Angel's Flight (12 page)

“A hellfire sermon?” Angelica was incredulous. “To these men who will go there—every one?”

“Quite so, Miss TenBroeck,” Reverend Witherspoon agreed. “As an Anglican and an educated man, hellfire, certainly, is not my primary choice. Personally, I’m inclined to the cerebral, but I could see that for a congregation like this one, Mr. M’Bain’s suggestion was sound.
”

“You know,” he continued, “I’ve come to have a sort of respect for him. He can read, you know—and he’s smart as a whip. Still—” The reverend sighed. “—I shudder to think how many folk he’s made away with.”

“So you preached to them?”

Witherspoon nodded, a kind of unholy shine suddenly illuminating his gaunt, pale face.

“What on earth was it like?” Angelica couldn’t imagine.

“A pretty queer business, miss,” Witherspoon replied. “M’Bain saw I was nervous and so he insisted I have a swallow of some of their whiskey before I began. I didn’t want to, but he can be very persuasive.”

Jack chuckled. “I can imagine.”

“At first, I was frightened,” the reverend said. “But the more I laid it on and told ‘em they were damned for all eternity, and the more I
described their future torments, they more they seemed to like it. I’ve never seen such a sight in my life, all these cutthroats and murderers crawling on the ground and weeping and crying to Jesus to forgive them, their harlots alongside of them.”

“M’Bain wasn’t one of ‘em, I’ll wager.”

“Correct, captain. M’Bain kept slipping up behind me and slapping me on the back and handing me glasses of spirits. Finally, I got so hot from the whiskey and preaching, I told him to his face that he was the biggest sinner of them all because of what he was leading all these ignorant folks into. That he’d made Magdalenes of all the poor women and pagans of all the children.”

Jack grinned. “Which he loved.”

“Right again, captain, though, by Heaven, if I had not so much whiskey in me...” Suddenly overcome with the recollection, the reverend took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.

“I fear,” he went on, “that I baptized some folks that night, too. I used whiskey, which M’Bain insisted had more of the spirit in it than water.”

“Crazy doings,” Jack was laconic. “It’s the same among ‘em everywhere, be they on the Scottish border or over the Pale.”

“Well, I now see how deportation ends—with the same old mischief planted in a new place,” declared Witherspoon. “Hangin’ is the only real cure for their kind.”

The two men shared a nod of heartfelt agreement. Then the parson added, “I’m told I am to carry the ransom demands to your uncle, Miss TenBroeck. It is a journey in the wrong direction for my purposes, but one I’m more than willing to take on behalf of such distress as yours.”

“We are glad you will help us, Reverend Witherspoon,” Angelica replied with feeling. “When are you to go?”

“Well, there is one final pious task for me here.
”
Another band of his cutthroat friends is arriving and when they do, I am to marry two couples. After that’s done, he says he’ll send me off.”

Jack was grinning broadly. Clearly, he’d enjoyed the reverend’s story. The grin stayed in place, even as the three of them walked back towards the cabins together.

“Don’t smile so
, Mr. Church,” Angelica whispered nervously, putting a hand on his arm.

At the closest door, a ferocious pair of ruffians stood, staring at them.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, the fierce grin firmly in place. “The way to get along with these two-legged animals is to be as free as they are. To be ready to kill them a little faster than they are ready to kill you.”

Angelica did not find this comforting. Witherspoon, after a nervous glance over his shoulder, moped more sweat from his high brow.

“I can’t help but fear M’Bain’s got some new trick up his sleeve,” he muttered. “He’s entirely too good humored this afternoon.”

Chapter Ten

Just then a group of women came out of the cook shed. After some noisy disputation, which seemed to concern Angelica, two approached. They were dirty, barefoot, and dressed in a back country combination of leather and muslin.

One, a beauty with heavy black braids like an Indian, had a baby riding on her hip. The other, a rawboned, freckled red head, held a bare-bottomed toddler by the hand. Beneath the apron her belly rose with another child on the way. Although both women were brown-skinned and rough-handed and each had a few missing teeth, both were relatively young and both moved with a swaying grace that marked them as beauties of their kind.

