The Courier of Caswell Hall (American tapestries)

by Dobson, Melanie

  Mother patted his arm. “We can discuss it later.”

  “This war will be finished soon,” Father declared. “And then we shall have a wedding.”

  Lydia groaned. At least he had stopped talking about shooting.

  Nathan clung to the windowsill as he looked out at moonlight spread across the rugged brick buildings on the plantation. He had been stranded in this room for a good week now, failing miserably in his job as a courier.

  From the moment he heard about the planned attack on Virginia’s capital, he’d wanted to deliver his message and then ride into Richmond, warning the militia of what was to come, but his body had refused to cooperate. His foot was healing, but his left calf still throbbed from where he’d sprained it, and his legs were shaky.

  His uncle would be disappointed at his failure.

  The British had surely landed by now, and the questions of what was happening outside these walls plagued him at night. Were the people of Richmond fighting? Or had they succumbed? He hoped to God that they kept fighting. Without every American—man and woman—willing to participate, they would never win this war.

  He wished he could give Lydia his message to deliver, but even though she treated him with kindness, she was still a stranger. He could never trust her with this message.

  Fire burned up his leg as he tried to take another step. Even if he couldn’t walk far, at least he could get out of bed.

  He’d been ill before embarking on the British vessel, but he had refused to let his fever stop him from doing his work. Once he was onboard, he heard the men questioning his loyalties. Even with his feigned accent and disguise, the officers suspected—and rightly so—that he was insincere.

  Once the ships were underway and the British began talking about putting him in chains, he knew he had no choice. He would either die on the ship or he would die delivering his message. He preferred the second option.

  With the bumpy waves, it hadn’t been difficult to convince the guard that he was seasick. No one had suspected that he would jump into the icy river.

  He’d jumped as close to the Hammond plantation as he could. Unfortunately, he washed up at the wrong place.

  He didn’t know what the sealed message in his leather pouch contained, but his uncle was relying on him to deliver it. Since he’d been appointed to work as a scout and courier, he’d never once failed to deliver a message, and he didn’t intend to fail now.

  It was late, probably midnight by now, and Elisha hadn’t returned to the room. Most nights Elisha slept on a blanket on the floor beside Nathan, but sometimes he didn’t come back. Nathan didn’t ask where the man slept those nights. He suspected an empty stall or the back of one of the coaches.

  Prudence had been faithful to bring him food in the mornings, and Elisha brought him wood for the fire each evening, but Nathan enjoyed Lydia’s visits most of all. Even though he was a Patriot, she cared well for him, and each time she came, he wished she could linger a bit longer. Yet he well understood how much she risked even with the briefest of visits.

  He lay down on his bed and slept. He didn’t know how much time passed, but when he awakened, Lydia was there, sitting on the chair beside his bed. She had a cloth napkin with bread in her lap, and he could see the compassion in her eyes. For a moment, he wished he saw something else there. Like admiration. Instead of a man, it seemed she saw him as a wounded animal, a puppy.

  “I thought you might like some food.” She held out a piece of bread and he thanked her. “Prudence says you are not eating enough.”

  “I am eating as much as I can.”

  “’Tis not enough to build your strength.”

  “I promise you, I am more anxious to leave here than you are to be rid of me.”

  “That is not what I mean—”

  He took a bite of the bread. “You have been a most gracious host, but I must leave soon.”

  She nodded. “The British have taken Richmond.”

  He groaned. It was as he feared. “Did the Patriots fight?”

  “Not well.” She swallowed. “But they moved most of their supplies before the British could confiscate them.”

  He pushed himself up with his elbows and slid his legs over the side of the bed. “I must go.” He stood and tried to walk to the door, but his foot failed him. When he stumbled, she caught him and helped him back to the bed. He stared at the window, humiliated. He couldn’t think of anything much worse than a lovely young woman catching him before he fell.

  A shadow crossed over her face. “There is something else I must tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I fear it will be very poor tidings for you.”

  He took a deep breath. Only a woman would torment him so. A man would simply deliver the news and be done with it. “You do not have to cushion it, Miss Caswell.”

  She looked a bit startled at the use of her name, but he knew it well. Elisha and Prudence reminded him regularly as to why they cared for him.

  “My father has done something—” She swallowed. “He has invited a British officer to be a guest in our home.”

  “Major Reed?”

  At her nod, he groaned again. Dalton Reed was the man who’d questioned Nathan’s loyalty on the ship. If he was discovered, he would never be able to convince the man that his loyalty rested with the king.

  “I fear for my family’s safety,” she said.

  “I will not let them harm you or your family.”

  “I know you mean well—”

  He put his feet on the floor again. “The moment I can walk away, I will leave.”

  “Thank you.”

  He shook his head. “I would not have survived without your care.”

  She stood. “I am glad you lived.”

  “Even if I am a rebel?”

  “I see you only as a brother, not as a rebel.”

  He smiled as she left the room. At least she hadn’t said “puppy.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah yanked open the swinging door and rushed inside the stable. Thomas was supposed to have checked the door last night to make sure it was secure, but when she looked out her window at first light, the white door was banging in the wind. Either Thomas had forgotten, or someone had paid them a visit during the night.

