The Turning of Anne Merrick (30 page)

“Beg p-p-pardon, missus,” Foley said. “But I’ve served a g-g-gun for three and twenty years—I k-ken the sound of battle when I hear it.”

Captain Thorn took the bowl Anne passed over. “The guns do tell a story. That is a fierce bombardment. Sounds like the rebels are taking quite a beating.”

Burgus laughed. “Burgoyne is blowin’ the damn rebels to bloody bits.”

“It’s the rebels in peril for certain, ye think?” Sally asked, scraping the last of the porridge into Will Crisp’s bowl with sudden tears welling up in her blue eyes.

“Never you fear, Sally,” Will said. “Our lads are trouncing ’em.”

Anne and Sally hurried through feeding their charges and finishing up their hospital chores. Neither of them said a word as they trudged back to their tent in the deepening twilight, but when the noise from the far-off guns dwindled away, they both stopped in their
tracks and stood squinting at the horizon, flinching at the now-and-then crack of a rifle shot echoing over the hills.

Sally pulled her shawl up over her head. “I dinna care what ye say, something is going on, and I mean to find out what.”

“You’re right. I’ll go see the Baroness.” Anne nodded. “She might know. I’ll meet you back at the tent.”

Frederika von Riedesel and her young daughters were quartered in a gambrel-roofed farmhouse not too far from the hospital. Anne stepped up onto the wide, covered stoop to peer through the window, and her heart sank.
A dinner party…

Inside, Lucy Lennox, the Baroness, and a very pregnant Lady Harriet Acland were orbiting a candlelit dining table, setting the service with china and crystal. Anne tapped on the glass.

The Baroness waved her in. “Mrs. Merrick, what a surprise. As you can see, I am hosting a
diné
for Generals Burgoyne and Fraser,” she explained while making minute adjustments to every plate, fork, spoon, and knife in the place settings. “I’m afraid I’ve no time for visiting.”

“It all looks lovely,” Anne said.

Harriet Acland snapped, “What is it you want here?”

Anne took a step back. “I—I apologize for the interruption. It’s just that with all the shooting earlier, I worried that perhaps something had gone amiss…”

“Amiss? Nothing’s amiss. Why in heaven’s name would you say such a thing?” Harriet Acland snatched up a crystal goblet and set to polishing the glass with such fervor, Anne feared it would shatter in her hand.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Merrick…” The Baroness pointed to the door. “The Generals will be arriving at any minute…”

Lucy turned Anne with an arm around her shoulders and led her back out onto the stoop. “Pay them no mind. They are wound tighter than a German clock…”

“Because of the guns?”

Lucy nodded. “The reconnaissance force was due back over two hours ago.” She tried to put on a brave smile. “But this is the lot of a soldier’s wife, isn’t it? On pins and needles until we see our men come back safe and sound…”

A loud shout drew their attention. Escorted by a few clusters of men on foot and several riders on horseback, a wagon had turned up the road leading to the house.

“Look!” Lucy waved. “Here they come now.”

None of the riders waved back. Heads were hanging low, and some of the men on foot were helping others stumble along. As the train drew closer Anne recognized only Burgoyne and Gordon Lennox among the riders. A man lay prone in the wagon bed with a blanket thrown over him.

Frederika and Harriet came out onto the stoop, shawls clutched around shoulders. The Baroness called out, her voice pitched high. “Is it my husband?”

“No, madam. It is General Fraser.” Burgoyne leapt from his horse, looking oddly frantic. “A grievous wound—the doctor is on his way. Please be so kind as to make a place for him to rest.”

“Here?” The Baroness blanched. “Should you not take him to the hospital?”

“I think not.” Burgoyne shook his head. “The hospital will be overrun in no time.”

Anne ran back into the dining room and whisked the candelabra from the table. Lucy dragged the chairs over to the side, and in a clatter of metal and glass, they bundled up the place settings into the tablecloth, clearing everything just as the litter bearers barreled through the doorway to deposit Simon Fraser onto the tabletop.

Burgoyne followed them in and said, “Best prepare. More are on the way.”

The women all turned to look out the window. A steady parade of soldiers interspersed with wagons, carts, and artillery carriages was straggling in from the west. With a face as white as her bone china, the Baroness grasped Burgoyne by the arm. “My husband?”

“I couldn’t say, madam.”

