She suspected that his family had scant care of which side of the war to champion; they were too busy trying to survive. She better understood such struggle now.
Lily snuffled through her food. Trent glanced down as if such fodder was beneath his effort. A carrot or apple would do better, but Cook had little to spare.
After three attempts, Rowena threaded a needle. “I proved you wrong, didn’t I, by going in? I will try to tighten these clothes even more. I suppose I rushed the first time. I must look more the part.” Other male garments, her brothers’ old clothes, were stowed in trunks in the attic. She planned to go through those again, for something smaller. Mother had saved them for the poor, but never got around to doling out the clothing.
Sam grinned and leaned on the pitchfork. “Sewin’? The girl in you comes out, aye?”
“Can’t I be a girl, a female, and a soldier for the king? It’s not fair I must choose.” She dragged the shirt into her lap and turned it inside out. “Now my aunt is anxious for me to marry.”
“Mrs. Atherton wants you safe, cared for, Miss.” Sam set aside the pitchfork and picked up a broom.
“I intend to care for myself.” She jammed the needle in and out, the thread clumsily bunching the material. She didn’t wish to be a man’s servant, shut up in a house, and bored. “Women have done that, forged their own way. And if couples marry, men should be our partners in the union, not masters.”
Sam swept the broom across the dirt floor, forming stray stalks of hay into a pile. “I know you’re clever, an’ brave. You wouldn’t do well with a master. I’d pity the man.”
“Well, there’s slight fear of that. No one will force me to wed.” Rowena cringed, thinking of her cousin. She tightened the shirt’s left side to better fit, knotted the thread, rummaged for her scissors, and snipped it off. She held up the shirt. “Oh drat, this still looks terrible.” She switched the garment to the right side.
“Aye, I see you have no skill, as you said.” He laughed.
The material heaped in her lap, she smirked. “Thank you very much. I supposed I never tried hard to learn. I’m better at shooting pistols. We need to practice some more.”
“If I has the time.” Sam gave her a teasing smile.
She almost asked him if he was overworked, since their older stable hand had ‘vanished’ a week ago—to join the revolutionaries no doubt. But then with fewer horses to tend…
A bird rustled in the rafters. She glanced up at the loft, remembering happier times, games with her brothers. Were they safe down in Charles Town? From what she’d garnered, their British forces had fired heated shot from cannon into the waterfront, burning several buildings. Then the rebels had surrendered the city.
She sighed. “I used to play in here as a child. When being a lady didn’t matter so much.”
“We all must grow older, Miss.” He winked at her.
“I’d still like a choice in how I do that.” She must formulate her next plan, even if she risked running into Black Devil again. “If I need to go back into town, to the—”
Hoof beats outside made them both look toward the stable entrance. Rowena snapped shut her sewing box, stuffed the shirt under her thigh, and kicked the breeches beneath her skirt.
James rode in and dismounted.
“Rowena, what are you doing out here?” He led in his horse, Billy; the one he’d managed to keep by hiding the beast away from plundering soldiers. His clothes were covered in dust. “Bothering the help, are you?”
“I’m visiting Lily.” She had trouble meeting his gaze, repelled by what her aunt had suggested.
“Good day, sir.” Sam continued to sweep where it no longer required sweeping.
“You should stay inside, near my mother, Ro.” James led his horse to the hay, and the animal began to munch. “I’m certain there is much to do in the house.”
Rowena stiffened in irritation. She slipped off the stool. “And what do you do, James? You disappear for days, yet you’re not in the military. What are you up to?”
Sam hurried forward and clutched the horse’s bridle. He flashed her a warning look. “I’ll take Billy to the trough, sir. I’m sure he’s thirsty.”
When James turned from her to say yes to Sam, Rowena stashed her box, breeches and shirt under a loose hay bale.
James stared back at her as Sam led the horse out. Her cousin approached; his shadow slid over her, his tall, lanky form blocking a slash of the entrance light. “I’m sure I don’t know what you imply; don’t be a goose.”
