Paxton's War (46 page)

Roy's memories of the time Jeth had lived with them were vivid and warm. He had always been fond of the infamous sea cook. Billy Hollcork was known to neither Ethan nor the doctor, but they immediately took to the big tanner's straightforward and openhearted demeanor.

The drizzle had stopped, the night cooled considerably, dry wood was found, and after a small fire was built they all sat around the burning twigs—Joy's head against her forgiving father's shoulder, Colleen next to Roy, Rianne and Billy hand in hand, Robin sitting close to Piero, and Jeth poking the flames. One by one, they had stories to tell, like the cave dwellers of old, of what they had seen and done.

While holding Joy's hand, Ethan told of the death of her twin sister, Hope, and her brother-in-law, Allan, the death of the rebel band, and the bravery of Roy McClagan in trying to save them. He explained that their house in Brandborough was gone, many of his help murdered. Joy sobbed uncontrollably.

As Colleen wept, Roy told of the burning of their farm, of how Ethan had saved him by bringing him to the hidden cellar.

It took Joy many long minutes to recover from the news of Hope. Finally, through a flood of tears, she found the strength to tell her father the story of his son, Jason, and his great bravery. “Were it not for the help of his fearless friends, Robin and Piero,” Joy said, “he could have accomplished none of this.”

Thunderstruck, Ethan got up and walked away for a few minutes while the others remained silent. They watched as he wandered off by himself, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. A proud man, he was nonetheless pained by the realization of his own shortcomings. The silent questions assaulted him like gunfire:
How could I have so misjudged by own son? What kind of father have I been? How could I have been so wrong? How could I have known Jase so superficially?
He fought back the tears, the torrent of self-loathing. When he returned to the group, it was with one burning question for Joy.

“But does he live?” Ethan asked, his heart hammering against his chest, swollen with remorse. “How do I know if my son is alive?”

“We can only hope so,” said a soft-spoken Robin, who went on to tell Ethan the story of Peter Tregoning. “He is the man,” said the instrument maker, “who saved us from the gallows.”

Rianne described the exploits of the Sandpiper, detailing her heroic adventures, her artistry, and her courage. “Such is the stuff of which your daughter is made, my brother.”

Roy squeezed his daughter's hand—with fear for what might have been, with love and with new respect.

In his rough and colorful way, Jeth Darney gave a full explanation of the treachery of Frederic Pall, bringing them up to date. “From what we've learned from rebels on the long road today,” he told Ethan and Roy, “I figure there's no safe place left in all of South Carolina. I was hoping that we could make it to the border. Rumor has it that those wild Scot and Irish mountainmen have had enough of Ferguson. They say rebel support is building in the vicinity of King's Mountain. That's the region where all the Patriots seem to be heading. Truth of the matter is that's where we were heading till your Joy, Mr. Paxton, showed us the way here.”

“Joy was right,” Ethan said, “you'll be safe here.”

“But for how long, sir?” Billy Hollcork asked. “They're all over this territory.”

“You saw for yourself,” Ethan continued, “how hard it is to find this place.”

“Well, we're certainly here for the night,” Robin chimed in with his comforting and sagacious voice. “In the morning there'll be time to discuss our options in greater detail. I'm certain we can find a consensus of opinion. For the time being, our heads are overflowing with so many things—such glad tidings, such revelations of tragic loss—that we'd all do well to sleep.”

There was no disputing Robin, who was doing his best to calm the still nervous and high-strung Piero. A half hour later, with the blankets huddled around the dwindling fire, its embers still aglow, they and the rest of the party closed their eyes and tried to rest their minds, although Joy cried for Peter, just as Colleen consoled herself by silently writing poems to her Jason:

Accused of treachery and courageous crimes,

The risks and dangers chill our minds.

Yet despite cruel separation and cold, dark fears,

The light of our love shines bright and clear.

“Eeeeeeoooooooooooeeeeeeeee!”

The screech in the middle of the night startled everyone. Jeth, Ethan, and Billy grabbed their weapons. Perhaps Ethan's confidence about Solitary's seclusion had put them all off guard, for they'd been sleeping soundly. In any event, no one had heard the approach and now it was too late.

