by Betty Bolte
Samantha's Secret
A More Perfect Union Series
Book Three
by
Betty Bolté
Award-winning Author
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ISBN: 978-1-61417-661-9
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Chapter 1
Charles Town, South Carolina–1782
"I must say, I am glad this day is behind us and we can relax and enjoy the festivities." Samantha McAlester sighed, trying but failing to release the tension building between her shoulders. As night descended upon the garden, she cringed as barks of laughter interspersed the hum of the party guests' conversation, increasing in volume along with the flow of wine and ales. Before long, Trent would arrive, and then what would she do? How could she tolerate his presence after his disdain the last time?
"I find it hard to fathom the danger you and Amy faced." Emily Sullivan tugged her shawl around her shoulders to ward off the late November chill and slowly shook her head. She swiveled to look at Samantha, her long skirts rustling with the movement. "If Benjamin hadn't caught up with you, and then Walter hadn't stepped in to sacrifice his own life to save all of us, I don't know what we'd have done."
"That's all in the past, Em. Do not dwell on the matter." The horrifying sound of gun shots around the manor house surely would echo in her mind in a similar manner as to other shots and shouts she'd experienced over the past several years. Walter had vowed to die defending his home, and he kept his word. Emily's cousin, Evelyn, had lost her husband but gained her freedom from his overbearing nature. "No good can come from reliving this morning's adventure. Let us close the book on those events."
Emily shrugged and let her gaze drift over the garden before focusing on the dark-haired couple strolling away. "You're probably right, but it's hard to ignore the sobs from poor Evelyn up in your spare room. Besides, planning a double wedding with such sadness hanging in the air might be considered disrespectful. What do you think?"
"I think you and Amy have the right to marry your betrotheds. And moreover, this town needs the happy event after the terror and uncertainty we've endured under the British occupation." Standing beneath the peaked roof of the white-washed gazebo, which was draped in dormant climbing rose vines, Samantha hesitated to follow two of her closest friends as they made their way toward the cluster of guests.
Emily's white teeth flashed as she chuckled. "I never thought I could be as happy as I am in preparing to marry Frank."
"The idea of holding the wedding at the end of the holidays is brilliant." Samantha glanced at Emily, and couldn't prevent a smile from easing onto her lips. "Everyone will already be in a festive mood and gathered in town to be with family and friends."
Emily bobbed her head and then indicated the pair moving away from them. "They appear to be as besotted with each other as Frank and I."
Amy Abernathy and Benjamin Hanson ambled away from her, arm in arm down the crushed seashell and pea gravel path toward tables laden with a variety of meats and sweets. So much had happened over the past year, month, even day, she couldn't imagine what more awaited in the near future as the fight for America's independence from British rule ended in victory. One thing remained certain: all the dueling and fighting, the anxiety and terror, her friends had endured since the beginning of October had been relegated to the past. As the Britons prepared to evacuate, she and her compatriots could all look to the future and plan for a better world. Mostly, in the event. Her heart sunk at the thought of Trent's imminent arrival.
From where Samantha stood at the very back corner of the property, she could see over the heads of her guests as they wandered through the unusually large and diverse garden. Winding paths crisscrossed the area, providing easy access to the variety of flowers, vegetable and herbal plants, and bushes. Several tall oaks and cypress lent shade in the summer heat as well as ingredients for her simples and poultices. She drew in a deep breath of crisp fall air along with the sense of peace only this space evoked. As long as her parents owned the sizeable property, she'd be content with life.
They'd spent years designing and creating the perfect medicinal garden, containing every kind of beneficial plant that would grow in the hot and humid southern climate. Surely they'd never move. Not after all their hard work and expense. But with the tensions in town targeted at those who sympathized with the British, the future for her family remained unclear, like the harbor on a foggy morning. What if they were forced out by the British? Or someone else? The South Carolina government had initiated a list of known loyalists whose property was subject to confiscation as the British withdrew. Had her father's loyalties become too flagrant in recent months? Unease fluttered in her stomach, and she pressed a hand to her waist, trying to quell the turmoil within. What would she do without her lovely garden and charming home? Indeed, without her loving yet stubborn parents?
The gazebo had provided a shady space for numerous tea parties with her dear friends over the last year. Of course, the tea came from plants within the garden or from other countries, as long as it was not imported from Britain or any of its territories she'd consume it. They'd shared many a strong opinion on the war and the deprecations on both sides. The men took advantage of the women, children, and property in the absence of husbands, brothers, and fathers. With peace on the horizon, the fog of the future could begin to lift the uncertainties of life in the past.
