Naked in the Winter Wind (The Fairies Saga Book 1)

by Dani Haviland

  “I’ve come to the conclusion that Evie should come with us. I’ve arranged fer Todd Gillespie to come and take care of the animals. I canna risk leavin’ her by herself, and I’ll need Julian and Wallace by my side if fightin’ should break out. She’ll be safe with us…” He took a deep breath and stared into my eyes, either scolding me or challenging me—I’m not sure which—“as long as she does what she’s told.”

  I unlocked his gaze then looked to Sarah. I shook my head back and forth, as if I were upset or undecided, then moved into her shoulder, giving her a big hug, burying my face into her hair to hide my grin. Finally composed, I pulled back, actually managing to keep a straight face.

  I addressed Jody, my entire demeanor totally submissive, “If that’s what you think is best, I’ll do it. What should I bring?”

  “Bring yer coat and yer wee bag. Ye always seem to have somethin’ we need in there. And use the privy before we leave. We have to make good time, and I dinna care to take more rests than needed.”

  Sarah and I figured that I was four months pregnant. I felt great; I had a wonderful ‘super woman’ confidence and more energy now than during the last three months. And I was also able to hold my water longer.

  Wallace was waiting for me with my coat and my backpack when I came back from the privy. “I’m glad you’re coming. I agree with Jody that you’ll be safer with us. Besides, I’d miss our conversations if you stayed behind.”

  Wallace offered his hand to help me onto my little nag of a horse. She was gentle and somewhat lazy, preferring to tag along behind the other horses. Well, I tried, but I just couldn’t reach the stirrup—my belly was in the way. Baby belly didn’t squish out of the way like fat belly. “Could you give me a leg up, Wallace? The stirrup seems too high for me all of a sudden.”

  “My pleasure, madam,” he replied as he knelt down and cupped his hands for me to step into.

  “Are ye gonna be all day gettin’ into the saddle, lass?” barked Jody. “We need to make use of the daylight. It gets dark early, and we have a long way to go.” He reined his horse around and started off, expecting us to follow in right behind him.

  And so we did. With the quick pace Jody set, we weren’t able to talk. We made one short stop for a toilet break and to grab our ‘to go’ food. I had started making tortillas after José gave me the griddle. I showed Sarah how I made sandwich wraps with the quick-to-make flat bread. Wraps were easier to eat one handed and packed well for travel. She had made a bundle of them the night before so we could eat on the road.

  I watched with relief as the sun sank closer to the horizon. That meant we would soon stop for the night. My fanny was numb from riding all day. I wasn’t accustomed to saddles, or even to sitting in one place for more than an hour or two. Wallace was aware of my discomfort and was standing next to my pony when I started to dismount. I had both legs over the saddle, ready to put my feet on the ground, when I realized that I couldn’t feel them. Wallace must have anticipated it: he had a firm grip on my elbow. Because of him, I didn’t fall down when my boots hit the dirt.

  “Don’t let go of me for a minute, okay?” I asked. “I need my legs to wake up before I can stand on my own.”

  “Here, let’s move around a bit to get the feeling back in them.” Wallace put his arm around my waist—well, where my waist was supposed to be—and walked with me to where Julian and Sarah were setting up camp. Jody had remained mounted and now was riding further down the road, operating as the forward scout, giving me an added sense of security.

  Our camp was all set up and dinner was cooking when Jody returned. “It looks like Tarleton has been in the area with his cavalry and a small band of infantry. He’s looking for that traitor Pyle so he can escort him and his men to General Cornwallis. I’d sure like to get in the middle of those two before they join forces.”

  “Are you talking about Dr. John Pyle?” Julian asked.

  “Aye, that’s him,” replied Jody as he grabbed a couple of corn dodgers from the pan.

  “Didn’t he cause hard feelings with the locals in the War of the Regulation,” asked Julian.

  “Aye, he did, but he wasna at the Battle of Alamance. The word is, he’s sent a request to Cornwallis, askin’ for an armed escort fer him and the Loyalist troops he’s been gatherin’. He wants protection fer his trip to the general’s camp. He’s a smart man, but a traitor. He kent the truth back at Hillsborough.”

