Finally, the ropes gave. Owen grabbed her by the waist then took the knife. She felt him bending to cut the binds on his feet.
Her lungs were going to give out. Pain! Pain! She had no idea drowning would be so painful.
But she was with the man she loved. And God was with them both.
It would be over in a minute. Then they’d both be in heaven together … what a wonderful idea. She smiled even as her lungs gave out.
CHAPTER 29
No! Terror and agony ripped Owen’s heart into shreds. He was taking too long with the ropes, could feel Emeline’s body relax in his arms … heard bubbles flee her lungs out of her mouth. No! With a final snap of the knife, his feet were free. Clutching Emeline, he swam with every ounce of his strength through the cold water. He might as well have been wading through molasses, pushing aside globs of sticky goo, for all the progress he made. His own lungs revolted, threatened to explode … threatened to end it all for them both. When finally …
He broke the surface and heaved gulp after gulp of life-giving air. Rain pelted his face. He shoved Emeline’s head above water, slapped her face. Nothing. Her forehead lobbed against his cheek, heavy as a cannonball.
From the distance, Dimsmore’s angry shouts trumpeted through the rain. Oars slapped the water. Thunder bellowed. Lantern light bobbed in the darkness, heading their way.
And Owen swam. He swam with all his might, keeping Emeline’s head above water and praying like he never had prayed before. Finally, his feet struck rock, then a bed of pebbles, then sand. He stood and dragged Emeline’s lifeless body ashore, then collapsed to his knees beside her, his breath heaving so hard it made a wheezing sound. No!
“Emeline!” He shook her. Nothing. He didn’t know what to do. Lord, help! Then he remembered. A few years back, a young sailor had fallen overboard on the Marauder. When they’d rescued him and brought him on deck, he wasn’t breathing. The surgeon did something to him, brought him back to life. But what?
Owen flipped Emeline over onto her stomach. “Sorry, love,” he said before pounding hard on her back with the heel of his hand. Pound, pound, pound!
Rain poured down upon them as if God Himself were crying.
No! Pound, pound, pound!
“They’ve got to be here somewhere. Masters can swim!” Dimsmore’s voice grew nearer. Owen glanced over his shoulder. Lantern light undulated over the dark water.
Pound, pound, pound!
Emeline coughed. Owen stood and hoisted her up, bending her at the waist.
She coughed again and water poured from her mouth.
“Thank You, Lord,” Owen breathed out.
“I heard something. Over there!” Dimsmore shouted.
Emeline heaved in air and collapsed in his arms. “Owen!”
One glance back at the water revealed the lights were closer—just yards from the shore. “Shh,” was all he said as he picked her up and plunged into the forest. The tap, tap of rain on the leaves clapped for him, urging him on.
But they weren’t out of danger yet.
Diving behind a thick shrub, Owen gently lowered Emeline to the wet ground and peered through the greenery.
A circle of golden light appeared on the shore where they’d just been. The shape of the cockboat slithered behind it.
Owen readied himself to pick up Emeline and run.
“Not here, sir. They’ve no doubt drowned. Both of them.”
Dimsmore cursed. Lightning flashed on his angry, distorted features. “Back to the Marauder!”
Owen sank to the ground and gathered Emeline in his arms. Their breaths came hard and fast, mingling in the air between them. He kissed her forehead, unable to truly believe they were safe at last.
She started to laugh … a weak laugh, to be sure, but a laugh nonetheless. “I told you it would work,” she finally said between raspy breaths.
Owen hugged her tight and leaned his chin on her head. “Crazy woman. I thought you were dead. You scared me to death.”
“Scared the great adventurer Owen Masters?” Her tone was teasing as she pushed back and looked at him, though he could not see her expression.
“Indeed, I believe I have finally found something that frightens me more than anything.” He wiped wet strands of hair from her face. “Losing you.”
“Oh Owen. I love you so much.” She fell against his chest. “God was with us. He told me to come rescue you.”
