Surrender the Night

by Marylu Tyndall

  Rose’s knees turned to mush.

  “Are you ill, Rose?” Cassandra, her dear friend, gripped her arm and steadied her.

  Amelia eased between Rose and Marianne and took her other arm, but from the sound of her maid’s ragged breathing and the tremble in her grip, Rose guessed she suffered from the same confusion and terror that consumed Rose.

  “I’m quite all right, thank you. Just a bit warm.” Rose plucked out her fan and waved it frantically about her face. Anything to keep her wits about her. “My word, what would a British naval officer be doing sauntering about on the streets of Baltimore?” She attempted a laugh that only brought curious gazes her way. “Why, he’d be arrested on the spot.”

  Amelia’s grip on her arm tightened.

  Mr. Heaton’s jaw knotted. “Or worse, if I ever see him again.”

  Cassandra placed her hands on her delicate hips. “Come now Mr. Heaton, why are you always so eager to use your fists before your reason?” Ignoring her playful smile, Mr. Heaton huffed and looked away.

  Her heart tight in her chest, Rose swept her gaze to the last place she’d seen Mr. Reed. No trace of him remained. But where had he gone? And how did her friends know him? Rose searched her mind, but only one possibility surfaced. Two years ago, Marianne and Noah had returned from the sea with an adventurous tale of capture aboard a British navy ship, of a mad captain, of sabotage, escape, and victory. Rose drew a hand to her head to quell a sudden dizziness. Of all the ships in the royal navy and all the second lieutenants …

  Mr. Blackthorn, whom Rose had been introduced to three weeks prior as Noah’s first mate, continued to stare at the millinery store as if expecting Mr. Reed to reappear. “That man and his cap’n kept me an’ my boy prisoner on board his ship for three years.”

  “Papa, it wasn’t his fault,” Daniel said. “He was only following orders.”

  “Mr. Reed was an honorable man.” Noah gripped the pommel of his sword, sending Rose’s stomach churning. She had no doubt that regardless of his sentiments, he would not hesitate to arrest Mr. Reed and toss him into prison.

  “Don’t forget, he allowed my precious wife to escape from his ship,” Noah continued.

  Rose squeezed her eyes shut, trying to wrap her mind around these shocking revelations. A flurry of wind tugged on her bonnet and cooled the perspiration on her neck. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves, the prattle of passing citizens, and the occasional bell from the port swirled past her ears. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Mr. Heaton’s gruff chortle snapped her eyes open. A breeze stirred his coal-black hair. He narrowed his eyes. “We owe him nothing. He allowed Marianne to escape only to save himself and his career.”

  “I don’t understand. How could letting an enemy go save his career?” Rose asked.

  Mr. Heaton crossed his arms over his chest. “He allowed her to keep a weapon on board. That’s treason.”

  A weapon? Rose sped up the fluttering of her fan.

  “For my protection,” Marianne added. “Against that vile Lieutenant Garrick.”

  “Oh my word.” Rose’s knees wobbled and Cassandra steadied her. So Marianne had experienced Mr. Garrick’s licentious appetites as well. And once again, Mr. Reed had played the chivalrous hero.

  Marianne smiled. “And I threatened to tell his captain if he didn’t allow me to escape.”

  Though the sun had begun its descent in the western sky, its searing rays seemed hotter than ever. Rose ceased her useless fanning.

  “God had a plan for Mr. Reed.” Daniel nodded with a grin. “To help us escape.”

  Blackthorn shook his head. “Only you could see God’s hand in such a disaster, son.”

  “God’s hand is everywhere.” Daniel’s gaze shifted to Rose and remained there so long she thought there might be dirt on her face again. “God has a plan for you too, Miss McGuire,” the boy said it stoically as if he were speaking directly from another’s prompting. “Something important for you to do.”

  Blackthorn’s lips slanted. “Are you sure, Daniel?”

  “Yes, father, I’m sure.”

  Something important to do? Confusion once again jumbled Rose’s thoughts. For God? She hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms with the Almighty these past years.

  Marianne squeezed her arm and smiled. “I would listen to him if I were you.”

  “My son is a prophet, Miss McGuire.” Blackthorn scratched his linen shirt.

