He had never imagined such joy as he now felt. Sarah looked so peaceful in her sleep. The washhouse was hardly an elegant place for him to house his bride, but she seemed as contented as he, and he hoped their time here would help her rest. He had enough money from privateering to establish a comfortable home for her after the war, but Sarah had told him she didn’t want a large house. She wanted to travel with him.
So they would travel. To the West Indies and France and Italy. Until now, the king had required the colonies to send their main exports to England, but once the war was over—if his father would consent—Grayson could expand the Caswell exports far beyond.
Grayson gently nudged his wife. “The sun is shining, love.”
She opened her eyes and smiled weakly as she looked out the door of the washhouse. “It is lovely. I only wish I were not so tired.”
He kissed her forehead. If only he knew how to care well for her. “We have had a long journey. Perhaps you should continue to sleep.”
“I am terribly thirsty.”
No matter how much water he retrieved for her on this journey, it never seemed to quench her thirst. She’d lost a great deal of weight in her quest to find him, but no matter how much she ate, she always seemed to be hungry as well.
“I will fetch you some water.”
When she returned to her sleep, he slipped out of the washhouse and walked to the well. After his crew arrived with the remaining supplies, perhaps he would take Sarah to Williamsburg for a real meal and a comfortable bed for them both.
He turned the crank on the well and lowered the bucket. When he brought it up again, he tipped back the bucket and took a long sip. After his seemingly endless days in shackles, parched beyond what he thought he could ever bear, it seemed to him that he couldn’t drink enough either. He would never again take water for granted, the freedom of the river or the life-giving drink from the well.
His gaze wandered up to the black remains of the grand house that once overlooked the river. Why must so much destruction precede freedom? But then, if the British hadn’t burned her home, Sarah would never have left here, would never have gone to her aunt in Philadelphia. Without the destruction, he supposed, they might never have found one another. Or married.
Their love had emerged from the fire, with a promise of freedom to come.
He dumped the water into another wooden bucket and lifted it to carry to Sarah. Should he wake her to give her the water, or should he let her awaken on her own?
The thunder of a galloping horse startled him, and he looked up to see it moving toward the house. Then he saw the blue coat of the rider, the yellow cockade of a captain in the Continental Army displayed on his black hat. The captain dismounted, and when he took off his hat, Grayson rushed toward the man. His brother-in-law stretched out his hand, and Grayson set down the bucket of water and shook it.
“I have missed you,” Grayson said.
Seth took off his hat. “It has been much too long.”
Seth looked at the remains of the house behind Grayson, his eyes reflecting the destitution.
“I am sorry about your home.”
Seth stepped forward, his eyes still on the house. “I once had grand plans for this place, and to be honest, I once had plans for your plantation as well.”
“You can rebuild,” Grayson assured him. “And perhaps you and Lydia can still—”
“Much has changed in the past three years.” Seth brushed off his sleeves as he faced Grayson again. “I have new plans now.”
Grayson nodded. “We are all on a new journey, I suppose.”
Seth unbuttoned his coat and strung it over his arm. “What are you doing here?”
Grayson smiled. “I have a surprise for you.”
“I fear I have not had a good experience with surprises.”
“I hope this will be a good one.”
Grayson picked up the bucket and the two men walked toward the washhouse, talking of all they had seen in the past years since leaving Virginia. Seth had survived both the frigid weather at Valley Forge and the defeat at New York. Grayson told him of his night runs delivering supplies and his time in the British prison.
Seth blinked. “I thought no one ever escaped a British prison.”
“They don’t, unless someone comes to rescue them.”
“Who rescued you?”
Grayson opened the washhouse door. “Madam Knight.”
He thought Sarah would wake when the sunlight flooded into the room, but she didn’t seem to hear him. He set down his bucket, motioning for Seth to wait outside even as he moved to their bed of straw. “Sarah—your brother is here.”
Sweat had returned to her face, along with a gray pallor. He shook her gently. “Sarah?”
Then he shouted for Seth.
Sarah’s brother rushed inside, eyeing Sarah asleep on the mattress before his eyes narrowed at Grayson. “What have you done?”
“We have married,” Grayson insisted. “A month ago near Newport News.”
Seth knelt by the mattress and took her hand. “Sarah?”
This time she opened her eyes slowly, and the cool green in them warmed when she saw the men. “Seth—you have returned.”
“I did not know you were here,” he said softly. “Grayson said you have married.”
“Aye.” She smiled at Grayson, and his heart seemed to explode with relief. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost her again.
Seth’s smile was strained. “Shall I call you Lady Caswell?”
She shook her head. “We are no longer Caswells. My name is Sarah Porter.”
He brushed his hand over her hair. “You are ill.”
Grayson dipped a tin cup into the bucket and brought the water to Sarah’s lips.
“I am only tired. We have had a long journey.” She guzzled the water. “It is nothing to fret about.”
Seth glanced back at him, and Grayson saw the worry etched deeply across his forehead. Something was terribly wrong.
“She must have something to eat as well.”
“Of course,” Grayson said, feeling like an idiot.
