Her Honorable Enemy

by Mary Davis

  Genevieve looked at Lindley and then at Rachel, put her hand on her chest and gave a sigh of relief. “Sit. I’ll bring your plates.”

  “We can get our plates.” Rachel saw them warming on the stove. “Sorry for making you worry. We lost track of time.” She handed Lindley his plate, and the two of them sat.

  After she had eaten, she set about washing the supper dishes.

  Papa’s and Genevieve’s voices drifted in through the open window. Papa said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”

  Rachel felt it was safe to assume Papa was talking about her. He always thought he had to do something about her. She didn’t need fixing. Wasn’t she fine the way she was?

  “Don’t be too hard on her,” Genevieve said.

  “She should be married by now, or at least considering marriage. She seems perfectly content to traipse around these woods like a wild animal.”

  “She’s not acting like a wild animal. The girl is a dreamer.”

  Rachel sighed at that. She did enjoy dreaming. Places she went in her mind were always perfect.

  Genevieve continued, “There are no other young people her age on this portion of the island. There isn’t much for a young lady to do. I think she goes out there and dreams of a knight on a white horse coming to rescue her.”

  And he was quite handsome.

  “And you think that is better than running wild?”

  “Of course not. I have tried telling her, life and love are not like she reads in books.”

  “If I take her books away, maybe that will straighten her out.”

  “She would only hate you.”

  She could never actually hate Papa, but she would be quite angry at him.

  “Then I will find her a husband.”

  Rachel dropped a plate in the washtub, splashing dirty water on herself.

  Genevieve gasped. “You would arrange a marriage for her?”

  “Why not? Daisy and I had an arranged marriage. That turned out fine until she got sick. And our marriage was arranged. Are we doing so badly?”

  “It would break her spirit. You are forgetting two very important things. We knew each other before the marriage was arranged. Same with Daisy. And you, my husband, are a very easy man to fall in love with.”

  “Then what am I to do?”

  Rachel could picture Papa hanging his head, shaking it.

  “Suitors. Find a few young men willing to come calling and let her choose.”

  Rachel held her breath for Papa’s reply.

  Silence dragged.

  Lord, please let Papa give me a choice.

  “Very well. I’ll speak to a few men after church tomorrow.”

  Rachel let out her captive breath. Thank you, Lord, for Genevieve. Suitors at least gave her a say in the matter. But she knew that no suitor Papa brought ’round would be wearing an English uniform.

  Or have golden flecks in his eyes.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Charles stood at attention in a clean, pressed uniform in front of his commanding officer.

  Captain George Bazalgette leaned back in his chair. “I hear you held an American girl captive yesterday.”

  “She wasn’t a captive, sir.”

  “Then you did hold her here.”

  “I wasn’t really holding her. It was only high tea, sir.”

  “But you kept her against her will.”

  Charles didn’t believe it was against her will, not really. She could have run off after her brother at any time. But he supposed the nuance of the interlude wouldn’t translate to his commanding officer. “It was all perfectly harmless, sir.”

  “Harmless?” Captain Bazalgette stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He braced his hands on the smooth, polished desk and leaned forward, his face red. “If she tells a solitary soul, or even hints to one person, that she was here and might have been detained, this ten-year peace could blow up in our faces. So far, we have had only a Berkshire boar as a casualty in this war. Both sides would like to keep it that way.”

  “But we have amiable relations with the Americans.”

  “It has taken a great deal of work to keep things peaceful. There are those on both sides who would like to see this little armistice break into a full-scale war. Not only could we lose possession of these islands, but also there would be both American and English bloodshed. I will not have one of my officers responsible. I will see you out of Her Majesty’s Navy and back home, dishonored, before I will allow that to happen. Am I clear, Lieutenant?”

  Discharged from the navy? Scandalous! He would be disgraced in his family as well as society. Unable to hold his head up. And for what? A bit of a lark with a pretty young girl? “Yes, sir.”

  “If I get wind of your doing anything like this again, you will be reprimanded and on the first ship back to England. You won’t even be able to get a station shining seamen’s shoes.”

  Charles swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Charles saluted, then put the toe of his right shoe behind the heel of his left, did a sharp about-face and marched out.

  As he strode across the grounds, he caught sight of his brother Brantley, just a year older, talking to Melissa. He headed in their direction but stopped when close enough to hear the couple’s conversation.

  His brother’s wife’s face was twisted in fury. “How could you have allowed us to be stationed in this place? There is no society. No real parties. No theater. By the time we get back to England, I will be a nobody. Completely forgotten.”

  Charles veered away, not wanting to get caught in the middle of that discussion again. He headed for the formal garden.

  His brother had his standing in society, but at what cost? His wife was a horror to live with. She spent all his money and denied him access to her sleeping chambers if he so much as spoke crossly to her. His other two brothers hadn’t fared any better with their society matches.

