Immortal (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Book 2)

by Meredith, Anne

  “My beloved. Only by remembering that our lifeblood drains away as we speak can we truly wring life dry. Never forget that death awaits us all. For only then can we live.”

  She lay with her head near his heart, absently rubbing the gold symbols on his necklace, and she vowed that she would rid him of his fear of death. And she vowed that she would let him teach her how to live.

  They lay awake that night, their first night together as husband and wife, and told their secrets. They laughed over silly exploits, and they talked of disappointment. They made love again, they napped and woke up making love, and they ate once more before she rolled the cart into the hallway, telling him he was going to die of food poisoning if he didn’t desist eating day-old stuffing.

  That night, that was the question he asked about the future. What did tomorrow’s wise men know about illnesses and injuries and how to prevent death? The poignant question made her wonder where his curiosity lay—was it merely scientific, or did he worry about his own fate?

  She explained germs and bacteria and viruses. She explained vaccinations and antibiotics that had been invented and overused to a nearly catastrophic point, within less than a century. She explained the smallpox inoculation process that Camisha had used. And she explained, with deliberate purpose, that science had abandoned many of its superstitions, such as evil spirits causing disease. She didn’t consider using the word curse. She knew she didn’t have to. Perhaps it was a start.

  He thought long and hard about what he’d learned that was worthy of first sharing on this night where memories had come to be celebrated and made. At last, he took her hand in his and said, “You can push yourself much further—and much farther—than you think you can. Long after others have given up, you see, you in fact can go on. Try it tomorrow and see.”

  “For example?”

  “Anything. Treading water. Swimming. Running. Solving a puzzle. Achieving truly anything you seek to achieve, whether it be physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual.”

  “Holding your breath.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Bronson?” she whispered sleepily.

  “Mhm?”

  “I know I was dying when you rescued me. My parents had come to take me on. I’m certain of that.”

  He knew that too well. Silently, slowly, he crushed her to him, kissing the top of her head.

  Thank God, he thought, that they did not.

  At length, she whispered, “Say it to me again, so I don’t forget.”

  “You can push yourself much further than you think you can.”

  And when they finally went to sleep, deep in the night, they still held one another—refusing, even in slumber, to leave a single moment unlived.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  In the end, their Indian summer interlude passed, as do all best-loved moments in time. As does all time, loved and fondly remembered—or despised, its passing celebrated. It ended, not with a fall of snow, but with a call from Big Dan for a family meeting in the meeting house.

  They met on the last evening before the Adventurer was to sail for Bermuda for more gunpowder, and it was only a fluke that Bronson and Marley were at Rosalie. They had planned to head to Williamsburg to determine whether Thomas, now completely smitten with his newly found old love, had any interest in returning to the loyalist island. Bronson himself had begun to wonder whether even the fortune he’d left buried behind was worthy of returning for. He was certain he had the contacts to eke out another hold full of gunpowder for the patriot cause, but that required only a few hours there. With all the faults and sins of the bastard republic to which they were about to give birth, he was certain defending the patriots’ cause was the right course.

  They left the wagon outside the meeting house as they entered, and when Marley saw an unfamiliar frontier man standing at the front of the group, her heart sank. This was no ordinary frontier man. Instinctively, she clutched Bronson’s elbow, holding him back.

  The grim, ruddy-faced, ginger-haired stranger stood ramrod stiff beside Dan, holding a long rifle, its butt planted squarely on the plank floor. He wore ankle-length trousers and a light brown hunting shirt emblazoned with the words LIBERTY OR DEATH. In his free hand he carried a leather hat.

  This man, she knew, was a member of the famous Culpeper Minutemen, the Virginia company of the colonial militia that would soon dissolve into the Continental Army. They were much feared for their fierceness.

  Bronson instinctively headed forward, but Marley dug her fingernails into his arm, and he stopped, glancing at her meaningfully. He bowed low and extended his hand as if it were simply a matter of gentlemanly manners. You forward or me forward, we go forward together.

  Reluctantly, she found the seat she knew he would’ve chosen, near the front. Rashall soon joined them there, followed by Camisha and Ashanti. Parks no doubt had stayed behind to keep Shonny entertained.

  Presently, Dan called the meeting to order with a prayer, then continued. “Most of us have heard of the British forces at Great Bridge. Tonight we are joined by Captain Nathaniel James, whose company travels through Rosalie tonight on their way to the battle. Captain James asks us for our support as we are moved by Providence. Captain James?”

  “Aye, I thank you kindly. As you all know, my own wretched former countryman, the thief and knave John Murray, Lord Dunmore, purloined from our colony last April the gunpowder rightfully belonging to us. He has akin to a small fleet in Norfolk, and ’twas there, after the gunpowder incident, that he fled like the coward he is.

  “Now, he’s done the very thing he knows will cause chaos, with his proclamation of martial law, and the freeing of any slave willing to join him.”

