by Betty Bolte
After he spoke to the general. He'd finally reached the point where he no longer needed to practice in deceit but could speak honestly. The heavy burden of lying lifted from his mind with the rising wind. Gusts spun spirals of dirt along the road, alerting him to the low clouds gathering in the distance. The weather had been unusually rainy this autumn, including the hurricane that pummeled the Carolina coast in September. His mood wilted as he realized the implications of more storms such as they'd already experienced. Foul weather could delay the British ships from departing, which would disrupt the rest of his plans.
The damned loyalists continued to assist the British foraging parties, despite the laws passed by the South Carolina government prohibiting such action. The Americans' defeat at the skirmish along the Combahee River back in August led many loyalists to take heart rather than flight. The twenty-seven-year-old Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens lost his life in the clash at Chehaw Point when the American army patrol sprung a British ambush, causing twenty men to suffer injury. However, the delay that Laurens effected enabled the American army proper to avoid worse losses or injuries. The British infantry had been on foraging detail from their ships to provide fresh supplies, slaves, and other goods. Benjamin sought out General Greene now in order to warn him of other such potential skirmishes as a result of the continuing foraging efforts by the British.
The usual sentry waved him to a halt at the edge of the encampment where the continental army waited for additional orders. Benjamin had delivered the last set of dispatches to the general, specifically regarding the British troop movements as well as intelligence related to their intentions. The Americans pursued the British, allowing no rest for the weary men so they posed less threat. The strategy worked, though he'd heard of several regrettable instances of pillaging surrounding plantations and homes. The terrorization of the general populace should stop forthwith when word spread of the British removal from American soil.
Benjamin briefly returned the salute of a corporal as he rode past the sentry point at a trot. His trained eye surveyed the situation, noting the signs of transition and fatigue. Soldiers wearing threadbare coats and ragged pants, some shoeless, moved slowly about the camp. Uniforms were nonexistent at this point, the soldiers wearing whatever clothing they could find. Two clean-shaven men worked on their muskets and rifles while sitting on a log. As far as he could see, small tents and campfires with kettles of simmering soups and stews and the ever-present coffee pots dotted the hillside. Dogs chased each other between the lean-tos and groups of soldiers. Even the women and children who followed the army were busy tidying up their camps and packing their few belongings for yet another move. The string of officers' horses shifted their hooves in the dirt under the shade of a few live oaks beyond the officers' quarters.
Benjamin halted at the hitching post before General Greene's quarters. He dismounted in one fluid motion and tied his mount's reins to the ring. While the guard announced his arrival to the general, he straightened his tricorne and brushed the dust from his cloak.
"You may enter," the guard said, holding the tent flap open.
Benjamin proceeded into the dim interior lit by oil lamps, his eyes quickly adjusting to the change in light. General Greene occupied a chair on the far side of a wooden desk. Map rolls cluttered an adjacent table. One large map stretched across a center table with the known positions of the British and American forces clearly marked, miniature men and guns representing each side, red for British, blue for Americans. Dust particles floated and swirled in the tent as the flap closed behind him.
"General." Benjamin saluted, then waited for Greene to respond.
"Major." Greene snapped a quick salute and rose from his chair. "I trust you bring welcome news."
Benjamin relaxed into a ready position, feet apart and hands clasped behind his back. "I do, sir. Scarsdale announced the king has withdrawn his troops, ordering them back to British soil. They leave with fair weather."
"So I heard, and 'tis good news indeed." Greene smiled, though Benjamin found it difficult to actually call it a smile. "We must be ready to retake Charles Town when they leave."
"Agreed, sir." Nothing would be worse than to have no one running the town when the British pulled out. "The people will expect our governor to take charge swiftly once the British have evacuated the town."
Greene moved from behind the desk to sit on the corner. "Establishing an American government presence is crucial to maintain order. Too many men are vanishing into the woods."
"To what end?" Benjamin relaxed his rigid posture enough to ease the burning tension along his spine.
