A British Governess in America

by Becky Lower

  She gulped at the way her thoughts were racing, and quickly closed the door after Hawk, then returned to the bedroom. What talks had transpired between the two while they were on the road that made Hawk so certain of Patterson’s feelings toward her? She’d ask Patterson when he awakened. If he awakened.

  He, at least, had settled under her touch. His fever had gone down slightly, and he was quiet. His breaths were shallow, and she paid careful attention to his diaphragm as he inhaled and exhaled. Anything to stop obsessing over his male parts. She placed her hands on her burning cheeks.

  What she needed to do was to gather up the dirty linens and do the wash this morning. Right after she made breakfast for Patterson’s children. Her thoughts ran to Hawk, the big man with the unusual looks and the unusual name. She wished he had stayed longer so she could find out more about him. He must have some Indian blood, but yet he spoke French. Was his wife an exotic beauty as well?

  Her body ached, weary at the thought of the day to come. She’d gotten very little sleep last night, sitting in the chair next to Patterson. But she would indulge herself just a bit longer, and sit beside him, holding his hand, changing the cloth on his forehead to break the fever. Even though he was unconscious, Eleanor breathed easier having him close by.

  She mulled over the brief conversation she’d had with Hawk. Did Patterson wish to return to her side because he was developing feelings for her or merely because he appreciated her cooking?

  When he squeezed her hand, a weight lifted off her shoulders. She had her answer.

  Then, he whispered the name “Margaret.” And squeezed her hand again.

  Dear God, he thought she was his dead wife! She jerked her hand away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  T he cool cloth and gentle touch soothed Patterson’s weary body. He placed his own fevered hand over hers and squeezed it lightly. “Margaret.”

  The hand tore itself from his grasp, and he feared it had been a dream. He laid on a battlefield somewhere and his dead wife’s spirit hovered over his body, calling him home. He needed to feel her touch again, to join her. He cried out for her. “Margaret!”

  The cloth on his forehead was replaced by a colder one. A smaller hand than the one he’d squeezed touched him, and a sweet voice called out, “Papa?”

  Elizabeth, not Margaret. The image of his wife receded. He had to remain strong for Elizabeth’s sake. Although he wished to give up and follow Margaret. He clung to the little girl’s hand as if it were a lifeline.

  Undoubtedly, it was.

  The little hand slipped from his grasp and he made out different voices.

  “Raise his head just a bit, Adam. Your father needs water and some food. I’ll give him some broth from the venison.”

  Life-giving water dribbled into his mouth and he forced his tongue to lap it up. The water was followed by some warm broth. Tasted good.

  “That’s enough for now, Adam. Your father needs his rest.”

  The voice was not Margaret’s. But it was as soothing as her touch, the cultured English accent lulling him into sleep. He hung onto the voice as he drifted. Before he succumbed to sleep altogether, it struck him he was not on a battlefield. He had made it home before he collapsed. And the voice belonged to Eleanor.

  He was home.

  Some while later, he forced his eyes to open. He blinked, trying to make out objects in the inky darkness. He was positive it had been daylight when he arrived home. He must have been exhausted to have immediately crawled into bed. He attempted to get up but rolled back onto the bed with a groan.

  A rustling of fabric told him he was not alone in the room. A hand on his shoulder forced him to lie back. As if he needed any help. He flopped back onto the pillow, as weak as a newborn kitten.

  “You should not even be attempting to get up, Patterson. Are you hungry?” Eleanor’s lovely, lilted voice soothed him, and he laid back.

  “Have I missed dinner?”

  She placed a cool cloth on his forehead. “Several dinners. You arrived home three days ago.”

  He yanked the cloth from his head. “What? Are you saying I’ve been laying here for three days?”

  “Yes. Now lie still and keep the cloth on your forehead. You were burning up with fever when you arrived, and your wound had become infected.” She lit a candle beside the bed.

  He stared at her. “Have you been sleeping in that chair for three days?”

  She nodded. “Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?”

