The Promise

by Marti Talbott

  “No”

  “Then we will stay.”

  “Good,” Elizabeth said, finally lowering her voice.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “What?”

  “Tell me the truth. Are we to be visited by Aunt Charlotte's curse again?”

  “Oh, Caleb,” she scoffed before she stormed toward the house. “Every time I get annoyed you ask me that.”

  Caleb looked at Mary, “Every time she has gotten this annoyed, the answer was yes.”

  Mary followed her sister into the house. Uriah and Caleb took chairs on the front veranda and for nearly an hour, they discussed the options they had left. There weren’t many.

  “Mister Carson,” a man shouted from a boat rounding the bend of the river, “have your heard?”

  Uriah followed Caleb down the steps and then down the path to the dock. “Heard what, Mister Watts?”

  “Cornwallis turned east.”

  “Are you sure, Mister Watts?” Caleb wanted to know as the boat drew closer.

  “Quite sure, they march to the sea.”

  “And Lafayette?”

  “He follows Cornwallis.”

  “I WONDER, HAVE WE NEGLECTED to teach John how to write?” Uriah asked his brother, fanning himself with a newspaper near the opened window of the study. “We should have had some word from John before now. It has been five months since Guilford.”

  “Perhaps his post is lost somewhere or he has no pen and paper.”

  “Or perhaps he is dead,” Uriah softly said.

  “I cannot abide that. He is not dead and now that Cornwallis does not threaten, we should go again to search for him.”

  “Where would we search? We have looked from here to the sea, gone north to Fredericksburg and south to Charlotte?”

  Caleb reached for the glass of tea on the table. “I have no suggestions, regrettably. Besides, we are far better at finding the British than we are the Americans.”

  “However do we do that?”

  “I cannot imagine.”

  Elizabeth was in Mary‘s bed chamber looking out the window when she said, “Mary, come see. It is Mister Cook and he is such a sight to see!”

  Abraham sat on his mule flapping his arms and kicking his legs wildly. But Tillie remained half way between the road and the house, and refused to move any farther.

  “I do believe we could hear him better if we open the window.”

  “But it is getting cold, Mary. Here, another shawl could not hurt,” Elizabeth grabbed a second one off the bed and wrapped it around Mary's shoulders. She opened the window and let the cool October air fill the bedchamber.

  “COR...AT...TOWN,” Abraham shouted.

  “What in the devil is he saying?” Caleb wondered, rounding the corner of the fence from the barn.

  Abraham leaned down and yelled into Tillie’s right ear. “Forward March!” Tillie fluttered her ear back in place and began to sit down. “Blasted mule! The best news I ever did tell to the fine Carsons and me mule has deserted me.” Abraham got off and took long strides down the lane toward the house. Behind him, Tillie followed.

  “What is it, Mister Cook?” Caleb asked when he neared.

  “Cornwallis, Mister Carson.” Abraham turned to yell toward the women in the window, “Cornwallis has surrendered!”

  “At last,” Mary said, hugging Elizabeth. “Now my son will come home.”

  Elizabeth lightly patted her sister's back and bit her lip to hold back the tears. Draw­ing away, she smiled, took Mary's arm and walked her out the door to the balcony. “Shall we go down to hear the news?”

  “Yes,” Mary answered. Without warning, she wrinkled her brow, bent forward a little and held tight to her sister’s arm. Elizabeth quickly pulled her aside as the children raced past them.

  “Why am I always the last to hear?” pouted Effie, her lips puckered as she hurried down the stairs to catch up.

  “She always says that,” Young Matthew muttered, following Effie.

  “Do you suppose we have reached the age of a slower descent?” Mary asked, watching the children disappear around the bottom of the stairs. Caroline was helping Matthew to a chair in the assembly room.

  “Much slower,” Elizabeth agreed. She helped Mary descend the stairs one step at a time.

  “I have learned that good or bad, the news will wait until I have reached the bottom. But perhaps ... perhaps when John returns, I will change my mind.”

