A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) (26 page)

Louisa Whitfield opened her eyes, but made no move to get out of bed.  She had no reason to rush.  It was still early, but the sounds of an awakening household were already audible outside her door.  She heard Harry squeal as Charles carried him down the stairs, and the sound of footsteps coming from the floor above.  Mr. Taylor was coming down for breakfast.  He liked to eat in the kitchen with Mrs. Dolly and Minnie since he wasn’t actually a part of the household.  Charles and Annabel were confused by his presence, but didn’t ask him to leave.  Whatever Kit and Louisa told them seemed to have convinced Charles to allow the strange old man to stay. 

Louisa frequently found him in the kitchen slicing vegetables or kneading dough.  He liked to cook and couldn’t abide boredom.  Charles said that Mr. Taylor was being quite helpful with preparations for the winter as well.  He spent hours wandering around the woods, picking mushrooms and edible berries.  He even found several peanut bushes.  Louisa was a little suspicious of trying the little beige nuts, but found them to be very tasty.  Mr. Taylor showed Mrs. Dolly how to make something called peanut butter.  Annabel thought it revolting, but Louisa liked it smeared on bread.  According to Mr. Taylor, it was
highly nutritious.  At this point she was happy to eat anything.  The supply boats still hadn’t arrived from England, and unless the ships were delayed by storms, there would be no relief for the colonists.  Either the ships had never left England or were lost at sea, leaving them without food for the winter.  Charles spent hours obsessing about rationing.  With the field workers, there were nearly thirty-five people to feed, assuming her parents and Finn got back soon. 

Louisa got out of bed and threw open the shutters to let in the golden light of the November morning.  The colorful autumn leaves were twirling in the wind, settling on grass and the glassy surface of the lake, floating serenely on the still water.  The trees would be completely bare within the next couple of weeks; the winter truly here. 

Louisa chose her favorite gown and began to dress for the day.  Normally, she would be rushing to get downstairs; ready to receive birthday wishes from her family, and enjoy a special breakfast prepared by Mrs. Dolly in her honor, but today would not be that kind of day.  Her parents were still mysteriously absent, along with her brother.  Her aunt and uncle were likely somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic with her beloved Bridget and baby Evie, and Charles was preoccupied with bigger issues than her fifteenth birthday.  Mrs. Dolly would remember, but there would be no special breakfast today.  Food was now rationed stringently for fear that they would run out soon.  Charles told them that some of the colonists were trading with the Indians again, preferring to deal with the savages who killed their neighbors rather than go without.  Annabel had been outraged, but Louisa could understand.  People had children to feed, so they chose food over pride and fear of attack. 

Mr. Taylor was in the kitchen as usual, sorting through a basket of mushrooms that he must have picked that morning.  Already strings of mushrooms hung in the shed, drying in the open air.  Mr. Taylor said that mushrooms had something called protein, and could be used in soups and stews to boost nutritional content.  None of them knew what he was talking about, but there was no harm in having edible things come winter.

“There she is,” Mrs. Dolly beamed as Louisa walked into the kitchen.  “Happy birthday, pet.  Ye look so lovely.  Mister Charles and Mrs. Annabel have already broken their fast.  I do have something special for ye,” she whispered.  Mrs. Dolly took a little currant cake out of the oven.  It was no bigger than Louisa’s fist, but it smelled wonderful, the top browned to perfection and sprinkled with something.

“What is that, Mrs. Dolly?” Louisa asked, taking a bite of her cake. 

“Why ‘tis some of those peanuts.  Mr. Taylor said they go well with a cake.  Don’t ye like it, pet?” Mrs. Dolly looked so horrified that Louisa set down her cake, hugging the older woman.

“Mrs. Dolly, it’s simply divine.  Thank you so much.  I was expecting some day-old porridge
, and now I have this lovely little cake.”

“Oh, I saved the day-old porridge for Mister Charles,” answered Mrs. Dolly with a wink.  “No cakes for him.  So, what shall ye do today?”

Louisa just shook her head.  What was there to do?  She had been under house arrest since the incident with Tom, watched by Charles and Annabel at all times, not that she had anywhere to go.  She’d never been so lonely in her life.  The only person left who was on her side was Minnie, and she was run off her feet doing the chores in the house, then going to feed the workers with Mrs. Dolly.  The poor girl hardly even had time for a chat.

