by Betty Bolte
Grabbing his dispatch bag, Benjamin strode up the steps two at a time and pushed open the heavy cypress door. He scanned the room, searching for the innkeeper. Lamplight glowed from cloth-covered tables where a dozen or so men relaxed, their conversation halting at the interruption. A fire crackled in the massive fireplace at the rear of the room. The scent of roasting meat drew a growl from his stomach. The door swung closed behind him with a solid thud.
The flushed matron approached, wiping her hands on a white apron. About fifty, he judged, probably widowed given her sorrowful, pale blue eyes and the slight stoop to her frame. "Good evening, madam." Benjamin bowed slightly, removing his tricorne as he did so. "I'm in need of a bed and a hot meal for myself, and the same for my horse."
The woman nodded, her expression sincere and sober. She motioned to a youth sweeping the floor. "I'll have my son see to your horse, if you'd like. As for a room, you'll have to share with some of these fellows."
"I expected as much, madam." Benjamin offered a slight smile, hoping to win an answering expression from the sad woman, but in vain.
Her appearance conjured the memory of his own mother's eyes after his father died suddenly from heart failure when Benjamin was a mere lad. Years had passed before her eyes cleared again.
He bowed from the waist and smiled to reassure the widow of his harmless intent. "Your care is much appreciated."
Nodding again, the woman made a halfhearted attempt at an answering smile as she called to her son. "Michael, see to this man's horse. I'll bring you a plate and an ale, sir." With that, she shuffled over to the bar and slipped behind it.
The youth approached him, wary eyes steady on Benjamin. No more than seventeen at most, based on the bone structure of his face and his loose-jointed gait. His posture as he stopped in front of Benjamin sent a challenge from the new man of the family. Benjamin hid a smile at the boy's silent assertion of his manly role. Had he reacted as defensively after his own father passed on?
"What does your horse need, sir?" The boy's voice emerged deep and strong.
"Rub him down, give him a hot mash, hay, and water, son." Benjamin handed him a coin. "I'll check on him after I eat to make sure all is well with him."
"I know how to care for a horse, sir." The boy's brows drew down at the suggestion of an insult.
"Of course, but he's special to me and I will sleep better knowing he's safe and sound." Indeed, Icarus enjoyed the status of one of Mr. Abernathy's finest stallions, and his welfare therefore was critical to the prospects of the man's breeding plan. His future father-in-law had entrusted the horse to his care as a strategic move to prove the stamina and strength of the animal as well as to keep it out of the hands of the British. The future of their new country rested on the ability of the people to produce quality products for both domestic and export purposes, and horse racing kept growing in popularity, increasing demand for faster and stronger horses.
But mostly Benjamin hoped Amy realized her father approved of them as a match when he arrived riding her father's prize stallion.
The lift of one brow preceded the boy's silent departure. Benjamin stared after him, then noticed the glances from the other men. Focusing on his dinner companions, some of which no doubt included his sleeping companions, he sensed their returned appraisal of him. While mildly annoying to share sleeping quarters, at least they would not be forced to share a bed as he'd previously experienced. However, the uncertainty of the times, with the American patriots taking out their vengeance on the loyalists as well as loyalists seeking to retaliate against the abuse of the patriots, made everyone cautious. If only he could tell who was on what side, but neither side advertised their loyalties by their apparel.
The three men, tradesmen in appearance, occupied a table near the fireplace. Mirroring each other's attire, they wore trousers and plain waistcoats over fine linen shirts and cravats. Each wore a distinctive coat, one in red, another in royal blue, and the third wearing gold, with embroidered flourishes and trim. Benjamin desired to learn no more about them than necessary to navigate through one night in the inn. He needed rest and food, and then he'd continue on his way. Amy waited for him.
With a nod Benjamin walked over to claim his place with the three men. He scraped the chair away from the table and sat down, acknowledging each man in turn. "Gentlemen."
"Where are you headed?" the man in gold asked.
