Timewatch (23 page)

The men were no less gorgeous in their powdered wigs, white stockings, tight-fitting breeches, and coats with lace ruffles at the cuffs. They also wore foils, which were dress swords.

Now the crowd was parting and all of them were staring, not at her, but at the man she had been dancing with. Who was he? The Duke of Gloucester, who was visiting Metz with his wife and daughter, was the answer that swam into her consciousness. She was at a ball given in his honor. Even though the duke had parted on bad terms with his brother, George III of England, who was upset that the duke had married an illegitimate woman whose mother had made hats for a living, the French still honored the fact that Gloucester was royalty.

Now Lafayette was hurrying over to her. He bowed low to the duke and said, “My thanks, Your Royal Highness, for your assistance to my wife.”

“My pleasure …”

Comte Francois de Broglie, who had appeared out of the crowd, came up to them and said smoothly, “May I present the Marquis de Lafayette. His father was a colonel under my command in several campaigns, and now his son is a captain under my command here in Metz. He will be coming tomorrow to the dinner I am giving in your honor.”

“I look forward to your presence there,” said Gloucester.

“I would not miss it for the world, Your Royal Highness,” said Lafayette, bowing low.

Gloucester smiled and turned away to speak to de Broglie.

In a low voice Lafayette said, “You have exerted yourself too much, Adrienne. Let us go out on the terrace.” Taking her arm, he led her out onto a marble terrace where the fragrance of flowers in tall urns perfumed the night.

“I am feeling better now,” said Laney.

“Perhaps you should not have come.”

Laney stiffened, then turned away from Lafayette. Just when she was getting really fond of him, why was he being so cold to her?

Then she noticed something, a deepening of the darkness. Must be her imagination. She was turning back to face her husband when a shadow sprang silently from behind an urn planted with a small tree. Laney hiked up the skirt of her dress with all its petticoats and tried to kick the intruder in the groin. Good thing her dad had insisted on her taking a self-defense course. But her center of gravity felt off, her kick going to the assailant's knee instead. Her kick must have been pretty pathetic, because instead of falling, the assassin appeared to only stumble briefly. As he flailed out with his hands in order to regain his balance, the knife in his hand went spinning across the marble terrace.

Lafayette spun around and drew his foil, but the intruder was too quick. He cried out,
“Vive la revolution!”
as he leaped over the low wall of the terrace to the lawn with its many fountains below.

Several footmen and officers rushed over to them.

“A revolutionary. He tried to attack me,” said Lafayette. “He was like a snake, too fast for me to run him through.” Pointing to the lawn, he said, “He jumped down there.”

De Broglie took charge. “Alert the guards. Scour the grounds.” Looking at her, he said, “You have taken no ill, madame?”

“I trust not,” said Lafayette, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a look that made her want to stay within his embrace forever. “She is with child.”

So
that
was why he was being so protective of her and had not wanted her to exert herself! Warmth coursed through her. Lucky Adrienne to have such a husband!

Shortly after, she was bundled into a coach and driven to the house Lafayette had rented for their stay in Metz.

The next day, at Lafayette's insistence, she stayed in bed. It wasn't so bad being waited on hand and foot, but it was a little boring with no one to talk to and no television. Adrienne's mother had actually suggested that she write some letters or practice her needlework. No chance of that happening! No girls her age did that any more—not in 1992.

At least Adrienne's dog, Mignon, was there to keep her company. Laney amused herself by teaching Mignon some tricks. The dog was smart and caught on fast. What would Adrienne think when Laney left?

Lafayette had gone out for the day; he was probably drilling the 80 men under him. He returned in the middle of the afternoon and came to her room.

“How are you feeling, dear heart?” he asked, stroking one of her hands.

A quiver of delight went through her. “Very well,” she answered.

“Last night you were like a veritable Minerva.”

Minerva who? Oh, yeah, the Roman goddess of war, among other things. She remembered seeing a picture in history class of the goddess carrying a shield and a spear. Nice of Lafayette to think that she was so brave, but she could never tell him that the reason she had reacted so fast was due to her dad, who had drilled into her the importance of being mindful, aware at all times of what was going on around her. Her Aikido instructor was always harping on the same thing.

“I must go now,
chérie,
and get ready for the dinner tonight. I am glad that you are feeling well, but you must confine yourself to bed,” he added firmly.

He laid a kiss on top of her head and was about to leave when she grabbed his sleeve and pleaded, “When you return, will you visit me and tell me about the dinner?”

