Angel's Flight (18 page)

“I don’t think you’d have the stomach to see me hang. It’s not a pretty sight even when it’s done correctly, is it?”

“No,” Angelica muttered. Those kicking feet and purple faces at the Clove were not likely to be out of her mind soon. She hadn’t thought she’d mind seeing outlaws die, but how different the reality!

She’d worked beside their women, seen their children play... “What happened to Ima’s husband?”

“He was one of those who ran off. I didn’t see him among the dead.”

Last night, as soon as he was sure that the attackers—militia, Indians and those wicked Hessians—had passed their hiding place, Jack had gone to join the fight. He’d left her huddled inside the tree with a stern injunction not to move a muscle.

“It’s a time for the better part of valor, Angel,” he’d whispered. “Don’t move. You are a fawn with wolves all around.”

“But Jack,” she’d whispered, “what can you do? You have no weapon.”

“I’ll get one soon enough,” he’d answered. Then he’d slipped away into the long shadows of the forest.

Listening to the gunshots, to the shouts and shrieks, the roar as the cabins caught fire, Angelica had done as she was told. She had heard terrible stories about the Hessians and knew herself in equal danger from the men of either side.

The entire engagement hadn’t lasted twenty minutes, for the reivers had been taken entirely by surprise, their sentries killed in the first rush. Still, to Angelica, crouching inside her gray cloak, hardly daring to take a breath, it had seemed at least a day.

“Surely you know,” Jack said severely, “what they would’ve done to any ordinary travelers. To you, if I hadn’t known how to deal with them.”

“But some of them were kind. If M’Bain hadn’t—”

“Weep no tears for M’Bain,” Jack firmly interrupted. “Do you believe he’d have honored his promise and sent us on our way? They’d have taken the ransom and then, some dark night, under the cover of this war, M’Bain, Donnie Graham and Johnnie Callahan would’ve appeared in your parlor.”

“Is that how you reward those who trust you, Jack Church? With lies—and a bullet in the back?”

“I shot Chief M’Bain right between the eyes.”

Angelica replied with cold fury, “That may pass for humor among a bunch of murdering soldiers...”

Hal was now on the long downhill trek, his hooves knocking stones, his withers seesawing as his riders’ weight shifted. In a break between the trees, Angelica again caught a glimpse of the Hudson. Today, under low clouds, it was a greasy serpent twisting its way through a patchwork of green and brown.

“From the bottom of my heart, I hate you, Jack Church,” she said. “You are utterly despicable. A spy is the lowest scum on earth.”

“At this moment you are very, very angry, Mrs. Church, but you don’t hate me.”

“You don’t have leave to call me that.” The words were proud, but her heart felt like a hot, splintered stone in her chest.

I loathe him, so smug and calm! Am I strong enough to take the scissors and drive them into his chest?

“But—Mrs. Church is who you are.”

“Monster.” It was all she could do now not to burst into tears. “Everything you’ve said to me during the last week has been either an outright lie or an evasion. I’d wager there never was a cousin or a duel, or even a fiancée.”

“No, unfortunately, that part is all true.”

“So you say, dirty spy!”

“Spying was the unpleasant way I was offered out of my English troubles.”

“You’ve used me to cover your movements, haven’t you?” When he didn’t deny, she added, “Was marrying me also part of some—some conspiracy?”

“Well, as you’re already so angry, I suppose I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. As a matter of fact, sweetheart, before I left England, my mother advised me that I would have a very marriageable heiress for a neighbor. She, like most mothers, is hell bent on getting all her children well married. Of course, because of the bloody state of mind I was in, I didn’t pay much attention.”

A stiffening chill ran down Angelica’s spine and deprived her of speech.

“My mother even wrote to your uncle, as parents will do in such cases.”

“About—about what, for God’s sake?” she stammered.

It seems impossible, she thought, but with each interchange, this gets worse!

“A letter,” he replied patiently, “to introduce a likely gentleman bachelor and kinsman to the neighboring family of a highly eligible lady.”

“It was not really a coincidence, our meeting at the governor’s ball.”

