Elizabeth Meyette (8 page)

• • •

The carriage rumbled along the road jostling Randy, who drove, and Gates and Jonathon, who rode in the back. Jonathon gritted his teeth against the pain caused by the movement, and tried shifting positions to accommodate the bouncing of the wagon. The half-moon rose above the treetops signaling midnight, and the surrounding woods were alive with nocturnal sounds. All three men were tense with eyes and ears alert for any sound that was unusual for a forest at night. Constantly scanning the woods along the side of the rutted road, they held pistols and muskets at the ready.

When Gates had arrived at the cabin the night before, Jonathon was sick with shame as the man examined his chest. Never one to judge, Gates listened sympathetically as Jonathon related the encounter with Deidre. Gates applied a balm to the scratches she had left and wound a bandage around Jonathon’s chest, not because it was needed, but to allow him a reprieve from the reminder of her vengeance and his self-imposed shame.

It had taken both Gates and Randy to assist Jonathon to the wagon. They put as many blankets as possible in the back to ease his journey, and loaded all the supplies and guns that had been stored in the cabin. Randy scouted the area surrounding the cabin as a double check that it was safe to transport Jonathon. Satisfied that all was clear, they started a slow journey toward Williamsburg. Jonathon had slept at first, the result of a sleeping draught Gates added to his ale. As they rode along, the men discussed different plans.

“I believe the safest place for him now is aboard the
Destiny
,” Gates said. “We are armed with enough cannon to repel the British now, and our function seems more and more to be defense rather than communications.”

Randy grimaced, for he knew Gates was right, but he was reluctant to yield responsibility for his friend. Although he knew of a few places where Jonathon could be concealed, none of them would provide long-term safety. Virginia was becoming more and more violent as the war intensified. For now, they would bring Jonathon to a planter’s barn that had been transformed into a munitions supply site. He would be safe there for a couple of days, but the British troops marching through the colony were increasingly finding just such sites.

“Yes, you are correct, Gates. Jonathon will be safer with you aboard the
Destiny
than on Virginia’s soil,” he admitted.

As they rode along this second night of the journey, the sky was clear, though high clouds scudded in from the west. Jonathon dozed and awoke intermittently, allowing Gates to provide nourishment as they traveled along. Despite the jouncing of the carriage, eating on a regular basis seemed to increase Jonathon’s strength, and he insisted on propping to a sitting position to help with the watch.

The stillness of the night was interrupted with distant thunder, and Randy urged the horses to speed their pace. A light rain was falling as rose streaked the eastern sky, but the mild temperature deterred too much discomfort. Golden rays of the rising sun greeted their arrival at the munitions site. Hearing their approach, the planter came to check on the disturbance and greeted Randy heartily.

“Randy! Good to see you, my friend. Who do we have here — my God, is that you, Jonathon?” the man exclaimed peering into the back of the wagon.

“Stephen, this is Robert Gates, Jonathon’s first mate aboard the
Destiny
,” Randy said. “Gates, this is Stephen Alcott.”

The two men shook hands then turned to the carriage.

“What I ask of you is dangerous, Stephen, for Jonathon must be concealed as he is wanted by the British,” Randy quickly explained.

“Are we not all, we Sons of Liberty, wanted by the British?” Stephen laughed, clapping Randy on the back. “It would be an honor to aid you, Jonathon,” Stephen continued.

The men lifted Jonathon from the back of the wagon and carefully carried him into the barn. They propped him against a grain sack as they unloaded the rest of the supplies, then created a mattress with hay and blankets and helped him to lie down. Exhausted from the trip and the pain it had caused, Jonathon gratefully lay back and closed his eyes. Before him he saw Emily, his love. He fought the tightness that gripped his throat and the desire that burned in his gut, for his longing for her was physical pain. Then her image transformed to Deidre, snarling, laughing, scratching his chest, and he opened his eyes. Gates had remained with him, and stood watching him now.

“Emily must never know what happened,” Jonathon said through clenched teeth.

“She will never know, Jonathon. But you must remember that her life was at stake. What transpired between you and Deidre was blackmail, and she forced you into it. You were trying to ensure Emily’s safety and that of your child,” Gates reminded him.

