by Betty Bolte
"Don't tell me how you succeeded in navigating these treasures past the blockade." Frank picked up the carved ivory talisman from a Chinese cleric. "Not until the British have left, so I don't have to perjure myself."
Captain Sullivan winked at him as he snatched up the broadside Frank had placed on the seat earlier and dropped onto the chair. "Understood. Shouldn't be much longer, as I hear the preliminary peace treaty will be signed soon. Then it's a matter of time to obtain agreement from all parties before the animosity finally ends. Thank the Lord."
"Eventually, when we can reopen the museum, that mask should stand as the greeting for folks as they enter." Frank studied the exterior of the box then glanced at Captain Sullivan. "I can see the children's faces now, mingled fear and awe."
"Once we resume our normal business after the embargoes are lifted then we can enact our plans for reopening the museum." Benjamin scraped a chair out, turning it to face the door to the street, and sat down. "The waiting is difficult but necessary. I wouldn't want the blasted British to carry off our collection as booty."
"They've taken enough of this town's goods already." Frank relaxed against the back of the hard chair, legs outstretched before him. "Like the wooden floor boards out of my brother's house. Now that it's been returned to me, it cost me a small fortune to restore the floor boards."
"Will you and Emily live there after the wedding?" Benjamin dropped a lump of sugar into his cup before pouring hot coffee from the silver service resting on the low table between them. The hodgepodge of furniture suited the accompanying selection of imported items scattered about the store, lending the shop a unique air of welcome and acceptance.
"It took some convincing after she'd been held captive there by that bastard." Frank crossed his arms. "But she's already making decorating changes."
"The bedroom where he kept her, too, I'd imagine?" Benjamin crossed his arms and regarded the other men. "That would be my priority."
Frank nodded. "First room she descended upon. Cost me a good bit to make the improvements, but it's worth the expense to make my future wife content in her new home."
"Only a couple more months, son." Captain Sullivan straightened the broadside with a practiced shake of his wrists. "Then you get the... pleasure of controlling her high spirits."
"If that's even possible." Benjamin snorted. "She has a mind of her own, that's certain."
"Control is not a word she understands." Frank huffed a mirthless chuckle. "Protect suits her better, seeing as I can't control her actions and behavior any more than I can control her outlandish thoughts and ideas."
"Outlandish ideas?" Captain Sullivan blinked twice as he refocused on Frank.
Benjamin frowned and stared at his friend, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Frank opened his mouth and shut it. After a moment, he shrugged. "Why nothing, really. She simply speaks her mind whether I wish it or not."
Captain Sullivan folded the paper and laid it down before picking up a cup of coffee. "True, very true. That's a good approach, son."
Something more remained below the surface than Frank wanted to let on. Something he tried to hide. They'd learned over the years to trust each other in a way not even husbands and wives did. Likely because of their audience he decided to refrain from sharing the details. But now more secrets needed to be untangled. Benjamin sighed. He tired of secrets. "Is that all, Frank? You do not wish to elaborate on your intriguing insight into Miss Emily?"
Frank glanced uneasily at Captain Sullivan, then returned his steady gaze to Benjamin before shaking his head. "There is nothing more for me to say, friend."
Since Frank did not want to speak of it in front of Emily's father, Benjamin let it go. For now. "We should share with the good captain what you have learned about the Scots."
"Scots?" Captain Sullivan sat at attention at the word. "Which Scots?"
"Two loyalist officers in the British cavalry with strong ties to the MacLemore clan." Frank recrossed his ankles in front of him. "The same area where our treasure originated. I do not believe in coincidences, gentlemen, so they must have excellent inside intelligence to have so quickly traced the box."
"We must not share any more information about its location with anyone outside of ourselves." Captain Sullivan looked at each man in turn. "So where have you hidden it?"
"Sorry, sir." Benjamin hesitated, knowing Captain Sullivan may well take affront at his next words. "I'd prefer to not reveal its location to even you."