They stared dumbly at the reverend for a moment and then the black haired one declared, “Well, where be your manners, parson? Introduce us to these here folks.”

Witherspoon, discomfited, did as he was asked. “Captain Church, Miss—ah—Ten—TenBroeck,” the reverend stumbled, “this is Miss Nancy Bankhead, and this lady is Widow Ima M’Alister.”

The black haired woman glared at the reverend whose “Miss” had given offense. Both ladies stared at Jack with frank admiration, perhaps finding not only his good looks, but also the tale of his having humbled the brutal Davy Bell much to their taste. The eyes that turned toward Angelica held admiration, too, but well larded with jealousy.

“Miss,” said the black haired Nancy, after an awkward pause. “There is a pack more men than women in this camp.”

“Yes,” Angelica replied, nervously, instantly wondering where this was leading.

“Well, we’ve got weddin’s comin’,” Nancy went on. “Either
tomorrow or next day. Dependin’ ‘pon when the men get here.”

“Yes, the reverend was just telling us,” Angelica said politely. Nancy went on with a challenging stare. “Mr. M’Bain says we kin
ask you to help us out, miss. ‘Specially as you’re bein’ treated good.” “Besides,” red-headed Ima put in with a flirtatious wink at Jack.

“It ain’t proper that you laze around in company with this fella.”

“We could use another hand in the cook shed,” Nancy said, her dark eyes snapping. “That is, unless you bin raised too fine to know how.”

“Ah—ladies—” Jack began a defense.

“Miss Nancy is quite right, Mr. Church,” Angelica said, promptly getting to her feet. “As they are so hospitable, I certainly can help. Are you to be the bride, Miss Bankhead?” she asked politely.

“Yes,” Nancy replied with uneasy dignity. “I’m to marry Johnnie Callahan there.” She gestured at a big, sullen red head, one of the men who had been, in between bouts of spitting tobacco, staring fixedly at them.

“My congratulations, miss,” Angelica replied, thinking that her tongue had never been more in cheek. “I shall be glad to help out with whatever needs doing.”

“Well, come on, then.” Abruptly Nancy turned her back and strode away.

Ima, who seemed friendlier, put out a tough, freckled hand, the one not attached to the toddler.

“You kin work beside me, miss. My man’s the one we’re waiting for—Donnie Graham. He’s got a gang hisself, you know.” Ima stated this with as much pride as if she were explaining that her Donnie was a rich New York City attorney.

Ima was pleased when Jack and Reverend Witherspoon bowed them away. Angelica, without so much as backward glance, had taken the freckled hand and walked off in the direction of a lean-to.

“A brave lady,” the Reverend Witherspoon observed.

“Reverend, you don’t know the half of it,” Jack replied, watching admiringly as Angelica’s graceful figure disappeared inside the smoke-spitting shed.

RIGHT AFTER DINNER, M’Bain tried to insist they should not pass their nights together. “Well, it’s established that ya ain’t brother and sister, ain’t it?”

“And so?”

“Well, the Dutch miss should sleep with the other women.” “Miss TenBroeck stays where I can keep an eye on her.”

“I’m not sure if just keeping an eye on her is all that will go on.

With such a comely lass, I’d fail in the task myself,” M’Bain joked,
with a leer.

“Chief, moralizing doesn’t suit you,” Jack replied.

“Oh? Ain’t I had the preacher up here?”

Angelica hadn’t liked the bullish, injured expression M’Bain had assumed, but beside her Jack was insouciantly grinning that
who-gives-a-damn-face these ruffians put on for each other.

“I’ll say one thing about you, lowlander. You’ve got stones,”

M’Bain growled, staring at him. “Don’t tempt me to cut them off.”
“I’ll have yours first, M’Bain,” Jack rejoined cheerfully.

Angelica tried not to, but she could feel herself shrinking against
his side.

