by Angela Couch
“Why don’t you leave this until Joseph returns? Fannie insisted she come—she’s been beside herself since you took off to Oriskany to find Joseph and your Pa. Though I half wonder if she’s more concerned for Joseph’s sake than for your own.” He let out an empty chuckle, and took her arm. “She brought some fresh bread and—”
Rachel jerked away, stumbling back at what he was saying. “Fannie’s here? Where is she?”
A deep crease etched across his forehead. “She went to put the food in to the cabin. Honestly, I didn’t tell her I saw you coming into the grove. I wanted to…”
Rachel was already ducking under a branch and breaking into a full run. How would she explain a wounded British officer to Fannie Reid? Or her brother? The door to the cabin sat open, not impeding Rachel’s speed. She burst into the room, and then slid to a stop. Fannie stood by the fire, a pot on the hook, a spoon in hand. The bedroom appeared undisturbed.
“Rachel. Are you all right?”
She tried to answer, but had no air. Bracing against the back of a chair, she reclaimed her breath. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I couldn’t stay away not knowing. So please, tell me quickly. Is Joseph…?”
A shadow filled the door and stretched across the floor. “Fannie,” Daniel said, “James Garnet was killed. Ride home and tell Pa to come. Ma, too.”
The girl, one year Rachel’s junior and with the characteristic Reid chestnut hair and dark eyes, nodded. “But Joseph…?”
“Joseph’s fine.” Rachel straightened and allowed her friend to embrace her.
“Heaven be praised,” Fannie whispered. “Though it truly does pain me to hear about your Pa. I’ll fetch my parents straightway to help with the burying.” She laid a kiss to Rachel’s cheek and was gone.
Rachel sank into the chair, unable to keep her gaze from wandering to the bedroom door.
Perhaps the British officer had already expired.
“Did you wish to lay down for a while?” Daniel’s voice reminded her of his presence.
“No.” She fanned her face with her hand, suddenly too warm. No surprise after a mad dash across the yard in the heat of August with the air still heavy with the memory of yestermorn’s rain. “I need a moment alone, is all.” She glanced to him—to the disappointment, but understanding in his eyes. “Please.”
“Of course.” He backed out of cabin and closed the door.
Rachel jerked to her feet and hastened to the bedroom. The British officer remained exactly where she left him, his chest continuing its slow, shallow rhythm. Alive. Why did it matter so much when it shouldn’t?
~*~
“Rachel?” Fannie called from the doorway. “Joseph said to tell you they’re ready to begin.”
Rachel gathered her summer shawl and moved into the front yard where Abigail Reid and her oldest daughter waited. Thankfully, the younger three girls remained at home. She envied their youth and innocence. Both their parents were alive and well. They didn’t need to be dragged down by her reality.
Fannie said nothing as she placed her arm around Rachel’s shoulders.
The lifeless form of her father was wrapped in a woolen blanket and lowered into the grave Joseph and Benjamin Reid had dug.
Oh, Pa. He wouldn’t be there to teach her the intricacies of nature, or tease her about cooking, or look at her with love-filled eyes as he spoke of Mama. Rachel clenched her teeth together to hold the tears back.
In this grove, Rachel came to talk to her mother and contemplate God. Today was the first time others accompanied her, and it seemed an intrusion. This was her place of seclusion. Yet, gratitude flooded her. Their friends had come to bid a final farewell and help bury her pa.
“It is times such as this, the lack of clergy in the area is especially felt,” began Matthias, his voice gruff.
Rachel hardly heard the words.
After a few minutes, Matthias stepped back and patted Joseph on the shoulder.
Joseph picked up a spade and shoveled the earth to cover their Pa, his movements stiff and halting. Benjamin and Matthias joined him and within minutes the hole became a mound. Joseph leaned into the handle of the spade and bowed his head. “Lord, we ask Thee to take care of our Pa and welcome him into Thy kingdom. Amen.”