Burgoyne had lost all luster. Bareheaded, his hair was in disarray, with long strands escaping from his usually fastidious queue. The golden braid adorning his slumped shoulders was dusty with dirt and soot, and his handsome, confident features were turned harsh and
ashen. He took Harriet Acland by the elbow. “Lady Acland, might we have a word?”

Burgoyne led the stricken woman to a chair. Gordon Lennox came in, directing Anne, Lucy, and the Baroness to stand back against the wall, making way for litter bearers carrying more wounded inside.

“Take them to the back rooms,” Lennox ordered. “Push the furnishings aside and clear the floors… Make room for more…”

The Baroness sank into the corner, her girls running in from their beds in nightdresses to cling to her silk skirts. With trembling hands and features pinched with worry, she reminded Anne of a frightened bird that had toppled from its nest with a broken wing.

“Lieutenant Lennox,” the Baroness asked, “any word on my husband?”

“General von Riedesel is with the left flank, and I can only pray his troops have fared better than the Twenty-fourth.”

Anne could wait no longer. “Did you win the field, Mr. Lennox?”

“No, we did not.” Gordon closed his eyes for a moment. “Our lads fought valiantly, but we were outnumbered at least three to one. We abandoned the Balcarres and Breymann redoubts to the rebels and lost many of our big guns—all forsaken in retreat.”

Anne masked the joy that sprung to her heart, and pushed the Patriot victory to the back of her brain. Eyeing the puddle of blood accumulating beneath the dining room table General Fraser lay upon, all she could think was,
Do not become entangled here… Get out…

Lucy whimpered, and touched her husband’s sleeve, torn and bloody at the shoulder. “Gordon, you’re
bleeding
!”

“It’s nothing—” Lennox stayed his wife’s panic with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m lucky to be only grazed; the sharpshooters were on a mission to spare no officer. Look at Fraser—and poor Acland—both legs shot out from under him and taken prisoner.” He nodded to the opposite corner, where Harriet Acland sat sobbing in a chair, General Burgoyne down on one knee, her hands in his.

Lucy linked elbows with Anne, and pulled her close. “What of Geoffrey? Mrs. Merrick came seeking word…”

Anne felt her head nodding, but her mind resounded with the
words
heartless
and
selfish
. She was engulfed by a wave of guilt—so centered on getting away and leaving the enemy encampment far behind, she hadn’t given Geoffrey Pepperell or his well-being a single thought.

Lennox shrugged. “When Fraser was shot, all semblance and order was lost. Geoffrey’s company became separated…”

The surgeon just then arrived in a great hubbub, his aide trailing along bearing an instrument chest on his back. Shouting, “Make way!” the surgeon pushed in and took command of the situation at the dining room table. Ordering his aide off to fetch water and rags, he first measured the General’s pulse, then drew the blood-saturated blanket aside. After rattling through his case for a pair of shears, he began to snip away at the General’s bloody clothing and expose the wound. Simon Fraser managed to grasp the surgeon by the hand.

“Do not conceal a thing from me,” he said. “Must I die?”

The surgeon nodded, and in a very even tone said, “The bullet has pierced your bowel, General. I’m afraid it is a mortal wound, sir.”

Fraser let loose of the doctor’s hand and sighed. “My poor wife.”

Tears were streaming down Lucy’s cheeks as she turned to peer out the window. “There are many, many wagons coming down the road…”

Lennox kissed his wife. “I must go and see to my men…” He twisted away, disappearing out the door.

Anne’s mind raced. Concern for Jack, her brother, and her friends on the Patriot side was overwhelmed by the noise of soldiers shouting directives at one another and the pathetic cries of the wounded calling out for mothers and to God. She forced herself to close her ears to all but the single voice clamoring in her head.

Get out—now!

The Baroness grabbed Anne by the arm. “Rebel scoundrels! Murderers! To target our officers in such a way—it is uncivilized.”

Hemmed in between Lucy and the Baroness, Anne sputtered, “I’m going back to the hospital… They must need all hands…” She tugged free and wriggled a way through the crowd, breaking free through the doorway to find Ohaweio stepping up onto the stoop, carrying Geoffrey Pepperell in his arms.

Anne’s heart stopped for a moment; then she glanced over her shoulder and grabbed the Indian by the sleeve. “Don’t take him in there—it’s a madhouse.” She steered Ohaweio to the far end of the stoop, and gestured. “Here. Lay him here…”

Ohaweio very carefully laid Geoffrey down onto the boards, centered in the skewed rectangle of candlelight streaming out the window. The Indian bent down and placed Pepperell’s cavalier hat on his chest, the once-proud ostrich plume reduced to a sad little remnant.