“No, Angelica. It was not. Dan, good servant that he is, made some inquiries, which was how I discovered you were in the city. Business brought me to Governor Tryon’s assembly. After I met you,
your charms kept me on the trail.

“I must say,” he continued, “that when I first clapped eyes upon you, I was grateful for the forethought of my mother and the diligence of my servant. Next, my old sergeant told me about George Armistead’s decision to snare you for himself.”

“So you are the clever fox who waits to steal what the hawk catches?”

“I wasn’t going to let Armistead run off with a lady who should, by rights, be mine.”

“By rights?” Anxiety twisted so high she could only echo.

“‘Tis plain,” he replied, gently. “You’re a lovely and eligible lady of property, and very much in need of a capable husband.”

“No one will ever fault you for modesty! Why, you sound exactly like my cousin!”

“There’s more to interest you here,” Jack said. “Besides, like any twenty-year soldier, I’m an opportunist.”

The admission, so complacent, so filled with self- congratulation, was the last straw. Angelica swung around and began to pummel him with her fists—his chest, his face, anywhere she could reach.

“You black-hearted, perfidious monster!” she shrieked. “I hate you! Hate you!”

As they wrestled, Hal skidded and then stumbled. The wildly shifting weight on his back was too much, for he was already having difficulty on the treacherous downhill trail with two people on his back. To keep from going to his knees, his head went down.

In the next instant, his riders were on the ground. Hal, black tail whipping, went sliding down the stony path a short way. Then, balance regained, and reins trailing, he looked back at them, his dark eyes full of puzzlement and apology.

The fall was a heavy one for Angelica. Not only was her wind knocked out, but she hit her head.

As she lay there, gasping and staring into the whirling green boughs of the pines, Jack’s face appeared. Apparently his native agility, as well as years in the cavalry, had brought him safely out of the tumble.

“Damn it, woman!” he cried breathlessly. “Are you all right?” “My head!” she moaned, rubbing it. She felt sick.

“Don’t you ever do that again! Damn! Do you want to get us both killed?”

“Yes!” Her defiance was muted by a strong desire to vomit.

As she rolled over and retched into the shale and pine needles,
Jack scolded her gently. “No matter what you feel about me, at least have some concern for my horse. Hal could’ve broken a leg trying to keep us up.”

For a while he was silent, although he offered what comfort he could by sitting with her, keeping her hair out of it, and patting her back.

“Oh, God! How dare you talk to me of your horse?” she cried when she could speak again. “I hate and despise you! Hate you! Hate you! Leave me here and let me die.”

“Now, now,” he chided gently, drawing her into his arms. “I know you’ve been through hell, and that I can’t shine very bright in your eyes after all this. Here, sweetheart! Here now.”

Meanwhile, his strong arm settled her against his chest. Tenderly, he offered his handkerchief.

“Go on and cry,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in it after what you’ve been through. There, there, my angel. Don’t be so angry. I do love you. Yes, I do.”

The shattering pain in her head made crying easy. While she did, he held her close. For a long time, he didn’t say anything, but as her racking sobs began to die away, he declared, “I love you, Angelica. With all my heart. Don’t you dare imagine anything else.”

“But you just said you planned...” she broke off, sobbing.

“Mother primed me and I liked what I saw. I liked your intelligence. I liked your spirit. And I’ve grown to admire your good common sense—which is not so common. Marrying you was logical in at least twenty ways, so I got it done. Where’s the crime in that?”

“Damn you, Jack! You’re still lying! How stupid do you think I am? You’ve only married me for my property!”

“Nonsense,” he said firmly. After a moment’s thought, he added, “The worst I can say about what I’ve done is that I’ve captured you by—by—well, by mining the walls at night, instead of using a good, honest daylight assault.”

“I’m not a town!” she wailed. “You have shamefully abused my trust!”

When she went back to weeping, he declared sternly, “I’ve married you, woman. The good Reverend Witherspoon is our witness. What’s more, we truly enjoy each other, so stop acting as if I’ve forced you, or just used you for a night’s sport.”

“Marriage is worse than either!” she tearfully shot back. “Even a sublime liar like yourself cannot go on pretending forever.”