  At this point, the burly man inhaled deeply and chose his words to the almost entirely black audience with care. “In freeing the Americans who were held enslaved, he inflamed the countryside. Everyone, certainly everyone in this room, knows this man has no interest in the freedom of anyone in the American colonies. England will do what it can to keep us all in chains.”

  The crowd was restless but attentive.

  “We need your help, with whatever you have. If you can join us in our fight, God bless you. As you likely know, we are most in need of ammunition and anything to defend our land. I believe most of you are farmers, but then, so are we. If you hunt to feed your family, if you own a rifle or a musket and know to use it, we ask you to consider joining us.”

  He looked around at the room. No one responded.

  “We have heard back from the lines that Dunmore’s forces are now perhaps a thousand. Including the Culpeper Minutemen and Colonel Woodford’s Second Virginia Regiment of the Continental Army, we have less than half that. We are hoping for help from other militias, but we yet have no promises. North Carolina is expected to join us soon.”

  Marley noticed Bronson and Rashall conferring, and she met Camisha’s worried eyes behind their heads.

  The two men stood together. “We and our ship’s crew will join you,” Ray said. “We can also transport men, if that helps.”

  Bronson said, “We have a dozen new rifles we can donate to the cause, if you have the men trained to use them. Our own men are adequately armed. There are between two and three dozen men available.”

  “Thank you, sir. We expect to be there in less than two days’ time.”

  “I’ll join the boys,” Ashanti said, raising his hand briefly but remaining seated by his wife, holding her hand. At this point, her head was lowered, her eyes closed, her lips pressed tightly together.

  Rashall and Bronson returned to their seats, and the floodgates opened. Marley watched the drama in the meeting-house as loved ones reacted to stoic volunteers. Although lighting from the lamps and candles was poor, she could not have missed the same tight-lipped worry from each wife, each mother, as she’d seen in Camisha.

  In these women seemingly always left behind, she saw the same silent forbearance that their mothers and grandmothers had learned over the past century and a
half. For herself, she felt nauseated with fear, and yet she knew the only acceptable response was silence and, perhaps, faith.

  She scarcely heard when Bronson gave the departure time for all those who would travel with them. The ship was still comfortably laden with stores from the last trip, and no one expected the battle to last long—for good or ill.

  Dan led the assembly in a closing hymn, and then in a prayer.

  At the door of the meeting house, Bronson and Rashall were besieged by volunteers, and Marley had no choice but to go with Camisha. As she left Bronson’s side, he gave her an encouraging smile.

  The older woman put her arm around her as they walked, and they joined Ruth back at her home. Dan, as the spiritual leader of the Trelawney clan, was expected to watch over those left behind while the men were gone, but that responsibility didn’t make it easier for him.

  “I should be with them,” he said, from the bottom of the steps. “At least I can help them load any necessary supplies.”

  Ruth spoke sharply to him. “Promise me you don’t get on that boat. How are two hundred women and children going to take care of themselves with not one single man to protect us?”

  He sighed and gave a slow nod. “I promise.”

  And then he, too, was gone.

  As the women entered the kitchen and began to slice bread to make baskets and baskets of sandwiches, Ruth spoke, pointing toward the parlor across the way. “Marley, I forgot all about it, but the dressmaker delivered your wardrobe this afternoon. He said Captain Hawk expedited the order, and they’ve had seamstresses working day and night the whole week.”

  She looked across the hall, where dozens of boxes were stacked. She opened one, and her heart ached.

  The buckskin was soft underneath her fingers, and she withdrew it, placing it across the back of the chesterfield. It was the sort of outfit she’d always dreamed of, something that suited her and probably no other woman alive. It was just as practical as it was cute. The milliner had even included a bit of fringe at the edge of the short dress.

  In a smaller box next to it were the moccasins Bronson had made for her, which they’d used as a pattern, and two other, sturdier pairs, with soles. Also in the box was a leather hat made according to her requirements. It resembled the hat their speaker that night had carried—similar to a cowboy hat, but without any molding. A detachable wool lining made it workable in any weather. And in the back were two features she expected to find handy: a small snood, fastened securely to contain her hair, and just below that, a concealed hole, underneath a flap that buttoned closed, should she prefer to let a ponytail out in warmer weather.

  Before she could stop herself, she closed the parlor door and dressed in the buckskin dress that ended at her knees and trousers that went to her ankles. She rifled through the boxes until she found a pair of warm socks, slipped them on, then put on her old moccasins. Impulsively, she brought the newer moccasins as well, slipping them into a handbag that would make a decent possibles bag. It might be helpful if she had to walk far. She folded the hat and placed it in the bag as well.

  A knock came at the door just as she was folding her other clothes and placing them into the empty box.

  She opened the door, and Camisha inhaled with a grim smirk. “Well, hello there, Sacajawea.”

  She gulped. “I’m going with them.”

  “Like hell you are. You’ll only be in the way.”

  “Camisha, I can’t stay behind. I know something about Bronson.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe that ridiculous curse nonsense?”

  “You know the only thing that matters is that he believes it. Wait—you know about that, too?”

