The Scarlet Coat

by Angela Couch

  “So much unlike his brother.”

  He glanced to her, his brow furrowed.

  “His elder brother?”

  Andrew made a nod. “I believe so.”

  “Stephen?”

  “Yes.” He looked down at the blade, then took it and rinsed away the soap. “Stephen.”

  “What else do you remember?”

  “I remember...” His breath hissed through his teeth. “Envying him.”

  Rachel raised an eyebrow. Not quite what she expected. “Why?”

  “Because he was passionate about life, and free.”

  “What do you mean, free?”

  Andrew sank into the pillows as his hand passed over his eyes. “How am I to know? There is more clarity in the images, but they are hardly more than that. Images and feelings.”

  “It frustrates you, doesn’t it?”

  “Of course it does.” His voice sharpened while increasing in volume. “My whole life dangling just out of reach, flirting with my consciousness.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rachel tried for a contrite smile.

  “No need. It is not as though you planted that stone where I fell.”

  “No.” She allowed a slight laugh to trickle out. “The Lord is probably the One responsible for that.”

  “Are you suggesting this is God’s plan for me?” The tension ebbed from his face as his gaze searched hers. “I...” He cleared his throat. “I suppose it would be more logical to fault myself for being there in the first place.”

  “I suppose.” Rachel couldn’t seem to look away or remove the curve from her lips. She moistened them. “It’ll also be your own fault if your beard grows uneven.”

  He chuckled and again took up the straight blade. “I should stop allowing myself to become distracted.”

  “Yes.”

  “Meanwhile, you will remain standing there, watching me?”

  Rachel grinned. “I’m testing your reserve.”

  “It falters with each moment.”

  Such sincerity marked his features. Such earnestness. No teasing. No irony. Only light shining in his eyes, and warmth spreading through her whole body. Perhaps she hadn’t put out the morning fire soon enough. “I should leave you then. Joseph will be wondering what’s become of me.”

  Andrew gave a nod, but said nothing.

  If only he would say something more. She craved the sound of his voice. Rachel pinned her sunbonnet to her cap, then stepped outside and started breathing again. But where was Joseph? For some reason it didn’t seem to matter, and she moved toward the garden—the stump. Instead of locating the ax or even fetching the spade, Rachel climbed onto the wide center and tucked her feet up under her. “Oh, Papa, what am I to do?”

  “Rachel?” The wagon creaked as it jostled its way from the barn to the garden. Joseph brought it alongside the tilled ground and dragged the horses to a stop. “What are you doing sitting there?”

  “Nothing.” She looked down at the mess of dirt and splintered wood. “Just considering how I’ll get at the lowest roots. They’ll be hard to reach.”

  “And at least one probably taps straight down. It’ll be a bear to get at.” He shrugged and motioned to the wagon. “But we’re wasting time talking. We can deal with this after the crops are in and everything else is done. Come on.”

  Rachel jumped from the stump and climbed onto the seat beside him. She glanced back only once as they drove out to the field.

  ~*~

  Andrew wiped the towel across his face, drying it. Pain pulsated against his skull as he tried to focus on his brother, linking everything he could recall into an intricate puzzle with a thousand missing pieces. The picture of Stephen became ever clearer, but their mother remained only a misty face with a disapproving stare. Their father...there was no image, only anger. Why anger?

  With a groan, Andrew closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander. The tension, like a strap that had tightened across his forehead, eased. The corners of his mouth pulled up. Rachel. As with a soothing balm, she smoothed across his mind. He chuckled at parts of their conversation. Anything she lacked in education, she made up for with wit and God-given intelligence. “Lord, why hast Thou spared my life? Why hast Thou brought me here? Surely Thou hast a plan for me—for my life. Would it be impossible to include Rachel Garnet in that plan?”

  19

  Andrew glanced up from the rocking chair as the door squeaked open.

  “It’s really warm in here,” Rachel said, pushing it wide. “The bugs aren’t too bad today, why don’t we leave it open for a while?”

