The Scarlet Coat

by Angela Couch

  She turned back to the growing dusk. The scent of rain saturated the air. “We’re running out of time.”

  “Don’t be a fool, it’s already too late.”

  Clutching the cloak, Rachel hurried into the chill wind toward the more heavily treed portion of the farm. It seemed logical that the fugitive would want to remain out of sight. Directly west.

  11

  The rain was light at first, but now it fell with increased fervor.

  He stumbled toward the nearest tree, letting the makeshift crutch drop as he slid down the trunk. He muffled a cry with his sleeve as he met the ground. Agony lanced through his thigh and down his leg. His eyes watered from the pain. What had he been thinking, leaving the comfort of the cot and the cabin? Pride? No...it had to be something more.

  The pain in his hip was slow to ebb, only to be combined with the throbbing in his chest. He had taken matters into his own hands and removed himself from their home and their lives, but now what? The wind had turned surprisingly cold and his clothes were soaking through. Would he simply die here, a stranger even to himself?

  “That’s peculiar.” The deep resonance of the voice pulled his gaze toward the road where Joseph Garnet stood, peering down at the ground, his hat pulled low, and his chin nestled into the collar of his coat. He was probably wondering where he had lost the trail—the broom handle left an obvious mark for anyone looking for it.

  “I’m such a fool,” Joseph mumbled. “I need to find that girl and give her a good talking to.” With one final glance at the horizon, he turned back in the direction of the cabin.

  If Joseph was out looking for him, they obviously still considered him a threat to them and their settlement, though he couldn’t understand why. He’d be the death of himself long before he caused them any harm. He buried his face in his hands. Moisture filled his eyes, pressing against closed lids.

  Joseph’s footsteps drew near.

  He’d been discovered. Wiping his hands down his face, he set his view into the distance. He flexed the muscles in his jaw, blinking. Hopefully the rain disguised his tears.

  Joseph stopped only a couple of feet away. “Did you really think you’d get far on that leg and in this weather?” The hand holding a pistol slipped from the coat.

  “I had no such plans.” His chin rose. He held his voice even. “But I am not returning.”

  “Do you think you have much choice in the matter?” A gust of wind made both men shiver. “You don’t play the part of a prisoner very well, do you?”

  “Why do you delay in turning me over to your army?”

  “Don’t worry, that’s still the plan. But until then, you’d better not cause us any more trouble.”

  He held Joseph’s gaze. “That is not what you really want. You do not want to turn me over to be eventually traded back to Britain, and Mrs. Garnet is no longer here.”

  “Mrs. Garnet?”

  “Yes. So why hesitate? You came with that pistol for a reason.” He lowered his head, the taunting in his voice diminishing. “At this moment, I would not hold anything against you if you were to do as you like.”

  “Perhaps.” A long pause followed as Joseph shook his head. “But I’d sure hold it against myself. Shooting an unarmed man, who by rights shouldn’t even be able to walk, seems a little too close to murder.” There was the breath of a chuckle. “That’s why we need to give you a while longer to heal.”

  He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He was the enemy and could not forget that.

  Joseph sat on the soggy ground.

  They remained silent as the heavens poured.

  A shiver worked its way through his injured body. The light, homespun shirt was already soaked through and hugged his skin. Soon he shook violently, his body no longer up to the task of shutting out the cold on its own.

  “Sure you don’t want to come back in out of the storm?”

  Go back? To warmth, comfort…and the insufferable silence of the cabin.

  He shook his head.

  “How long do you figure you’ll make it out here?” Joseph questioned. “It’s bound to get mighty cold tonight. I knew a man once, someone new to the area. He went hunting and didn’t make it home before supper. That night it turned fearsome cold, and the rain poured like it is now. Next morning they found him—caught in a bear trap and dead as could be. Bear trap hurt him some, but not enough to kill. It was the weather that did him in. Sometimes a man’s pride can be just like that there trap. It won’t kill a man, but it sure as fire don’t help him none.”

