by Betty Bolte
"Are you all right?" Amy assessed her sister's condition, her concern increasing with each passing moment.
"I do not know," Evelyn replied softly. "This is the first I've stirred from my bed all day other than to be ill."
"Where is Belinda?" Amy passed into the dim interior. "Is she not feeling well also?"
"No, today is her day off." Evelyn shrugged. "I couldn't ask her to stay with me when she has an ill mother who needed her."
"Then where is Walter?" Amy perused Evelyn's face, her eyes, her arms, looking for any evidence Walter had hurt her. "Why did he leave you alone?"
Evelyn gazed at her a long moment, her hand beginning to tremble on the door frame and her legs beginning to fail. "As promised, he went hunting again. He's managed to provide for me just as he said he would."
Better now than not at all. Amy held her tongue with an effort.
"Oh!" Evelyn clenched the door frame as she gasped.
"What is it?" Amy moved to support her, bracing her with an arm around her waist. "Are you..."
Evelyn shook her head. "Not the baby," she gasped. "Something... else."
Emily stepped forward and braced Evelyn's other arm to support her. "I've got you."
Amy looked at her friend, who intently observed Evelyn's condition. "Samantha, please, help her."
"Let's go inside. Then, with your permission, I will examine you." Samantha opened the small red bag she used to carry her supply of medicinal herbs.
A quick nod was Evelyn's answer. Amy and Emily helped her inside, across the foyer, and into the parlor. Shadows danced across the whitewashed walls in the fitful breeze from the open door. The barking outside stopped, and only the distant chirping of birds sounded in the room.
"Lie on the settee, and let me see." Samantha positioned Evelyn so she could check on the baby. Lifting the hem of Evelyn's dress, she prepared to slide it up her legs. "This won't hurt, and I won't touch you unless necessary. Where is the pain?"
Evelyn reached for Amy's hand, pain and fear mingled in her eyes. Amy hadn't seen such a conflicted look in her sister's eyes since the day before she married Walter. Evelyn had worried she was making a mistake. Amy assured her every bride felt the same way. She'd even convinced Evelyn of the likelihood her feelings would change. Evelyn seemed grateful then, but now Amy wasn't so sure she'd offered the best advice, especially given her own opinion on the subject.
"My stomach." Evelyn laid a hand on her waist to indicate where the pain resided.
Amy held Evelyn's other hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she stood beside her. At a nod from Evelyn, Samantha lifted the muslin out of the way with sure and efficient hands on the woman's stomach. Then just as quickly, she smoothed the skirt back in place.
Samantha stood and shooed Amy away from Evelyn's side. She pressed gently on the pregnant woman's stomach. Evelyn cried out when Samantha pushed on the upper portion of the swollen belly.
"Good. That's very good. The babe is fine." Samantha turned and rummaged in her herbal bag, finally withdrawing a small pouch of dried herbs. "I believe you need only something to settle your stomach, relieve the colic you're having. Chamomile, I'd say. I'll make you some tea to alleviate your distress. Then we need to determine what's causing the colic. Emily, will you help me, please?" Samantha nodded at Emily and left the room, medicine bag in hand.
"I'll go see how I can assist her." Emily hurried out of the room, trailing after Samantha.
"Amy, why do I feel so bad?" Evelyn sat up with effort. "If it's not the baby, then what is it?"
"What have you eaten today?" Amy helped her rise and slowly follow Samantha and Emily into the kitchen. Each step was carefully placed, like a blind man in an unfamiliar room.
"Some porridge for breakfast, and a bit of cold ham and an apple for supper." After long minutes, Amy closed the door between the main hall and the kitchen behind them. Evelyn settled onto a bench beside the crackling fire.
"I'm surprised to find the kitchen inside your house." Emily stood by a long table against the far wall, her hands on her hips.
The large room featured an immense fireplace to the left. Massive black metal rods had been driven into the brick with metal hooks to hang pots on, which could be swung over the fire or kept off the flame to serve the contents. Dried herbs hung in bunches in one corner. A large rectangular wooden table in the center of the room sat flanked by several hefty chairs.