Forcing herself to breathe, Rachel moved to his side, taking his arm. They still had each other. Somehow they would survive this.
“Ve vill pray for you,” Marta Adler promised, taking the siblings’ hands. She looked with understanding into Rachel’s eyes.
Rachel lowered her gaze. She should have gone with Joseph this morning. “Thank you. I’m so sorry for your loss, as well.”
“They are in a better place, ja?” Marta patted her hand. “Though I had alvays hoped…” She shook her head and moved to join Matthias.
Abigail and her husband moved forward to express their condolences.
Rachel’s thoughts hung on the older woman’s words. Were those killed by the British really in a better place? Was all her mother had taught her true, or merely a fairytale to bring comfort? Rachel had believed it. Otherwise, life was too bitter and tragic to face. Joseph’s words returned to her.
There isn’t hardly a family in this valley who hasn’t lost someone today.
And what about before? Back in Topsfield, Massachusetts the Garnets had two children who hadn’t lived long after birth, and one who’d died as a toddler. And now both their parents were gone. How could one survive the pain of such losses without hope that a better world did exist?
Daniel came to her side. “Your pa gave his life for a worthy cause. At least we were able to push the British and the Tories back.”
General Herkimer’s purpose had been to assist Colonel Gansevoort in breaking the British’s siege at Fort Schuyler. Instead, they’d been massacred still ten miles from their target. Yes, their enemies had been the first to retreat, but the Continental Army and the local militia were so depleted by that point, there had been nothing for them to do but hobble home.
“You will let me know if you need anything at all?” Daniel’s fingers encircled her arm.
She gave a nod.
“I could stay a while longer.” He was trying so hard to be a gallant knight.
She only wanted to be left alone. “No. Thank you, Daniel.”
He managed a smile and then released her.
Fannie took his place and hugged Rachel. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Stealing a glance at Joseph, Rachel lowered her voice. “Your mother has that salve she makes from poplar sap and other herbs, the one you keep saying can heal anything. Can you bring me some?”
“Of course.” Fannie looked to Joseph. He remained oblivious to their conversation, his focus on the graves. “Who’s injured?”
No lies. “Joseph doesn’t want to talk about it. So please, don’t say anything, even to your mother.”
“Of course. I only want to help.” Fannie gave her one last embrace then hurried to join her family as they left the grove.
Rachel moved to Joseph’s side. They were finally alone. She ran her hand over the rough wooden cross driven into the earth. “Goodbye, Papa,” she breathed. “I love you. Tell Mama I love her and miss her, too.”
“They must be happy, together again.”
“I hope so. Oh, I hope so.”
Joseph stooped low and smoothed the moist dirt. He took a handful, squeezing it in his fist until it formed a tight ball. “There’s good soil here.” His voice sounded distant. “Good soil in a good land.” He crumbled it between his fingers, letting it fall back to the ground, and then stood. His palm brushed in quick, jerky motions against his pant leg. “It can’t be right for us to bury Pa here while the enemy lays alive in our own cabin. Why won’t he go on and die like it serves him?”
The thought of the half-dead man hidden in the cabin drained the last of her strength. It would be so easy to slip to the soft ground and not move again. But Joseph’s hand braced her arm.
&nb
sp; “There’s work to be done.”
She took a fortifying breath. “Not for you. Go try to sleep. I’ll see to everything that can’t hold until tomorrow.”
A nod showed his weariness.
The farm opened up before them, the cabin, barn, smokehouse, pens and chickens pecking the ground. She hadn’t fed them or gathered eggs today. The little milk cow bawled, but Joseph had taken care of her earlier. The horses grazed as their tails flicked flies from their backs. The garden begged for tending...that huge stump still sitting right in the middle of the new potato patch, sapping moisture from the ground needed to be removed. It looked like a bush now, new branches sprouting from what remained of the once stately cottonwood. With it there, the vegetables didn’t stand much chance. Pa talked about digging it out this spring, but there had been too much to do. Between the British’s attacks, and raids by Joseph Brant, a Mohawk Indian and one of the most aggressive Tories, they were always on their guard. By the end of summer, Pa promised, he would have the stump removed. The next day he and Joseph had answered the call to march.