  The men continued talking politics, but all I wanted to do was sleep. I excused myself and crawled into the pile of quilts that was my bed.

  I slept hard, totally worn out from the ride. I didn’t even wake up once to pee. Maybe utter fatigue was the answer to an overactive bladder.

  We spent the next day waiting. Late in the afternoon, a colonel, along with a couple of his aides, came into our camp to speak with Jody. He had heard about Captain Jody Pomeroy and his part in the Battle at Moore’s Creek Bridge, where Jody’s creative thinking and fast acting saved patriots’ lives. His brilliant plan to disable the Loyalist cannons in the middle of the night and sabotage the bridge by removing planks and greasing the support poles was legend. The colonel was hoping to be able to get some advice on this situation, too.

  “Captain Pomeroy, I understand your friend here, Julian Hart, was with the British Army until just recently. Do you think he would help us get some information?” the colonel asked.

  “I canna speak fer another man, sir. Why dinna ye ask him yerself?’ He called Julian over. “Julian, this is Lt. Colonel Henry Lee. Colonel, this is Lord Julian Hart.” Hands were shook and ‘nice to meet yous’ were exchanged. Then it was time for serious talk.

  “Mr. Hart, I have been led to believe that you are now sympathetic with our cause for freedom and independence from England. Am I correct?”

  I noticed the lack of title when the colonel addressed him. I knew that Julian did too, but he wasn’t going to allow the man to get under his skin with the intentional slight. It sounded to me like there was some male posturing going on.

  “Yes, sir. You are,” Julian replied. His terse, curt answer was a red flag that I hoped the colonel had noticed. Whether or not he used Julian’s title—and I wasn’t even sure if Julian still owned it in his newly adopted country—the colonel still had better treat my friend Julian, the seasoned soldier, with respect.

  Colonel Lee noticed the tension and responded to it appropriately. His tone became friendly, almost too friendly, a half step beyond courteous, but not quite to the level of sucking up. “We’re glad to have you on our side. If you were still with the king’s men, we’d have more of a fight on our hands.”

  That seemed to work. Julian, like any other man, liked to be flattered, and acknowledging his skills as a soldier was the right approach for the colonel to use. “Thank you, sir. Now, how can I be of assistance to you and your cause?” Apparently, Julian didn’t like small talk when it came to business.

  “I was hoping you might be able to flush out some of the Loyalist officers for us. I thought that if you could ride out along the Alamance Road and appear to be looking to join the Tories, maybe you could separate an officer or two from the group so we could get some information. So far, we’ve only been able to interrogate infantrymen. We need to speak with an officer so we can find out their plans and which direction they’re headed.”

  “I can do that. I would like it if my son and Captain Pomeroy could follow behind me, though. I trust them to make sure the situation doesn’t get out of control. Captain Pomeroy, Wallace, would you be willing to aid me in this endeavor?” he asked, looking at each of them in turn. I noticed that he had addressed Jody as Captain, too. He had switched gears to military mode.

  “Aye, ye can count me in.”

  “And you can be sure that I will assist you in any way I can, Father.”

  I didn’t know if the colonel knew that Wallace had been a British officer, too, but if he didn’t, there wasn’t any reason to bring it to his attention.

  “Would
tomorrow morning be soon enough?” asked Julian.

  “I was hoping we could count on you,” replied Col. Lee. “Yes, that would fine. We are located two miles east of here, on the banks of the Haw River, a mile south of the crossing. If you do capture an officer, please bring him to us right away. We understand Tarleton’s dragoons and infantry are in the area to escort Dr. Pyle and his Loyalist troops to the Cornwallis camp, wherever that is this week. We want to intercept them before they gather into a major force.”

  “Consider it done,” Julian said. “Now, if there is nothing else, sir, I’d like to confer with Captain Pomeroy and my son about our plans for tomorrow morning.”

  I liked the way Julian was dismissing the colonel. He was only an emigrant now—a dirt-digging, horse-breeding farmer—but this former British officer was still a commanding figure and able to put the full-of-fluff colonel in his place.