"Walter's father wanted the warmth of the kitchen fire to help dispel the cold in winter." Evelyn shifted on the bench.
"Do you not worry about fire?" Samantha poured water from a pot hanging over the fire into a white china cup and added the chamomile leaves to steep.
"This house has stood for decades."
"I'm relieved to hear that." Amy crossed the room to stand by Samantha. "Evelyn said she's only had some porridge, ham, and an apple today. Would any of those have made her ill?"
"Hmm." Samantha moved to where bowls of apples, pears, and mixed nuts graced the sideboard. "The fruit looks healthy. Where do you keep the cooked meats?"
"Out back, in the cellar." Evelyn motioned toward the back door leading into the kitchen garden.
"See what victuals they have on hand while you're out there." Emily paced around the room, inspecting the contents of various bowls and shelves. "We'll be wanting dinner before long."
Samantha stepped carefully down the stone step into the yard, allowing sunshine into the room. Beyond her friend's tall frame, a mostly barren garden, without any apparent order, extended toward the forest. Curious, Amy moved closer. Standing at the threshold, she watched Samantha stride through the reaching tendrils of various plants, careful to avoid the holes in the path leading to the root cellar. The door lifted with a squeak of leather hinges, and Samantha disappeared into the gloomy coolness.
The yard exemplified structured chaos within the log fence guarding the perimeter. Rosebushes climbed the post-and-rail fence, though no pretty blooms or floral scents would appear until early summer. A live oak tree shaded the yard, its Spanish moss dangling in long, filmy tendrils to the verdant floor beneath. With a hoe and some shears, Amy could turn this place into an amazing garden. While the effort to transform the garden tempted her, fortunately their short visit didn't allow time to make any impact on the needy plants.
Emerging into the daylight again, Samantha carefully stepped over the sill of the cellar and closed the door. She glanced at the cloth dangling from her hand, a piece of salted ham in the center.
"What did you find?" Amy stepped onto the stoop and waited. "Is it rotten?"
"I do not believe so." Samantha peered at the meat in the stronger light. "Seems odd that it is not the meat."
"Could it be the fruit, then?" Amy squinted in the glaring sunshine.
"I suppose," Samantha mused. "It's worth a look anyway."
They reentered the kitchen, latching the door behind them. Amy paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the relative darkness. Evelyn remained on the bench, her face white against the dark wooden wall. A sheen on her face reflected the orange-red glow of the fire. Amy felt too warm and slightly claustrophobic after the open space and fresh air of the garden.
"I wouldn't think an apple could make her sick." Amy trailed after Samantha to the fruit bowls lining the sideboard.
Turning a shiny golden apple first one direction then another, Samantha examined it. "It appears fine. Let's look inside."
She selected a knife from the block on the sideboard and soon had the apple exposing its core. "There's the problem."
Amy leaned closer for a better view. Lining the core of the apple was a row of small dark worms, chewing their way through the sweet flesh. "How disgusting."
"What did you find?" Evelyn's voice floated across the large kitchen.
"Fruit worms." Amy crossed the scarred wood floor. "If the apple you ate earlier contained them as well, it's probably what caused you to feel so poorly."
Evelyn blanched. "Can you rid me of them? Wil
l they harm the baby?"
Samantha opened her bag as she walked to the cupboard. "I heard of a cure that will help clear away any worms and yet not harm the babe. Have you any molasses?"
Before long Samantha handed Evelyn a steaming-hot cup. "Sip this, and soon you'll feel better."
Evelyn looked at the brew and back to Samantha. "What's in it?"
Samantha smiled. "A bit of salt and copperas mixed in molasses to sweeten it. Now drink up. You'll be fine."
"What's copperas?" Evelyn peered warily into the steaming cup.
"Essentially copper water." Samantha folded her arms across her chest.
"Isn't that used to dye the flax?" Evelyn shuddered, pushing the cup away from her.
Amy reached to steady the wobbling cup on its saucer. "It's also used in the appropriate amount as medicine. Go on, Evelyn."
"Is it safe?" Evelyn's brow furrowed as she glanced at Amy. "You trust her?"
