Her Honorable Enemy

by Mary Davis

  “I’ve got her. It’s a young man, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “I have watched you moping around the house for a week now. You’re in love, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t know it could be so painful. Or so obvious. But she couldn’t admit it, not even to Genevieve, who was often on her side in affairs of the heart.

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know by the look in your eyes. Your father is reasonable. As long as this man is a good, God-fearing man, I don’t see him having any objections.”

  Oh, but Papa would.

  “Tell me who he is, and I’ll hint to your father that he should bring him over for supper.” She made it sound so simple.

  Invite him over, and Papa would welcome an English officer—the enemy—into his family. More likely, he would shoot Charles.

  “I can’t.” Rachel pulled in her bottom lip and bit down hard to keep from crying.

  “I can’t think of anyone your father wouldn’t agree to you courting. Except—” Genevieve stared at her. “Rachel, say it isn’t so. Not an Englishman?”

  Rachel’s eyes teared up. “I never meant to.”

  “You have to stop seeing him at once.”

  “That’s what I’ve been doing. You aren’t going to tell Papa, are you?”

  Genevieve shook her head. “But you must forget about this man.”

  “I’m trying, but I can’t.”

  “Try harder, or your father will take notice of your demeanor.” Genevieve turned to the baby. “I need to put a dry diaper on Priscilla. I’ll be right back, and we’ll talk more about this.” She went to the other room.

  Rachel didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It would only make matters worse. She shrugged on her coat and hurried out the door.

  Before she knew where she was headed, her feet—or her heart—had taken her to English Camp. She stopped short and hid.

  Missing Charles so much, she ached inside. And today, it had gotten the better of her. Here she was at the very place she said she’d stay away from. But she had come at a time she normally didn’t, so Charles shouldn’t be here.

  She stayed in hiding for a while to make sure Charles was nowhere around. Though she wanted to see him, she knew it wasn’t wise. She had accepted that she would never see him again. She couldn’t.

  She went to the secret place under the edge of the log and pulled out the three books. She wanted to read them all, but mostly wanted to finish the poetry. So she set the other two books aside and unwrapped the poems. On the cover of the book was a folded sheet of paper.

  Her heart sped up, knowing the note had to be from Charles. Reluctant to see what he wrote, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes and unfolded the paper.

  My Dearest Rachel,

  I understand your concerns. But know that I have not given up on us. I will find a way for us to be together.

  My heart is yours,

  Charles

  She pressed the letter to her chest. He hadn’t given up. She hoped he could find a way.

  Lord, please help him find a way.

  * * *

  Charles remained behind a tree, watching Rachel. He wanted to go to her. To hold her. To kiss her. But he knew he mustn’t. That would not be the honorable thing. He just wasn’t sure what the honorable thing was. How could he still end up with Rachel and not ignite this war? When she hugged his short letter, it nearly broke his resolve, but he remained hidden.

  Lord, I love her so much. You know I never intended to fall in love. I was avoiding taking a wife, but You have placed this woman in my heart. I don’t believe You would have brought us together if You didn’t intend us ultimately to be together. Show me what I’m supposed to do.

  The only thought that came to him was patience.

  He had never considered himself a patient man.

  Chapter 14

  Once again, Papa urged Rachel to answer the knock on their door. She had hoped Papa had given up on finding her a husband. She couldn’t very well refuse, or Genevieve might tell Papa about her feelings for the Englishman.

  She opened the door and was surprised to see a man in uniform. An American army uniform.

  Papa stood behind her. “This is Sergeant Hicks. Sergeant Hicks, my daughter Rachel.”

  Sergeant Hicks gave a stiff bow. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Rachel. Please call me Stanley.”

  Rachel tried to force a smile and hoped she succeeded. “Pleased to meet you...Stanley.” Stanley might be a perfectly fine man with a lot of good qualities that she would have been highly attracted to at another time in her life. But she loved Charles, and she didn’t see any other man changing that.

  After supper, as they were all shuffling from the table, Rachel really wanted to help clear the table and to wash and dry the dishes. Anything to occupy her so she didn’t have to force polite conversation with Stanley that would only lead him to think there could be anything real between them.

  Winnie perched at the window. “A man’s coming.”

  Alice ran to the window. “A soldier.”

  Lindley reached the window, as well.

  “Get away from the window,” Papa commanded them.

  Lindley gave Rachel a pointed look as he obeyed Papa.

  Papa and Stanley went to the window in tandem.

  “A Brit.” Papa spat out the word as though it were a curse. He went to the mantel and retrieved his musket.

  Now Genevieve gave Rachel a stern look.

  Stanley stepped between Papa and the door. “Sir, allow me to see what the lieutenant wants.”

  Papa stood eye to eye with the sergeant, neither man moving.

  Lieutenant? Yes, Papa, let Stanley go talk to him. She wanted desperately to go to the window but didn’t dare move lest Papa take his gun outside.