“I take great pains to not be a goose.” She studied him in the chill that inched across her chest. “Just what activities do you involve yourself in? And for whom?”
“For whom? What do you mean by that?” He narrowed his eye to slits in his long face.
She gathered her wits and met his gaze. “You discuss the loyalist cause with Father. You disparage the rebels. But what—”
“You have no reason to inquire into my business.” James leaned down, grimacing. He stank of sweat. “You could put yourself in danger asking such questions.”
“Why are you men so afraid to give women any power or knowledge? We’re not all delicate flowers.” Like his mother, she didn’t say. “You keep us ignorant when we could assist you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His gray eyes turned to storm clouds. “As a girl, most of whom are feeble-minded, you’re useful for breeding and keeping a house in order. Think of your future. You step on a precarious line here.”
Rowena struggled not to slap him. She’d never heard such mean words from him before. Yet she’d not allow him to intimidate her. “What do you do at night, out in the woods with a stranger, and drinking with Mr. Long at the Bachmann Publick House?”
Chapter Six
The moment the words about the tavern meeting left her mouth, Rowena knew she’d gone too far, too quickly—her biggest flaw—though she wouldn’t show James her regret.
Her cousin’s eyes sparked like flints in the dim barn. He clamped a hand on her shoulder. “How do you know where I’ve been?”
Trepidation shot through her. She’d keep him defensive. “I want to know why you were in social discourse with Mr. Long, a known rebel.”
His fingers tightened. “Ah… I’m serious, where did you get your information?” His face flamed scarlet with anger, or was it apprehension?
She raised her chin, ignoring the pain of his grip. “I saw it for myself. Now release me.”
“How the hell…?” James jerked on her shoulder. “You’re lying.”
She almost told him to ask Black Devil; but what if his surveillance was unknown to James? Who could she believe, the mysterious Welshman or her cousin? She yanked his hand from her shoulder and stepped back. “It’s the truth. Whose side are you on?”
“Rowena! How can you ask me that? Your boldness astounds me.” He scrubbed his narrow cheeks. “I still demand to know who told you this.”
“No one. I observed you there. I’m not so feeble-minded as you think.” She moved farther away from him, toward Lily’s stall. If she aspired to join the fight, she had to be honest. “There were also three rebel soldiers present. A sergeant approached your table and spoke to you.”
“Deuce it all!” James threw up his hands, then jabbed a finger at her. “You couldn’t have been there. I saw no decent young female. Though I’m beginning to wonder if you care to behave decently.”
She wouldn’t divulge her boyish ruse, not yet. “Believe what you will. But are you lying to my father about your loyalty?”
Shoulders hunched, he scuffed through the straw litter toward the stable entrance. “I cannot fathom what I’m hearing. If you were there, it would be the most imprudent act I can imagine.”
Rowena inhaled slowly. “James, we need to discuss your actions. If I were a man, you would have no problem—”
“But you are not. You’re my seventeen-year-old cousin.” He wheeled around to face her. “A girl I’m honor-boun
d to protect.”
“And you have no respect for women, as you stated.” Lily nudged her hand, and Rowena stroked the pony between the ears, trying to sort out her confusion.
“Forgive me. You are not feeble-minded. I spoke rashly. But you do need a stricter hand, and this proves it.” His mouth grim, he took a deep breath. “Be honest with me. How do you know who I spoke to at the tavern? And what was this about strangers in the woods? You could not have been present.”
“A stricter hand, like with a dog or a horse, cousin?” Again, that demeaning status of women being mere property. Between the open doors, she watched Sam walk her cousin’s horse about the yard. She tugged hard on an escaped curl near her cheek, thoughts racing. “Never mind about the woods for now. Answer my question. Whose side are you on? Are you betraying us?”
James moved close again, eyes hooded. “There are many complications, and layers, and you are best off knowing nothing.”
