Celia Garth: A Novel (45 page)

Of course the redcoat guards would pull down the notices as fast as they saw them, but no matter. The tale of the Swamp Fox would be out.

When the papers were ready Darren went to distribute them, telling Celia that when he came back they would go to the refreshment room. “Mrs. Westcott’s making crackling-bread today,” he said.

As the door closed Celia smiled happily up at Luke. He stood by her, resting one hand on the table.

“I feel so much better than I did,” she told him.

“Has it been hard going?” he asked with sympathy.

She nodded. “I’ve been so tired. Ever since that business about Benedict Arnold.”

Looking down at her, Luke smiled slowly. For a moment he did not answer. With his rough homespun clothes and thick boots, his face so weatherbeaten that his skin was darker than his hair, his bright blue eyes full of devilment, Luke looked like an embodiment of all he had been telling her. She thought of Marion’s men, tough and fighting mad, living on sweet potatoes and water, slogging into battle with two rounds of ammunition apiece, and many a man with not even a gun until some other man—friend or enemy—dropped and he could grab the gun from the falling hands. Such men had to have the kind of strength she saw in Luke. They had to have absolute faith, like his, in the rightness of their cause. They could not do what they were doing if they had had anything less.

She had spoken of Arnold. With his untroubled grin, Luke answered,

“Celia, when we lost Charleston, lots of people said, ‘It’s all over.’ After Camden they said, ‘It’s all over.’ After Arnold the same. And it’s not over yet.”

“I wish you had been here the day we got the news,” she said, “to tell me something like that. I’ve never had such a day.” She told him what it had been like, the sneers and shrugs and Tory laughter. “And then that little fool Sophie, gabbling that she wanted to ‘do something’ for me! I suppose she’d like to have me move into her house and do her dressmaking for nothing, instead of disgracing her by working for wages in a shop.” Celia gave a shiver.

Luke’s big rugged hand dropped on her shoulder. “My dear,” he said in a low voice, “I can’t protect you from the sneers, I can’t protect you from fools and Tories—how I wish I could.”

His hand closed on her. His other hand gripped her other arm and lifted her up to meet him as he bent forward and kissed her.

Celia was so taken by surprise that for an instant she made no response at all, either of yes or no. But then her back stiffened and she pushed herself away from him, violently exclaiming, “No, Luke, no! Don’t do that!”

He still held her. “Why not?” he asked simply.

“Because—” With an effort Celia pulled one arm free, and put up her elbow in front of her face. “Because I don’t want you to! Not you or anybody—after Jimmy—”

“Oh, bosh,” said Luke. His hands closed on her as before. He kissed her again, hard and almost roughly, and let her go. Taking a step back from her, he spoke. “There. I didn’t want to fall in love with you! But I knew I couldn’t help it if this kept up.”

He walked away from her and stood looking down. His big heavy-shod foot kicked at a seam of the canvas that covered the floor.

Celia stood where she was. She was astounded. Luke had never, by any word or gesture, indicated that he might be in love with her. On the contrary, his manner toward her had been studiedly casual. As for herself, she had thought she was through with love. She felt now that she wanted to be through with it, she did not want Luke or any other man to come near her. After a moment to catch her breath she said shortly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

At the sound of her voice Luke turned around and faced her.

“I’m talking about you, dear,” he retorted, “and about me. Everybody wanted you to work with us—Mother, Godfrey, even Hugo said, ‘Miss Garth has got the nerve, I have seen it.’ But me—I wanted you too, because I liked you so much, and I didn’t want you for the same reason. I knew I’d get into trouble—and I did.” Luke gave a mighty sigh.

Celia did not know how to answer. The way he spoke was so different from the way he had ever spoken to her, and so different from the way she had ever heard anybody talk. She stood twisting her hands together, hearing him and not understanding him, and he seemed still more strange when he said,

“You see—the fact is, I’ve been in love with you ever since I’ve known you.”

This at least she could answer. “Oh no you were not!” she exclaimed. “When I first worked for Vivian you could have seen me any time you pleased and you ignored me utterly. That doesn’t seem like love—”

“It was, though,” he said. But she rushed on.

“When you found I was engaged to Jimmy—that night of the ball—you were glad to hear it!”