"What?" The captain spluttered at the implied insult in Benjamin's statement. "You dare suggest I'd reveal its location? Me?" Rising abruptly, he rested his fists on his hips and towered over Benjamin, waiting for an answer.
Benjamin straightened in his chair, braced to confront the irate man. "It's not that, sir. Frank and I have been trained to withstand much harsher treatment. We are on guard to defend the other. It's not smart to only have one person aware of the treasure for fear of something happening to that lone soul. But to be on the safe side, we prefer knowing only two people have knowledge of its whereabouts."
"You offend me, Hanson." Sullivan rounded on Frank. "What say you?"
Frank swallowed and shook his head. "We've agreed it's the best way."
"You've agreed? You who intend to wed my daughter dare to suggest I'm untrustworthy?"
"It's for your safety as well as hers." Frank rose, crossing to address the man directly. "Emily would detest me if I allowed anything untoward happen to you."
"Damnation! I've spent years fighting the bloody British, and now you challenge my reputation and ability all in one blow." With a huff Sullivan paced the room, hands locked behind his back. Sullivan had arranged the shop aisles so he could walk as he wrestled with problems. He now made good use of the arrangement to work off his frustrations.
Benjamin held his tongue, knowing the man needed time to sort through the situation. To comprehend the sensibility of the plan. Glancing at his friend and compatriot, Benjamin noticed that Frank watched his future father-in-law with barely concealed amusement.
"Bloody hell." Sullivan rounded the end of the long set of crowded shelving and approached the two men.
Benjamin pondered how many of the items were acquired through legal means and how many obtained by force. Captain Sullivan's privateering of British ships occurred as a thinly disguised activity, but one both Benjamin and Frank endorsed however treasonous the British deemed it. When Sullivan paused at the apex of the circuit, the weight of the captain's glare rested uneasily upon Benjamin. Sullivan should be relieved to not have the burden of the treasure's safety to contend with, but at the same time Benjamin could well imagine he needed to adjust to the near insult. The captain shook his head twice and resumed his journey around the importation shop.
Finally he stopped in front of Benjamin and sighed. "I've worked to establish a faultless reputation and level of respect unmatched across the state." He folded his arms, his chest quaking with suppressed anger. "I'll not forget this slight by either of you."
Benjamin inclined his head to acknowledge the effort Sullivan made to remain calm and rational when in other circumstances he would defend his honor. "Understood."
Sullivan's eyes narrowed, his fists flexing at his side. "If aught happens to it, though, young man, you'll have me to answer to."
Benjamin merely nodded. "Aye, sir."
"We'll not let harm come to it." Frank sat back down, assuming his relaxed yet alert position. "That's our mission now."
"The legend associated with this gem is a tale for children." Benjamin feared the legend would overshadow the true importance of the gem, that of sealing the bond between the Scottish people and their American compatriots and thus quieting the discontent along the frontier of western South Carolina. No matter, Benjamin and Frank would protect it, keep it hidden where no one would find the little heart-shaped stone until it was safe to reveal its presence. He discreetly patted his side, the reassuring lump beneath his hand calming. Its intrinsic valu
e made it desirable to those who wished harm or dishonor to the ties between America and Scotland. "But those who believe in its power will stop at nothing to acquire such a treasure."
As long as he kept it in his possession, the future of South Carolina remained secure.
* * *
The next afternoon Amy left her home and strode down Prince Street. Walking briskly, she rehearsed what she'd tell Samantha about her sister's precarious situation. The bright blue November sky belied the fall climate, with dried leaves swirling around the street in wind gusts from the harbor a few blocks away. Normally she would be planning the fall feast celebration dinner for the family. In years past, she and her mother had roasted a variety of meats and fish, accompanied by peas, beans, corn, and an assortment of pies and fruits. This year, with the dearth of game and harvest coupled again with the British besiegement of the town, the celebration itself stood in question.