In the corner was a crate he’d filled with food, and he retrieved an apple, slicing it quickly into small pieces with his knife. While Seth cradled Sarah’s head, Grayson fed her. She ate the apple and then asked for another.
When she finished eating and drinking another cup of water, Seth lowered her head back to the pillow. As her eyes drooped shut once more, she reached out and took Seth’s hand. “I am so glad to see you.”
Then she slept again.
When he and Seth stepped outside, Seth slapped his hand against the side of the building. “She is ill.”
“I thought it was exhaustion.” Grayson wrung his hands together, and it felt as if his heart was wringing as well. “But she is worsening.”
“Why is she not sleeping in a real bed?”
“We are waiting for supplies for York. I thought about staying in Williamsburg, but I—we did not want anyone to recognize us in town.”
“Do not go to town, Grayson. Go home. Your mother and Lydia will care for her.”
Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to see his mother and Lydia, but Lord Caswell would not be happy to see him.
For Sarah, he must swallow his pride and go to Caswell Hall. “I will leave right away.”
“Unless the British took it, there should be a canoe in the boathouse,” Seth said as he rushed toward the door. “I will fetch Dr. Cooper.”
When Grayson lifted Sarah from the straw, her eyes fluttered open. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“You once asked me to trust you.” He kissed her forehead. “This time, my dear, you must place your trust in me.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dust billowed along the long drive to Caswell Hall, and Lydia turned and squinted in the sunlight, hoping to catch a glimpse of the riders as they approached where she and Hannah and the field slaves worked. Father was in the barn, hanging
the leaves they’d harvested earlier in the day, to cure them. Hannah stood up and pulled her hat close to her eyes. “Perhaps Dalton has returned.”
Lydia stood up beside her. She hated the delight in her sister’s voice, when the thought of the major and his men returning made her skin crawl. Last she’d heard at church, the Patriots were supposed to confront the British army at York, but there had been no word of a battle. Perhaps these men had news for them.
Her sister ducked down again as if the leaves could hide her. “We mustn’t let them see us like this.”
Lydia looked at her filthy hands and the dirt that stained her petticoat. Except for perhaps Nathan, she didn’t much care what anyone else thought of her appearance.
Two men galloped by them. The men were much too far away to be recognized, but she was relieved that neither man wore a red uniform. In fact, one of the men seemed to be wearing the grayish-blue of the Continental Army.
Was it possible?
As their dust dissipated into the fields, she felt like sinking into the soil as well and lying dormant among the harvested leaves. A long time ago, she had dreamed about what it would be like for Seth to return to her. He would apologize for his anger, and she would apologize for not supporting him. They would marry at the river’s edge in a grand ceremony of family and friends reconciled after the war. But she hadn’t thought about Seth in a long time.
Was he riding one of the horses? If so, what would he do when he saw her?
“I will shoot him if he tries to step on my property.”
Father’s words jolted her into action. If it was indeed Seth who had arrived, she must warn him before Father came in from the fields.
She fled to the drive and then ran as fast as she could toward the house. She was already covered with dirt from her field labor; it wouldn’t matter how much more dirt and sweat she accumulated in a run. The elegant, gentle lady that Seth left almost three years ago was no longer.
It was possible that the rider wasn’t Seth at all, that another man in uniform was coming to visit. But she didn’t know another Patriot soldier who would risk visiting them.
When she reached the house, she breathed deeply and fanned herself with her hands to cool down. Then she ascended the steps into the hall.
Prudence stood at the doorway leading to the library, her face grave. “They are inside with Lady Caswell.”
“Who is it?”
“Master Seth and Dr. Cooper.”
She leaned against the staircase, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. After all these years, he was finally back.
Was it possible for them to rekindle what they had lost? But how could they rekindle even their friendship when her heart now belonged to another? She’d run all the way to the house in case it was Seth, but now all she wanted to do was hide.
“Father might harm him,” she said.
Prudence shook her head. “Lady Caswell would never allow it.”
Perhaps not, but she still must tell him what Father had said.
She walked toward the door, but Prudence stopped her. “Lady Caswell requested a private interview with them.”
Private? She was the one who had waited all these years to see the man she was to marry. How could they exclude her? But then again, if Dr. Cooper had accompanied Seth, something might be wrong.
Or had the war ended? Perhaps Seth and the doctor had come to warn them.
Prudence eyed Lydia’s dress. “Might I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“We could change your wardrobe while you wait.”
Lydia glanced down at the dirt stains on her soiled skirt. Her face must be drenched in sweat, her hair atrocious.
“We must hurry,” Lydia said.
“We will.”
If only she knew why they must wait.
Twenty minutes later, Lydia started back down to the stair hall. She gasped when she saw the man in the hall, and then joy flooded her heart.
“Grayson?”
Her brother was alive.
But even as Grayson looked up at her, she saw fear in his eyes and realized he was holding something in his arms. Someone. She hurried down the steps at the same time Mother rushed out of the library.
Her brother held Sarah Hammond, her body wrapped in a cloak on this summer day and her head limp against his chest.
