But her plea fell on deaf ears. Her feet felt like two blocks of concrete as he began to drag her along the overgrown path. Her heels dug into the dirt as her eyes fixed on the shed. How was he going to kill her? A single ball from a musket to the head? A clean slit across her throat? A brief moment with his strong hands around her neck?
Or would he be less merciful? What if he just decided to tie her up and leave her in the shed to die of starvation? No one would hear her screams; no one would come to rescue her. Or maybe he would club her senseless, then leave her to die, alone and bleeding. Oh, how could she have been so foolish to feel secure with him! She should have tried to escape again. Maybe she still could…
The shed loomed closer, and Ashley willed herself not to faint. She had to talk him out of it. Somehow she had to bargain with him, maybe offer to tell him the British plans even if that resulted in completely modifying history. She wracked her brain. What were the British getting ready to do one day before Paul Revere’s ride?
As he hauled her up to the shed, Aaron quickly fumbled with the front of his breeches.
Oh, Lord! He was going to rape her first!
Grasping the door to the shed with one hand, he pointed at her sternly. “You stay right here. Do you understand?”
She nodded vacantly, fighting to keep from passing out. Did he have to prepare for her murder? Sharpen knives? Load guns?
He stepped inside the small building, and a moment later she collapsed against the side of the shed, nearly fainting with relief when she heard him relieving himself. An outhouse.
Leaning against the wall, she felt hysteria bubbling inside her. It wasn’t a shed he was going to kill her in, it was an outhouse!
Aaron emerged a moment later and found her giggling almost hysterically.
“I hardly think a gentleman going to the jakes is an occasion for such merriment.”
“You would”—Ashley gasped, trying to catch her breath—“if you had thought you were about to be murdered!”
He frowned. “Murdered?”
“Yes…I thought that was what you had brought me out here to do!”
“If I were to murder you, it wouldn’t be in the necessary,” he said indignantly. Color stung his cheeks now.
With a grin, she reached out and pulled his nose affectionately. “I don’t think you’re going to do it anywhere.”
He drew back, affronted. “Are all women in your century like you?”
“Only the good ones,” she assured solemnly.
Turning, he walked back down the narrow path that led through a tall hedge.
Ashley meekly followed behind, still snickering.
“I thought you’d live in town.”
“No. I’m an outliver.”
“What’s an ‘outiver’?”
“Someone who lives near the outskirts of the town. I’ve loved this house since I was a small child. I finally was able to purchase it a few years ago.”
Ashley had somehow pictured Aaron living in a small, quaint cottage in the middle of Boston, but this house was large and quite grand.
The tall, two-story building with a gambrel roof had a wide front door framed by carved pilasters and capped by a graceful swan’s neck pediment with ornamental rosettes. Two windows were set on either side of the door with four above on the upper story. The house resembled the pictures of saltbox houses she had seen at the museum.
“But it’s so large for one person!”
Aaron shrugged. “It will be filled with children someday.”
“Yours and who else’s?” she teased.
He ignored the comment as they climbed the steps together, and he opened the door.
Entering the house, Ashley was filled with curiosity. The inside was every bit as elegant as the outside. The spacious entry hall had a rich dark wainscoting that extended to a tasteful room to the right of the entry.
“Is that a drawing room?”
Aaron smiled as she stepped inside the room just off the hallway. There was a crystal lamp on a table in front of the window, flanked by two chairs. Two wing chairs and a sofa were setting on a blue rug situated near the fireplace, and several pieces that would be priceless antiques in her day were scattered throughout the room.
“It’s lovely,” she murmured, reaching out to touch one of the polished oak tables.
“I find it comfortable.”
“Did you know the former owners?”
“Yes, they passed on several years ago.”
Ashley followed Aaron to the next room and peeked inside. This room looked cozy. A spinning wheel had been shoved into a corner. A large desk, littered with papers and various accounting records tucked into its cubbyholes, was set near the fireplace. A poker resting against the stone face made Ashley think that this fireplace was the one most frequently used.
