Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  “Randy, why are you here?”

  “I was at the Swan Tavern when some of Jonathon’s crew came in. They sought me out and told me what had happened. I also heard that Jonathon had some trouble at the harbor before he left. I have men on shore waiting if you need some help.”

  “Thank you, Randy. You are most kind,” Emily said sincerely.

  Gates approached them and greeted Randy. Reassured about the safety of putting into port, Gates ordered the Destiny to enter Yorktown. The two men went to supervise the unloading of the ship, and Emily returned to Martha. The woman was too weak to go above deck alone, so Emily assisted her.

  “We are in Yorktown, Martha,” Emily explained. “You are to come to Brentwood Manor with me.”

  “For the wedding, dear? I knew it would be so; I saw how Jonathon looked at you. I said to James — ” She stopped and her face clouded. “James?” she said tearfully.

  “Martha, you are to come to Brentwood Manor with me. I will need your help when it is time for the baby to be born.”

  Feebly, Martha walked to the deck with the girl.

  Randy’s friends awaited them at the pier and assisted the crew in unloading the ship. The women were made comfortable in a carriage, prepared to set off as soon as the necessary things were unloaded for their trip to Brentwood Manor.

  Gates came over to Emily and took her hand.

  “Good-bye, missy. You take care of yourself and your child,” he said.

  Tears burned in Emily’s eyes; again she said good-bye to a dear friend.

  “Mr. Gates, thank you for returning us safely. What will you do now?”

  “I would like to continue sailing for the committees. It is your ship now, however, Mrs. Brentwood. You can order me to halt.”

  Emily was startled at the impact of this decision. To allow Gates to continue to sail was to work against the king. To make him stop would be to make Jonathon’s death and everything he lived for worthless. She stared out at the sea.

  “It is Jonathon’s ship still, Mr. Gates. I believe he would want you to continue,” she said quietly.

  “Aye, Mrs. Brentwood,” he replied respectfully.

  • • •

  Emily still felt as if she moved in a dream. Caring for Martha gave her something to think about, but the familiar sights brought back unbearable memories. They traveled straight to Brentwood Manor because unrest was building in the town. Night had fallen by the time they arrived. There were no lights on since they were not expected, so Randy went to the door.

  David finally answered in his robe.

  “Randy? What the — ” he began.

  “David, you had best come here,” Randy answered. He led the man to the carriage.

  “David, what is it?” Joanna called from the doorway. She followed the men.

  David reached the carriage and looked in.

  “Emily? Where is Jona — ” he stopped as he realized the answer. He turned to Joanna. She reached him and looked up at his face, and then she looked in the carriage.

  “Emily? Oh my God … Jonathon?”

  “Joanna,” Emily said through her tears.

  Randy reached in and helped the girl out. The full impact of the situation hit, and Joanna began to sob. David went to his wife and helped her into the house. Randy turned to Emily.

  “We must get Martha inside,” he said. “Can you make it in all right?”

  Emily nodded dumbly. Randy lifted Martha out of the carriage, and they hurried inside.

  The sight of the house was more than Emily could bear. She walked into the hall and collapsed on the floor. David and Joanna ran to her, and David carried her into the drawing room. Joanna wrapped her in her arms, and the two women sobbed together.

  “How? When?” Joanna asked.

  “In Norfolk. He almost made it back to the ship. The British burned the town. Some British sailors followed Jonathon and James as they were returning to the Destiny, and the sailors overtook them. They killed them all. Oh, it was horrifying,” Emily cried and buried her face in her hands. The retelling made her memory of the scene more vivid, and the pain was agonizing.

  Randy held her as she gave way to more tears. She felt drained and spent. How many more tears could she cry?

  David sat beside Joanna and held her through her sorrow.

  “Why does everyone keep saying James is gone?” Martha asked in a singsong voice. “James will be back soon. He had to get some documents. James will be back soon.”

  Joanna and David looked at Emily.