"They are loyalists who wish to remain anonymous to avoid retaliation by true Americans. They've slipped away but continue to inflict havoc and destruction across the countryside. Not all were soldiers. Some foreign men loyal to Britain have also taken to the frontier looking for whatever pillage they can lay hands on."
Benjamin's blood chilled at the threat the renegades posed to Amy and her family. Might some of those men be the wily Scots poking around the warehouse? He must reach her to ensure she was not harmed by desperate men seeking to start over in a hostile land. His muscles coiled with the urgent need to ride to her side. First he must finish his business with General Greene; then he would go directly to Walter's house. His thoughts pulled back inside the tent when the general rose from the desk corner and returned to his seat.
"I need you to relay a message to Governor Mathews since he's not had any updates on this matter," Greene said, "and then bring me his response."
Damnation. Matthews's residence was located many miles southwest of town, and Amy was many more miles northeast, the exact opposite direction. He struggled to maintain a passive expression, but his thoughts whirled as to how quickly he could accomplish this new task. "Now?"
"Immediately." Greene studied him for a long moment. "Is there a problem?"
Benjamin considered his response. On the one hand he recognized the urgency to inform the governor of the impending transfer of power so he could adequately prepare to make the transition. On the other hand his heart urged him to ride as fast as possible to Amy, to claim her as his. Despite the war between his heart and his loyalty, he also recognized there could be only one answer to the general's question. "No, sir."
"Very good. Let me draft a note. It won't take long, as I wish you to hasten to his side." Greene pulled out a piece of paper and dipped his quill into the ink bottle on his desk. "Why don't you get Cook to give you a bite to eat while you wait? You have a journey before you reach the governor in Jacksonborough."
"Yes, sir." Benjamin saluted his superior, then turned and left the tent. He marched out into the sunshine, barely beyond earshot of the general before venting his frustration and searing impatience. "Damnation."
"Something amiss, sir?" the guard asked.
Benjamin glared at the boy, who appeared barely old enough to shave. Benjamin forced himself to be civil though his displeasure at the forced delay in his mission to reach Amy grew within him. "Where's the damn mess?"
The guard motioned to the tent in the center of the camp, apparently choosing silence over conversation as the safer way to deal with Benjamin's attitude. Benjamin strode toward the huge campfire in front of the large tent. A kettle hung over the fire, steam rising swiftly in the chilly air. A burly man sat peeling potatoes and plopping them into the simmering broth.
Benjamin paused beside him, drawing the man's attention. His was a new face, not the usual man who prepared the meals. Young, perhaps twenty, his eyes held the reflection of horrors he shouldn't have witnessed at his age. Benjamin's experience had taught him flattery went a long way with cooks. "Good day, sir. General Greene suggested that I should sample your talents before setting off."
Squinty eyes peered up at him. A long, thin cut on the man's jaw spoke to his shaving attempt that morning. Probably using cold water and no lather. Benjamin flinched at the thought. Slowly the man placed the knife and potato in a bowl a
nd stood up, wiping his hands on a well-used apron.
"That is kind of the general," the man said. He reached out a hand to shake with Benjamin. "Name's Nathaniel Williams."
Benjamin inclined his head to the kettle, appreciating the savory scents emanating from within its black depths. "What smells so good?"
"My version of chicken stew," Williams replied. "It will be ready in a moment if you have time."
Benjamin perched on one of several logs surrounding the campfire and placed his hands palm first to warm them by the crackling fire. "If it tastes as good as it smells, I'll wait as long as it takes."
Perusing the bustling camp, he inwardly fidgeted, anxious to resume his journey. Outwardly his body remained still as his gaze skimmed the army's camp. The encampment swarmed with people, men and women, black and white, busily preparing to move. One young mother, surrounded by three very young children, hauled a trunk over to a wagon with surprising ease.
Benjamin regarded Williams as he peeled and cut potatoes for the span of three breaths. "When do you pull out?"
