Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

Their passion spent, they lay in contented silence for a time. Jonathon brushed the rounded curve of her breast then intertwined his fingers with hers and brought them to his mouth. He kissed each of her fingers in turn and raised his eyes to hers.

  “My sweet Em,” he whispered. “I thought I loved the sea and my land, but I had never known the meaning of the word love until you came into my life. For love is complete and total giving — I cannot believe you love me so. And I love you, Em. I am yours forever. With the ship’s wheel in my hand and a crew in my command, I never felt so fulfilled as I do in your arms. With Brentwood soil moist beneath my feet and the manor and everything in it, I have never felt so rich as I do when you speak your love for me. I love you, my wife.”

  Emily ran a finger along his jaw and traced his lips. Her eyes glistened with joyful tears. “You make love to me with your words, Jonathon. I burn with desire at their sound and stir inside for your touch. I love you with all my heart.”

  Jonathon lowered his lips to hers in a kiss that enflamed their passion. They clung to each other in an embrace that spoke their love and the desire to hold this moment forever. And they celebrated their union as husband and wife in the swelling passion of lovers.

  • • •

  Spring was in Emily’s heart long before the first bud appeared to announce the season. She barely noticed the heady smells from the garden and the brilliant pinks, violets, and yellows that burst among the fresh, bright greens of the trees and the grasses. For, to Emily, they had been there all along. Life was so wonderful, it seemed dreamlike to her. The days were full of tending to the manor, keeping Joanna’s company in the last days of her pregnancy, or riding with Jonathon to see the fields of tobacco or the newly planted wheat fields. The lilac-scented nights found them lying in each other’s arms, moonlight spilling over their naked forms.

  These were Emily’s favorite times, when she nestled against Jonathon, her head on his shoulder. Exhausted and exhilarated from their lovemaking, they would talk softly in the darkness, their love deepening with their knowledge of each other. Emily would brush her fingers through the soft hair on his chest, sometimes tugging it playfully. Jonathon ran his fingertips over her silken skin, his head full of her sweet smell of jasmine. Sometimes his hands would tease her nipples taut and explore and caress until she was writhing with desire. Then he would rise above her and together they would climb to that ultimate ecstasy.

  • • •

  Everyone was anxiously awaiting the birth of David and Joanna’s child. It had been a tense time for all as each tried not to be overly concerned about her, and all prayed that she would carry the child to full term. Dr. Anderson ordered complete bed rest for Joanna for the final month of her pregnancy. It was difficult for her because she was usually quite active. But for the sake of the baby she complied and kept a cheerful outlook, often boosting the others’ spirits.

  It was a morning in April, a perfect spring day with the sun casting brilliant light across a land gone wild with color. A gentle breeze tossed the chintz curtain back in an endless game of tag; Joanna lay against sheets full of the smell of outdoors. Emily did not notice the wince the first time for she was concentrating on the blue flowers she was embroidering on the border of the baby’s gown. Sensing something amiss she glanced up to see Joanna set her lips and grip her abdomen.

  “Joanna? Is it time?” Emily asked going over to her.

  Joanna let her breath out slowly. “I think you had better call Dulcie,” she replied.

  Emily hurried downstairs and found Dulcie. “Miss Joanna is in labor. Have Dora prepare water and sheets, and send one of the boys for David. I think we had best send for Dr. Anderson. Miss Joanna has had too many difficulties.”

  “Yes, Miss Emily,” Dulcie called as she hurried off.

  Emily returned to Joanna’s room and sat beside the bed. She took her sister-in-law’s hand in hers and smiled reassuringly.

  “How do you feel?” Emily asked.

  “Frightened but excited at the same time. Oh, Emily, I do hope this child lives,” she cried, and then squeezed Emily’s hand as another contraction began.

  Emily and Dulcie assisted Joanna throughout the morning and Dr. Anderson arrived shortly after noon. Joanna’s labor continued into the afternoon, but all seemed to be going well.

