Scarlet RIbbons

by Judith E. French

"And you, Sarah Turner." Martha smiled broadly. "For a Tory."

  Johnny ran after Joshua's mule, waving as Sarah and Joshua rode out of the yard. Joshua shouted and waved back and then continued to excitedly tell Sarah all that he had done during the visit. Sarah was content to let him rattle on. She nodded and murmured agreement now and then as they covered the miles between the two properties.

  "But I missed you, Mama," Joshua admitted. "Next time, I want you and Forest to come to Aunt Martha's too."

  The mule quickened his step as they rounded the last bend and came in sight of the barn. "Careful," Sarah warned.

  But Joshua only laughed and banged his heels against the animal's sides. "Race you to the barn," he cried. The mule broke into a canter, and Sarah had to touch her mount with the riding crop to keep up.

  Joshua reached the barn first, and Sarah heard him call out a joyous greeting to Forest. By the time she got there, Joshua was in his arms.

  "We missed you around here," Forest said. "Gideon had to give all his gingerbread to the dogs. I'll take care of Prince. Gideon's waiting for you. You'd better hurry and see if he saved you a piece."

  Laughing, the boy ran off toward the house. Sarah sat in the saddle and stared. It was obvious that Forest had been reloading the wagon with much of what it had carried before—food and blankets.

  "What are you doing?" she asked. She noticed he was wearing his eye patch again. "I didn't mean you had to leave today. Your wound isn't healed enough to—"

  "I've had a message, Sarah." He gave her a long, hard look.

  "A message? From who?"

  "It doesn't matter. What matters is that Washington's troops are in desperate need. I'm taking these supplies north to Valley Forge, Sarah. I'll give you a voucher." He shrugged. "They'll likely pay you in Continental script, which isn't worth much. But . . . " A muscle throbbed along his tight-drawn cheekline. "Maryland and Delaware boys are dying there in the snow. They're starving . . . without shoes, without blankets. I've got to go, Sarah, and I've got to have your supplies."

  "Damn the supplies," she cried, sliding off the horse and running to him. "You're not fit to travel. That wound will open and you'll—"

  "I'm going."

  "No. Listen to me," she begged. "A few more days. Just wait a few days until—"

  "Wait here while more of them die? My friends and neighbors? Men I've fought beside?"

  Sarah slipped her arms around his neck. "Two more days," she bargained. "Wait two more days and I'll come with you."

  Emotion glistened in Forest's eye. "You'd do that, woman, feeling the way you do about the war?"

  "I suppose I'll have to," she said, covering her true concern with banter. "How else would I ever get my team and wagon back?"

  Chapter Nineteen

  A Dangerous Journey

  The two days stretched into three as Sarah and Forest prepared for the journey north to Valley Forge. On the third day, Sarah stood at the dock and waved as Gideon and Joshua sailed downriver toward the Chesapeake, accompanied by the dogs and a large, squawking goose.

  "The boy will be safer with my mother in Chestertown than here," Forest assured her. "Gideon will watch over him until we can fetch him home."

  "So you tell me, but it's hard to give him over to strangers."

  "Gideon and my mother are not strangers."

  Sarah stared at him suspiciously. "No? 'Twas not long ago you told me that your sister, Rebecca, was your only living relative. Now you produce a mother. How can I believe anything you say?"

  He grinned. "I do have a sister Rebecca, and she has children."

  "And is this Rebecca a Quaker?"

  Forest shrugged. "Not unless she's recently been converted."

  "You pile one lie on top of another," Sarah accused.

  "I had to tell you something. Should I have told you I was fighting Howe's men? This is different. I'd not lie to you where Josh is concerned."

  Sarah blinked back tears as she watched her son grow smaller and smaller in the distance. She knew that Forest was right, but it had been hard to explain to the boy why he must go away without telling him the truth.

  "Are you certain your mother will welcome a strange child in her house? Joshua can be a handful, and you know how he eats."

  Forest put his arm around Sarah's shoulder and walked back toward the inn with her. "My mother raised two boys of her own, as well as a daughter. My son, Nicholas, was her darling. Trust me, Sarah, Joshua will be fine, and probably spoiled beyond belief when we go to collect him."

