Angel's Flight

by Juliet Waldron

  “Obliged,” Arent replied. He sat and picked up the remaining glass, although he did not put it to his lips.

  The major, on the other hand, was busily swallowing what it contained neat. “Shall we begin?” he finally said, setting the glass down.

  Arent nodded.

  “As you must admit, I have you at a disadvantage,” Armistead began.

  “Yes.”

  “And you would like to preserve your fine house and your family and friends from harm?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, it’s all very simple. As you may know,” Armistead said, leaning forward, “I proposed to your cousin while we were both in the city.”

  “I’ve heard something of the kind. Although—” Arent paused and slowly lifted his own glass for a sip. “—I also understand she refused you. Repeatedly.”

  “She did.”

  “After which, things got a little out of hand,” Arent continued gravely. “Something about being taken from her cousin’s boat, about her honor threatened in a house of ill repute.”

  Armistead took another sip of the whiskey. “Women, so naturally fearful, always exaggerate their peril, of that a man may be certain. However, you are more or less correct, sir. The lady’s beauty drove me completely out of my mind. I might add, I’ve been heartily sorry for my melodramatic misbehavior ever since.”

  “Indeed?”

  “You may be assured, sir.”

  “Hmm.” Arent continued to gaze at him, steadily and solemnly.

  “My extreme measures you may put down to an unbridled enthusiasm for your cousin. A lady is, after all, a lady and must be respected.”

  A long pause followed. Arent nodded slowly, then templed his fingers and studied his opponent. Finally, he said, “I’m glad to hear your explanation, Major Armistead. My cousin is a woman of spirit and high temper. Of this, I am only too well aware.”

  A slight smile briefly twisted the corners of Armistead’s thin lips. Leaning forward in his seat with an intent expression, he said, “You cannot win this war, sir. As a man of property and good sense, you must know it.”

  Arent shrugged slightly. “Time will tell.”

  “Allow me to point out—” The major rejoined sharply. “—that personally, sir, you are out of time. I have you.”

  “That is indisputable, major.”

  “Mr. TenBroeck, you must see that in this case, there is nothing to save you and yours except my good will.”

  “Yes.”

  “However, I could simply rest my men here for a few days and then move on. Your larder will be emptied, of course, and we shall want some horses and cattle, too, but what is that to the safety of your home and family?”

  “What indeed?” Arent agreed with a sigh. “May I ask your price for this gesture of...good will?”

  “Permission to wed your cousin.”

  “Permission? That did not seem to matter much to you before. Moreover, what of the lady’s wishes? She does not seem to like you, major.”

  Armistead’s face reddened and he slapped his glass onto the table between them. “For God’s sake! We are men, sir, and we are discussing a woman! They never know their own minds for twelve minutes at a time.”

  “No, Major Armistead, but, begging your pardon, shall we stop fencing? I believe what we’re actually discussing is not passion, but property.”

  Armistead didn’t bother to deny it. Instead, he chuckled and poured himself another shot. He believed that at last he and this stubborn Dutchman had reached common ground.

  “You Dutch do know how to come to the point! Well, why not? I shall lay my cards on the table. You can make of them what you will.” “Fair enough.”

  “As you know very well, Mr. TenBroeck, if you are attainted for treason to the Crown, you will forfeit your lands.”

  Arent nodded.

  “So! Not only can I, right now, keep my men from destroying your home and your family, but I am in a position to keep you safe from the inevitable charge of treason which will be lodged as soon as this miserable colonial scuffle is over.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes!” Armistead snapped. “And allow me to further suggest that the preservation of your family and property must, certainly, take precedence over a woman’s caprice.”

  Arent raised a sandy eyebrow. “Your point is well taken. However, I must have assurances my cousin will not be—treated unkindly. She is my flesh and blood, and alone in the world.”

  “I never spur or whip a good mare, sir, no matter how naughty she is. I’m a great believer in education. Proper handling will eventually secure good behavior and—” Armistead ended with a wink. “—an enjoyable ride.”