“There!” Ethan pointed. “From that grove of trees.”

A thick cloak of fog had darkened and covered the night. Visibility was practically nil. Having been spotted, and certainly surrounded, they realized they were trapped. Each of them felt the hot fear of death in their throats and stomachs; each of them knew the end was near.

“Spread out,” Ethan advised them. “Go off in pairs so we're not just a sitting target.”

“Eeeeeeoooooooooooeeeeeeeee!”

The awful screech again and suddenly racing through the fog two or three horses, perhaps more, it was hard to tell, and a voice screaming, “I knew it! I told him! The women know! They always know!”

“Miranda Somerset!” Rianne yelled. “It's her! Shoot her! Give me a rifle and I'll shoot the witch myself!”

But she and her comrades—were those other women astride the horses?—disappeared back into the fog, with only the sound of her voice ringing out: “Found! I found them! I knew I would, and I did! Oh, blessed victory! The cads have been found!”

The men knew that shooting into the fog would be little more than a waste of bullets. Going after them would be just as futile an exercise. They were already long gone. Relieved and grateful that they apparently had no guns—or at least hadn't taken any shots—Ethan also realized that the damage had been done.

“The woman's gone completely mad,” Rianne said.

“Yes, but she's found us,” Roy added.

“And her son will soon be back,” Jeth speculated.

“We've no choice now,” Robin said and sighed.

“Back on the run,” Piero reflected, still dreaming of a snort of snuff.

“We'll find Jason, I know we will,” Colleen said to Ethan.

“Good-bye, Solitary,” Joy whispered under her breath.

Having heard her, Ethan added, “But the Paxtons will be back here … and when we return, it'll be to stay.”

“Not even Joan of Arc herself led such a raid, such an audacious act of bravery and cunning!” Miranda Somerset announced as she arrived back at Marble Manor at sunrise, still astride her horse, dressed in a filthy, muddy riding habit, while her son and Frederic Pall scrutinized her with amazement from the front porch. That she and three other
white
women—servants who had worked for her for years—had been missing for hours had been reported to Buckley by Jack Windrow. They had slipped out on horseback sometime during the night.

“You've completely lost your mind, Mother, and never again will you be allowed to leave this house.”

“Knowing you'd say so, I brought witnesses. We've been practicing in the fields and woods for months. Oh, but we're a brave quartet. Ceilia, as good a horsewoman as she is a cook. Like your grandfather, her father was also a sonless soldier who passed his lessons on to her. She's as sturdy in the saddle as any man. She followed me out through the swamps. Tell them, Ceilia.”

The tall, lanky woman, thrilled by the ride of her life, spoke up: “She's right, Mr. Somerset. We saw them ourselves. We snuck up on them and they were there.”

“Who, for God's sake?” Buckley asked.

“Who in Hades are you looking for?” asked his wild-eyed and wigless mother, her gray hair twisted sloppily into two long braids.

“You found them? Where?”

“Surely she's seeing things,” Frederic said, frustrated by the fact that yesterday morning they'd just missed them at the pig farm.

“The McClagan women were there,” Miranda declared. “And the doctor himself. Plus Ethan Paxton. We saw him with our own eyes, didn't we, girls?”

Nelly Lills and Beulah Reed, athletic women themselves who worked the gardens and also tended to odd jobs around the house—painting and repairs usually reserved for men—attested to the truth of what Mrs. Somerset had said. They, too, had been trained for months under Miranda.

“Where?” her son kept asking.

“In a most solitary place, an enormous meadow surrounded by a swamp that I've known about ever since my father brought us here from England. Time and again I've mentioned it to your father, even to you, but you both claimed it was too isolated and remote. Men! Oh, this is the proof of the strength of sturdy green vegetables! My scent led me on. My hunting instincts. Fearless we were, my ladies and I. Snakes, wild cats, savages—we were frightened of nothing. Onward we went, through the woods and swamps, a trip I've made by myself when you've gone off to Charles Town or Brandborough and left me here for months at a time. I've done for you, my son, what you couldn't do for yourself, what your so-called friend here promised and was unable to fulfill. Let me ride with you, Buckley. Let me lead your army. Tell your men they're to obey my every command! Victory, I say! The enemies have been spotted and they're ours!”