Now, while she and Emily watched in quiet happiness, Benjamin escorted Amy down the path, newly engaged to each other as of mere minutes ago, his hand possessing hers where it lay on his crooked arm. Yet another event on this busy day, their betrothal. On top of Benjamin's skirmish with renegade loyalists earlier in the morning that had resulted in his left arm in a sling from a gunshot wound to his shoulder, his slightly bowed carriage hinting at the pain which plagued him. She'd mix up some simples for him to take home after the feast. And definitely she'd keep a close watch on his condition. Not only would she do all within her power to heal her friend, but her reputation as a healer remained at stake, especially since young and ambitious Dr. Trent Cunningham had arrived in town.
"They're so perfect for each other." Emily Sullivan smoothed a wrinkle from one elbow-length white glove. "Who could have guessed she and I would be betrothed to such handsome men so soon after our joint vow."
"Who indeed." S
amantha tossed her head, her ebony locks settling between her shoulders.
So much had changed in such a short period of time. Last month, the three friends had made a vow to remain unmarried. Each woman choosing their own independence rather than rely upon the whim and largess of a man. They'd agreed the vows could be broken only if the woman desired to do so, not by force or compulsion. Now, both Amy and Emily chose to follow their hearts and were making wedding plans for the biggest event of the holiday season, a joint affair on Twelfth Night.
"At least you have managed to stay faithful to your promise." Emily's porcelain cheeks reflected the soft light from the many hanging lamps decorating the edges of the gazebo. "And if Frank hadn't protected my reputation in that scary duel, I'd never have let him persuade me of his affection."
"He could have died for your honor, too. I won't mention such an act in my comments later. He might have died for you, you understand, right?" Samantha sniffled. Pondering Frank's close call reminded her of many other similar dangerous situations. Ones so painful to recall she hadn't shared them with anyone and probably never would. She slipped the perfumed kerchief from her sleeve to dab at her nose, and relished the scent of lavender floating on the night air. The crowd mingled in the open spaces between the variously colored bushes and plants and strolled the many winding paths through the garden. "Frank truly loves you and will always protect you. Speaking of whom, someone appears to be seeking you out."
Emily's smile widened when she spotted Frank Thomson walking toward her. "It's about time for your speech, so I'll go and..."
"Right. You two should find a good place to watch." Samantha chortled and shooed her friend toward the tall blond man striding purposefully toward where the ladies conversed.
Frank appeared at Emily's side, taking her hand in his with a smile and a nod of greeting to Samantha. Emily had once vehemently declared she would never marry. Samantha permitted her lips to curve into a smile, having anticipated the two cousins would succumb to the desires of the men accompanying them. She may not know everything, but she did know how to interpret a woman's behavior and thus descry their next actions. In the event, her friends would succumb to the attentions and intentions of Benjamin and Frank.
The guests mingling about the garden included all of her family and her friends, the new lawyer, George Manning and his wife Catherine, as well as a few artisans she'd not been introduced to yet. The invitation list had not changed much over the years, adhering to her parents' desire to include a balanced mix of political views. Her father's attempt to appease both camps; one she feared may have failed. Her parents had held a harvest feast each November for the past ten years, war or no war. This garden, packed with medicinal herbs and flowers, soothed her chaotic thoughts and emotions. Mingled scents of jasmine and rosemary tickled the noses of the throng of guests. Her father had bowed to her midwife mother's demands to forego the typical decorative garden most residents had surrounding their two-story homes and open piazzas. Instead, they created an extravagant oasis of flowers, bushes, and trees. She pulled her silver shawl around her shoulders, her midnight blue skirts swishing against the wooden floor of the gazebo when she pivoted to peruse the happy group milling amongst the multitude of plants she could identify by name and purpose. Her mother had ensured Samantha would be well prepared to follow in her calling as a healer and midwife. A purpose her father also endorsed and supported in every way within his significant means.
Her friends had chosen to marry, leaving her to carry on alone in this vow of staying unmarried. Her decision rested upon her desire to never again subject her heart to the anguish of watching a loved one die. The cries and groans. The blood. The agony. Once was definitely more than enough for her to bear. A sigh wiggled from her pressed lips before she could subdue it. She squared her shoulders, her gown soft against her skin. The past had no bearing on her plans for the future.
Points of light emerged overhead to surround the crescent moon hanging in the sky. The heavenly stars beckoned, guiding her healing endeavors as much as her day to day activities. She glanced to the dark bedroom window, imagining Amy's sister, Evelyn, sequestered and tearful over the death of her little boy's father earlier in the morning. The horrific images flashed across her mind, but she pushed them aside. Just as she'd shoved aside the memory of the bloody battlefield the year before. One day at a time. How else could she cope with everything? Her focus must stay on helping her patients, her friends, as best she could. Tomorrow would be soon enough to discuss the widow's plans.