  “I met the crazy bitch who raised his mother—Jennie, you know? You remember Rachel talking about her? Well, the woman who raised Jennie used to visit Williamsburg after Jennie died. She happened to be here one time we visited. She turned Thomas into a raving lunatic. He’d thought she didn’t believe in the curse, but then she started giving him more details about it, and with everything he’d seen happen—Grey’s death, Emily’s death, and Jennie’s death—he soon came to believe in it. She claimed to be wracked with guilt because she’d never told Jennie about the curse.”

  “How old was Jennie?”

  “Somewhere in her mid-twenties.”

  “Camisha, you know how stupid this is. Hell, people die young all the time anyway. Between the smallpox and the oil lamps giving off God knows what toxins, it’s a miracle anyone lives to adulthood. And I’ll find a way—when he’s ready—to make sure he understands that it isn’t any imaginary curse, but just a self-fulfilling prophecy. But for now, I need to be with him, no matter what.”

  For the moment, she realized, she wasn’t ready to share the story of the Lost Sea Captain, not even with Camisha.

  The older woman rubbed her neck, her mouth tight. “All right,” she said at last, with reluctant acceptance. “I’m not going to stop you anyway, I guess. But you have to listen to what he says, and do what he tells you to do.”

  “Do you suppose Dan might have a powder horn and a measure he’d loan me?”

  Camisha gave her an exasperated look. “Child, you are running right out of favors. We can’t ask him, he’d never let you. Let me see if Ruth would know.”

  They found these items—but it was tougher work to find spares. She couldn’t leave him without the tools to load his gun. But eventually she found what she needed and looped it over her head, fastening the strap at her waist.

  She got to work. Soon they were loading a spare wagon with the baskets of food, and Little Dan’s eldest son volunteered to take her to the ship.

  He started to help her climb into the wagon, but she shook her head. “Better get used to getting around on my own!”

  As they started off, she asked him his name.

  “Dan, ma’am, like my father and his father.”

  “So if they’re Big Dan and Little Dan, what does that make you?” she teased.

  He laughed. “I know they’re both big, but my mama says I’m going to be bigger than both of them. So maybe I’ll be Bigger Dan.”

  They laughed together. When she reminded him of the importance of his job taking care of the women, his mouth went tight. “Oh, you want to go, too. How old are you?”

  “I’ll be thirteen, come February.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Then I can see why they chose you to stay behind.”

  He shot her a skeptical glance.

  “You don’t look your age. You look much older. You’ll be a good protector, a leader with your father of those left behind. Why do you think you were chosen to take me to the ship? I’m the wife of the ship’s captain, and we’re delivering important provisions for the battle. Can you think of a more important job anybody back at home could be doing right now?”

  He looked at her with new respect. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m doing my best to keep you safe.”

  “I know you will. When you pass out these sandwiches, I want you to tell the men to eat heartily, and be strengthened for their battle. This will help build their courage when they face the enemy. Can you do that, Daniel?”

  With this new, more manly assignment, he sat up even straighter in the seat and clicked the horses to a trot. “Yes, ma’am, and I will.”

  As they approached the ship, Marley withdrew the hat from her bag. She hastily wound her hair into a knot and hid it within the snood, then pulled the hat down firmly, settling its brim to a place where it comfortably concealed her face. Daniel (as he henceforth referred to himself) checked himself when he otherwise would’ve handed her down. Instead, he followed her directions and took charge of the contents of the wagon. He opened up the wagon to distribute the baskets of sandwiches.

  “Eat up, men! Eat hearty, and be strengthened for your battle.” He soundly patted each man on the shoulder in turn.

  Marley jumped down from the wagon, glancing around for Bronson, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  She hastened up the
gangway and over the gunwale, where she was promptly arrested.

  “Why, good evening.”

  Her starched spine wilted. She tilted her head back and looked into Bronson’s unamused gaze. For talking with this guy, this hat was no better than that ridiculous cap she’d had to wear as a cabin boy.

  He bowed with all due respect, then pulled her so far up into the bow, she thought he might mount her as a figurehead. And then she recalled the purpose served by this part of the ship. She screwed up her face in distaste at the smell of the head. “Sir!” she protested.

  “Madam,” he retorted. “You are no less desirable in that outfit than you are in a shift.”

  “I am fully covered and entirely modest and I am not having this argument right now.”

  “On that much we are agreed, because you’re going back to the Adamses, who will have charge of you until I return.”

  “But you promised.”

  “I doubt for a second you thought that meant I would allow you to go with me into battle.”

  She hesitated. “All right, then. Please make me a promise.”

  “If I can. I will not lie to comfort you.”

  “Stay out of your cabin.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  He waved a hand distractedly. “I would not be in my cabin as a matter of course, during battle. But, yes. This promise I will keep.”

  “Bronson, please let me come. I can shoot a musket, I can shoot out a squirrel’s eye from 200 yards with a rifle.”

  She did not admit that this was true only of a paper squirrel. She had never killed even a pesky animal—let alone a human being.