The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (16 page)

Molly waved away Betsy's postage
money.
 
"It's on us, dear.
 
It's the least we can do for you right
now."

Stumping along beneath her cloud of
preoccupation after she left Molly, Betsy passed through town center, where
some of the wealthier Augustans resided.
 
Realizing her name had been called several times, she turned about in the
street to spot widow Abby Fuller approaching her with a bundle, a timorous
smile on her sensuous lips.
 
"Good
morning, Mrs. Fuller."
 
She bobbed
a curtsy, wondering at Abby's business with her.
 
Abby's business had been mostly with her Uncle David.

"Good morning, Mrs.
Sheridan."
 
Abby dropped a curtsy,
dainty blonde curls peeking from beneath her lace mobcap, a wave of expensive
floral scent greeting Betsy at the movement.
 
"I-I brought you this."
 
She extended the bundle.
 
"It — It's a ham."

"Thank you, Mrs.
Fuller."
 
Betsy, transferring the
ham to her basket, wondered at the socialite's stammer, trembling hands, and
haunted, red-rimmed eyes.
 
Maybe she was
concerned after their well-being.
 
"Mr. Sheridan and I are both all right, you know.
 
We weren't at home during the fire."

"I know it, but — but
—"
 
Abby darted a furtive glance
about the street before lowering her voice.
 
"Take care of yourselves, please, dear?"
 
Fresh tears crested her eyes.
 
"I'm sorry, so sorry."
 
Her voice withered to a whisper.
 
"Tell your Uncle David that, and may he
forgive me someday."
 
She burst
into tears, caught up her silk petticoat, and rushed off.

Baffled, Betsy regarded her
retreating figure a moment while her mind replayed David's predawn visit
Tuesday morning to her back yard.
 
Obviously he'd sneaked into Augusta late Monday to spend the night with
Abby before heading to Williamsburg.
 
Risky business, but if anyone knew how to sneak around, it was David St.
James.
 
However, he wasn't Abby's only
suitor.
 
Maybe they'd argued over her
other gentlemen.
 
Being a wealthy widow
in no way guaranteed liberty from possessive beaus.

She'd all but dismissed Abby's
peculiar behavior by the time she reached the Alexanders' little house.
 
From out back, she heard the rhythmic strike
of an axe.
 
One of the Alexander
brothers was chopping wood.
 
Diana knelt
in the scrawny garden out front, trying to coax weeds from around herbs.
 
A year younger than Betsy and sandy-haired
like her mother and brothers, she rose with delight at the sight of Betsy,
wiped her hands on her threadbare apron, and rushed over for a hug.
 
"It's so good to see you
safe!"
 
She grasped Betsy's hand.
 
"Come inside.
 
Mama will make you herbal tea."

Herbal tea grown from Rose's
garden.
 
Betsy resisted the urge to
wince at Alexander hospitality when they had so little.
 
Diana, in particular, was looking rather
thin.
 
"I don't have much
time.
 
I brought food for all of
you."
 
She extended the
basket.
 
They could use Abby's ham more
than the Sheridans could.

"An entire ham."
 
Diana swallowed, her mouth watering.

"And Sarah's bread."
 
Betsy wondered when the girl had last eaten
red meat.
 
The potluck she'd given Tom
hadn't been much.

"I love her bread.
 
Thank you.
 
Mama?
 
Mama, Betsy's here, and
look what she brought us!"

Betsy trailed Diana inside the tiny
but tidy house, where Rose straightened from before the hearth and came forward
to hug Betsy.
 
Her eyes misted at the
gift of food, and Betsy declined the offer of tea again after glancing out the
back window, where Tom chopped wood in his shirtsleeves.
 
"It's good to see him up and
about.
 
Looks like he's feeling
better."

Rose pursed her lips.
 
"Doctor Norton says he should rest
another day.
 
I don't know any young men
with harder heads."
 
She plucked at
Betsy's sleeve.
 
"Go out and have a
word with him.
 
He listens to you."

She laughed.
 
"Me?
 
Since when?"

"About once a week he comes
home from the shop, and it's 'Betsy says this' or "Betsy says that.'"

Betsy saw Diana's shy smile and
looked away to hide a flush of astonishment and bewilderment.
 
"Surely I don't talk all that
much.
 
I just manage the
books."
 
She glanced away.
 
"That is, I managed the books when
there were books to manage."

"Oh, my poor dear, here you
are, helping us with food when you've lost your home.
 
I'm so sorry."

Rose tucked her into a sound,
mama's embrace.
 
It felt like Sarah's
embrace, like
Sophie's
embrace, and Betsy bit her tongue hard to keep
from bursting into tears.
 
She ached for
her mother's soothing touch, her sensible advice.
 
How she needed a mother that moment, someone to stroke her head,
kiss her, and tell her everything would be all right.
 
Here she was, going to be a mother herself in a few months, but
she figured most folks never stop needing a mother.

She wobbled out a smile when they parted.
 
Rose squeezed her hand, echoed the smile,
and gestured toward the window.
 
"So would you have a word with that hard-headed son of mine, tell
him to come in here and get some sustenance?"

"Very well."

