Naked in the Winter Wind

by Dani Haviland

  “I don’t doubt that a bit,” I said. “And Sarah, don’t even think about suggesting that it was just gas. She’s a lady and knows a gentleman when she sees one.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” she said. She looked over Wallace’s arm. “She’s quite content, I’d say, even if she is a bit of a flirt already.”

  “Watch what you say about my daughter now, Sarah. She’s jest verra polite, that’s all,” said Wallace.

  “Aye, and she’ll probably have more than her hands full with two brothers her own age,” I said, using the same accent that Wallace had unknowingly used. “Jody, would you honor us with being the godfather for Leonardo, and Julian, would you be Judah’s?”

  Jody and Julian looked at each other with mirrored smiles. “Sharin’ the fatherly duties again, are we Julian?”

  “Aye, and glad of it,” mocked Julian in a good-natured imitation of Jody’s voice. “Now just make sure you get the right one, Jody.”

  “Leonardo with the left cowlick, that’s easy enough to remember. The boys are mirror images of each other. I’ll wager one is cack-handed, most likely this one since he’s mine,” said Jody. “Not that there is anythin’ wrong with bein’ right-handed. I’m sure both will be bonnie fighters, either way.”

  “Let’s not talk about fighters or fighting, please,” I said. “How about if we claim that they’ll both become bright artists, inventors, or leaders like Leonardo da Vinci and Judah?”

  “We can claim that, too, for Danielle,” said Wallace. “You see, there are two women who I have grown close to in the last six months who have shown me that a woman can do just about anything a man can do and,” he used Danielle to point to her brothers being held by their godfathers, “a few things that men cannot.”

  “Aye, Lord, we ask Yer blessin’s on these three young bairns; please protect them and their parents in health and happiness; give all of them Yer wisdom and guide them in Yer ways; and please Lord God, grant us all peace. Amen.”

  “Well said, and thank you, Jody. Now, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll grab a nap while the babies are asleep.” And with that pronouncement, I threw a blanket over the chaise, lay on my side, and fell into a deep sleep.

  ***43 Life was nice and boring

  Life was nice and boring. Fighting in the area had headed south. That meant Julian would be able to take a long leave—or maybe even retire—from his intelligence gathering, and return to the ranch and his life with José. I knew they were in love, but I also knew they had each led a bachelor’s lifestyle before their partnership.

  “The separation is good for us,” Julian confided in me.

  “Yes, and the hellos and good-byes are nice too,” I said, blushing. Once again, I had spoken before thinking with the 18th century side of my brain.

  He gave a half-smile, shrugged one shoulder, and held up the spindle he had been carving for the babies’ playpen. He had avoided a verbal reply, but as always, was being honest with his body language.

  He set the wooden piece on top of the others in the recycled quilt tote I had crafted. “There you go,” he said, referring to the pile of at least four dozen bark-stripped and smoothed two-foot-long saplings. “You should have enough of these now.”

  After a long silence, he said, “I’ll be leaving in the morning,” He turned the knife over a few times then set it down. “Remember how we met?” he asked.

  I put baby Leo down on the bed with his siblings, grabbed a kitchen chair, and sat down in front of him. I took a deep breath, blew it out, and said, “Boy, howdy.”

  I looked over at him, and saw his pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows that meant, ‘Huh?’

  “Very much so,” I said. “And you stood on your word and stayed. I’m kind of glad we never found out what happened. I’d hate for you to leave me, us.” I tucked my chin down and lowered my eyelids. I didn’t want to see his reaction, nor did I want him to see the sadness in mine.

  “Oh, Evie,” he said, and grabbed my hand. “I don’t think I could ever ‘leave’ you. You are a part of my life, my son’s life, and have given so much to all of us. Sarah, Jody, Wallace, José, me, and now the babies—we’re all family because of you. Not even a war can break us apart.”

