The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (37 page)

Three plates.
 
"That's Tom for you."

Twenty minutes later, the cheer in
the common room ramping up, Betsy climbed the stairs in time to encounter Dolly
fumbling with the latch for the fourth guestroom while a portly captain
slobbered on her neck.
 
Betsy hurried
past them: he smelling of brandy and tobacco, she of roses.
 
The prostitute winked at her and kissed the
captain's ear.
 
"Oh, darling, has
it been so long?"

"Grrrughmpugh."
 
His meaty hand groped Dolly's breast.

Her cheeks aflame, Betsy opened the
door to her own room, slipped inside, and exhaled.
 
Just a little over a week since she'd made love, but the ladies
made it feel like years.

A candle on the nightstand
illuminated Tom's open bedroll spread between the bed and the door.
 
Sprawled snoring on one side of the bed, Tom
still wore his shirt, breeches, and one stocking.
 
Betsy managed a tired smile.
 
"I don't blame you after three plates of Hattie's cooking."

A huge yawn ran its course.
 
She stripped to her shift and cleaned her
teeth.
 
By the time she completed a
quick bath and combed out her hair, she felt as though she was falling asleep
standing up.
 
Moving Tom from bed to
bedroll would be sure to sprain her back or jolt him awake.
 
She pulled off his garter, stocking, and
breeches.
 
Then she snuffed the candle
and crawled into bed beside him.

He never showed any inclination to
wake up, for which she wasn't sure whether she felt relieved or annoyed.
 
She stared at the ceiling, tears salting her
eyes, movement from the child in her belly by then definite.
 
Now I see it's true.
 
My wife and my apprentice, sharing a bed
.
 
Tears rolled down the side of her face into
her ears.
 
She blotted them away.
 
"Play hero, Clark.
 
Enjoy yourself," she whispered to the
night.
 
And the night responded from the
hallway with Dolly's laughter.

***

A cock crowed predawn, awakening
her from a sound sleep.
 
The bed sagged
in the middle, plastering Tom's sweaty frontside to her sweaty backside.
 
However, the bed wasn't to blame for Tom's
right arm and leg draped over her body.
 
"Good morning," he murmured.
 
"I meant to sleep on the floor last night."
 
His tone lacked guilt.

She matched the tone.
 
"After Hattie told me how much food
you'd eaten, I figured you weighed enough to break my back, so I just left you
in bed."

His hand reached for hers, and his
thumb caressed her palm.
 
She felt his
face in her hair and his breath on her neck.
 
"You didn't braid your hair."

Her nipples tightened.
 
"You weren't the only one who was
exhausted."

"We both needed
sleep."
 
His fingertips trailed up
her wrist to her forearm, brushed her sleeve, and stroked her neck.
 
"Your skin is so soft."

Pressed between her buttocks, his
erection burned and pulsed, summoning a slippery echo from her cleft.
 
How little she'd have to do to tumble both
of them over the edge of the precipice.
 
Tilt her pelvis backward to provide the perfect angle.
 
Roll onto her back and offer her lips to
his.
 
Guide his fingers to her aching
nipple.
 
In a town reeking of death and
deception, why shouldn't she choose the affirmation of life and trust encoded
in the essence of humanity?
 
"Tom," she whispered.

"Sweet Betsy."

While she shifted onto her back, he
pushed up on one elbow, took her face in his other hand, and leaned over to
kiss her — stopped at the last moment by her fingers against his lips.
 
Gods, how she wanted that kiss, how she
longed to cast off her shift and his shirt and feel skin sliding together on a
lusty film.
 
She swallowed the fountain
of saliva in her mouth.
 
"I spoke
with Clark yesterday."

After several heartbeats, she
removed her fingers and heard him swallow, too.
 
"Where?"

"Log Town.
 
He'd received minor injury in the skirmish
near Hanging Rock."

The cock crowed again.
 
"I presume your talk went poorly."

"It's as you said two nights
ago.
 
His head is so filled with rubbish
that he cannot save himself."

"Are you through with him,
then?"

"I told him I'd leave Camden
in a few weeks to protect myself and the baby.
 
He expects me to wait for him, tell him where I'm going.
 
We quarreled without resolution.
 
I told him to send word if he wished to
discuss it further before I left town."

"You still love him?"

When a woman was done with a man,
she was done with him.
 
"No.
 
I'd fancied reconciliation before meeting
him yesterday, but love for him is destructive.
 
I won't wait around to be destroyed."

The bed creaked with the transfer
of his weight.
 
He lay back, and she
could just discern him staring at the ceiling.
 
"So the plans we made the other night stand.
 
Make money as quickly as possible.
 
And leave Camden to find your mother."

"Yes.
 
I've afternoon work helping the town
printer.
 
I'm paid well.
 
He was desperate."

"Splendid.
 
Mr. Wade will grant me as much overtime as I
desire."
 
He paused.
 
"It does sound like you don't love
Clark anymore.
 
But if I were him, I'd
want to know it."

"I need to tell him and be
done with it before we leave."

"Yet you mentioned being open
to discussion with him.
 
Isn't it better
for both of you to sever contact?"

Disquiet and frustration pricked
her soul.
 
The fluid nature of the
immediate future might mean she was gone from Camden if Clark tried to meet
her.
 