Louisa finished her birthday cake, savoring every bite, then went to fetch her cloak.  She needed to get out of the house, even if it was to walk to the lake.  She felt a terrible sadness, wishing her loved ones were there.  Louisa stepped outside, taking a deep breath.  The smell of winter was already in the air,
bringing memories of Christmas and snowball fights with Finn.  Some of the trees were already completely bare, crows dotting the branches like black stains against the pale sky. 

Louisa began to walk toward the lake when she noticed movement on the other side, closer to the tree line.  For one mad moment she thought it was Finn, but then realized that wasn’t possible.  He wouldn’t be hiding in the trees.  He’d come straight home with her parents after such a long absence.  Louisa peered into the distance.  Maybe it wasn’t safe to go to the lake.  Who would be hiding in the trees if not Indians?  She paused, thinking whether she should turn back, when the person stepped into the light, giving her a shy wave.  She looked back at the house to make sure no one was watching, then began to walk toward the woods with renewed purpose. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked as she stepped behind a furry elm, out of sight of the house.

“I had to see you, Louisa.  Charles forbade me to come to the house.  I’ve come here for the past two days, but you never came out.  I also wanted to give you this.”  Tom pulled something out of his pocket, handing it shyly to Louisa.  It was a small brooch, worked in gold and pearls. 

“Happy birthday, Louisa.  It belonged to my mother.  Annabel took most of her jewels, but I asked for this.  She used to wear it often when I was a little boy, and I remember sitting in her lap, tracing the design with my finger.  I wanted you to have it.”  Tom looked at her shyly as if expecting her to return the gift.

“You’re not angry with me?” She hadn’t seen Tom since Charles brought her home, thinking him angry and resentful at their forced betrothal.

“I was angry at first, but I have no one to blame but myself.  I took advantage of your innocence
, and for that I am truly sorry.  I never meant to hurt you in any way.  I hope you know that.”  He looked so contrite that Louisa would have said anything to make him feel better.

“I know you didn’t intend to hurt me.  I’m not angry with you.  The thirty days since the banns were read are almost up
, and then we can be married.  I wish my parents were here, but Charles insists that we should be wed as soon as possible.” 

Louisa
was breathless with happiness.  He’d come, and that was proof that he loved her.  She was taken aback by the change in Tom’s expression.  His eyes slid away from her, looking somewhere over her shoulder.  She noticed that he looked drawn and tired, not the gilded young man of only a month ago.

“Louisa, I came to say goodbye.  The last ship for England is leaving with the morning tide
, and I intend to be on it.  Now, you can march right back to the house and inform Charles of my intentions, but I implore you not to.  I’ll go, one way or another, but I didn’t want to leave without speaking to you first and telling you how I feel.”

“How do you feel?” asked Louisa utterly confused.

“I feel trapped.  I’ve spent most of my life in Jamestown, and if I marry now, I’ll spend the rest of my life here as well.  There’s a big world out there, and I want to see something of it before I settle down.  I might be back by spring, or I might never come back at all.  I want to have the freedom to decide.  I didn’t want you to think that I ran away in the middle of the night in an effort to shirk my commitment to you.  You are a wonderful girl, and you’ll make a fine wife to some man.  It just won’t be me.  Please tell me you understand, Louisa.” 

Louisa nodded miserably.  What was she supposed to say?  She wanted him to tell her that she was reason enough to stay, but clearly that wasn’t so.  He wanted his freedom
, and if she prevented him from leaving he’d hate her forever.  He took a chance coming to see her, and she wouldn’t betray his trust. 

“Godspeed to you, Tom, and may you find what you
’re searching for.  I release you from the betrothal, and I promise not to say a word to Charles.”  She kissed his cold cheek, knowing this would be the last time they’d meet.  Even if Tom came back some day, their association was over.  Louisa smiled up at Tom, wanting to end things on a friendly note.   

“And how are things in town?”  She hadn’t been to town in nearly a month, but she heard that things were going from bad to worse.  Tom’s face was thinner than before, his doublet hanging on his tall frame under the cloak.  Was he getting enough to eat?

“Things aren’t good.  I don’t know if Charles told you, but when the
Misty Dawn
came into port two weeks ago, the cargo was looted before it even left the docks.  People are hungry and scared, and they will stop at nothing to get what they need.  The people in the settlements are hunting, but the people who live in town are mostly merchants, not hunters.  Are you getting enough food?”  He was looking at her intently, searching for changes in her face and figure.

“Charles is making sure everyone has enough to eat.  He’s been taking the men hunting, since there’s not much work in the fields
till the spring.  Some of them come from fishing villages and don’t know much about tracking and hunting, but some are quite proficient.  They always come back with something, although a deer doesn’t go far when thirty people need to be fed. 