The sun glinted off the burnished wood and white sails of the hundreds of British ships at anchor in the harbor. Hopefully they would soon transport the British troops out of Charles Town. More slaves would desert then, as the British offered them their freedom in exchange for their loyalty to the Crown. So many blacks had already fled that maintaining both the town and plantation properties proved nearly impossible. The war took so much from them all, leaving the patriotic Americans with a country in need of rebuilding and little real currency with which to do so. Farms and plantations stood decimated and plundered. Towns suffered from lack of food and supplies to last the fast-approaching winter.
Loyalists, too, planned to flee not only South Carolina but the country as well. Let them run to Britain or Canada, or the West Indies, or even that far-off land of Australia. And good riddance, to her mind.
She turned the corner and started down Queen Street, her mind consumed with what she needed to pack for an extended visit with her sister. She'd obtained the required pass without too much embroidering of a tale, since she did indeed have a valid reason for the journey. Few others strolled the streets, probably to avoid confrontation with the defeated and defensive British. Better to wait until those ships carried them all far away than to be beaten or shot by the unruly soldiers preparing to leave. A shadow stretched across the street in front of her.
"What a wonderful surprise to see you."
The deep chocolate voice raised her gaze from the street to appraise Ben's tall figure standing before her. The chilly air surrounding her warmed in his presence. She returned his smile before catching herself. Don't encourage such behavior. She had many more important affairs to manage without adding him to the mix.
"Good day." She bobbed her head once and made to move past him, but he moved smoothly to block her escape. She struggled to contain her smile at his playful movement. "Benjamin, please, I have no time for games."
He reached out and gently stole her hand, examining the white, lace-trimmed gloves encasing her fingers before kissing them. "I am not playing games, Miss Amy."
She detected the seriousness in his expression. The intent. Not a cat playing with a mouse. More a hungry lion stalking a gazelle, a gazelle that could run but never hide from the powerful predator. Dashing to and fro, trying to elude, evade, but ultimately caught and consumed. She shivered at the image filling her head. Sometimes she wished for a less active imagination.
"Are you chilled?" Ben pulled her closer to him, though she braced against his sturdy chest to maintain some distance between them. His heart beat strong and confident beneath her palm. "You should go inside and warm yourself."
As calmly as she could, she moved away from the intense heat radiating from him, rubbing her hands together lightly to dissipate the electrical pulses tingling there. If only she could scatter the lion-and-gazelle picture lingering in her brain. "I'll be fine once I reach Samantha's house."
"I'll walk with you then, since it's on my way." He fell into step beside her, matching her stride easily.
"I would not have thought you had business in this part of town." Amy peeked at his hungry lion smile, teeth bright against sun-kissed skin.
"I'm busy escorting my love to her friend's house."
A thrill swept through her at the endearment and she crushed the errant response. Why did he persist in this foolish effort to court her? "There's no need, surely."
"Indulge me, my sweet. The streets are not yet safe for young ladies such as yourself."
She glanced around, realizing that sentiment held more truth than not. She recalled when Emily and Samantha had been accosted on the street last month, saved only by Frank's intervention. She pictured the townspeople hunkered safely in their homes, waiting to reclaim their town.
"Suit yourself, sir. I trust you will play the gentleman and only escort me to Samantha's, not seek any form of payment for your services." She imagined him kissing her as in days past, the vision and remembered sweep of passion eliciting a gasp. What had she done? She must disavow him of the notion they were courting, and her unthinking comment did not help in that aim. Lowering her lashes, she refrained from looking at him as he chuckled.
"Payment. Fascinating idea." He strolled beside her for several steps before breaking the tense silence. "You're blushing, my sweet. Is something amiss?"
"You know very well I do not wish you to court me." She increased her pace, her long, heavy skirts swishing about her ankles. Without breaking his fluid rhythm, he adjusted his stride to keep even with her. Their shadows twined together on the ground, his layering hers like a man with his love. She mentally chastised herself for envisioning their shadows engaged in a sexual embrace. Her cheeks warmed even more at the thought.