Owen chuckled and rubbed her back. “He did, did He? But yes, I quite agree. God was with us.”
“You believe now?”
“Let’s just say God and I have made our peace, and I’m discovering He’s quite different than I imagined Him to be.”
“I have discovered the same.”
Moments passed as the rain continued to serenade them and the distant sounds of the cockboat drifted upon Dimsmore’s fading curses. Despite their soaked attire and the chill, Owen wished he could stay hidden in the forest with Emeline in his arms forever.
But there was a war to be won.
Emeline must have been thinking the same thing, for she pushed from him. Her hand touched his jaw, her fingers sliding down the stubble. “Are we really safe? I can hardly believe it.”
“Yes.” He took her hand in his and placed a kiss upon it. “I’ll always protect you, Emeline.”
“Seems to me I’m the one who rescued you.” Her tone was playful.
“Rescued me? If not for me, you’d be at the bottom of the bay.”
“If not for me—”
Owen took a guess at where her lips were and silenced her with a kiss. It seemed that was the only way to win an argument with this precious lady.
Was it possible to be soaked to the skin, sitting in a cold, wet forest, but feel as warm as if sitting before a fire? Emeline discovered that it was indeed possible as Owen kissed her with more passion and love than she ever dreamed existed. Even more than the last time he’d kissed her—the time that had sent her senses soaring into the heights. Yet this kiss held more promise, more love, and she grew heady with the sensations. She didn’t want him to ever stop, would have been content to remain hidden in a bush and kiss him forever. But he pulled away, drew her to her feet, and insisted they head back to Baltimore posthaste.
Hours later after the sun had long since risen, they trudged along the sodden ground. They’d been walking all day, but it had been quite a different trek than the day before. The day before, Emeline had been terrified and desperate, loathing Dimsmore’s company and conversation. Today, despite their rush, her time with Owen had been filled with laughter, teasing, engaging conversation, and more love than she’d ever felt. They’d walked most of the time hand in hand, sharing dreams and hopes and stories from their past.
She didn’t care that her gown was torn and covered in mud, that her hair hung in filthy strands to her waist, or that her feet hurt and her stomach groveled for a mere ounce of food. She cared about none of those things while this man was by her side.
Twice they stopped by a creek to drink. Twice they kissed, and twice they prayed together for God to save America.
Yet now, their time together was coming to an end. They’d be in Baltimore within minutes. For some reason, the thought saddened Emeline as she cast one last glance toward Owen. He’d long since lost his cocked hat, freeing his dark hair to blow in the breeze behind him. Still wet, his stained linen shirt clung to his body, as did his breeches. But he might as well have been wearing kingly garb for the way he held his head high, stretched his shoulders wide, and stomped through the mud as if he owned the world.
He looked at her, his hazel eyes brimming with love. Slipping his hand in hers, they proceeded forward, when suddenly, he halted.
“What is it?”
“Shh.” He placed a finger on her lips. But it was too late; the barrels of three muskets emerged from the trees.
“Halt or we’ll shoot!” one of the soldiers said.
American soldiers. Emeline breathed a sigh of relief.
“We’re A
mericans,” Owen returned. Even so, he slid his hands in the air.
Emeline was far too weary to do the same. “Take us to General Smith at once.” She surprised herself at her commanding tone. But it did the trick.
An hour later, she and Owen stood in General Smith’s tent.
“This is the man I told you about, General. I can vouch for him.”
General Smith rose from his chair and approached Owen. “I am sending word today to this uncle of yours in DC. Hopefully, he’s still alive.”
“That is my hope as well.” Owen nodded as General Smith directed his attention to Emeline.
“Your information aided us greatly, Miss Baratt. The Committee of Vigilance and Safety divided all nonmilitary males into four labor districts to work day and night on the earthworks along the city’s eastern hills. Now we have strong batteries with heavy guns guarding our Eastern Heights. We’ve proclaimed martial law as well and have recruited women to help with the wounded and roll bandages.”
“What of Fort McHenry?” Owen asked.