Charles has been sending the fisher folk to fish.  They know how to preserve the fish in salt, making it last longer.  I hope we
’ll have enough to get through the winter.  I only wish my parents would come home.  I’m so worried, Tom.  No one tells me anything.  Every time I ask Charles, he tells me not to worry, and be patient.  Where are they?”

“I don’t know.  I hope they come back soon.  I must be going now.  Goodbye, Louisa.  May God keep you and bless you.”

Louisa waited until Tom was lost from view before turning back toward the house.  She couldn’t imagine how this birthday could get any worse.  She turned the brooch over in her hands, watching the sun glint off the gold.  It was a pretty piece, but she didn’t want it.  It wasn’t given out of love, but out of guilt.  In time, she’d give the brooch to Annabel since it had been her mother’s.  Louisa stuffed the brooch into her pocket and went in search of Minnie.  She needed the company of someone her own age, if only for a few minutes.

**

The news of Tom’s departure broke by the following afternoon.  Mr. Gaines came in person to tell them that Tom had left before dawn, leaving nothing but a short note saying goodbye to his father.  By this time, he was already somewhere in the Atlantic, well on his way to England.

Charles paced the parlor, his hands balled into fists.  He was
carrying on as if he’d been jilted at the altar. “That vile cur, if ever I get my hands on him…”  He glared at Annabel.  “Did you know about this?”

Annabel shook her head, refusing to be drawn into Charles’ wrath.  She was probably glad that Tom was gone.  They’d always shared a close bond, and although Annabel wouldn’t be averse to having Louisa as a sister-in-law, she wanted more for her brother, who obviously longed for adventure.

“Have you got nothing to say?” Charles snarled at Louisa, who sat demurely, her sewing on her lap.

“What would you have me say, Uncle Charles?  He didn’t want to marry me.  That’s the end of it.”  Louisa drew the needle through the fabric, refusing to meet Charles’ gaze.

“And the fact that your reputation is ruined means nothing to you?” he roared.

Louisa finally lost her patience, putting her needlework aside and rising from her seat to stand directly in front of Charles.  He was much taller than her, but she squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye.  “I’m almost certain that you are aware of the fact that the supply ships have not come from England. The colony is facing the kind of famine it hasn’t seen since the Starving Winter of 1609.  People will die by the dozens, maybe even by the hundreds, and you are blathering about my ruined reputation?  For those people who actually survive till spring, my reputation will be the least of their concerns.”  With that, Louisa marched out of the parlor, but not before she heard Mr. Gaines say loud and clear, “Bravo, child!”

That was the last conversation they had about her betrothal to Tom. 

Finn looked up at the peeling sign creaking above the door of the tavern.  It showed a burly Scot playing the bagpipes; his bonnet perched on his wild red hair at a playful angle, and his cheeks puffed out and red like apples.  Finn had never met a Scot or heard anyone playing the pipes, but Mr. Mallory had told him what to look out for, and this had to be it.  The tavern was on the side of a road between two villages, serving both and belonging to neither. 

Finn
scanned the room before choosing a table in the corner.  The taproom was filling up with customers as late afternoon turned into evening, and people came in for a pint after a hard day of work.  The air was heavy with the smell of spilled spirits and the reek of unwashed bodies.  Several patrons were smoking, a hazy cloud of smoke settling over the taproom and making it difficult to see across the room.  Someone on the other side of the bar began to sing, other voices joining in, some of them terribly off-key.  Finn didn’t recognize the song, but he liked it all the same.  There was always an air of camaraderie about men singing together.

Finn ordered a tankard of ale
and fixed his eyes on the door.  He’d delivered the messages sent by Mr. Mallory to two other members of the Committee, but this assignment was the most important.  This was a message he had to collect before he could return to the Mallory farm.  Finn pulled out the book and laid it on the table next to his elbow.  That was the signal.  Not many people would be reading
Faust
in a roadside tavern, so Sam would be sure that he was the one before approaching. 

The door opened, several men walking in as a gust of the cool November air dispelled some of the
smoky atmosphere of the room.  They were talking and laughing, calling out to the barmaid to bring them drinks.  She dimpled at them.  Obviously, they’d been there before.  Finn wondered if Sam would come alone or with someone.  He should be easy enough to spot in his uniform.  Finn took another sip of his ale, hoping the tankard would last him a while longer.  He didn’t have enough money to keep ordering more pints.  Mr. Mallory had given him some paper money for food and lodging, but Finn chose to sleep rough, saving the money for an emergency. 