  I looked up to see his face and saw that Jody was standing behind him now. It was unsettling, still, that the big man was so quiet, and could just pop in without being heard or sensed. Then again, I’m sure that ability had saved his life, or at least spared him a thrashing, more than once.

  Jody hadn’t said a word, but Julian saw me look up, and turned around to see his friend, looming tall behind him. Jody realized that he was towering over us, so pulled up a kitchen chair and sat down. “There’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to share with the two of ye, but weel, I never seemed to remember it at the right time. It may never be the right time, so I’ll jest spit it out. I dinna mean it, but ‘I’ might be the reason ye and Wally were kidnapped.”

  I don’t know if Julian’s eyes had popped open as big as mine because I didn’t have a mirror. But mine sure felt huge, and I knew his were. Jody looked from Julian to me and back again. “I dinna do it on purpose! I jest mentioned I was lookin’ out fer two friends. I gave yer descriptions to the men at the blacksmith’s shop and I, weel, I happened to mention that I’d give anythin’ to see that the two of ye stayed safe and werena hurt in the conflict. I dinna mean fer anyone to go out and steal ye!”

  The tension was as thick as four-day-old pea soup. It was too much for me, so I started giggling. I kept it up until I was in full-blown belly laugh mode, snorting and gasping for air. The two of them just stared at me until Julian finally asked, “What’s so damned funny?”

  It had started out as a nervous giggle, but had grown into a big, hooting, roaring laugh because all I could think about was, ‘how am I going to explain this laughing?’ I settled down and said a quick prayer for inspiration as I caught my breath.

  And then it came to me.

  “It was divine intervention,” I said with confidence. “What Jody had said as an innocent remark was misinterpreted by three simple men who, well, you remember them. They weren’t capable of an intelligent plan, and never even asked about a reward. But you and Wallace are alive and well because of it. Right?”

  Julian sucked in his cheeks as he recalled the kidnappers. I could see that he was now confused about the incident—the lack of hostility in the men who had stuffed him and his stepson into the sacks, and the strange fact that the odd trio had simply disappeared after I had come in and released their hostages, never to be seen or heard from again.

  Julian looked over at Jody and asked, “And you never gave them anything for ‘saving’ us?”

  “I dinna ever ken who did it!” Jody said, his eyes wide and backbone straight, indignant at the suggestion. “If ye recall, I wasna even around. It was Evie here who rescued ye, and I dinna even ken who she was at the time.” He changed his focus to me, and Julian’s eyes followed his. “If there was any divine intervention, I’d say it was Evie here who was the angel.”

  “Who…whoa...what? Me? ME! I’m about as mortal as they come!”

  “Weel, I dinna ken if ye were brought here by divine intervention or nae, but ye did fall from the sky, so to say, and ye did jest happen to have a lot of bairns all at once without any problems…”

  “Maybe I didn’t have any problems, but the pains were real—whether I was yelling or not. And remember, I did bleed, and it’s milk that comes out of these boobs, not manna,” I said and pulled the neckline of my blouse down an inch, sticking my chest out in a bold, defiant gesture.

  I heard a woman gasp and looked up. Sarah and Wallace were in the doorway. I didn’t know how long they had been there, but probably long enough to get the gist of the conversation. I didn’t know if I should have been embarrassed about my final words, but I wasn’t. Either way, I wasn’t going to apologize to anyone.

  I heard a baby mew, but waited to see if he’d go back to sleep. It was Judah starting
to rouse; he’d slept through the last feeding. Julian got up to get him. Jody started to say something to him—he was probably going to admonish him to let the baby cry a bit more before picking him up—but Julian continued. He rewrapped him in his little blanket, chatting to him the whole time, and then brought him over, cuddling him close one more time before handing him to me.

  “You’re a blessing, Evie. There isn’t a ‘nothing more than, nothing less than’ when speaking of a blessing. And I thank the Lord that you are in my life.”

