Red, Red Rose

by Marjorie Farrell

“Indeed?”

  “I have been commanded to invite you to a ball on Christmas day,” Val continued with a grin.

  “A ball!”

  “Lord Wellington believes that a holiday celebration is just what the men need to keep their minds off the discomfort of a Portuguese winter. Many of them are finding it far more difficult to sit still than to do a twenty-mile-a-day march.”

  “A ball, eh? Just whom will we be dancing with? Each other?” Belden asked with a wry smile.

  “There are a number of respectable local women as well as some officers’ wives.”

  “Well, you can count on me and the colonel.”

  “Good. But there is another task I’ve been set, Captain. Procuring provisions for the men’s dinner.”

  “Now, that will take some doing, Lieutenant!”

  “Captain Grant and a number of us are out foraging. I suspect he is hoping for a miracle along the lines of the loaves and fishes. If we all come back with something and the men contribute what they have, together with a double ration of rum, it should feel like a holiday feast.”

  “We do have a cache of potatoes, Lieutenant. We could spare you some of those. And there are the piglets, of course,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Piglets! A roast pig would be just the thing,” cried Val.

  “I don’t know that I can get you more than one, for the cook has been planning to make sausage out of them.

  Speaking of which, I can also send you back with some to flavor the potatoes.”

  The piglets were penned behind the small ruined house that served as a cook station. Val listened as Jack bargained with the cook. The viscount was so fluent and the bargaining so quick that he missed some of what was being said.

  “He says you can have the runt,” said Jack as the cook threw up his hands and retreated into the house.

  It was easier said than done, Val realized as the two of them chased the piglet around the pen. Finally the viscount dove for him and managed to grab his hind legs.

  “You had better save me a slice of pork loin,” Jack threatened as he looked down at his jacket. “I’ll have to settle for the feast, since no one will dance with me in this jacket!”

  * * * *

  Val rode off that afternoon with a good fifteen pounds of potatoes and a dozen links of sausage in one saddlebag, and a squealing piglet in the other. It was only two days until the full moon, so he was able to pick his way down the track fairly easily until midnight, when he finally stopped to rest.

  “All right, piggy,” he crooned as he lifted the little animal out and tied him to a bush. He drew his blanket around him and, leaning back against a rock, closed his eyes. He was just nodding off when the squealing began.

  He could hear the pig trotting back and forth and back and forth, and decided to try ignoring it. He’s bound to exhaust himself, he thought. But the plaintive whining continued.

  “Bloody animal! You’ll bring someone down on us if you don’t shut up.” He walked over to the bush and the little animal pressed against his leg.

  “It is company you want? You are missing your mother and brothers, I suppose.” Val untied the rope and led the piglet over to where he had been resting. “All right, all right, if this will keep you quiet, you can sleep next to me, you wretched runt.”

  The piglet was not content to sleep outside the blanket, however. He lifted it up with his snout and scrabbled under it, giving a contented little sigh as he sank down next to Val.

  “You are a pig, sir, not a dog,” Val told him sternly. The pig only gave a little grunt and pulled closer. Val gave a helpless sigh and resigned himself to his fate.

  * * * *

  The next morning he was awakened by a wet tongue scraping across his face. “Ugh, get down, you blasted pig, or I’ll slit your throat right here!” The little animal just cocked his head to one side and gave Val such a bright-eyed, knowing look he had to laugh.

  It was hard getting the squealing animal into his saddlebag again, but he finally accomplished it and after a few minutes of squealing, the piglet was finally soothed by the rhythmic motion of the horse and remained quiet for the rest of the ride home.

  Val unloaded the potatoes and sausage and carried them to Captain Grant’s tent.

  “Is the captain in?” he asked his orderly.

  “Yes, sir. You can go right in.”

  “Welcome back, Lieutenant. I hear you succeeded in getting us some supplies.”

  “Potatoes and sausage, sir. And one more thing: a piglet.”

  “You have a butchered pig with you? We’d better get that over to the cook’s at once,” Grant told him.