“Cocksure, ain’t he?” The chief had waved his bottle truculently towards Jack. The three lieutenants who stood around nodded in unison.

“It’s plain,” Jack said evenly, “that the lady and her honor are safer with me than anywhere else in this camp.”

“And just why is that? If I kin make so bold as to ask?”

“Because I intend to marry her,” Jack said evenly. “I have not yet spoken with her uncle, though, and until he agrees, I’m honor bound to treat her like my sister.”

There! He’s said it again! Angelica gave an involuntary start. There was a flash of insane excitement, followed by an even larger flash of resentment. Why did every one of these men—George Armistead, Cousin Arent, and, now, Jack Church—just assume I am theirs for the taking?

Still, she knew she was in love. She had breathed the alarming, dizzying words to herself, but that didn’t mean that she would just throw common sense to the winds and let herself be carried away by emotion.

I did it before...did it with ‘Bram. And, oh, I’ve sworn a thousand times never to be so foolish again!

Since their meeting at Governor Tryon’s, she’d discovered so many different kinds of Jack. Jacks undreamed of, even in the daring sweep of his rescue. There was the tender and masterful lover of the inn. This morning she’d seen a ferocious and devious fighter, a master of pistol, fist and saber, a blonde war god, who matched boast for boast and blow for blow with their savage captors.

Considering these different Jacks, she felt fear, much of it now centering around the precise yet offhand way he’d killed. Angelica sensed Jack Church had many of these secret selves.

She lowered her eyes, hoped to hide her growing agitation, but M’Bain was not looking at her. He was too busy staring at Jack.

“By Christ! You don’t say? You lowlanders are cold fish beyond ken. What’s goin’ on, then? Was you carryin’ her off?” The chief broke into one of his wolfish grins.

“Yes.” As usual Jack didn’t skip a beat. “I intend to marry Miss TenBroeck, but I must show her family respect.”

“What? Is her Dutch uncle a good shot? Or is he meaner than yourself, sir?” M’Bain paused to gurgle at the notion. Then he rolled his evil eye toward Angelica. “Hey, miss, wouldn’t you like to marry this fine young soldier?

“Um, of course...” What I have to say is clear enough. “But, um, ah, my Uncle must—must—”

“Get used to the idea.” Jack completed her sentence. “You see, we only met down in the city a few weeks ago.”

Thinking he understood, M’Bain brightened. His bullish head nodded vigorously, as if comprehending everything in one stroke.

“You don’t want any trouble with the rich uncle, do you, captain? And so you was goin’ home to ask for his blessin’ like good children when we caught up with you. Still want to marry her, even though we’re gonna bankrupt him?”

When Jack nodded, M’Bain grew animated. “Well, then, here’s a solution. Let my preacher marry you. He’s a real reverend and all, as respectable as you’d ever want, and then it’s done and over. Not much Uncle Dutch can say after.”

“I thank you for the offer, sir,” said Jack with great politeness, “but such an action wouldn’t be well received by Mynheer TenBroeck.”

Angelica was ready to heave a sigh of relief at Jack’s gallantry, but M’Bain wouldn’t hear of it. “I disagrees with you, sir, and I’ll tell you why. If you don’t tie the knot with yon lady, Johnnie Callahan is bragging round the camp that he stands ready to. He’s took a sharp fancy to her.”

Angelica clung to Jack’s arm and tried to keep alarm out of her voice. “But Chief M’Bain,” she said, “isn’t he supposed to marry with Nancy?”

“Johnnie’s—ah—headstrong. He’s one of Davy Bell’s mates, and that just naturally leads to... Well, you catch my drift. Now Captain Church, I’m gonna tell you straight. None of ‘em’s too smart, but they’re strong as bulls and they got some pull ‘round here. There’s plenty of grumbling that I’m not cutting you both up small. If the lady is marryin’ with you, Johnnie’ll be more inclined to do right by Nancy, and then we’ll all have a lot less trouble.”

“Why will he?” Jack had been nodding, but Angelica was so confused by the chief’s train of thought that the question came blurting out before she had a chance to think better of it.

