Colonel Marion sat across from him. “Your ankle and horse explain why you did not meet up with us. Captain Melton said he thought he’d seen your mare go down, but where have you been hiding out since then?”
“Sneaked into Georgetown. A friend helped me.”
“The friend you spoke of before?”
He nodded.
“I’m glad you made it back. We lost a lot of men.”
But certainly not hundreds. “Where is everyone else?”
“Home. With the colder weather settling in, even the British are not as active any more. It’s pointless for men to huddle around a campfire trying to stay warm with their homes only miles away. They’ll come back when we need them.” He tossed another log on the fire, stirring sparks. “Any news from Georgetown?”
“A little. I overheard that there are only eighty regulars stationed there right now. From what I saw, they don’t have the town very fortified.”
Marion crossed his arms. “Then why wait?”
“Sir?”
He cracked a smile. “Just musing, Sergeant, but you might as well know I have had my sights on Georgetown for a while now. And I don’t want to wait until spring.”
Daniel carved back the blackened skin of the potato. Georgetown seemed a logical and strategic target, but an attack there would bring the fighting onto Lydia’s front door. Could he leave South Carolina, not knowing that she was safe?
17
Lydia waited until the trunk was lowered to the center of the library floor and Eli left before turning to her father’s shelves of books. She wouldn’t be able to take them all, but she did want a few for her cottage. Something to remember him by. Gulliver's Travels, Robinson Crusoe, The Arabian Nights—she made a neat pile at the bottom of the trunk. The action helped fortify her resolve to leave.
If the opportunity ever arose.
Two weeks had crept by since Daniel disappeared. When confronted, Eli informed her that Daniel demanded he help him get the horse, but with the understanding that the Patriot would return. A week ago Sunday. She had waited at the oak, determined she would do whatever she needed to convince Daniel to give her the locations of Colonel Marion’s camps, but he had never come. Nor had he sent word.
A rapping at the door caused her to look up. Molly entered. “Miss Hilliard is here. Would you like me to show her in?”
Lydia sighed. “No. I shall come to the parlor. Bring some refreshments.” As much as entertaining held no appeal, propriety left her little choice. Perhaps Ester brought another message from Mr. Hilliard.
After setting The Vicar of Wakefield on the growing stack, Lydia removed the apron, smoothed the violet fabric of her skirt and exited the library.
Ester stood by the pianoforte, her hand resting on the silky mahogany. “Oh, Lydia, I am so sorry to hear about the Americus. You must be devastated.”
“Not wholly.” So long as she reminded herself the loss was more Charles’s than her own. Lydia lowered onto the settee. “I assume Mr. Selby has been to see your father?”
Ester’s head inclined in a nod, and she sat across from Lydia on a padded chair. “Yes, he was there again this morning. They had some…” her voice lowered, “business to discuss.”
“I imagine so.” But why would Ester think such should be kept secret?
Her hands kneaded the dainty handkerchief she held, an action that would do the pink lace along the edging no favors. “Lydia.”
“Yes?”
A pause. “I am sorry you felt unwell last time I called. You were missed.”
Lydia doubted that. Little Margaret probably didn’t even know she existed. And Charles—not much had passed between them since he withdrew his proposal, and the news of the Americus arrived.
“You must dearly love little Maggie.”
Love her? The day she had been born, Lydia had promised herself not to let anyone close enough for such a feeling to develop, but truth be known…
Lydia stood and walked to the pianoforte, keeping her back to her friend. “She is a dear child.” What else would be expected of her to say? Lydia had done everything in the past year to avoid the babe, now a little girl looking more like her mother every week.
“After your sister’s passing, I believed you would be the best mother for her.”
No. “I cannot be her mother.” Lydia knew that much. Strange to think that someday Charles would replace Margaret with a new wife. He had already said he wished to provide his daughter with a new mother. Lydia compelled her lungs to expand. Life would continue for everyone…except her. She should be in that cemetery with the rest of her family. None of them had really survived. Except the infant Margaret left. I cannot do this anymore.
