by Becky Lower
Two-and-a-half months to go.
• ♥ •
Dinner was served, and Eleanor grinned as the food she’d prepared disappeared into the five little mouths around the table. Empty trenchers were a sign she was learning how to prepare palatable food. She had to admit the deer medallions cooked in butter were quite tasty. And, even though the carrots were glazed, they would never be a favorite vegetable of hers. But despite her feelings toward them, there was nary a slice of the orange vegetable left behind.
Once the trenchers were washed and Caleb and Ben dried them and stored them back on the shelf in the kitchen, all that was left to do was to get the children into their night clothes and read a bedtime story. The boys all climbed into their beds and Elizabeth crawled into her lap. Reading had been a much easier task when she was at the earl’s estate, since there had been plenty of candles. But here, there was just one candle aflame. Fortunately, the story was one Eleanor had read on multiple occasions, so if she didn’t see all the words on the page, she embellished the story line. No one noticed she had strayed from the printed version. Elizabeth nodded off, her head on Eleanor’s shoulder, and the boys’ eyelids were drooping by the time she finished the story. She tucked Elizabeth into her bed and brushed back the hair on Caleb and Daniel’s heads. Even in sleep, Adam and Ben cringed from her touch, so she didn’t do more than tug the covers up to their shoulders. December in Connecticut was cold.
“Good night, children. Sweet dreams.” She closed the door to their room and returned to the dining table. To not further tax her eyes with reading, or with needlework, she sat at the table with her nightly cup of tea, her eyes closed, and her hands clasped. Tonight, though, her mind did not wander back to Lewes, and to the streets she’d trod for her entire life. Those lanes and cobblestones were so familiar she could navigate them in her sleep. Instead, her mind stayed on this side of the Atlantic, and how one small boy was able to navigate the streets of Groton well enough to get to the market and back in less than an hour while he dodged the British soldiers who patrolled the streets.
“Dear Lord, what has happened to my life?” Her whisper died on her lips and her hands shifted from the table to her stomach, where her dinner sat like a stone. Now was no time for pity. She had to figure out how to keep this family safe until Patterson returned. Adam was right. The streets were too dangerous for the youngest, so she’d confine their play to the alley behind the house, and they could spend time in the carriage house with the chickens and the horse. And she certainly had no wish to be on the same streets as Billy Buford. So, Adam would be the only one responsible for buying the produce they needed from the market.
With a plan firmly in place on how to get through the next several weeks without Patterson, she once again clasped her hands and bowed her head. She preferred to verbalize her conversations with the Lord, even if many times she thought she was the only one listening. “It may be blasphemy to pray for the man I have been mentally cursing for months now, but I pray you keep Patterson safe on the battlefield and deliver him home to his family.”
She sat for several more minutes with her eyes closed, envisioning the man she’d just prayed on behalf of. By now, he was riding south with his friends from Boston, headed into battle in some area of the country called South Carolina. His wheat-colored hair was blowing off his brow and the lines around his brown eyes crinkled with laughter as he caught up with the lives of his friends. Would he mention her to his mates? If so, what would he say about her? That she was a difficult, taciturn woman who was plagued with homesickness? Or that she was a quiet little mouse who did his bidding with merely a nod of her head? Could he perhaps be regaling his buddies with a description of her beauty? She barked out a laugh at that notion.
She might be getting used to Patterson’s features, and was reminded of him each day when she cared for his children, who so resembled him. Except for Elizabeth, who, according to Patterson, took after her mother. If that were the case, his wife must have been a rare beauty, and Eleanor paled by comparison. With her red hair and smattering of freckles, she never would be called an English rose.
She let out a breath and stood, taking her empty teacup to the sink. Her melancholy bordered on hogwash tonight. She had no wish for Patterson, or any other American, to refer to her as an English rose. What she longed for was a return to her staid, ordinary life in Sussex. Or London. Where she would care for other people’s children, yet never have any of her own.