The general studied him for a moment before proceeding. “We’ve sunk twenty-four schooners, brigs, and ships across the North West and Ferry Branches. Also, I’m positioning a fleet of twelve small, one-gun boats in the North West Branch with 360 men.”
He pointed at the map spread across the table. “We have seamen and marines on the sloop of war Erie and also on our frigates Java and Guerriere. I’m assigning two hundred gunners up on the range of hills rising from the north edge of Inner Harbor and parallel to Fort McHenry.”
Emeline didn’t know much about military strategy, but the plans seemed good to her. Owen must have agreed because he crossed his arms over his chest, studied the map, and then nodded. “I believe you’ve done all you can, General.”
The general rubbed his eyes. “You have told me what you know of their armament and troops. Now, tell me, young man, do we stand a chance against them?”
Owen nodded. “With God’s help, aye, sir, I believe we do.” Though Emeline could tell from his voice, he wasn’t so sure. “In the meantime, I want to fight,” Owen added. “I’ve been too long on the enemy’s side.”
The flap opened and in rushed Emeline’s father.
“Emmie!” He flew into her arms, gave her a tight squeeze, but then pushed her back. “You will be the death of me, child! Are you ever going to listen to my orders?”
“I’m sorry to disobey you, Papa. I had to go get my friend. This is Owen Masters.”
Her father barely afforded Owen a glance. “You had me worried sick. I should have known you would go and assigned a guard to watch over you.” He glanced up at General Smith, as if just realizing he was there. “Forgive me, sir.”
The general smiled. “No need, Major. I have children … daughters, in fact.”
Emeline’s father chuckled, then finally focused on Owen, sizing him up from head to toe. “So, you’re the man my Emmie risked her life to save. I hope you won’t be a disappointment.”
To his credit, Owen returned his firm stare without so much as a flinch. In fact, a slow smile curved his lips as he said, “You’ve got quite an incredible daughter, sir.” He glanced at Emeline. “With your permission, I’d like to marry her.”
Emeline’s legs turned to mush. She stumbled, and Owen reached out to steady her. “That is, if she’ll have me.”
The look in his eyes told her he was quite serious. She wanted to scream, shout, cry! Had she heard him correctly? “I’ll more than have you,” she breathed out in a chuckle.
Her father fingered the bristle on his chin.
General Smith laughed.
“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Masters,” Emeline’s father said. “You help us kick the British back to England, and I just might let you have her.” He huffed and grinned her way. “Though I’m not sure you realize the trouble you’ll be getting.”
“Oh, I realize it, sir.” Owen winked at her, but the love and desire in his eyes nearly melted her on the spot. He faced the general. “What do you say, General? Can I join the fight?”
“We’d be honored to have you,” the general said. “Major Baratt, get this man a weapon and assign him a post. In fact, put him under General Stricker.”
Emeline’s breath caught. “Isn’t he leading the troops at the front?”
“Yes, he’ll lead the first advance.” General Smith cocked a brow at Owen. “If your man wants to do the most damage, that’s where he should be.”
Owen smiled. “Indeed. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Emeline’s father faced her with one of his stern looks. “Now, you go home. Clean yourself up, and get some rest. Please. And pray while you’re at it.” He gave her a look that said he doubted she’d do any of that.
The praying she did. The resting? She was sure God had more important things for her to do. But she did go home as ordered, where she bathed, donned a new gown, and slept for a few hours. First thing in the morning, she was back on the front lines, where she joined the other women helping to feed and supply the soldiers and prepare the hospital to receive the injured.
She did not see Owen or her father the entire day, nor during the long night, but she did maintain a constant prayer for them and for Baltimore and her country.
The British landed at North Point the next day with more than four thousand men, the scouts reported. The fighting started soon after, and though she longed to grab a musket and join the battle, Emeline retreated a slight distance to pray and to help with the wounded as they began to pour in. The first day lagged on, her prayers serenaded by the peppering sound of gunfire, the thunder of cannons, the squawk of bugles, and the shouts and screams of men. By the time the sun set, twenty-four Americans were dead and over a hundred were wounded.