Jonathon looked at his friend and tried to find comfort in his words, but a deep, guilty sorrow possessed him and he did not know how to be rid of it. He did know, however, that somehow Deidre would pay for what she had done. He swore to the stars she would pay.

• • •

Emily lived in constant fear and guilt wondering how she could get a message to Jonathon. Occasionally someone spotted the scarlet of a British uniform along the road or on the edge of the woods surrounding Brentwood Manor. Each day she seemed a little more frantic, unable to concentrate, unable to eat, unable to think of anything but Jonathon’s safety. A week after Michael had provided his veiled warning, a carriage rolled up the drive. Emily’s heart raced; it was Andrew. She rose from her seat on the terrace, and went to meet him.

“Andrew, how wonderful to see you!” she cried as he wrapped his sister in his arms.

“We must talk somewhere completely safe,” he whispered as he hugged her. Releasing her he said in a loud voice, “I have missed my sister, and had to forsake all other duties and visit.” His eyes surreptitiously roamed the property as he spoke.

Arm in arm they returned to the terrace. Emily went inside, carefully checking the parlor as she passed through to ensure no one was occupying it. She rang for Dulcie. The woman who had been nursemaid to both Jonathon and Joanna, and who now supervised the household slaves, hurried in from the back of the manor.

“Yes, Miss Emily?”

“Dulcie, Andrew has arrived. Would you please bring us some cider?” she asked. Returning to the veranda, she checked the parlor again to ensure their privacy.

“Andrew, the British are searching Brentwood land for Jonathon. Surely they will find him in the cabin — it is just a matter of time before he is captured.” With each whispered word her voice rose in notes of panic, but Andrew patted her hand in an attempt to calm her.

“He is not there, Emily,” he said quietly noting that his words did not register. He took her face into his hands and silenced her. “Emily, Jonathon is no longer at the cabin. Randy and Gates moved him last week.”

She stopped and looked intently into his eyes trying to understand his words. When comprehension struck, she slumped back in her chair and began to tremble. She wiped away the tears of relief that streamed down her cheeks.

“Where is he, Andrew?” she asked quietly.

He reached into his pocket and produced a note. Emily recognized Jonathon’s handwriting, although it appeared shaky and as though written in haste. She held the note in her hand afraid to open it, afraid of what it might say. Would this be his farewell to her? Would he be unable to ever step foot on his beloved Brentwood Plantation again? Her hands shook, and she carefully turned the note over, broke the seal and opened the folded page.

My dearest Emily, love of my life,

I must relocate for my own safety, and I do not know at this time where I shall be. Your visits meant everything to me; I shall cherish the memories of our brief times together. As soon as it is safe to do so, I shall return to you. I made a promise that I shall be there when our child is born and I shall move heaven and earth to keep that promise to you. I carry you in my heart and live for the day when I can again hold you in my arms.

Your Beloved,

Jonathon

Tears spilled onto the paper blurring some of the words, and Emily quickly dried them saving the script. She looked at Andrew, smiling in gratitude.

“When did you last see him?”

“I did not. Randy gave me the letters to deliver,” he answered.

“Letters?” she asked.

“Yes, I have another for David. Jonathon had some instructions for him about the plantation as well as some news about the upcoming vote in the Virginia Convention,” he explained. “I had best go find him as Jonathon said it is imperative for him to read this immediately.” With that he rose, hugged his sister and went in pursuit of David.

Left to herself, Emily reread the note and kissed his signature. She traced each letter that he had written knowing that her fingers touched the paper where his had rested. Knowing this made him feel closer somehow and she repeated the motion until the ink began to smudge from the oils on her fingers. Gently she folded the note and tucked it into the bodice of her gown.

• • •

Andrew found David in the stables just returning from one of the fields. His shirt clung to his back and sweat trickled down his face. Brushing his hair off his forehead, David turned and spotted Andrew.

“Good day, Andrew! What brings you to Brentwood Manor?” David greeted him.

Andrew waved and approached the man, glancing about the stables and noting two grooms tending the horses.

“Good day, David. A need to visit my sister and see how she fares brought me here today,” he replied. As the two walked out of the stables, Andrew again looked around, and seeing no one, he handed the note to David.

“I have news for you from Jonathon,” he said in a low voice.

“Jonathon! Good God, man, where is he?” David said in a hoarse whisper.

