The thud of shoes and the crackle of morning voices permeated Rose’s slumber. The men’s voices grew louder, and she stirred, rubbing her face. When reality forced itself into her dreams, she bolted upright and opened her eyes. Shouts and curses flew through the air above them. Footfalls pounded. A door slammed and then all grew silent. Above her, a sliver of sunlight speared down into the cellar, indicating that a new day had dawned. Struggling to her feet, she shook off the last vestiges of slumber, chastening herself for falling asleep under such dire circumstances. Yet she remembered nestling into the peace of a warm hug. A dream? Or her Father in heaven? She smiled and tilted her ear to the ceiling. No sounds. The soldiers had gone. Why hadn’t Alex come to get her? Renewed fears leaped up to grab her heart.
There was only one explanation. Alex must have gotten caught. She clenched her fists and gazed upward. She had to rescue him. But how? Terror gripped her at the thought, but she forced it back. “I am not alone. I am not alone.”
Slowly creeping up the ladder, Rose lifted the trapdoor, holding it slightly ajar. No movement. No sounds. Placing both hands against the wood, she moved it from the hole, sliding it to the side. The bitter smell of brandy and sweat bit her nose as she emerged from the cellar into the storage room then inched to the door and peered down the hall. No movement, no voices. Nothing to alert her. Making her way down the hall she entered the front parlor. What had appeared last night to be a neat and nicely furnished room now resembled more of a tavern after a violent brawl. Broken furniture, crumpled rugs, and empty bottles of brandy and rum that lay on their sides, mouths open, as if they too were intoxicated.
Shoving down her disgust, Rose dared a peek out the front window. Redcoats filled the streets, some marching in formation, others crowding in groups laughing and no doubt regaling each other of their conquests the night before. Some still carried torches.
Rose ducked back to the side of the window and felt like crying. She wasn’t going anywhere. At least not for a while. “Haven’t they done enough, Lord? Oh please make them stop.” She dropped her face into her hands and sobbed.
“Pray.” A strange sensation overcame Rose—a presence so strong it seemed the room could not contain it.
“Pray for a storm.” The voice resounded within her, sweet, yet strong, like a harmonious chord from a violin.
A storm? Rose didn’t understand. What could a storm do against the entire British army?
“All right, Lord.” Lowering herself to her knees, Rose clasped her hands together and prayed. First she thanked God for His love, His mercy, and for allowing her to see Alex one last time. Then she prayed for rescue for them both, for America to survive, and lastly, for a storm to strike the city.
Rising to her feet, she took up a pace across the parlor floor, keeping an eye on the soldiers outside, and wishing she had more faith to believe God would perform the things she had just prayed for.
BOOM! An enormous explosion thundered in the distance. The ground shook. The hickory tree shook, jarring Alex from his prayers. The soldier, who guarded him, dashed to the edge of the hill, musket ready. Beyond him, a massive plume of smoke rose in the air from the area of town Alex remembered as Greenleaf Point where the city’s arsenals had been kept. Tortured screams etched across the sky and sent a chill down Alex’s back. Pieces of rocks, shells, and bricks shot through the air like grapeshot leveling some of the men as they dashed away from the blast. When the smoke cleared, even from this distance, Alex could see bodies—and what used to be bodies—scattered over the ground.
The Americans had no doubt left the British a surprise. War made devils out of men. Alex shifted his gaze away and closed his eyes. “Lord, please help them.” He didn’t know what else to pray for, save that this hideous war would end. His prayers for a storm all morning had gone unanswered. Perhaps he hadn’t heard from God at all. Yet, despite the unanswered petition, a peace surrounded Alex as if God was somehow pleased that Alex had been obedient. The approval of a Father who loved him. Alex savored the foreign sensation. Yes, indeed, he could get used to having God as his Father.
No sooner had the wounded been carried off to the hospital that General Ross had set up near the Capitol building, than the tap tap of a light rain drummed on the leaves above Alex. Distant thunder accompanied the continued shouts and stomp of troops through the city streets.