  "And if something happens to us?"

  "Then Joshua would be better off with Gideon and my mother than with Isaac."

  Carefully, they crossed the frozen ground to the barn. The newly butchered hog hung from the meat rack, and beside him were seven plucked hens and a rooster. With no one at King's Landing to care for the livestock, Sarah had decided to take the mule and the injured horse to Martha, and to slaughter the poultry. "It's just as well Isaac's men killed my cow," she said wryly, "or I'd have her to worry about too."

  The temperature had dropped below freezing and remained there, perfect for keeping the meat fresh. No more snow had fallen, but what remained on the ground froze to a hard crust, and the sky was overcast.

  "It won't be an easy trip," Sarah remarked, looking up at the threatening clouds overhead. "The roads between here and Pennsylvania are terrible."

  "Aye, and an army of British between us and Valley Forge won't help. Are you certain you want to go through with this, Sarah? I won't blame you if you have second thoughts." He picked up a hammer off the barn floor and returned to the task that had kept him busy most of the morning.

  Putting a false bottom in the wagon had been Sarah's idea. "We'll fill the space with cornmeal and blankets," she had said. Bags of salt and dried fish had been stuffed into the corners, along with some of her precious tea and the rest of Obediah's clothing and shoes.

  "He'll have nothing left to wear when he comes home," Forest had remarked with a grin. But he had taken all Sarah's offerings and fitted them carefully between the boards.

  "Obediah won't notice the clothes are gone," Sarah had assured him as she produced another woolen scarf and two more pairs of worn stockings. "He always had too many clothes. I don't think he'll need these boots, or . . ." She had added another armful of garments to the pile beside the left rear wheel. "Or this stuff."

  Sarah was pleased with the false bottom Forest was building, but she knew her best idea had been the oversized wooden coffin stored on the overhead beams in the woodshed. "Well take the pig," she'd pronounced. "We'll take the pig in the coffin, and I'll say it's my dead husband we're taking home to Pennsylvania to bury on the family farm."

  "Sarah, not even the British are stupid enough to believe you'd transport a corpse through occupied territory in the dead of winter."

  "Won't they?"

  In the end, Forest had agreed about the coffin as he had agreed to all of her suggestions. "You've a devious mind, woman," he had said. "I'm glad you're not working for the Crown. You're a better spy than I am."

  "And what would you have done? Driven your wagon to the nearest guard post and asked permission to deliver your supplies to Washington's army?" Sarah had wrinkled her nose in scorn. "I've not worked it all out yet, but I will."

  Both had planned their disguises carefully. Forest would assume his old role, complete with eye patch, beard, and ragged clothing. He had decided to wrap his bad knee in leather strips to keep the leg stiff and to put a lift inside one moccasin to be certain he limped when he walked. If he was questioned, he would claim to be a Queen's Ranger from the Eastern Shore, injured in His Majesty's service in the early part of the war.

  Sarah would play the part of his sister, the grieving widow. To safeguard her from assault by the soldiers, she would stuff her clothing and pretend to be far gone with child. "When I am done altering my gown," she had predicted, "none will dare to come too close, let alone lay hands on me, for fear of sending me into
labor then and there."

  Together they finished positioning the boards in the false floor, then dirtied the wood with soil. Forest's injured side was a hindrance, but by going slowly and with Sarah's help he was able to complete the task. Next they lowered the coffin onto the new wagon floor, and using the obedient dapple-gray, they maneuvered the wagon under the meat rack and slid the pig into the coffin.

  "He looks peaceful, doesn't he?" Sarah asked solemnly as she stared down at the boar. The animal had been gutted and the hair scraped, but was still complete with head, feet, and tail. The pig's mouth gaped open, and there were empty sockets where his eyes had been.

  A keg of brandy and a keg of cider had gone into the hog's belly, along with the apples and as many winter squash as would fit. Around the body they packed the frozen poultry, sealed canvas sacks of fresh-baked bread, and dried peas and beans. A special package contained gingerbread, Gideon's offering for some boy far from home and family.

