by Betty Bolte
"We'll not detain you for long. I only want to taste a young lady one more time before I board one of those ships for England," the first soldier said, leaning closer to Emily and laying a hand on her arm to restrain her. "You're such a pretty little blonde, too." He snatched the lace-trimmed bonnet from her head.
She gritted her teeth when he mauled her mother's delicate bonnet. "That's mine!" Emily grasped at it, clutching air until finally finding purchase on the hat, and pulled it from his smudged fingers. With shaking hands, she straightened the lace-edged brim as the man chortled at her predicament. She inhaled to calm her roiling stomach. "Gentlemen, please."
Seething, she inspected her hat. At a minimum, he fouled it by his touch. Bad enough the town ran thick with thousands of enemy soldiers without having to deal with these animals. Her hands trembled, but she steeled herself to face the loathsome men. She relied upon what little decency they may possess to help Emily and her friend out of this precarious situation. "Young ladies, as you say, prize their virtue and thus do not share kisses with strangers. If you'll step aside, we'll continue on our way home."
The second soldier yanked the bonnet from her hands and lifted it to his nose, inhaling deeply. "Love the smell of a fine woman."
The man rubbed her bonnet on his face, inhaling deeply each time it swiped across his nose. A dark smudge appeared where he'd wiped his grimy face on the lightweight fabric. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Suddenly footsteps echoed behind her, but she dared not tear her eyes from her assailants to turn to see who approached. Might it be yet another foul British soldier attacking from the rear? The apprehension pounding in her ears along with her pulse prodded her into action. She refused to believe anyone would take advantage of her, not in her own town on the eve of independence.
If Samantha could defend herself, then so could Emily. Gripping the strings of her purse tightly, she swung it in a large arc at the closest soldier, hitting him on the elbow with a loud crack. Good, the tin of snuff she'd purchased for her father had earned its worth this day.
"Gramercy, woman, watch what you do there." The soldier rubbed the injured joint, scowling. "I just wanted a little kiss or two. No need to get angry."
"Let us pass unharmed like gentlemen should or I'll hit you again." Breathing hard, she pulled back to deliver another blow when a hand gripped her upper arm and stayed her movement. The heat from the gloved hand seared her where it lay.
"I'll thank you to leave the ladies alone, gentlemen. And I use that word loosely." The deep, familiar voice sounded above her head, sparking nearly dead embers of feeling in her core.
She knew that voice. She heard it in her dreams on too many nights and had dreaded hearing it again in person. Its timbre reverberated against her chest, a physical caress as he stepped behind her close enough his heat warmed her back. Relief mixed with despair as a jolt of recognition flowed into her body, tempting her to lean against his powerful frame.
Emily glanced over her shoulder at the tall blond. Light from the open printing shop door pooled onto the ground behind him. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him standing behind her. Her lips parted, remembering his touch, a fleeting touch that had started a feeling like a bubbling creek in her veins, a longing in her heart and inner core she did not fully comprehend.
Frank.
Here.
She snapped her mouth closed, afraid she might reveal too much of the intense physical response she experienced when he touched her. She braced herself against the onslaught of emotions he stirred within her, attempting a frown to show her displeasure. But...
His dove-gray eyes enthralled her. She could lose herself in their tantalizing depths. When he winked at her, her breath hitched. She broke eye contact and turned to face forward.
"I believe you have something of the lady's." Frank held out a hand to the soldier, snapping his fingers as he silently demanded the garment. His steady gaze made the soldier shove the bonnet toward Frank before hastily stepping back several yards, well out of range of any physical response. Emily grimaced. Did everyone jump when he snapped his fingers? He may be surprised when she did not.
Frank handed the bonnet to her with a grim expression and a nod. Although still heavenly to look at, with lush, sandy-blond hair, chiseled jaw, and steely gray eyes, now a hardness surrounded those eyes, his firm mouth. He seemed taller, broader, more capable than nine months earlier, before he left town after his swift marriage to Elizabeth.
She folded the offending garment and glared at the circle of men dwarfing her. Why must he show up now? After all this time away from home. Her heart skipped a beat, then restarted wildly with a crazy mix of joy and resentment. Where had he been when her home life fell apart?