As time passed, the taproom grew even more crowded, bodies packed in like sardines.  Many of the people seemed to know each
other, calling out greetings and openly criticizing the King and his policies.  Finn was pressed into a corner.  He grabbed the book off the table as some burly farmer nearly spilled beer on it on his way to the privy out back.  Finn was just about to put the book back when a young man squeezed in next to him on the bench. 

“
Faust
is it?  It’s always been one of my favorites.  What a concept, selling your soul to the devil,” the young man said, grinning at Finn.  He was obviously the contact Finn had been waiting for, but most importantly, he was the spitting image of Mr. Mallory.  His gray eyes looked at Finn, twinkling with humor. 

“
And who might you be?” he asked, taking a gulp of his own beer. 

“
I’m Finlay Whitfield.  I thought you were in the army,” Finn said, taking in Sam’s appearance.  He was wearing civilian clothes that helped him blend in with the crowd of laborers.

“Coming here in uniform would be a bit daft, don’t you think?  I’d stand out like a sore thumb.  My uniform is back at the camp.  Don’t
fret; my commanding officer is aware of my activities.  I didn’t desert my post.”  Sam took a long pull of his drink, studying Finn.  “You’re younger than most.  How do you know my father?”

“I’m staying with your family, helping out on the farm.”  Finn wondered if Sam would resent that he was wearing his clothes and using his bed.

“How is everyone?  I miss them sorely.  Is Martha driving everyone mad with her upcoming wedding?  Poor Gil, he doesn’t know what he’s in for.”  Sam laughed, his good humor contagious.  “Tell me about Jonah and the girls.  Do they miss me?” 

“They all do.  They talk of you all the time, especially your mother.  They worry about your safety.” 

“Just tell them I’m all right.  I don’t want them to worry.  I’ve been promised leave for the wedding.  I haven’t seen them all in so long.” 

Sam was chatting and drinking, acting as if he’d known Finn all his life.  Finn
hardly noticed when he slipped a piece of paper into his hand under the table, folding Finn’s fingers around it.  That was the message he’d been waiting for.

“Tell
Pa that things are happening fast now.  A British ship ran aground near Hampton recently and was captured by the Whigs.  Several more ships have been repelled by the army.  Governor Dunmore was in such a panic, he declared Martial Law throughout the colony.  Word is he’s offering to emancipate any Whig-owned slave who’s willing to serve in the British Army.  I can’t see that winning him many friends, even among the Tories.  They fear armed slaves even more than they fear the rebels.  Governor Dunmore is safe aboard a ship in Norfolk, so he doesn’t care about the havoc he might wreak.”

“Is that what’s in the message you gave me?” Finn asked quietly. 

“No.  That’s something else entirely, and it’s in code, so don’t bother trying to figure it out.  Some things need to remain secret.  We should have another drink.  It’s on me.”

  Sam signaled to the barmaid, blowing her a kiss across the crowded room.  The girl lit up, blushing prettily.  Finn got the impression they knew each other a lot better than anyone might suspect.  She brought the drinks over, sliding onto Sam’s lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Have you met Cissy?  She’s the prettiest girl in these parts.  If only she would allow me to show her my affection,” Sam said dramatically, pulling Cissy closer, trying to plant a kiss on her pouty lips. 

“Y
e just mind yer manners, Patrick, or I’ll tell me Da,” she said giggling, arching her back to bring her large breasts closer to Sam’s face.  “He’ll skin ye alive if ye lay a finger on me.”

“It would be worth it, my darling,” Sam replied, tracing a finger over the creamy flesh swelling over her bodice.  Cissy wasn’t
wearing a modest tucker like most women.  Her breasts were exposed above the fabric, just a few inches below Sam’s face.  Sam leaned down and kissed the top of each breast, looking up at Cissy with mischief.  “Will you meet me in the barn later, or shall we play this game a little longer?” he whispered as she giggled and slid off his lap. 

“Give me an hour,” she mouthed as her father’s stern gaze found her in the corner.

“Why did she call you Patrick?” Finn asked as Cissy finally departed.

“Cissy is not known for her discretion.  It’s best she knows me by another name.  I’m not the only customer she meets in the barn, and Cissy like
s to talk.  There’s only one way to shut that pretty mouth of hers,” Sam said with a wink, making Finn blush.  “Where are you staying tonight?”