"To a friend's residence." So hungry and tired his very bones cried out for sustenance and sleep, Benjamin gratefully accepted the tankard of cool beer the widow placed before him.
"Beware as you travel, my friend," the man wearing blue added. "I'm hearing of much mischief in the country."
"Thank you, I've heard the same." Indeed, General Greene's revelation regarding the British loyalists and the threat they posed drove Benjamin to close the distance between himself and Amy. He needed to warn or perhaps even help Walter to defend his home, his property, and most of all his wife and family.
"Of course, the British are ransacking everything they can in town, looking for booty to carry home with them."
"Booty?" Alarm raced through Benjamin. "What kind of booty?"
"Anything of value, is what I heard," the man in red said. "Jewelry, carpets, drapes, carved items like statues and bowls, essentially anything not nailed down."
"And some things that are nailed down." The man in gold chuckled. "I heard they ripped out the wood in one house they'd used for barracks."
Benjamin reached for his coat pocket, feeling the hard lump of the intricately carved silver box hidden there. Torn between his many obligations, his pulse accelerated. The only way to simultaneously protect all three—the gem, the museum's collection, and most of all, Amy—required him to return to town. The sooner, the better.
The governor confided he had personally guaranteed the safety of the gem and thus put emphasis on the imperative for Benjamin, with his expert skills and reputation, to retain control of it until the return of peace. As long as the gem's whereabouts remained a mystery only the leadership could unravel, the bond between the two countries would stay strong.
Additionally, the British troops' imminent departure and their desperate uncertainty put the museum's collection at greater risk. With the British stripping the town of all they felt worthy, the risk increased multiple times. How much more risk proved difficult to assess with the priceless treasures locked away. Still, Matthews insisted Benjamin stay vigilant on the gem's safety as well.
Although his sense of urgency had increased as a result of these revelations, he needed a few hours' sleep as well as dawn's arrival to continue on his way. He sipped on his ale, thankful for the hot plate of food soon placed before him. With minimal comment to the other men, he tucked into his shepherd's pie and steaming rolls.
Tomorrow, if all went as planned, he could finally point his horse's head toward Charles Town with Amy at his side.
Chapter 8
Amy pushed open the kitchen door, relief washing over her along with the lamplight and warmth from the fire. Emily stood by the fireplace, turning to greet them as they entered. Closing the door with a soft thump, Samantha followed closely behind.
"We made it." Amy sank onto the short wooden bench by the fire.
Emily stirred the immense black kettle slowly with a large matching spoon. "You had doubts?"
"Every step. I'm glad to be back inside." Amy glanced around the room. "The darkness came very quick tonight."
"It's that time of year for short days." Samantha set her basket of greens on the sideboard and considered Amy. "It was not as bad as you seem to believe. We were never in any danger."
Amy blinked but remained silent. Movement of formless shadows through the underbrush worried her. Could ghosts actually haunt the forest? She didn't want to believe it, but all the signs pointed in that direction. Or her imagination had overtaken her senses, as Samantha had suggested. Should she tell Evelyn of her suspicions? She of all people should understand.
"Surely no danger threatened you in our own backyard, as it were. Amy's imagination always plays tricks on her at night." Emily tapped the ladle on the side of the kettle, the brassy clang echoing through the room. "Either way, I'm pleased you've returned so quickly."
"You've been busy." Amy straightened her back as she surveyed the tidy kitchen. A red checked cloth covered the table, and a bowl of fruit and nuts sat neatly on the sideboard. "Where are the rabbits?"
Emily put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "In the kettle, silly. Where else would they be?"
"You've started the rabbit stew that fast?" Amy gaped at her. "Were we gone longer than I thought?"
"You've been gone a couple hours." Emily walked over to the sideboard and peered at the greens in the basket. "Skinning and preparing rabbits for stew only takes a few minutes if you know what you're doing. Now, what have we here?"
Samantha fingered the slender stalks and small oval leaves. "Mostly chickweed, but some lamb's-quarters as well." She sighed. "A touch of pine bark for flavor. It's difficult to find much growing this time of year, but at least we've enjoyed a mild season, or we wouldn't have found even this much."