  The stable was eerily quiet inside, void of the stomping of hooves and nickering that usually greeted her entrance. Their stalls were empty, the horses gone.

  She kicked a bale of hay, and dried grass scattered in the air and across the muddy floor. There had been rumors of thieves roaming the countryside, stealing horses, but she thought their house was too far from the main road to be disturbed. This was exactly why she shouldn’t manage the plantation.

  Father and Seth probably would have guarded the stable alongside several of their Negroes, but it hadn’t even occurred to her to have several of their Negroes stand guard. She had allowed herself to become distracted.

  Leaning back against the wall, she wrapped her arms over her chest. She’d already sold all but six of their best horses to purchase needed supplies. Now those horses were gone too.

  How was she supposed to deliver messages to Mrs. Pendell now? And how could she till their land this spring? Between the thieves and the soldiers and her own ineptness, it would be nigh impossible to keep this plantation in order until her father returned.

  Even if she had the money to buy new horses, there were none to be had. The King’s Men bought—or stole—any available livestock.

  “We’ll track them down.”

  Sarah turned to see Thomas, his musket in hand. He looked brave enough to take on an entire band of outlaws, but with his arthritic knees, she knew it pained him to walk even the perimeter of the property. There was no way he could track down the horse thieves on foot. It wasn’t like the thieves would stop along the road for tea.

  “Thank you, Thomas, but they are probably halfway to South Carolina by now.”

  “I will gather up some men in town—”


  She shook her head. “It is too far, and I need you here.”

  “But—”

  “Please check the rest of our property to see if anything else is amiss.” Father had left her in charge of the plantation, but he’d told Thomas to watch over her. Still, she must protect Thomas as well. He had no choice but to respect her decision.

  He nodded, backing toward the door. “I will check right now.” Turning, she pressed her fingers against her temples as she hurried toward the house.

  She glanced at the railing like she always did, but there was still no ribbon. It didn’t matter much now. Without her horses, she had no means to take a message into town.

  Leaning back against the door frame, she closed her eyes and listened to the gentle hum of Negroes singing as they worked in the washhouse. Her responsibility toward them weighed heavier on her than anything else at the plantation. The Hammonds weren’t like some families who starved or beat their Negroes. Every one of their Negroes was clothed and fed. As long as they did their work, their men and women had nothing to fear.

  The thought of selling a single one of their house servants or field slaves was heartbreaking to her, but with the storehouses nearly bare, the flour supply quickly diminishing, and now the horses gone, she might have no choice. The sale of one Negro could feed the rest of them for weeks.

  She sighed, weary from this war, weary of running a plantation where people must be bought and sold.

  Opening her eyes, she surveyed the land Father had left in her care.

  If only he would come home and resume his role of managing their plantation. If only she could travel away as well.

  But if she set sail from here, she knew that she might never return.

  Prudence tightened the laces on Lydia’s stays and helped her dress in an embroidered jacket with lace cuffs and an ivory petticoat. After brushing Lydia’s hair, Prudence separated the locks and slathered them with a fragrant pomade smelling of cardamom and honey. Then she rolled the strands over a metal rod and held the rod over a candle to create tight curls that cascaded over Lydia’s shoulders and down her back.

  The household was in an uproar, servants and family alike scrambling to prepare for their important guest. Two hours earlier, as the family ate breakfast, a courier arrived with a message from Major Reed. Not only did he intend to visit Caswell Hall, but he planned to call that very day.

  Hannah was ecstatic about entertaining a British officer and a gentleman. Lydia would have been excited as well, if she hadn’t hidden a rebel in their coach house. It was poor luck on her behalf that she’d rescued a man her father considered an enemy.

  She might only want to mend wounds, but Father would have no appreciation for her sentiments. Mother might understand—Mother would understand—but she would never directly oppose Father’s convictions. Lydia had no desire to become entangled in the affairs of this war. She wanted reconciliation. She wanted the colonists to respect the country where her parents were born . . . but that didn’t mean she would let a rebel starve.

  As long as she kept Major Reed away from the coach house, everything would be fine. There was no reason for the major to visit the coach house anyway, and if he happened to feel inclined to see their carriages, she would personally guide him so that he wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon their hidden guest. If he found Nathan—

  She shivered.

  “Are you cold, Miss?” Prudence asked.

  She shook her head. “It was just a chill.”

  Prudence stepped over to the fire and stirred it with the iron poker.

  “Do you remember the last time we had guests?”

  Prudence shook her head as she reached for the metal rod once more. “It seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “It was the celebration for Twelfth Night two years ago.” Lydia studied her image in the looking glass. “That was the last time I saw Seth.”

  Prudence looped another section of Lydia’s hair around the rod and held it over the candle. “We all miss Master Seth.”

  She wished she could say she missed Seth as well.