Still, at least for right now, he was here, protecting her from these buffoons. And her father's subsequent anger, should aught go awry. She'd sacrifice her pride this time. She sidled behind him, placing his bulk between her and the aggressors.
The major assessed Frank's height and size, his look changing from antagonistic to resigned when he noted the insignia on his uniform.
"What right do you have to interfere?" the first soldier asked Frank, seeing the change in the major's demeanor. "We were here first."
"Lieutenant Colonel Nisbet Balfour himself requested my presence. And this lady's father is my father-in-law, who charged me with ensuring the ladies' safe passage."
Frank knew the hated colonel? The very man who had personally succeeded, through his intolerant and hateful attitude, in alienating many of the surreptitious patriots in Charles Town. They were forced to sign a fealty oath to King George or be run out of town. On top of that, Frank admitted he had already talked with her father. She had wanted more time before Frank returned. Time to face her father's unrealistic dreams for her. Time to take the steps necessary to open her own shop and determine how she would proceed with her plans. If she were to be truly independent, then she must insist on being treated as such. Frank's officious behavior stroked her irritation.
"We'll see about that," the soldier said, surging forward and aiming his rifle at Frank.
Emily gasped, gripping Frank's cloak involuntarily. He set her from him then stepped forward, drawing the man's attention and the path of his aim away from her. Frank braced his feet as he faced the frustrated soldier. "Be sensible, man."
Trembles rocked her to the core at the tableau playing out before her. Motion slowed to a crawl as she attempted to make sense of the scene. Her breath caught in her throat as the seriousness of the situation sank into her rattled brain.
The man stalked toward Frank, his finger on the trigger of the weapon. Huge paws hung at the end of the soldier's muscular arms. Thick fingers curled around the dark wood stock and supported the long metal barrel. Stubble shadowed his jaw and surrounded his yellow smile. The rifle aimed at Frank's abdomen. "I'll have what I came for and you cannot stop me."
At this close range, even if he tried, he couldn't miss. She fixed her eyes on Frank, saw when his eyes turned to mirrors, focused on settling the challenge. He appeared capable of killing her assailant then and there. Cold fear lodged in her chest. Frank came home, only to be shot? Over a bonnet? No. She wouldn't allow it. She made to take a step to intervene, stop the madness, but Samantha grabbed her arm with a fierce grip all while shaking her head. Emily tried to ignore her, but her friend held fast.
"I believe the lady has a say in the matter." Frank whipped a pistol from some hidden place, cocked the hammer with a deadly click, and leveled it at the man. "I'd think again about your intentions, sir."
Emily tugged on Samantha's hold. "Frank, no!"
Frank locked eyes with his opponent, his thumb ready to release the lethal ball. His eyes narrowed, intent and deadly.
"Stand down, soldier," the major cut in. "This has gone far enough. Next thing you'll be challenging him to a bloody duel over nothing more than a thwarted buss."
"Put your gun away," Frank said to the soldier, "or face charges of assa
ulting an officer."
The soldier reluctantly cradled his gun, glaring at Frank.
"Are you Captain Thomson, by chance?" the major asked, scrutinizing him.
"Yes, sir," Frank said slowly. He lowered his pistol, keeping it handy.
"Colonel Balfour mentioned you were to arrive to take over the printing press and the broadside." The major considered Frank and the lethal weapon, his internal debate evident in his expression. "But your point is well-taken. This is neither the place nor the time." He turned to address the soldiers. "All right, men, return to your duties."
"But sir—" The man's voice held a barely concealed whine.
"You heard him. Move along now." Frank replaced his pistol, though he did not relax his demeanor. Might they be safe and allowed to continue, or would there be some retaliation? Emily would fight, at least verbally, for Frank if she must. Her actions had incited this predicament, so she felt compelled to help resolve it. Fortunately, the officer quelled the whiner's eagerness with a severe look before tipping his hat to Emily and Samantha.
"Ladies, my apologies," the officer said slowly. "You may be on your way."
