Emily's Vow (19 page)

Emily paced the hallway, contemplating her dilemma.

What did the future hold for her?

A tiny boy needed her to be a mother when she didn't know how to be one. The thought made her tighten her spine. Guilt slid through her before she relaxed. Elizabeth had wanted her to step in and be the mother she had planned to be for her child. Emily's stomach clenched, her breakfast rebelling at the turmoil in her heart. Elizabeth naturally loved and cared for others. Her sister's smile and good nature had won over many slaves and the old women at church alike. Emily wished she possessed the patience of her twin.

Tommy stretched in her arms and yawned, his hands fisted as tightly as his eyes. She watched, fascinated, when he opened them and the emerging color hinted at the brilliant blue of his father, Jedediah.

Frank's slate-colored eyes, on the other hand, evoked a sense of strength overlaid with the energy of a stormy sea. When he looked at her, she worked to recall her vow and the reasons she'd resorted to it. Indeed her armful of baby right now provided a daily reminder of what she worked to avoid. Now why did she think of Frank at that moment? She shook her head at the mystery of how thoughts connected in her brain. She needed a distraction.

"Let's venture outside, shall we?" Emily tucked the end of the baby blanket around him. At the sound of her voice, Tommy blinked at her. "It's hard to wake up sometimes, isn't it? Some fresh air will do us both good."

She hurried outside before anyone stopped her. She would only visit the yard so she refused to believe she needed an escort. The sun warmed her face even as the light breeze pulled a stray lock of hair into her eyes. Wrapping it behind her ear, she shifted Tommy into a more secure hold and babbled to the child, grateful for the faint sun warming her skin.

Fortunately he seemed to enjoy the outdoors. How much could he see? How well did his eyes work? Could he smell the dying flowers all around him? When would he start walking? Running? What would she do when he became a little boy playing in the street with the other children?

Preoccupied by her thoughts, she wandered through the garden, making a mental note to remove the suckers from the artichokes, trim and dress the asparagus beds, and sow the radish and lettuce. She chatted with the boy about the flowers preparing for a long winter's nap and the birds darting among the leaves and branches, searching for fallen seeds and scurrying bugs.

"They don't want to be caught out in the cold, and the danger of frost harming them," she said. "Every creature and plant has to protect itself."

A blue jay swooped in front of her and landed beside a nearby rosebush, where the white petals clung to the green stems in a vain hope of surviving the coming winter. An errant gust caught the petals and freed them from their grip, the delicate blossoms tumbling to the ground.

Tommy squirmed in her arms, and his eyes scrunched up, ready to start wailing. "Tommy, baby, please." Fussing over the child, Emily started walking toward the house.

"I'm glad you found time for a walk outside."

Emily looked up quickly at the familiar voice. "You're back!"

In short order, a smiling Amy embraced Emily and then confiscated Tommy. The flash of light glinting from her gold chain necklace caught the boy's attention.

Emily propped her fists on her hips in frustration as Tommy stopped screwing up his face to cry and became entranced with the small gold balls spaced on a fine chain around Amy's neck. "How do you do that?"

Amy chuckled and tossed her curls. "It's natural for women to know how to care for children."

"Not for me." Emily swallowed the frustrated panic filling her throat as she paced beside her cousin. Despite Jasmine's assurances, she did not feel as though she would ever be comfortable as Tommy's mother. Mayhap she'd learn from Amy's example if she paid closer attention. They went back inside the house, entering into the dimness from the bright sunlight. "It's time for his afternoon tea, so to speak. Let's change his diaper and then take him to Mary."

"I'll carry him." Amy joggled Tommy in her arms, his eyes widening in surprise. Her laugh floated down the stairwell as they climbed the last few steps. She paused at the top and looked steadily at Emily. "Perhaps he senses you don't want him around."

"Not wanting him has nothing to do with it." Emily crossed her arms and returned Amy's gaze.