  “Perhaps we both will.” Elizabeth noticed the look of sadness in Caroline's eyes. Mary’s face was becoming shallow and Caroline wasn’t as good at hiding her concern as Elizabeth was.

  “Do you not find worry over John tiresome?” Mary asked, easing herself down two more steps. “At times, I think I cannot stand another minute of it. Yet, what choice do we have?”

  “We have no choice.”

  Mary stopped and closed her eyes, her brow again wrinkled in pain.

  Elizabeth held Mary's arm tighter when she wobbled, then intentionally looked away. When she turned back, Mary's face was more peaceful. “Why, Mary Carson, I do believe your hair is whiter today than it was yester­day. Isn't her hair whiter, Caroline?”

  “It is, and I am quite put out,” Caroline said, waiting at the foot of the stairs. “Mary was beautiful with dark hair and now that it turns white, she is even more so. I am quite jealous.”

  Mary grinned and moved a little more quickly down the stairs. “Our mother's hair turned white, you know, and she was far younger than I am.”

  “So you have said...” Elizabeth began, just as the door burst open and the children ushered Mister Cook into the assembly room.

  “'Twas the nineteenth he surrendered, Mrs. Carson,” Abraham said, turning to look up at Elizabeth, “to General George Washington his self. I should'a loved to see it. I surely should'a.”

  “Were you there, Mister Cook?” little Effie asked, both her hands on her hips.

  “Nay little one, I was busy seeking Helen,” Abraham patted her head. “'Twas at Yorktown, Mrs. Carsons. The Continentals had him boxed good agai’n the sea and when no Brit ships could get in the harbor, he was done in. He gave up his bloody sword, he did.”

  Elizabeth asked, “The war is over then?”

  “Cannot say exactly,” Abraham answered. “'Tis a great victory I'm a think'n. Could be the war is over, Mrs. Carson. Could rightly be.”

  “Then we will celebrate wildly,” Mary said, spotting Uriah, wiggling free of Elizabeth's arm and walking quickly down the last two steps to hug her husband. “I promised John he would find music and laughter when he returns.”

  Elizabeth listened to the chatter a while longer and then walked to Caroline.

  “However does she manage it?” Caroline whispered.

  “I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “Her pain increases daily, but still she does not let her husband see. Even in her anguish, her thoughts are for him. I do not believe I will ever love Caleb as much as she loves Uriah.”

  Day after day and week after week passed, and still Mahala waited for her only son to come home. The brothers often went to search, but he was no where to be found.

  ALONE IN THEIR BEDCHAMBER, Mary stood on the gold colored carpeting and gazed into the fire with her arms clenched tightly around her stomach. She tried not to flinch when Uriah reached his arms around her from behind.

  “Have you found fault with me, Mary?” he asked.

  “And which of your many faults should we discuss this night?”

  “No, Mary, be serious. Are you disappointed in me?”

  “Whatever for?”

  “For not finding our son” Uriah put his cheek next to hers.

  “My love, you have done far more than most. I have been quite torn between want­ing you home and having you find John.” Mary took his hand and led him to the settee.

  “I am pleased you have moved our sitting room to our bedchamber, Mrs. Carson,” Uriah said, sitting down beside her.

  “Mahala seemed so big when we first
came, but we have filled it nicely over the years.” When he put his arm around her shoulder, she laid her head against his chest, “He will come home and after he does, he will still need you.”

  “I cannot think what for. He is a grown man; he will make his own way in the world and do it well.”

  “Yes, but it was you who found Hester for him and now she is gone. He needs you to help him find a good wife.”

  He kissed the top of her head, “Perhaps you are right. Should I tell him the truth? Should I warn him that once in love and loved in return, she will make him feel he is the only man of substance in the whole world? When she desires him, as a woman in love should desire her husband, he will find himself lost in her passion. And should I tell him, Mary, that the thing he will fear greatest is her disappointment in him? For if he should lose her love, the pain would be greater even than death.”

  “Perhaps you could tell him, but I doubt it would help. He will never know un­less he is fortunate enough to find a love as great as ours. And that, as we have daily proof with Caleb and Elizabeth, is not always the case when two people marry.”

