Love’s Betrayal (3 page)

She listened and took note of a few patriots who held the qualities of leaders, all the while praying she could again be of assistance to the cause.

In the past, Papa had attempted to take the middle ground, as though they were Quakers who dared not take up arms. But even before they left Boston, she saw him lean heavily toward the patriot cause. The incident at Mr. Taylor's blacksmith shop was the turning point.

In Chesterfield, Papa often left the house in the evening and didn't return until quite late. Mama fretted constantly, and once Delight heard them arguing about the war efforts when he returned. She quickly assessed her father had joined the revolutionary cause and wanted to enlist in the Continental army. However, Mama stood her ground and insisted he remain in his trade.

“We have no sons, Elijah,” Mama had whispered through a ragged breath. “If we did, then one of them could take over the cooper business.”

“Would you deny me the privilege of fighting for freedom?”

Silence permeated the house.

“My dear husband, I love you with all my heart. Is it so wrong for me to want you unharmed?” Mama's tears stabbed at Delight's heart. She understood her mother's sentiments and her father's longing.

“Freedom is always purchased with a price. I am not afraid to sacrifice my life so that our grandchildren will live without the tyranny of England.”

“And deny our unborn child a father?”

Papa did not reply. The only sound came from Mama's muffled sobs. This baby was their eighth child, hopefully a boy for Papa.

Delight felt her own eyes sting. Frustration dug at her senses. At least in Boston she could do her part, possibly enough for Papa's share. When the war for independence was won, she would tell him of the many times she had relayed messages to the patriots.

One of their new neighbors, Abby Rutherford, had brought a loaf of bread and a cheery welcome when they first arrived. She and her husband had two sons the ages of Mercy and Hope and seemed cordial enough until Mistress Rutherford mentioned her intense dislike of the patriots.

“We are of the mind that liberty is the utmost course for our country,” Mama had said with a smile.

Mistress Rutherford stiffened and moved toward the door. “I am dismayed at how you feel about King George. He is our established king. I certainly hope you soon come to your senses.”

Mama wiped her hands on her apron and stepped ahead of the woman to the door. “Thank you for the bread, Mrs. Rutherford. If you think a pompous, selfish man across the Atlantic cares about anything other than lacing his pockets with our money, then you have lost
your
senses.”

Mrs. Rutherford stomped out, red-faced. Mama whirled around and faced her daughters. “We women may not carry muskets and bayonets, but we can surely sear the Tories' hearts with the truth. Remember, the truth shall set us free.”

Henry fought loyally for the British. Not once did he regret his enlistment, knowing at the end of the rebellion, he would live out his days in the colonies. He spent the winter of 1776–77 in Canada, fighting bitter cold and hunger from rationed provisions. He didn't mind the vigorous training, for he acquired strength and a disciplined will about him. Pride and determination clothed him more securely than the white wool coat issued to keep him warm. He had made splendid friends. One in particular, Adam Bennett, had been drafted from a poverty-stricken area of London. In him, Henry found a kindred spirit.

On May 6, 1777, soon after the St. Lawrence River had thawed enough to allow passage, General John Burgoyne arrived in Quebec. Pleased with the training of his regular troops, Burgoyne set June 13 as the date to launch a massive campaign designed to free New York and the surrounding areas from the patriots.

“I heard the captain talking last night,” Adam said. He polished a black powder smudge from his musket before continuing. “Quite admirable of us, I might say. The captain said military brilliance had emerged from the Canadian forces.”

“Aye, Adam. I'm pleased. What else did he say?”

Adam leaned closer, staring down his long, pointed nose. “General Burgoyne said with the British right wing division under Major General Phillips and the German left wing division under Major General Baron von Riedesel, we are indeed an impressive and disciplined force.”

“I'm proud. This war will soon be ended, and we can all go about our business.”

On June 13, twenty-eight ships and several bateaux headed across Lake Champlain toward Fort Ticonderoga, where the hastily retreated Continental forces gave the British success. The campaign continued, and Henry's optimism that the war would be quickly won gave way to endless fighting, following a long, grueling overland wilderness trail to Fort Edward. Henry faced fatigue and discontent in a land he had once believed was his destiny. He despised the rebel movement and vowed they all should be shot or hung for defying King George.

Just north of Albany, New York, at Stillwater, the fighting grew steadily worse. The Americans were proving to be a fighting force of their own.

Henry heard the order to advance. Gripping his musket, he charged forward amid the blinding smoke. The cries of wounded men and the blasts of gunfire spiraled terror through his body.

“Henry!” Adam shouted.

He turned to see his friend fall into bush and thorns.
Dear God, no!
Henry rushed to Adam's side and pulled him into a clearing. Blood gushed from his friend's chest and onto his uniform. Henry covered the wound with his hand, staring in horror at the crimson river flowing between his fingers.