Anne’s world went suddenly quiet, and she dropped down to her knees, eyes scanning Pepperell’s blood-covered form from head to toe.
He’s a sieve…
Blood was seeping from every part of him. She brushed the hat aside. Candlelight flickered on his handsome face and his quite peaceful features were drained of all color. She pressed a finger to his neck, and felt the feeble pulse of his heart. “He’s alive!”

“Yes.” Ohaweio sat opposite, legs crossed. “You fix.”

“
Fix?!
He needs a surgeon…” Anne began to stand.

Ohaweio leaned across Geoffrey’s unconscious form and grabbed Anne hard by the upper arm. Dark eyes serious, with a voice deliberate and stern, he repeated, “
You
fix.”

Anne spoke very slowly, pointing to the most obvious wounds. “He’s shot in the shoulder here—the arm—this knee is shattered—this leg, shot through…
I
can’t
fix
. He needs a
doctor
. I’m going to fetch a doctor…”

“He means for you to stay with me, Anne.”

She looked down to see Geoffrey, smiling up at her, the charming sparkle in his blue eyes dulled by pain. Anne sank down onto her heels.

“How happy I am to see you.” His voice was a whisper. He flailed and managed to grasp her hand for a moment before losing strength.

“You need tending, Geoff.” Anne rose up on her knees. “I’m getting a doctor…”

“No point…” With erratic fingers, he grasped the bloody buttonhole edge of his jacket and flipped it aside. The waistcoat and shirt beneath were ripped open. A hasty field dressing had slipped and she could see blood burbling up and his insides spilling from a ragged hole—the length of two handspans—torn in his side.

“
Oh no… Oh, God!” Anne pulled off her apron. Folding it into a pad, she placed it over the awful wound. The linen was imbrued with blood in an instant, and she shouted, “We need a doctor here!
A doctor!
”

“Shhhhhh…” Geoffrey cautioned with one trembling finger upraised. “I’ve little time. Please—no doctor.”

Anne slumped down to sit with her legs curled to the side. She took a breath and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her forearm. She looked through the door to see the Baroness sitting with one of her girls on her lap, reading to Simon Fraser from the Bible.

“Do you want me to read some prayers for you?” Anne asked.

“God, no!” Geoffrey laughed, then coughed.

Anne used her skirt hem to swipe away the blood trickling from his mouth. “What would you have me do?”

“Just promise you’ll stay.”

Anne took Geoffrey by the hand. “I promise. I won’t leave you.”

She sat by his side as he drifted in and out of consciousness, and witnessed three times the wondrous smile come to his face as he opened his eyes to see she was still there—as she said she’d be—holding his hand. The look in his eye was so sweet and childlike, she was reminded of the vigil she kept at her son’s bedside.
The night Jemmy slipped away…

Anne sat and watched the twilight deepen and the endless stream of lights and shadows bouncing along the road as carts and wagons and foot soldiers came rolling and trudging in from the battlefield. A horse and rider peeled away from the parade, galloping through the field up to the farmhouse. General von Riedesel swung down from the saddle and stomped right past without seeming to notice the man dying on his front stoop.

The Baron’s entrance was greeted with a wild scream from the Baroness, and squeals of glee from his little daughters. Anne leaned back and watched the happy family reunion through the doorway. She turned back to find Geoffrey awake, and said, “The Baroness is much relieved. An odd couple, those two.”

“He’s such a toad, and she’s…” Geoffrey closed his eyes for a moment. “She’s mad in love with him, though, isn’t she?”

There was such a heartfelt ache in his voice and such sad yearning
in his blue eyes, Anne was compelled to ease his way onward. In another place, at another time, Geoffrey Pepperell might well have been her one true love. She smoothed a tendril of bloody hair away from his forehead, and brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers.

“Now, you and I, Geoff…” she said, choking back her tears. “We are the most perfect couple, don’t you think? A true love match.”

“Love match,” Geoffrey repeated with a smile, and squeezed her hand. “I knew you were the one, the moment I saw you lop the head off that snake.”

Anne leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “And I knew you were the one when you swooped me up into your arms and carried me across that mud puddle.”