  A breeze followed her into the cabin—both were welcome. With a swing to her gait, Rachel moved to set a pail of vegetables on the table. Her lips had an upwards turn.

  Andrew couldn’t help but smile. Such a change from her melancholy.

  She set the large pot next to the pail. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You seem happy today.” Andrew closed the Bible. He’d spent much of his time during the past week and a half poring over the New Testament and was already to Peter’s Epistles. Another day or so and he’d start the Old Testament. “I thought I heard another voice in the yard—one decidedly not Joseph’s? Did someone call?”

  “Fannie. Daniel’s sister. There’s to be a barn-raising Saturday at the Fuhrmanns’. Their barn was burned by the Briti...it burned down.” Her gaze darted away. “Anyways, it’ll be a wonderful time to get together with neighbors before winter.”

  That explained the sway in her steps. “And a wonderful time to dance?”

  A blush brought a glow to her cheeks. “There isn’t much opportunity to dance out here. During the summer months, we used to hold picnics nigh every other week, but this year, what with the Briti—with so many other things to be done...”

  “Indeed. Those British are quite bothersome rascals, it appears.”

  Rachel’s face showed bemusement. Then a smile toyed with the corners of her mouth. “That they are. That they are.”

  Andrew feigned a cringe. “I believe that is my cue to return to reading.” He reopened the book.

  “Not yet, you don’t.” Rachel sailed to him and snatched the Bible from his hands.

  “But—” His attempt to grab it back proved futile.

  Her eyes sparkled. “You will sit there like a good boy and wait while I run out and fetch Joseph. We have a surprise for you.”

  “A what?”

  She plopped the book on the cot and disappeared from the cabin. Several minutes passed, and still she did not return. Perhaps something delayed her.

  What was the possibility of reaching the Bible? His leg was far from healed; however, the weeks since he had regained consciousness had brought gradual improvement. The pain was bearable with movement, but applying pressure remained out of the question. If he used his good leg to hop once, he could make it.

  Slowly Andrew pushed up, balancing on his left foot. His hands gripped the arms of the rocking chair as he leaned forward. He released his right hand, and then the left. His whole right leg began to throb. This was the first time he had stood without any assistance in a long while. He wobbled, his leg weak, but he attempted to hop forward. It was too much. His knee buckled and he fell forward, his hands catching the edge of the cot. Under his weight, everything tipped toward him, threatening to dump him onto the floor. Thankfully, it dropped back into place, and he reached out for the Bible. “Thank you, Lord.”

  The murmur of voices neared the cabin.

  Panic prickled his spine. His precarious position would make him appear ridiculous. In an attempt to salvage what little dignity he’d maintained since his injury, Andrew threw himself backward, forcing past the stab in his right leg. He caught the arms of the rocker with his hands, and lowered into it as the door opened. Stifling a groan, he forced a partial smile.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Rachel immediately questioned.

  “Yes, fine.” Unfortunately there was no discreet way to wipe away the beads of sweat th
at tickled his forehead. Needing to direct their attention elsewhere, he motioned to the long, thin object Joseph held, draped with an old blanket. “Is that the rifle with which you promised to shoot my good leg?”

  “I said I wouldn’t shoot it until you tried to leave again. This is something to speed up the process.” With a smirk, Joseph pulled away the covering.

  Andrew peered at the roughhewn crutch. The pale flesh of whittled wood showed against the dark but smooth bark left untouched. “That is the finest looking branch I’ve ever seen—so far as my memory recollects.”

  “Joseph made the top so it’ll fit comfortably under your arm.” Rachel indicated the short length of wood wrapped in thick wool. “However, before you try it, you need to promise you’ll take it easy and be careful not to cause any more damage.”

  He gave her a nod as Joseph handed him the crutch. Placing the wrapped woolen crosspiece under his right arm, Andrew pushed into a standing position, assisted by Rachel. Somewhat awkwardly, he put weight on the crutch and slid his left foot forward. Numb, his leg was slow to obey, but the step was successful. A grin broke across his face before he could bridle it. “I must admit, it is a lot better than the broom I borrowed.”

