by Betty Bolte
"On occasion." Amy clasped the spinning wheel with tense hands.
"What sort of 'occasion' warranted such indecorous behavior, pray tell?" Mrs. Walters appeared affronted by the mere idea.
For goodness sake, how pedantic of the women to take such a tone. Samantha laid the sewing in her lap as she took a deep breath. "Saving my life."
A collective gasp preceded excited chit chat among the women. Amy caught Samantha's eye and inclined her head in silent appreciation for her statement. Although Samantha pushed the memory aside, she'd never forget how courageous and strong Amy had been the day they escaped the renegade loyalists. Her father's powerful stallion, Icarus, had carried them to safety under Amy's sure hands. Indeed, Samantha had ridden astride behind her and thought nothing of it. When one's life is in danger, the niceties become a secondary consideration.
"Nevertheless, while I'm sure it was necessary, what Amy did was an exception." Mrs. Walters sniffed and shook her head. "Young Tabitha had no reason for her actions. Keeping secrets is never an appropriate course of action as they tend to lead to indignities and fester into cancerous sores within the household."
"Yet every family has their share, I dare say." Fanny Norris, the petite, vivacious brunette who spoke her mind to any one who'd listen, winked at Mrs. Walters. "I wonder what skeletons are in your family's closet?"
Mrs. Walters waved away the idea. "Mr. Walters and I foreswore secrets when we married."
Mrs. Norris chuckled. "So you believe."
"Ladies, please." Lucille Abernathy glided into the room and raised both hands. "Enough of the bickering. I think we can all agree secrets should be kept to a minimum in order to live an honest and forthright life."
Emily's hands froze in her throw of the shuttle. Samantha peered at her friend, detecting a fluttering pulse at her throat as she swept the group of women with her agitated gaze. She'd not seen her friend so distressed in a long while.
Emily cleared her throat and then rested her hands on the batten, letting her gaze touch on each woman in the room. "In the name of honesty, I have a confession to make."
Silence settled on the crowd, an expectant hush. Samantha tensed, her fingers clutching the silver needle. Knowing her friend's confession beforehand increased her own anticipation. How might the ladies react to what Emily prepared to reveal?
"I am Penny Marsh." A weak smile graced Emily's lips. "I wrote the controversial essays you all have been talking about over the last few months."
"Oh, my dear, tell me you'd not sink to such depraved amusements?" Mrs. Walters stopped the rocking chair to lean forward, her eyes hard with disapproval.
Emily nodded mutely. The other ladies slowly absorbed the truth behind the identity of the mysterious author. Some smiled and nodded, while others regarded Emily with open disdain. The opinions of the women of Charles Town were important to Emily as well as to Samantha. The women influenced their husbands' decisions as surely as the sun rose every morning. However, Samantha would not let those very same opinions direct how she'd live her life. Not any longer.
"There is more." Emily wet her lips and folded her hands in her lap. She glanced at Lucille's frown and pursed lips before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I intend to lease the Widow Murray's old bakery and open my own accessories business."
"Oh, Emily..." Lucille shook her head, disapproval in her eyes.
"What? How?" Catherine Manning angled her head and blinked at Emily. "Legally, you cannot sign the lease, let alone operate an establishment."
"My betrothed, Frank Thomson, agrees with my aim and has pledged his support." Emily smiled openly for the first time since her revelation. "Shortly after we marry, we shall open the doors for customers. Is it not exciting?"
Mrs. Walters snorted a laugh. "No one will dare spend their money in your shop. Captain Sullivan should not allow you to fool yourself as to believe you'll find success in your ill-advised venture."
"Father's opinion will not carry as much weight after I'm married." Emily's smile drooped but clung to her face. She inclined her head in a slow nod. "Your estimation is noted, Mrs. Walters. I shall not expect you to cross the threshold."
"I, for one, applaud your spunk." Mrs. Norris clapped her hands and several others joined in. "We need creative and stalwart women to support our town. Well done. I'll be happy to frequent your shop."
