Here Comes a Candle

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  “You might be right at that.” The man was mollified by the tribute to American skill. “And as to getting to Washington; I reckon you’re right there, too. Stands to reason, if the redcoats do turn that way, they won’t get there without a fight. And, meanwhile, you can slip in by the back door, as it were. Didn’t you say you were heading for a house to the north of the city? Take the old road, and you’ve no need to go through the center of town. I guess you’ve no cause for-alarm, ma’am.” He cut himself a huge slice of blueberry pie. “You’ll be making an early start tomorrow?” to Manningham. “You’d best, if you want breakfast I’m off first thing to join the militia, and Mrs. Jenks and the girls won’t stay here alone. Not with your men about,” this, again, directly for Manningham. “Not after what happened at Hampton last year.”

  “But that was French volunteers.”

  “That’s what they said, but I’m not leaving Mrs. J. and the girls here to chance it, so if you want breakfast in the morning, be up early, that’s all.”

  Arabella grumbled a good deal, but they were up early just the same, and drove off at the same time as the landlord and his family, who were going straight to Washington. “You’re not afraid of running into the British?” asked Manningham.

  “Course I am, but I reckon we’ve just got to chance it. By all reports, they are still at Benedict—God knows why!—With a bit of git-up-and-go they might have been at Washington by now, and not a soul to hinder them, save Jemmy Madison, and Armstrong and Monroe—” he used a couple of extremely picturesque native adjectives to describe the Secretaries of War and State. “I reckon you British jist can’t stand our weather,” he decided as he helped his wife and daughters mount their old-fashioned wagon. “Mebbe if our soldiers ain’t got the spunk to beat ‘em, our heat will. Let’s hope so, anyways. I calculate it’s just about all the hope we’ve got. So—good luck to you.” And he whipped up his ancient horse and moved off down the Washington road.

  Silas, too, urged on, his horses and turned them along the little-used country lane that would take them directly to the Rock Creek house.

  “How long should it take us?” Arabella leaned forward to ask it eagerly.

  “Not too long.” Silas was never one to commit himself. “With a bit of luck, I reckon you’ll be at your friends’ for dinner. I certainly mean to have my horses safe stabled by tonight.”

  “Safe?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Didn’t you hear the landlord say the redcoats had no cavalry? Well, stands to reason they wouldn’t have; coming by sea like that. So—horses is going to be a mighty vallyable commodity round here, I reckon; and I’m taking no chances with mine. No, ma’am,” and then, for emphasis, to Manningham, “No, sir.” And he turned his attention to his horses.

  They saw a few families that day, obviously in flight, with all their possessions heaped, as the Jenkses’ had been, in a covered wagon, but those they stopped knew no more than they did themselves. Some were convinced that the redcoats had turned away toward Baltimore, others were equally sure that it was Commodore Barney and his flotilla of gunboats that they were after, but a depressing majority seemed certain that Washington was their target. “Well,” drawled a harassed-looking man whose shabby blacks indicated that he belonged to one of the professions, “stands to reason, don’t it? We burnt that Canadian capital of theirs—York. They’ll burn Washington, and serve us right, say I. But I won’t be there to see. It’s me for Tenallytown before night.” And he whipped up his horse and hurried past Silas, who refused to push his horses for anything or anyone.

  But he was as good as his word, just the same, and it was still early afternoon when he pulled up his horses and pointed with his whip at a narrow track that led steeply up from the road. “I reckon that’s your turning, ma’am, by the directions you gave me.”

  “Do you think so?” Arabella leaned forward to look out through the open sides of the coach. “It doesn’t look very well used, does it?”

  He shrugged. “We can but go and see. One thing’s sar-tin; there ain’t so much as a chipmunk about we can ask.” And without more ado he turned the coach down the narrow track, which wound upward through thick woods for three quarters of a mile or so.

  Kate, on the back seat as usual, with Sarah, was absorbing two shocks at once. She had not realized before that even Arabella had never visited these cousins of whom she spoke so confidently. And—she had taken it for granted that a house on the outskirts of Washington—the capital city of America—would be—she looked about her—well, not in the deep forest. What hopes of help had she here among the trees?