“I don’t know yet,” answered Finn, tucking the book into his sack.  He wanted to stay and talk to Sam for a while, but the crowd was beginning to thin as men went home to their families after having their well-deserved drink.  It was time to go.  Suddenly
, Sam stilled, his eyes opening wide.

“What is it?” Finn had no idea what caused that reaction.

“British soldiers.  Go quickly.  Use the back door as if you’re going for a piss.  Go!”

“What about you?  Come with me
,” Finn urged, but Sam shook his head.

“You need to deliver that message.  I’ll be fine.”
 

Finn pushed his way through the crowd, making for the back door.  No one would pay any attention to
someone going out back to relieve themselves.  Finn couldn’t help wondering if Sam had been mistaken.  Everyone was still talking and drinking happily. 

He stepped into the night, taking a deep breath of fresh air.  His clothes reeked of smoke
and spilled drink, and his stomach growled with hunger.  He should have gotten something to eat while waiting for Sam.  Were there really British soldiers, or was Sam just trying to get rid of him so that he could go meet Cissy in the barn?  She certainly looked willing.

Finn
was just about to walk off into the trees when he noticed several British soldiers taking position behind the tavern and blocking the back door.  There were soldiers at the front as well, preparing for whatever they were going to do.  Finn melted into the shadows, watching.  The soldiers entered the tavern, their muskets at the ready.  All was quiet for a few moments until chaos erupted inside.  Several men were forced outside and lined up in front of a wagon.  Finn couldn’t hear what was being said, but the captain was obviously questioning them, and none too gently.  One of the men doubled over as he was punched in the stomach by one of the soldiers.

Finn was distracted from the scene by the wagon as several men tried to escape through the back door.  The British soldiers ordered them back inside, threatening to shoot if they refused.  All the men turned around, except for one.  He looked straight ahead and walked out of the tavern, refusing to be intimidated.  A single shot rang out, finding its mark.  Finn watched as the man fell to his knees, his mouth open in shock, before keeling over into the dirt.  He was obviously dead. 

Finn sucked in his breath as he saw Sam dragged out of the tavern by two soldiers.  He was resisting, twisting around to punch one of the soldiers in the face.  Two more soldiers came to the rescue, holding Sam between them as a third drove the butt of his musket into Sam’s stomach, bringing him to his knees.  They yanked Sam back to his feet and pushed him toward the line of men by the wagon before going back inside.

Finn had to get closer, so he
crept from the shadows, hiding behind the privy since it was the only structure behind the inn.  He tried to ignore the stench as he craned his neck to see the front yard, but it was making his eyes water, and his nose burn.  Sam was sitting on the ground, his back against the wheel of a cart, his arm pressed to his middle where the soldier hit him earlier.  His nose and upper lip were smeared with blood, but he looked at the soldiers defiantly, unlike the others, who just looked scared.  The captain questioned the other men before Cissy was brought out into the yard, looking frightened.  She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her cap demurely on her head to hide the abundant curls she was so happy to display earlier.  The captain swept her a courteous bow and kissed her hand before speaking to her.  He was smiling cordially, obviously trying to put her at ease.  Cissy was paraded in front of the four men slowly as she made a pretense of concentrating.  She finally pointed to Sam and another fellow, but the captain wasn’t content.  He seemed to be asking questions of her while pointing at the other two.  Cissy finally nodded, pleasing the captain.  She was permitted to leave and ran back into the tavern, clearly distressed.  What could she know about them? 

Finn watched as the soldiers
tied the men’s hands behind their backs and forced them into the wagon, prodding them with the butts of their muskets.  Sam was the last to get in before the wagon rumbled out of the yard, followed by the foot soldiers, their white wigs glowing in the moonlight.  The mounted captain led the procession, his back stiff as a rod.  Where were they taking them?  Men spilled out of the tavern as soon as the soldiers cleared the yard, eager to get away.  The ones who came out the back door threw nervous glances at the fresh corpse in the back yard, but didn’t stop.  Finn hoped someone would claim the body and at least give him a Christian burial. 

Finn stepped out from behind the privy, gulping fresh air like a drowning man.  He had two choices: either be on his way and deliver Sam’s information
, or follow the soldiers to see where they were taking the men.  He knew that the logical thing to do would be to just go, but he couldn’t leave Sam to his fate.  Whatever was happening, it didn’t bode well for the young soldier.  It didn’t take long to reach a decision.  Finn kept his distance, staying close to the trees whenever possible as he followed the wagon.  It wouldn’t do to be noticed by the soldiers, but they never bothered to look back.  All their attention was directed toward the men in the cart.