  “Please, sir.” Stanley measured his words and spoke with deliberateness and forcefulness. “We don’t want this to get out of control. Let me handle it.”

  After a few deep breaths, Papa gave a quick nod.

  Stanley exited.

  Rachel went to the window as Charles dismounted. Stanley met him by his horse and shook his hand. They seemed to know each other.

  “Rachel, get away from the window.”

  She moved back at Papa’s order but could still see out. She wished she knew what they were saying.

  Papa stepped up to the window, blocking her view. She shifted sideways to regain her line of sight.

  Charles and Stanley conversed for several minutes. Then Charles held out a paper to Stanley. Stanley didn’t take it right away, but after more words from Charles, he did.

  Charles seemed to be explaining the paper.

  What could it possibly be? Was it some sort of military document stating that the islands belonged to England, and if they wanted to stay, they would have to become English citizens? Were the English declaring war on the Americans? That didn’t make sense. Why would Charles be delivering the message? And to her house? And how did he know an American soldier would be there? No. It had to be something else.

  Soon Charles turned, mounted his horse and rode off.

  Stanley returned inside, and now he gave her a look. Then he handed the paper to Papa. “This came for your daughter.”

  Rachel gasped and held her breath. Had the commanding officer decided to charge her with trespassing, after all?

  Papa glanced from the paper to her and back. He unfolded it, and his expression went grave as he read. The muscle in his jaw worked back and forth, and his breathing became deliberate and controlled.

  It must be something serious.

  Stanley tipped his head in a slight bow. “I’ll take my leave, sir. Thank you for supper.” He gave Rachel a nod and left.


  Ordinarily, she would have been glad he’d left, but tonight she wished he’d stayed.

  Papa handed the paper to Genevieve. “Rachel, in the parlor. Children, go to your rooms.”

  Her insides tightened. This could not be good. She slowly went into the parlor and sat on the settee. She could hear the children scampering up the stairs.

  Papa and Genevieve remained in the other room talking in low voices. Papa was not happy. The two finally came into the parlor. Genevieve sat in one of the chairs opposite her and gave Rachel a sympathetic look.

  Papa paced. He was upset and trying to sort out his thoughts. He stared out the window.

  Rachel wished he would just get on with it. But to tell him so would only upset him more.

  After a few moments, Papa turned and held up the paper. “Do you know what this is?”

  She couldn’t even venture a guess. “No, Papa.” But she was about to find out.

  “It’s an invitation to that absurd Christmas party the tyrannical English insist on throwing every year.”

  Rachel thrilled at being invited to the English Christmas party. She wanted to go, desperately so. Would Papa let them?

  Papa continued, “We are at war, and they throw a party. No wonder we beat them in the Revolution. They don’t take serious things seriously.”

  She could tell that Papa wasn’t planning to attend the English party. Rachel wanted to say that she believed the English were trying to promote goodwill between the two sides, but Papa didn’t want to hear that. She had to let him say whatever he wanted to say. Maybe she could convince him to go. Then he would see that Charles was a good man. “Isn’t Christmas supposed to be a time of peace to put differences aside?”

  Papa glared and pointed the paper at her. “Maybe you can tell me why an English officer has addressed an invitation to you?”

  Oh, dear. Maybe they were asking all the young ladies and their families to attend? Even in her head it sounded implausible. And she reckoned Papa wasn’t really wanting her to answer. He was telling her she had been caught.

  “Have you somehow met one of the English officers?”

  She had no choice but to confess. “When I was walking in the forest, I might have met one.”

  Papa raised an eyebrow. “Might have met one?”

  Rachel glanced at Genevieve for support, but her stepmother sat impassive. She would side with her husband. As she should.

  “Yes, Papa.” Rachel looked down at her lap. “I met an English officer in the forest.”

  “You have disgraced this family.”

  “No, Papa. I didn’t do anything wrong. We only talked and sometimes read from a book.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  She hadn’t meant to reveal so much.

  “It sounds as though you have seen him on more than one occasion.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “This Lieutenant Young on the invitation?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “You’ve been frolicking with the enemy behind my back? You know how I feel about the English. How could you do this?”

  How indeed? “I didn’t do it on purpose. I met him by accident.”

  “Over and over?”

  Each time had been less accidental and more hopeful until she planned out how and when to see him. “Papa, he’s not a bad man. He’s a Christian.”

  “He’s the enemy.”

  “He is not.”

  “You know how I feel about them.”

  “But I don’t know why.”

  “I don’t have to explain my actions to you. You are my daughter, and you will do as I see fit. I think maybe a husband will settle you. Someone who can handle your strong will.”

  “Papa, no.”

  “Henry Olson liked you. But you would rule him. Buck Anderson was strong-minded.”

  She would run away from him.

  “Perhaps Sergeant Hicks.”