  But it was no good indulging in second thoughts now. Perhaps she should have asked the Jenkses for help before they parted. Perhaps not. At all events, here she was. And, at this moment, in fact, the coach pulled up a last steep slope and emerged from the trees to the sight of a house perched above them still, in a large clearing among fields that Kate had learned to recognize in the last few days as growing tobacco. It was a big gray stone house, well positioned on the brow of the hill, its pillared portico facing them as they pulled up the last weary incline of their journey.

  “That’s better,” said Arabella with satisfaction. “You see”—to Manningham—”I told you it was an old estate. My grandfather built here long before the town of Washington was so much as thought of.”

  “Yes,” said Manningham, “but where is everyone?”

  It had struck Kate, too, that the scene was oddly lifeless. She had got used by now to the sight of southern plantations with their abundance of black labor—whole families working in the tobacco fields together, and laughing black children who came running from all directions at the sound of a coach. But here was not a soul in sight. The house faced them, as Silas turned his horses into the carriage sweep, blank and silent, its windows shuttered against the afternoon sun.

  The big front door, too, that should have stood hospitably open, was tight shut. Silas looked at it. “I suppose,” he said to Arabella, “your cousins are expecting you?”

  “Well, not precisely. There was no time. Charles—”

  “You mean you never wrote them?”

  “Well, what was the use, since we would be here as soon as the letter?” She meant to sound reasonable, but merely sounded pleading.

  “Idiotic!” He turned away from her to beat a resounding tattoo with the door knocker. Nothing happened. They had all known that nothing would. “Your cousins are doubtless safe in Virginia by now.” Manningham’s tone was withering. “But I confess I am surprised that they left the house empty. It’s asking to have it sacked.”

  “I guess they didn’t,” put in Silas. “I guess they left the slaves to run the place. Only I calculate them slaves had a better idea. Have you heard tell of the redcoats’ black regiments? That’s where they’ll be, by now, and giving information about this place here, nineteen to the dozen.”

  “I expect you’re right.” Manningham turned angrily away from the door to look about him. “So—what’s to do?” Kate had emerged from the coach now, and he spoke as much to her as to Arabella. “But go on to Washington? We can’t possibly stay here, with no servants. It won’t take long, will it, Silas?”

  “Depends on the roads—and what you find. You’re going nearer to the enemy, every step you take; that’s one thing certain.”

  “Oh.” In her preoccupation with immediate discomfort, she had forgotten the greater threat. “What shall we do, Charles?”

  “Stay here of course. As the man says, who knows what we might not find in Washington?” His tone underlined the words. “No. We’re all tired out. We’ll manage here somehow for tonight; then tomorrow Silas can drive me into town to see what goes on.”

  “Not me,” said Silas cheerfully. “I contracted to bring you here. Right? Well, I’ve brought you. If you’ll put me up for the night, I’ll say thank you kindly, but tomorrow I start for home. By the back roads like we came. I’m not losing my good horses to the redcoats. Nor having them commandeered by the
militia down there,” he gestured with his whip in the direction where Washington must lie. “No sir.” He finished. “No, ma’am.” And meant it. Manningham argued and Arabella tried to cajole in vain. He ended the affair by stamping off to see if the stables were “fit for my horses to spend the night.”

  Arabella turned on Manningham: “Well, of all the ill-managed—”

  “You’re a fine one to talk.” He was as angry as she. “Who didn’t trouble, if you please, to write and say we were coming. I suppose you were ashamed—” They were at it hammer and tongs, all the irritations of the journey bubbling to the surface. Kate looked into the coach. Blessedly, Sarah was fast asleep. She moved away along the front of the house, looking for a means of entry.