  “I think it would be good for Martha to rest,” Emily said.

  David grasped the bell pull, and in a moment Dulcie appeared.

  “What a time a’ night to be gettin’ me up Master David,” she scolded as she entered the room. “Why, Miss Emily … what happened? Why are you here? Where’s Master Jonathon?” She stopped and took in the scene. She looked at Joanna.

  “Dulcie, Jonathon’s — ”

  “Don’t say it, Miss Joanna. It’s written on all your faces. Lord have mercy.” The woman began to cry.

  “Dulcie, Mrs. Cosgrove is in desperate need of some sleep. Could you see that a room is prepared quickly?” David asked gently.

  “I jus’ cleaned the room at the end of the south hall today, Master David. We can take her right on up.” Dulcie wiped the tears flowing down her cheeks and started for the stairs. “My, my, my. Poor Master Jonathon. Lord have mercy.”

  Randy lifted Martha gently. “I shall take you to your room, Martha. Then you can rest.”

  “We must rest before the ball,” she said merrily. “It will be a late night tonight.” Her voice trailed off as Randy carried her out of the room.

  Joanna turned to Emily. “Will she recover? She looks terribly thin.”

  “I have not been able to get her to eat a thing since it happened. She has little strength left; I am so worried about her,” Emily replied.

  “And I am worried about you, Emily,” Joanna responded. “Have you been eating and getting some rest? Is the baby all right?”

  “Yes, the baby is healthy, Joanna. But I had to come back here. I could not sail to London. Jonathon’s child will be born in his home.”

  “I understand,” Joanna replied reaching out and taking her hand.

  Randy returned to the drawing room, and they talked quietly into the night. Silence overcame the group as each dealt with his or her own sorrow. A room was readied for Randy, and they all retired.

  Emily entered her bedroom with apprehension. The room in which she and Jonathon had shared so many intimate moments opened before her. She looked at his dresser covered with his personal belongings. She touched each item while silent tears ran down her face and spilled on his brushes. She took a shirt from his drawer and buried her face in it. He had put it on the day they left for Williamsburg and then decided on a different one. It still held his scent. Slowly she walked over to their bed and lay down on the side Jonathon always slept on. She laid his shirt beneath her face, wrapped her arms around his pillow, and cried bitterly before falling into an exhausted sleep.

  • • •

  In January of 1776 Dunmore issued a document that encouraged slaves to flee the plantations and join the British cause. Many did so in the hope of finding freedom, but what they found were horrible conditions and, for many, death. With the loss of slaves, many plantations that were already suffering because of British trade policy were now ruined.

  At Brentwood Manor the exodus was not felt as heavily because of the fair treatment slaves had received. This was a relief because David was required to be away from the manor for long stretches of time, partly due to trading in Williamsburg and partly due to the patriot cause. He could trust the running of the plantation to several loyal slaves. Joanna was glad of Emily’s company even thoug
h it was a time of mourning.

  Much of their time was spent ministering to Martha, who seemed to slip more deeply into the fantasy world that protected her from pain. Less and less often did she recognize her surroundings, and she became thinner and frailer each day.

  Joanna finally sent for Dr. Anderson. He arrived in the afternoon and joined the women for tea. After offering his condolences, he listened as they explained Martha’s condition. Finally, he went upstairs, examined the woman and spoke with her for some time. He returned to the drawing room where Joanna and Emily awaited him.

  “I am sorry, ladies. I do not think there is anything I can do. The shock seems to have carried her beyond the brink,” he said.

  Emily’s heart sank. “If we can get her to eat more, will that help?”

  “Mrs. Cosgrove’s problem is not her lack of food. It is possible that if she improved physically, it may help her mind. But I do not know if there is much hope of that,” he answered. Then he looked at Emily. “It would be wise for me to examine you, too, while I am here, Mrs. Brentwood.”

  Emily looked at Joanna, who smiled gently.