  He would rather remain single than live like that. Then a certain raven-haired beauty came to mind. Rachel would charm any man she met. Not out of manipulation and deceit as many women did, but out of her purity of heart, quick wit and intelligence. Men were not used to women with such qualities. Or at least women who revealed them.

  Nay, Rachel was a rare gem in the midst of counterfeit jewels.

  A gem out of his reach.

  * * *

  Rachel sat in the window seat, watching rivulets run down the glass. For days it had poured. Usually she didn’t mind so much being cooped up in the house because the children were at school for most of the day.

  But she longed to be walking in the forest. She loved being out there. When this rain let up, she would walk and walk. She closed her eyes and pictured herself amongst the massive trees, hiking, not stopping for anything. Just moving.

  She could almost smell the freshness of the forest, the sodden earth, the crisp air. She imagined reaching out with her hand to a sword fern, the rain droplets on her palm.

  In her mind, she walked farther and found herself standing on the hill overlooking English Camp. Then she was down below in the garden. The leftenant stood before her. His hazel-brown eyes with the gold flecks studied her. He smiled and brushed her cheek with his fingers. She leaned into his touch.

  Priscilla fussed, and Rachel jerked open her eyes. Sadly, she was at home and not in the forest. Genevieve had lain down with the baby, giving Rachel this respite.

  She opened her book and pulled out the flattened purple flower. It had stained the page of her beloved book, but she didn’t care. She sniffed the limp bloom. Still sweet.

  Soon Papa’s wagon came up the road with the children. Her repose was over. She stood and slid a risen loaf of bread into the oven.

&nb
sp; Papa was all smiles. Usually this much rain put him in a sour mood. She loved it when Papa came home in good spirits.

  He kissed her on the cheek. “Where is your mama?”

  “She’s lying down with Priscilla.”

  “It’s good of you to let her rest. Did you have a pleasant day?”

  She nodded. She had gotten to read.

  “Good. I have a surprise for you.”

  Her smile matched Papa’s in width. “You do? What is it?”

  “Patience. You will see later.”

  Giddy with anticipation, she set about finishing the supper preparations.

  When a knock sounded on the door, Papa’s grin grew wider. “Rachel, dear, would you get that?”

  Since when did Papa want her to answer the door? But she went, and Papa followed right behind. “Your surprise.”

  On the porch stood an exceedingly handsome gent in common clothes. Tall with broad shoulders, brown hair. Eyes the color of a favorite hen she had raised from a chick years ago. And his smile could make most any woman swoon.

  Papa stepped forward and shook the man’s hand. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Thank you for inviting me to supper.”

  “This is my daughter Rachel. Rachel, this is Mr. Anderson.”

  Mr. Anderson doffed his hat and shook the water off it. “Call me Buck.”

  If this was the man whom Papa thought would make a good suitor for her, honoring him wouldn’t be difficult. And gentlemen callers wouldn’t be so hard to take, after all.

  Buck made polite conversation with Papa throughout supper. Rachel had to force herself not to stare.

  Lindley made his fake-in-love face at her from where he sat across the table next to their guest.

  She swung her foot under the table to kick him and get him to stop.

  Lindley twitched.

  Buck jerked his head around to look at her.

  Oh dear. Had she kicked him instead? Or had Lindley bumped him? She stabbed a bite of fried potato and popped it into her mouth.

  Buck turned back to Papa’s question.

  After supper, Papa and Genevieve left her and Buck in the parlor, the pocket doors open a wee bit. Buck seemed to like to talk. She didn’t mind. It gave her a good reason to stare at him. But then he said something that drew her attention away from his handsome features and to what he was saying. “What was that?”

  “I expect a wife of mine to work alongside me in my orchard.”

  There had been more. She was sure of it.

  “She should take in laundry, keep the house clean, have supper ready for me, keep the children in order. I want to have a lot of children. When they get older, they will be a big help in the orchard. I plan to expand.”

  Yes, there had been more. A whole lot more. “Your wife will be a busy woman.”

  “Idle hands are the work of the devil.”

  She squinted. Was his nose crooked? “Your children will hardly have time to work in the orchard while in school.”

  “Well, the boys can go for a year or two to learn their numbers, but they will be in the orchard during picking time.”

  A year or two? “And your daughters? Will they receive a full education?”

  “Girls, go to school? What do they need with reading and writing and numbers just to keep house? The Good Lord never intended for girls to go to school.”

  “So your daughters will be illiterate, and your sons will have only a rudimentary ability to read?”

  “Such things aren’t necessary in running an orchard. Why waste the time?”

  “Reading is not a waste of time.”

  “Reading is for the weak of body. ‘If any would not work, neither should he eat.’ The weak-minded, as well. Teaches people not to think for themselves.”

  She didn’t believe that the Lord wanted His people to be ignorant. And she could use a verse out of context just as easily. “‘But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren.’”

  “Yes, that is for the men, hence it says ‘brethren.’”