  Sarah laid a strip of canvas over the top and tucked in the corners, put another packet on the canvas and pulled the coffin top into place. "I doubt not but what Master Hog will ride softer than we will in this wagon."

  Grinning at Sarah's remark, but unable to reply because his mouth was full of nails, Forest began to hammer home the lid of the coffin.

  Sarah waited until he was done and then led the dapple-gray gelding back to the barn. "It's best we leave at dawn tomorrow. Your side's healing every day. If you'd gone when you first wanted to—"

  "I wouldn't have gotten far," he admitted. "I know, wench. I know. But ye could have the mercy not to rub it in."

  "My father taught me to call a fool a fool."

  "Enough!" he complained. "Would ye leave a man no pride at all?"

  "You were ill, and you were upset. It's hard to think straight at such times," she said soothingly. "At least this way we'll have a chance at getting your supplies through. But don't think this makes me a rebel. My going with you changes nothing between us, Forest. I'm only doing it—"

  "To get your team back."

  Her gray eyes sparkled with unconcealed amusement. "And to be certain you're not hung. You promised to fix my bed, and you've not done it properly."

  ~~~

  It was after dark when Forest came into the house for supper. Sarah had set the table in the cabin for the two of them and cooked the fresh pork liver, cabbage and potatoes, beaten biscuits, and apple pie.

  "I couldn't eat all this if I was three men." Forest groaned as he sat down at the table. "But I will do my best."

  "I've made pork pasties and apple tarts to carry with us. I tried to pack what we can eat cold without cooking." Sarah offered grace and passed him a heaping bowl of cabbage. "Do you know how many days it will take us to reach Valley Forge?"

  "No. It depends on the roads and the weather."

  "If it wasn't for the rebellion, I'd like to go on to Philadelphia. I've heard it's a fair city, clean, with wide streets. Martha said in the summer there are women on every corner selling flowers."

  "This winter I'll wager there are women selling more than that. The British occupation is a hard one."

  Sarah got up to bring the pot of tea from the hearth. "I've honey to sweeten it, if you like," she offered.

  Forest nodded and held out his mug. "A good Patriot would not savor this drink so, but it's a weakness with me."

  "There's no need not to enjoy it," Sarah confided with a twinkle in her eye. "British tea it is, but it came to us by way of Ireland and France. Little tax was paid on this lot, I'll wager."

  "What?" he teased between bites. "A Loyalist who cheats her king and crown?"

  Sarah settled into her chair and reached for a biscuit. "I am a woman of business first, descended from a long line of thrifty innkeepers. We have never meddled in politics, but we have never seen a need to pay more than necessary for honest goods."

  He chuckled. "Well, thrifty woman of business, tell me how it is that you could produce a coffin for tomorrow's venture. It's not an item every housewife keeps in her pantry."

  Sarah bent her head, casting her gaze upon her plate. " 'Twas not in my pantry," she reminded him. " 'Twas in the woodshed."

  "And?" he urged. "There is more to this tale, I know."

  "The coffin is Obediah's." Her voice was carefully contained.

  "Your husband's? Why in God's name would he need a coffin?"

  Sarah shook with suppressed laughter. Obediah had more need of a coffin than Forest guessed, but she could not admit it. She peeked up at Forest through her thick lashes. "It was for payment of a debt," she offered, trying not to giggle. "A cabinetmaker in Oxford bought a horse from Obediah and was slow in paying. Obediah went to the sheriff and demanded his due. The cabinetmaker said the horse had botts and he would not pay. In the end, they settled out of court. The cabinetmaker had fashioned a coffin for a very large merchant who had the bad grace to die in Annapolis."

  "So your husband took the coffin," Forest finished.

  She nodded. "It was worth more than the horse. Obediah bragged of the bargain for months. We had the coffin on display in the public room all spring."

  Forest stared at her in disbelief. "What will Obediah say when he finds out you've stolen it? I've no intention of hauling the damned thing back from Pennsylvania, you know."

  Sarah sighed. "I'll have to answer for the coffin when next we meet," she answered meekly. "No doubt Obediah will be some put out."

  Forest's hands flexed in frustration. "I'd wish him in it, rather than the pig," he said. "I'd gladly offer prayers for his entrance into heaven."