The tapping increased in both tempo and speed. Water dripped on Alex’s face. Shaking it off, he gazed into a sky that had darkened to near black in a matter of minutes. Angry clouds boiled in fury above him, marching across the city. Soon thick blades of rain fell upon them as if a giant armory had been opened in heaven. The solder guarding Alex ducked beneath the tree alongside him. He drew the edges of his coat together and held down his hat, sharing a wary gaze with Alex, as the torrent of wind and water increased.
The fierce gusts grew and grew until Alex could no longer keep his eyes open. Tucking his head between his upraised knees, the realization struck him that his prayer had been answered. Awe swept through him while at the same time the wind threatened to carry him away. Lightning crackled the air around him, painting his eyelids silver and buzzing over his skin. He smelled the electricity and something else—burnt flesh. Not his. At least he hoped not. Thunder pounded. The ground shook as if God Himself walked through the capital of America.
Screams and shouts assailed Alex, but still he could not open his eyes. In fact, he could barely move. The wind tore at his coat, at his breeches. The ropes on his hands loosened. He felt rather than saw large objects flinging through the air around him. Something struck his tree. The trunk trembled against Alex’s back.
Still the wind howled. Rain pelted him like the sharp tips of a cat-o-nine tails. The massive truck of the tree groaned and began to sway. The wind lifted Alex off the ground. The ropes around his waist tightened until he felt they would cut him in two. If they broke or if the tree fell, Alex knew he would surely die.
CHAPTER 30
The tiny house shook beneath a blast of wind. Rose peered once again out the window to see pieces of wood, buckets, and sand flying through the air. Soldiers, bent at the waist, struggled to walk, bracing their shoulders to the wind. Some crawled over the ground like spiders.
A storm! Just like she had prayed for. Above her, an eerie crack sounded. A plank loosened from the roof and flapped up and down, banging out a warning. It flew away and wind tore through the parlor.
Rose should get below. Making her way to the back room, she lowered herself into the cellar and replaced the trapdoor.
Thunder cracked and roared and fumed. What little light that drifted down into the cellar instantly blackened. Torrents of rain fell from the sky as if the very gates of heaven had been flung open to release God’s wrath. Backing into the shadows, Rose gazed upward, waiting for the floor to cave in. Thunder growled again. Louder and louder it grew, as if a million-man army galloped toward her.
Turning, Rose groped her way through the darkness and dove behind a stack of crates. Hugging herself, she trembled and prayed. Something massive struck the house. Rose screamed. The walls shook.
Raindrops that surely were as thick as hail struck the house from every direction. Eerie sounds like a thousand voices screaming and the crash of mighty waves whipped the small building. Rose couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. All she could do was huddle in the darkness and pray.
WHAM! An ominous crash blasted over Rose’s ears. The trapdoor flew open. It slammed shut. Then it opened again. Over and over, it opened and shut like a giant mouth that dared to scold the storm for disturbing its rest. Air whipped into the cellar, spinning in a chaotic whirlwind. The crates in front of Rose performed a deranged dance. Potatoes and apples flew through the air. One struck the back of her neck. Pain shot into her head.
The door slammed shut, and something heavy landed on it, silencing it.
Rose’s ears grew numb to the deafening sounds around her.
Minutes that seemed like hours went by.
Finally the winds abated. The rain lessened and the thunder retreated.
Light peered through the cracks in the trapdoor as if seeking survivors. Water dripped around its edges.
Still trying to calm her thrashing heart, Rose stood on shaky legs, and made her way up the ladder. The trapdoor wouldn’t budge. She had to get out of here. She had to find Alex. Groaning, she hefted her back against it and pushed with all her might. Finally the wooden slab moved, and she shoved it aside. Closing hers eyes against the light, she ascended one more rung of the ladder. A gust of wind and rain slapped her face.