  She wanted to throttle him. He could twist anything in his favor. She had a mind and will of her own. She was by no means lazy, but he would not like having her as a wife. Could she convince Papa?

  Buck had moved from the topic of education back to his orchard. “My trees grow very well. I sell all I grow and for a good profit. Those foolish English will pay any price I name for a sweet, crisp apple.”

  She turned slowly to him. “You sell your apples to the English?”

  “Peaches, cherries and pears, too. But I charge them thrice what I do Americans. Those soldiers are so daft.”

  When finally he left, complaining about wasting so much time away from his orchard during this critical period just before harvest, Rachel breathed easier.

  But Papa beamed. “He was a polite, nice fellow.”

  Lindley made a retching sound.

  Papa turned on him. “You stay out of this.” He faced her, waiting for her assessment of Buck Anderson.

  She could tell him that Buck wanted a wife only to be slave labor and to bear children who would be more labor, and that they should all be ignorant. Papa might respond that she shouldn’t be too choosy, and it wouldn’t be so bad because Buck could provide well for her. But she knew just what tidbit Papa would be most interested in. “He’s sympathetic to the English.”

  Papa’s smile melted. “What? I can’t believe that.”

  Rachel nodded. “He sells his fruit to them.” She would leave off the part about him charging them so much more, because Papa might view that as a good thing.

  “I don’t care how nice and polite he is. I forbid you ever to see him again.”

  She sighed dramatically. “If you say so, Papa.”

  Papa walked off, muttering. “I can’t believe I welcomed him into my home.”

  Rachel smiled to herself.

  “Good riddance.” Lindley saluted toward the door. “I like the leftenant better.”

  Rachel gripped her brother’s arm and marched him to his small bedroom. “You hush up about that. If Papa finds out, you’ll get a whipping, and I’ll never be allowed to leave this house until I’m forced into an arranged marriage.” She pointed her finger in his face. “And if I have to marry someone I don’t want to, I will make your life miserable. I promise.”

  “Papa wasn’t around. I’m not a dunce.”

  “Don’t slip up,” she threatened him as she left.

  She went to the room she shared with three of her half sisters. Sitting on her bed, she pulled out Romeo and Juliet and let it fall open to the page with the pressed purple flower.

  Chapter 4

  Rachel laid the burlap sack she’d brought on a log at the overlook to English Camp. She’d slipped away while Genevieve was nursing Priscilla. Sitting on the sack, she looked out over the camp. The garden still held some of its summer colors, but was fading as fall progressed with autumn flowers. The English sure knew how to plan a garden to make the most of vibrant blooms from early spring through fall.

  She let her gaze travel to the lawn the soldiers marched on. Several men milled around, looking small down there. She stared harder, but not one of them appeared to be Leftenant Young. She knew now that he had a particular gait to his stride, a tempo to his walk. She’d noticed him before that day they met last week but hadn’t known his name. Now she had a name and a face to go with the uniform. And laughing hazel-brown eyes. She could tell when he was teasing by their twinkle.

  It was just as well she didn’t see him. She shouldn’t be here. And she definitely shouldn’t be pining over an English officer. Nothing could come of it. She forced her gaze back to the garden crowned with russet and gold chrysanthemums as well as other flowers in a glorious autumn bouquet.
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  Her attention was jerked back to the lawn, or rather the main structure on the lawn. The one that the leftenant had taken her inside. An officer had exited the building and turned to speak to someone still within. When he turned back, her breath caught. It could be him. The way he carried himself was just like the leftenant.

  He strode up to a young woman in a fancy azure gown. The two spoke. The woman waved her closed fan and shook it at the leftenant. He appeared to be pleading with her. She stiffened and shook her head. The leftenant’s shoulders slumped.

  And Rachel knew that her leftenant had a sweetheart or wife. It had been fun to pretend for a week. But her childish musing had come to an abrupt end.

  “Looking for someone?” a male voice asked behind her.

  Rachel jumped up and spun around. Leftenant Young stood before her. Her leftenant. She looked back to the officer on the field. The woman turned and walked away from him.

  Leftenant Young came up beside her. “Ah, my brother and his delightful wife.”

  That was why the man had walked like her leftenant. Not really her leftenant...but the one she’d met.

  He adjusted his pose like an actor on a stage. “I will pretend ’twas I you were seeking.” Like Romeo with Juliet.

  She turned back to the leftenant. She couldn’t admit that.

  “Be still. Speak not.” His eyes twinkled. “For if you say, nay, ’twas not I you sought, my heart will be crushed.”

  He was teasing her again. But at least he didn’t expect a serious answer. “Far be it from me to crush something so fragile as a soldier’s heart.” She doubted his heart was at all fragile. “I would never be so cruel, so I will keep mine answer to mineself.”

  He smiled broadly and bowed to her. “Milady, I’m ever so pleased you have returned. I was hoping to see you again.”

  “You were?” Her heart fluttered.