  The men said their farewells, and life at our camp began to hum into pre-game mode; we had a tournament to win. Sarah and the men plotted and scheduled their plans for the morning startup. All they were lacking were the white board, markers, and the little x’s, o’s and arrows.

  “If you don’t need me for anything, I want to go to bed, er, sleep,” I said. I was stumbling as I walked toward them. I think I had a bit of a hangover from the previous day’s overexertion.

  Sarah put her arm around my shoulder. “Go ahead and get some rest for you and the babies. If we need you for anything, I’ll wake you.”

  “Okay, thanks. Goodnight, guys, I’ll see you in the morning. Or maybe not, depending on when you go and when I wake up. Anyhow, I love you all,” I grinned at Wallace, “good night, oh, I already said that, didn’t I? I had better get some sleep.”

  I snuggled under the quilts that were my bed. I had forgotten to take off my boots, but managed to kick them off without uncovering.

  That was the last thing I remembered until I heard men’s voices. Jody, Julian, and Wallace were getting ready to leave. “Wait,” I shouted as I struggled to get up.

  “What is it, lass,” Jody asked, his brows crowded into a frown of concern.

  “We need to pray before you leave. Here, I’ll bless you all, including the horses. I’ll be quick, unless you want to do it,” I added as I realized how bossy I was being. Jody was the leader of our little clan—spiritual and otherwise—not me.

  “No need to be quick with the Lord, but go aheid, get started,” he said with a nod to proceed.

  “Bless us all, Lord, and please keep us from harm. And bless this whole new nation, and guide us with Your knowledge. In Jesus’s name, Amen. Okay, I love you guys, be safe.”

  “Aye, and thanks fer the blessing,” Jody said, then turned back to his horse to double-check his gear.

  Julian was a few steps away, but I caught up with him before he got in the saddle. I reached around him and gave him a big hug. “Thank you for doing this, Julian. I know you don’t have to, but, well, thanks.” I walked over to Wallace and squeezed his hand in farewell, blushing for no reason other than this was the first time our hands had touched. “You, too. Thanks.”

  Jody had given Sarah her good-bye hugs and kisses already, and was astride his big white horse, Aries, ready to leave. “Now, I dinna want to see ye or Sarah unless I call fer ye. If ye hear shots bein’ fired, hide. If anyone finds ye, Evie, make sure yer big belly is showing. Yer less likely to be harmed if it’s kent yer with child.”

  So the men took off, and Sarah and I stayed in camp. I didn’t know what we were going to do with all the time we had, but I soon found out. “Would you like to see what I have in my medical kit?” Sarah asked. “You should be familiar with it if we see action.”

  I managed to sit down—with a grunt, two ‘oofs,’ and a hand from Sarah—next to her on a fallen log. She opened up what Jody called her wee bag. It had several bottles of alcohol that contained suture thread or catgut—I didn’t ask which because I didn’t want to know—and needles, as well as a bottle of alcohol, and bundles of rolled clean rags. There were also bags of herbs for brewing teas, a rolled up cloth package of long tweezers, probes, knives—or scalpels—a saw, and lots of cotton wadding.

  “I’m glad to see cotton’s available,” I remarked, “I wish we had a bolt or two of cotton cloth for clothes. This patchwork skirt won’t last forever, and I’d like to get a head start on a layette or two for the babies.”

  “The cotton gin hasn’t been invented yet. I’ve seen what the locals call calico, but it’s imported from India and probably pricey. Linsey-woolsie shouldn’t be too expensive. Maybe we can afford to buy some after harvest this fall.” Sarah signed in resignation. “We’ll find something for the babies, I’m sure,” she said, placing her hand atop mine in consolation.

  “So, what am I supposed to do here?” I asked, nodding to her bag, changing the subject and the whole atmosphere of our little tête-á-tête from one of financial disappointment to one of practicality.

  “If there’s hand-to-hand fighting, there are bound to be wounds that need cleaning and stitching. If there’s shooting involved, then it’s clean the wound and extract the musket balls. Broken bones happen frequently where there are horses to fall from or be knocked off of. Have you ever put in sutures?”