  She found it around at the back, where the stable yard was bounded by the miserable hovels that constituted the slaves’ quarters. Someone, it appeared, had been before her. A window at the back of the house had been smashed and now hung drunkenly open on its hinges. Peering in out of the bright sunshine, she could see a large, untidy kitchen showing all the signs of having been hastily left. There was even half a loaf of bread and what might be a pitcher of milk on the table. She hurried back around the house and found the other two arguing more bitterly than ever. “We can get in at the back,” she interrupted them unceremoniously. “If we are to spend the night here, had we not better get to work?”

  “You’re right, of course.” Manningham turned to her with obvious relief. “How do we get in?”

  “I’ll show you, if Mrs. Penrose will stay with Sarah. I don’t want her to wake up all alone.”

  “I?” Arabella bridled at the suggestion. “I thank you, no. I’ll not be landed with one of her tantrums.”

  Kate shrugged. “You’re probably right. Anyway”—to Manningham—“you’ll have no trouble in finding your way. There’s a broken window around in the stable yard, leading straight into the kitchen. By the look of things, we’re lucky. I don’t know what happened, but I don’t think there’s been much looting. Oh!” Sarah had waked. She climbed back into the coach as Manningham and Arabella disappeared around the side of the house, still arguing.

  Silas returned just as she had got Sarah settled in a cool patch of shadow on the front porch. “I’ve got the horses fixed up,” he announced, “and found myself quarters in the coachman’s house. Plenty to eat and a good bed. Tell Captain Manningham I’ll see him in the morning, before I go.”

  “Of course, Silas.” At least it avoided the scene Arabella would inevitably have made if she found she had to eat with Silas. But—he was her friend, she thought, and certainly Sarah’s. Should she let him go like this? And yet, what could he do for them? Nothing. She held out her hand. “Good-by, Silas. And thanks for everything.”

  “You’ll be all right? You and the child?” What must he think about their strange party?

  “I think so.” After all, Jonathan would certainly be in Washington by how with the money.

  “Good. I’ll say good-by then.” He turned away, all too evidently relieved to have made his offer of help and been let off.

  So much for that. The big door swung open behind her, revealing Manningham. “Welcome to Liberty Hall,” he said.

  The house was smaller than its imposing facade had led Kate to expect. Arabella had already found the best bedroom and had shut herself in there. “A crisis of the nerves, she says.” Manningham led Kate and Sarah down the corridor that ran from front to back of the house on the second story. “I thought you and the child could sleep in here.”

  “Admirable.” It was obviously a room belonging to two little girls, with narrow beds side by side and everywhere the signs of rapid packing. “We shall do splendidly here, shan’t we, Sarah? But right now, I think food, don’t you? I’m ravenous, and I’m sure Sarah is, too.”

  “Yes.” He turned to lead the way downstairs again. “I shall be in there,” he pointed to the second bedroom at the front of the house. “If you should need me.”

  “I shan’t.” It came out more firmly than she had intended, and she hastened to qualify it. “Give us a proper bed, and we’re set to sleep for fourteen hours, aren’t we, Sarah?”

  On closer examination, the kitchen showed signs of rapid, disorganized looting. “Something must have panicked them, I think,” Kate decided after her rapid, competent inspection. “Lucky for us. There’s plenty of everything we shall need for a day or so.” She was busy tidying up as she spoke. “I wonder about livestock.” The milk in the pitcher was sour. “Surely they must have their own. Would the slaves have taken them?”

  “I’ll go and look.” Manningham returned in a few moments to report that he had found hens and a cow in a shed at the far end of the stables. “The cow’s in a bad way. Do you think she needs milking?”

  “I’m sure she does.” Kate laughed and sighed and rolled up her sleeves. “Pass me that bucket, would you?”

  FIFTEEN

  Sarah thought it a great game to help look for eggs in the poultry yard, and Kate smiled and followed her and thought once again how wonderfully better she was. Had she really left her tantrums and her terror of Arabella behind at Penrose?

  It seemed almost a miracle, she thought later, slicing ham from the cold underground larder and expertly frying eggs on the fire she had contrived to kindle in the huge kitchen range. Under these strange conditions, Sarah was being good as gold, trotting to and fro setting places at the big kitchen table. “You are a help to me, honey.” Kate bent impulsively to kiss her and heard, for the second time, a tiny threadlike whisper: “Kate.”