She could lose track of him after
that, never know whether he cared to be a part of his child's life.
 
On the other hand, his actions weren't her
responsibility.
 
While she'd make a
reasonable attempt to meet him before she left Camden, she'd forgo such a
meeting if it meant being held accountable for him.
 
"Although I'll have no part in being his wife anymore, I'm
carrying his baby.
 
He may want some say
in the child's upbringing.
 
If I can
I'll ask him."
 
Tom stayed silent,
and she gulped.
 
"I'm groping
through a dark room without a candle, Tom.
 
I know none of this is fair to you."

He remained quiet so long that she
wondered whether he'd fallen asleep again.
 
Then he groaned.
 
"Emma was
waiting for me last night.
 
Hattie excused
herself from the dining room while I was on my second helping of
everything.
 
Emma sat next to me,
smelling of lilac, her hands soft, her breasts two damp, luscious mounds
begging to be freed from her bodice."

Betsy could almost feel his hands
aching and, in an arc of jealousy, understood why her cousin hadn't protested
her plan to work afternoons.
 
Few
warm-blooded fellows Tom's age would refuse release offered in such a blithe
and relentless fashion.

Irony stung his voice.
 
"I was tired and hungry.
 
Alas for Emma,
too
tired and
hungry."
 
Somberness replaced the
irony.
 
"I don't want her,
Betsy."

Was Emma's desire for Tom
Alexander's intelligence and courage, or was it for the physical delights of a
strapping young fellow?
 
Indignation
smoldered within her, for she suspected Emma's motivation was the latter, and
she reconsidered all those incriminatory invoices in Abel's study.
 
"Do what you must."
 
Indeed, they were all at war, and people did
what they must in war.
 
But her cousin
had best not wound Tom.

"There you are being noble
again.
 
I've never wanted anyone but
you.
 
I shall wait for you."

She pushed up on her elbow.
 
"Tom Alexander, that's the first stupid
thing I've ever heard you say.
 
What if
I'm never available?
 
Are you being fair
to yourself?"

He stroked her cheek with the backs
of his fingers.
 
"I reckon it's as
fair as it gets.
 
The universe isn't
accountable to dealing justly with any of us."

Chapter Thirty

REVELRY CALLED NO day of the week
special, so Betsy readied the guestrooms for business on Sunday, the
twenty-third of July.
 
After dinner, she
and Tom set off to explore Camden and walked the perimeter of the large
palisade erected by the redcoats.
 
The
soldiers had also fortified redoubts and powder magazines.

So much done in so little
time.
 
Cornwallis realized it didn't
build morale to let several thousand troops sit idle while 125 miles northeast,
General de Kalb awaited the arrival of General Horatio Gates, granted
independent command of the Southern Continental Army.
 
Hence the flurry of palisade building.

Overheard conversations bespoke the
concern of Camden's citizens.
 
"Rawdon cannot stand up to Gates with half his men sick in Log
Town."
 
"Cornwallis sits in
Charles Town and isn't lifting a finger to help."
 
"Redcoats are always making promises
they don't keep."
 
Not a good
esprit
de corps
for a major backcountry base.

She and Tom strolled north on
Market Street.
 
It would be three weeks
before they could afford a packhorse.
 
They both realized General Gates wouldn't dally around after he met up
with de Kalb.
 
She said, "How long
do you suppose we have until the Continental Army rides into town?"

"Three weeks, maybe
less."

"We're shaving it quite
close."

"I don't want to run out of
supplies while we're searching for your mother."
 
He gave her hand a squeeze of reassurance.
 
"I'm worried, too.
 
But we'll get out.
 
We'll find her."

With the afternoon shadows grown
long, they headed north on Campbell Street.
 
Halfway to King Street, Tom gaped ahead among pedestrians, riders, and
carriages.
 
Then he ducked into an alley
between two shops, yanking Betsy with him.
 
He motioned for her silence, peeked around the edge of a baker's shop,
and withdrew again.
 
"That's Adam
Neville up there with six Rangers!"

They peered back around to spy a
road-grimed Neville and grungy Rangers dismounted before a shop.
 
No one at the shop answered their
knocks.
 
The seven Rangers remounted,
rode north on Campbell, and turned east onto King.

Betsy tugged Tom out of cover.
 
"Let's see who they were calling
upon."

Keeping a sharp lookout, they
proceeded over and studied the storefront, expressions souring.
 
"Messers. van Duser and der Waal,
Surveyors."
 
She cocked an
eyebrow.
 
"No surprise."

"I've the feeling the rebels'
spy ring days are numbered in Camden.
 
Let's go."

She gnawed her lower lip.
 
"I don't like this."

"If Neville intends to haul
you back to Augusta and throw you in jail, he'll track you down no matter where
you are.
 
But if he must go through the
trouble of hauling someone back to Augusta jail, his priority will be Clark,
not you.
 
And we cannot stay here and
debate it.
 
I'm hungry."

"One thing we absolutely
cannot hide from is your appetite."

He laughed.
 
"Just so."

***

"What you lookin' at in the
common room, Mistuh Tom?"

He faced Hattie from the doorway,
amazement flooding his expression.
 
"For a Sunday evening, the Leaping Stag sure does a brisk
business."