But even as she had the thought, her body betrayed her. A hollow feeling grew in her chest, and England lost some of its glitter. She didn’t wish to care for someone else’s children. She wanted her own. In England, she’d only be expected to care for her charges during the day. Never prepare a meal for them and take pride in the fact they cleaned their plates and bought apples so she could make their favorite dessert. And when they grew to twelve or thirteen, they’d be taken from her and sent off to boarding school, instead of acting as the family protector.
Perhaps she should give more thought to staying in America.
Chapter Eleven
T he days rolled on, becoming a relentless pattern of cooking, cleaning, and lessons. Eleanor’s charges were learning quickly, and she taxed her brain for new ways to teach reading, writing and mathematics with the dearth of supplies in the Lovejoy household. She’d uncovered a map of the colonies and they tracked Patterson’s progress, by calculating how many miles the horse could take him each day. She’d use any excuse to make addition and multiplication more exciting, and by creating a real-life situation, the children could better see its use in their daily lives.
Adam had gone to the market again today, and Eleanor counted the minutes until his return. Even though he still referred to her as a Tory whenever he could, he took his role as family protector seriously, and still would not allow her to accompany him. Although she surmised his caution was less about her safety and more about preserving the maker of his favorite dessert. The boy did love her apple crumble, although apples were hard to come by this late in the year.
Dinner was over and the children had all been lulled into an almost stupor, by the combination of full bellies and a soothing voice as Eleanor read a few more pages from Gulliver’s Travels. Eleanor glanced at her charges and closed the book. “Let’s get you children into your nightclothes before you all fall asleep here at the table.” She rose and ushered them down the hall.
A harsh pounding on the door startled them from their lethargy.
“Eleanor Chastain, I know you’re in there. Open up!”
Eleanor’s stomach clenched, as it had so many times when she was a child and Billy Buford had cornered her. She had been holding Elizabeth but set her on her feet and glanced around wildly, her gaze finally settling on Adam.
“Take the children, Adam, into the back bedroom, and don’t come out, regardless of what you hear. I’ll handle Billy and possibly he’ll leave you alone.” Eleanor whispered.
“But…”
“Go! Now!” Eleanor hissed and shoved Adam toward the bedroom. He took charge of his siblings, shepherding them from the room. Before he closed the door to the bedroom, he glanced at Eleanor a final time.
“Go on. I’ll get rid of him.” Eleanor whispered took a step toward the front door.
Eleanor opened the door slightly and peered out at the face that had made her life miserable for so many years. “Billy, stop pounding the door. It’s enough to waken the dead.”
He shoved the door open and entered the darkened room. The one candle on the table flickered in the breeze as he quickly closed the door behind him. Eleanor took a step back, away from him.
“What do you want, Billy? And how did you find out where I am living?” She tried to control her limbs, but they shook, regardless. Billy enjoyed it when people were afraid of him. She could not let him see how petrified she was. It wasn’t just about her this time. There were children involved.
“I followed the brat home from the market today. And I fi
gured out you were without a man, since the head of the house, the esteemed Patterson Lovejoy, hasn’t been seen in weeks. So, I’ll take his place, Eleanor.” He wove his fingers into her russet ringlets. “I wish to see if your hair is fiery red in other parts of your body.” He shoved her up against the front door, ground his lips to hers, and she cried out.
He smelled of onions and garlic, and she gagged when he stuck his tongue down her throat. She clamped down hard on his tongue, and he yelped, backing off a bit. His grip loosened, but he still had her pinned up against the door.
“So, you’re as fiery as your hair.” He spat out the blood oozing from his mouth. “I always thought you’d be. It was a pity I couldn’t find out when we were in England, since you went under the protection of the earl so quickly. Did he enjoy you as I’m going to?” He grabbed her breast and tweaked it.
She gasped at his tortured touch and attempted to break free. “I was the governess to the earl’s children, ’tis all. The earl has always been a perfect gentleman toward me. How dare you suggest otherwise.”
Billy leapt after her, tugging on the skirt portion of her gown. The fabric ripped, and she lost her footing, falling into him.
