When the coach finally arrived at Willow Creek Crossing, India was ready to present Calleigh with her three part plan for partisan warfare in the Colonies. She was the last to step out of the coach, and she eagerly filled her lungs with the crisp air of the valley. The wind loosened her silken hair from the knot at her neck as she stretched her back. She started toward the Willow Creek Inn then stopped abruptly. She felt someone watching her in the twilight and turned around. There on a hill overlooking the tavern was Calleigh sitting on his favorite gelding, his tricorne hat pulled low and his coat collar pulled high. From a distance no one could identify him, but India knew who it was and she stared at him. Suddenly her stomach lurched, and she looked away feeling uncomfortable and ashamed of her schoolgirl gaze. How ridiculous, she thought, reacting that way toward that uncouth commoner.
* * *
Quinn did not contact India the next day or even the next month. The illusive commander had business elsewhere and rather than wait for instructions, India began to set up housekeeping in Calleigh’s home playing the part of the Widow Allen newly arrived from Ireland.
He had left India money to supplement housekeeping, but she found the furnishings to be in splendid condition and the larder full of food, thanks to the new housekeeper Mrs. Schumacher.
Initially it seemed like a daunting task to revive the estate but India’s childhood training in managing great properties served her well, and she brought it back to life. She hadn’t realized until now how weary she had become of large, cold manor houses with drafty halls and tall ceilings. She loved the warmth of Calleigh’s paneled rooms, low timbered ceilings and wood floors covered in plush carpets. His furnishings were of the highest quality reflecting the simple yet elegant craftsmanship of the settlers of the area; the Quakers, the German and Dutch Mennonites. India complemented all this with new draperies and table linens in cool greens and rich golden tones, and ordered china and silver for fine dining and entertaining.
It took weeks for her to get the house in order but at last she was ready. India had declined Reverend Archer’s first attempts to call, but by early December she felt ready to receive, and she invited him to tea. Unfortunately, inclement weather prevented him from calling.
After that, the winds blew strongly out of the north and by early December snow blanketed the Brandywine Valley, catching India by surprise. In Ireland winter had been an occasional dusting of snow, but here in the Colony of Delaware it accumulated abundantly. She watched the servants sweep and shovel it off the walkways and rooftops, and she noticed the men split firewood endlessly to combat the falling temperatures.
Phineas had no problem with the winter weather at all. He seemed to enjoy it, sliding on the ice and throwing snowballs at unsuspecting cats near the barn.
One afternoon as India worked at her desk a note arrived from Calleigh requiring her presence at a meeting that evening. He told her that he was sending some one within the hour to escort her. India raised her eyebrows. He was obviously back and ready to work, and she was ready too.
She turned in her chair and looked outside. It was dusk, and a light snow was falling. She called Phineas and they pulled on warm garments, boots and scarves then waited on the steps. There was no wind and the snow drifted down lazily. Phineas dropped to his knees and began making snow balls when suddenly a horse appeared in the distance. India narrowed her eyes and looked closely. The horse was pulling an open sleigh.
Phineas jumped to his feet and cried, “Look at that! Is that for us?”
A smile flickered on India’s lips as the sleigh approached. “I believe it is,” she murmured. It was a new experience for them both.
As the driver pulled up to the porch, a tall Dalmatian leaped happily out of the sleigh and bound up to Phineas, jumping up to greet the boy. Phineas broke into peals of laughter when he noticed the dog bared his teeth in a friendly manner, as if grinning.
“Look at him smile, Miss!” he called to India, but she ignored him, surveying the sleigh.
The man called for the canine to heal, but the dog ignored the command. He was having too much fun exploring the yard with his nose to the ground. After circling the house several times he returned just in time to jump into the sleigh with them.
Phineas and the animal hopped in front while the sour faced old driver helped India into the back handing her blankets to cover her legs. Phineas was smiling from ear to ear with his arm around the delighted canine. The driver grumbled for them both to move over as he too climbed into his seat taking up the reins.
India marveled at how smooth the ride felt as the sleigh sliced through the snow. Only the swish of the runners could be heard as they pulled away from the house. She had seen only one sleigh in her life and that was in Dublin when she was a child. It was in the back of a barn. She imagined that Phineas had seen sleighs too but had never been in one.
She heard him ask the driver, “Why does the horse wear those bells?”
The man muttered, “So people can hear us on the road and get out of the way.”
They coasted up hills, down through valleys and over bridges, past the red brick grist mill and neighboring farms. The snow left a white frosting on the dark trees and candlelight glowed from cottage windows. Several homes had wreathes and boughs of evergreen on their doors to celebrate the season of advent.
India moved her feet more closely to the iron foot warmer which held hot coals. She was not used to the cold weather. At last they turned down a lane toward a grouping of simple buildings with rough cut siding and wood shakes on the roof. Candlelight glowed from some of the windows and smoke curled from the chimneys. The buildings were austere and devoid of decoration gathered around a central courtyard with a church at one end.
India leaned forward and asked, “What is this place? It is no ordinary village.”