Emily blushed and bowed her head in gratitude. Samantha dropped her needle onto the fabric in her lap and added to the echoing applause. Although not everyone approved, the ladies of the sewing circle once again stepped up to support one of their own. With such an air of support pervading, the time had come to reveal her own burdensome secret. Keeping mum on her important underground activities, as though they were something to be ashamed of, weighed on her conscience. She'd never even told her friends, let alone her disapproving parents, about her marriage and dressing as a man to fight alongside her husband. If she were to start over with a new means of providing for herself, she'd prefer to do so with the ladies' blessing. And with a clear conscience. She squared her shoulders. No better time than the present moment.
"I, too, have a confession." She waited for quiet before continuing. All eyes aimed her direction, curiosity and concern an equal mix. "I misled everyone when I left town last year. I do not have a grandmother in Savannah."
Emily cocked her head, one brow arched. "Then where did you go?"
"And how did you sustain the injury to your leg?" Amy asked.
Samantha drew a steadying breath. "My husband and I fought side by side at the pitched battle at Cowpens. He died protecting me, but I suffered a bayonet stab to my thigh."
"Hold. You had a husband?" Emily's mouth fell open. "Why didn't you tell us?"
Guilt flooded Samantha at her friends' shocked expressions. She should have told them, trusted them to keep her secret. They would have shared the burden, thus lightening her own. She saw the truth now, but the damage was done. She sighed. "I could not, as my parents refused their blessing." Samantha clutched her hands together to still their trembling. "I wanted to, but feared they'd hear. And after Edward died, there seemed no good reason to reveal the truth."
"And he is the reason you joined in our vow to remain unmarried?" Emily gripped the shuttle in both hands as she blinked slowly at Samantha. "The hurt you never wished to experience again?"
Samantha nodded, remaining mute. What more could she say to make them understand?
"And you fought?" Amy gaped at her, astonishment painted on her face. "How?"
"Pulled my hair up under a wool hat and bound my breasts flat." Samantha looked at each startled woman's face, slowly changing to disgust or pride depending upon their views of a woman's role in society. Despite feeling shunned, she pressed on. "Everyone called me 'Sam' and praised my shooting and knife skills."
"I do not believe my ears." Mrs. Walters grunted and shook her head. "Pretending to be a man so you could fight. Serves you right to have been injured. Women should stay home and tend the hearth, not gallivant around like a wisp of a real man."
"I still cannot fathom that you were married. And widowed." Emily crossed her arms and studied Samantha. "You did not warrant your closest friends should know?"
"We kept our wedding a secret from my parents as they did not approve the match." Samantha lifted her shoulders in apology. "After his death, there seemed no purpose in sharing with any one what we'd done."
"Until now." Lucille strolled over to lay a hand on Samantha's quivering shoulder. "What purpose does telling us serve?"
Samantha endured the disapproving scowls from the ladies, the disappointed looks from her friends. She inspected Lucille's countenance, discerning the woman deplored her revelation, and then bowed her head. "In the event, none worth mentioning."
Lucille patted her shoulder. "You've endured quite an ordeal, both physically and emotionally. Perhaps the act of sharing will allow your true healing to commence."
"Perhaps." Then again, sharing the past may have simply
relegated her to being the outcast and town pariah she'd hoped to avoid becoming. She sighed and then bit her lip as she noted each woman's speculative expression. What did they expect from her? She couldn't undo her past any more than she could retain possession of her home. Her entire life had unraveled with the approach of the war ending. With the arrival of the young handsome doctor. With her abilities and techniques called into question every day because of ill or dying patients.
She gathered her sewing materials and shoved them into her bag. Time to go home after this long, hellish day. "If you'll excuse me, ladies, I believe I've outstayed my welcome." Everywhere. She rose and strode out of the room, refraining from meeting any one's judging look and seeing even more censure or derision in their eyes. She'd seen enough.