She bristled. “Then you as well are better off not knowing what I’ve done. If you’ll excuse me, I have ‘womanly’ duties to attend to.” She swept off as haughtily as she could to hide her aggravation. At the stable entrance, she paused. “You’ll find much has changed in the house. Your mother has a ridiculous suggestion. I advise you not to even consider it; I certainly don’t.” With that, Rowena stalked across the yard toward the house, skirts slapping her legs. She’d retrieve her hidden items later.
* * *
Four inches of brown curls sizzled in the bedroom fireplace. Rowena moved to the other side of her room, away from the singed stink as she flayed out her hair ends.
“Oh, Miss, ’tis a shame to cut your locks, but…” Anne shook her head and laid down the scissors. “I won’t ask why you wanted it.”
“And I won’t tell you, for your own peace of mind. There’s still enough to work with.” Rowena ran her fingers through her curls that now reached a few inches below her collar; much better for a neater queue. She slipped to the door and opened it.
The arguing continued downstairs, muffled sounds drifting up the staircase. James, Father and Aunt Elizabeth, debating her fate. Rowena had been too flabbergasted to linger in the parlor and stormed upstairs. Perhaps she should have stayed to strengthen her position. Her temper and quick tongue often got her into trouble. However, complete retreat wasn’t wise.
“Anne, quickly, pin up my hair. I must go into the fray once more.” She sat at her vanity and started pinning before Anne could reach her, her hair much easier to capture.
Minutes later, she entered the parlor and all three of them were standing in a semi-circle, Aunt Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed.
“Well, what have you decided?” she asked archly. “I, myself, won’t be forced into any arranged marriage. James and I won’t suit at all. And I’m certain that he will agree. Forgive me, Aunt Elizabeth.”
James cast her a thunderous look. “She is right, we do not suit. I won’t tether myself to a scold who never minds her tongue.”
“That is unnecessary, James.” Father shot him a warning look, then faced Aunt Elizabeth. “Furthermore, Rowena is still too young, Sister. She needs to mature, as is obvious.”
“Father, please.” Rowena felt heat in her cheeks. An outspoken woman must be childish; she couldn’t dare possess her own opinions or desires.
“A long engagement could be in order.” Aunt Elizabeth pressed her son’s arm. “James, don’t be rude to your cousin. You can stay here and farm the land for your uncle until your father is home. Then we must make other…arrangements. You’ll have your own land and farm as we did before.”
“As I said, there will be no marriage, no engagement whatsoever.” Rowena spoke matter-of-factly, though her lips tightened. She eyed James. She’d never be a farmer’s wife, especially this man’s.
“I apologize for my ill words and actions, Ro.” James tapped his hat against his thigh, his gaze sharp. “But we are of the same mind as to any nuptials.”
Father held up his hand. “Let us see which way the war turns. And I know it isn’t always fashionable, but I’d like my daughter to marry for love, as I did. When the royal officers return, Easton will be as it was with plenty of opportunities for a young lady.”
“I will pray for that, Father.” She flooded with gratefulness that he defended her.
But other worries niggled in. Would the war remain in their favor? Rowena wished she could be certain. As to love, she tried not to linger on that concept. She’d loved her mother and lost her. And now she feared for her father’s and brothers’ safety because of her love for them.
Such feelings twisted you up inside.
“On a change of subject, I must be away for a time.” James bowed to her father then turned to his mother. “It might be several weeks, but don’t fret.”
“Oh, my dear, no.” Aunt Elizabeth covered her mouth with her dainty hands. “Why? Will you be in danger?”
Father and James exchanged a quick, knowing look.
He was going to Philadelphia, Rowena surmised, as the Welshman had instructed in the woods. Her pulse jumped. She wanted to be a part of his mission. Enter camps as other women had, to gather pertinent information. Or to work as a courier. But she’d have to calm his anger toward her, and hers toward him. She’d allowed matters to get out of hand in the stable.
James put his arm around his mother. “I cannot tell you why. I’m sorry, Mother. Do you need your smelling salts, or a burnt feather?” They strolled together from the parlor.