“My apologies, Lydia. I did not mean to upset you.” Ester came behind her and laid a hand to her arm.
“Do not concern yourself. I am not upset.” Perhaps the greatest lie she’d not only spoken but tried to believe. “If you will excuse me, though, I should see what became of our tea.” Lydia swept from the room.
Molly already approached with a tray.
“Pause for a moment before taking that in,” Lydia said, stepping out of the way. “And tell Miss Hilliard it appears I was detained. Give her my regrets.”
“Yes, Miss.”
She started for the stairs just as Charles stepped into the house. “Lydia, where’s Miss Hilliard? Her father told me she had made plans to call.”
“In the parlor. Molly is taking in some tea now. My head is quite sore today. Why don’t you join her?” She continued up the stairs, no desire to hear his reply.
“Lydia?”
She silenced his call with the door and then sat rigid on the edge of her bed. Beside her sat Mother’s Bible, untouched for days. On their own, her fingers found the textured cover and slowly drew it open. Maybe somewhere in this book, in God, she would find the ointment for the pain that still ripped at her heart.
~*~
A gust of breath showed in the chill evening air followed by the cough Daniel had battled the past two weeks. The heaviness in his chest had lifted and his throat no longer hurt, but the cough continued to plague him. Daniel inched the length of log he used as a chair closer to the fire and held his hands toward the flames.
Another day sitting on Snow Island alone while Marion and the handful of men that remained scouted the British’s movements and caused what trouble they could. The colonel insisted Daniel rest his foot, and while he knew the order was wisdom, staying behind did nothing for the boredom. It was again Sunday, and he ached to mount up and ride to Georgetown.
Daniel huffed out another breath. What was taking Colonel Marion so long? The men had left at first morning light, which seemed an eternity ago—and yet nothing compared to the fifteen days he’d been away from Lydia Reynolds.
Her image evoked a smile, though Daniel fought it. The longer he sat out here alone with his thoughts, the more logic and reason was pushed aside by his desire to see her again. Unfortunately, even if he wanted to meet her tonight, he couldn’t very well walk the distance, and he’d lent the gelding to one of the other men whose horse had been lame.
Daniel pushed to his feet as the murmur of voices announced a return. The small band merged through the trees. Hallelujah. Maybe company would keep him from going insane.
“Anything today, Colonel?” he asked as they dismounted and moved to join him at the fire.
“Word came that General Green is now in North Carolina. He should be meeting with General Gates in Charlotte.” Marion cracked a smile. “Otherwise, nothing but a small group of Tories who now have a greater respect for our cause.”
Daniel listened to the several versions of the story while he set the kettle into the coals. Along with a handful of sweet potatoes. If anything drove him mad—besides his long absence from Miss Reynolds—it would be eating nothing but a single vegetable for weeks on end. Only Marion didn’t seem to mind, but while others grumbled, no one complained out loud.
“You seem your c
heery self, Sergeant Reid.” Colonel Peter Horry clapped him on the shoulder.
Daniel raised a brow, but said nothing. Usually he didn’t mind bantering, but another long, solitary day had soured his mood like week-old milk.
“Ah, leave the lad alone,” one of the other men said, seating himself across the fire. “He’s still young and probably pining over that lady of his in Georgetown. And why shouldn’t he? He’s a good decade younger than you, Colonel.”
Horry frowned. “Not quite a decade. He’s not that young, and I’m not that old. If anyone is a confirmed old bachelor, it’s Francis Marion.”
Finished with his horse, Colonel Marion waved them down and joined them at the fire.
Reds and oranges swirled together, radiating heat that only warmed half of Daniel. His backside remained chilled, and his stomach continued to churn. He was done sitting there. His foot protested with an ache, but not enough to dissuade him.
He was halfway to his horse when Marion’s voice reached him. “Where are you going, Sergeant?”
“On a ride.” Daniel glanced over his shoulder. “With your permission, sir.”