  “Not a dead pig, sir, though he was very close to death last night. A very alive one.”

  “A live piglet, eh? How big is he?”

  “The runt of the litter, sir.”

  “We managed to procure a side of beef for His Lordship’s table, Lieutenant. But roast suckling pig…that would do very well for you and some of the other officers. Bring him down to Major Gordon’s, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * * *

  When he reached the Gordons’ house, Val tied his horse and lifted the piglet from his saddlebag. He was hoping just to hand the animal over to Private Ryan, but when the door opened, there he was, standing with a squealing piglet in his arms, facing Miss Elspeth Gordon. He lifted his shako awkwardly with one hand and gave a bow, and the piglet, taking advantage of the moment, wriggled free and ran into the house.

  “You come back here, you bloody animal,” shouted Val, as he pushed past Elspeth, who watched with astonishment and growing amusement as the normally reserved and dignified Lieutenant Aston got down on his knees trying to coax the pig from under the sofa where he had taken refuge.

  “Damn you,” Val growled as he thrust his arm under and tried to grab the elusive animal. Then his tone changed. “Here, piggy, piggy,” he crooned.

  “Perhaps I can shoo him down to you, Lieutenant,” said Elspeth, her voice strained with her effort to keep from laughing. She knelt down at the other end of the sofa and gently batted at the piglet, who finally decided to take refuge with the human most familiar to him. As he stuck his snout out, Val grabbed him and stood up. The piglet wriggled around and began to lick his face.

  “Is Private Ryan available, Miss Gordon?” Val asked in as dignified a tone as he could muster.

  “Yes, he is, Lieutenant. Is the pig for him?”

  “The bloody…. I beg your pardon, Miss Gordon. The pig is for your family’s Christmas dinner.”

  “I see. Let me get Private Ryan.” Elspeth got herself into the kitchen as quickly as she could before she gave way to the laughter that she had heroically controlled.

  “Are you all right, miss?” asked Private Ryan.

  “Yes, Patrick,” she finally answered, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “It is Lieutenant Aston. He is in the parlor in need of your assistance.”

  When Ryan saw the lieutenant holding the overly affectionate piglet, he had to smile. “Em, Miss Gordon said you had something for me?”

  “Take him, Ryan,” said Val disgustedly, thrusting the pig at him. “He is to be Christmas dinner.”

  “I see, sor. He seems quite fond of you, sor,” added Patrick as the little pig struggled to get back to Val.

  “The feeling is not mutual, I assure you, Private Ryan,” said Val, as he looked down at his uniform, which was now missing several buttons due to the animal’s sharp little hooves. He was trying to straighten out his jacket when Elspeth returned.

  “Thank you for your contribution to our feast, Lieutenant. I hope you will enjoy the roast pork, sir. It appears you and the piglet became rather close on your journey here,” she added, her eyes dancing.

  “I assure you, Miss Gordon, I am looking forward to seeing him on a platter with an apple in his mouth.”

  “Poor little pig,” Elspeth murmured.

  “Poor little pig, my…. Just look what he has done to my uniform
.”

  “I see you are missing some buttons, Lieutenant,” Elspeth replied sympathetically. “If you leave your jacket here, I would be happy to sew on new ones for you. It is the least I could do after the risk you have taken on your latest mission.”

  Elspeth’s tone was all soothing flattery, but when Val looked down, he could see she was fighting to keep her face straight.

  “I can see you are trying to humor me, Miss Gordon. Believe me, this was as dangerous a mission as any I’ve undertaken, with that bl—animal making enough noises to alert any Frenchman or bandit within twenty miles of me!” Val said with a grin.

  “Whatever did you do?” asked Elspeth seriously.

  Val hesitated. “I let the blasted pig sleep next to me,” he admitted, his face growing red. “And I hope you will keep that information in confidence, Miss Gordon.”

  “Of course I will, Lieutenant,” said Elspeth kindly, but with a spark of amusement in her eyes.

  “Thank you. Uh, I had best get back to my quarters and start searching for buttons.”

  “Then you refuse my offer, Lieutenant?”