  “Yes,” Rachel agreed. “And better for me, as well. You bent the bristles beyond repair.”

  Andrew took another step before stealing a glance at her. “I promise never to touch your broom again.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t use it, so long as the bristles are against the floor that you happen to be sweeping.”

  Joseph laughed. “A sure way to guarantee he’ll never borrow it again. Well said, Rachel.”

  “Do not be so certain.” Andrew shuffled another step. “Maybe soon I shall be of some use to you. I have so much to repay.” One more step and he nodded toward the siblings. “But first if someone could assist me back to my seat...I think...I should sit for a while.” His left leg burned with pain, and he struggled to catch his breath.

  Rachel took his elbow, reversing his course. “How are you feeling?”

  “I should be fine. After being idle for so long, my muscles seem to have mistaken themselves for fishes. Most assuredly, I am in need of practice.”

  Rachel took the crutch and leaned it against the wall near the cot.

  “Thank you.”

  The ties of her dress pulled the tawny fabric tight at her waist, and then released it to cascade to her ankles. Her skirts swayed as she turned back to him. Tenderness filled her eyes as her gaze met his, and her lips gained fullness with a pleased smile. She had such a pretty mouth. Still, it was improper to stare. Andrew brought his gaze to where her brother stood.

  Joseph’s face bore resemblance to a mule ready to give a nasty kick. “I should get back to work,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “I appreciate the crutch.”

  Joseph glanced back, a storm rising in his eyes. “I need to see you as soon as you’re done in here, Rachel.”

  “About what?”

  “Just come out.” The door remained open behind him.

  “What in the world has come over him?” Rachel sighed as her hands smoothed over her skirt and straightened her apron. “Is there anything else you need before I go?”

  “Do not concern yourself. It is probably best you hurry.”

  Rachel disappeared after Joseph.

  Andrew wiped his hand across his face, his attention fixed on the place she’d stood a moment earlier.

  Her brother was right to be angry.

  They had saved his life and treated him with kindness, but Andrew was still the enemy. It was wrong of him to forget that. If only he could remember it. Either way, he needed to be honest with himself. She might as well be married.

  ~*~

  Rachel picked her way across the yard, not going directly to the barn. The sun warmed her face, drawing it toward the brilliant blue sky. The world seemed quiet except the scratching and clucking of the nearby chickens. The rooster crowed his greeting.

  What Joseph wanted remained a mystery, but it was Andrew who filled her thoughts. His quick smile, playful wit, willful determination when he set his mind to something, the intelligent and refined manner in which he spoke, the depth with which he knew the Bible—all combined to make him who he was. Whoever that might be.

  Joseph called to her from the garner.

  Rachel redirected her steps toward the tall, slender building standing behind the barn. A narrow, edged ramp came at a sharp angle from the loft of the barn, which also served as a threshing room, to the top of the smaller building.

  Joseph perched on the highest rung of the ladder, checking the attachment of the chute and the height of the grain already contained in the storage.

  “How’s it looking?”

  Joseph closed the small door. “Fine.” He climbed to the ground. “When we’re finished, there won’t be much to spare, but we should have enough to see us through the winter and spring planting. Maybe even for those extra acres Pa and I cleared early last summer.” He took her by the elbow and led her into the barn. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  Rachel pulled her arm away and sought something useful to do with her hands. A small, brownish chicken egg caught her eye and she plucked it from the makeshift nest at the base of the haystack. “What about?”

  “That British officer in our home.”

  She spun to him. They had not referred to Andrew as British, or an officer, or even soldier, for some time. He had a name.

  “He doesn’t belong here, and he needs to leave before—”

  “But he—”

  “I don’t mean immediately.” Joseph pursed his lips, as though considering carefully what had to be said. “But sooner or later he will need to go. We’ll try to give him as much time as we can, but I think it best he leave before the weather turns.”