Joseph’s feet slowed as a deep scowl crossed his face.
“What are you thinking?” Rachel asked.
“When that British pig does die, we’ll bury him out on the other side of the clearing, near the slough. I don’t want him anywhere near Mama and Pa.”
4
As soon as he surfaced from oblivion, he wished to return. The pressure in his skull threatened to break it apart, the pain rivaling the agony burning up the side of his body. Hot and cold waves washed over him in turn, and he opened his eyes to darkness. At least, he was quite sure they were open. A moan vibrated in the back of his parched throat. Even that hurt.
A curse murmured from across the room, the deep voice strangely familiar. “How am I supposed to get any rest with him in here?”
An airy sigh sounded almost like a yawn. A feminine one. “By ignoring him.”
“I can’t. I couldn’t last night either. He can’t stay in here, Rachel.”
The woman groaned.
As foggy as his brain had become, it still held her image.
“Why don’t you go sleep in the loft again, then?”
“Because the cot isn’t available for me out there anymore, and Pa would roll over in his grave if he knew I left you alone with this British pig.”
British pig? The absence of barnyard stench seemed a clear enough answer. He clamped his eyes closed, partly against the sharp piercing in his skull, but also with the hopes of thinking clearer. British pig. Something rang true about the phrase. Though his dysfunctional mind could not grasp anything horrible about being British, the image of a pig was neither pretty nor flattering. The grating of wooden legs against the floor vibrated through him as someone dragged the cot across the floor. Searing pain jolted through his hip.
“What are you doing?” Her question was met by more grinding of wood.
A moment later the cot stopped—heaven be praised!
The man’s breath came in gusts, but he said nothing.
“Fine.” She sounded upset.
He gritted his teeth, the agony only adding to the nausea swirling in his stomach. Even after the cot came to a permanent rest, he remained paralyzed, fighting unconsciousness. A cool hand lay across his forehead. Her voice, though drawn with weariness, caressed his ears.
“I can’t do this anymore. Not tonight.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s not as hot, but he’s soaked now. He’s drenched in sweat.”
“Leave him. We can deal with it in the morning.”
“He’ll chill. That’s hardly what his fever needs.”
A fever. That explained the shivers. And the inexplicable fluctuation between overheated and freezing.
The man’s voice mumbled. “A lot less than if I dragged him out to the barn right now. That’s where we should have thrown him to begin with, Rachel.”
Rachel. He didn’t try to open his eyes. He focused on the single spec of light in the darkness that had swallowed his world, the memory of her pretty face, as all else slipped away.
~*~
Another day passed. The British officer was still alive. Rachel went about her chores, her thoughts detached.
Joseph slammed the door closed, cutting off the evening breeze. “Can’t you shut him up? I could hear him from the barn.”
“I’m trying, but he’s still unconscious. The fever’s worse again.” Rachel dropped her cloth back into the water basin and pushed it aside. She stepped away from the cot, and then wiped her palms across her apron. If only he’d die and leave her in peace. Yet something deeper within still hoped for his life.
He moaned again, his head tossing from side to side. “How do you not fathom what you have done,” he shouted, and then lowered his voice. “Why can you not see it...?” He continued speaking random sentences and words, many incoherent.
Joseph slapped his hat on the chest beside the door. “Course’ he has to talk as if he’s directly from London. Listen to him. If anyone was passing by close enough to hear that, we’d have a fine time explaining.”
Joseph was right, of course. Most of this area had been settled by Germans. The others, like the Garnets and the Reids, had lived in New England for at least one generation.
“What do we do?” They should have left him where they’d found him.
“I figure we have two options. We can put him out of his misery, or find some way to stop up his mouth.” Joseph grabbed the sweat-stained handkerchief from his back pocket and moved to the occupied cot.