"Thank you for your assistance." Frank studied the officer as the disgruntled soldiers stalked away. Still he stood ready to defend himself if called upon to do so.
"One moment, sir." Samantha's eyes flashed as she gripped the basket handles. Fury simmered beneath her words. "What? No reprimand for your men?"
"Ladies." The officer smirked at her questions, then followed the two soldiers down the street.
Taking a deep breath, Emily faced Frank.
Frank's dark gray eyes turned stormy, his hands on his hips as he studied her.
"Pray tell what you two are doing on the street alone?"
* * *
The next morning, Emily endured Frank escorting her to the sewing circle, acquiescing to her father's outraged insistence. He argued with her about the necessity of her attending, and she'd finally convinced him to permit her to go, but only if Frank walked with her to prevent any further attempts on her virtue and welfare. They stopped to pick up Samantha from her home on the way which made the walk bearable.
Emily paused at the edge of the street and scanned the facade of Aunt Lucille's three-story brick house, shading her eyes from the sun. The lovely home stood in the middle of the block, with its courtyard of flowers and bushes below the upper piazzas. Two of her father's Negroes, Richard and Solomon, had lugged the necessary equipment and supplies from home to her aunt's house on Meeting Street, a double dwelling similar to the Sullivan home overlooking the wharfs and harbor on Bay Street. Fortunately the men were among the few who did not take the chance when tempted with freedom as long as they fought for the British. Although liberation from slavery lured many blacks into the battle, rumors abounded that the slaves who did so ended up slaves elsewhere afterward. Thus many blacks stayed with the families they knew rather than trade for a worse situation. Richard and Solomon were like kind uncles to Emily, both having lived with the Sullivans her entire life.
Emily and Samantha, along with a brooding Frank, entered through the street door to the first-floor porch. The young men's strength had apparently made quick work of the assembly of the loom. Emily greeted her personal slave, Jasmine. She had tasked the young black woman with carrying the spindles of flax thread used to weave the cloth and also in directing Richard and Solomon in their chore. Now the loom stood ready for Emily to take her seat and start the shuttle flying back and forth to weave the linen fabric. The men's immediate labor completed, they retired to the cooking kitchen to "assist" the women with preparing the midafternoon lunch for the ladies, while Jasmine helped with the sewing. The sound of the black women singing as they worked in the kitchen behind the house complemented the whir and chatter in the parlor.
Emily settled on the small seat of the loom, and placed her feet on the treadles, pressing them in a steady rhythm. She sent the shuttle's smooth wood sliding easily between the vertical threads, weaving the flax into cloth. With each toss of the shuttle, left, then right, then left, Emily thought of her three brothers and the other men still fighting. Small skirmishes continued to erupt whenever the militia happened upon scavenging British troops confiscating whatever provisions they deemed necessary from the surrounding plantations and homes.
"I imagine Frank's temper showed after you and Samantha behaved so boldly yesterday." Amy paused in her passage across the room to stand beside Emily. Cousin Amy's dark copper tresses cascaded down her back, catching the firelight, while her emerald eyes sparkled with mirth above porcelain cheeks.
Whirring spinning wheels hummed a tune as background to the conversations in the large upstairs parlor of Aunt Lucille's home. The requisite fire kept the cool October air at bay. Emily passed the shuttle to and fro, glancing over to where Samantha now sat by the cozy fire stitching a sleeve onto a shirt. The room overflowed with women, white and black, free and slaves, working together to provide warm, sturdy clothing to the men fighting to defend their independence from King George III.
Emily paused in the act of throwing the flying shuttle and pumping the treadles to pat her kerchief across her damp brow. She grinned at the memory of Frank's dark scowl as he hustled them down the street the night before. "A tad, but he soon recovered, I daresay. His displeasure spoiled his handsome face when he realized Samantha and I had walked together through town." More like outraged, but he had contained his ire with her. "He's gone to McCrady's Tavern to meet Father on some business or other."
"I'm pleased, Cousin, that you arrived safe." Amy hugged her briefly before stepping back to gauge her condition. "The British and loyalists are desperate enough to seek vengeance on anyone who crosses them."