  Arent felt his jaw twitch, but he mastered it—that, and the desire to break a bottle over the major’s head before kicking his brains out. “Would you send her to the city?”

  “At once. She can await my return from duty, and our marriage, safely and properly at her Aunt Livingston’s house.”

  “Very good, but a lady of our acquaintance must accompany her to the city. Perhaps, Mrs. Henry Livingston of Kingston—our cousin, whose family is of the Loyal Party.”

  “Certainly a reasonable request,” Armistead agreed, pouring himself another shot. “Your concern for Angelica’s welfare is only to be expected.”

  “And I believe I would like to accompany her to Kingston and see her safe into the hands of this lady or some other good, respectable woman.”

  Armistead seemed somewhat surprised by this but, after a moment of consideration, he nodded vigorously. “As you wish, Mr. TenBroeck.”

  “Then we have reached an agreement,” Arent said, suddenly brisk.

  “We have.” Now it was Armistead’s turn to be brief.

  “Therefore, major, allow me to speak privately now with my cousin. She is high-spirited and strong-willed, but she understands the obligations of duty and family perfectly.”

  “I’m happy to hear it. With your permission, a part of the company will go with you to the river tomorrow. The rest will stay here until your return. To protect your house and family, of course.”

  “Of course,” Arent replied dryly. “But, may I point out, the road to Kingston is closely watched by rebel militia?”

  “Neither they nor the town will be around after tomorrow,” Armistead admitted, with a toothy grin. “King’s men are up the river in force, sir. Just another reason why your decision shows such good sense.”

  Arent nodded, hoping he had disguised the concern this news brought. “I see.”

  “I knew a man of sense like yourself would. But first, before you go—” Armistead extended his gloved hand. “—let us shake on this agreement. Gentleman to gentleman.”

  “Of course.” Taking that bony hand into his, Arent shook it firmly, a little harder than was actually necessary. It was all he could do not to crush it to jelly.

  ***

  “Well, cousin,” Arent said, entering the room, “what he wants is a kind of horse trade. He won’t kill us and loot the place if you will agree to go with him. Further, he claims he has the connections to protect the family from treason charges.”

  Still clutching the quilt, white-faced, Angelica sat up. “Do you believe him?”

  “Not entirely, although I did play the man of property, more concerned with my goods than my soul. I don’t believe I’ve ever met such a contemptible boil on the face of creation as that man,” Arent muttered, shaking his blonde head.

  “He’s a monster.”

  “Yes. Now, listen, cousin, I may not be able to talk long.” “Yes. I understand. What happens next?”

  “If you agree to go like a lamb, tomorrow half of the soldiers will withdraw to escort you to the river. He says I may travel with you, at least far enough to see you safe into the hands of a respectable Tory woman.”

  “Cousin!”

  “I know. I know.” Arent threw himself into the bedroom chair and stared at her, his broad face lined and pale as old rock. “Obvious
ly, the men he leaves here will be under orders to do whatever they like if you and I escape between here and the river.”

  “Dear God! The children!”

  “And the women, both young and old. Professional soldiers are beasts.”

  Angelica twisted the quilt in terror. “Mary M’Gregor and Annie M’Kinlay are young and handsome and—dear Heaven, Kitty!”

  Arent nodded, his lips compressed into a line. “Nevertheless, I will not force you. We could chance it tomorrow and run, but Armistead has let slip that Kingston will burn tonight, so I don’t think we can expect any help from there.”

  For what seemed an eternity, they sat silently. Arent stared at the floor. Angelica, sitting at the side of the bed, crushed the quilt against her face and felt more tears flow.

  “A lady is to go with me? To where?” she finally whispered.

  “To New York City, where he says you may stay with your Aunt Livingston. He also says that when his tour in this region is ended, he’ll return to marry you. My bet, however,” Arent said, “is that he will marry you in Kingston. He’s had enough, I’d imagine, of slips between the cup and the lip.”