"Then why do you keep foisting him on others to care for him?" Amy pried Tommy's fingers from her necklace and waited for Emily to respond.

"I don't." Emily grimaced, remembering her conversation with Samantha earlier. "Perhaps I have, but he's not my son. I try to ignore the resentment that my sister didn't live to rear her own child. She wanted that more than anything else in this world."

"Granted, but plans change," Amy said, her smile weary. "My arms shake from holding Tommy. He's an armful of a little boy, isn't he?"

"Definitely." Emily took Tommy into her arms. She led the way into the bedroom where she expertly swapped the soiled diaper for a pristine one.

"Amazing how you've perfected the task in such a short period of time, Cousin." Amy chuckled and clapped her hands twice. "Well done."

"Fumbling and practice, and lots of both, too." Emily patted the final fold in place and picked up Tommy, who cooed and burbled in response. "Come along, little one, time for supper." Pleased by Amy's compliment, she grinned, happiness diffusing through her. "If you're hungry, we can grab a snack as well."

Amy bobbed her head in eager agreement. They deposited the boy with Mary and soon sat together at the dining table. Autumn sun filtered through the lace curtains, dappling the worn floor boards.

The chores associated with caring for an infant seemed never ending. Emily thanked the good Lord for her slaves' assistance. This experience made her even more aware of how the forced limitations on a girl's education prevented learning necessary skills, such as direct knowledge of how to treat wounds and book learning about government, history, and nature studies needed to share with her children.

Emily felt unprepared for either aspect of her life.

Hmm, that thought could be spun into an essay. She'd need to ponder the subject more when she had time to think on it, while puttering in the garden or dipping candles.

"I met General Greene while I was away." Amy spread apple butter on her corn muffin.

"What was he like?" Emily bit into a slice of apple, juice dribbling down her chin. She dabbed her face with a linen napkin to remove the sticky rivulet.

"He personally thanked us for the cloth and boots."

"Is he as kind as they say?"

"Yes, quite the gentleman," Amy said. "His gratitude made me feel like we really helped. And..." She paused for effect, eyes gleaming.

"Must I beg?" Emily leaned forward.

Shaking her head, Amy grinned. "And he said they will retake the town whether or not the peace treaty is signed. Either peaceably when the British evacuate, or by force if necessary."

"How much more of this waiting must we endure?" Reclining against the hard-back chair, Emily sighed. "It's interminable. I cannot even recall life prior to the start of this war."

"Seems like it's been all my life instead of half of it," Amy agreed.

"How long will you stay in town this time?"
Please say you'll be around to help me through this nonsensical courtship farce.

"Not long, I'm afraid. Mother asked me to help her again. Alone this time."

Emily stared in horror at her cousin, her personal interests pushed aside. "Must you? What if you're caught?"

"I won't be." Amy prepared another corn muffin and took a delicate bite. "I'll wear my widest skirts so they won't see anything I tuck underneath. I've already sewed a few things into the waist. I'll be fine."

"What will you take?" The sentries searched the wagons and carriages with swords, spearing into piles of clothing, looking for people trying to escape the confines of the town without proper passes. More than one smuggler had suffered death on the spot.

"General Greene said they need whatever lead we have to make ammunition," Amy whispered, casting around to ensure no one overheard. "But keep that to yourself."

"Oh, Amy," Emily breathed. "Please be careful."

Amy patted Emily's hand in reassurance. "I've watched how Mother does this. I'm sure I'll have no problems at all."

Emily's instincts quivered despite her cousin's calm assurance.

* * *

"Equal education indeed. Why does a young girl need formal education?"

The question, more of a declaration actually, made Emily look up from her weaving. The ladies gathered in the upstairs parlor of Aunt Lucille's house, but this time indulged in more talking than sewing. She'd been silently composing her next essay, one forming around the radical idea of how women should be able to represent their own interests and even sign contracts, when the woman's voice broke through her thoughts. Frank had grumbled about the essay in question but held to their deal. She listened to the ensuing conversation with interest.