  Again silence.

  “I’m wasting my breath, aren’t I? You British are too pompous to ask for help.”

  “Pompous?” he choked out as a spasm of pain eased. “What have I to be proud of? I do not know who I am, nor does there remain with me any sure memory of my past.” He stared at the murky puddles forming on the ground. “I cannot remember whether I have place for pride.”

  “Then will you stay out here and die?”

  The question haunted him. “I hardly know.”

  “You don’t know much, do you?”

  A laugh sounded, but he didn’t feel it. He wiped a hand across his forehead and through his soaked hair, pushing it away from his face. Words, strange, yet understood, echoed in the back of his mind. “Hen oida hoti ouden oida.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be English. I don’t even know what that was.”

  “It is Greek. ‘I know one thing: that I know nothing.’ Socrates.”

  “Greek?” Joseph shook his head. “I may have to take back my comment about you not knowing much.”

  “But you were not mistaken. I cannot manage to make sense of anything right now.” He glanced over. “Least of all you.”

  To his surprise, Joseph laughed. “Don’t feel bad for that. Not a person I know has been able to make sense of me—myself included.”

  “At least you know who you are.” He gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg, and to keep his teeth from chattering. “All I have are glimpses of images. Emotions...but nothing to secure them together.” He sniffed back the moisture threatening to escape. He looked at his hands. What a mess he was. His memory was faulty, his pant leg was soaked with blood where his wound had reopened, and he didn’t even have a handkerchief. “Are you sure you do not wish to put that pistol to use? It could solve both our problems.”

  With a sigh, Joseph withdrew the gun. He held it in his hands as they both stared at it. Then he raised it and squeezed back on the trigger. The air was split with the sound of thunder. Joseph lowered the pistol. “There, that leaves us with one less option. I didn’t bring another ball.”

  “What options does that leave us? I suppose you can go home and I shall...” He shook his head. A mistake. It throbbed from the motion. “I guess that is the question, is it not?”

  “Here’s an answer. You let me take you back to the cabin before you catch your death.”

  “And then what? It always brings us to the same place. It makes as much sense for me to stay out here.”

  “There are always options.”

  “There were until you spent that last shot.” Derision filled his tone. “Now look where that leaves us.”

  “I could always drag you back with me, or carry you.”

  “You would have to.” He bit down hard, but still his eyes watered. “I cannot walk. I cannot even move.”

  Joseph slipped the pistol into the pocket of his coat. “You staying out here isn’t an option. It never was. So what’s the easiest way to get you back to the cabin?”

  He had no answer. Both legs were numb with pain.

  “Then let’s simply give it a try.” Joseph slipped an arm around his torso and pulled him up.

  He groaned, the stabbing torment of his thigh sharp. His fingers clung to Joseph’s coat as he leaned against the stronger man, balancing on his left leg. “I cannot do this,” he moaned.

  “You have no choice unless you want me to carry you over my shoulder.”


  A cry escaped his throat as Joseph maneuvered forward a step, forcing him to do likewise.

  “It may yet come to that.” He let his head drop forward, and clamped his eyes closed. The world spun. Clinging to Joseph, he did his best to focus his thoughts past the pain, to the movement required by his good leg.

  ~*~

  Wet, weary and with no light left by which to search, Rachel trudged back to the cabin. Mud coated her dress from the times she’d fallen over large roots or slipped in puddles. It seemed to weigh more than her body as she fought for each step.

  The flicker of a lantern shining through the window became visible through the trees.

  Joseph most likely sat with his feet up by the fire, chuckling at her foolishness.

  Holding back her emotions had already caused a mountain of pressure behind her temples, but she continued to fight them—and the desire to pray. She wouldn’t be foolish enough to ask for help this time; though, without the help of God or her brother, no wonder she’d failed.

  A branch breaking nearby jerked Rachel around. Her heart hammered as she peered through the darkness. “Who’s there?”