“Let me bandage you.” He looked for help, but his compatriots were involved in heavy fire. He saw another soldier fall.

“Spare yourself,” Adam whispered. “Thank …” He breathed his last.

Henry held his friend a moment longer, not certain what he should do. The idea of abandoning Adam seemed cruel. A moment later white-hot pain seared his upper leg. He grabbed the torn flesh and viewed the flow of blood oozing between his fingers. This time it belonged to him. A moan escaped his lips, and he fell beside the lifeless figure of his friend. Conscious of the battle going on around him, he continued to fire his weapon until blackness overtook him.

August 1777

“I saw Connor Randolph staring at you after worship yesterday,” Charity said with a smile. “He is quite handsome.”

“He's a Tory,” Delight said. “I would rather cut off my right arm than look his way.”

Charity's eyes widened, and the conversation seized the attention of Remember, Faith, and Patience.

“You should not say such things,” sixteen-year-old Remember said. Known for her devotion to biblical teachings, she would most likely be reciting scripture in the next breath. “‘But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you.' ” She lowered her lashes in reverence.

Delight fought the anger rising inside her. Crossing her arms, she stiffened to do battle with her sister using a piece of scripture from the Psalms. “‘I have pursued mine enemies, and destroyed them; and I turned not again until I consumed them. And I have consumed them, and wounded them, and that they could not arise; yea, they are fallen under my feet.' ”

“How can you say such things when our Lord directed us to love our enemies?” Remember touched her heart.

“Watch me,” Delight said. “I shall stitch those verses onto a sampler.”

“Hush, you two.” Charity's normally pale cheeks heightened in color.

Why did her sister even bother with peacemaking effort? After all, Charity had started the disagreement with her reference to a Tory casting his hideous glances Delight's way.

I must calm down.
Considering her position in the family, Delight fought her desire to produce more rebuttals. “Forgive me for upsetting you. I simply have decided opinions about those loyal to England.”

“I agree with her,” Patience said, a rarity, given her timid nature. “Here in Chesterfield, our lives are quiet, but do you remember the soldiers in Boston? Have you forgotten how they arrested our friends?” She smoothed her apron, then toyed with a wayward strand of hair.

Wise thinking, Patience.
Delight hugged her sister's shoulders. “Let's not quarrel, sisters. We have seen and heard enough about the war. We all want it to cease. For me, I cannot fathom an end until we are free of the British.” When she saw the dismayed look on Remember's face, she touched her cheek. “You have heard Papa say he wants to fight. I know your heart.”

Remember wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded.

The idea of Papa enlisting frightened them all, and Delight understood that each of her sisters responded differently.

“Quarreling will not make things better,” Charity said, her tone soft as a whisper.

“And I'm quick to argue and state how I feel,” Delight said. “I am the oldest, and I need to set a better example.”

“Is it so wrong to want everyone to live as Jesus wants?” Remember said.

“No, not at all,” Delight said. “Unfortunately, it is impossible when we are all so sinful. And what of us? We are a loving, Christian family, and we constantly quarrel with each other.” Delight glanced into each sister's face and silently prayed.
Oh Lord, please keep my family safe and help me to love them more.

“I don't love the soldiers or the Tories,” Patience said, her attention focused on the wooden floor of their home.

Charity reached for Remember's hand. “We will all try harder and pray more for each other and for the end of the war.”

A week later, Delight still pondered that day's conversation with her sisters. She punched down the bread she was kneading, added more flour, and worked it into the dough. Baking bread had a way of diminishing her problems and unanswered questions—especially when she slapped the dough against the table.

Just this past Sunday, the minister at their meetinghouse had spoken against the patriots. He even held a special prayer service for those loyalist lads who had enlisted to fight with the British—the detestable Connor Randolph included. Papa, Uncle Matthew, and a few other men vehemently protested, stating the same should be done for those enlisting in the Continental army, but the minister refused.

“My household will no longer be associated with this meetinghouse,” Papa announced, his voice booming above the mild-natured minister.

“My wife and I included.” Uncle Matthew stood beside Papa.

“You are speaking against the king,” Connor Randolph's father said. He rose to his feet and clutched the pew in front of him. “You and your patriot friends will be punished for your treason.”

“Anyone who shares in our beliefs that freedom is worth any price is welcome.” With those words, Papa nodded to Mama, and all of the Butlers left the building.

As Delight considered these events, she remembered her determination to love her family more and help keep them safe. Often she reasoned God had made a mistake by not making her a boy. She prayed for God to use her for His purposes, and she could not stop entreating Him to give the patriots victory and freedom for their land.