“It’s a German cloister,” the driver replied.
The man drew back on the reins and stopped the sleigh in front of the church, holding onto the dog. India looked at the building uncertainly then threw back the blanket from her legs and climbed out of the sleigh. Phineas climbed down too and took her hand as the driver pulled away. The pair looked up at the imposing doors.
“I ain’t never been to church, Miss,” Phineas said warily.
“I am not sure we are going to church, Phineas,” she replied.
Suddenly the door swung open, and India recognized the large unfriendly man with dirty red hair who had been taking care of the Calleigh estate. She remembered his name was Enoch Powell.
“They’re waiting,” he growled.
They started into the church when someone called, “Please wait!” A tiny woman dressed in a white woolen robe with a hood over her head rushed toward them across the courtyard. “The boy can come with me,” she explained with a smile. In spite of her wizened face and knotty hands she had a youthful smile and kind demeanor. She took Phineas and led him off to a large structure that India assumed was a dormitory for members of the cloister.
India stamped the snow from her feet and brushed it off her shoulders as she followed Powell inside the church. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting of the candles, but eventually she could see about ten or twelve men scattered throughout the sanctuary on benches and chairs. As she walked farther into the church she looked behind her and saw a man stationed at the window in the choir loft keeping watch over the grounds. The church was plain, and the walls were painted white. Several dark wooden beams held the ceiling and the wood floor creaked under her feet as she walked. India loosened her scarf and looked around for Calleigh.
“I am right over here,” he said. He was sitting near the pulpit. He grinned and jumped up to meet her. Taking her hand he announced, “Lady Allen, I believe you have met most of these gentlemen.”
She nodded formally to the men, and Calleigh kissed her hand with an exaggerated flourish, escorting her to a chair near a large table. Several of them pulled chairs up.
Calleigh paced back and fo
rth for a moment as everyone settled in for the meeting. Finally it grew quiet. He scratched the back of his head thoughtfully then addressed them. “Lady Allen, gentlemen, most of us here are in agreement that a break with England is imminent. It is fast approaching and it is of the utmost importance that we are organized and ready for action. I have made several decisions which I will present to you tonight.”
He walked to the table and leaned onto his knuckles leveling a look at them all.
“Our role within the rebellion will be three fold; elite raiding parties, partisan warfare and intelligence gathering. Lady Allen has agreed to join us permanently and to direct partisan warfare and much of the intelligence.”
The men looked at her than back at Calleigh.
He continued, “Less than a month ago I met with several of the members of the Continental Congress. In attendance was my long-time friend Daniel Morgan. The Congress is forming a Continental Army and calling for the organization of several rifle companies. Morgan and I were asked by the Congress to find the most outstanding marksmen in the Middle Colonies. Our organization, right here in the Brandywine Valley, will be awarded the very best of those marksmen found. These elite sharpshooters will accompany us on our raids. They will target officers and scouts.” Quinn nodded to India to acknowledge that it had been her idea to target these officials.
He outlined the overall directives of the operation and some several tactics Morgan had shared with him. As he was speaking, India looked at the faces of Calleigh’s men. All eyes were on him, some men were leaning forward, others stroked their chins, and all were engrossed in what he had to say. He had completely won their respect and devotion. India had seen that look when Colm had spoken to his men, the complete loyalty and undying commitment, but India knew this time the patriots would not be disappointed.
She crossed her arms and studied Calleigh. She had to admit, some women might find his dark looks and athletic build attractive. He had a sort of animal magnetism, and there was something elusive in his carriage and demeanor that commanded respect. He was confident, she admitted, confident to a fault.
Something stirred inside her as she watched him cross the room. Suddenly Calleigh looked at her, and India felt as if she had been caught without her small clothes on and looked away, feeling her cheeks grow hot.
He dragged his eyes away from her and said to the men, “Any questions?”
There were none.
After the meeting, Calleigh asked India to stay behind. He wanted to speak with her about partisan activities.
“What about Phineas?” she asked.
“The women fed him and sent him home in the sleigh,” Quinn said. “Sit down, please.”
He held a chair for her and they sat back down at the table in the candlelight as the men filed out of the church. The only one who remained was the sentry in the choir loft.
“You have had ample time now to familiarize yourself with our rebellion, Lady Allen,” Quinn said as he sat down. “Where do you see us going from here?”
India sat erect with little expression on her face. “Well, Mr. Calleigh, I propose an extensive operation for intelligence and partisan warfare, but I will be dependent upon you for reliable contacts. I know no one here in the Colonies.”
“Yes, go on.”
“First of all, I want a tailor or seamstress who can create or refashion British uniforms and someone who can forge documents. Can you find people who can do these things?”
“I can.”
“With these disguises we will plant moles within the British Army from regulars to officers.”
Quinn sat back in his chair, his arm over the back. “Very well,” he replied, listening.
“Next I want an informant who is doing business with the British, a merchant, who can tell us where supplies are being delivered to the army. If we hit their food source they will crumble. Food is more important than weapons.”
“Indeed. What else?”