"I'm glad you're back for another reason as well," Emily said. "Walter has been quite annoying. But I believe we've come to an agreement."
"What have you done now?" Amy surveyed the kitchen, looking for signs of a struggle. "Banished him to his room?"
"No, but that may be the next step." A smile played on Emily's lips.
"Pray tell me you did not tie him up like you did to Father's best groom when we were children." Amy crossed her arms and winked at her cousin. "Father did not much appreciate your treatment of the man."
"He deserved it." Emily leaned over the kettle, sniffing its contents, then nodded in satisfaction before turning back to Amy. "He'd said awful things about my father."
"He did? You never told me." Amy cocked her head and studied Emily's expression. "What did he say?"
Emily glanced at her hands, nervously plucking at unseen lint on her skirt. She looked up, eyes worried. "He said my father was a firebrand and would end up hanged if he did not behave himself."
"So you tied the groom up?" A light gleamed in Samantha's eyes as she grinned. "For telling the truth?"
"No—yes. How did I know my father would become a privateer and not tell me?"
"He might have been hung for his trouble as well." Samantha walked to the fireplace and sampled the aromas wafting from the kettle. "If you hadn't gone to prison instead, and then Amy managed to talk your way out of that predicament, he might have been arrested."
"I only told the colonel what I believed to be the truth." Amy's cheeks warmed. Recalling the stretching of the truth in her tale to the commander, she realized Ben might be right about her proclivity for inventing fictions. Perhaps she elaborated on the truth a little too often. "Though mayhap I did stretch the facts a bit."
"Your version of the story is not always the same as what others believe." Samantha moved to the sideboard and selected a short stack of plates. "But it's always entertaining."
Anxious to change the subject, Amy crossed the room to stand by Emily. "So then, where's Walter?"
She leaned forward to inhale the mouth-watering scents from the steaming kettle. She'd ignore the voice whispering to her about Ben. She didn't want to delve too deeply into the question of where fiction ended and truth began and how to tell one from the other. Ben had chastised her for making up stories several times. His view of fiction differed from hers. Everyone loved hearing a good story. She knew where truth ended and lies began, but storytelling gave her much enjoyment. She felt compelled to share her tales. He needed to relax his rigid black-and-white approach of truth versus lies in the form of stories, or she would have nothing to say to him. "Walter is in one piece, isn't he?"
"He sits with Evelyn at the moment like a dutiful husband, while I work undisturbed in here." Emily picked up the basket of chickweed and paused to let her gaze flow from point to point in the kitchen. "This room required a great deal of effort before I started the stew. Now that I have the greens, we'll eat shortly."
"Good, I'm famished." Amy rubbed her hands up her arms, then, feeling Emily's pointed look on them, clasped them in front of her. "I'm still a bit chilled, is all."
"Sit here by the fire and stir this every once in a while." Emily sprinkled in the fresh greens, watching as Amy obediently stirred the stew. "I'll call the others for dinner. Samantha, can you set the table, please?"
"You really have taken to this housekeeping idea with a vengeance all your own." Samantha hummed a nameless tune as she rooted in the cupboards for cups and saucers.
"Why not?" Emily wiped her hands on her apron as she strode across the kitchen floor to the door. She paused, a hand resting on the jamb. "I'll be running my own home in two months. I want to be prepared." With that she continued through the door, her footfalls fading in the distant interior of the house.
Chuckling, Amy watched Samantha set the table with pristine white china plates on the cheery tablecloth. Walter's earlier business ventures apparently paid handsomely. Likely that illuminated another reason his mood had soured so as the war dragged on. A successful businessman didn't harken to adjusting to reduced income and accompanying wealth. Especially a proud man such as Walter.