  Her eyes were suddenly painful with tears. Whatever happened, she vowed to herself, breaking another egg, Sarah was not going to be hurt. She would do anything, risk anything to protect her, to safeguard this extraordinary improvement. Anything? Her mind flashed back to Manningham upstairs: “I shall be in there ... if you need me.” Yes, if necessary, anything.

  As a great concession, Silas agreed to drive Manningham part of the way into Washington next morning: “I’m turning back before we enter the town itself—such as it is,” he stipulated. “I’m not taking any chances with my horses. But no doubt you’ll be able to get a hackney carriage once you’re nearer in. If things aren’t too bad.” They had seen no one since they arrived at the house and felt as isolated as if they were on the moon.

  “But we would have heard the sounds of a battle,” said Manningham. “I expect no difficulty. I’m sure I will find that the English are safe back on their ships by now—or, at the very worst, turned toward Baltimore. What in the world would they want with a ghost town like Washington?”

  “I hope you’re right.” Kate was delighted to see him go. Arabella had stayed in bed this morning, complaining of palpitations, so she and Sarah had the house to themselves. It was a happy day. They began by tidying and cleaning the big kitchen, and then, “Washday now,” said Kate. After a brief moral struggle she had appropriated clean clothes for herself and Sarah from the bedroom closets, and now they set to sociably to heat up water in the big copper and wash out everything they had worn on the journey. Insensibly, with occupation, some of the burden of anxiety that had weighed on her ever since the beginning of this strange venture eased away, and she found herself singing as she worked. Surely Manningham would find a letter from Jonathan waiting for him at the address he had given in Washington? He would return to say the nightmare was over. Perhaps by this evening she and Sarah would be safe with Jonathan in a Washington hotel. Safe—with Jonathan? What would that mean? What would he and she have to say to each other after all that had happened? The question caught like a sob in her throat, and Sarah, who had been singing and scrubbing beside her looked up anxiously. How terrifyingly quick the child was to catch one’s every mood. “It’s all right, poppet,” she smiled reassuringly. “I was just thinking...” Tone was always more effective with Sarah than words. “Now I’ll show you how the wringer works.” Sarah was quick to learn, and they were soon out in the sun-drenched garden, hanging t
heir washing on the line that stood ready among neglected corn in the vegetable patch.

  When they had finished, Kate turned to look at the straggling plants of corn. “Look, Sarah, here’s an ear that’s ready, and here’s another. Let’s shuck them out here, shall we, and I’ll cook them for our dinner. There’s plenty of butter in the larder, and ham to go with them.” Her hands were busy as she spoke, peeling the green outer leaves away from the golden spike of corn, and Sarah picked up another ear to imitate her. Was it really as simple as this, Kate wondered? Was all that Sarah needed real things to do?

  She sat back on her heels, idle for a moment, watching Sarah’s little hands working absorbedly at their task, and made herself face the future. So far, on this fantastic journey, the present had been problem enough. But now, with every chance that they might see Jonathan tonight, she must make herself look ahead, must face the fact that after what had happened between them she could not, for any consideration—no, not even for Sarah—live at Penrose with him again.

  She caught Sarah’s anxiously questioning eye and picked up a new ear of corn while she faced another fact. Sarah needed her. No getting away from that. It was her own presence, always there, always loving, always the same, that had brought the child through the stresses and strains of the journey. Occupation might be important, but her own constant presence was equally so. Sarah adored Jonathan, but—the journey had proved it—she could do without him. So—there it was. Kate smiled wryly to herself, remembering the incredible proposition he had made that night—it seemed a lifetime ago. But though so much had happened, nothing, in fact, had changed. His suggestion of a ménage a trois with Sarah for the third member could never be anything but outrageous. She must hold fast to that; never give way to the little devil inside her that asked: what difference did it make? What reputation had she to lose? Because that was not the point: she had Jonathan to think of, and, still more, Sarah.