"Tomorrow." Williams finished cutting the last potato into chunks and wiped his hands on the apron. "Unless new orders change the general's mind, of course."
"Indeed. Moving is more of a challenge now, too," Benjamin said. "Seems like the number of women and children is growing each time I come by."
"The women have nothing to feed their families at home, so they traipse after their husbands. Makes feeding everyone a right challenge, but the women pull their weight with washing and mending, so it all works out." He stood and selected the largest of the ladles and slid it into the kettle.
"Say, what happened to the other cook?" Benjamin asked. "Joe something, I believe his name is."
"Midnight raid overran the camp last week." Williams slowly stirred the pot with the large black ladle. "Smitty disappeared in the melee."
"He left?" He hadn't seemed like the type of man to desert despite his gruff and often mean-spirited manner. Of course, what occurred in a man's mind wasn't always possible to predict or prepare for. He'd seen more than one man over the last six years snap and lash out in anger or disappear without a word.
"Or was captured." Williams lifted weary shoulders. "Perhaps killed. Nobody knows for certain. All I know is now I'm cook in his stead."
Odd that the man vanished in such an abrupt manner. Suspicions formed in Benjamin's mind, but he kept silent as the cook ladled stew into a bowl.
"What will you do after the war ends?" Benjamin took the wood bowl and sniffed the rising steam. His stomach grumbled about its empty state.
Williams resumed his seat and regarded him for a moment. "I don't know what's left of my little farm or my family. I haven't heard from my folks in months now. I'm worried I'll have to start all over."
"You seem a good man, Nathaniel. If need be, look me up in Charles Town and I'll see what I can do."
"That's very kind of you to offer, sir." Williams dipped his head one time. "But I hope I won't need to take you up on it."
"Indeed." Dipping his spoon into the fragrant contents, Benjamin withdrew a morsel of chicken seasoned with carrots and potatoes. A rare treat for the army lads to have savory vegetables to eat. "Where did you find carrots this time of year?"
Williams grinned, revealing a gap where two teeth once stood. "Raided a farmhouse and took their supply a few days ago. The poor man who owned the place was none too happy but held his tongue. Poor but smart, he is." He glanced over his shoulder and leaned in as though to whisper a secret. "I didn't take all they had, given his woman is with child. It didn't seem right."
Benjamin looked at the cook and blinked. Chilled by the possibility raised in his mind. "Where did you say this farm is?" He suspected he knew the answer before the man spoke.
"North of Charles Town, half a day's ride I'd guess. A pretty place, situated between a merry little river and the forest." The cook resumed stirring his kettle. "Someday I'd fancy having a place like that for myself."
Benjamin's hands clenched into fists. Could it be Amy's sister's farm had been raided by American troops? His concern for Amy's safety intensified. Their tactics, though based on military rules and strategies, remained brutal and heartless, but at least they did not often resort to rape and bestial acts. Evelyn's husband's presence and her own condition had saved her. However, Amy would have been in danger had she been present during the raid. Bad enough her sister and brother-in-law experienced the assault, but to think of his Amy possibly being scared, or ravished by rutting men, made his blood boil. No man would ever touch her except him.
He needed to complete his errand for the general posthaste and then protect his woman. Nothing else mattered, including whether she wanted his protection or not.
* * *
Two days had passed with some improvement in Evelyn's condition. Still, Amy grew more restless the longer she stayed. Her very nerves itched inside her skin, an anxiety she'd never before experienced. She gazed through the pane glass window at the white marble Pegasus statue with its court of flowers, wondering about the statue's meaning in this remote place. The Greek symbol of wisdom, Pegasus also was a friend of the Muses and, if she remembered correctly, had only ever been ridden by the Greek hero Bellerophone to defeat the Chimera monster. If only the winged horse could carry her sister to safety and good health.
Samantha brewed a new blend of tea for Evelyn, something to calm her agitation and discomfort. Mayhap Amy should request a cup for herself. She turned at the sound of light footsteps behind her.