  She had been just eighteen when the colonists declared their independence, so she scarcely remembered the balls and parties her parents hosted before the war—but Hannah had only been nine when the war began. While Hannah hadn’t formally attended a ball, Lydia knew that she had spied on plenty of them from behind the servants’ door in the great hall. Father had built the door to balance the appearance of the walnut door on the other side of the fireplace, and then he added a narrow hallway behind it to lead to the servants’ staircase.

  Lydia knew well the crack that lined the side of the door. When she was young, she and Sarah would spy on the balls as well, longing to be part of the frivolities. The view of the room was narrow through the crack, but she could hear the music and laughter and the stomping of feet on the wood. As girls, she and Sarah had often pretended they were guests at the ball.

  It wasn’t proper to talk of such things while there was a war, but she did miss the dancing. And she missed her long visits with Sarah.

  When Prudence finished curling Lydia’s tresses, she secured both sides with horn combs. Lydia turned her head and admired her maid’s handiwork in the vanity glass. “It looks lovely.”

  Prudence smiled, and the wrinkles under her eyes crinkled like paper. “Major Reed will be smitten.”

  “I have no interest in smiting any man—except perhaps Seth.” Lydia smiled, but when she looked back at the glass, she saw pity in Prudence’s reflection. Seth might not return to marry her, but she still hated being pitied. “You needn’t feel sorrow for me.”

  Prudence placed the brush back into the top drawer of the dressing table. “Sorrow is what one should feel when another is hurting.”

  Lydia forced a smile. “We should be feeling sorrow for Seth and the other men who are fighting.”

  Opening her jewelry box, Lydia chose a necklace of gold beads and held it around her throat. Prudence clasped it and then added matching earrings before she glanced over her shoulder, at the door still closed behind them. “Yesterday Joshua asked me why I’ve been visiting Elisha’s room.”

  Lydia’s heart sank. A rumor like that would spread like a grass fire. It wouldn’t pay to have the servants talking about Prudence and Elisha, nor did she want to soil Prudence’s reputation by asking her to visit one of their Negroes’ rooms at night.

  “Perhaps you can leave the food for Elisha to take to his room.”

  “Nathan must leave soon,” Prudence said firmly.

  “He is nearly healed.” Lydia examined the necklace in the looking glass. The gold color didn’t look right with her dark red dress. Or perhaps it was the dark bags under her eyes from the late night that altered her appearance.

  “Did Nathan tell you his surname?”

  “He did not,” she said, reaching for a string of milky pearls.

  Prudence changed her necklace and earrings. “I fear you are beginning to care for him.”

  “As a brother, perhaps, but no more.”

  In the looking glass, she saw Prudence raise her eyebrows in question.

  “There is nothing more,” she insisted.

  The door to her bedchamber opened, and Prudence picked up a pot with rice powder. Hannah sauntered into the room, a smile on her face.

  Lydia looked at her in the glass. “Did the major arrive?”

  Hannah shook her head. “But surely he will soon.”

  “I fear you will be disappointed,” Lydia said. Her sister had dressed early and spent the morning traveling from one window to another as they waited for the major.

  “How could I be disappointed?” Hannah paced behind the vanity, and it wearied Lydia to watch her.

  “If you do not stop moving, you shall be too tired to entertain.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I could not possibly be too tired.”

  “Well, you are exhausting me.”

  Hannah lowered herself into the upholstered chair next to Lydia. “You ar
e still hiding something, and I want to know what it is.”

  Lydia’s eyebrows spiked. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Hannah glanced at Prudence as she brushed the rice powder on Lydia’s cheeks and forehead. “Do you not think she’s hiding something?”

  Prudence kept her eyes on Lydia’s neck. “You girls have hidden all sorts of things from me since you were old enough to walk.”

  Hannah planted her hands on her narrow hips. “My sister has been carrying around this secret for a good week, and I intend to find out what it is.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “You need an occupation, Hannah.”

  “I have no problem occupying myself.” Hannah looked out the window and turned back to her. “It is you who seems to require an occupation.”

  “You are talking in riddles.”

  “I have seen you visiting a certain Negro.”

  Prudence coughed, backing away. “With your permission, miss, I think I will take my leave.”

  “Of course,” Lydia said. When the door closed, she turned toward her sister. “How dare you insinuate—”

  Hannah shrugged. “It seems as if you have spent an awful lot of time near the coach house as of late.”

  “I—”

  “Do not be coy, Lydia. Father may be distracted by this war, but you cannot pretend with me.” Hannah paused. “What exactly are you doing over there?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.”

  “I would prefer to judge whether it is my concern.”

  “You need not know everything, Hannah.”

  “I disagree.” She laughed. “Knowledge is the prelude to power.”

  Lydia looked out at the gray sky. If nothing else, her sister was tenacious. She wouldn’t stop until she found the source of Lydia’s interest.

  With the curiosity of their servants and now her sister—and the imminent arrival of a British officer—she must determine a way for Nathan to leave the plantation right away, even if he wasn’t well enough to walk. She pressed her lips together as she stared at the river. Where was she supposed to take him? And how could she transport an injured man?

  She turned her head back toward her sister. “What would you do if Seth paid us a visit?”