  He might have been burning up with fever when he arrived home, but now he was burning up with embarrassment. “I…uh…am in desperate need of a chamber pot.”

  She fluttered her hands in the air. “Oh. Of course.” She rose and grabbed the pot from the corner. “I’ll heat up some broth while you take care of your business.”

  He took the pot from her and she placed some pillows behind his head to prop him up. “Will you need help? I can wake Adam.”

  Patterson growled. “I don’t need my son to help me take a piss.”

  Eleanor’s cheeks bloomed with color as she fussed over him. “All right, then. I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes.”

  She gave him a long look before she backed away and opened the door.

  Patterson managed to empty his bladder and leaned back against the pillows, exhausted from the effort. He’d made Eleanor uncomfortable. But, hell’s bells, she made him uncomfortable. According to her, he’d been passed out for three days while she nursed him. She had bathed him, tended to his leg wound. She’d seen more of him than any other woman, except for Margaret. The image of Margaret, which had been so close, retreated into the far recesses of his brain.

  He owed Eleanor an apology. And his gratitude. She had stayed with his children while he went off to do the fighting. She had taken care of him when he’d become delirious with fever. Slept in a chair beside him for three days. And if she was willing to wake Adam, that meant the boy hadn’t run off to join the Continental Army in his absence. She’d kept his family together. Now, he needed to fulfill the promise he’d made to her and give her the freedom she requested. But how could he let her go when they all needed her so?

  • ♥ •

  Eleanor knocked lightly on the bedroom door before she entered with the broth. Patterson sat upright, his hands wrapped around the chamber pot, so as not to spill its contents. She set the tray on a small table by the chair and retrieved the chamber pot, setting it on the floor in the far corner of the room. She handed him a soft, warm, cloth. “Wipe your hands before you eat, please. I don’t need you falling ill again.” Her lips formed a hard line as she bustled around the room. She was aware, deep in her soul, that Patterson had been delirious when he called out his wife’s name as Eleanor laid cool cloths on his forehead and cared for him. And also, deep in her soul, she was aware it should not bother her. After all, they’d had little time together before he left for South Carolina. But still, she had hoped for some measure of gratitude. She plopped the tray on his lap and lifted the lids off the bowl of broth and the fragrant cup of tea.

  His gaze followed her as she gathered up soiled cloths and dirty mugs. She had barely left this room in days, and, other than the clutter involved, there was an obvious stink in the room. She flung open the window to let in some of the crisp air. Now that Patterson was awake and seemingly on the mend, fresh air, even if it was cool, was welcome.

  “Eleanor, please sit. You’re making me dizzy with your constant movement.” Patterson’s heartfelt plea melted a bit of her reserve. But not all of it. She threw a glance in his direction. Sitting there, with his knees drawn up to keep the tray level, a lock of sandy hair falling over his brow, he was an older version of Caleb. She’d tried to keep her feelings for this family on an even keel, but Caleb, after he cried on her shoulder for a mother whose memory was fading, had quickly become her favorite child.

  She sighed softly and took a seat in the chair that had been her bed for the past few nights.

  “Is
the broth to your liking?” She glanced at the nearly empty bowl.

  “Aye. But I’m ready for something more substantial.” He gave her a sideways grin. She couldn’t help but respond with a grin of her own.

  “Good to hear. I can get back to a normal routine then.” She folded the quilt that had covered her while she slept beside the bed.

  “Tell me what the children have been up to while I’ve been gone.” He brushed back the lock of hair and handed her the tray, which she set again on the table.

  “Adam’s had a growth spurt in the past couple months. He’s nearly as tall as you now. We had to borrow some of your trousers, since his were way too short for him.” Eleanor kept her exploits with Adam to herself. Patterson didn’t need to hear about it, not yet, at any rate. They’d have to tell him at some point, since Eleanor’s heart raced each time there was a knock at the door.

  “I’m just glad he stayed home to help you. I feared he’d run off and join the Army the minute my back was turned.” Patterson’s gaze locked on her. “He must have enjoyed your cooking.” His gaze fell and the moment faded. Eleanor sat still, with the quilt in her lap.