“I bet this is where you work,” she guessed.
She moved to the silk sampler hanging on the wall over the desk and read the inscription aloud: “Agatha Benchly bom May 27, 1710, died 1770. Jonathan Benchly bom August 12, 1705, died 1770.”
Turning, she looked at Aaron. “Why, they died the same year.”
“The same day,” Aaron said. “Agatha and Jonathan’s sons inherited the farm upon the deaths of their parents. The boys were a greedy lot and they couldn’t come to terms on how to disperse the land, so they decided to split it. Consequently, I was able to purchase the house and a few acres. I had the samplers made in Agatha and Jonathan’s memory. Come, the kitchen is this way.”
Clasping her hands behind her back, Ashley took a peek up the stairway as they walked past, wondering if he would choose to show her his bedroom.
As they entered the kitchen, she saw a wide, deep fireplace with a very long mantel. A variety of iron rods rested against the wall flanking the fireplace, along with a couple of large trivets upon which the pots were placed after they cooked over coals. A hook set into the stone held a variety of small skewers, and a blackened teakettle rested on a trivet on top of a cold fire. In the middle of one wall, there was a tall chest, and its open door revealed a collection of small crockery pieces. A pot with a lid was setting on the floor nearby as if the owner of the house had simply run out of room to store the crockery.
In the center of the room was a table with four ladder-back chairs. Centered on the table were two silver candlesticks, a small lamp, and a pewter pitcher.
Ashley picked up one of the candlesticks, marveling at its excellent craftsmanship.
“A gift from Paul,” Aaron remarked.
“It’s priceless,” she murmured, carefully returning the candlestick to its resting place.
Aaron was busy now trying to coax a fire from some kindling taken from a small box beside the fireplace.
“You’ve been gone several days. What do your patients do when that happens?”
“It doesn’t happen often.” He rose, dusting off his hands. “But I have been remiss the past two days. I must see to a few this afternoon.”
“Do I have to go with you?”
“If I permitted you to stay here in the house, could I trust you?” His gaze caught hers, and she made no attempt to look away.
“Yes…I would do as you say.”
“You will do nothing to draw attention, either to me or to you?”
“No, I promise.”
“Then I will allow you stay. I thought mayhap you’d like a bath.”
“Oh.” She wilted with relief. “I would love a bath.”
His gaze grew softer. “I will bring in the tub and fill it. We will heat water to temper the cold.”
“That would be heavenly. May I help?”
“No, ’tis man’s work.”
She smiled as he turned to leave. “I shouldn’t be gone long. The middle door leads to a large pantry. While I’m away, you might heat some pottage. When I return, we could have some with bread and quiddany.”
“Quiddany?” Ashley winced.
“Yes…a quince marmalade. Mrs. Bandy keeps me su
pplied with small foodstuff.”
“Mrs. Bandy? A friendly neighbor?” Ashley bantered with lifted brow.
“An old widow lady.” He winked. “She cleans occasionally and bakes. Makes a fine jumbal.”
“Jumbal,” Ashley repeated.
“A small sugar cake.”
“Like a cookie!”
“Mayhap,” he said patiently.
“I’ll find everything, don’t worry.”
“The pantry is well stocked. Some liberty tea would be welcome and there may be a puffet or two, if you’re too hungry to wait for my return.”
“Right. A puffet.”
He grinned. “Another small cake.”
“Oh.”
“Will you be safe while I’m gone?”
“I don’t know. Maybe safer than I would be if you were here,” she countered, recalling her earlier fright at the outhouse.
His features softened. “I will not hurt you.”
“I know.” She smiled as the invisible bond between them grew stronger.
“You could come with me,” he suggested.
“No, I’ll wait here, thank you.”
While he was gone, she puttered around the kitchen, exploring the pantry and cooking utensils.
When he returned a few minutes later, he was carrying a huge copper tub, which he set in front of the fireplace.
Ashley smiled as she viewed the tub. Any antique dealer would give his eyeteeth to have it!