  Face deathly pale, Angelica asked for a few minutes in solitude. Arent silently kissed her cheek. Stepping outside, he’d got permission to visit his children down the hall with Widow M’Gregor and Mrs. de Keys.

  ***

  Angelica roamed the interior of her room like a caged animal, mind in turmoil. Rage, as well as terror, swelled with every step. Her hands pulled at her dress, her hair, the pockets of her apron, as if she could disappear from this place, this agony.

  Was there be no end to this misery? Had she not suffered enough, sacrificed enough? Her beloved Jack gone?

  How could death have come to her invincible warrior? Yet, Armistead, savage that he was, had presented her with the horror lying on the parlor table. And with that fact so cruelly presented, he expected her to marry him!

  He was mad, dangerously so. But she was caught, a rat in a trap, in this room, with no way out except through him. The man who had delivered her husband’s scalp...

  Like a talisman against evil, Angelica gathered up the quilt top and crushed it close to her bosom. Then, wildly, she flung it, casting it wide across the bed. She saw the first pieces that were the beginning of everything, the quilt, her love for Jack, and all the patches that melded together to bring her to this point.

  “All for nothing!” she shrieked at the cold emptiness of the room. “All for nothing! I will not give myself over to that murdering jackal. This is my life! It belongs to me. I will do what I will!”

  I am not chattel! I will not bow to him. I will not cower before him! Leaping up, she began to pace the room.

  “I will kill myself before that wretched vulture lays one filthy finger on what will always be Jack’s!” She yanked the quilt top from the bed and began to tear at it.

  “Never! Never! Never!”

  The first of the stitches broke. A linen corner patch separated from the muslin backing with a loud rip.

  Stunned, Angelica froze. What have I done?

  Dropping to her knees, she relaxed her tensed arms and lowered the quilt upon her lap. Slowly, carefully, as if the entire spinning insanity which had been so real a moment before had simply evaporated, she searched the edges of the muslin backing until she found the tear.

  I will not allow him to take this from me, she vowed silently. This is my life, and George Armistead shall not have even one patch.

  Slowly, she leaned back until she rested against the single heavy wing chair. Candlelight fell from the table, illuminating the quilt in her lap, all the colors and shapes dazzling like jewels.

  As she sat there, drained, a strange feeling fluttered, deep in her belly. She’d felt it for the first time only a few days ago. The sensation was as if a butterfly had been released, its wings tapping the walls of some secret cave.

  I must talk to Harriet, or Mary McGregor. One or the other, they can tell me. In spite of what has happened to my dear mate, the egg may be in the nest. And, if that is so, what I suspect, then I must survive. Survive any way I can!

  Cruel fate has once again destroyed the man I love, but this time, perhaps, something of him, of his love, remains. A miraculous someone I can hug, and kiss.

  Fumbling in the pocket, she withdrew her thimble and thread; she pulled a length of cotton through the needle. It will be stronger now, she promised herself.

  What God has joined together—

  Slowly, Angelica pulled the ragged edges of the tear together. She knew what her answer to George Armistead would be. She would save her family. If she had lost Jack, she would not shame his memory with cowardice.

  “Chains do not hold a marriage together,” Angelica spoke aloud to the empty room, imagining Jack was there with her. She pulled cotton through the edges, neatly mending the rent.

  It’s the threads, hundreds of tiny threads, which sew people together through the years...

  ***

  “Well, cousin,” she said softly. “There seems to be nothing else we can do. We are between the devil and the deep blue sea. I shall do what he asks. But if a hair on the head of anyone here is harmed, I swear, he shall pay for it.”

  Arent stepped to where she sat. Taking her hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. Angelica could see he was painfully close to breaking.

  “Don’t forget the Vanderlyns,” her cousin finally managed. “I believe they got away clean. We may have help yet.”

  “And we can pray,” Angelica whispered.