"Of course. With my life and yours." Amy sank onto the bench beside her sister, laying a hand on her free arm. "I would not have asked her to attend you if I did not. You have nothing to fear."
Evelyn stared into the china cup braced between her hands. She remained still except for her eyes watching the fine leaves settling to the bottom of the cup. A tremor moved across her shoulders, sloshing the fragrant liquid. After a few moments she turned worried eyes to meet Amy's. "Promise me she knows her cures, and I'll agree."
"You have my word." Amy ignored the fleeting concern giving her pause. What if something went wrong after all? How would she face Evelyn? Or Walter? She plastered a brave smile on her lips and hugged Evelyn. "I'll be right here with you. You'll see."
* * *
More people clogged the streets of Charles Town than Benjamin had seen since the occupation. Word of the treaty under negotiation in Paris buoyed the spirits and morale of the populace. It also buoyed the exchange of commerce and services in town. Before long, he hoped, the militia would disband and he could resume his own pursuits. Including his pursuit of Amy. Each delay increased his frustration. Now this.
The crunch of dried leaves alerted him to rapid footsteps approaching from behind. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he relaxed as Captain Sullivan caught him up and they exchanged greetings.
Sullivan calmly scoured the crowd before him. "I need you to confirm the package is secure."
"It is. Why?" Benjamin frowned at the burly man pacing beside him down Broad Street. The light pressure of the tiny box in his pocket reassured him, but he remained silent as to its whereabouts. The less Sullivan knew, the safer the treasure.
"The treaty may change things here for us, but the gem becomes even more desired by those who wish to fracture the friendship it represents."
Benjamin darted a glance at the captain. "The gem is hidden well, where no one would consider looking. It is safe enough."
"Good, good." Sullivan tightened his lips and peered at him. "Where did you say you hid it?"
Benjamin chuckled. "I did not say, but be sure, sir, it is better you don't know, as we agreed."
"Aye, we did," Sullivan sighed. "I still worry if it's the best plan to keep me blind to the truth. Despite my fears, I'm forced to go along with you. For now."
The captain had acquiesced before and rather ungraciously did so again. This time Benjamin detected more pique in the man's tone, however, jangling alarm bells in Benjamin's gut. He studied the elder man's anxious expression. What caused the captain's hesitancy, indeed reluctance to trust Benjamin to keep the treasure safe? It would be worthwhile to stay alert.
Turning onto Chalmers Street, the two men increased their pace at the sight of a gathering in front of the Pink House tavern. A large group of men and women crowded the front steps. He made a mental note to pay a visit to the old woman, Marge, who ran the place. The tavern was the oldest in town, built in the late seventeenth century from Bermuda stone that had a natural pink cast to it. The terra cotta tiles forming the roof were curved as though they'd been shaped by forming them around a strong man's thigh. Marge also served up some of the best victuals and conversation in the district to the typical seamen who came from ports around the world for their "three W's" of wenches, whiskey, and wittles. Of course, the gentry of the town spent their time at McCrady's and not this area boasting bordellos and rough men. The structure served as a nexus of information gleaned from the many travelers who frequented its cheerful but tiny interior.
A uniformed British officer stood head and shoulders above the rowdy throng, surveying the scene. After a few moments, as Benjamin and Captain Sullivan joined the crowd, the officer raised his hands for silence. Slowly the people grew quieter, though uneasy murmurs rippled through the group.
Benjamin allowed his gaze to roam the crowd. Patriots and loyalists as well as a few slaves mingled and shared wondering, worried glances. The sun fought to make an appearance from behind the multitude of wispy clouds drifting across the pale sky.
"Ladies, gentlemen. I am Colonel Blake Scarsdale. Thank you for coming out today." He paused, his eyes perusing the assemblage.
The weight of Scarsdale's gaze rested briefly on Benjamin before moving on. What would the man say next? Surely he knew his domination of this town was ending, and soon. Surely he would not try to make more trouble before he left in defeat. Or at least the presumption remained that the patriotic Americans had defeated the British once and for all after General Cornwallis surrendered in Yorktown to General Washington. Of course, the blasted British were nothing if not vengeful. Benjamin drummed the fingers of his hand on his crossed arms, his annoyance growing as the pause stretched into minutes.