"I'm ready." Evelyn settled onto an upholstered chair beside her bed and clenched her jaw as if facing death. "I do hope this one settles my stomach. I do not understand why I feel ill so frequently."
Samantha stepped to her side and looked at the trembling woman. "Sip this until it is all gone." She glanced at the cup and saucer in Evelyn's hands. "I promise, it will make you better, and it won't hurt."
"What about my baby?"
"We will never do anything to hurt you, Evelyn." Amy laid a hand on Evelyn's shoulder.
She caught a whiff of the herbal tea Samantha had brewed, laced with a hint of molasses. They'd searched for honey, but none could be found. The pantry held little. They found a few salted meats and cheeses in the root cellar, along with an abundant amount of small beer and wine, items difficult to carry in large quantities. But the ransacking soldiers Evelyn told them about had snagged most all the fresh vegetables and fruits. Samantha had proposed a trip into the dark forest to gather more edible plants and nuts, but the thought of entering the foreboding place quaked Amy's nerves.
She'd countered with the idea of asking Walter or Paul to join them, but Samantha insisted the two of them were fully capable of collecting some greens for dinner. Amy reluctantly bowed to Samantha's stronger will. The mere suggestion of traipsing through the deep, dark forest in search of greens, root vegetables, and nuts raised bumps along her arms.
"Here goes." Evelyn lifted the cup and inhaled the steam, scrunching up her face at the aroma. She sipped the aromatic brew, gamely swallowing without a sound of protest. Amy relaxed a bit, grateful the biggest challenge had passed. Evelyn was notoriously particular about what she ate and drank.
Not that their mother tolerated such behavior. The family had endured many lean years before her father's business interests, in particular the racehorses, began paying off. Her mother's culinary skills were renowned across the colony, but that did not mean Evelyn enjoyed the results of her efforts. Her mother's veal stew and dumplings won everyone's admiration except Evelyn's, who one memorable day mutinously refused to eat the sumptuous dish. But Evelyn's stubbornness proved no match for their mother's. After having the same bowl of food set before her for two days, someone had to relent, and it was not Mother. Evelyn had to choose between going hungry and eating the food put before her, just as now she must choose between trusting Samantha's judgment or continuing in pain.
"Very good, Evelyn." Samantha indicated Evelyn should c
ontinue drinking. "These herbs will definitely settle your stomach without harming your baby. I've seen it work many times."
Tipping the cup bottom up, Evelyn drained the contents, set the cup back on its saucer, and handed it to Amy. As Amy carried the dishes to the sideboard to be cleaned, Evelyn dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "I feel better already." A weak smile flitted across Evelyn's face. "I think I'll lie down for a while."
"Good idea. You need your rest." Samantha studied the pale woman's face. "We need to put color back in your cheeks. Perhaps a walk in the sunshine tomorrow will help."
"Indeed." Evelyn reached for Amy's hand to help her rise awkwardly from the bench as the girth of her pregnant belly nearly toppled her over.
"How much longer until we meet your little one?" Amy asked. "When are you expecting to be delivered?"
Evelyn ran a protective hand along her stomach and smiled. "I figure it could be any day now." A faint frown shadowed her eyes. "I'm both afraid of giving birth and anxious for it to be done. I hope it does not hurt awfully."
Her words evoked the reality of the perils of childbirth, to both the child and the mother. Elizabeth, Emily's twin sister, had seemed fine after birthing little Tommy, yet succumbed days later to an infection and high fever. Despite her own robust health, spirals of worry sank through her upon the thought of so many women who suffered horribly as a result of pregnancy and childbirth. Amy had lost count of the number of young women who suffered the same fate. Thus cousin Emily's very real fear of marrying in the first place. Emily had not wanted to die giving birth, and now with her impending marriage to Frank she didn't have to and could still raise a child. But what would happen after Frank claimed his husbandly rights? Mayhap Samantha possessed a simple to prevent pregnancy, but she'd never heard of one.