* * *
Samantha kneeled in the straw pile, playing with Thistle's puppies. At least something positive had happened over the last few days. Four tiny wriggling lives to bring a smile to her face. Thistle licked one pup with long, slow lavishes of her pink tongue. Samantha lifted another, a nearly identical color as its mother, and stroked its downy fur. The motion soothed the tormented thoughts tumbling in her mind.
For as long as she could remember, she'd wanted nothing more than to be useful to others. Following her mother's lead into healing satisfied the desire to help, a deep seated need akin to mothering. Becoming a mother had not been necessary in order for her to look for ways to provide assistance or to look out for others. Caring for the sick and injured made her feel needed.
With the events over the last weeks, could she say the same? Did any one need her any longer? And even if they did, could she actually help them, or had she been fooling herself into believing she possessed the skills to heal, to help? Questions spun and twisted in her mind, questions with no good answers.
The pup in her hands wriggled and squirmed, anxious to return to his mother. Samantha placed him on the ground and laughed as he stumbled over his paws in his hurry to reach Thistle to nurse. She sat back on her heels, resting her empty hands on her thighs. The family appeared healthy and happy. She'd have to ask Captain Sullivan about the future of each of them, given she depended upon his generosity. He may not wish to have so many dogs on the property, which would mean deciding on new homes. A rush of sadness passed through her at the thought of giving away the dogs. Another pup wiggled its way toward her, curiosity lighting its tawny eyes. She scooped up the warm body and hugged it to her, chuckling when its tiny pink tongue licked her finger.
The censure of the sewing circle ladies floated through her memory. Her decision to share about Edward, about Cowpens, about everything, had seemed the right one at the time. Thinking on it in the aftermath of their reactions, however, how could they not have been full of approbation toward her previous activities? Lying about having a sick grandmother in need of her assistance. Masquerading as a man. Living with the militia on the cold, hard ground or in tents, sharing their living quarters such as they were. Even though she and Edward married against her parents' wishes, witnessing the various stages of undress of the other men at such close proximity lent itself to, turned out to be unacceptable in the extreme. The memory brought warmth to her face and she pressed the puppy's wriggling body to her cheek. Closing her eyes, she stroked the soft fur.
So many queries about her past but even more about her future. Opening her eyes, she set the puppy down and watched it mingle with its brother and sisters. As an only child, she envied the friendship and camaraderie of big families. She understood the close relations within Amy's family, since she also was the only child of Richard and Lucille. Observing Emily and her much larger family intrigued her imagination. Emily and her sister Elizabeth had been very close, sharing and confiding everything with each other. If Samantha could have had a sibling, she'd have enjoyed such a sister. When Emily's three brothers returned to town, after the fighting ended and the militia could disband, the house would resound with their booming voices and barks of laughter as it surely had before the war. What would a full household be like, having the three men living in the same house?
The tap of light footsteps sounded in the barn, apparently coming from someone running on the cobblestone drive. Maggie, the young dark-skinned slave who served as assistant cook, trotted into the stable, heading straight for Samantha. She wore no cloak or shawl over her black dress with a red apron. Samantha's heart sank when she detected the worry etched across the woman's face. What now?
"Miss Samantha, Lydia be needing you." Maggie came to a stop, towering above Samantha where she kneeled, surrounded by puppies.
The baby. She could redeem herself and her reputation by successfully delivering the wee one to its new family. Maybe she'd even manage to make amends for all her recent failures in the process. Careful to avoid stepping on tiny paws, she lurched to her feet, her right thigh aching with the motion. "It is her time?"
"Yes, Miss." Maggie chuckled at the playful pups surrounding her, curious about the smells clinging to her shoes. "You'll need to hurry, from the sound of the urgent summons."
A ripple of concern slid across her shoulders. "Please, have a carriage ready in ten minutes. I'll grab my bag and then be on my way." She rushed inside to her room, checked the contents of the red bag, lamenting the fact she'd overlooked visiting the apothecary, and then swung her cloak about her shoulders. Nothing for it but to work with what she had until she determined Lydia's condition. If necessary, she could send someone to fetch what she needed from the good apothecary. With good fortune, however, all would be well with Lydia and the babe so she would not be called upon to use her contingency plan.