  “The children will be up soon, and will be eager to see you, now you’re awake. They can all fill you in on what they’ve been doing.” Eleanor attempted to rise. She had a considerable amount of work to do now, which had been put off while she cared for Patterson. But his hand on her arm made her hesitate.

  “Thank you, Eleanor, for keeping my family safe. And for keeping me from the brink of death. This is hard to explain, but I want you to know...” He removed his hand from her arm and wiped it over his face. Eleanor stared into his tear-filled blue eyes, and her heart cracked open a bit.

  “You want me to know what, precisely?” She spoke in a low voice.

  “While I was unconscious, I felt my wife, Margaret’s, presence. I saw her clear as day, holding onto my arm as she always did. She was urging me to follow her, and I nearly did, since I’ve missed her so.” Patterson took a shaky breath and took hold of Eleanor’s hand. “But then, your touch, your voice, soothing and calming, washed over me, and I let Margaret go.” His words gave her goosebumps. His finger sliding over her knuckles made her stomach flutter. She’d sensed he’d been close to death several times over the past few days but hearing him speak of his dead wife confirmed her suspicions.

  The anger that had blossomed when he mistakenly cried out his wife’s name as Eleanor cleaned his wound and cared for him suddenly drifted away.

  The children’s quiet footsteps outside the door shook Eleanor from her quiet moment. “I need to tend to the children, get them breakfast. Are you up to visiting with them while I prepare some food?”

  Patterson nodded, releasing her hand.

  “I’m glad you told me what you experienced, Patterson. And I’m so glad you decided to stay among the living. Your children need you.” She finally rose from her chair, holding the quilt to her stomach as she headed toward the door.

  The fact she needed him too, was not lost on her. The only question remaining was did she need him so he could make good on his promise to return her to England, or did she need him because of something more?

  Chapter Sixteen

  F ollowing breakfast, Patterson once again attempted to get out of bed. His body ached and he needed to stretch his legs, fearing if he didn’t do so now, he never would. Adam fashioned a crutch out of a tree branch for him to use and strode alongside Patterson as he slowly made his way into the living room. He sat heavily into a chair and glanced up at Adam and Eleanor, who were watching him closely. They stood together, Eleanor’s hand on Adam’s shoulder. His growth spurt made him a bit taller than Eleanor now. Patterson’s eyes grew misty as he observed the pair. He ran a hand down his face.

  “All right. Spit it out.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  A glance passed between them. So, they’d become coconspirators during his absence. What were they hiding?

  Adam shrugged and would not meet Patterson’s stare. “We had a bit of an incident while you were gone, but it was nothing.”

  “Let me be the judge of that, son. What happened?”

  Adam and Eleanor shared another glance. Then, Eleanor’s shoulders rose, and she took a deep breath. “Tell him, Adam.”

  “A few days after you left, we were in the market, and a British soldier who was from the same town as Eleanor ran into her.”

  Patterson nodded. So, she found a fellow Brit and wished to leave his home. He’d expected as much, but his stomach dropped just the same. “Go on.”

  “I told Eleanor she should not be going out anymore, since she didn’t care for the fellow when they were in England together, and that I’d do all the marketing from then on. Everything was fine for a couple of weeks, but one day I went to the market to get some more apples for Eleanor’s crumble, and he was again in the market. I steered clear of him while I was there, but he tracked me back to the house anyway.” Adam’s voice squeaked and he cleared his throat.

  Patterson feared the way this tale was unfolding. His stomach clenched and he fisted his hands on the tabletop. “He showed up at the house that night, looking for Eleanor?”

  Eleanor took up the story. “When he banged on the door, I told Adam to take the children into the bedroom and not to come out until he was gone. He’d always been a bully when we were growing up, and I feared he hadn’t changed his ways. If he got past me, he’d injure the children. And I would not let that happen.”