“Would it not be wiser to wait until tomorrow?”
“Yes.” Daniel took his bridle and slid the bit back into the gelding’s mouth before the man who’d borrowed him had time to remove the saddle.
Horry came to his feet, but Marion motioned him back down.
“I might not ride that far,” Daniel offered. He winced as he brought his good foot up to the stirrup, leaving all his weight on his injured ankle. It had done a lot of healing in the past two weeks, but the joint remained stiff and sore.
“That far, as in Georgetown?”
Daniel grunted, but didn’t look.
“Well, if you do make it as far as Georgetown, it would not hurt to take a look around and find out what our British friends are up to.”
A low chuckle rose from Horry. “Give her a kiss, Reid. War is not the time to wait on propriety.”
Daniel shook his head and swung into the saddle. He didn’t need a kiss from Lydia. Just to look into those beautiful eyes would be sufficient…for now.
~*~
The coarse bark pressed into the back of Lydia’s head causing an ache. She’d sat there a while on the low branch, leaning against the ancient oak. This was the second Sabbath she had waited, and nothing. For all she knew, Daniel Reid was dead. Or maybe he’d decided to return to his New England frontier. Or perhaps his foot was still too painful. Or he was too ill. Or…
She sighed and stood. All the answers seemed to equate that Daniel Reid would probably not return, a thought that both tugged at her heart and washed her with relief. Yet, if he didn’t return, she would have to find a new way to reach England, and a way to pacify Major Layton. He would not be happy with the loss of his horse.
Darkness settled into the woods. She’d lingered far too long, but it was still hard to walk away. A strange sort of anxiety swooshed in her stomach. Disappointment, worry, relief—none of which made sense. “I’ll find another way.” She would have to. Cloak drawn around her, Lydia started toward town. A breeze rattled the bare branches above her. This was the last time. No more waiting hours for nothing. No more wondering what became of Daniel Reid.
A flame danced from a torch as the lamplighter strolled to the next pole and climbed onto his step. She lowered her head and hastened past. One block farther and she reached the house. Instead of going up the front, she darted around the back and through the kitchen. A couple of the servants sat at the table, but she didn’t look at them as she passed. They would hopefully keep silent about her absence from the house.
Making a beeline up to her chambers, Lydia threw off her cloak and dropped onto the edge of the bed. She had to find a way to convince Major Layton to simply accept her failure. Perhaps she would also talk to Charles in the morning, one last attempt to make him see reason. The Zephyr would soon return to port.
Lydia flopped backwards and spread her arms out on the mattress. The more she thought of securing passage across the ocean, the more hopeless her plight appeared. The past two weeks, since they’d lost the Americus, Charles had been in the most unusual, reclusive mood. He appeared for meals as always, and put forth the appearance that nothing had changed, yet she sensed that was only a pretense. His eyes brooded. Maybe he worried about the remaining ship and only means of supporting his daughter. The loss of the Americus had been a massive strike to him financially.
Of course, Major Layton and General Cornwallis in turn had been quite livid when they’d been appraised of their losses—guns and powder and even a number of cannons.
Lydia rolled off the bed and began to undress. Better to wait a little while longer to discuss anything with Charles. Maybe when the Zephyr was again safe in harbor. Down to her shift before Molly came in, Lydia sat in her bed to sip her tea and read her mother’s Bible. Few of the words settled into her, thoughts continually stealing away to the fate of the rebel sergeant. Cursed man. The least he could have done was write her a note or something to inform her of his condition and why he had not returned, so she could rest her mind concerning him. It was the mystery she hated of his absence. Surely that was all.
The Bible brought her little peace tonight. Lydia blew out the lamp and settled into bed. Rest was what she needed, and then she would be able to put thoughts of that man from her.
Fitful as it was, sleep finally did come, followed all too readily by dawn.