“Was Jason Paxton among them?” asked an astounded Buckley.

“I didn't see him, but could he be far behind?”

“You saw them,” Frederic said, “but did nothing else? You could have shot them, but you carried no weapons. Why? You could have set free their horses.…”

“Listen to this man!” Miranda shouted, jumping from her horse with the energy of a teen-ager as she pointed to Pall's slender nose. “What does he want from a band of women? Was it not enough to spot them for you? Were we to go in with rifles and ropes, kill them, tie them up, and drag them back for you? Are you men capable of absolutely nothing? Shame! Now you've only to round them up, like helpless sheep. The hard work's been done—by us.”

“But they saw you,” Somerset said. “By now they're gone.”

“I've made it something of a sport. Didn't my father always say that there'd be no hunt were the fox not given a head start? This means we must leave Marble Manor immediately. Now you can't possibly consider leaving me behind. I'll go inside, change my clothes, and give you time to ready that small army you have camped around our property. Rouse your men, Buckley, and be a man yourself! Mother will point you in the right direction. There's no failing now!”

Chapter 16

Shortly after Miranda returned to Marble Manor, Peter and Jason made their way through the swamp surrounding Solitary. Emerging from the tall reeds, the immense stretch of green, even under the gray morning sky, emanated a mystical translucence. The moisture from the ground smelled fragrant and fresh. The fog, which had delayed their trip by hours, had lifted, and the view that greeted the men was breathtaking. For a while, they drove the two horses back and forth over the huge expanse of land, pulling their supply-packed cart behind them, as they looked for signs of human life.

“It's here where my father's always dreamed of building a home, separate and apart,” Jason said.

“My God, there's room enough for a mighty plantation,” remarked Peter, whose ankle, though still painful and swollen, showed signs of healing.

“Nothing mighty. No, my father envisioned fields of cotton and of corn, a comfortable house, a place where generation after generation of Paxtons could live securely, caring and loving this land, and yielding the harvest of its rich soil.” Jason paused to breathe in the aroma of grass, tree, and sky. “Somewhere in my heart, Peter, I was praying that he and Colleen …”

“… and Joy …”

“A dream,” Jason said. “We know they're gone, so why do we plague ourselves with these dreams?”

“My heart says they're not gone, Jase.”

“Our eyes can see. Our hearts deceive.”

“In England my father said I was always too much the dreamer. He accurately predicted that it would get me into trouble. As I remember, didn't your father say the same thing?”

“Strange, but I realize that for all his practicality, my father's always been a dreamer himself. I just wish he knew me, Peter.”

“If my own father could see me now, dressed as a woodsman and fighting against the English Army into which I was born, he'd claim not to know me at all.”

“Yet if he'd seen what you saw, if he'd been through what you've been through, would he have acted any differently?” Jason asked.

“He always said to me, ‘You know, Peter, you've too much the rebel in you to be a true Englishman. It's your mother's Irish blood. That red hair of yours, son, is entirely too red.'”

For the first time in days, they were able to laugh—if only for a brief moment. Riding over the magnificent land, their banter helped take their minds off their lost women, though not for long. They stopped beneath a grove of trees and watched a flock of spotted great-winged birds take flight.

Sighing, Peter began to speak reflectively. “You knew me in London, and you saw the way in which I enjoyed women. The easier the better; the lustier the liaison, the lovelier for me. If you had asked me about the nature of love, I'd have told you to go read a sonnet by Sir Thomas Wyatt or gaze upon some silly portrait of Cupid. Yet in my first hours upon these shores, being with Joy at that picnic, Jase, I finally understood what had inspired so many poets and painters.”

“During that same time, my friend, my heart was experiencing the same revelation.”

“And it changes us, does it not? Love changes the way we perceive the world. Look at those violet wildflowers on the horizon. Before meeting Joy, I'd never have noticed them. Now I see her face wherever I look. But knowing they've been killed, perhaps even …”