Love’s Betrayal (4 page)

As she divided the bread dough and shaped it into loaves, Mercy and Hope burst through the door with Bear right behind them. The two girls, ages nine and eight, were only thirteen months apart and looked very much alike, each with a splash of freckles across their noses.

“Where is Papa?” Hope said between breaths. “We have to tell him something important.”

Delight smiled into their sweet faces. No doubt they had seen a snake or a fox while they took a break from their chores and rambled over the countryside. “He is due back any moment, girls. Can I help you with something?”

They both shook their heads and gulped for air. For the first time, Delight saw alarm in their eyes and immediately feared the British had arrived in Chesterfield. “Why? What is wrong?”

Mama emerged from her chair at the spinning wheel. Delight read the silent concern in her face, too.

“British soldiers are just outside of town. They're marching this way,” Mercy said between gasps.

Delight hid her dismay.
Is Chesterfield going to be another Boston? Are we to once more cower to the redcoats' demands?

“But some of them look hurt,” Mercy continued.

Wounded. Oh my, I didn't want Mercy and Hope to be exposed to the ugliness of war.
Wanting to reassure the girls, Delight formed her words. “I'm sure they are simply in a hurry to get somewhere. Would you like to help me with the bread?”

Before the girls had an opportunity to reply, Papa stepped inside. The two younger girls ran to each side of him.

“What goes on here, my angels?” Papa wrapped his arms around each girl.

“We saw British soldiers,” Hope said, “and we're frightened.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of. Those soldiers are merely passing by. I witnessed them myself.” Papa spoke in the gentle tone he reserved for the women in his household. “Do not concern yourself. Take Bear outside and engage him in a game of sorts.”

“But what if they come here?” Mercy's eyes pooled with tears.

“If you see a soldier draw near to our home, Bear will surely alert me immediately.”

Once the door closed and the two girls disappeared, he shook his fist. “Dirty redcoats, scaring my girls.” He kissed Mama on her cheek and smiled at Delight, but his gestures did not disguise the anger on his face. “I will be about my business.” He exited through the doorway, but not without Delight hearing him mumble beneath his breath. “I'm ready to use my musket.”

Twenty minutes later, Bear's barking grasped everyone's attention. Mercy and Hope shouted for Papa. Delight opened the door to see a small band of soldiers moving their way. A wounded soldier was slung between two compatriots, his white breeches stained red with blood from a wound to his upper leg. Papa met them as they plodded toward the house. Mercy and Hope lingered behind, holding onto Bear.

“Absolutely not!” Papa said. “Take him elsewhere.”

A soldier pointed his musket at Papa's chest. The little girls screamed, and Delight rushed outside with Mama right behind her. All of her sisters had gathered in the front yard, staring in horror at the scene unfolding before them.

“Calm your dog, or it will be a dead animal,” the soldier said.

Papa narrowed his eyes. “Bear, quiet.”

“General Burgoyne has issued an order. You, Elijah Butler, are to keep this soldier until he is well and we return for him.”

“And if I refuse?” Papa lifted his chin.

The soldier pricked the scarf tied about Papa's neck with his bayonet. “Would you like to face arrest?”

D
elight stood speechless and admired her father's proud stance in the face of the redcoats' demands.

“We will nurse him properly,” Mama said. She had grown so large with the baby that she could scarcely walk.

Papa's gaze remained fixed on the soldier, and he ignored Mama. All the while, the bayonet rested within a hair span of his throat. “I have seven daughters and another child due any day. What do you expect from me?”

“You deal with his care,” the soldier said. “I have my orders from General Burgoyne. Take your complaints to him.” He thrust a piece of paper into Papa's hands.

“We will find a place for him.” Mama stepped to Papa's side and lifted a defiant chin.

“He can have my bed,” Delight said. Although it consisted of a small rope structure in a room shared with Charity and Remember, the bed could be moved into the hall downstairs, and she could make a pallet with her sisters.

The wounded soldier lifted his head, covered in a thick mass of auburn hair, most of which lay over his eyes. “Thank ye, lass.” His words were spoken in a thick Irish brogue. “I'll not be troublesome to ye.”

He looked ghastly pale, and she might have felt some sympathy if he hadn't worn the despised uniform. Two soldiers half-carried, half-dragged him inside, where Mama directed them to the hall. They eased him to the floor, being careful not to further injure his leg.

“Has a doctor tended to him?” Mama peered into the wounded soldier's face.

“Briefly. Too many others needed the doctor's attention,” said the soldier who had previously aimed his musket at Papa. “Fortunate for him, the doctor did not see fit to amputate his leg. See to it he does not grow worse.” He gave Papa his attention. “Or it will not go well with you.”

Lobsterback pig!
Delight thought.
How dare you talk to my father this way? I wish I owned a musket. I'd show you.

She studied her mother's face. Earlier today she had experienced pains, and now she had the enemy to nurse. When Mama attempted to bend to the soldier's side, Delight stopped her. “I will take care of him to my utmost. There's no need to make more work for you.” She stole a glance at the soldier's bandaged leg, soaked in fresh blood.

“I can assist,” Remember said. “I don't mind, really.”

“I can manage.” Delight promised herself that none of her sisters would be subjected to the atrocities of the British. “It shan't be toilsome to change the dressings.” She reached for Remember's hand. “You can help me bring my bed downstairs.”

“I will find some fresh bandages.” Charity disappeared with Faith behind her. Patience snatched up Mercy and Hope's hands and hurried toward the house.