"Get on with it." Captain Sullivan's whiskers twitched as he jerked his mouth in agitation.
"'Tis hard to admit defeat." The few times Benjamin had failed in his mission still left painful memories, despite the fact that events had turned against him so rapidly his superior officer swore it was not his fault. Failing his fellow soldiers rankled. "More so when it is not the result of your own actions."
"Nevertheless, I have business to attend." Sullivan tugged on his nose and scowled.
No argument from him. Depending on what the officer declared next, Benjamin would react accordingly. Either defending the town or undermining whatever the British had in mind. His skills would prove useful in either situation.
"Please, if I may." Colonel Scarsdale raised his hands again. He waited for the crowd to quiet. "For most of you, what I am about to say is sad news. Others may feel relief, though I trust not so much as to be too free with your celebrations." He paused, standing relaxed but alert, his mouth contorted into a grim smile. "Effective immediately, the British troops must report to barracks. Any free person wishing to depart on the ships under the protection of His Majesty shall report to the garrison by the last day of November to register and prove you're free to act on your own behalf."
"But sir," a man shouted from the crowd, "what happened?"
"King George has recalled his forces to the Motherland," the officer intoned levelly, though his voice shook with suppressed emotion.
Benjamin sensed the battle Scarsdale fought within as he maintained a composed expression. If faced with the same situation, Benjamin likely would not remain quite as neutral in his attitude and stance. He admired the man's composure under the circumstances.
The hush settling over the gathering shattered when a young woman cried, "Why, we've really, finally won!"
Joyous cheers burst forth from a majority of the crowd. The townspeople could finally reveal their true loyalties, to the burgeoning America rather than to the king, now that the threat to their lives and property no longer existed. Fear of British retaliation against the townspeople as the troops prepared to return to England quickly replaced Benjamin's relief. Men did not take kindly to being shamed when they lost so much during the fighting. He'd keep his eyes open and his friends close for their safety. Most importantly, Amy must now be convinced to stay with him to assure her safety. His missio
n included protecting the gem but more so his girl.
Sullivan turned to him, a burst of laughter preceding three happy blows on Benjamin's back. "Well done! Well done, I say!"
He couldn't help but smile, even as he cast an eye over the crowd, searching out anyone who might attempt to wreak havoc on the newly independent country, and in particular this lovely seaport town. His town. A town he'd protect as he did his own family. He savored the sweet feeling of victory against the world's mightiest military force. The Americans had persevered and won their independence. "Now the hard work begins."
Sullivan's merriment sobered, though the smile stayed in his eyes. "Aye, creating a new form of government will not be easy."
"No, sir." Benjamin hoped the gentility of the current leadership, of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson in particular, would prove influential in how the new citizens of America treated each other. He, along with many other gentlemen, worried that the new country might fail to coalesce strongly enough to sustain a democracy. In fact, the concept of a new democratic government concerned many, even among patriotic Americans.
Scarsdale raised his arms for quiet. "Preparations are being made to leave this town as soon as weather conditions permit at the end of the hurricane season. In the ensuing period, we will gather all Crown possessions and load them aboard ship. God save the King!"
The crowd offered up a few scattered cheers, though with less enthusiasm than when the gathering realized peace loomed on the horizon. Peace brought freedom and a return to a sense of normalcy that did not include fighting and violence.
"I must find Frank," Benjamin said. "This is important information for him to include in the broadside."
Frowning, Sullivan scanned the crowd. "Is he not here? I thought I saw him earlier."
Benjamin surveyed the dispersing crowd. Some folks laughed, others pointed worriedly at those who smiled. The game of pretended loyalties ended as each man showed through his actions his true stance in the war for independence. Benjamin schooled his reaction, shielding himself from British reprisal as a result of losing a war they formerly thought an easy victory. A few soldiers gathered on the edges of the crowd crammed between the houses and shops lining the street. He imagined the simmering dismay and resulting anger and humiliation the British soldiers must feel as the reality of losing such a conflict settled about them.