Emily's Vow (29 page)

"Amen. God be with you," Reverend Jenkins finally intoned.

"And with you," the congregation responded, minus Emily's voice.

She glanced at Frank and back to her father. Amy stood up, catching Emily's eye. Emily made to leave the pew, but Frank laid a hand on her arm.

"Easy, girl," Frank said in a whisper. "The rector will think you didn't enjoy the sermon."

"He'd be correct," Emily muttered, pretending to adjust her Sunday bonnet.

"Frank, wait." Benjamin stood and reached out to catch Frank's arm.

Emily stopped and turned to look up at his striking visage. Frank's fair complexion and golden-blond hair contrasted gloriously with Benjamin's long black hair caught in a queue with a black bow at the end. Another time, perhaps, she might even be attracted to him. Well, if not for his self-assurance verging on arrogance. Besides, Amy would have her hide if she looked at him wrong. She'd been smitten with him since she turned fourteen years old.
Hmmm.
Perhaps Amy no longer wished to marry because Benjamin had absconded to fight in the war. Without even a note saying good-bye. He'd been gone, goodness, nearly three years now.

He had not changed to the point of being a stranger, but he'd definitely changed. He appeared harder, the boyish glint in his eyes replaced with a cynical light hinting at the horrors he must have witnessed. Her imagination painted images of gashes, gunshots, and blood flowing. She tried to envision what he had experienced but suspected the reality stretched beyond anything in her relatively safe and secure world.

"Are you in a rush?" Frank asked him now. "Mayhap you'd like to walk with us as I escort Miss Emily home?"

"You, an escort?" Benjamin's eyes widened before he laughed. "I thought you'd been promoted to newsman."

Frank glared at him, allowing his stern look to melt into a grin and a wink. "Somebody has to do it. Join us?"

Benjamin assented as he indicated for Emily to precede them down the stone paved aisle and out of the sanctuary. Chivalry obviously had not breathed its last, but she hoped they both understood that just because she walked in front of them did not mean they could push her in the direction they wanted her to go. She had spent her entire life trying to prove herself to her brothers, let alone her father. Her brothers at least accepted her as their intellectual, if not physical, equal. They'd spent many a night debating the possibilities for the outcome of this blessed war for independence. The three brothers could not be kept from the battlefield. They fiercely believed in the philosophical attitude that the Continental Congress took when they declared the fledgling country's independence in 1776. She'd been nineteen years old, then, six years ago, but the day stood out in her memory. As the three strolled toward the back of the church, Emily reviewed the many events she had witnessed leading up to the impending peace treaty soon to free her town.

The town meeting crier had summoned the residents to the Old Exchange in the square. The first day of August dragged on, hot and humid, and the townspeople made it clear they did not stand united on independence. Her adored brothers, Ethan, Bill, and Luke, had teased her about her lack of instruction and vowed she learn how the various forms of government functioned. Then she'd be capable of understanding why the Americans abhorred King George's taxes.

The announcement that the Continental Congress had declared their independence "in order to form a more perfect union" prompted the majority of the audience to cheer. Several men, though, removed themselves from the meeting. Ethan, the gentlest and kindest of her three brothers, explained that the angry men didn't believe in the revolution and vowed to fight on the side of the British dictator. She had cheered right along with her brothers, rejoicing in the sense of shared purpose and possibilities. Cannons boomed salutes along the Cooper. Little did she foresee the war would take her brothers away for months, now years, at a time with little or no word.

The battle for Sullivan's Island in the summer of 1776 had sent terror through the town. Many men had sent their wives and children to the country, fearing the British warships crowding Charles Town's harbor meant to take the city. Emily and Elizabeth refused their father's request to leave while their brothers stayed behind to defend the town and the palmetto log fort on Sullivan's Island. Though he was not pleased, they had stood resolute, and he grudgingly accepted their decision.

The slaves throughout the town had been ordered to strip the lead ornaments from buildings to melt into bullets. The fear had eased with the arrival of Major General Charles Lee, the American commander in chief of the Southern Department, and his several hundred Continentals. Fortunately Emily's father successfully argued against the razing of their house along with several other dwellings in order to create a wider angle for the cannon fire. Then the whole town, collective breaths held, had waited for the imminent attack, which finally erupted on the twenty-eighth day of June. Clouds of smoke hovered over the men defending Sullivan's Island from inside the fort. The sound of the many cannons combined into one continual roar, like a fearsome dragon belching flame and smoke.

Later they learned the men had teetered dangerously low on powder and shot. Only their superior marksmanship allowed them to prevail over the British ships. At nightfall, the cannons had finally stopped. The battle ended with the British ships badly battered and scores of men dead on their decks. General Lee subsequently praised the defenders to George Washington himself.

"Good day, Frank, Benjamin," a man now called from in front of the sanctuary, bringing her out of her reverie. "I need a word with both of you, if you don't mind." The tall, lanky man's clothes hung on his frame, his pale eyes fairly glowing in the dim light of the room. His appearance echoed the myriad sacrifices in food and clothing made by the town.

"One moment, sir." Frank turned and smiled at Emily. "I'll catch up with you outside, all right, dear?"

Her heart fluttered at the endearment, but this was not the place to call more attention to the intimate reference. She struggled to control her expression as Benjamin strode past them without a word, his eyes serious. Frank turned his wayward glance back to Emily's smile.

"Leaving me stranded to fight my way out of here, are you?" Emily kidded him. At his surprised look, she laughed. "Go on, I'll manage."

"You're sure?" He glanced over his shoulder to where his friend waited.

Amy drew her attention, indicating for Emily to wait for her. Emily waved her hand to shoo Frank away. "Go on. I wish to speak with Amy in any case."

