A Call to Arms (37 page)

Racing back to the campsite, he dropped to his knees and shook Whittier hard. The exhausted Marine instinctively flailed about with his arms. One blow caught Jamie on the chest, knocking him backward.

“William, wake up!” Jamie cried out, undaunted. “Wake up, man!”

That command brought Whittier fully awake. He sat up, blinked, and, realizing what he had just done, scooted on his rump away from Jamie, fear of the consequences of striking an officer sketched vividly on his unshaved and sunburned face. “Sir, I'm so terribly sorry, sir,” he said, glancing desperately here and there as if in search of a path of retreat. “I didn't mean to hit you, sir. Upon my honor I didn't. I was dreaming. I—”

“William, you big bumbling boob, look at me!”

Whittier did. What he saw there was hardly anger. The grin Jamie was giving him was so delighted, so impish, that the bewildered Marine found himself grinning back.

“William, the United States Navy has arrived.
Portsmouth
is about to enter the bay and she has signaled us. I daresay we'll be dining aboard within the hour!”

K
ATHERINE
C
UTLER
awoke as the first light of dawn filtered through the bedroom's two large, east-facing windows. She had not bothered to draw together the dark blue window curtains before retiring the previous night. She knew there was no point in trying to block out the morning sun. She would be up early after a fitful night's sleep, as she had been nearly every morning in recent weeks.

She tossed aside the light blanket and reached for the robe folded over a chair adjacent to the bed. Drawing it tight around her, she walked over to a window and gazed out on the neighborhood she and Richard had come to cherish during their twenty-five years together in this clapboard house. It was neither the grandest house in her immediate view nor one that might be considered a fashionable Hingham residence. But it was their home, their sanctuary. They had raised three children here, children who had grown up forever romping and laughing together. Or so it seemed to Katherine as her gaze took in the familiar landmarks visible through the window.

There had been opportunities over the years to move into a larger house, including the family home on Main Street where Caleb and Joan now stayed whenever they came down from Boston—which was more frequently now that Joan was heavy with child, praise be. Certainly they could afford a larger dwelling. Both Cutler & Sons and C&E Enterprises were flourishing, and Caleb and others had urged
Richard to purchase one of the newer seaside residences out toward Crow Point or World's End. Jack and Anne-Marie Endicott had chimed in on that chorus of voices. Such a residence, they claimed, would provide the Cutlers more comfort and privacy and would be more in keeping with the family's social status. But Richard had always demurred, and Katherine had always understood why. Yes, they could afford something more. But no other house, they both agreed, could ever hold the cherished family memories locked within every nook and cranny of this modest home on South Street.

Richard . . . The thought of him saying that very thing brought an image to Katherine's mind and a smile to her lips. Then that same image pulled her from the past to the present, and to the future she prayed they still had together.

She turned from the window and padded down the back stairs into the kitchen. In days gone by she would have found Edna Stowe there, working the culinary magic that had made her a legend in Hingham. These days, with advancing age slowing her step, Edna typically did not emerge from her bedroom until later in the morning. Katherine had urged her housekeeper to remain abed, pointing out that since she could prepare Diana's breakfast and there wasn't much else to do in the early morning, there was no need for Edna to be up early. In truth, Katherine wanted those early hours for herself, to be alone with her private thoughts. And later, as pink dawn bloomed into the full blush of morning, to have breakfast alone with her daughter, always a highlight of the day.

Katherine drifted through the morning, doing her normal housework but clearly preoccupied, until 11:00, when a gentle knock sounded at the front door.

“I'll get it,” Diana warbled from the parlor, the joy in her voice and the bounce in her rapid footsteps summoning a smile from Katherine. Just so had it been years ago, in the Hardcastle residence in Fareham, England, whenever Richard, usually in company with his brother Will, arrived from his uncle's home several miles away to visit with Katherine and her younger brother Jamie. Her heart had raced whenever she heard the clop of hooves and saw the Cutler carriage approaching on the pebbled drive, bringing him ever closer to her.

Diana opened the door to a sturdy, well-proportioned young man of eighteen years whose finely chiseled face and cleft chin suggested family roots in English aristocracy. His wavy brown hair was clipped neatly at his jaw line. He was dressed in loose-fitting buff trousers and waistcoat,
and the olive green of his shirt matched the color of the eyes that gazed affectionately at Diana Cutler. He removed his tricorne hat with a flourish and bowed low, as to a highborn lady.

“Hello, Peter,” she greeted him, the thick-lashed hazel eyes that were perfect replicas of her mother's dancing with delight.

“Hello, Diana,” he said. “You look lovely. Are you ready to go?”

“I am!”

Katherine walked up behind Diana just then, carrying the basket of food she and Diana had prepared that morning. “Good morning, Peter,” she said as she handed him the basket. “It's always a pleasure to see you.”

“It's always an honor to see you, Mrs. Cutler,” he replied correctly. He took the basket from her. “Thank you for preparing this picnic for us.”

“Diana had more of a hand in it than I,” Katherine smiled. “Now you
will
take a coat, won't you? It may be unseasonably warm today, but the harbor waters are still cold. And a breeze might pick up this afternoon.”

Peter nodded. “I've put everything we need in the boat,” he assured her, “including an extra coat for Diana and some blankets. Will and Adele are meeting us at the boatyard. And it's a quick row out to Grape Island, Mrs. Cutler, so if the weather does kick up, we can be back ashore as quick as you please.”

“So you see, Mother,” Diana teased in mock reproach, “everything is in proper order and properly chaperoned.”