  “They have never been as peaceful as we, have they? How do we manage it? We have hardly spoken a harsh word to each other.”

  Mary grinned and sat up to watch his face, “It is because we never married.”

  “Never married? We married twice, as I recall.”

  “Aye, but the first time you were quite unwilling.”

  “True, but the second, I couldn’t wait to make you mine.”

  “Still ...”

  “Still what?”

  “Well, when we married, what name did you give me?”

  “I gave you Carson,” he answered.

  “And there you have it; we were not really married at all. Your proper name was not Carson, it was Rodes.”

  “I see no logic in this. Both names were mine to give and what would the name have mattered?”

  “It mattered greatly to me. I knew I must be a submissive wife and never oppose you.”

  “And that is why we do not speak harshly to each other. You are submissive?”

  “I have to be, otherwise you might claim I am not your wife and set me aside. I do not have your proper name, you see.”

  Uriah closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Oh, Mary, I would never have thought of that.”

  “I know,” she giggled.

  IN THE CHILL OF THE February morning, ten long months after any of them had seen John, Mary stood next to Elizabeth on the back veranda and watched Uriah ride down the lane to check the horses in a far off pasture. The snow of the week before was melted, but he would need to break the ice on the pond so they could drink. Including the one Uriah rode, there were only sixteen horses left.

  The night before, Mary had re­moved the foot of the statue and counted the remaining jewels. She was comforted. Mahala's family would survive far beyond the time it would take for the new Americans to replenish the land. She watched Uriah turn up the road and was about to go back inside when he suddenly stopped, turned sharply and rode back toward her.

  “MARY,” Uriah shouted, his horse kicking up clods of dirt as he raced back down the lane. “MARY, HE IS HOME!”

  Mary caught her breath and Elizabeth quickly slipped her arm around Mary's waist to steady her as they waited for Uriah to finish the distance.

  “John is not well. Mister Moore says it is Malaria.”

  “He is alive?” Mary asked.

  “Aye, my love, our son is alive.” Then he raised his voice again. “Do you hear me, Caleb? He is alive! My son is alive!” Uriah repeated it until all the windows and doors burst open.

  “He has come home,” Elizabeth whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

  Uriah gave instructions to the faces in the win­dows and doors, with his horse nervously dancing from side to side. “Make haste, see that his bed is tended and bricks laid in it for his warmth, and prepare him a meal. Hazel, begin the water for his bath. Caleb, he will need strong arms to carry him up the stairs. Matthew, get your bag, John is unwell.” Uriah jumped down from his horse, raced up the steps, took Mary in his arms, kissed her hard and then rushed back to his horse. “He is alive, Mary. Our son is alive!”

  “I did not truly believe he was,” Mary admitted, watching Uriah ride back up the lane.

  Elizabeth's mouth dropped, “Were you not the one constantly convincing the rest of us that he was? Oh, sister.”

  When Mary glared at her, Elizabeth couldn't stop laughing.

  Uriah pulled his horse alongside the small wagon driven by Levi Moore. He carefully climbed into the back, knelt down and touched John's face.

  “Am I home?” John asked, pulling his hand out from under the blanket.

  “Aye, son, you are home.” Uriah took note of John's red face and sunken eyes.

  John grabbed his father’s sleeve and pulled until he leaned closer. “Is it Mahala?”

  “Yes, it is Mahala. Mister Moore has turned up the lane and your mother waits for you.”

  John slowly closed his eyes and relaxed his grip. Then abruptly, he tightly grabbed his father's arm again, his eyes wild with urgency. “Have you any food?”

  “Yes son. This day you will eat your fill.”

  Levi Moore sat between Matthew and Uriah in a chair on one side of the assembly room and watched. As soon as John had been carried up, people hauling every conceivable item rushed up the stairs and then down again. Some just rushed across the room from one side to the other, opening doors and closing them again.

  “Quite the show, is it not?” the elderly Matthew declared. “I have spent many a fine day watching it as you do now. But I beg of you, do not ask me their names. I would fail at the task miserably.” Then Matthew leaned closer to Levi, “They all look alike, you know?”