Which meant the house was no longer standing. Preparing herself for the inevitable scene, she opened her eyes. Nothing but shards of wood and broken glass remained of the structure that had sheltered her. Or of the buildings beside it or the ones across the street. A cannon sat where the foyer had once been—a testament to the power of the wind. The red coats of slain soldiers dotted the gray landscape. In the distance, the setting sun cast an orange glow over the round dome of the Capitol and the sidewalls of the president’s mansion. Both still standing. Other than that, nothing but complete devastation met Rose’s eyes, as if the city had been blasted with enemy cannons for days. But this was no enemy.
This was the hand of Almighty God.
Alex opened his eyes to a sight that he had never expected to see and one that would be forever imprinted in his mind. Scattered across what was left of Washington were the red and blue coats of slain soldiers, dead horses, pigs, and the towering remnants of government buildings that had not fully succumbed to the fiery flames.
He raised his hand to find ropes no longer binding them, then tugged at those around his waist. After a few short pulls, they too fell to the ground. He stood, wobbled beneath a wave of dizziness, then leaned a hand on the tree for support. The hickory tree. He studied the trunk, nearly stripped of its bark. “Thank you, my friend.” He patted it. For if he had not been tied to it, he would have surely been swept away with the other men. What he had thought had been a prison, God had used to save his life. Thank You, Father.
A bird flew overhead, and somewhere a horse neighed. Drums beat a march of retreat in the distance. The British were leaving. Alex scanned the devastation again. Most of the homes and buildings were flattened or gone. Rose. His heart shriveled. Oh my sweet Rose. Alex barreled down the hill, weaving his way through debris and death with one purpose in mind. He must find her.
Amid praises to God for her deliverance and gasps in horror at the death and desolation around her, Rose made her way toward the Capitol. Her feet ached and bled, but it didn’t matter now. She must find Alex. “Oh God,” she cried, forcing back thoughts that he was a prisoner of the British—or worse, dead. “Please help me find him.”
Yes, Rose finally believed God loved her. She could still feel His presence all around her. And bad circumstances didn’t mean she would lose His love. She drew in a deep breath. If Alex had not survived, she would still not give up on God. She now believed that God had a plan, and she must trust Him no matter what. She only prayed His plan involved Alex being alive and well.
Halting, she wiped her moist face then held up her arm to shield the sun while she glanced over the broken city. Her eyes locked on a figure moving toward her in the distance. It blurred beneath the steam rising from the puddles. Friend or foe? She swallowed and continued, but made her way toward a broken wall to her right—a place she could hide behind should the person turn out to be her enemy.
Yet there was something about the man, the lift of his shoulders, his confident stride that kept Rose’s eyes on him. A dark blue navy coat formed out of the dull gray around him. British navy. Alex? Rose shook her head. What were the chances? She’d better hide. Yet when she tried to move her feet they wouldn’t budge. An invisible band seemed to have been strung between her and the mysterious man, keeping her in place.
Still he continued marching toward her. Dark hair the color of cocoa blew against his collar.
Her heart jumped.
He stopped. “Rose!” That marvelous deep British lilt released her feet from bondage, and clutching her oversized pants by the belt, she dashed toward him, ignoring the pain spiking up her legs. “Alex!”
He ran to greet her. Rose flew into his arms, laughing and sobbing all at the same time. He flung her around, showering her with kisses, then lowered her to her feet and held her face in his warm hands. “Thank God.”
Rose took his hands and kissed them, smiling up at him. “I love you, Alex.”
His arms swallowed her up again, and he lowered his lips to hers. “I love you so much, Rose.” He kissed her, at first gently caressing her lips, before claiming her mouth as his own.
Rose forgot about the war, forgot about the destruction, the death, just for one glorious moment. All that mattered was Alex. And that he was alive. And that he loved her.
Releasing her, Alex planted a kiss on her nose and drew back, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “Are you unharmed?”
Rose nodded. “You?”
He kissed her forehead then swung an arm over her shoulder and turned to survey the city.
“What now, Alex?” Rose asked.
“Let’s go home.”