  “No, but I don’t think that should be too hard. Just show me which stitch to use. I can sew and should be able to handle it if the men don’t scream too loud. But maybe that’s what the cotton wadding’s for,” I said, smirking, trying to lighten the mood, “to stuff in my ears if the yelling gets too loud.”

  “Nice try at trying to get me to feel better,” she said with a half grin, half grimace. “You and I both know this is serious. The worst part is, there isn’t anything but willow bark tea and alcohol to dull the pain. If only we had antibiotics and morphine, so much pain, suffering, and death could be avoided.” She took a deep breath and exhaled in frustration, obviously exasperated with the inadequacies of her medical supplies.

  “Would it help if we gathered some ice and snow to help numb areas to be stitched and reduce the swelling of, well, whatever?” I asked, trying to offer positive options. Enumerating what we didn’t have helped no one; finding substitutions for them would at least keep our minds off of our fears and frustrations.

  “That sounds like a good idea. Let’s see if we can pack some ice and snow in the cook pot. It should stay cold in there for a little while.” She went to the side of the fire, grabbed the pot and a rag to insulate the handle. “We might as well get it now while it’s still cold. The men won’t be back for some time. We have at least a few hours, maybe even a few days. Either way, it will give us something to do.”

  **33 Pyle’s Massacre

  We heard his approach long before we could see him, the frantic sounds of desperation intruding on the still morning. The horse was snorting and breathing hard as it raced up Alamance Road, its hooves flinging clods of earthen road behind it as the rider broke through the ground clouds, parting the fog like a schooner through seawater.

  The shaggy-haired youth reined in his steed, shimmering in sweat, to a fast stop. “Afternoon, ma’ams,” he said breathlessly, trying to catch his wind. He quickly slipped off his horse. “Captain Pomeroy says fer ye to come quick and fer both of ye to bring yer bags. I’ll get the horses ready while ye get ‘em.”

  The young soldier—at least I assumed he was a soldier, even though he wasn’t in uniform—was quick to grab the tack and our horses.

  Sarah and I didn’t waste any time making a quick trip around the campfire, gathering our bags and bedding. When we got back to the horses, we saw that he had saddled them in record time. He appeared to be waiting patiently on the outside, but his eyes betrayed his true need for urgency. “Here, let me help,” he said, not trying to rush us, but eager to help us mount our humble steeds as quickly as possible.

  He held the head of Sarah’s little pony as she gracefully settled herself into the saddle. “Don’t worry about the rest of yer things,” he said as he han
ded Sarah her medical bag, “I’ll send someone back to gather ‘em up and fetch ‘em back to our post. We have to hurry, though. It’s a bloody mess out there, er, beggin’ yer pardons, ma’ams.”

  “That’s quite all right, soldier,” Sarah said as she accepted the reins.

  “What I mean to say is, yer healin’ skills are needed right away, ma’am.” The young soldier, red-faced in embarrassment, nodded up and down as he spoke, as if he were trying to ensure we understood his correction.

  I felt helpless and frustrated, waiting for them to finish their conversation. While he was apologizing, I was trying to get onto my saddle by myself. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get my leg up high enough to put my boot into the stirrup without losing my balance. The young man finally saw what was happening and rushed to my side.

  “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t notice that ye were with child. Are ye sure ye can ride?”

  “Oh, I can ride, all right, as long as I have help getting onto the horse.” I graciously accepted his boost up, and then ungracefully landed hard, my fanny creating a loud thump as it smacked the leather saddle. I adjusted my coarse homespun skirts about me, trying to find some of the dignity I had lost in my awkward landing. “Ready, Sarah?” I asked.

  “As I’ll ever be; show us the way,” she said to the soldier as he took the lead.

  There was no more conversation after that. We rode at a fairly fast pace. I was sure we could have ridden faster, but the soldier’s horse was already spent when he came in, and he was also being considerate of my delicate condition.

  At one point, he looked over his shoulder to check on us. His face had gone blank: delayed shock. He was running on autopilot—instinct and familiarity with the area taking charge of the corpus trepidus.