Mother kissed Grayson’s cheek and quickly directed him toward the library. Lydia followed them, her heart aching and her mind whirling to make sense of it all.
What had happened to her friend? And how had Grayson found her?
Grayson gently laid Sarah on the chaise lounge. Seth did not acknowledge Lydia as he draped a blanket over his sister. Grayson held a tin cup to Sarah’s lips, and her eyes fluttered open and then closed as she sipped of it.
Dr. Cooper listened to Sarah’s chest. “I must examine her in private,” he replied. “Her husband can stay.”
“Husband?” Lydia blurted. When had he and Sarah married? She wanted to rejoice at the news, and yet she was still trying to understand all the pieces.
“Might Lady Caswell stay as well?” Grayson asked. “I will need her help.”
The doctor nodded.
Lydia moved toward the hall, and Seth stepped beside her. She motioned him toward it as if he hadn’t been there hundreds of times. Inside, they stood in awkward silence. Her anger at his leaving, her dreams long ago of becoming his wife—it all seemed surreal. The anger was now gone, as were the dreams. She and Seth were two strangers, the experiences of these past years alienating them. They both might desire liberty now, but they would never enjoy their freedom together.
She stared at him, unsure of what to say. She only hoped Father’s work in the barn would deter him from returning to the house until late tonight, but even if he walked through the door at this moment, she doubted he would threaten Seth’s life. Their old quarrel seemed irrelevant somehow, now that Grayson was back—and married to Seth’s sister. No matter how they differed with Lord Caswell, Sarah and Seth had become family.
Seth rested his hand on the back of a chair. “The last time I was here, we exchanged words I regret.”
“I regret them as well, but my father does not. When he comes, I fear he will not welcome you.”
“I fear only for my sister at present.”
Lydia’s heart quickened. “What happened to Sarah?”
He shook his head. “Did you know that your brother was a prisoner of the British?”
Her chest clenched. “The British?”
“He has been working for the Patriots since he left here.”
She thought Grayson had fled because he feared the rebels in Williamsburg, but it shouldn’t surprise her. While she had always prized security, Grayson had desired the liberty of being able to go where he pleased.
She sighed. “I did not know.”
“Sarah helped rescue him from his captors, but Grayson said she has been weak ever since. They slept last night on our property.”
Her stomach rolled at the mention of his plantation. “I am so sorry about your home.”
“’Tis not your fault.”
“I fear some of it is my fault. British officers stayed here, and my sister told them—” She hesitated. She didn’t want to talk of their proposed marriage. “I told them you were fighting with the Patriots.”
His eyebrows rose. “You once called me a rebel.”
“I have learned much since then.”
His fingers clutched the back of the chair, his knuckles turning white. “After the war, I shall not return to Virginia.”
She took a deep breath. “I see.”
He glanced down for a moment, and when he looked up again, she could see the conflict in his eyes—and a hint of the boy she once knew. “I have decided . . .”
At his hesitation, she prompted him. “What is it, Seth?”
“I have asked the daughter of my commander to marry me.”
Perhaps her heart should ache at the news, but Lyd
ia felt hollow instead. “And she has accepted?”
He nodded. “I am sorry, Lydia.”
“There is no reason for you to apologize,” she assured him. “The years have propelled us apart.”
“I hope we will remain . . . That is, I suppose we are more than friends—almost brother and sister now that Grayson and Sarah have married.”
“I suppose we are.” She managed a wan smile. “I wish you well, Seth.”
“Truly?”
She took a deep breath. “Truly.”
“I wish you well also.”
Mother stepped into the room. “The doctor would like to speak with all of us.”
Lydia and Seth joined her in the library. Both Dr. Cooper and Grayson looked grave, and Lydia didn’t know if she could bear what they had to say.
Seth reached for his sister’s hand as she slept. “What is wrong?”
Dr. Cooper replaced his tools into a small bag. “I fear she might have diabetes.”
Lydia swayed. Diabetes? There was no cure for the disease.
“If she does—” Grayson stammered over his words, his voice distorted by pain. “If she does, how long will she be with us?”
“I have pills that may prolong her hours, but I fear it will not be long now.”
Not days or weeks or months. They had only hours left with her.
The doctor lifted his bag. “A coma will overtake her first, so you will want to say your good-byes soon.”
Lydia looked at her brother, at the agony etched on his face. Long ago she had wondered whether he loved Sarah Hammond. Now she knew—Grayson loved his wife with everything in him, and if the doctor was right, he must now say good-bye.
Sarah’s eyes fluttered open, and she smiled when she saw Lydia. She reached out her hands, and Lydia went to her. “Have you any water?” Sarah asked.
Grayson filled a glass from the pitcher, and Lydia sat on the lounge and helped her drink it.
“I am sorry. I am so thirsty.”
“There is no need for apologies,” Lydia said. “We have a river full of water.”
And then Grayson gave Sarah more.
Sarah glanced up at her husband hovering over her. “I am dying, aren’t I?”
The Courier of Caswell Hall (American tapestries) Page 25