  A prophet? The explanation did nothing to ease her confusion. Prophets existed only in biblical times. God did not speak to people through prophets anymore. Any fool knew that.

  As if to confirm her thoughts, Mr. Heaton let out a skeptical snort.

  Blackthorn shrugged and ruffled Daniel’s thick brown hair. “He’s not often wrong. An’ my other son, who’s only five, appears t’ have the same gift. Got it from me wife, God love her. An’ we are now expectin’ our third. Mebbe we’ll have a whole family of prophets.”

  Noah slapped his first mate on the back. “Indeed. We could use more prophets in this city.”

  Pursing her lips, Rose directed her gaze at Daniel. “Well in this case, I fear you are entirely incorrect, Daniel, for I am not destined to perform any great feat.” Nor did she want to be. Truth be told, she just wanted to be let alone—to live out her life in peace.

  Instead of frowning at Rose’s rebuke, Daniel smiled—a knowing smile that sent an odd shudder through her. She glanced toward the millinery. The shadow of a tall man shot back from the window. So that’s where Mr. Reed went.

  Best to be on her way and rescue him from his hiding place.

  “We should be going. My aunt will be worried.” Rose snatched the fan back from Amelia.

  Noah cast a harried glance over the street. “But surely you and Amelia aren’t without escort?”

  “No. My footman is with us.” At his questioning look, she continued, “I sent him to the chandlers to purchase some candles.”

  “Well, allow us to escort you there,” Noah said.

  “No need. It is just another block.” Rose waved her fan in the air and dragged Amelia away. “Do continue to enjoy your day.”

  “Very well.” Noah touched the tip of his cocked hat. “Good day to you then, ladies.”

  Cassandra waved. “I hope to see you soon, Rose.”

  “Yes, soon. Let’s get together for tea, shall we?” Rose halted before a passing horse.

  “Promise?” Marianne’s voice turned Rose around. Her friend slid her arm into Noah’s and she smiled.

  “Promise.” As Rose watched them leave, a myriad of emotions clamored for her attention. The foremost one—fear that her friends would see Mr. Reed and arrest him—was already slipping away.

  “What was all that about Mr. Reed, miss?” Amelia exclaimed as they reached the other side of the street. “I had no idea.”

  “Neither did I.” Rose waved one last time at her friends. No sooner had they disappeared from sight than Mr. Reed popped out of the store, brushing imaginary dust from his coat as if being among so many ladies’ hats had somehow soiled him.

  “Thank goodness. The store owner was about to toss me from the place, accusing me of being some sort of coxcomb.”

  Rose would have giggled if she wasn’t so busy settling her breathing.

  “Thank you for not alerting them to my presence.” He scanned the street.

  “I had no idea you knew my friends.”

  His eyes met hers. “I had no idea they were your friends, miss. Nor that they hailed from Baltimore.”

  “Pray tell, how many more of Baltimore’s citizens have you impressed on your ship?”

  He smiled. “None that I’m aware of.”

  “Shall we go just in case?” Amelia tugged on Rose’s arm, her eyes flashing with fear.

  With a nod, Rose slipped her fan into her reticule and headed down the street. Though she hurried her pace, the trip back to the church seemed to drag on forever. All along the street, from every shop and every corner, curious e
yes seemed to follow them. But finally, Uncle Forbes’s church came into view, and Rose released a shaky breath. That was until General Smith marched from the sick house, Aunt Muira on his heels. Though the General’s face was its usual unruffled mask, Aunt Muria’s was quivering with distress.

  Rose froze, her heart seizing in her chest.

  “Thank goodness you’ve returned,” her aunt cried out. “We must go to the Myers’ farm immediately.”

  “Elaine?” Rose’s heart clinched. The warning bells of St. Peter’s rang fresh through her mind. “What happened? Is she alive?”

  The general halted before Mr. Reed and eyed him with a curious gaze. The breath of relief Rose had just released crowded back in her throat.

  “It was the British, dear. And yes, she’s alive.” But the way her aunt said the words caused Rose’s hands to tremble.

  “And who might you be, sir?” General Smith asked Alex. Mr. Reed stiffened.