Emily could only nod in silent acknowledgment. The chasm of fear that had opened within her when the soldiers accosted them would forever remain her secret. And when Frank had faced certain death, her heart nearly stopped beating. Those few minutes of uncertainty she and Samantha agreed to keep to themselves, given no good could arise from telling anyone about the men's inappropriate actions. It was bad enough her father had to be told. Frank's lecture all the way home had done nothing but vex her and spoil the evening.
Amy's mother, Lucille Abernathy, glided to join them, making a path through the organized chaos inherent with the sewing apparatuses and materials strewn about the large room. Her mud-brown day gown sported a flowered apron with two pockets filled with thread, needles and lace. Her gray-streaked black hair swept up to a bun with a white cap perched on top. The years of war had imprinted worry lines, radiating from the corners of her mouth in contrast to the sparkle of her eyes.
"It is dangerous for two young women to be alone in town, especially now," Aunt Lucille said. "You should have walked with Richard and Solomon from here to your house."
"I'm sure Father would agree with you." Emily surveyed the room, taking a few moments to stifle the annoyance bubbling within her. It all sounded so easy to rely upon some man being with her in order for her to do anything. But it rankled deep inside her soul to be forced to wait for a proper escort even though that was expected. Annoyance simmered within her at the prolonged war with the British, at being treated like a child when she was nearing twenty-five and headed for spinsterhood, and most of all for not knowing exactly when Frank would return so she could have avoided running into him at all. To learn he served as the new printer for the remaining months of the British occupation, and thus working next door to where she planned to rent a shop, made matters even more upsetting. "Next time, mayhap I will let them escort me."
"Next time Frank shall escort you, now that he's back in town. After all, Frank is a nice man, honest and fair." Aunt Lucille slipped her hands into her apron pockets. "And able to look after those he cares about."
"I suppose." She refused to think of Frank as more than her sister's husband—or widower now. He had chosen Elizabeth when a choice needed to be made. All for little Tommy's sake. Then why did her heart race
so at the thought of Frank being nearby again? She mentally shrugged away the question. Likely she experienced indigestion at his unwanted presence. Whether attracted to him—an absurdity—or not, she no longer desired to encourage relations with a man. Her own plans did not include marriage, no matter how handsome or smart the man might be. Not any longer.
Jasmine crossed the room and waited for Emily to acknowledge her. "Your tea is waiting downstairs as requested, miss."
After thanking Jasmine, Emily beamed at Amy. Time to reveal her plans to her confidantes. "Aunt Lucille kindly allowed me to arrange a private tea for us. I have a surprise I'd like to share with you and Samantha."
"Now?" Amy scanned the busy room, then pinned her gaze on Emily. "We have much to finish."
"I cannot wait any longer." Her determination wavered as she contemplated the enormous task before her, not only in terms of starting a business. The bigger challenge rested in gaining the acceptance by her community when she pushed the boundaries of propriety in such a bold manner. The next step after securing her father's assistance, of course, would be discussing her plans with her circle of friends, the ladies in this room. They had stood by her throughout Elizabeth's confinement, childbirth, illness, and then funeral. The patriotic women would also have the ability to smooth over the idea with their husbands and fathers. Before she did that, she needed to know her cousin and friend supported this most difficult decision.
"You've always liked a good mystery." Amy's eyes lit with curiosity as she followed Emily across the room. Upon Emily's invitation, Samantha quickly agreed to the clandestine tea party.
They adjourned to the downstairs library at the front of her aunt's house. The tall, shuttered windows protected the inhabitants both against the dust rising from the sandy street beyond and from prying British eyes. A wood fire crackled and hissed in the fireplace.
Emily poured chamomile tea into flowered cups and set the china pot down before gazing at Amy and Samantha, who waited for her to speak. What to say? She'd longed for the courage to broach this topic for a week, hesitating to reveal her innermost desires even to her closest confidantes for fear of their reaction. Lifting the porcelain cup to her mouth, she sipped, debating how best to share her news. On a sigh, she set the cup and saucer down.