Then the rain began. Relentless, pounding, pummeling rain that transformed the militia camp into a lake and the tents into sieves. She and the other women did their best to tend the wounded in the nearby hospital, all while General Smith sent men out to fell trees to block the British advance.
Sometime just before dawn, distant cannons woke Emeline from a fitful sleep where she’d sat down just an hour earlier in a chair by a patient. A soldier ran inside the hospital and announced that the British were attacking Fort McHenry.
Leaning forward, Emeline dropped her head in her hands and continued her prayers. Thankfully, dawn’s light revealed a sopping wet landscape, drenched soldiers, but no British troops. Emeline stood by the door of the hospital, cup of hot tea in hand, and stared into the distant trees, longing for a glimpse of Owen, praying he was well and in one piece.
All during the day, the shelling continued over Fort McHenry, reminding them every few minutes that the British had not given up. The constant whine and boom of rockets set everyone on edge.
And still it rained, as if God were trying to stop the madness with a deluge from heaven.
The enemy arrived late that afternoon and halted in the distance, a line of red and gray like an advancing thundercloud of fire. Emeline braced herself for the onslaught, but as darkness shoved the day away, the British still had not fired a single shot. Could it be they were deterred by the twenty thousand men and hundred cannons General Smith had positioned in their way? Emeline could only hope, for that was the last defense before they marched into Baltimore.
Whatever the reason for the delay in their advance, they camped for the night. Emeline watched their campfires spark the landscape like fireflies on a summer night.
And still the rockets bombarded the fort.
Between prayers and attending to the wounded, Emeline managed to catch a few hours of sleep.
She awoke a little after dawn on September 14th, not due to an attack or the blaring sound of cannon fire, but due to silence—pure, peaceful silence. Even the rain had stopped.
Rubbing her eyes, she dashed from the hospital, shielded her gaze from the rising sun, and glanced toward the earthworks. The British troops were gone.
Huzzahs and cheers blared
from the American camp.
She darted toward them and grabbed the first soldier she passed. “What’s happening?”
“The British are retreating, miss. They could not take Fort McHenry. Our flag still flies!”
A band of soldiers joined him, raising their muskets in the air. “Long live America. Long live our republic!” they cheered as they continued onward.
Emeline dropped to her knees in the mud and lifted her hands to heaven. “Praise You, Father. Thank You!”
That’s when she saw him. Owen, black blotches on his face, muddy streaks on his shirt, and a bloodied bandage around his arm, walking with musket in hand alongside a band of troops.
His gaze scanned the camp in search of something … or someone. He spotted her and halted. The men he walked with moved on, leaving him standing there staring at her. Moments passed, yet somehow they didn’t—as if time stood still.
She smiled. He ran. She dashed toward him. They fell together, embracing, kissing, laughing.
“We won, Owen. We won!”
Holding her face in his hands, he said, “God won. And now we are free.”
“Free, indeed!”
CHAPTER 30
Two days later …
Permission to come aboard, Captain.” Emeline stood on the wharf just off Thames Street and admired the graceful lines of her father’s two-masted schooner. She admired other graceful lines as well when her eyes landed on Owen, standing amidships in his breeches, boots, open-collared shirt, and cocked hat. She had thought him handsome in his lieutenant’s uniform, then even more so as an American pioneer, but this? A privateer captain? Oh my. Well, if she was the swooning type …
With a grin to melt a glacier, Owen approached the gangplank and held out a hand. “Permission granted, my lady. But it is as much your schooner as mine.”
Clutching her skirts, she allowed him to lead her aboard, though she needed no help. After six weeks on the Charlotte and a month on board the Marauder, she’d grown quite proficient at balancing on a shifting deck.
Two sailors emerged from below, sailcloth and rope in hand. After tipping their hats her way, they went about their work.
The Liberty Bride Page 25