“I’ll take the piggin and begin filling the tub, while the pot of water heats.” Aaron reached for the small wooden pail with an erect handle. “There’s some soft soap that Mrs. Bandy provides. You’ll find it easier to lather than the bar,” he told her with a teasing glint in his eye.
“If I remember,” Ashley returned saucily, “I didn’t get much of an opportunity to try.”
“No, and you would have had considerably less if Paul hadn’t arrived.” He gave a decidedly wicked chuckle when he saw her cheeks turn pink.
After filling a large pot, he set it on a trivet in the fireplace, then made the trip to the well several times to fill the tub.
Finally it was half full, and Aaron rolled his sleeves down. “I must see about my patients.”
Clasping her hands behind her back, Ashley walked to the door with him. She suddenly felt very domestic, as if they were married and she was seeing him off to work. “Will you be gone long?”
“I hope to return by early afternoon.”
After helping him into his coat, she brushed away an imaginary speck of lint. “I’ll take a bath, then fix us something to eat. By then you should be back.”
He turned, and their eyes met again. “You are to be alert. Do not open the door to anyone.”
“I won’t.”
He started off the porch, but her softly spoken request stopped him. “Aaron.”
Pausing, he said quietly, “Yes?”
“You be careful too.”
While the water was heating, Ashley explored the downstairs of the house. She smiled as she viewed the carnage of bachelor living: dishes scattered randomly throughout the house, a pair of muddy boots in the drawing room, a discarded pair of blue socks with holes in both heels. What Aaron Kenneman needed was a wife, she decided.
She picked up one of the five shirts that was draped over a chair and hugged it close to her, drinking in his familiar scent. The dream was becoming painful now. She was falling deeply in love with this strange man, and she was powerless to stop it. Her feelings were much stronger than she had ever experienced before, yet she knew that he wasn’t real. When she awoke, he would be gone. The thought was so frightening that Ashley quickly forced it aside.
A knock suddenly sounded at the door, startling her.
Swiping guiltily at the tears that had sprung to her eyes, she hurried to answer it. Her hand was on the latch when Aaron’s earlier warning came back to her. Do not open the door to anyone.
“Aaron?” a woman’s voice called. The knock sounded again.
Ashley waited, hoping whoever it was would go away.
“Aaron? Are you sleeping? Wake up, sleepyhead!”
Deciding that it was a friendly caller, Ashley unlatched the door and peeked out through the crack. “Dr. Kenneman isn’t here,” she murmured.
A pair of the most beautiful amethyst eyes looked back at her. “Oh? Where is he?”
“Making house calls.”
The stunning young woman smiled. “And who might you be?”
“I’m…just visiting.” She was not to call attention to herself or to Aaron.
“Oh? A niece, mayhap?”
“Yes…that’s it. A niece.”
“Well, tell Aaron that I called.” The woman extended a basket that contained two loaves of bread and a jar of jam. “Tell him I’m sorry to have missed him, and I’ll return again late tomorrow afternoon.”
Ashley opened the door just wide enough to accept the basket, then closed it again quickly.
Remembering her manners, she called through the heavy wood. “Who should I say called?”
“Elizabeth Bandy,” came the muffled reply.
‘The widow Bandy?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll tell him.”
The dirty rat.
Chapter Nine
Twenty minutes later Ashley settled deep into a tub of hot water. For several minutes she lay soaking away the weariness and grime of the past few hectic hours.
It was close to an hour before she could find enough energy to scrub her hair. Dipping cups of water from the water pail, she rinsed her hair clean, then forced herself out of the water that by now had grown cold.
After washing her clothes in the remaining hot water, she hung them to dry near the fireplace. Aaron had provided her with a thick robe, though it was big enough to wrap around her twice.
She was thinking about brewing the tea when another knock sounded at the door. Frowning, she set the teakettle aside. Aaron had said not to answer the door for anyone.
The knock came again, more urgent this time. “Doctor! Doctor?”
After sneaking to the window, Ashley pulled the curtain aside and saw a woman and a young girl standing on the porch.