“There’s a good lass.” He dropped her to the floor, falling on top of her, and pinned her arms to her side, spreading one arm over her belly while the other raised the hem of her gown, running a hand up her leg. She trembled as the hand attacked the apex of her legs and his fingers twined into the hair there. She twisted her body, but only succeeded in opening her legs wider. Billy plundered his fingers into her. She cried out as he touched her where no man had ever done.
Her skirts were around her waist and Billy shoved her underthings out of the way. “I’ve been dying to see your red hair betwixt your legs. And then, I’m going to take what I should have had years ago.” Her skirts rustled as he viewed her private parts. His breathing grew labored as his gaze lingered on her exposed area and his weight on top of her hindered her intake of breath.
“Leave her be!”
Startled, Billy glanced up from Eleanor, momentarily loosening his grip on her. She scurried to cover herself and stand away from him. Adam stood in the hallway, a rifle, almost as big as him, resting on his shoulder.
Billy laughed and grabbed Eleanor’s arm before she could retreat any further.
“If it isn’t the little lad who didn’t even realize he was being followed today. This is your protection now, Eleanor? A small boy?” He took a step toward Adam, releasing Eleanor’s arm. She ran toward Adam’s side.
“What are you doing, Adam?”
Without taking his eyes off Billy, he replied, “My father told me to protect you, and I’m doing so.”
Eleanor took a shaky breath and smoothed her skirts as she tore her gaze from the gun and focused on her attacker. “You’d best leave now, Billy.”
“Not a chance, Eleanor, now that I’ve seen your goods.” He raised his fingers to his nose. “Now that I’ve smelled your goods.” He took a step forward. “This snot-nosed boy is no match for me. I doubt the rifle is even loaded.” He took another step forward.
The gun roared to life, and Billy lost his. He fell backwards to the floor. Eleanor’s ears rang from the noise, and she cried out.
“My God, Adam. What have you done?” She placed a fist to her mouth.
“I’ve done what I was supposed to do. Protected my family.” Adam stepped forward and glanced at the dead man. “Shot him in the heart, just as Papa taught me.”
Eleanor glanced around the room wildly. “You’ll be put into prison, Adam. This is nothing to be proud of. The authorities are no doubt on their way here right now.”
Adam’s mouth formed a grim line. “There will be no one coming, at least not right away. Gun shots are common in town, and he was alone and well into his cups. He won’t be traced here, more than likely. All we need do is get rid of the body.”
Eleanor’s laugh was almost maniacal. “That’s all we need do? Dispose of a dead body? And how are we going to do that without anyone seeing us?”
Adam leaned over the body and started to undress him. “First, we remove his uniform. The Sons of Liberty can put it to better use than this fellow can. Then, we roll the body into a blanket and load him into the wagon out back. I’ll hitch up a horse and take him out of town, where I’ll dump his sorry ass.”
Eleanor stared at the boy. So calm, and she such a quivering mess. She was supposed to be the one in charge, not him. She took a measured breath and willed her limbs to stop shaking. She glanced at Billy Buford, the bully no more. No one in Sussex would mourn the loss. Then, she strode to where Adam was undressing the man, and tugged on Billy’s fine English boots.
“You will not go alone. This was my fault, and you’ll need my help to dump him.”
The other children emerged from the bedroom slowly and stood silently in the darkened hallway. Eleanor sat beside Billy’s body, now stripped to his underthings, and stared at the face of the man who had tormented her for years before she buried her head in her hands. Adam issued the orders.
“Ben, take the uniform and boots and put them in the secret cabinet in the root cellar. I’ll deal with them later. And then, go hitch old Bess to the wagon. Caleb, take Daniel and Elizabeth back to bed, and then fetch me an old blanket.” He then nodded at Eleanor. “It will be all right.”
She placed a fist to her mouth to control the moan threatening to escape. She was a simple governess, not an accomplice to a murder. Yet, here she was. She feared her life as she had known it came to an abrupt halt tonight in a flash of gunpowder. Things would never again be simple.
Caleb gave the blanket to them, and Eleanor assisted Adam in rolling Billy into it. Ben entered through the back door and whispered, “The wagon’s ready.”