  “Why he is our new man of work, General, Mr. Alexander Reed.” Her aunt came to the rescue. “Mr. Reed, bring the phaeton around. We must leave immediately.”

  With a nod, he darted off.

  Rose pressed a hand over the veins throbbing in her throat. “What brings you here to our church, General?”

  “I heard rumors of wounded British soldiers hiding amongst our own and thought some may have wandered into your uncle’s care.” The general’s hardened gaze followed Mr. Reed as he disappeared behind the church and remained there until he reappeared, leading the horse and phaeton. “And I wanted to inform your aunt and uncle about the attack on the Myers’ farm. I know the Myers are friends of your family’s.”

  “Yes, indeed. Rose has known Elaine for years.” Aunt Muira gestured for Mr. Reed to hurry.

  Rose wobbled, and Amelia slipped her arm through hers.

  “Very good. Well, if you’ll excuse me. I must be going.” General Smith slid his bicorn atop his head. “Ladies.” He bowed slightly and after they bid him adieu, he marched away.

  Much to Rose’s relief.

  Numbly, Rose allowed Mr. Reed to assist her into the carriage. She didn’t have to ask what had happened to her friend Elaine. She knew. Her thoughts drifted to Elaine’s wedding last summer. How happy the couple seemed as they rode off in their open-air carriage after the ceremony, all the guests tossing rose petals at them.

  “Tell me they didn’t harm James.” She asked her aunt after they were all settled on their seats.

  “He wasn’t home.” Rose couldn’t remember her aunt’s tone holding so much pain. “I need you to be strong, Rose.” Leaning forward, she squeezed her hand once again. “For Elaine.”

  With a shake of her head, Rose tore her hand from her aunt’s grasp and lowered her gaze. “I don’t know if I can.” Yet hadn’t she just promised herself to not allow fear to keep her from helping others?

  “She’s asking for you, Rose. You’re the only one who can help her.”

  Mr. Reed leaped into the driver’s seat, jostling the carriage to the right, then snapped the reins and sent them on their way. Amelia stared vacantly out the window as if she couldn’t handle any more trouble for one day.

  Rose agreed.

  No, Lord, please send someone else. Rose stifled a sob. Every ounce of her wanted to help her friend—wanted to help all women who’d suffered as she had, but thick bars of fear kept her locked far from those in need.

  “I am not strong like you, Aunt.” Rose swiped a tear from her cheek. “When I help these women, it’s like I’m going through it all over again.”

  Aunt Muira cupped Rose’s face with both her hands and forced her to meet her gaze. “You are your father’s daughter. There is strength in you, Rose.”

  “My father is gone.”

  “Your father lives on in you. And your heavenly Father is within you as well. Draw upon His strength.”

  Rose tightened her jaw. God had never helped her before. Why would he now? Yet, Elaine’s sweet face drifted through Rose’s mind. The way her blue eyes sparkled and dimples formed on her cheeks whenever she smiled. Rose could not turn her back on her friend—as God had done on her—not when Elaine needed Rose the most.

  Within a half hour and at the direction of her aunt, Mr. Reed turned the carriage down a dirt road that wound through a valley of tall grass waving in the breeze. A small creek splashed and bubbled nearby accompanied by a chorus of meadowlarks. The happy sounds and beautiful sights were at odds with the despair threatening to sever Rose’s heart. Despair for Elaine. Then as if reading her dismal thoughts, a blast of smoke-laden wind blew in through the window and stung her nose. Aunt Muira coughed and drew a silk handkerchief to her mouth. Rose leaned out the window to see a gray mist hovering over a patch of pine trees in the distance. Her stomach tightened. She faced forward again and clamped her hands together in her lap. Aunt Muira touched Rose’s arm and offered her a comforting look as the carriage bumped and jostled over the uneven road.

  They slowed and Rose thought she heard Mr. Reed groan. Forcing herself to peek out the window again, she saw what was left of a small cottage perched beside a pond. She drew in a gasp. Half of the small house lay in a black charred ruin, the other half, though darkened with soot, remained intact. The coach jostled over something in the road, and Rose’s cheek struck the edge of the window. Ignoring both the pain in her face and the one in her heart, she jerked her head back into the carriage and searched for a breath of air. “Where is Elaine?”