  “Sooner or later,” Arent said in a voice thick with fury, “I will kill that man.”

  “I’ll kill him myself when you and the children are safe,” Angelica heard herself say.

  It was as if she floated above her own head, gazing down upon a body that made bargains with the devil, an actress in a play scripted in hell. “After all, did God not provide Judith with a tent peg?”

  ***

  Arent could not bear to look upon Angelica’s anguished face for an instant longer. It took all his self-control not to rush down the stairs and kill, with his bare hands, the first British soldier he found.

  Walking around the bed, he leaned miserably against the window. Twilight had fallen while they’d talked. The eastern horizon should have darkened by now, however, tonight, a strange, ruddy glow danced across it.

  Kingston!

  Arent’s heart sank below his shoes, but he said nothing. Angelica seemed a statue as she sat, rigid with grief and fear, upon the bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Armistead spared Angelica his presence until she went out the next morning. With a teary-eyed Mrs. de Keys and Annie M’Gregor, pale beneath her freckles, accompanying her, she passed through the kitchen and out into the yard. Two soldiers followed, lugging a trunk containing her clothes.

  Angelica had packed the night before. At the very bottom, beneath everything, she had laid the quilt.

  Something, she thought, to remember you by, my darling Jack. Something to wrap your child in. George Armistead may think he’s had the last laugh, but I will hatch a cuckoo in his nest! As soon as I can, I will escape to my kinsfolk again, and Jack’s child and I will never leave here again—let him do his worst.

  “Good morning, my angel!” the villain exclaimed. He swept a low bow, brushing his lips against her gloved hand. As he lifted his powdered head from the salute, she braced herself, expecting the ruthless leer of a master examining a new slave girl.

  “The conquered await your command,” she said bitterly, hoping to sour his pleasure.

  Instead of success in his dark eyes, she saw apprehension—and, for the first time, something like longing. The need, the desire, she felt coming from him washed over her in a suffocating wave.

  “Not so, lady,” he said, stepping close to speak. “Not so. Soon, very soon, I will show you that you are wrong. It is you who have conquered.”

  Suddenly, in a single, awful flash, Angelica un
derstood. All the pride and strutting, all the bullying and threats, all his posturing talk of her property, hides his fear!

  George Armistead was one of those men whose love was madness. In the city, his obsession had begun. And the woman he’d chosen to love had scornfully rejected him, run away from him, and, finally betrayed him by giving her hand to another!

  The man cannot see any other way. He must possess me, own me, however he can. His pride, his very manhood is at stake. He has weakened to love me, and, therefore, he will have me, whatever the cost to himself or to others.

  “Come, my angel,” he said in that same strangely gentle tone, offering to lift her into the saddle. “Allow me.”

  Woodenly submitting to his touch, she allowed him to assist.

  Redcoats marched on either side as Angelica and Arent rode away from their farm. Major Armistead kept reining around, trotting his horse from the front of the line to the back. He’d split his troops almost in half, taking the greater part of the cavalry on this journey.

  Before them rose smoke, telling the tale of what had happened in Kingston. Angelica had hardly closed her eyes all night, though she had enjoyed one comfort, the squirmy company of fat little Balt, who had insisted upon sleeping beside her.

  Now, as they rode, the horrible cloud of unreality overcast everything. She had ridden this road a thousand times, but today it seemed, somehow, different—sharp and small, and all the colors sickeningly bright, like the world before a blinding headache.

  They were passing between cornfields, now drying beneath the August sun. The crop stood smartly at attention, a rattling army of green and beige. A scattering of orange pumpkins, planted among the rows, shone here and there.

  Suddenly, out of the blur, something tickled Angelica’s gaze and brought her back into focus.

  Am I seeing things? Or are there men in that field?

  Sure enough, inside the green shade were other shadows—ones that moved. Something was going on in front, too, quite incongruous. It was the sound of cheerful full-voiced black song and the rattle of wagons.