  Jonathon kept David supplied with brandy and cigars while the two paced the length and breadth of the parlor. Often one would surreptitiously pause by the door to the hall, straining to hear any sound. Jonathon tried to keep a conversation going but David babbled incoherently, so the two yielded that game. The afternoon dragged on. The evening cast long shadows on the floor and a cool breeze came from the open window as the men sprawled out in chairs. David arose to begin his endless pacing ritual and suddenly halted in his tracks. Jonathon looked up as the wailing sound of a baby’s cry carried down from upstairs.

  “Ha!” David bellowed unable to conjure up a coherent word. “Ha!” And he ran from the room and took the stairs two at a time. Dulcie heard the racket and met him at the bedroom door, a finger pressed to her lips and wailing bursting from behind her. David stopped and nodded.

  He entered and went to Joanna who lay spent but beaming against the pillows. He gathered her to him and a sob escaped as he buried his face in her hair.

  “We have a son, David. And he sounds quite healthy.”

  David looked over to where Emily was just finishing wrapping the baby in a blanket. She gently cradled the bundle in her arms and brought him to his father. David looked down in awe at the reddened face that had ceased its crying. He held a tiny fist between his thumb and forefinger and looked up at Joanna.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes glistening. “I love you.”

  “And I love you,” she said softly.

  The baby began to cry again and Joanna took him to her and loosened her gown. Holding him to her she began to nurse him and he hungrily sucked and rested a fist against her breast.

  Jonathon came in and congratulated them both, then hugged Emily to him and kissed her forehead.

  They named the baby William, and Dr. Anderson pronounced him a fine, healthy boy.

  • • •

  A sunny morning two days after William’s birth, Randy rode up to the manor at breakneck speed. Before his mount halted, he leapt from its back and ran up the steps.

  “Jonathon!” he called bursting in the front door. Jonathon came from his study and stopped in bewilderment.

  “What is it Randy?”

  “Jonathon, open rebellion has begun!” Randy gasped, trying to get his breath. “There has been a battle — in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. We met the British at Lexington and Concord!” They walked back to Jonathon’s study, and Randy sank into a chair as Emily hurried in.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “We met the British in battle …” he turned to Jonathon, “ … and we did damned well.” Emily’s face paled and her hand went to her mouth. “Gage discovered we had military stores at Concord and sent in troops to destroy them. But the militia awaited them — they drove the Redcoats back to Boston. We lost about 100 men; they lost over 200!”

  Jonathon’s face was grave as he listened.

  “The committee needs you to sail again, Jonathon. Do you think you can make New York in a week?”

  Jonathon looked up at Randy and caught the look on Emily’s face instead. He sprang to her side and, placing an arm around her waist, led her to a chair.

  “Your exuberance has disturbed my wife.” He cast a frown at Randy.

  Randy reddened as he mumbled an apology. Pale and shaken, Emily’s face showed confusion and fear.

  “I do not understand,” she whispered.

  Jonathon poured a glass of wine. Emily sipped it and color began to return to her face. She looked from Randy to Jonathon. “I do not unde
rstand,” she repeated.

  “Em, they were going to destroy our arms. Render us helpless against them.”

  “Them — us? Why do we have arms? Are we not part of the British Empire? What is happening?” she cried.

  Jonathon looked at Randy, who rose. “They need you to sail in three days, Jonathon. And it could be …” he glanced at Emily, “… difficult.”

  Jonathon lowered his brows in anger. “I shall stop over later, Randy,” he said evenly.

  When Randy left, Jonathon took his chair and held Emily’s hand. She raised her eyes to his.

  “Jonathon.” She did not know what to say.

  “Confrontation has been coming for a long time, Em. As I think back on it, confrontation was inevitable. Maybe this will be the end of it. Maybe King George will finally intercede and make Parliament stop its oppressive legislation. They are breaking us, Em. We cannot continue to sell them our goods at a low price and buy theirs at a high one. Some plantations are so far in debt it will be sons and grandsons who rescue them. Maybe they will finally understand that we will not stand for it anymore.”

