  “What are your intentions, sirs?” Father demanded, his weapon lifted.

  “Stay where you are.” Rowena raised her pistol, nape prickling. The man stank like dung as if he lived in a barn. She hoped the other women remained still so no coins would clink.

  Aunt Elizabeth huffed in her breath and Mary gasped.

  “Here’s a pretty young one.” The pirate leered at Daphne who stared back, her eyes wide.

  “Leave her alone,” Sam said. He and Rowena swiveled and aimed their pistols.

  “You men would do well to remount your horses. We want no trouble.” Father pointed the blunderbuss at Gap-tooth, who’d approached his wagon. The rogue raised his hands, though grinned like a fool bent on mischief.

  Pirate made a bow toward Rowena. “Don’t be hasty. I mean no harm.” He jumped to the wagon’s side, snatched Daphne by the arm, whipped out a knife and held it to her throat. The maid yelped and wriggled against him.

  Rowena started, hands gripped on her gun. Would the women be raped? She bit her lip. “What do you want?”

  “Release the girl or I’ll shoot your partner.” Father kept his eyes and weapon fixed on the gap-toothed man.

  “And I’ll slit her throat.” Pirate pressed the knife into Daphne’s neck. The girl’s eyes bulged. “Give us what monies you have.”

  “You’ll regret your actions!” James threatened.

  Mary threw up her hands, flashing her big teeth. Then she opened a trunk and pulled out a silver teapot. “You can take this, sir.”

  “How dare you rob decent, innocent people,” Aunt Elizabeth sputtered. “Do you wish us to starve?”

  “You will regret this harassment, you brigands,” Father warned. “Why aren’t able-bodied men like you serving in the army?”

  James’ hand on his pistol, he demanded, “Are you deserters? From which side?”

  Gap-tooth snorted. “Which side are you? We trust no one and fend for ourselves.”

  “Take the teapot and leave us before senseless blood is spent.” Rowena shuddered and touched her pistol’s trigger. She was afraid her plea was a waste, as these men oozed malice.

  “Let go of my sis…our maid.” Sam obviously didn’t want to give these marauders more leverage.

  “We’ll take the horse, too.” Gap-tooth flicked a gaze at Kayfill.

  Rowena’s breath heated in dread for the maid, her family, and her horse.

  James pointed his pistol at the pirate. “Release that girl, at once!”

  “Put down your weapons, all of you, or she dies.” Pirate traced a line with the blade across Daphne’s throat.

  “Stop!” Daphne cried, a thin streak of blood forming on her skin.

  Father grimaced and lowered the blunderbuss. Gap-tooth stepped closer to James’ wagon then snatched the gun from her parent’s hands.

  “Damn you blockheads, take the pot and the horse, and get gone.” James cocked his pistol.

  “Let her go, now!” Rowena lowered her pistol, but not much. Helplessness spiked through her. Her mother’s brooch, now pinned to her shift, felt heavy against her breastbone. Should she offer it to them? “There’s no reason to injure people.”

  “As soon as I release her, you’ll shoot me.” Pirate jabbed his chin toward his partner. “Search the trunks for other treasures.” He glared at Rowena and Sam. “I said for you to lay down your weapons.”

  She and Sam did so. Rowena mentally measured the short distance between the pistol and her hand. James held his weapon steady, though didn’t fire as Daphne blocked his aim.

  Gap-tooth hovered over the wagon bed, reaching for the trunk lid. There were several coins stashed in a false bottom in her father’s trunk, for easy access.

  Daphne started to shriek, though no tears dampened her eyes. Blood smudged her throat. “God save me!” She shoved at the pirate’s arm and slithered down like a snake, away from the knife.

  Rowena jerked up her gun, anger and fear colliding.

  James fired, but the pirate ducked. The rogue stretched tall again, growling.

  Sam grabbed and fired his pistol; the bang loud, the ball struck the man in the chest. Blood spread across the pirate’s filthy shirt and buckskin coat. The thief lurched back a step.

  Gap-tooth raised the blunderbuss. Aunt Elizabeth whimpered, swiped the teapot from Mary and smacked him in the face with it. He cried out in anger, his lip bloody.

  James leaped from the bench and wrestled with Gap-tooth for the blunderbuss.

  Rowena crawled into their wagon bed and tugged Daphne farther from the pirate. The rogue’s face crumpled with astonishment. Then he dropped his knife, keeled over, and sprawled on the red-clay earth. Kayfill stamped his front hooves, eyes rolling.

  Rowena swept the kerchief from around her neck and wrapped the girl’s throat. “Are you injured badly?”

  “It ain’t nothin’, Miss.” Daphne blew out her breath then gulped. “Barely a scratch.”

  “Are you certain?
” Sam asked, acrid smoke drifting from his pistol. He hopped down and checked the pirate, fingers at the bounder’s throat. “He’s dead.”

  James and Gap-tooth grunted, elbows flying, feet scuffing the dirt, as they grappled for the large weapon.

  “James, oh fie, be careful.” Aunt Elizabeth pressed her hands to her mouth. Mary huddled at her back.

  “Take my loaded pistol, Sam, and help James.” Rowena applied pressure to Daphne’s cut. The girl flinched. A dead thief, and her flibbertigibbet aunt had struck the other one—was she in a mad dream?

  Sam, who’d appeared in shock, clutched her pistol and ran toward her cousin.

  Gap-tooth swore and struggled to control the blunderbuss, he and James both scarlet in the face. The weapon went off, the boom echoing through the forest.

  “I’ve been hit, deuce it all!” Father yelled from the wagon bench, his voice tinged with pain.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Rowena’s breath nearly choked her; she scanned Daphne’s wound. “It doesn’t look deep. I must—”

  “Go to your father, Miss.” Daphne clutched the cloth at her throat. “I be fine.”

  Rowena jumped from the wagon bed and rushed to Father, past her cousin still struggling with the second thief.

  Blood seeped through a small hole on the right thigh of her father’s breeches, where the lead ball had penetrated. “I need a bandage!” she cried.

  Mary scrabbled through the nearest trunk and snatched out another kerchief.

  “Is it bad?” Rowena sucked back a wail of despair, fury, fingers shaking as she wrapped Father’s leg.

  “The blood isn’t spurting, that’s a good sign.” Father flinched and groaned.

  James struck the gap-toothed man with the butt of the blunderbuss. The man fell to his knees. Sam pointed Rowena’s pistol at him. The thief raised his hands again, his expression not so amused.

  “I hate to waste rope to tie you up, but…” James aimed the gun in Gap-tooth’s face, then glanced at his mother, as if gaging how to treat the rogue.