  Levi watched Maralee rush across the room and Roselee climb the stairs. “Indeed they do.” As soon as he had stuffed the last bite of cold chicken into his mouth, Uriah took the plate away and handed him another.

  “Mister Carson, my stomach is on the verge of rebelling. But I thank you.”

  Uriah set the plate down. “But you will not hesitate to ask when your stomach has quieted. I cannot think of any wish I would not grant the man who brought my son home.”

  “Any wish?” Levi asked, turning to look at the statue.

  “Surely, you do not fancy that,” Caleb said, pulling his chair around to face Levi.

  “The Baron you mean?”

  “How could you know that?” Uriah asked.

  “Your son told me a great deal about all of you during our time together. Mahala has no secrets from me.” Levi slowly looked from the bottom of the statue to the top.

  “I see,” Caleb muttered, watching Levi's eyes. “Brother, have we shared all of Mahala's secrets with your son?”

  “I do not think we have,” Uriah answered.

  “Good. May I suggest we settle ourselves where it might be more peaceful? There is a warm fire in the study?”

  “Indeed there is,” Uriah agreed, helping Matthew to his feet. “And, no doubt, a bit of comfort.”

  “I say, have we any Madeira wine?” Matthew asked.

  “I have saved the last bottle for just this occasion,” Uriah answered.

  “Lead on, my boy, lead on,” Matthew said, grabbing his cane.

  Caleb waited until the assembly room was empty, walked to the statue, reached between the vines and shoved the foot back in place. Then he stood back to examine the midsection. The cloth over its loins matched the color of the vines exactly and had not been moved. “With six daughters, a man cannot be too cautious.”

  Uriah helped Matthew into a chair. He opened the bottom drawer of the desk, pulled out a bottle of wine and a bottle of rum. “We owe you much, Levi. Surely, there is some reward you desire,”

  Levi sat down in Uriah's favorite chair, brought one leg up across the other, and pointed. “I will be pleased to take that.”

  “What?” Caleb asked, closin
g the door behind him.

  “Rum, Mister Carson, I will take that bottle of rum. I have not seen a bottle, leastwise not a full one, since...well, it must be since January of 1780.”

  Uriah grabbed the full bottle and handed it to Levi. “The honor is mine, Sir,” he said, bowing respectfully.

  “Mister Carson, I am shocked,” said Levi. “The British in America have given up the bow.”

  Caleb sat down, “For what reason?”

  “It has been said, each time the British bow, an American puts a foot to his back side.”

  Everyone laughed. Levi pulled the stopper out of the bottle and downed several swallows of rum. “Well now,” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “There are two reasons to celebrate. It is the first time I have made it to your house without get­ting captured.”

  Uriah looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I spotted you in Bristol and realized you’d boarded a ship filled with munitions. I arrived too late to warn you, so I boarded another ship, and sailed a week later.”

  “That was you?” Uriah asked.

  “It was. Then I began my search for you here. Have you any idea how many Uriah and Caleb Carsons there are in the Colonies? I must have seen nearly a dozen properties and I almost gave up until I heard of two Carson brothers selling horses.” He didn’t notice when Matthew winked at Uriah.

  Asked Caleb, “Why were you captured?”

  Levi absentmindedly scratched his head, “It seems the crown does not favor a man who pretends to be of a high rank, and sends a full garrison off in the wrong direction.” They laughed and he roared right along with them.

  Then Uriah wanted to know, “Good glory man, where did you get off to after Guilford? The last we saw of you, you and John were running over the hill be­hind the courthouse.”

  “You were there?” Levi asked.

  “We were in the first Virginia line right behind you. Did you not see us when you pulled back?” Caleb asked.

  Levi took another long swallow of rum and savored the taste. His pants and shirt were clean, his hair was combed and pulled back, and his facial hair was neat and trimmed. “I do not recall seeing any faces that day. I suppose we did run past the courthouse. Worrisome thing, the fear of getting shot in the back.”