“Because, miss,” M’Bain replied, willing to be patient with her, “your man has already beat Davy Bell, and Johnnie Callahan is Davie’s lieutenant. I don’t think any of ‘em’s ready to mess with Captain Church one on one. Not just today anyhow.”

After absorbing this, Angelica said thoughtfully, “And it wouldn’t be wise to cross Nancy’s father either.”

M’Bain grinned. “Well! You have been payin’ attention, haven’t you, miss?” he said with approval. “Nancy’s the apple of old man Bankhead’s eye, and he’s not only Irish but part Schagticoke, too. The devil’s part of each, if I may say, which inclines him to settle his quarrels with a shot in the back. Now, if I says you are to marry, I think Johnnie will see his way to behavin’ himself. No sense havin’ both me and old man Bankhead stalkin’ him.”

“Chief M’Bain,” Jack said, slipping an arm around Angelica. “We’ll do as you say.” He drew Angelica close and whispered softly, the perfect image of a gentlemanly lover, “Isn’t it what we’ve both wanted?”

In order to hide her warring feelings, her embarrassment, Angelica turned her face against his shirt.

“Uncle Jacob will be terribly angry.” The words released an authentically deep shiver.

“Never mind,” Jack said soothingly. His hand, radiating courage, was on her back. “We’ll get through, Miss TenBroeck.”

There was a reality in those words that went beyond playacting. Angelica raised her head and met those clear gray eyes as she saw the long mobile line of his mouth, curving in response to her fear with a tender smile.

“Why, as soon as you’ve got a bonny little shit of a grandson to show him, even a hard hearted Dutchman will see the sense of it.” M’Bain’s commentary broke in upon the intimate moment. “I know’d I could explain to you,” he continued. “Got heads on yer shoulders—for lowlanders.”

After another long swig from his companionable green pocket flask and a careful corking, Chief M’Bain, regal as a lord, waved them away.

***

The camp was settling down rather tamely into night. Lifting the waxed cloth to peep out of the hole in the attic roof, they could see a group of shaggy outlaws hanging around a fire in the center of the yard. The men were passing a bottle, laughing, chewing and spitting.

Looking up, away from them, Angelica saw a familiar spring sky, the star shapes twinkling. The trembling clarity spoke of another fair
day tomorrow and made a poignant contrast to the shifting, grubby world of men below. In the forest, spring toads set up a tinkling chorus.

“I am weary to my bones.” Angelica sighed, sinking onto the linen covered straw Jack had assembled for their bed.

“I don’t doubt it,” her companion replied, getting down beside her. “You slept on the ground last night, rode like a cavalryman in a battle all morning and worked like a mule for the rest of the day.”

From a flask, he solicitously poured a pale liquid into a cup and handed it to her. “Reiver courage. Whiskey mixed with good spring water which I drew myself, as safe a drink as you may have, and one which will conduct you straight into sleep.”

“I have never in my life drunk spirits.” She raised her eyes distrustfully.

“Well, you are about to begin,” Jack said. The way he held out the cup was not to be denied. “Listen to your physician, miss,” he continued. “This will settle your nerves.”

He gave her a cheerful smile and Angelica, smiling faintly in return, took the cup.

“Go on...drink up.” Jack insisted. “Your work got us goodwill, miss, and I want you to know that it was a very brave thing, too.”

“Well, it turned out better than I thought,” she said after a short, nose wrinkling sip of the powerful stuff. “After being pushed and pulled about in their nasty cook shed for an hour, they asked me if I could sew a fine line and it seems that skill was in more demand than what they call cookery. Lord! Messes of corn meal mush and milk, one old grannie out back straining cheese and fighting a losing battle with the pigs poking their faces in it.

“And that stew we ate tonight! Beans and corn meal and God knows what. Now that pot actually might have contained someone’s fingers, Mr. Church.”

Jack laughed. The sound was so normal that, in spite of everything, Angelica relaxed a little.