  “What will Virginia do — and the other colonies?”

  Jonathon stared at the deep red liquid in her glass for a moment. “I honestly do not know,” he answered slowly.

  • • •

  Jonathon left for Randy’s and was gone through supper. Emily picked at her food but barely ate a thing. She tended William while David and Joanna took an evening stroll in the fragrant garden, and when they returned, she went to bed. She heard Jonathon return shortly before midnight, and as she rose to don a robe, she heard David pass her door. She followed him to the study.

  Jonathon sat grim-faced, a brandy on the desk before him. He looked up as David and Emily entered and was silent as David poured himself some brandy and Emily a glass of wine. They sat down and looked expectantly at him.

  The windows were opened to a rain-scented breeze, and crickets chirped against the blackness. Jonathon lifted his glass and gently sloshed the liquid around its sides before he drank. Then he set his glass down and placed his hands behind his head and rested his left foot on his right knee. Emily felt a knot tighten in her stomach for she knew his display of nonchalance could have a dire meaning.

  “Lexington and Concord are not the only news of the day. Lord Dunmore, our good friend and governor, confiscated all the gunpowder stored in the arsenal at Williamsburg, ordering it loaded onto a British schooner. We almost followed Massachusetts into armed conflict, but Patrick Henry appeased the militia by convincing Dunmore to agree to pay for it.”

  “My God,” David said as he exhaled.

  “I must set sail for New York in two days. I should return in less than a fortnight, if all goes well.”

  “Jonathon, please do not go!” Emily cried.

  “I must, Em.” He downed his drink and rose. “We had best get some sleep.”

  • • •

  Emily’s head rested on Jonathon’s shoulder. Although she could not see his face, she sensed that his eyes were open and he was in deep thought.

  “Jonathon?”

  “Yes, love?”

  “I am frightened.”

  He pulled her closer. “Anyone with any sense would be.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But there is more, is there not? Besides fear?”

  “Yes,” he paused. “I feel excited. This is our chance to make our voices heard, to stand up for what we believe — to become masters of our own destiny.”

  “Has it really been that bad?”

  He was silent a long time.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “I love England. It is my home.”

  “It was your home, Em — ”

  “Jonathon, I cannot break ties to my homeland just like that.”

  “You may have to.”

  Emily rose up on one elbow, her tawny hair tumbling about her shoulders. Her eyes blazed.

  “You cannot really mean that!” she exclaimed.

  Jonathon lifted a tress that rested on her breast and let it curl around his finger. Then he gently laid it back in place. His eyes looked into her with tenderness, and he brushed a tendril from her face.

  “I pray we settle it peacefully.”

  • • •

  Jonathon was gone for almost three weeks, and Emily was hardly able to eat or sleep. She helped Joanna with Will, as he had quickly been nicknamed, but her thoughts were always on Jonathon. She was in the garden when she heard his footsteps and instantly she was in his arms. Laughing and crying, she clung to him as if her very life depended on it. Finally, he laughed, picked her up and carried her back to her seat.

  “What news? How are you? Oh, I was so worried,” she sputtered.

  He laughed again and kissed her.

  “We ran into a little problem in New York and could not leave quite as planned. Nothing dangerous,” he reassured her. “The northern colonies are rallying around Massachusetts and vowing to fight to the death. The Continental Congress meets soon, and perhaps they will resolve all of this.”

  • • •

  News arrived in spurts from the north. Emily was on edge most of the time, hating to hear people speak of her homeland in such derogatory ways. She could not understand their mistrust — which was fast growing into hatred — for all around her life at Brentwood Manor had seemed so good. What were these people upset about? Many times in gatherings she would rise to defend Great Britain, and that usually put an end to the discussion. At least in her presence.