"Right. See you in a few minutes then." He lightly gripped her upper arms and made her look at him. "I'll be right there with Benjamin if you need anything. Do not leave without me, understood?"

"Yes, sir." She mock saluted him before he turned and walked away.

Amy caught up with Emily as she began to press forward to make her way from the church.

"I only have a moment to tell you the news." Amy clasped Emily in a brief hug. "I just heard from Father that Frank's house may be surrendered back to the town soon."

"Frank will be very glad to hear such news," Emily replied slowly. She should be happy for him, knowing he longed for his property to be returned. But he'd move out of her father's house and he'd probably move Tommy with him. Then she wouldn't be able to watch the boy grow, to teach him all the little things she wanted to share with him. She'd be just an aunt he saw on occasion.

She should be pleased. It's what she had wanted all along. Really. But the joy failed to follow.

"Maybe not right away," Amy said. "I'm sure the royal governor will concoct some excuse as to why Frank cannot possibly have his home back. Still, surely it bodes well that things are working out, the war actually nears an end."

"God be praised, I hope so," Emily replied. Even if it did mean Frank's absence and the uncomfortable void he'd leave behind. Perhaps it may not happen for some time from the sound of it. "Did you see Benjamin?"

"I'm grateful he did not turn to speak to me." Amy tied her bonnet strings and smiled. "Mayhap he will continue to refrain from doing so."

"His earlier comments do not support your hopes." Emily hugged her cousin. "But if you wish to believe so, then I cannot stop you."

"I must go." Amy gave her another quick hug. "I'll visit you tomorrow."

With that, she wound her way through the thinning crowd. A wave to Frank and Benjamin and Amy disappeared through the door into the bright sunlight shining outside. Benjamin's gaze followed her out of the church. Emily sighed and continued her slower pace to the door, giving Frank time to finish his business with the two men talking quietly with him. She paused to survey the folks remaining inside the building, aware of their gauntness and worried faces even on a glorious Sunday morning.

"I'll wager he's hung for his troubles," a gruff voice murmured over her shoulder, startling her. She could not see who spoke behind her, but the voice sounded familiar.

"He's sly. He'll manage," another gravelly voice responded.

This one, though, she recognized. Mr. Reynolds had commented on this man and his "troubles." Emily glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the two men. The first man she did not know, his shoulders half turned away as he spoke to Mr. Reynolds. Years of hard work on the plantation and the shipyards led to Mr. Reynolds' oversize, muscular arms and body straining his clothing.

"Aye, he's smart, he is. Still, I think the word is out that the good captain is—"

"Quiet," Mr. Reynolds whispered. "Not here. The Reverend approaches."

Emily missed the remainder of their conversation.
Fiddlesticks.
Which captain did they refer to? She knew of only a handful of captains left in town. Some out on a voyage, others who had fled the besieged city.

She stilled, contemplating the threads of overheard conversations and accompanying looks that finally wove into a tapestry in her mind.

Surely not. Not her father. Everyone knew of his honesty and fairness. He'd not be involved in anything illegal, let alone a hanging offense. Why, they'd only hang a man if he killed somebody, an absurdity for a man such as her father.

Or committed treason.

A chill swept through her.

What did the other man say, something about her father possibly privateering? Could it be? Samantha's warning floated in her memory.
No
. Surely not. She tied her bonnet and resisted shaking her head in disbelief. Her father never lied.
Ever
. He stood as straight as a pillar of righteousness, unshaken by what others wanted him to do for their own ends. There to protect his town, his family. He believed in this country even more than he believed in the sanctity of the church and family.

Her steps faltered, and she raised a hand to her throat to prevent the thoughts from forming into spoken words.

"Emily? Are you all right?" Frank appeared at her side, his hand supporting her elbow in an instant. After a quick, appraising glance, he steered her to a pew reserved for the orphanage children and made her sit down. "What is the matter?"

Her thoughts spun in her head. She forced herself to take deep, slow breaths and not blurt her fears. Not here. Not in this crush of pious townspeople. They did not deserve to learn the man they believed upright and honest actually lived a duplicitous life. She couldn't let them discover the truth. It would ruin him.

A sudden thought formed in her mind, one she quickly acknowledged as the truth.

She was the only person in town who did not know her father ran the blockade and defied the king of England. That he not only stole from a king but did so in a time of war. Her heart stuttered at the recognition of her father's peril. This was the purpose behind the trip he took recently. Obviously, if these two men knew, before long the British would identify him. Then the arrest and ultimate hanging. Mere months after Elizabeth's death. While her brothers fought the same war elsewhere. Was this what John had hinted at that night on the street?

If her father died, she'd have lost both parents as well as her sister.

Panic threatened, ripping her in two like a blade through a tapestry. Her heart raced, shaking the lace edging her cuffs and her neckline. She must pull herself together and not let this overwhelm her. Surely her father wouldn't risk leaving her alone, living in a city besieged by the enemy. She must know for certain before she confronted her father with her suspicions. But how? First she needed the answers she sought, the evidence to prove him innocent.

Or guilty, a little voice nagged.

She straightened her shoulders. Only one place came to mind.

His shop.

She needed the ledgers. She knew how much it took to provide for the household, and if the accounts didn't measure up, she'd ask Father for an explanation. That seemed reasonable. She'd go to the office and look at his records. Of course, in order to avoid upsetting him if she was wrong, she'd do so without his knowledge. A quick glimpse at the ledger would settle the matter once and for all. The men may have been wrong, misinformed.

Or correct and her father could die.

"Emily?" Frank's gray eyes centered on hers. "What is ailing you?"

She smiled her biggest smile. "I need a favor."

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