  “I thank you for it, Miss Gordon, but I am quite good with a needle and thread, I assure you.”

  * * * *

  As he left, Val met Private Ryan coming around from the back of the house.

  “I’ve got the pig penned up, sor, but he is whining like a bagpipe. ‘Tis missing ye, he is, sor.”

  “Well, he can miss me till doomsday,” said Val. “Which for him will be sooner rather than later.”

  Chapter 14

  Two mornings later, just before dawn, Val awakened with a start. Someone was trying to get into his tent, he realized, and he grabbed his pistol from under his cot and waited for whoever it was pushing at the flap. A small gap opened at the bottom, letting in a shaft of early morning light, and in trotted the piglet, who stopped midway and cocked his head as if to say, “Well, here I am, and aren’t you pleased to see me?”

  Val swore fervently and fluently, but the little animal was not at all deterred. He trotted over to the cot and, putting his front hooves on the edge, hauled himself up.

  “You are worse than any puppy, sir,” complained Val, pushing him away from his face. “Indeed, though, you are as smart as a dog to find me,” he added with a reluctant grin. “How did you do it?”

  The pig only gave a contented sigh for an answer as he crawled under Val’s blanket and snuggled next to him.

  “Oh, no, not this time,” said Val, jumping out of bed. “You go right back to the Gordons’ pen.”

  Val dressed quickly, for he wanted to be out of camp and on his way to the village before anyone was awake. “I’m not carrying you this time,” he muttered. “Not after I sewed new buttons on.” He grabbed a length of twine and tied it around the piglet’s neck.

  He expected to haul the little animal all the way, but instead the piglet trotted along next to him. It seemed as though he was going to make it out of camp without anyone seeing him when, just as he passed the last officer’s tent, James stepped out, his breeches half-buttoned, obviously intending to relieve himself.

  “Uh, good morning, James.”

  “Am I dreaming, or is that a pig that I see before me?” James asked dramatically.

  “If I told you you were dreaming, would you believe me and go back inside?”

  “Actually, no, Val,” said James with a grin. “The call of nature was too strong to let me go back to sleep. And my dreams are usually sweeter than this. So, is this our Christmas dinner?” James asked, leaning down and scratching the piglet’s ear.

  “He won’t last till Christmas day if he doesn’t stay out of my way,” growled Val.

  “Why, Valentine, it is only that he has developed a fondness for you, it would seem. Perhaps you took him too soon from his mother?”

  “Go relieve yourself, James. And I trust you will keep this to yourself?”

  “It will be difficult, but I will keep your little admirer a secret, I promise.”

  Val and the pig snorted together and James waved them on. “Get out of here, Val. You will have me pissing myself if I don’t stop laughing.”

  * * * *

  When Val reached the Gordons’, he took the pig around the back of the house and unceremoniously dropped him in the pen. The gate was swinging on its hinges and Val closed it quickly before the little animal could reach it.

  “Now, just how did you manage it?” Val muttered as he inspected the gate. But he didn’t have to wonder too long, for the piglet trotted over and, bracing himself on his hind legs, reached up and pushed at the latch with his snout. It only took him three or four tries to move it and if Val hadn’t been there to stop him, he would have been free again.

  “You are a smart little bugger, I must admit,” said Val with an appreciative grin. “But I am going to tie this gate shut, my lad.” Val drew the twine leash from his pocket and wrapped it around the gatepost several times. “There, now, I defy you to get out again!” As he turned his back and started to walk away, the piglet started whining and then letting out pathetic squeals.

  “Damnation, you’ll wake the whole bloody household!”

  The only way to quiet the pig, of course, was to walk back, kneel down, and scratch around his ears.

  “It seems as if you have missed him as much as he has missed you, Lieutenant,” said an amused voice behind him.

  It was Miss Gordon, in a blue flannel wrapper with a voluminous plaid shawl around her shoulders. The only thing she had on her feet were sheepskin scuffs and before he stood up, Val caught a glimpse of shapely ankles.