  The only answer was the movement of a dark form pushing through the bushes—the shadow of a large man, but not Joseph. Who would be wandering the woods in this storm? An Indian? No, he wore a hat. A Tory?

  She dropped low, her hands searching the brush for protection. Her fingers closed around a branch about the thickness and length of a musket. It would have to do. Rachel straightened, bringing one end to her shoulder as she cleared the fear from her voice, deepening it. “I’m armed. I suggest you tell me who you are and what you want.”

  The reply was a deep chuckle.

  She tightened her grip on the branch. “I’m giving you fair warning. I won’t hurt you if you speak up quickly.”

  “With you, getting shot by a branch is the least of my worries—even if it was a real musket.”

  “Daniel? Daniel Reid, so help me, is that you?”

  “It is.” As he walked to her, a large boyish grin spread from one ear to the other. “Sorry if I startled you.” Daniel took the branch. “I’m just glad it’s not loaded.”

  Rachel scowled. “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you.” An amused expression played on his features. “I’ve known women to do strange things, but this takes the prize.”

  She rotated but slipped on the soggy ground and fell backward into his arms. He held her, not seeming in a hurry to release her. Only when she tried to right herself did he move. “I’m sorry, Rachel.” The apology came as he assisted her to stand. “I was trying to find you. Joseph came by the farm a half hour ago and explained what happened. He’s looking for you, too. You were foolish to come out here on your own.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Daniel. I get it enough from Joseph, I don’t need it from you.” She moved toward the faint light glowing from the cabin. “You men always seem to have it figured out. Everything is simple—black and white. No questioning, no wondering...no feeling.”

  “Rachel.” Something in his voice made her turn to face him. “You’re wrong, you know. We see plenty of gray. Maybe too much. We do question and wonder. And we have feelings the same as anyone. Only we don’t show it so much. We have to put life into order. Get the work done—keep shelter over our families’ heads, food coming to the table, and enemies off our land. That is how the good Lord made men, and I—” Daniel’s speech ended abruptly.

  Joseph reined Hunter into the yard, pulling to a halt several feet away.

  “Goodnight, Daniel.” Rachel hurried to the door. She slapped it shut and leaned back as a sob rose.

  Her brother’s voice shouted over the howl of the wind. “Thanks, Daniel. I’m obliged for your help.” The sound of a palm slapping against the horse’s wet coat followed his words. Joseph was probably letting Hunter make his own way to the barn.

  “I’d best be getting home ‘fore this storm gets much worse.” Daniel’s voice faded. “I’ll be over sometime tomorrow. It’s far past time that things get settled.”

  Rachel pulled away from the door. The heavy cloak clung so she removed it and draped it over the back of a chair. The inviting fire beckoned. Where was that British fool? Out there somewhere, probably collapsed in the forest, soaked to the bone and freezing to death. The poor man. He’d die alone without even remembering who he was.

  His face appeared in her mind. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with the hint of smile as he’d tried to coax her into conversation. A crease in his cheek suggested a dimple. His penetrating pine-green gaze made her heart throb.

  Rebellious, Rachel’s gaze stole to where the empty cot stood. She hugged herself against the chill. Then she stopped, peering through the shadows that created the appearance of a sleeping form.

  12

  Joseph came through the door, shaking off rainwater, an apologetic grin on his face.

  With a gasp, Rachel stumbled to the cot. Her knees met the floor and her muddied hands hid her face. Her shoulders trembled as her insides untangled. She was helpless against the tears, unable to dam them any longer.

  “It was as you said. He could tell who it was who helped him.” There was a soft chuckle. “Besides, imagine the information breach if he happened to get back to the British lines. They wouldn’t be afraid of our guns anymore. They’d know that if they happen to get wounded, all they’d have to do is find a good Christian woman.”

  Rachel wiped her damp cheeks. Still, fresh tears fell. “What will we do when he does recover?”