"At one time we meant something to each other. A situation I intend to restore, if you'll allow me." He laid a hand on her arm, but she shook it off and continued down the street. He caught up in one stride. "Talk with me."
"We have nothing to say to one another, Benjamin." She continued on her way, not wanting to delve into the past, the pain she'd overcome, and the fear of what might lie ahead.
"You used to call me Ben," he said. "When did that change?"
She still thought of him as Ben, especially when she recalled their intimate moments, but refused to share that bit of insight. "The moment I realized you no longer cared enough to even tell me why you left." She kept her head straight, eyes on the path before her.
"Amy, please, hear me." He shadowed her, staying with her as her feet practically raced down the dusty street. "I came back for you."
Dear Lord, tell me he did not just say that. The little girl deep inside her, the one always dreaming of her white knight riding to her rescue, carrying her off to live forever like in the storybooks, reached out to him with both hands. But her adult self rebuked the childish impulse, swatting the hands back down to her side. Life worked differently than storybook tales. She'd seen the haunted look in Evelyn's eyes when Walter raised his voice. She'd seen the bruises and the hunched shoulders. She'd seen the deterioration of the budding friendship and any hope of romance. Marriage meant relinquishing her freedoms to put her husband's goals and desires ahead of her own needs. Did she want that as her future?
Her feet stuttered to a stop, and she faced him. Peering into his eyes, she saw the truth about his desire for her, saw his sincerity in that belief. Still, she could not let this continue. "Benjamin, please understand. I must return to my sister's promptly, as she needs me most."
"Is something wrong?" He held her upper arms lightly as he waited for her response.
"She's with child and due any day." Amy fought the familiar urge to relax and step into Ben's expectant embrace. "She requires my assistance and Samantha's midwifery skills. Must you detain me further?"
Ben dipped his head once. "My apologies. I will escort you posthaste. Come." Retaining one hand on her elbow, he urged her the remaining half block to the McAlesters' three-story brick home, dark green shutters at each window. Situated close to the road, the front door hunkered under a recessed alcove. Ben rapped on
the door with his walking stick. They waited, hearing no sounds from within.
"She's not home." Amy looked up and down the street, hoping Samantha would return while Amy debated her next move. Urgency fueled her thoughts as she scanned the street for the familiar figure. "Fiddlesticks."
"We can try the market, if you'd like," Ben said. "The fishing ships arrived a few hours ago."
"I thought she'd be home." Disappointment clouded her mind. Amy peered into Benjamin's eyes, noticing the way they danced in the sunlight. "I suppose we could—"
Suddenly she heard whistling behind the house. She hurried to the white arched trellis covered with climbing rose vines forming a short tunnel leading to the side yard. Benjamin trailed after her, through the sun-dappled corridor into the bright light of the compact herb garden. A blend of crushed shells and pea gravel crunched under their feet as they searched among the tightly planted, aromatic bushes for the source of the tune. They wended their way along the twisting path. Amy glanced at the vine-covered gazebo, the site of many afternoons filled with sharing tea and scones with friends. Nestled in the farthest corner of the garden, the gazebo's stone foundation matched that of the house. Vines clung to the whitewashed planks of the trellis sides and steeple roof. In the spring the flowering bushes, currently dormant, perfumed the air.
The whistling started again, a sketchy rendition of "Yankee Doodle" she recognized immediately.
"Samantha?" Amy hurried along the winding path. "Where are you?"
"How do you know it's her?" Ben followed a step behind, his company disconcerting and comforting in equal measure.
"Samantha?" Amy pushed aside the surge of pleasure Ben's nearness jolted through her. She focused on finding her friend. An awareness of his presence did not equate to needing him. The whistling stopped.
"Who's there?" Amid the rustling of an immense rosemary bush, Samantha stood up and wiped her hands on her garden apron. The remains of a dirty hand swiped across her face marred her classic beauty as she smiled in welcome. "Amy! You're back."