  "So have I prayed, often." She looked up at him again and giggled. "Obediah is far away," she said, "and we are here." She reached across the table to take Forest's hand.

  How handsome he looks in the candlelight, she thought with a sudden rush of emotion. Forest had removed the buckskin tunic and wore the cambric shirt she had fashioned him for Christmas. It fitted perfectly across his wide shoulders and down over his arms, ending in lace at his wrists.

  "You can't expect me to just leave you here with him," Forest insisted. "Not after what we've been to each other—I won't do it."

  She let go of his hand and raised a finger to her lips. "Shhh. I don't want to talk about it. Tomorrow we leave on a dangerous journey, and I'm not sure either of us will return. Can we forget Obediah and the rebellion tonight? Can we laugh and talk together like a long-wed couple?"

  "That's all I want of you, woman," he admitted huskily. "To have you as my wife."

  Sarah blinked back a film of moisture in her eyes. "I wish things were different for us, but they aren't," she said. But they could be, she cried inwardly. They could be if it wasn't for this damned war and our tangled web of lies. "Let's not fight, please," she murmured, looking up at him. "I would have this night to be a sweet memory." She offered him the platter of meat. "You must eat and regain your strength. The Lord alone knows when you will have a hot meal again. Even you cannot heal if you don't take proper care of yourself."

  He exhaled sharply. "You speak like a sensible woman, Sarah. Why couldn't you have the good grace to look like one, instead of—"

  She flushed with pleasure. "You have the tongue of a peddler. My face is none of my doing. It is what I was born with." She squeezed his hand again. "But I will not have you change the subject before I am through." She smiled with her eyes. "You will do your cause no good if your wound becomes infected and you end up an invalid. I am the physician here, and you must listen to my wisdom."

  "So Adam was tempted by Eve," Forest quipped. "I'll try, Sarah. But looking at you takes a man's thoughts away from food."

  They finished the meal in comfortable silence. Forest helped her to clear away the dishes and the remainder of the food.

  "It seems strange to have no dogs here to eat the scraps," Sarah admitted. "I hope I did the right thing by sending Joshua away to Chestertown."

  "If there is a house safe in Maryland tonight for a child, I swear it is my
mother's. Once, when my brother, Chad, was—" Forest broke off and turned away.

  Sarah came up behind him and placed her hands on his taut shoulders. "He's dead, isn't he?"

  "Yes." Forest's voice was strained. "He fell beside me at the Battle of Princeton."

  Sarah leaned her head against him. "I lost both mother and father when I was young. I mourned them deeply for many years." She moved her hand to the nape of his neck and massaged it comfortingly. "Then one day I realized how fortunate I was to have had parents to love . . . and who loved me. Some never had a brother they could love."

  "Aye." He turned and took her in his arms. "I am fortunate. I might never have found you."

  "Or I you, Forest Irons." Sarah pulled his head down and kissed him.

  "Sarah, I . . ."

  "Stay with me tonight," she begged, her voice barely audible. "I want you with me."

  He answered with another kiss as his arms pulled her tightly against him. "Sarah, Sarah," he murmured. "I love you."

  "And I you," she whispered between kisses. "Come." Taking his hand, she led him into the bedchamber. Her limbs felt weak as water, her head was spinning, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Her eyes met his, and her pulse quickened as she felt the heat of his smoldering gaze. Her cheeks grew warm. "I am too bold," she murmured softly.

  "No, you could never be that," he protested. "Not with me." He reached out to loosen her bodice strings, and she shivered. "You're cold," he whispered. "I'll warm you, little Sarah."

  The firelight played off his chestnut-colored hair and beard. Strange, she thought, once I would not have thought him beautiful . . . but he is. So beautiful. . . .

  Forest's hand cupped her breast, and she gave a sigh of pleasure. She stood breathless as he kissed her neck and then slid the top of her gown aside to plant warm, sweet kisses along her bare shoulder.

  He gave a few more tugs, and her gown and apron fell, to pool around her ankles. His strong fingers caressed her hip and belly through the thin linen of her shift. "I have never known a woman who did not wear a corset," he murmured huskily into her ear. "I like it."