  “He is an escape artist, this piglet. He ended up in my tent this morning,” said Val disgustedly.

  “I have heard that pigs are very intelligent animals, but I never believed it until now. It just goes to show you that you shouldn’t judge anyone by his appearance, doesn’t it, Lieutenant? However did he get out of the pen?”

  “Lifted the latch with his snout,” said Val with a grin, which he was horrified to realize was both disgusted and proud.

  They both leaned over the fence and watched as the piglet rubbed his head against Val’s boots.

  “He won’t bother you again, Lieutenant Aston. I’ll make sure Patrick keeps the gate tied. And in a few days, he’ll be—”

  “Uh, yes,” said Val, turning away quickly. “Which is all to the good, because I must confess I might find myself getting fond of the little bug—er, I beg your pardon, Miss Gordon.”

  Elspeth laughed. “I have heard the word before, Lieutenant.”

  “You had best get inside, Miss Gordon. You shouldn’t be out on such a cold morning, bare-legged and all.” Val only realized what he was saying after the words were out. He wasn’t supposed to have noticed Miss Gordon’s bare legs, much less comment on them. Damn, but he’d served as a common soldier too long. “I beg your pardon again, Miss Gordon. I shouldn’t be commenting on your, er, limbs….” Of course, here he was, mentioning them again, he thought, his face getting red.

  “Lieutenant, I thought you knew by now that I am not easily embarrassed. I am not at all insulted, I assure you,” replied Elspeth with a smile.

  “Thank you, Miss Gordon. I’d best be off.”

  “Good morning, Lieutenant. I am looking forward to seeing you at Christmas dinner.”

  Val mumbled something about “And I too,” but Elspeth thought that his backward glance at the pigpen did not come from anticipation of roast suckling piglet. “I think the lieutenant is fonder of you than he would like anyone to know, piggy,” she said thoughtfully as she watched the little pig at his food.

  * * * *

  Val got through the next few days with just a few pig jokes, and those referring only to his arrival with the piglet. He was grateful that neither James nor Miss Gordon had said anything about the little animal’s early morning visit.

  The laundresses’ telegraph seemed to be quite efficient, however, for when Mrs. Casey delivered his clean shirts the day before
Christmas, she was full of news about the piglet.

  “Mrs. Ryan says he will not make a very satisfactory dish, Lieutenant, for he is wasting away from missing you,” Mrs. Casey told him as she handed him his pile of newly laundered shirts.

  “I am sure his lack of appetite has nothing to do with me.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, sir. You did take him away from his mother. Why, I remember my uncle telling a story of a clutch of ducklings following his old sheepdog around for weeks because their mother died when they were very young.”

  “Well, there is no chance of the pig following me around, Mrs. Casey, for he is securely penned.”

  “He will be dead and stuffed tomorrow,” she said matter-of-factly. “You will be fattening yourself on all that pork fat,” she added cheerfully. “Though it is a little sad, him being such an intelligent piglet and all.”

  “Yes, well, thank you, Mrs. Casey. Here are the dirty sheets. I hope you will be enjoying a holiday feast yourself.”

  “Will and I are looking forward to it. Happy Christmas, Lieutenant.”

  “Happy Christmas, Mrs. Casey.”

  The closer it got, the less Val was looking forward to Christmas dinner. He awoke Christmas morning with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach and wondered if he might be coming down with something.

  The early morning had been set aside for worship and Val hurried to shave and dress in his best uniform.

  As he listened to the familiar Christmas day readings, pictures of that first Christmas formed in his mind: the exhausted Joseph and Mary who could find no shelter except in a stable, the miraculous birth, the shepherds coming to worship, the piglet peering over the top of the manger…. Damnation, that animal was turning up everywhere, even his religious musings, Val thought, groaning an audible groan.

  James, who was standing next to him, peered over. “Are you all right, Val?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes, James. Just an unsettled stomach.”

  * * * *

  There was an officers’ breakfast, but Val excused himself early and made his way to Will Tallman’s tent, where a number of old comrades were breakfasting together in a tradition that went back several years.