“Let’s go, then. The sooner we get rid of him, the better.” Adam stood and brushed his hands before shifting his gaze to Eleanor. “Are you ready?” He took hold of her arm and helped her to her feet. Her knees buckled before she got control of herself, and she was grateful for Adam’s grasp on her. Then, she straightened and met his gaze.
“I’m ready.” She took a deep breath. Once they removed the body, there would be no turning back. They couldn’t call the authorities and report his death as a self-defense action. But it was the British who were in charge here, not anyone local. And they would not take kindly to the murder of one of their own, especially at the hands of a mere boy. There was no choice except for what Adam had outlined. She grabbed Billy’s ankles and lifted him. Adam took the other side and together they made their way jerkily to the back door and the waiting wagon.
They placed the body in the bed of the wagon. Ben appeared at the door with a bag of cornmeal, which Adam threw into the wagon as well. “Clean up the mess as best you can, Ben. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
Eleanor climbed onto the seat next to Adam, who was holding the reins. As soon as she sat, he flicked the leather straps and the horse trotted away from the house. Eleanor’s mind spun in a million different directions. She placed a hand over her quivering stomach. “What is the cornmeal for?”
“In case we need a reason to be out and about at this hour.” Adam’s mouth formed a grim line. “We’ll tell them we are coming back from the granary.”
“Oh. I thought you were going to sprinkle it over Billy’s body.” Her faint laughter rung hollow as tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had no tears for Billy, but for Adam, who tonight had become a man long before he should have. And right now, he needed her to not be a weepy mess of a woman. She’d shelve her tears until she was in the privacy of her room.
“How far should we go?” She took a shallow breath, hoping to slow her heart rate.
“Just to the outskirts of town. There’s a rough tavern there. It’s closed for the night right now. So, if we drop the body in the alley behind the building, it will look like someone attacked him as he left the establishment.” Adam’s gaze never stopped search
ing the area. “And with no identification, it may take days before anyone notices he’s gone. After all, he was a mere private.”
“What is the plan if we are stopped?” Eleanor peered into the darkness as well. “You don’t have the rifle.”
Adam smirked. “No, the rifle’s too heavy to use in a moving wagon. I have a handgun this time.” He patted his side. “But pray we won’t need it. We’re nearly there.”
He stopped behind the darkened building and dropped to the ground. Eleanor climbed into the bed of the wagon, and together they tugged Billy over the side and let him fall out of the blanket. Eleanor then climbed down and stared at him for the last time. He lay face up, his blank eyes staring at the starry night. She leaned over the body and closed his eyes. “Goodbye, Billy. England will not mourn your loss.”
She folded the blanket carefully, covering the parts where Billy’s blood had soiled the fabric. She’d scrub the last of Billy from the home tomorrow. Right now, she just wished to escape to her room and have a good cry.
She placed her hand on Adam’s arm as he directed the horse, Old Bess, back to the road to Groton. “I’m sorry you had to bear witness to what happened tonight. No child should have to see or do what you did. To have to kill someone to protect me. But I am grateful.”
He shrugged. “Happens all the time in this country. Your ‘brave’ soldiers consider it a spoil of war to rape and pillage. They kick ordinary people from their homes in order to give their officers a place to stay in comfort, or they make people house soldiers in their home, against their will.”
“And how did you know enough to put the bag of cornmeal in the wagon?”
Adam shrugged again. “It was a trick Papa used when we lived in Boston. He was always transporting goods for the Sons of Liberty and needed an ordinary reason to be out and about.”
Eleanor’s heart ached as she listened to Adam so calmly describe the ways in which her country’s mighty military force behaved here in America. All her life, she’d been led to believe the military was above reproach, but she now wondered if every country Britain had tamed and claimed for the crown endured the same type of fate Americans had. She’d have to ponder her question once she got behind closed doors. She closed her eyes as the wagon lurched toward home. She already had the answer to her question. The only difference between America and any other colony the crown laid claim to was the fact the stakes were higher, since this country had vast riches. And these Americans were not going to roll over and just give their country away. They would fight to the death to preserve their freedom. Just as Patterson was doing now.