“Angelica, our flight together started as a practical and agreeable stratagem, but it’s not like that now,” he said, his fingers soothing her temple.

“Agreeable? Stratagem? Listen to yourself!”

“You liked me at the governor’s ball,” he insisted, “And from the first touch of your pretty hand, I knew what I wanted.”

“Shut up!” she cried, shifting into Vanderzee’s rude Dutch. “Shut up! Damnable, lying, redcoat spy!”

“Yes. Unfortunately, that part is true.”

“Jack, how can I believe anything you say ever again?” She sobbed. “How?”

For a long time, he just went on rocking her against his broad chest, whispering that she must forgive him, that he did truly love her. She felt like a sick child cradled in those big arms.

The sun was out again. The great pines flexed their sagging arms and sighed as a sudden breeze blew through.

“Before the snow flies in this cruel year of 1777,” Jack whispered softly, “I wager you’ll be glad I am who I am, my sweet rebel.”

Chapter Fourteen

They rode down into the green valley. Angelica sat behind now, leaning against his back, just as they had made their journey to Tarrytown. She was no longer concerned about the way her body rubbed against his, back and forth with the horse’s rocking gait. It was tolerable in spite of how angry she was, not only because he was so familiar now, but because she was drowsy.

It wasn’t until they rounded the little village of Newburgh that Angelica spoke again. “Why are you going this way?”

“Ah, good,” he replied. “I was worried about you. That was quite a fall this morning.”

“Answer me plainly, Jack Church. Not with one of your wretched
lies.”

“I have done my best not to lie to you, Angelica,” he replied humbly.

“Except for the hundred and fifty-two times when it was expedient, of course.”

“There was no reason for you to know things which might have placed you in danger.”

“Or might have put my guard up. Damn your excuses!” She sighed and leaned her head against him, for the surge of anger had made her head throb again.

“As you will,” he said evenly, stroking the arm encircling his waist. “One of the militia, Captain Casparus, told me to turn right when we reached the fork with the white oak tree.”

“Why? The road through Newburgh goes the other way.”

“I don’t intend to ride through Newburgh, for it is full of rebels. I have directions to a place where it will be safe for us to stay.”

This was sad news. Angelica had been hoping someone in Newburgh would recognize her, and she could escape there. She wouldn’t have had to betray Jack, just call out to whoever it might be, friend or relative. After that, it would be easy to bring things to the point where Jack would have to leave her behind.

Angelica rested herself against Jack again and adjusted her grip around his muscular middle. She kept slipping in and out of a drowsy half sleep. It was the blow on the head, she was certain. Now there was
nothing to do but hang on, conserve her strength, and go wherever he was taking her.

Meanwhile, her mind kept running in a maddening circle. She loved Jack, loved his strength, his courage, his manliness. A tremor vibrated as she remembered the earthy ecstasy his hard soldier’s body had given hers.

But, she hated him, too—from the bottom of her heart. Hated his deceit. Hated his lies—or, as he put it, his “avoidance of the truth.” Most of all, she hated his accursed, blind, self-satisfied Tory politics.

And what of his arrogant English family who had sent him after her like a hound set after a deer? A wonderfully convenient match for a younger son who’d got himself in trouble—a provincial heiress! She leaned wearily against his strong back and knew herself in the middle of a tangle with no easy solution.

The tidy wood lots and fields surrounding Newburgh stretched away on every side. People could be seen working here and there, cultivating by hand, or bent over the dark, tilled earth. On their right, the wide rope of the Hudson coiled beneath slate gray clouds. Occasionally sun and blue skies made brief, heartwarming appearances.

“You are going to take me home, aren’t you?”

“Of course. I want you in the safest possible place while I’m not around to take care of you.”

“Where are you going?

“I have to complete my mission,” he said. “I will come back to you as soon as winter shuts down the campaign. December, at the latest.” His hand was a constant presence, soothing her arm where it lay around his waist.

“And then what?”

“Together we will set about surviving this war.”

“Married to a British officer? How am I to manage that? If you were telling the truth about loving me—” She’d been turning their problem ‘round and ‘round in her mind. “—you would resign your commission and become a private citizen.”