Darlene Walters stumped her way across the parlor, her long skirts rustling with each step. Her opinions always seemed to enjoy the force of fact among the townswomen. Whatever she said guided the others. Change in such an atmosphere became hopeless, because the other women acted like sheep instead of individuals. The situation rankled Emily's nerves. How could they fall into step so easily with one person's point of view? Surely their brains functioned independently.

"Wh-y, Dar-lene, just like that lil ol' paper said, so's they can teach their younguns how to be proper citizens." Fanny Norris, a petite woman sitting to Emily's right, set her chair rocking, her painted fan waving before her face. A newcomer to the town after her husband's death at the battle at Cowpens early last year, she spent all her effort supporting the aims of the patriots and spoiling those of the British. Across her lap lay an unfinished shirt, its left sleeve dangling. Her southern drawl infused the atmosphere, painting smiles on the other ladies' faces.

"It's such a grand idea for our new country," another woman added. "Don't you agree?"

With all her heart.
Emily paid close attention to the discussion, though she made a show of passing the flying shuttle back and forth, and tapping the weft thread snuggly into place after each pass. The rhythmic motion of weaving provided a steady beat as background to the ladies' conversation.

"The men sure do not like the concept of girls knowing as much as boys, I can tell you." Aunt Lucille continued spinning as she spoke, barely glancing up to gauge reaction.

"It's about time somebody had the gumption to state things as they are." Samantha pulled a needle through the finely woven linen shirt in her lap, her stitches evenly spaced, before looking up at the other women. "Girls have been denied a proper education for far too long."

"What's she afraid of, then, that she doesn't put a real name on the article?" Mrs. Walters gripped the arms of her chair and leaned toward Samantha. "Nobody's ever heard of Penny Marsh."

A nervous chill crawled up Emily's arms as she listened to them discuss her essay, hearing their views of the thoughts she had committed to paper. My goodness, they even debated the points in her essay. A glow spread through her, chasing away the chill. Glancing around the small circle of five women, a response to the stepped-up surveillance the British soldiers employed searching out spies and patriots even as they prepared to evacuate the city, Emily tried to determine if anyone suspected her as the mysterious writer.

"We-ell, I think the lass is smarter than you's give her credit for," Mrs. Norris said. "She knows to keep her true self hidden so she's not persecuted by this town."

Afraid to remain silent in case they suspected she did indeed hide something, Emily said, "Who is to say it's not a man using a woman's name?"

Laughter met her suggestion. Emily's neck and cheeks warmed but she kept her hands busy with the shuttle and her feet moving on the treadles. Still, she must leave it an open question.

"A man?" Mrs. Walters harrumphed and shook her dark curls. "Why would a man pretend to be a woman? Who ever heard of such a thing?"

"If the author wanted to remain a secret," Samantha said, glancing at Emily, "what better way than to pretend to be of the opposite sex? No one would suspect him, if so." She knotted the thread and bit off the end, her gaze taking in the ladies watching her.

Mrs. Walters sat back in her chair and looked at Samantha. "I still say
whoever
it is has no business stirring up trouble when we have hope this war is finally drawing to an end. Must we now battle between the men and women of our town?"

"'Tis an old battle, Mrs. Walters, although not a visible one," Samantha said.

Emily nodded, pleased Samantha defended her opinion without revealing who wrote the essay. Emily dared not share with any of these ladies the true identity of Penny Marsh, for fear she'd be ostracized from the group and by extension the town. For a lady of her status, propriety forbade her to sink to the level of printing her thoughts in a common broadside. These women had provided her support and comfort during the trials of the war, the loneliness of her brothers being away, the fears for their safety. Even during Elizabeth's pregnancy and subsequent illness, they had stayed stalwart in attention and caring. Emily meant to change the town's opinion regarding the proper roles for women, even if it meant facing the possibility of being shunned for her views. First, she wanted to have her say, then she'd step from the shadows into the sunlight.