  I took my now wide-awake, screaming little boy from him. Julian patted my head as I started to feed my son.

  “Thanks, I love you too, Julian,” I said as the baby latched on. A tear rolled down my cheek, and it wasn’t from the powerful suckling. I was that happy with my family.

  ***44 The Fifth Fourth

  July 4, 1781

  Today was a day of celebration for many of us, and just another summer day for the Tories and Loyalists. Independence Day number five was an affirmation and show of unity for all of us who had kept the faith and persevered, and who were still striving to win the conflict with England. Tonight, all up and down the eastern seaboard and in all thirteen colonies, American patriots would observe the fifth anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence with parties, drinking, banners, and bragging. There would be cannons blasting, guns saluting, and rockets painting the night sky with festive fire, acknowledging our gratefulness to God, our soldiers, and the Continental Congress for working together toward our deliverance from English tyranny.

  We were still at war, but I knew beyond a hiccup of a doubt that we would win this. My faith was contagious to others, too. Jody was aware of the outcome before I showed up because of Sarah and her knowledge of English and American ‘history,’ but he was absolutely passionate about our new form of government, as if he had discovered it himself.

  I felt privileged to be able to observe his finesse in promoting the push for our new country’s independence. He was easily wound up, and preached whenever he saw an opportunity. He knew how to use his size, bearing, and voice to great advantage. He would start low, just a comment or an aside, to someone in town. “Better a free mouse than a slaved cat,” he was fond of saying.

  The crowd would grow as people curious about the tall red-haired man would stop, watch him gesticulate with those long arms and broad hands, and listen to his booming voice hawk the merits of self-rule. The crescendo moved into an awesome finale, a passionate speech, sweeping all within earshot of him into a roaring fever of patriotism and hope. Then, to make sure they understood the concept, he would give his short comprehensive summary of what we were fighting for.

  “We will make this a great country. We will have the right to say how we govern ourselves; we will elect our own people to enact the laws, interpret the laws, and enforce the laws. This will be the greatest nation on earth: one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all!”

  His powerful speeches and the boldness of Angus and other printers to publish booklets and broadsheets to spread the word even further enabled the masses to understand how great our potential was. There were other great speakers around, and I’m sure glad they were all Americans. The Loyalists evidently didn’t feel as if they had to support or prove their side of the conflict. I guess the fine art of political debate would have to wait a few generations until broader venues were available.

  Not all of the well-spoken American patriots made it, or will make it, through this war, though. “I regret that I have but one life to give for my country,” were powerful words spoken by a very young 21-year-old, Nathan Hale, just before he was executed by the British in 1776. These words helped inspire the fight for a new nation. Jody’s words may not be remembered 230 years into the future, but he didn’t—oh, my God, I hope he doesn’t—die a martyr.

  Maybe the pen is mightier than the sword. If Hale’s affirmation and the words of others had never been written down and shared within this fledgling nation, would we have been as brave and fearless? Young America was certainly underpowered as far as weapons, money, and a navy were concerned. Yes, the American spirit, shared in voice and spread in ink, was definitely what won—will win—the war for independence.

  I couldn’t—wouldn’t—live in fear for my life or the lives of my family. Our future Constitution and Bill of Rights would be to protect us from fear. But today, right here, right now, lingering Loyalist factions were still pressing their interests, both personal and respective to the Crown, into our lives.

  Word came through the usual local news network—paranoid gossip with a smattering of fact thrown in—that a motley crew of disgruntled Loyalists was roaming the area, collecting taxes without regard to who the property owners were or their delinquency status. As far as we knew, the ‘maybe they were, maybe they weren’t British soldiers’ had no valid basis for the tax they were collecting. These bandits were working solely by intimidation. If the landowner couldn’t pay hard cash, they would take anything of value they could put their hands on. If the landowner refused, bloodshed ensued. There was a term for this course of action in my time: extortion.