Tom pivoted from the woodpile,
spied Betsy's approach, and set down his axe to take up a towel.
 
"Morning!"
 
He swabbed off his face, leaving a smile
behind.
 
"Don't tell me.
 
Mama sent you out here to get me to quit
working."

"No, indeed.
 
I brought a ham and some of Sarah's
bread."

"Food!"
 
Tom cupped his mouth with his hand and
hollered, "I'll be right in, Mama!"
 
With a grin, he reached for the axe again.
 
"I can get a few more logs split before she has it on the
table.
 
You sticking around to eat with
us?"

"No, I have too much to do
today."

Crack
!
 
A log split in two with a clean stroke from the axe.
 
"Such as?"

Her tired brain refused to concoct
an answer.
 
What did one do while
waiting to move hundreds of miles with nothing to pack? She fingered corn silk
on a four-foot stalk.
 
The Alexander's
vegetable garden looked healthy.
 
"Such as talking with people."

"I'll be there to help at the
house-raising.
 
I know you and Clark are
eager for your own home again."
 
Crack
!

She wasn't at all eager for that
house in Camden.
 
What a lie everything
was.
 
"Yes."

"Diana says the ladies
scheduled a quilting next week.
 
She and
Mama have some of the most even stitching in town and cannot wait to
help."
 
Crack
!

"Yes."

Not hearing the crack of more wood,
Betsy glanced over to find him studying her, hands on hips, the axe resting
against his thigh.
 
"You know, I've
seen more enthusiasm from men being marched to the gallows."

"I didn't sleep very well last
night."

"I don't blame you."
 
He rubbed the back of his head.
 
"I didn't sleep very well,
either."
 
His voice lowered.
 
"Shall we continue the chatter, or are
you going to tell me all about it?"

She felt her lower lip quiver and
bit it to no avail.
 
Tears stung her
eyes.
 
Her nose ran, and she
sniffled.
 
"It's far worse than I
imagined.
 
I don't want to get you in
trouble."

He set down the axe and gestured
over the corn patch.
 
"Would you
take a look at my beans?
 
You have a
magical touch with vegetables, and the beans aren't doing too well.
 
Maybe not enough sunlight?"

She trudged around the corn to the
bean plot, squatted, and inspected the beans.
 
"Put a little more potash on them."
 
She dragged the back of her hand beneath her nose.

"Thanks.
 
I'll do that."
 
He sat down next to her, so they were hidden
from the house by corn, and he grew quiet.

Birds twittered while Betsy tested
out preambles in her head, thinking to ease Tom into the unreality of the
situation.
 
She finally realized he
wasn't the sort of fellow who liked to be eased into anything.
 
"Clark's a spy for a ring of
rebels.
 
I don't know how many of them are
in the ring, and he only knows a few, but I get the impression there are at
least a dozen.
 
You saw several of them
yesterday morning before they knocked you out.
 
Two Spaniards are named Basilio and Francisco.

"The rebels want him in
Camden.
 
They packed our furniture and
burned our house.
 
We'll find the
furniture waiting for us in Camden, along with Clark's next assignment.
 
A rebel in Camden is posing as his aging
uncle who needs him to assume his shoemaking business.
 
'Uncle Isaac' will have our house set up for
us by the time we arrive."
 
She
trailed off.
 
The mission sounded even
more insane spoken aloud.

Tom plucked a piece of straw off
the ground and shredded it.
 
"What
are you going to do?"

"Keep quiet and go with
him."
 
She emitted a dry laugh.
 
"I'm his wife."

"Will you help him spy?"

"Oh, gods no.
 
I might find a way to talk him out of such
madness, and perhaps my presence will give him solace."

"Who takes care of you?"

She shook her head, unable to
speak.

"Have you no family in Camden
you can call on for help?"

"A cousin."

Tom muttered phrases that sounded
like, "Preposterous," and "Endangering the baby," before he
said, "When do you leave?"

"As soon as we find an
escort."
 
She coughed out a
laugh.
 
"One that doesn't include
Lieutenant Fairfax, that is."

"I shall go with you."

"No."

"I'm his apprentice.
 
He'll need help with business."

"I shall manage the
books."

"See here, a rebel spy
purports to operate the façade of a shoemaking business in a town full of
soldiers who need boots.
 
Even with
Clark at the last eighteen hours a day, I doubt he'll be able to fill all his
orders in a timely manner.
 
I shall go
along as his apprentice.
 
I don't agree
with what he's doing, but I owe a great deal to him, and so I shall help him
maintain his deception.
 
No one has to
know that I know."

"You cannot do that, Tom.
 
Your mother needs you."

"She needs monetary support,
and what better way to do that than to follow my master and send her my
wages?"

"South Carolina isn't
Georgia.
 
We just have an occasional skirmish
or battle here.
 
They fight daily
there.
 
We could all be killed.
 
How much good will you do your mother
dead?"

"I'm going with you.
 
I shall find Clark this morning, tell him
you've told me you're moving to Camden to care for an ailing uncle, and offer
my continuing services as his apprentice.
 
I shan't breathe a word that I know the truth of his business."

"He won't listen to you."

"Maybe not, but I got a
horse.
 
I'll follow him.
 
And that settles it."