  Patterson stared hard at Eleanor. “Did he back off?”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor. “No.”

  Patterson’s heart started beating erratically. “Did he have his way with you?”

  Adam stepped in front of Eleanor and leaned down to his father’s level. “I would not let that happen, Papa. He had her pinned to the floor by the time I got the rifle loaded. I ordered him to leave and he refused, so I shot him.”

  Patterson drew in a shaky breath, swallowed his fear, and placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder, just as Eleanor had done. “Did you kill him, son?”

  Adam got a grim smile on his face and nodded. “I was taught by the best, Papa.”

  “What did you do with the body?”

  Adam returned to Eleanor’s side. “We stripped him of his uniform and hauled him out of here. We dumped his body outside of town, leaving him in the alley behind a tavern, like the trash he was.”

  “And no one has come looking for him?”

  Eleanor raised her gaze again. “We were afraid for days afterward, but he must not have told anyone where he was headed. Although my heart still goes to my throat when someone knocks at the door.”

  Adam straightened completely. “I thought about taking his uniform to the Sons of Liberty, but decided it would be too risky, if someone was, in fact, looking for him. So, we burned it in the stove, and Ben cleaned up the blood from the floor.”

  “Sounds as if you thought of everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you, Eleanor.” Patterson slowly got to his feet, grasping the chair for balance, and peered into her brown eyes. Her freckles had become even more pronounced since her face had lost its color while she relived the experience. “If you now wish to leave the mean streets of Groton, I’ll head to the docks and see when the first ships are due to head out to England.”

  He positioned the tree crutch under his arm and took a step forward, lurching into her. Eleanor placed her arm around his waist. “You are in no shape to be heading to the docks. The only place you are going is back to bed. You are worn out.”

  Patterson grinned. “I won’t argue with your assessment, Eleanor. A nap does sound good.” His gaze slid from her to Adam. “I’m proud of you both. You did what needed to be done, and did it well.”

  Eleanor helped him get back to the bedroom and under the covers. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Your temperature is back to normal, so the infection must be gone. All you need is some rest now and you’ll be better soon.”<
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  She tucked the blanket up under his chin, as if he were a child. Then, she closed the curtain and left him alone in the darkened room. Eleanor was correct. He was in no shape to head to the docks and arrange for her transport. Not today.

  Hopefully, not for a long time. She had nearly had her reputation sullied because she wished to protect his children. He had a lot to make up for. To thank her for. As he drifted off to sleep, her brown eyes and freckles drifted with him.

  • ♥ •

  Patterson made steady progress in his recovery. Given his grit and determination, Eleanor had no doubt he’d be able to get to the docks in a few days, if she wished it. He was a man of his word, so if what she wanted was a return passage and a letter of recommendation, she’d have it within a week’s time. The question was–did she still want it?

  In the weeks while Patterson had been gone, she’d witnessed firsthand what British rule in the colonies meant. She’d been terrified each time she spotted a red coat during her limited time on the streets. And then, she’d been angered when one of her fellow countrymen had invaded their home and tried to install a soldier into one of the bedrooms. She had talked her way out of that situation, claiming all the rooms were taken up by the children and her. She assembled all the siblings in the main room, and they chattered loudly, following Adam’s instruction, in hopes of making the idea of peaceful lodging here so distasteful the soldiers would stay away. They finally left, but not before Eleanor’s heart collided with her rib cage several times.

  Adam had taken to sleeping with a loaded rifle next to his bed. This was no life for a child, but it was one that had to be—at least, for a while.

  Eleanor sat beside Patterson’s bed, as she had done for the three days and nights he’d been unconscious. She studied his face in the darkened room. His sandy hair fell over his forehead and she controlled the urge to brush it back. He needed his sleep. Although his eyes were closed, she was aware they were as brown as hers were. His lower lip was full and soft. She was aware of the softness because of the countless times she’d wiped his lip clean while he was unconscious. Eleanor wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like if he kissed her. As if sensing her presence, Patterson’s eyes fluttered open.