  We had heard the rumors and were cautious, and never left our little homestead unattended. Today Wallace was the sentinel, staying home with me and the babies.

  Jody and Sarah had gone into the little big town of Gibsonville for the latest news, salt, and a few other staples. Sarah had insisted on bringing the wagon, hoping that they would be able to bring home some of those flat stones that were down by the creek. I guessed what she wanted were what I called flagstones.

  “I want a solid floor, Jody, and one without splinters, one that I can cover with rugs in the winter and have cool to my feet in the summer. Nothing can stay clean with this hard-packed earth as a floor. Pretty soon the babies will be crawling, and we don’t want them scooting around on this, do we?”

  She had a good argument, and he knew it. Julian said that José had more rugs than they could use at their house. Evidently his mother, Señora Rojas, had been quite the collector. José, although he probably would have given them to us just to be rid of them, was glad that he could offer them as gifts for the babies. He had only seen the wee’uns once, when he had come to bring Julian back to the ranch the week after they were born, and had fallen in love with them at first sight.

  “Tres, um, three? At the same time?” he asked.

  José had taken to heart my suggestion and was speaking English as much as possible. He looked at the petite crew, sleeping in one heap on the middle of Sarah and Jody’s bed. I had only made two little baskets for use as bassinets when I was pregnant—not knowing I would need three—but they slept better when snuggled up together and fussed when separated. I guessed they had lived in close quarters for eight months and weren’t quite ready to be apart.

  Julian had just about completed their new bed. “Wally, can you finish this for me? I thought I’d be done by now, but I didn’t plan on, ahem, doing other things,” he carped, then grinned. Julian had been roped into doing all of the cooking. Sarah’s hands were still tender, and I was always busy tending to the input or output of the babies.

  “I’ll be glad to cook, Julian,” I teased. “You just come over here and whip out your boob and feed these little guys.” He glared at me and went back to cracking eggs for our dinner omelet. His eggs were always good, too. Why did men always make the best omelets? Maybe it was because that was the only dish they ever cooked. Practice makes perfect and all that, you know.

  So, Julian was back with José, and Sarah and Jody were out harvesting river rock flooring, possibly until tomorrow. Wallace and I had time to ourselves. Well, sort of—we still had the babies to tend to. I took out the little Bible. “Is it okay if I get a head start on finishing the birth records? I…well, I want to give them their last names now, if it’s okay with you. You see, in my time, a baby can be given any last name, not just the mother’s or father’s surname. You might think I’m a bit twisted
, but I think it would be kind of cute if they had your last name before I did.”

  “I would be honored to give them my name,” he said proudly. He sighed then added, almost apologetically, “The way the country is now; it’s only the name of Urquhart I can give them. I think I have forfeited my title and the Falls Church estate as a result of changing allegiances. It looks as if we will all be wearing homespun for a long time.”

  I looked up to see if I could read anything in his face after his last soft-spoken remark. I could. The love he was radiating was undeniable. He saw the insecure look in my eyes and said, “A small price to pay for a bit of heaven on earth, I say. Even without the babies, you alone are worth it.”

  “Wow, um, thank you.” I put down the mini Bible and reached up, clasping my arms around his neck, to give him a smooch worthy of Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in ‘From Here to Eternity.’ I composed myself after the kiss, but couldn’t manage—and really didn’t want—to get rid of my huge grin of satisfaction. “I’d better be careful; if I don’t stop smiling so big, my face will freeze like this forever.”

  “That would be fine by me. I like seeing you happy. Now let me see that Bible.”

  A card fell out as I handed it to him: a business card. I hadn’t seen it when I put the babies’ birth date in the book; it must have been stuck between the pages. He picked it up and glanced at it, then stared at it, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Where did you get this?” he asked coolly.

  “I don’t know. It’s new to me, which really isn’t saying much. Here, let me see.”

  He let me take it, but didn’t move his hand to offer it to me. He was shocked—at it or something on it.