“My dear girl,” said Luke, “I was delighted. I thought I was getting rid of you.”

At her gasp of shock he laughed, softly and with a sound of pleasure.

“Maybe,” he said, “you were slightly in love with me too, right from the start, or you wouldn’t have been so conscious that I was avoiding you—a man you’d never seen but once in your life.”

Now she was getting angry. “What
do
you mean?” she demanded.

“I’m trying to tell you,” Luke said patiently. “The first time I met you, I liked you. There was a communication between us—a sort of ‘deep calleth unto deep,’ as the Bible says in another sense. Remember?”

She did remember. He had been so easy to talk to. Luke was saying,

“When I left you I thought, Now
there’s
a girl—and right away my common sense told me, Look out! If one chance meeting has scorched you like this—let go, before you get burned by the real fire.”

The tone of his voice changed. It became earnest, almost pleading.

“Can’t you understand that, Celia? I was doing one of the most dangerous jobs of the war. There wasn’t any room in my mind for a girl—”

“Oh yes there was,” said Celia. “That first evening I thought, He’s got a girl in every town between Charleston and Philadelphia. And I still think so.”

“Oh no,” Luke protested, “not
every
town.” He took a step toward her, and stopped. “My dear, if you don’t know the difference between girls and
a girl,
you know even less about love than I thought you did.”

Celia spoke with a breathless anger. “What are you—”

But Luke had not paused. “Of course, you were not in love with Jimmy—”

“Oh, stop!” cried Celia. “How can you say I didn’t love Jimmy?”

For a moment Luke did not answer. She felt his strong direct gaze, and when he spoke there was a quiet wisdom in his voice. “You loved him, Celia. But you were not in love with him. There’s a difference.”

Celia’s throat felt as if she had a marble in it. She wanted to scream at him, and tell him again to stop this, but she could not. She could not say anything. His bright eyes held her and she had to hear what he was saying.

“You loved Jimmy, yes. You loved his mother, and Miles, and you loved the feeling that they loved you. Nothing wrong with that. Plenty of women settle for less. But my dear—” again he spoke earnestly, in a low voice—“that’s not being in love with a man.”

With a great effort Celia managed to free her voice. “Stop it, Luke! I won’t hear any more.” As she spoke she ran to the curtain that covered the door. She started to draw it aside, but she felt him gripping her elbows, forcing her to turn around and face him.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said shortly. “Do you want to put us all in that lockup under the Exchange? Don’t go blundering out of here till you know it’s safe.”

Celia was trembling with rage. “Let go of me!”

He did not obey. His hands were so tight that he hurt her. “Keep your voice down,” he ordered. “And listen. Don’t leave this room till Darren comes here to get you. I’ll leave. Is that what you want?”

Celia wished he would stop
looking
at her. He had such vitality that his eyes seemed to shine at her with a light of their own. “Yes, yes,” she said breathlessly. “Go away. I don’t want to hear any more of what you’ve been saying. About love.”

Luke began to laugh. “All right, Sassyface. I’ll leave you now. But one of these days I’m going to teach you what I mean about love, whether you like it or not.”

He let go of her, and with one hand he swept aside the curtain that hid the door. Celia stood rubbing her elbows, trying to ease the ache of his grip. Over his shoulder Luke grinned down at her.

“And my darling,” he said softly, “you’ll like it.”

N
OW CELIA WAS SO
confused that she hardly new what was happening around her. Day after day she went through her routine in the shop, almost without thinking about it. She tried to listen as before, and pick up hints that might be of use to Marion’s men. But after a minute or two she found her mind back where it had been, concerned with herself, and with Luke.

He says he’s in love with me. He says I was somewhat in love with him from the first. He says I was not in love with Jimmy.

What does he mean? Jimmy was so warm and strong! I knew I could count on him. I loved him. But—

But Luke was talking about something different.

She tried to be practical. It would be easy to say, “Why yes, Luke, if this crazy talk means you’re asking me to marry you, I’ll be glad to do it. Any girl as poor as I am would grab the chance to marry into a rich family like yours.” Of course she would say it in prettier words than this.

But these days there was no counting on wealth. Look at what had happened to General Sumter, to Burton, to hundreds of other rich men. No matter who won the war, at the end of it Luke might not have a penny.