  Rachel didn’t know how to beg for her freedom, so she clutched her hands to her chest and knelt. “‘Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word.’”

  Papa pulled down his eyebrows then turned to Genevieve. “What is she prating about?”

  “I think she’s quoting from one of her books.”

  “Get up,” Papa commanded. “And stop all this nonsense.”

  Like Juliet’s plea to her father, Rachel’s had fallen on deaf ears. Tears filled her eyes as she pushed up from the floor. “May I go?”

  Papa nodded.

  She stood and walked from the room.

  Papa called after her. “Rachel.”

  She turned back.

  “You will not leave this house. Is that understood?”

  She wanted to argue but knew it would do no good.

  “I need your word.”

  She gave a small nod of consent.

  As she turned away, she heard Papa say to Genevieve, “Maybe I should take her books away if this is how they are going to make her act.”

  Papa had spoken more for her benefit than to Genevieve. To let Rachel know just how displeased he was with her.

  Genevieve replied, “Would it do any good when she has so much of them memorized?”

  Rachel plodded up the stairs. Lord, please cool Papa’s anger and let him see reason. I desperately want to attend the Christmas party.

  Lindley sat at the top of the stairs, waiting. He stood as she approached. “Why was the leftenant here?”

  “He invited us all to the annual English Camp Christmas party.”

  “Really?” The excitement in her brother’s voice was bittersweet. “Will Papa let us go?”

  “No, Papa will not let us go, and I’m confined to the house.”

  “Why?”

  “I had to tell him about meeting Charles.”

  To his credit, Lindley paled. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I liked seeing him.”

  So did she. More so than Lindley ever could.

  Lindley grabbed her wrist and pulled her to his room. He looked both ways down the hall. Satisfied, he closed the door.

  What was he up to this time?

  “You write the leftenant a letter, and I’ll take it to him.”

  Papa had confined her to the house but not Lindley. “You would do that for me? I would like to explain to him that we won’t be coming to the party and not to expect any response from Papa.”

  “Sure.”

  Of course Lindley would do it. It would give him a reason to go on an adventure by himself. “I’ll write it tonight and give it to you in the morning.”

  She went back to her room, pulled out Romeo and Juliet, and opened to the page with the pressed purple flower. Then she sat down to pen her letter.

  Chapter 15

  Charles stared at the report he was supposed to be writing. He was no further along on it than he had been an hour ago. His thoughts kept circling back to why? Why hadn’t he heard anything from Rachel or her family about the party? The party was in less than a week, and he had delivered the invitation himself nearly a week ago.

  The American sergeant had tried to talk him out of delivering the invitation. The sergeant knew that Rachel’s father was a patriot. Charles had insisted, his way of making his intentions known. But not receiving a reply either way didn’t bode well. If he had heard something, he would have known how to proceed, but now...? The silence was disconcerting. And unnerving.

  Had the sergeant even turned over his invitation?

  Charles had wondered why the sergeant was there. It was as though someone knew he was coming and had had the sergeant waiting. But he hadn’t told anyone he was going that night. Late in the night as he’d wrestled with his covers, the answer had come to him. The sergeant had been at
Rachel’s as a potential suitor, a future husband.

  He didn’t want her in another man’s arms. The thought set his skin crawling.

  It would have been in the sergeant’s best interest not to give Rachel or her father the invitation. But on the other hand, turning over the invitation to her father might just ensure Mr. Thompson pushed Rachel in the sergeant’s direction. Whether he delivered it or not, the sergeant could have used the invitation to his advantage.

  Lord, what do I do now? I thought inviting Rachel and her family to the party would show her father I am an honorable man. Now what?

  The thought came to him again. Patience.

  Hadn’t he been patient enough?

  He pushed his chair back with a jarring screech that made his teeth hurt. He stood and walked to the closed door and then paced from one side of his small office to the other. Back and forth. Unsettled. He had to think of something.

  Glancing out the window, he saw a boy striding confidently across the grass toward a group of four marines. The men greeted the boy.

  Charles turned from the window and walked across his office again. He had to figure out what to do about Rachel. But the boy kept niggling at his brain now. The way he had stridden across the lawn as though he belonged, he must be either one of the soldiers’ sons or the son of one of the many English citizens on the island. But there was something familiar about the boy. When he crossed back to the window, both the boy and the knot of seamen were gone.

  Charles went back to wearing a path in the floor. He jumped at the knock on the door. He rounded his desk and stood behind it. “Come in.”

  Private Coats opened the door. “Sir, you have a visitor.”

  Rachel?

  “Send her in.”

  “It’s not a her, sir. It’s a boy.”

  A boy? “Bring him in.” The boy he’d seen outside?

  Coats motioned to someone beside the door.

  Lindley stepped into view.

  Charles almost burst with excitement but caught himself in time. He looked to Coats. “That will be all. Close the door on your way out.”

  Coats did as he was bid.