Katherine Cutler smiled inwardly, wondering just what sort of chaperones Will and Adele might make. An incident that occurred two weeks ago suggested that they might be rather lenient ones. She had purchased a flounder from a local fisherman and thought to make a present of it to her older son and his wife. Carrying the newspaper-wrapped fish, she had walked the short distance from the docks to her son's home on Ship Street. When a knock on the front door produced no response, she had tried the back door, with the same result. Assuming that Will and Adele were out, and planning to leave the flounder on the kitchen table for their supper, she had quietly opened the door and walked in. She found no one in the kitchen, but coming from upstairs were the telltale sounds of low masculine grunts coupled with higher-pitched feminine moans. Quickly she retraced her steps, taking the flounder with her.

“Yes, I do see, Diana,” she said in an equally teasing tone. “Be off now, you two. And
please
be careful.”

“We will, Mrs. Cutler. You have my word on it.”

“Will you be going riding with Aunt Lizzy this afternoon?” Diana asked as they were leaving.

“Perhaps. We'll see.”

“You should, you know,” Diana replied happily. “It's a heavenly day for it, and the horses need the exercise. Tomorrow we'll go riding together, Mother, shall we?”

“Yes, Diana. Off with you now. Go!” She shooed them away with flicks of her hands.

Stifling sadness born, in part, from watching her rapidly maturing daughter setting off beside her beau, Katherine smoothed her hair, took a coat from the closet, and left the house as well, heading toward Pleasant Street to visit with Lizzy Cutler Crabtree, her lifelong friend. Lizzy met her at the door and ushered her inside.

“How's Zeke?” Katherine asked as she removed her light woolen coat in the hallway.

“He's fine,” Lizzy answered. She took the coat and hung it from a peg. “He's in his room playing with Will's old soldier set. I just looked in on him. He has a fierce battle raging up there, so he should be set for a while. Can I get you anything?”

“A glass of wine would be nice.”

Lizzy could not conceal her surprise. Never had she known Katherine Cutler to request or accept a glass of spirits of any kind except at the dining room table, and certainly not in the morning. Katherine met her puzzled look steadily.

“Of course,” Lizzy managed after a pause. She gave her friend a meaningful look. “Should I pour one for myself?”

“That might be a good idea.”

“Right, then. I'll be back with a bottle.”

Lizzy returned with a tray holding an opened bottle of claret and two glasses. She set the tray on a side table and poured out two glasses, offering one to Katherine and keeping the other for herself. She sat down beside Katherine on the sofa and looked closely at the woman who had been like a sister since childhood. “Well, this is unusual,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” Katherine agreed.

“What's the occasion?” Lizzy asked cautiously. “When I saw you at the market yesterday and you told me you wanted to come by today, you seemed so distant, almost as if you wished to avoid me, even though we haven't seen each other for a while. That isn't like you.”

“True,” Katherine acknowledged.

“Well, then,” Lizzy ventured, “what is it? What's troubling you, Katherine?”

When Katherine did not immediately respond, Lizzy put down her glass and clasped Katherine's left hand in both of hers, waiting until Katherine met her eyes.

“What is it, Katherine?” she pleaded, near tears now. “Please tell me. You know you can tell me
anything.
”

Katherine nodded. “I do know that. It's why I'm here.”

“And . . .?”

Katherine took a healthy swallow of wine, set down the glass, and placed her right hand over Lizzy's hands. “I have not been avoiding you, Lizzy. Please understand that I could never, ever do that. But I
have
been avoiding something else, a secret I have not dared to share with anyone.”

“Including Richard?”

“Especially Richard.”

“For God's sake, Katherine, tell me. Let me help you.”

Katherine blinked. “I have a cancer, Lizzy.”

Instinctively Lizzy tightened her grip on Katherine's hand. For several moments she could not speak. She just looked beseechingly at Katherine, willing her dearest friend in life to deny what she had just said. “You have a
what
?” she finally mustered.

“I have a cancer,” Katherine repeated matter-of-factly. “I have a lump on my breast. I've known about it for some time. I've tried denying it, but that hasn't done much good.” She gave Lizzy a rueful smile.

“But . . .” Lizzy fumbled for words. “But from what I understand, a lump on the breast doesn't necessarily mean cancer.”

“That's true. But in my case, it does.”

“How can you be so certain?”

Katherine shrugged. “I just know.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“No. I can't bring myself to do it. I want to wait until Richard comes home. It won't be long now. He wrote in his last letter that the war is nearly over. Perhaps it's already over and
Portsmouth
is sailing home to us. When he comes home, we'll decide what to do. We have always decided important matters together.”

Lizzy took Katherine's hands in both of hers. “Katherine, listen to me,” she said sternly. “If this is a cancer, it cannot wait. You must see Dr. Prescott, and you must see him soon. It will only get worse if you wait. Please. I beg you. You know he is an excellent physician. A man we can
trust. He has cared for our families for years. He'll know what to do. We can go together, Katherine, right now. I'll stay with you every second.”

Katherine shook her head ever so slightly although her voice was emphatic. “It will do no good for me to see Dr. Prescott. I know the treatment for this sort of thing. We both know what happened to President Adams' daughter. I will
not
have my breast removed. I will
not
have Richard returning home from war to a mangled wife!”

R
ICHARD
C
UTLER WAS
awake in his sleeping cuddy when he heard
Portsmouth's
bell struck one time. By the time it was struck two times a half-hour later he had washed his hands and face from a tin basin filled with fresh water and had shaved with soap and razor. When his steward, coffee pot in hand, entered the cabin to wake Richard at the appointed hour of 5:30, he found him seated at his desk.

“Good morning, Captain,” Simms greeted him cordially. “I see that you have once again denied me the opportunity to intrude upon your dreams. It's becoming a habit.”