Ashley dropped the curtain back into place and walked to the door. If it was another one of Aaron’s friendly “widows,” she was going to scream.
Opening the door, she smiled. “May I help you?”
“The doctor…would he be in?” the woman asked.
“No, I’m afraid not. He should be back soon though.” The young girl accompanying the woman suddenly groaned and doubled over with pain. “Ohhh…do something, Momma!”
“Oh, dear,” the woman fretted. She began to wring her hands as the gangly girl dropped to her knees, her moans becoming louder.
“What’s…the trouble?” Ashley asked hesitantly. The girl seemed to be in a good deal of pain.
Glancing about, the woman leaned closer, whispering. “It’s her monthly miseries. ‘Tis worse than usual.”
“Oh.” Ashley winced as she watched the girl writhing in pain at her feet.
“I thought the doctor might know what to do,” the woman confided. “We’ve walked such a long ways.”
“Well.” Ashley bit her lower lip. Did she dare offer the girl one of the Midol tablets she had in her bag? No, she couldn’t. Aaron would kill her. Literally. “Maybe a cup of tea would make her feel better.”
The girl turned green at the thought, but the mother pulled her to her feet and urged her through the doorway. “Thank you, missy. My daughter would appreciate it.”
“Do you live nearby?” Ashley asked as she showed the women into the kitchen.
“Oh, just a few miles, but ’tis a brisk walk,” the woman added. She nudged her daughter ahead of her. “I’m Amelia Briar, and this here is my Sarah.”
“I’m Ashley Wheeler.” She paused, glancing around the unfamiliar kitchen helplessly. “About the tea,” she said apologetically. “I’m not sure how to brew it.”
“You don’t know how to brew tea?” The woman looked at her strangely.
“No…not liberty tea. I can make Lipton okay,” she added, in case the woman thought she was completely deficient.
The woman edged toward the kettle. “I can make liberty tea.”
“Great!” Ashley hurried to get the hot water. “Exactly what is liberty tea?”
The woman looked at her oddly again. “Why…it’s the stalks and leaves of the four-leafed loosestrife.”
Ashley paused, glancing back at her. “Oh, sure…I knew that.”
“We brew it so that we don’t have to buy imported tea.”
“Yes, I’d just forgotten.”
The woman bustled about the kitchen and in just a few minutes had three cups of hot tea on the table. The young girl pushed hers away and lay her head down on the table, moaning.
“Say, this isn’t bad,” Ashley commented as she took a sip of the hot brew.
“You related to the doctor?” Mrs. Briar asked, eyeing the large robe Ashley was wearing.
“No—”
Sarah’s moans grew more assertive. >
“Oh dear, oh dear. Will the doctor be long?” the woman fretted.
“I’m not sure.” Ashley stood up. “Excuse me a moment.” She left the room and returned in a few minutes lugging her canvas bag. After setting it down on the table, she began to rummage through the contents until she found the bottle she wanted. She removed the cap, then spilled two of the tablets into the palm of Sarah’s hand. “These will make you feel better in no time at all. Just swallow them with a little water.”
The woman peered anxiously over Sarah’s shoulders. “Are you a doctor?”
“No, but this will help. I promise.”
After dumping four more tablets out on the table, Ashley put the cap back on the bottle. “In another four hours, take two more, then take the last two in another four hours. By then you should be feeling much better.” Sarah glanced at her mother, mutely seeking permission to take the pills.
“There’s nothing in it that will hurt her,” Ashley assured Mrs. Briar.
The woman nodded hesitantly, though Ashley could see she wasn’t convinced that she was doing the right thing.
As the three women waited for the pills to take effect, Mrs. Briar talked about this neighbor or that one and about the lack of tea and sugar since the colonies had refused to accept English imports. Thirty minutes and three cups of tea later, Mrs. Briar finally pushed her cup aside. The color was coming back into Sarah’s cheeks, and she seemed to be feeling better now. “Well, this has been pleasant, but I have a washing that won’t get done without me, and the mister will be wanting his supper.”
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