“Men visit brothels and taverns. When they drink and whore they spill information. I want contacts in the lower class sporting houses as well as in the more fashionable salons where the ranking officials go. I know you have brothels here, but do you have exclusive bordellos for gentlemen here in the Colonies?”
Quinn smiled a crooked smile. “We do. Where ever you find men, you find a variety of sporting houses.”
Calleigh studied India as she talked. He marveled at her indifferent attitude toward prostitution, a topic most women would find unspeakable, but she delivered it to him like a recipe for venison pie.
What a fascinating woman, but what a tragedy she is so cold. He wondered if she had ever felt a moment of passion or desire in her entire life. He had his doubts.
“Now regarding partisan activities,” she continued. “I want crews to sabotage bridges making them weaken and fall as the British move large artillery across them. I want double agents and false messengers feeding the enemy inaccurate information, and I want agents within the British army disabling weapons and dampening gunpowder. These are just a few techniques I will be employing to keep the enemy preoccupied. They will have no time to fight.”
A broad smile spread over Calleigh’s face as India finished. He stood up, held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “Lady Allen, you do not disappoint.”
They stepped out of the church and into the crisp night air as the snow drifted down lazily around them.
“Where will I be able to find you?” she asked.
“Oh yes, I wanted to discuss that with you. When the weather is mild I camp outside, but when the winds grow cold--” and he stopped abruptly.
India searched his eyes for a moment then a look of recognition spread over her face. “Oh I see,” she said. “Mr. Calleigh. I have camped with men in the past and you will find that I am far from a shrinking violet. Of course you must stay at your own home during inclement weather.”
Quinn bowed low and said, “Thank you, Lady Allen.”
When he straightened up, he was stunned. As if a veil had dropped from her face, she seemed suddenly warm and her eyes had turned a soft gold. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him but before he could comment the window above them flew open.
“Quinn! In here, now!” said the sentry.
In a flash, Calleigh jerked India back into the church. The sentry jumped over the railing landing on the main floor in front of India. Startled she jumped back.
“Show off!” said Calleigh with a grin. “This is my brother, Ian.”
The young man was a much thinner version of Quinn, complete with the familial bravado.
“It’s patrols, Quinn,” Ian announced.
“Is it now?” Calleigh said. His eyes were dancing as he turned to India and asked, “Are you ready for an adventure, Lady Allen?”
Before she could answer, they whisked her out the back door where three horses were waiting. India hoisted her skirts, put her foot in a stirrup and mounted a mare, riding astride.
“Good,” exclaimed Quinn. “No time to play the lady.”
The men jumped into saddle and the three bolted down the road, India following Ian with Quinn in the rear.
“Ha!” laughed Quinn calling to his younger brother. “Just like the good old days, right lad?”
“Good old days my ass!” Ian called back to him.
India frowned. She thought them reckless and foolhardy making so much noise. They would most certainly alert the soldiers of their whereabouts.
They flew down the lane ducking and bobbing to avoid low hanging branches. Cloud cover made it difficult to see the road, but the snow on the ground reflected enough light to guide their way.
“Ha ha! I feel like a young buck again!” yelled Quinn.
Suddenly there was the report of a firearm. The patrols had heard them and were in full pursuit.
“I believe it is time,” called Calleigh, pulling a pistol from his belt.
“You lucky bastard,” Ian laughed.
“Don’t be an
idiot, Calleigh,” screamed India as they thundered down the lane, spattering mud and snow. “They are out of range.”
“True,” he shouted with mirth in his voice. “I will have to drop back.”
Appalled, India looked over her shoulder. Calleigh was slowing the pace of his gelding.
“Stay with me, Lady Allen,” Ian called. “Do not wait for him.”
Calleigh turned in his saddle, shot once and then again, turning back to duck branches.
After several volleys India yelled, “Shoot their horses, Calleigh!”
“Shoot horses? Blasphemy!”
The British patrols were gaining when Quinn straightened up, took careful aim and fired. The first rider toppled over, a bullet in his forehead. The patrols fell back. The horses had been spooked.
Calleigh kicked his gelding and sped ahead, joining India and Ian.
They dashed through the brush at a breakneck speed, jumping over dead trees and brush that littered the forest floor. At last they came to the river and slowed their pace. Dismounting they stopped to let the horses drink from an open spot of water.
Calleigh stretched and walked over to India and Ian.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” India asked. All of the years she had spent in the rebellion, she had never seen such excellent marksmanship.
“I got lucky.”
“It is impossible to be that accurate on horseback,” she argued.
“You’re right,” Ian chimed in. “That was not luck, Lady Allen. He developed his skills when he was robbing coaches back in Ireland. What you saw tonight was nothing.”
“Well you may be a good shot,” India said. “But you are certainly a fool. You led the British right to us with your adolescent whooping and hollering.”
Quinn smiled and looked at his brother. Ian smirked and looked away.
“You are right Lady Allen,” Quinn said.
India began pinning her hair up and shook her head with disgust.
The Sword of the Banshee Page 17