  “In the house, I believe,” her aunt replied.

  Amelia gaped out the window. “Oh my.”

  Mr. Reed brought the carriage to a halt before the scorched building, and Aunt Muira grabbed her satchel, opened the door, and leaped out before he had a chance to hop down and assist her.

  Not that he’d intended to aid them, for as Rose took a tentative step down onto the muddy soil after Amelia had debarked, she noted that Mr. Reed remained on his seat.

  Staring at what was left of the blackened house.

  He glanced her way, a look of horror crossing his face, before he grabbed his crutch and jumped down.

  “Come along now.” Aunt Muira forged ahead, her tone that of a school matron.

  But Rose couldn’t seem to move her feet.

  A family of ducks—a mother, father, and seven babies—glided happily over the pond to her right as if no tragedy had occurred here. But the wisps of smoke spinning off the charred wood of the cottage spoke otherwise. Movement dragged Rose’s gaze to the left of the house where several yards away beneath a massive oak tree, a man halted his digging and looked up. Two fresh mounds of dirt sat amid a scattering of crosses and stones. Rose’s throat clamped shut.

  Abandoning his crutch against the carriage, Mr. Reed approached her. “What happened here?”

  By the guilt lacing his tone, Rose knew he had already guessed. Nevertheless, she could not help but lay the charge at his feet. “Your people happened here, Mr. Reed.”

  Pain etched across his eyes. He swallowed and offered her his arm.

  Ignoring it, Rose ventured forward.

  Splinters of wood poked out from a large hole in the front door that hung limp on its hinges. Aunt Muira knocked and waited with the patience and composure of a lady making a social call. Within seconds the wooden slab swung wide with a heartrending squeak to reveal James, Elaine’s husband. Wild, swollen eyes stared at them from within a red face that was streaked with soot. A torn, stained shirt did nothing to hide the cuts and abrasions across his arms and chest, and a drop of blood oozed from a wound on his head. Without saying a word, he ushered them inside.

  Aunt Muira and Amelia disappeared within, but Rose remained at the threshold. The smell of singed wood, sickness, and sorrow threatened to send her back to the carriage. Perspiration dotted her neck. She whispered a portion of her father’s song.

  Ten thousand mile is very far away

  For you to return to me,

  You leave me here to lament, and well a day!

  My tears you wi
ll not see, my love.

  Mr. Reed remained by her side but said not a word.

  Gathering her resolve, Rose ventured within. Holes in the wall to her left revealed the darkened remains of what had been the kitchen and dining room. Smoke bit her nose and throat, and Rose swallowed. Voices lured her to the back of the house where traitorous sunlight flooded a parlor that—because of what had occurred within—should have been enshrouded in gloom. Aunt Muira drew up a chair before a woman lying on a sofa and leaned over her, hiding the woman’s face from Rose. But she knew it was Elaine. And she wasn’t ready to face her friend just yet. Amelia knelt beside Aunt Muira and took Elaine’s hand in hers, only adding to Rose’s guilt at her own inadequacy.

  Shards of glass littered the floor below broken windows where torn, singed curtains fluttered on the incoming breeze. The Hepplewhite side cabinet Rose had so adored lay in a pile of sticks by the cold fireplace. No doubt the rain she’d heard last night had put out the fire before it could consume this half of the house. For aside from the shattered windows, and a burn mark on the floorcloth, the parlor appeared undamaged.

  Not like the lady lying on the cream-colored sofa.

  James approached Rose, arms extended. “She’s been asking for you, Rose.”

  Rose took his hands, and he drew her into an embrace. Startled by his familiarity, she hugged him in return as his body convulsed with sobs.

  “I’m so sorry.” Rose’s voice emerged as a squeak.

  He squeezed her tight, then withdrew, wiping the moisture from his face and spreading black soot over his cheek. His gaze swept to the door where a glance told Rose Mr. Reed had followed her into the house.

  “And who are you, sir?” James demanded.

  “I am the Drummond’s servant.” Mr. Reed’s voice had lost its hauteur.

  James’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists. “Your accent reeks of British nobility.”

  Rose stepped between them. “He is a friend.” A friend. She surprised herself at her quick declaration.