A soldier who had helped carry the wounded man kneeled at his side. “We will be back for you soon, Henry. I'm sorry about all this—and Adam, too.”

The man they called Henry nodded and closed his eyes, obviously in more agony than he cared to state.

Nearly an hour later, Delight dabbed at the soldier's brow. Huge droplets of sweat had beaded upon his face. She'd helped to lift him onto the bed, and once there, he fainted. She hated to admit that she had actually taken pleasure in his pain. Certainly God must be disappointed in her.

The time had come to change the man's bandage. She had a basin of water ready to cleanse the dried and fresh blood and a box of dried herbs that might be needed for a poultice. Not given to a squeamish stomach, Delight picked at the tear in the white breeches surrounding the wound to better examine the injury. As she pulled aside the bloodstained material, Charity, Remember, Faith, and Patience looked on.

“If you cannot watch this without becoming ill, I suggest you leave me be.” She knew full well only Remember might remain—to pray for the man.

“You girls have chores,” Mama said from the doorway. “If Delight needs assistance, she will summon you.” She placed a mug of feverfew tea next to Delight.

Another concern crossed Delight's mind. “Is the baby coming today?” she said, remembering the look of pain that had swept over her mother's face earlier when Papa spoke with the soldiers.

Mama nodded and offered an endearing smile. “I believe so. Please pray for a boy—more so a healthy, whole child. Your father would be so pleased if he had a son.”

“Of course. And perhaps you need to be in bed?”

Her mother turned from the doorway and moved into the kitchen without a reply. She appeared to forget Delight had questioned her.

I know where I get my stubbornness.
She focused her attention on Henry, who appeared to be studying her curiously.

He drew in a quick breath as she slowly unwrapped the blood-soaked bandage, which looked more like a shirt ripped into strips. “I be a thanking ye again for the care.”

So the redcoat knows a few manners when it is imperative,
Delight grudgingly acknowledged to herself. She looked at him and said pointedly, “I don't recall having much of a choice.”

He said nothing in response, so she began washing the area around the open wound. A musket ball had grazed the leg deeply enough to cause a lot of bleeding, but he would recover as long as infection didn't set in. The flesh around it showed no signs of reddening, a good sign. Yet a poultice of yarrow was in order.

“Aye, ye have a gentle touch,” Henry managed to say through a ragged breath.

His comment amused her, especially when she could have been a sight more tender. “You will heal, if you take care.”

“I will be talking to the Almighty about that. We've already held a few conversations.” He dug his fingers into his palm. For a brief moment, compassion seized her, but she refused to let that show. After all, Henry was the enemy.

“What is your last name?” she said as she mixed the dried yarrow with some water and applied the herbal mixture to the wound.

“O'Neill. I'm from Ireland.”

She smirked. “I can tell.”

“But I intend to stay in the colonies after—”

“The patriots secure our freedom.” She lifted a brow and met his attention without the least concern about hiding her agitation.

Henry scowled.

“We may not want the likes of those who contend with the king living here,” she added.

“Your brashness might secure your family a wealth of trouble,” Henry said.

She tightened the bandage around his upper leg a little rougher than necessary. Admirably, he did not complain or wince. “I daresay your wound may get infected, or you might eat something poisonous, or our dog might not like the way you converse with the members of this family and eat you.”

He stiffened. “Aye, woman, ye don't frighten me.”

Delight gathered up the soiled bandages and dropped them into the basin. “I am not about to be threatened by a pompous redcoat. Go tell that to your General Burgoyne!”

If Henry had been able to stand, he would have dragged himself from the Butler household and reported the whole lot of them to his captain. But since he had no choice, he was forced to endure the insults aimed at King George. The thought made him feel even more furious—and helpless.

His leg felt like someone had touched him with a hot poker. To be sure, the pain had not ceased for four days. At first he'd worried the doctor might amputate, then he'd worried infection might kill him. And now he had this! This insensitive rebel woman assigned to nurse him would rather see him dead.

He narrowed his eyes. Everything inside him wanted to explode, and she looked as though she felt the same. He'd met better company among Ireland's landowners than he now faced living with these disagreeable colonists. Delight was her name? Quite possibly the woman served as a handmaiden for the devil.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the mug of tea while Delight swished her skirts and left the room.

Lord, help me with these dire circumstances. The rebels here in the colonies are most difficult. And I know the woman assigned to nurse me regrets her position. I am imploring Ye to heal me quickly so I can rejoin my regiment.

He lay back on the bed. War was not at all what he had expected. Men died, men were wounded, and friendships ended in a half breath. But he hadn't been prepared for the passionate loathing of so many Americans.

Henry persuaded his thoughts to turn to other matters, so he studied the neatly kept room. What few furnishings the Butlers owned were simple and plain. Two straight-back chairs rested against one wall with a spinet setting between, a deep wine-colored sofa against another, and a mirror hung to reflect the light from the fireplace and candles. A far wall held the portraits of Elijah Butler and his wife in their earlier years. He noted the kitchen was connected to the rest of the house, not like some he had seen where the cooking was done separately. He imagined the second story to be as neatly kept. This family did better than most.

Hours later in the twilight, he heard a commotion.

“I'm going after your aunt Anne,” Elijah Butler said. “Delight, Charity, tend to your mother until I return.”

Ah, the mistress is in her confinement.
He slowly tried to raise himself, but he found no strength for the task. The sounds of excited female voices filled the house.

“Hush,” Delight said. “Mama does not need us scurrying about like a bunch of chickens. Come, let's pray for her and the unborn babe.”