Or she might say, “Yes, yes! I’ll take you rich or poor. Anything is better than being a dried-up crosspatch like Miss Loring.”

But she knew she was not really in danger of turning into a dried-up crosspatch. Now that she no longer felt the hopeless despair with which she had come back to the shop, Celia knew that here she did have a future. She had proved that she could become a famous dressmaker. She could be a woman with a career, proud of herself.

No, she had no reason to pay attention to Luke. No reason at all. Unless she was in love with him.

There she was, back where she had started.

Day after day her mind followed the same circle. She would sit behind the parlor balustrade, sewing and thinking, until her thoughts were cut by a peevish voice. “Miss Garth! Can’t you hear me?
Please
open the gate!”

Celia would spring up, saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry, do come in.” But as soon as she went back to her sewing the circle of her thoughts would start again.

The war seemed a long way off, though there were signs of it all around her. Luke had done his work so well that now the spy system reached every corner of town. Marion’s helpers were rich men, laborers, tavern maids, peddlers calling shrimp and oysters in the street. They gathered information, they passed notes, or they engaged the attention of the British guards so other people could do so. More items about Marion’s men were posted in the night, to be read in the morning. Gradually, to redcoats and rebels alike, Marion was becoming a figure of legend, a ghostly hero who came out of nowhere and went back into nothing.

But to Celia, this seemed to be no concern of hers any more. Always she was thinking, Luke may be back any time. What am I going to say to him?

Ida sent Marietta over one day with an invitation to supper. After supper, when they gathered in Ida’s little sitting room, Godfrey said, “We were getting worried about you—hadn’t heard from you lately.”

Celia said with Christmas so near, the shop had such a rush of business that she had hardly five minutes at a time to sit and listen for what the customers might say. “I’m sorry,” she added.

She felt guilty. She felt even more guilty when Godfrey urged, “Don’t apologize! That wasn’t what I meant. You’re doing a great job.”

Ida said she had thought of a new way to pass the next note across the balustrade. She would write to the shop ordering five yards of pink ribbon, and would ask them to have the package ready so that she could have a maid pick it up. Little packages like this were customarily put into a drawer of Celia’s worktable. Next time Celia had a note to send out, Ida continued, she was to give a signal by way of the window. Marietta would come in to ask for the ribbon, and Celia could hand the package and note together across the balustrade.

And they really must think of a new window-signal, said Ida. Now in winter the parlor windows were kept closed, so the signal must be one that could be seen through the pane. Celia had already used the special draping of the curtains.

Celia said she would try to think of a new signal. She bit her lip, telling herself that she
must
keep her mind on Marion and not on Luke, or she would have no more notes to pass.

Godfrey and Ida walked with her back toward the shop. They had not gone far before they sensed an unusual excitement around them. It was a chilly evening when you would expect people to be more comfortable indoors than out, but the streets were crowded. Men stood in groups, talking angrily. The redcoat patrols were telling them to move on and not block the sidewalk, but as soon as one group broke up, another began to cluster near by. A little way past the home of old Simon Dale on Meeting Street, Celia caught sight of Mr. Dale himself. Striking his cane on the pavement, he was announcing to a gentleman of his own age that this was an outrage, sir, an outrage, and he’d gladly say so to the king himself.

Godfrey paused to ask what had happened.

Simon Dale gave a growl. Speaking so vehemently that his breath was like the smoke of cannon in front of him, he exclaimed that he hardly liked to discuss this matter in the presence of ladies. That’s how disgraceful it was.

Ida took Celia’s hand and drew her gently back into the shadows. Pretending to think that only Godfrey could hear him now, Simon sputtered out the story. Celia had felt inclined to giggle, but as she listened she felt like that no longer.

Simon said Balfour had ordered the arrest of two women of good reputation—unmarried sisters, named Sarazen—and had put them into that dungeon under the Exchange. The Misses Sarazen had been told that they were suspected of sending out rebel information. They had not been told who accused them, nor what information they were supposed to have sent; nor had there been any trial. All that had happened was that a few hours ago a redcoat party had appeared at their home, and the leader had told them they were under arrest. They were led through the street to the Exchange, and locked up in the vault with the criminals.