Rachel caught his arm. “What will you do?”
“Don’t worry,” he growled. “I’m only making him quiet.” He wrapped the cloth taut through the man’s mouth, tying it at the side of his head. “That’ll hopefully fix it.” Joseph moved back to the table where Rachel had left his supper.
The British officer flung his head from one side to the other, as though in an attempt to escape the handkerchief.
Rachel placed her palms on either side of his head to hold him still, but only succeeded in making him more violent as he struggled for freedom. He groaned, loosening his arms from the blankets. “This isn’t working.” Rachel grabbed his hands as they tore at both the gag and the bandage. “He’ll hurt himself.”
“What else do you have in mind? Perhaps we should open the door and let the world know we’re harboring a Redcoat? Do you think they’d help him?”
“I don’t know. I just...I can’t watch him like this.” She pulled the handkerchief away and threw it on the floor.
“Rachel!” Joseph bolted to his feet, slamming a fist against the table. The dishes vibrated against it and a cup tipped, spilling water onto the floor.
She ignored him, something melting within her as she folded the man’s arms across his chest. “Hush,” Rachel soothed, moving her hands to cradle the wounded soldier’s head. “You’re all right, but you must be quiet.”
“Don’t go. Don’t go,” he pleaded, over and over.
“Rachel,” Joseph warned.
“I’m here,” she comforted, disregarding her brother. “I won’t go. It’s fine.”
“I did not want you to go.” The British officer moaned. “Why? Why must you do this?”
“It’s all right. I’m here. I won’t go. Hush.”
Slowly the man quieted.
Rachel sank to her knees beside the cot, running her fingers across his forehead and hairline, moving carefully around the bandage. It was hard to hate him right now. He was a helpless soul whose pitiable existence demanded compassion. She couldn’t withhold it.
Joseph rewarded her with a disapproving glare. “Don’t forget who he is.” He opened his mouth to say something more, but a knock cut him short.
Both startled.
“You keep him quiet,” Joseph mouthed, aiming a finger at her. He twisted away.
“Hello, Joseph,” Fannie’s voice came as the door creaked open. “How are you this evening?”
“Fine.”
“Did you get any hay brought in today?”
“Some.”
A long pause followed.
Poor Fannie was probably trying to figure out what else to say to the scowling man standing in the doorway. “Is Rachel at home?” she squeaked.
“She’s busy right now.”
“I understand, but I brought her salve like I promised. It’ll heal most anything. I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to bring it over sooner.”
“I’ll give it to her. Anything else?” The last words came as a growl from his throat.
Fannie made a silent retreat.
As the door slapped closed, Rachel’s gaze fixed on the man in the cot, not daring to meet Joseph’s eyes. Her brother’s anger filled the room, sending a chill down her spine.
“Don’t you realize how dangerous this is?” His voice sounded hoarse from the tension. “Don’t you have any clue what people would do if they knew we had him here? Did you tell the whole country that we have a friend from our king staying with us for a while? What were you thinking? That she would help? That she wouldn’t tell anyone?”
“I didn’t say anything. I only asked for the salve. She doesn’t know what it’s for.” Rachel stole a glance at the man.
“Well, let’s hope she doesn’t.” Joseph breathed hard, his jaw working. He eyed the small leather bag with the salve and flung it against the far wall. “I honestly hope he doesn’t make it through another night.” He dropped into a chair, bracing his elbows against the table and pressing his palms into his eyes. He wasn’t eating well, and he worked just as hard—no, harder—than when Pa had been with them.
Rachel had never seen him looking so worn out. If only he would let her help more, but he insisted she keep to the chores that had already been hers.
The British officer mumbled something she could have sworn was a line from the Bible, and she laid a finger to his lips. They stilled. He had a shapely mouth, though pale and chapped. “I didn’t want him to die.” The words were scarcely spoken than she regretted them. But she wouldn’t take them back now. “That’s why I asked Fannie for the salve. If it helps him heal…”