Tonight, Samantha intended to enjoy a respite from the tension and horror of the occupied town and the rampant violence across the countryside. Fortunately, no recent tar-and-feathering patients had landed at her door. The vengeance of the patriots against the loyalists continued, maybe even increased, with each passing day. For one night, she hoped the townspeople would join together. Her neighbors, her friends, fellow citizens all without regard to political leaning, had gathered to celebrate as they did every year, even though the repast was meager compared to what they enjoyed before the war and the British occupation of Charles Town. She shook off the weight of sadness, determined to focus on the approaching evacuation by the Britons, as soon as the unusually active hurricane season ended and they could safely navigate out of the treacherous harbor.
* * *
The day bespoke the times. A strange blend of horror and hope pervaded both days and nights. That morning, the three friends barely escaped with their lives when renegade loyalists attacked Evelyn's home. Tonight, a celebration of the culmination of the harvest. She would not perjure herself and say she'd miss Walter, not after his abuse and, she suspected, attempted poisoning of Evelyn. The stomach cramps and pangs Evelyn had agonized through completely vanished as soon as Emily assumed responsibility for the cooking at the country manor. Walter only reluctantly permitted the three ladies to invade his dwelling to provide care for his wife during her travails and lying in. He had declared he would die protecting his property. And so he did. Dying in such a manner did not equate to making him a hero in her eyes. Again, that chapter had ended and the book closed on the past events.
It was time to move on. She eased down the steps, bracing herself on the hand rail to prevent her injured leg from failing her. Despite her best efforts, the limb was not as strong as she'd like. She had to maintain her dignity, which did not include falling down among her guests. The puncture wound where a thorny stick had pierced through her thigh days ago would eventually heal, no thanks to the tumble she had taken followed by the forced march by the renegades. Thank goodness they'd all made it safely back to town. A shiver worked her shoulders at the thought of what might have happened to the two women had they not escaped. Mentally, she closed the book, intent on writing a new beginning for both her and her town.
"Samantha, we're ready for the toast," Amy called to her from across the open garden. Her grin shone in the subdued light. "Hurry, now."
"Coming." Samantha increased her pace, rehearsing her short speech as she limped along the seashell path reflecting the moonlight.
The responsibility of inspiring the gathering had fallen on her. Locating a fitting passage to share with her friends and neighbors had taken several hours earlier in the afternoon. Her father's impressive library contained a wealth of material, but finding a quote worthy of the town's momentous events, indeed the future of the country, had proved a challenge. Eventually she'd uncovered a most fitting sentiment.
On a side path, her parents strolled toward her, arm in arm. They carried flutes of wine like candlesticks against a dark night. Aaron's burly frame dwarfed his petite wife, Cynthia. They each sported gray on their otherwise dark heads, brought on no doubt from the never ending tension and suspicion in town. With the Britons stripping everything of any value as they prepared to leave, her parents had become more and more withdrawn from her. What did they attempt to shield her from? Her biggest fear remained their intention to flee the town, forcing her to accompany them to
some far off land, away from her beloved surroundings, her beloved country.
"My darling, you look beautiful this evening." Her father stopped before her and glanced at her mother. "Don't you agree?"
"Yes, of course." Cynthia sipped her wine, cutting off any further comment she may have made. She wore a gown of dark gray with pink insets and small lavender bows dotting its skirts. A white lace cap rested on her gray curls. Her appearance hid the worry she expressed about her reputation among the townspeople, a reputation based upon the frequent deaths of those under her care. Was it the result of bad fortune or bad choices? Samantha had started making notes on the cases she could, but most of the past cases would remain a mystery.
"Thank you for your kind words. I'm pleased the weather cooperated so we could enjoy the garden tonight." Samantha smiled and briefly inclined her head. The mingling crowd wore an array of somber colors mixed in with the occasional pastel gown or pants. All wore some form of outer garment for warmth. "Another week and it will be too chilly to entertain out of doors. We'd miss a glorious night such as this to share with our friends."
"Indeed, indeed." Aaron's smile faded as he looked around the area, his gaze lighting on first one, then another, of the guests before finally focusing on the two-story home. "This house has served us well for many years. It will be hard to find another as fine."
Samantha heard a note of regret in his voice as her mother squeezed his arm. The sound of sadness raised tiny bumps along her flesh. She studied the shifting emotions playing across his features. "It is a good thing, then, that won't be necessary. The British will pull out ere long, and the town can return to normal."
"You speak the truth." Aaron patted his wife's hand gripping his arm but did not meet Samantha's eyes for a moment. Finally, he locked gazes with her. "The Britons will depart very soon."
Yet his tone—a quaver, a hesitation—suggested something amiss. Worry lines carved a valley between his brows, surrounded his tight lips. Her mother's usually expressive face held no hint as to her feelings other than boredom. Obviously, she must be agitated to have schooled her face into such a rigid mask. What had happened to provoke them so?