Five hours later, Alex halted the horse at the edge of the Drummond farm. Rose leaned back against his chest and drew in a deep breath. She’d never remembered such a beautiful sight. Coated in moonlight, the fields, the barn, and the house glinted in sparkled silver as if the place had been dropped on earth from a better world somewhere far away.
“Home at last.” Alex’s warm breath eased down her neck.
It had been a long journey. And the longest two days of her life. If not for the incessant ringing in her ears, Rose would have thought she’d only imagined the storm that had set them free.
Had set her nation’s capital free.
But visions of death and destruction kept popping unbidden in her mind.
After finding a pair of mismatched shoes along the side of the road for Rose, Alex had led her through the vacated streets of Washington in search of some means by which to travel home. Averting her eyes from the death around her, Rose had kept her gaze on Alex’s back and her thoughts on God. Finally, they found three fully saddled and harnessed horses grazing in an open field across from the Capitol. No doubt spooked by the storm, the animals must have returned to the city only to find their masters gone. Alex managed to catch one, while the other two galloped away.
They passed the first few hours of their journey in silence, too numb, too in awe, to speak. But eventually Alex began singing an old church hymn, and Rose joined him. They spent the next hours thanking God for sparing them and for bringing them together. A few somber moments passed when they spoke of Mr. Snyder’s tragic death. Neither of them had wished the councilman any harm. The man had simply chosen the wrong path.
Just like all choices in life. One path led to greater light while the other led deeper into darkness.
During the last hour of the journey, Rose had leaned back against Alex’s chest and thought about the paths God had laid before them. Daniel had been right. She and Alex each had something important to do. God had used them mightily—had used her mightily. Rose found the feeling both overwhelming and humbling.
“I wonder if God would have sent the storm without our prayers,” Alex said as if reading her thoughts. “It baffles me that the Almighty needs the petitions of mere man to do anything.”
Rose gazed at the light spilling from the parlor window of her home. No doubt her aunt and uncle were awake worrying about her. “Uncle Forbes says that our prayers are powerful and effective and rise like incense before the throne of God.” She stretched her legs and winced at the ache that spread through them from riding so long. “The prayers of God’s people have stopped rain from falling, closed the mouths of lions, and raised the dead. Though I don’t suppose God needs our prayers, I do believe He uses them to do His will.”
The horse snorted and pa
wed the dirt, and Alex gripped the reins. “I am in awe that He used someone like me to help save this great nation.”
“And me as well, little terrified me.” She laughed. “Yet now without my fear, I feel God’s gentle nudge to help women who had suffered as I have—to help them past the shame and let them know God loves them.”
Alex wrapped her arms around her. “I’m so proud of you.”
Rose stared at the farm she’d grown to love. “I wonder what else God has for us to do?”
Alex nudged the horse forward. “Let’s go find out.”
Sliding from the horse, Alex tied the reins to the post and turned to reach up for Rose, but she had already dismounted. Dragging her oversized trousers in the mud, she limped past him. With her mismatched shoes clomping a discordant tune over the ground, her red coat hanging nearly to her knees and her golden tresses brushing against her waist like silken threads, she was, by far, the most adorable foot soldier he’d ever seen.
They mounted the steps to the front porch, and Alex swept open the door.
“Rose!” Mrs. Drummond flew toward her and swallowed her up in her arms. Amelia emerged from the parlor, her face pale, and dashed toward Rose’s other side.
“Dear, where have you been? Your uncle and I have been so worried.” Mrs. Drummond glanced over Rose’s attire and her brow furrowed. “My goodness, what, pray tell, are you wearing?”
Mr. Drummond appeared behind them, hands folded over his portly belly and a knowing smile on his lips. “Perhaps she joined the British army, dearest.” He winked at Alex.
Amelia giggled, and Mrs. Drummond swung a stern gaze his way. “Oh you do enjoy teasing me, Forbes.” She faced Alex. “And you, sir. A British naval uniform? Has the world gone mad?”
Alex opened his mouth to respond, but Mrs. Drummond continued her frantic speech. “We only just arrived home last evening, but the storm kept us from searching for you.”
Surrender the Night Page 34