She buried her face in her goose-down pillow as Molly drew the drapes and laid out her gown. Lydia’s eyes burned, but she had an appearance to make at breakfast. Compelling herself from bed, she dressed and washed her face. Instead of looking in the mirror while Molly pinned up her hair, Lydia stared absently at the window and the light streaming in. It didn’t matter so much how she looked, so long as she was present. “Thank you,” she murmured on her way to the door.
A screeching cry met her in the hall. Little Margaret seemed beside herself this morning. She was soon hushed to a whimper, but even that dragged Lydia’s steps.
“Miss Reynolds.” Major Layton hurried down the stairs to come alongside her, his smile as artificial as his powdered wig. “I trust you slept well.”
“Well enough.” She could sense he had more inquiries on the tip of his tongue. How could he not after hearing nothing for two weeks? She would meet with him today and explain about Daniel. Perhaps the major would not be too angry. She had done some service for him, and she had a few items of jewelry father had bought her…
“Miss Lydia.” Eli met them at the bottom of the stairs. He paused, watching Major Layton halt beside her.
“Major, will you give me a moment.” Lydia motioned toward the dining parlor. “I shall join you and Mr. Selby presently.”
He gave a dutiful nod and moved past, though he slowed as he reached the door to glance back.
As soon as the major was gone from sight, Eli opened his palm to a small square of parchment. She unfolded it to two words and her heart kicked against her ribs.
Meet me.
Eli cleared his throat and nodded toward the stairs as footsteps pounded down the steps behind her. Lydia crumpled the paper in her hand.
Charles touched her shoulder as he paused beside her. “What is that?”
“Nothing.”
He held out his palm.
“It is nothing more than a note. From Miss Hilliard. I shall go directly after breakfast.”
His eyes narrowed. “What does she wish to speak to you about?”
“I—I cannot say.”
He made a strange humph in the back of his throat and turned his palm down, offering his arm instead, dressed in the dark brown woolen sleeve of his coat. “I have business with Mr. Hilliard. We shall go together.”
He led her into the dining parlor where Major Layton waited, his own coat as scarlet as the blood surging through her. The morning sun spilled through the windows, creating a cross work of shadows across the room. Like a priso
n.
18
Hardly a word was spoken as the carriage conveyed them to the Hilliards’ home.
Lydia kept her face passive though her insides knotted.
Charles suspected her falsehood.
He gave a tight-lipped smile while assisting her down from the coach. “Are you feeling well?”
“Quite.” Lydia pulled her hand back and led the way to the house. As soon as their knock was answered, she pushed past the servant to where Ester appeared at the door to the parlor.
“Why, Charles, Lydia, what a supr—”
“I came as soon as I could after receiving your note.” Lydia caught her arm and towed her inside the room and momentarily out of Charles earshot. “Please do not question me. Pretend you beckoned me here.”
Ester’s eyes widened. “Why? What has happened?”
“No time to explain right now. Only…” Lydia stepped back as Charles entered the room. “I am so very happy for you.”
Charles’s brow creased. “What has happened?” He looked to Ester. “I hope you do not mind me keeping you ladies company for a few minutes. Your father is meeting with someone and asked that I wait.”
“Not at all. And nothing has happened.” Ester’s head gave a quick shake. “Nothing that concerns you.” Their gazes locked for a brief moment, before she glanced back to Lydia. “Just something inconsequential. We women like to have our secrets from time to time.”
Silence settled between them, drawing taut the air they breathed.
“Would anyone like some tea?” Ester indicated the settee and chairs.
Charles nodded, and Lydia took a seat, searching for any pretext to excuse herself. Minutes passed as they waited for the tea to arrive.
Ester tried to make conversation, but neither Charles nor Lydia offered much in return. The same continued as they sipped the warm beverage.
As soon as the teacup settled empty to the saucer in front of her, Lydia stood and stepped away from her chair. “I feel terrible leaving so sudden, but I must stop at the milliners for a hat I have commissioned. Thank you for sharing your news.” She kissed her friend on the cheek and shot a quick smile at Charles.
The Patriot and the Loyalist Page 12