“No, Angel.” As if to make up for this denial, his hand passed over her arm tenderly. “I am a soldier and a king’s man.”

“And I, sir, am a patriot.”

“You’re married to me, Angelica,” he said firmly. “In the eyes of God—not to mention Reverend Witherspoon.”

When she was silent, raging at the box she was in, he remarked, “Putting aside that farce of a wedding and even putting aside our going to bed after, isn’t it clear we were made for each other?”

“Why should we put anything aside?” she grumbled. “You certainly brought it in front of Major Campbell and all those redcoat idiots and made me a laughing stock—your spoils of war.”

“It was a way to handle Campbell and get you out of there. The fact is, he’d have liked to take the daughter of a prominent rebel for a hostage.”

“Damn you, Jack,” she muttered again.

“I don’t think I have ever heard so many damn yous from a lady before,” he said with a chuckle.

“You richly deserve every one and a thousand more. You could extract curses from a saint.”

He didn’t reply, just soothed her arm. Even as angry as she was, she finally stopped pulling it away. It didn’t make sense, but there was such comfort, such reassurance, in each warm passage of his hand.

Besides, Hal’s steady rocking was making her horribly drowsy. They went down a slope ending with a short, splashing traverse of a shallow stream. The woods on every side flaunted delicate new green leaves and bright flowers. A cheerful chorus of red-winged black birds arose from nests among the cattails.

The crown of the next hill carried an orchard. They passed farmers with teams of red oxen and a tinker in his wagon, jangling with pots. A pair of wagons loaded with barrels passed by. A teamster’s boy rode atop the harness of the lead horse.

At one point, just as if it were not war-time, they were overtaken by a madly careening four-in-hand. Two well-dressed young dandies, momentarily in that wild place where boys change to men, waved as they thundered by. Jack grinned and raised his hat.

Angelica knew they would seem an unexceptional couple on this road. Jack would be taken for a gentleman down on his luck. Hal, of course, was magnificent, not the kind of horse just anyone could afford. Nevertheless, by doubling with Angelica, it looked as if he could not afford her a mount or even a shay.

It was late afternoon when the road began to wind through a marsh. Mosquitoes and deer flies buzzed in their ears. Angelica had to rouse herself to slap at them. Hal shook his head and snorted. His tail slapped back and forth vigorously for he, too, was plagued.

The noisy pinging of small, glittering frogs and the chatter of nesting waterfowl filled their ears. Herons stalked among the cattails. Ducks swam and dabbled, their fluffy young bobbing close by. Long-necked loons swam among the reeds, their snaky necks all that was visible.

When a small creek cut across their way, instead of riding into the shallow ford, Jack pulled up. As Hal took advantage of the stop to extend his ruddy neck to sip, his rider took a paper from his pocket and consulted it.

“A willow thicket north,” he said, nodding at the quivering, trailing leaves. “This is it.”

After Hal was done, they went toward the willows, following a cart track that wound away from the main road.

“Where now?” Angelica raised her aching head.

“To a farm belonging to one Killian van Driessen, a loyalist.”

The track followed an easy incline. After they had gained some height, a welcome breeze sprang up and the last of their insect tormenters blew away.

There were yellow stumps, muddy gouges in the trail, and broken saplings where wood had been cut. Next was a herd of red cattle, quietly ruminating.

Then came cornfields and a garden. In the middle stood a low Dutch farmhouse with a tidy barn and outbuildings. Dogs set up a yelping chorus.

Jack slowed Hal, and they approached at a walk. What appeared to be several families at work with hoes in the garden looked up. The men went at once to the fence, picked up firearms—in this case, muskets and a long birding gun—before coming out to meet the strangers.

“Is this Killian van Driessen’s place?”

“Who wants to know?” said the foremost man, not lowering his musket. The guttural accent proved English was not his first language.

“I am Jack Church, sir, just come from England to tend my family’s place above Kingston on Esopus Kill. This lady is my wife. Captain Willem Casparus, who lives on the Wall Kill, told me this would be a place where we could safely shelter.”

Jack presented a folded paper. Everyone stood around, firearms ready, while the speaker, a blocky fellow with ruddy cheeks and fair hair, looked it over.