“I do not know where he is now; Randy gave me this note and said it was imperative that you read it at once,” Andrew said.

“Well, then I shall read it immediately,” David laughed and broke the seal. His smile faded as he read the missive, eyes darting to Andrew then back to the note. A frown, then a scowl crossed his face before he was able to disguise them and look back at the young man.

“What is it, David?” Andrew asked sensing the man’s anger. David’s face was dark and serious, but he avoided Andrew’s eyes and stared at the manor house. Lost in thought for a few moments, he finally turned back to Andrew.

“There is news from the Sons of Liberty,” he lied. “Jonathon said it is best if I remain at Brentwood Plantation rather than attend the planning session for the convention in Williamsburg later this week.” He glanced at the manor again, and the sight of Deidre appearing on the veranda brought storm clouds to his face.

Andrew followed his gaze but with a decidedly different reaction. Ever since his encounter with her earlier in the month, Deidre’s effect on him was one of bemusement and desire. She had enkindled a fire that he did not know how to satisfy. Both men stared at her for a moment, and then David turned and spoke to Andrew brusquely.

“Is it possible for you to remain at Brentwood Manor for a while?” he asked. Andrew started since his innocuous question seemed more like a challenge.

“Yes, I can. The term at William and Mary has ended for the summer, and I could easily stay here rather than in Williamsburg,” he answered.

David’s tone softened and he placed a hand on Andrew’s shoulder, noticing for the first time how much Andrew had grown since his arrival two years ago. He was a man now, tall and strapping and handsome. David realized why Jonathon would not want Andrew to know of Deidre’s threats to Emily, for Andrew would probably do her great harm.

“I could use another man around here with the British sniffing about. Thank you, Drew,” he said, smiling. He clapped the young man on the back realizing that he would soon reach him in height. No, Andrew was no longer a boy.

They walked toward the manor house in silence as David wrestled with the news in Jonathon’s letter. His initial reaction was to immediately dismiss Deidre from the house, but that was not his decision to make. Jonathon was the owner of Brentwood Manor, and in his absence, Emily must be consulted on all decisions. How could he justify Deidre’s dismissal without revealing Jonathon’s secret? It was Emily who had invited Deidre to stay after the British seized her property, therefore, he would be opposing her decision. As much as he wanted to banish Deidre from Brentwood Manor, his hands were tied.

A fierce May thunderstorm ushered in David’s niece, Jennifer Sutton.

Andrew watched from a front window as her coach fought its way along the drive, battling winds that threatened to topple the covered carriage. Gusts pushed against the coach causing it to lean precariously to one side, and the horses lowered their heads and dug in their hooves in an effort to keep it upright. Slanting rain pelted the driver whose hat was shoved down to his nose in an attempt to protect his eyes. Slowing as it reached the front of the manor, the coach stopped and the driver scrambled down, opened the door and lowered the steps. A young woman emerged and gingerly stepped down from the carriage, hopping over a puddle in the drive. Andrew hurried out with a large umbrella that he quickly held above the young woman. She raised her head and looked at him with gratitude, and he felt struck by her as surely as if a British soldier had run him through with a sword. Laughing gray eyes that tilted at the corners were ensconced in thick, black lashes. Looking up at him, their owner’s voice floated lightly on the sodden air, and Andrew was sure he was sheltering an angel.

“I do love a storm, but this one seems a bit vicious,” she laughed.

Andrew stood stock still, captured by this vision who looked at him with a half-smile.

“Shall we go inside?” she encouraged him.

“Oh, of course,” he said, regaining his senses. Offering her his arm, he led her up the steps to the front entrance of Brentwood Manor. Their shoes echoed on the marble floor of the front hall and left puddles where they stood. Andrew lowered the umbrella, unable to take his eyes off the girl. A wayward drop of rain slipped from the brim of her hat to rest on her full, soft lower lip. Andrew’s knees went weak. Laughing, she brushed a gloved hand across her lips to capture the errant drop, and Andrew felt a stirring deep within that left him dizzy. Slipping off her bonnet, she shook raindrops from jet black hair curly with the humidity. Tendrils framed her face and danced across her forehead softening her heart-shaped face. She took in the foyer with its curving staircase, tall windows and stately furnishings.