Stirring the creamy stew, she inhaled the scent of savory herbs and spices. Emily's happiness hinged around family, just as Amy thought her own joy would. Yet Amy had relinquished the dream when Ben broke her heart. She had fantasized of their life together, a country estate where they would raise a family. His departure had rent the fabric of her trust in him. The pieces of her heart still smoked and smoldered from the lightning strike of dismissal she'd suffered at his abrupt departure without any subsequent word of explanation. She stiffened her spine, vowing silently to move on. Her little silver box was currently tucked safely in the depths of her luggage, out of sight. Now to ignore the pain lingering after his easy casting off of her affection. He'd returned to town with some idea of continuing as though nothing disruptive had happened between them. That he'd not diced her heart into pieces like the chunks of meat simmering in the stew before her.
Emily glided back into the kitchen and approached Amy. "They should be down shortly. Here, Amy, let me check dinner."
"The stew smells delicious." She rested the ladle as she rose from the stool, looking around the kitchen for another task for her idle hands. Spotting the pile of linen napkins on the table, she strode across the room. Better to be busy so thoughts of Ben stayed at bay. Lifting the finely woven cloth, she folded it into thirds.
Pounding on the stairs echoed into the room, stopping conversation. Amy paused in her task, her eyes drawn to the door.
"What on earth—" Emily's question was cut off by the door bursting open.
Walter filled the opening, his expression worried. "Evelyn is asking for Samantha." He ran a hand through tousled hair as he contemplated the woman in question. "I still don't like it, but seeing as you're the closest thing to a doctor right now, come. And hurry."
With a nod Samantha grabbed her medicine bag and followed him out of the room.
Amy exchanged a questioning look with Emily. The concern she felt showed in Emily's pinched face.
"What is that all about?" Emily stopped stirring as she contemplated the closed door.
Shaking her head, Amy dropped the cloth onto the pile. "I don't know, but Samantha may appreciate a hand. I'll be back." She hurried to catch up with Samantha.
She ran up the steps, her skirts rustling with each stride. Panting to a halt at the top, she paused to listen for voices. The hall stretched in both directions from the central stairway. Portraits of his ancestors, though none of Evelyn's she noted, adorned the walls, starched and prim expressions staring mutely at the world. This house embodied his link to the past, one he wanted to extend to the future. Evelyn had confided to her that Walter desired a family of a virtual bevy of sons. His own dynasty fr
om the sound of it, but at what cost? Obviously he took no notice of the pains and strains inherent with pregnancy and birthing.
A scuffle of feet alerted Amy to turn left. She padded quickly along the carpeted floor, passing partially open doors on either side. Unlike her own scantily furnished room, she glimpsed ornate canopy beds and intricately designed, plush chairs in each bedroom she passed. The furniture looked like expensive imports from various countries, mayhap the West Indies and France, if she guessed right. Did any of it come from her uncle's store? Keeping the business in the family? She hoped so. Another moan quickened her footsteps, thoughts of furniture and imports banished in her concern for her sister.
Down the hall, light spilled across the carpet. Pausing at the open door, she glanced inside and absorbed the scene before her. Walter stood, arms crossed, glowering. Samantha bent over the moaning Evelyn, who writhed on an elegant four-poster canopy bed with a pile of colorful pillows pushed to one side.
Amy stepped into the room, earning a glare from Walter. Samantha glanced up and acknowledged Amy's presence. Her expression revealed the depth of her own worry.
"What's happened?" Suddenly chilled, Amy wrapped her arms around herself.
"She's got stomach pains again." Samantha smoothed a hand over Evelyn's brow with the same gentle motion of a mother with her child.
"Your black-magic spell didn't work, did it?" Walter stomped closer to the bed. "I will send for Dr. Samuels in the morning. If she lives that long."
Amy sensed Samantha's emotions shift, though she didn't move away from the glowering man, charging the atmosphere with sparks of anger.
"Your wife needs calm now." Samantha spoke through her clenched jaw. "Why don't you ask Emily to make a pot of tea for all of us?"
"I'll not leave you here in my absence." He glared at Amy. "You stay, but this witch will not attend my wife."
"But she's fully capable—"
"She'll not use her powers on my defenseless wife. Out!" Veins pulsed in his red neck.