  “I must take care of you if you will not take care of yourself,” she explained.

  Emily complied and followed Dr. Anderson to her room. After examining her thoroughly, a look of concern showed in his eyes.

  “You are a bit too thin, Mrs. Brentwood. If you want your baby to be healthy, you must provide him with more nourishment,” he warned.

  “Yes, doctor,” Emily said meekly.

  Dr. Anderson left with a promise to return the next week and check on Martha.

  • • •

  The days dragged for Emily. She had little motivation to do anything, and, except for tending Martha, nothing interested her. Every day she tried to think up a different scheme to get Martha to eat or drink something. Today, out of ideas, she went to the woman’s room to bring her some tea. She knocked and entered the room, but since Martha was sleeping peacefully, she turned to leave. But something stopped her, and she walked over to the bed.

  Martha lay against the pillow, her pale face fixed in a gentle smile. Emily took her hand; as she suspected, it was cold. She sank to her knees beside the bed and held the woman’s hand against her face. Her tears were more for herself and her sorrow at the loss of her friend, for she knew Martha was happier now; she was with her James. Martha’s voice echoed in her head: “Why does everyone say James is gone? He will be back soon.”

  Emily wished she could do the same. Just drift away into the world where her beloved Jonathon waited for her. It would be so easy …

  She heard Joanna enter and cross to the bed.

  “Oh no,” she cried, kneeling beside Emily and putting her arm around her. Emily turned to her.

  “Martha is where she wants to be. I wish I could do the same. We should not weep for her,” Emily said.

  Joanna rose and looked down at her in anger. “How dare you say such a thing?” she cried. “Do you not care about the child you carry? Emily, you have much to live for.”

  “You can stand there and say that to me?” Emily shot back at her. “You, who have your husband beside you at night? You, who have a lifetime to live with the man you love? How can you know my anguish? Or Martha’s?”

  Joanna looked at Emily, the pain of her words evident on her face. “Am I supposed to apologize because I still have my husband? You have a part of Jonathon within you, yet you refuse to care about the baby, or take proper care of yourself. I cannot bring Jonathon back for you, but you can continue his legacy … if you choose to.”

  “I love this child I carry.”

  “Then behave so.”

  The women looked at each other. Emily’s eyes brimmed with tears. She felt as if she had lost everyone she loved. Now she had even alienated Joanna.

  “I am sorry, Joanna,” she whispered. She turned back to the bed and looked down at Martha. No she did not want to follow her. She had a child to live for. Jonathon’s child.

  Emily felt Joanna’s arm slip around her shoulders, and she turned to her. The women embraced and cried together, then knelt beside Martha’s body and prayed. Finally, they rose, and Joanna rang for Dulcie.

  • • •

  Gray clouds hung heavy in the late January sky, and the wind whipped Emily’s cape about her legs as she followed Martha’s casket out to the church graveyard. The service had been brief, attended only by Randy, Joanna, David, and herself. The prayers had been comforting, and Emily wished that somehow Jonathon might have had some prayers offered over his body.

  They entered the carriage, and rode home quietly as each was caught up in their own thoughts. The carriage slowed after a time and David looked out to see what caused the delay. Another carriage pulled up beside theirs, and Emily looked out to see Deidre.

  “Emily, I had heard you were back,” she said, her eyes held a strange look. “May I stop at the manor?”

  “Certainly, Deidre,” Joanna answered.

  Tea was served when they returned to Brentwood Manor, and Deidre arrived shortly after them. Emily felt uncomfortable about this visit, but was not sure why. Perhaps it was because when anyone called to offer condolences, it evoked the pain so vividly. At least Deidre had the grace to make this call.

  “So Jonathon is dead,” Deidre blurted out as she entered the parlor. Emily recoiled at her bluntness. Joanna looked at David in concern.

  “Deidre, we have just buried a friend. This has been a most trying time for us,” David said.