Rowena massaged her shoulder where his fingers had clamped. She should learn how to throw a decisive punch, so men would stop groping her. How could she be away from home for any length of time? Then she recalled the letter she’d received last week from another aunt. She’d been negligent in replying.
“Father,” she gave her parent a sweet smile to mask the nerves that burned through her, “I think I need to go visiting, a break from all of this upheaval with Aunt Elizabeth and James. Isn’t Aunt Joan always asking me to call on her in Philadelphia?”
“Your mother’s sister?” Father stroked his chin in distraction. “She is probably lonely with her husband on General Cornwallis’ staff, her daughters married. I’m sure you could use a holiday. But, my dear, it doesn’t sound wise. Philadelphia is held by the rebels since General Howe deserted that city in ’78.” His grumble reiterated his opinion of Howe’s decision.
“Easton is rebel-held, and we’ve held on.” Yet she worried over how long they would avoid more persecution before the British prevailed. She gritted her teeth. The British had to win. How did these colonies think they could manage alone, without England and her guidance? Despite the unfair taxes—that could be changed. She had to believe they’d eventually have a cease-fire and mend the differences. “Perhaps Aunt Joan needs our assistance. She might even know an officer Uncle Charles is acquainted with for a possible consideration of a match…for me.” Those words nearly choked her. “Shall I pack?”
“A match, hmmm? Somehow I have my doubts.” Father scrutinized her, brows lowered. “I prefer your match to be here, after your coming out, of course. Let me think on this.”
“I’ll take Sam with me for protection. I know one of his many brothers could take his place in the stables. Don’t be uneasy.” She headed for the stairs in case Father caught the overt deceit in her eyes.
Chapter Seven
Sam dragged Rowena’s trunk out the front door and thumped the case down the steps. Her father approached her in the foyer. His wary expression had not changed. The deeper lines etched in his face unsettled her. Nevertheless, she must become her own person and not an extension of someone else—father or husband. She would track down James and ferret out his schemes.
“I ask you for the last time to reconsider,” Father said, his voice resigned even so. “You realize I can force you to stay here, but I’ve never been that sort of man, and I don’t wish to hear—”
“My endless complaints and see my sulks of displeasure?” She slipped her a
rm through his. Her attempt to cajole hadn’t removed the consternation from his features. “Come, Mr. and Mrs. Chandler are waiting.” She couldn’t allow his doubts to tug at her resolve, though knots entangled her stomach.
“My dear, Philadelphia may be a far more dangerous city than either of us suppose. The Loyalists were forced to abandon it to the rabble two years ago. Your aunt should have left with them.” He walked with her down the front stairs toward the small black coach. “Though I understand your wish to distance yourself from my sister’s plans.”
“Which will come to nothing, promise me.”
“I would never prevail upon you in such a matter as your cousin.” He plucked at his frock coat lapel, a sadness clouding his eyes. Then he cupped her chin. “You’ve endured much, as have I, with your mother… But I hope you will consider a suitable beau in the future.”
“If someone wonderful comes along.” Rowena stood on tiptoe and kissed Father’s cheek to placate him. “Rest easy about this journey. I’ll be careful.” Of course, being careful was the opposite of what she’d planned. A chill pricked her spine.
Sam lingered by the coach as the driver opened the door. Sam met her eyes briefly. He handed her in and at her insistence, settled beside her on the seat. Rowena nodded to the older couple across from them as they exchanged greetings.
Mr. Chandler, who owned the coach, eyed Sam with slight disapproval. “Wouldn’t your, ah, groom ride outside the coach?”
“Usually, sir; but he’s more like my little brother,” Rowena replied. “If you’ll indulge me.”
Sam seemed to fight a snicker.
Father closed the coach door, his gaze leery once more. She watched him furtively as he said his final goodbye. “Please be cautious. I must trust your welfare to the good graces of Mr. and Mrs. Chandler.” He nodded to them, then leveled a finger at her. “I expect you to behave like a well-bred young woman. No foolishness.”
Her Vanquished Land Page 5