Not all eyes were on Jack and Angelica. Some swept the area around as if expecting an ambush.

When he’d finished reading, the man nodded and put out his hand. “God save the king!” he said.

Jack echoed him.

“I am Balt van Driessen,” the sturdy young man said. “And this is my father’s place. These are my brothers, Gerrit and Cornelius, and my brother-in-law, Dirk VanderKemp. We’ve come from our farms to stay with the old folks and keep safe together, but we’ll find a bed for you.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there is plenty of trouble just west of here across the Shawanagunk. The Indians, sir, have their own way of seeing this war, and some of our neighbors, too.”

Throwing a leg over Hal’s neck, Jack dismounted. “I’m glad you will take us in,” he said. “My wife and I had a fall this morning and she took the worst of it.”

The women expressed concern.

“Sorry about the welcome,” said Balt, patting his musket, “but these days you can’t be too careful.”

Jack nodded. “I understand. As a matter of fact, we were the guests of a certain John M’Bain for a couple of days in the Clove. Then the militia—among them, your neighbor, Mr. Casparus—got us out of there.”

“God bless you!” Balt exclaimed, shaking his head. “You don’t say!”

“And what happened to M’Bain?” asked one of the younger men. “I was with a party that chased his gang over the Wall Kill. We saw his leavings: burned out farms, rustled stock, men tortured, women abused. He’s worse than the devil.”

“A true disciple,” Jack agreed. “You’ll be glad to hear that he’s in hell with his master now.”

“Well, by God!” shouted Balt. “That’s the best news we’ve had for many a week!”

The family was welcoming and eager for news, but the house proved to be utterly full, spilling over with the entire van Driessen clan. With the threat of rival armies, Indians and brigands, they had come together. The barn, too, where they took Hal to get him fed and stalled, was overflowing with livestock as well as servants.

Supper was set out. As soon as Angelica appeared, greeting the women in Dutch, smiles bloomed around her. They seemed particularly gratified their guests had been sent by Willem Casparus, whose wife was yet another van Driessen daughter. Everyone came crowding around to ask questions and meet the pretty, weary stranger.

After washing her hands and face, Angelica was invited to the table. She was thrilled by what she saw.

There were cheeses, both hard and soft, fresh bread, milk, and plates of cold sliced ham and pork. A deep pot of steaming greens, fragrant with bacon, also graced the table.

Once inside the house, conversation shifted into Dutch. Angelica watched as Jack, who had come in after his own wash up, performed outside at the pump, began to talk in flawed but fluent Dutch. When he lacked a word, he borrowed from German. She could see that everyone, particularly the white haired grandparents, Killian and his wife, approved of his effort to join in.

In spite of the dull ache in her head and the sharper ache in her heart, Angelica discovered she was ravenously hungry. Such familiar and mouth-watering food was a delight.

After grace was said, Angelica plunged in, pausing only to compliment. Jack heaped food on her plate and smiled, remarking that her good appetite proved her brains hadn’t been addled by the fall.

“Just plain food, Mrs. Church,” said the old lady.

“Nothing to eat but cornpone and dirt among those reivers, Vrouw van Driessen,” Jack explained.

“Yes,” Angelica agreed, “and bloody beef.” The round Dutch faces surrounding her soured in uniform distaste.

Jack began to spin one of his tales. Angelica listened, observing his glibness with bitter detachment.

She could, of course, have told a counter story, but why? He had maneuvered them into a safe and comfortable berth. He had pledged to take her home.

She was so confused, so angry. At the same time, she was so infuriatingly in love with him, trembling like a girl every time he touched her. Maybe, she thought wearily, after I get home, after he is gone, I will be able to think, to sort this out.

“We were married in New York City and were going to my mother’s farm when we were taken on the Newburgh road and carried away to the Clove,” Jack said. “We had a wagon with furniture and some money, but M’Bain got it all. I promised him a huge ransom, and he must’ve believed me because he didn’t harm us.” As he spoke, he passed his arm around Angelica’s slim waist.

“But what happened to your wagon after you were set free?” Balt asked.