  Randy and Deidre rode over one afternoon and found everyone gathered on the veranda. They gratefully accepted a cool drink, but Randy did not sit down. He shifted from one foot to the other, seeming almost ill at ease, not joining in the conversation. Finally, he spoke.

  “Jonathon and David, could I speak to you in the study?”

  “Whatever you have to say can be said here, Randy,” Jonathon stated.

  Randy shot Emily a furtive glance. “I would rather speak to you in private.”

  An embarrassed silence fell. Emily rose.

  “I understand. A Tory’s sympathies are not welcome,” she said sharply.

  “Emily…” Jonathon began.

  “Well, it is true. All of our friends are uncomfortable around me. Sentences are left unfinished; conversations are carried on out of my earshot. I can see it in their eyes,” she cried.

  “Let her go,” Deidre smirked. “Then we can freely discuss — ”

  “Be quiet, Deidre,” Jonathon said in a low voice. “When you visit Brentwood Manor, you will be respectful to my wife!”

  The muscles in Deidre’s jaw twitched as she smarted at that remark. She arched one eyebrow.

  “I was merely thinking of the girl’s comfort,” she said, sounding wounded.

  Jonathon snorted. He turned to Randy. “What news?”

  “Tobacco is rotting in the ports, trade has virtually ceased. The Cerberus arrived carrying Howe, Clinton, and Burgoyne aboard and reinforcements for Gage.”

  Emily recognized the names of the three British military leaders, and the realization of possible war struck her hard. Her head reeled and her heart ached at her divided loyalties. She looked over at Jonathon who was concentrating on Randy’s words as he continued to describe the situation. Jonathon’s mouth was set in a grim line; his eyes were grave. Excitement flickered in Randy’s eyes as he spoke.

  “What of the Continental Congress?” David asked.

  “They have shifted from the trade embargoes to investigating the best way to raise a continental militia!” Randy exclaimed. “The committee needs you again, Jonathon. This time it will take longer. They would like you to sail as soon as possible. Communication is vital if we are to beat the da
mned British — ”

  “Damned are we?” Emily rose, her eyes blazing. “You will not curse the British in my home!” she yelled.

  Jonathon rose and faced her. “It is my home …” she spun and fled from the veranda not hearing him finish, “… too.”

  Jonathon turned to Randy.

  “Can you not be a bit more sensitive?” he cried out and then strode into the house.

  David glanced at Deidre who merely smiled and rearranged her skirts.

  • • •

  Emily stormed to their room and stopped. If this was his house, then this was his room. She turned and ran to the room she had occupied before their marriage. She flung herself across the bed and cried, confusion and anger overwhelming her. Then she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

  Not finding her in their room, Jonathon returned to the veranda. Randy and Deidre were leaving, and as they mounted their horses, Randy turned to Jonathon.

  “I am sorry, Jonathon. I did not mean to hurt Emily. But this is war against Britain, and we all had better decide where we stand.”

  Jonathon squinted in the sunlight as he watched them ride out of sight. The full impact of Randy’s words hit him hard. What would Emily decide?

  • • •

  Jonathon became worried when Emily did not appear for supper. He had returned to their room several times to look for her and checked the stables to see if her horse was gone. Seeing Shadow in her stall, he then dashed through the gardens to the dining room where Joanna and David still sat.

  “I cannot find her anywhere,” he fought the panic in his voice.

  They rose to help him search, and as the four of them reached the hall, a sleepy Emily was descending the stairs.

  “Em, my God, I have been worried!” Jonathon said as he met her halfway down. He reached for her but stopped at the look in her eyes.

  “I fell asleep.”

  “I have been to the room — you were not there,” he said, perplexed.

  “I was in my room,” she answered.

  “Your room!” he demanded.

  David and Joanna withdrew quietly to the dining room. Jonathon stood two steps below Emily so that he looked her eye-to-eye, but she would not meet his gaze. She stared at his vest.