While she gathered the necessary items, she prayed for a healthy baby and strong mother. Both would be required for all to be well. She strode out the back door and climbed into the waiting carriage. Clucking to the bay mare, she kept a steady grip on the reins while struggling to steady her emotions. She'd be absolutely no help to Lydia if she couldn't rein in the rampant feelings filling her chest.
All the way through Charles Town, and as she presented her papers to the sentry at the picket line posted at the edge of town, she fretted about the possible complications inherent in an early birthing. Lydia's physical strength could mean the difference when considering the baby's chances. Yet strength alone did not equate to a thriving child even if successfully delivered without rips or tears to the mother or stress on the newborn baby. Still, other times, despite all indications of a healthy baby, within a short span the wee one or the mother, or both, succumbed and left their earthy existence. Her work to make note of the individual situations might yield important connections not previously detected. Her mother's successes and failures had drawn a great deal of attention from the townspeople. For Lydia's case, Cynthia had no connection and thus could not be blamed should anything go awry. She'd pay careful attention to Lydia's condition and add the particulars to her commonplace upon her return. Samantha didn't need the approbation of the town for her midwifery or she'd have no practice left to rely upon.
Half an hour after leaving the Sullivans', she pulled up in front of the little cottage. Angel raced out of the house before the dust had settled. Samantha pushed aside the worry stemming from the young girl's rush to greet her as she tied the reins to the brake and stepped down from the vehicle. The lack of a smile on Angel's face hinted at the situation inside. Concern washed through her, tensing her shoulders until they burned from the strain.
"Oh, Miss Samantha, please hurry!" The girl took hold of Samantha's hand and tugged her toward the house.
Samantha grabbed her bag before Angel dragged her inside the dimly lit interior. Lydia moaned from where she lay on her bed by the hearth. The air crackled with an electric mix of tension, fear, and pain. The assault to her senses made her stumble. Catching her balance, she paused and steeled herself against the rising dread swelling in her chest. Lydia's powerful husband, George, stood with the boys by the table, eyeing her as she hesitated. She nodded at him, spotting the fear simmeri
ng in her chest reflected in his eyes. She strode across the small room, relieved her legs continued to support her despite her concern, and then dropped her bag on the floor beside the woman.
"Let me examine you." Samantha didn't wait for Lydia's nod but immediately peeled back the threadbare blanket and then lifted the damp shift out of the way.
She inspected the vaginal opening. What she saw made her breath catch in her chest. A dark haired head pushed against red extended folds restricting its entry into the world. Slipping a finger around the part of the skull she could reach, Samantha worked to widen the birth canal enough to enable an easier birth. Lydia cried out as another birthing pain struck. Samantha focused on the emerging circle of hair that slowly revealed tiny ears on either side of the head. As Lydia pushed again, her wail stilling all other sound in the small house, Samantha prepared to catch the babe. With a rush of fluid, the little one slipped into Samantha's waiting hands. Only, the umbilical cord tightened around the soft neck. Samantha noted the tiny lips were blue, eyes closed, and then she sucked in a breath. It couldn't be. She'd ensure the baby arrived safely if it were the last thing she did in this life. The child couldn't breathe with the cord constricting his airway. The solution was simple, then all would be fine. Pushing aside the panic threatening to incapacitate her, she snatched the birthing shears out of her bag, and cut through the cord with one decisive movement. She swallowed as she dropped the tool to the floor, willing away the tears pressing at the back of her eyes.
"Heavens above..." Samantha cradled the tiny infant with trembling arms, aware of the lack of movement, the silence, surrounding the stillborn babe. She pressed fingertips to its chest, detecting no movement under the light pressure. Tears trickled down her cheeks. The wee one had perfect features, its bitty fingers and toes, its slender legs and arms lying limp in Samantha's trembling arms. Lying still and silent, like the puppies the day before. Her tears flowed unchecked at the senseless death of the baby in her hands.