  “And do you know why Jonathon is dead?” she went on ignoring the warning tone in David’s voice.

  “Deidre!” Randy cautioned.

  “Because of his blasted Tory wife!”

  Emily blanched.

  “Deidre, that is enough!” Randy exclaimed as he rose and moved toward her. She sidestepped him, crossing the room, and loomed over Emily who sat on the settee.

  “If he had not been so concerned about getting you back to your loathsome, beloved England, he would still be alive,” she shouted at Emily.

  Emily sat frozen, agonized. The pain caused by Deidre’s words was intolerable. The room swam in front of her, and her head filled with buzzing. Suddenly she felt flushed, and everything went white. Then black and silent.

  Dr. Anderson had been summoned and came out to examine Emily. He announced that Emily and the baby were in no danger, but she needed rest for several days.

  When she came to, Emily was lying on her bed; her head throbbed. Joanna was beside her.

  “Are you all right, Em?” Joanna asked.

  “It is my fault, is it not, Joanna?” Emily asked as tears streamed down her face. “If it were not for me, Jonathon would still be alive.”

  “Shhh, Emily. Do not even think such a thing. What Jonathon was doing required risks; he knew that. Sailing for the committees was dangerous work. He had to go to Norfolk. He would have gone whether he was taking you back to London or not. The patriot cause needed him there. He died for that, not because of you,” she answered.

  Emily felt reassured, but the pain Deidre’s words had caused lingered.

  • • •

  She lay in bed with Jonathon’s shirt against her face. She found comfort in it, and it helped her sleep. After the first day of being confined to bed, she became restless, and Joanna had to scold her to keep her down. She brought Emily some books from the library, which helped since reading diverted her thoughts from her intolerable grief.

  The days passed uneventfully. Randy visited daily to check on Emily, and after a week, he agreed to take her downstairs for tea. It felt good to have a change of scenery, and Emily’s spirits lifted. Each day she was allowed to be up a little longer, although Joanna bribed her by increasing the time according to how well she was eating. Emily realized how much weight she had lost whe
n she tried on some of her older gowns. They hung on her in spite of her enlarging abdomen. She began to fear that Joanna was right; she had been neglecting her baby. She complied with Joanna’s wishes and began to take better care of herself.

  • • •

  Life at the manor had changed since Emily had left with Jonathon the previous year. Some slaves did flee to the British side, leaving David shorthanded. Some rooms in the manor had been closed up in order to conserve fuel during the colder months. Food supplies were dwindling as Brentwood Manor began to feel the squeeze of Parliament’s decrees. Life was not as luxurious as it had been, and everyone had a new appreciation of what food and supplies they did have. Some families were not so lucky.

  Because of British trading policies, colonial planters were spending up to 75 percent of their profit on trade expenses over which they had no control. It was bad enough that freight commissions to British merchants, export taxes, and custom duties in Britain had to be paid, but the real blow was that the colonists could not ship directly to the European Continent. Most of their goods were re-exported from Britain.

  The Brentwoods had been able to bypass some of those costs since Jonathon sailed his own ship and had established trade at a time when relations were better. Solid friendships and smooth talk had rendered a bigger profit for him. But now Brentwood tobacco, along with that of other colonial planters, was rotting on the wharf. British creditors eagerly lent money to Virginia planters, and by 1775 the colonists owed over 2 million pounds sterling to them. It would take some colonists several generations to repay the loans.

  Fortunately, Brentwood Manor had not yet found it necessary to borrow, but the change in lifestyle was obvious. Emily was beginning to understand, not just the economic hardship that necessitated living more frugally, but also the frustrating, even enraging, predicament of being held down, dependent and powerless under the thumb of a far distant and indifferent power.

  David had left on a trip to Yorktown to pick up supplies and sell goods, hoping to find a ship that would carry his tobacco to London. This was becoming impossible since Dunmore was impounding colonial ships off Virginia’s coast. If he was successful, David planned to return in a week.