  “We’ll discuss it later. First thing is to get you cleaned up and then get that leg redressed. I hope you have more of that salve, ‘cause he needs it.”

  “There’s still some.” She braced against the cot as she pushed to her feet, the saturated skirts heavy. “Did he do much damage?”

  It wasn’t Joseph’s voice that answered. “It definitely feels like it.”

  Rachel’s gaze flashed to the man’s face and those piercing eyes. Humiliation and anger seared her cheeks. She pushed the embarrassment aside, savoring the frustration. “What were you thinking? Why would you try to leave with your leg still needing to heal and the storm on the verge of drowning the valley? Are you trying to kill yourself, or did hitting your head on that stone knock all the sense out of you?”

  His eyes darkened. “I no longer wished to burden you.”

  She ignored him as she lifted the blanket away from his leg and the blood-soaked breeches. Joseph would need to get them off of him so she could freshen his bandaging before it dried, though that would take some time. His clothes were every bit as wet as hers.

  “I know how much you hate me. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

  Joseph headed to the bedroom, probably for a change of clothes.

  She brushed her tangled tresses from her face and leaned over her patient. “If I hated you, tell me why I spent all evening searching in the rain and cold.” Even with her voice lowered, it retained the essence of feminine rage. “Maybe you can explain why I couldn’t leave you to the fate of your British stupidity?”

  His reply came too quickly, as though it had been rehearsed. “Because you are a good woman who would scarce let an ornery dog go hungry. But admit it, you would be happier, and you would sleep better at night if I were no longer here.”

  “Of course I’d sleep better.” Rachel flipped her braid over her shoulder and out of the way. Her teeth clamped together as she scowled at him, too tired to keep up pretenses. “I would sleep better without worrying that you might not be alive by morning. Not wondering what will become of you—hoping that you’ll continue to heal.” The truth slipped from her with a will of its own. Rachel spun away, tears again escaping their confinement. She cupped a trembling hand over her mouth, hushing a cry welling up in the back of her throat and the words that she couldn’t tell him. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep tonight if Joseph hadn’t brought you back.

  Her
brother pulled a woolen sweater over his head as he reentered the room. “Rachel, you need to get out of those clothes before you freeze to death.”

  “I’m fine.” She sniffled and swiped a hand across her cheeks. “Let’s take care of him first. He’s been wet longer.”

  Joseph took her by the shoulders and directed her toward the bedroom door. “That’s my job. I’ll put the kettle on and get his leg so you can doctor it. You have time to get changed out of your clothes. And take those boots off before you track muck everywhere. You’ll have a hard enough time getting the floor clean, as it is.”

  Rachel scanned the mess on the floor, and the rude appearance of her garments hanging damply about her frame. “Fine.” She hastened from the room, still trailing mud. She’d worry about that later.

  ~*~

  His mind still failed to grasp a reason for the passion behind her words. How could the woman be so compassionate to her enemy? She was even more perplexing than her husband, who worked to remove the soaked clothes that clung to him, tossing them and the now damp blanket in a pile on the floor.

  “Cold?” Joseph chuckled as he tucked a dry quilt around his shivering body.

  “A little,” he growled.

  “Serves you right.” After throwing more logs on the fire, Joseph returned with another blanket, arranging it so his damaged thigh would be accessible.

  A yelp escaped as pain stabbed through his leg.

  “Sorry. Looks like you tied this on so it wouldn’t ever come off. I might have to cut the bandage.”

  He took a breath as the agony ebbed. “Admit it, you only brought me back here so you could practice your techniques for torture.”

  “Have to find out somehow what will break the British.” Joseph slid a knife from the sheath at his hip and slit the ties of the bandage.

  He eyed the six-inch blade. “Could you not have listed that among our options? Another ball for your pistol would not have been required, after all.”

  “Just don’t try that again. I don’t think I’d waste my powder a second time. I’d have to shoot you in the other leg. We don’t take kindly to patients leaving without permission.”