  Another month. It was all Rachel could do to stand in place. “I know that. He wouldn’t be safe here. I haven’t forgotten who he is.”

  “Or what he is?”

  She sighed. “Or what he is.”

  “Good. Because I am not completely unaware of the feelings you might develop for him. I want to make certain the wholesome compassion you have won’t grow into anything more. He isn’t part of our world and can’t ever be. He’s still a British officer, even though it’s hidden.”

  Rachel glanced at the stack of hay where the truth lay well buried. “I know. You’ve been paying too much attention to Daniel. It’s nothing more than his jealous nature trying to fight shadows.” Rachel stilled her countenance. She couldn’t let him see the turmoil wringing her insides like wet laundry. “Was there something else?”

  “No...yes. Do you dislike Daniel?”

  “Of course not.” She turned to see if there were any more eggs hidden nearby. “Daniel Reid is a fine man. He’s always been a good friend.”

  Joseph cleared his throat. “I’m not talking about as a friend. I know I used to tease you about him, but at the moment I am completely sincere. Could you ever see him as more?”

  “I...” Rachel sucked air into her compressed lungs. Daniel Reid. Could she love him? Ever since their families met, he’d been high on her list of marriageable prospects. The only one who had rivaled him was Jarrett Adler, and now he was dead.

  Once Andrew was gone, what other option would she have? Her heart felt as though it were being writhed in two as she crouched to collect more eggs. “You know I could. But why are you asking me this now?”

  “I think you could do well by him. He’s a hard worker and has worthy goals for the future. I want to be sure you don’t take him for granted because of other distractions. Keep your mind open to possibilities.” Joseph patted her shoulder before leaving the barn.

  Rachel straightened, staring at the eggs in her hands. She had forgotten herself with Andrew Wyndham.

  Captain Wyndham. A British officer.

  Rachel dropped to her knees at the edge of the hay stack and set the eggs aside, before thrust
ing her hand deep to where the dirt and bloodstained coat lay hidden. She held it for a moment, numb. Her fingers brushed across the golden tassels at the shoulder and the equally elegant buttons down the front. It was the uniform of an officer loyal to the Crown of King George. It was the uniform of her enemy—the ones who had taken Pa from her. She hated the uniform and those who wore it.

  She reached into a pocket for her little shears and snipped a small piece of scarlet fabric from the sleeve. It only took seconds to bury the remainder. Tucking the fabric into the collar of her dress, she held her palm over it for several minutes and forced herself to breathe. “Don’t ever forget.”

  20

  With the crutch tucked under his arm, Andrew maneuvered around the cabin. He ignored the throbbing ache and sometimes sharp stabbing pains shooting down his right leg as he worked to strengthen the other. Each day left him stronger and more restless. Especially today.

  Rachel’s pleasant humming came from the bedroom where she was preparing for the barn-raising. The past few days she’d talked of little else—though she really hadn’t spoken much at all.

  At least, not to him. The agitation that had been building over those days now worked the muscles of his jaw. He jerked his crutch forward, and then leaned into it, preparing to move his good leg.

  The squeak of the bedroom door brought his head up. As Rachel emerged, Andrew’s left leg seemed to lose all power. His step faltered, and he grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. All physical discomfort faded.

  Rachel’s long, silvery-blue gown flowed gently with each move. Her usual braid had been wrapped around itself and pinned up on the back of her head, yet several strands the shade of morning sun escaped to grace her neck and face. Her eyes…her eyes shone, appearing lighter brown than usual, but still contrasting the tones of her hair.

  Andrew straightened as he turned to face her, head inclining toward her in a bow. His gaze never wandered from hers.

  Her smile had a demure quality as she dipped a slight curtsy. “It was my mother’s. She had it made it in Boston years ago. It’s a little worn.” Rachel pulled at the skirt, twisting it so he could see the side. “Here at the hem I had a hard time matching the color of the fabric. I’m afraid the patch shows.”