If he was astonished at her insistence, he was too well-bred to show it. “As you wish,” he said, caressing her hair, and left.

The afternoon and evening passed agonizingly slowly, but eventually she fell asleep. She was awakened by a light knock on her bedroom door. The candle had guttered out and the room was dark. “Come in.”

Lafayette opened the door and strode over to a table, where he put down the candle he was carrying. The light threw a warm glow over the gold epaulettes on his blue-and-white dress uniform. His face was flushed with wine and excitement. He sat down next to her on the bed and, kissing her on the cheek, asked, “You are feeling better, dear heart?”

She nodded and squirmed around in the enormous four-poster bed as she tried to sit up and make herself more comfortable.

Lafayette was quick to notice and said, “Let me,
chérie,
” as he adjusted the embroidered pillows on the enormous bed.

“So what did the Duke of Gloucester say that has you so excited?” asked Laney, the nearness of her husband sending unaccustomed feelings rioting through her.

Lafayette paused for a moment, then burst out, “I have found my life's purpose. The duke, he told us …”

He mastered his emotion, then went on. “Until today, I have followed the usual path of young men my age, but now my eyes have been opened by this prince among men, who told us about the dispatches he had just received concerning the Americans.”

Too excited to stay still, Lafayette stood up and began pacing. “You must understand, Adrienne,” he said, “that like many a French patriot I have grieved over our loss of New France to Britain on the Plains of Abraham, where our general, the Marquis de Montcalm, was killed.

“Some still blame Montcalm for the loss of our colonies, but I am told that like all good officers, he fought for honor and glory and followed the instructions Versailles gave him to defend Quebec, which was central to the defense of New France.

“But even today—sixteen years later—one wonders why he was not given the requisite number of troops for this defense? And how was he to know that the British under General Wolfe would prove so wily? As a result of this defeat, the Treaty of Paris decreed that France had to give her colonies to Britain.”

Lafayette sat down beside her and continued. “The duke,” he said, “is a most persuasive speaker. He says these Americans have a passion for liberty and freedom. They wish to run their own affairs, not be dictated to by their king. As it is, George III allows them no say in their affairs, taxing them without consent and provoking them by other harsh measures. Adrienne, the Americans need help with troops and money if they are to overcome their masters.”

He paused, looking at her lovingly, and then said quietly, “But it is wrong of me to distress you with these matters. You must rest, for our child's sake, as well as for your own—and mine. Perhaps you do not know how dear to me you have become this past year, particularly when you defended me yesterday from an assassin.”

“And you to me,” murmured Laney, impulsively holding out her arms to her husband. Lafayette hesitated and then began stripping off his uniform.

His eager smile was the last thing she saw as her consciousness began slipping out of Adrienne's body. She knew a brief, intense regret as she gave herself up to the inevitable.

CHAPTER 25

A shove sent J.J. sprawling in the dirt. Grunting, he turned over and stared up into a face streaked with grime.

“Beg pardon for smacking you down, but it would be a pity if a likely lad like yourself were to furnish a scalp for Philip's belt. It were best to lie low like Church said.”

J.J. swallowed the bile that his churning stomach had forced up into his throat. His skin felt prickly, the rough clothing he was wearing chafing him in the heat.

“Uh, thanks, Mr. …”

“Bill Southward, at your service.”

J.J. sneaked a quick look around. He was lying on his stomach near a split rail fence, which enclosed a field of peas. Dense woods lay on one side of him and a river on the other side. Men holding long-barreled flintlocks lay quietly near him. Obviously he was no longer in Little Running Horse's body, but in the body of a young white boy about his own age—Tom Eldridge. Jumbled memories swarmed into his mind: shooting squirrels to give to his mother for a stew; coming out of the woods surrounding his parents' farm only to find Indians burning their farmhouse; his mother screaming as a warrior split his father's skull and then his mother falling to the ground from a blow to her head; and his two small sisters being carried off by an Indian brave on horseback.

All Tom wanted to do after that was to fight the savages who had killed his family.

Two Indians stood up and began walking out of the field. They didn't look much like some of the Indians he'd seen hanging around the grotty hotels on Main Street back in Winnipeg in 1992. These men were tall and looked extremely fit, wearing only loincloths, feathers in their hair, and streaks of paint on their faces and bodies. J.J. swallowed hard. He couldn't, just couldn't, fire on them.

Then the Indians were running, and a plump man was standing up and calling to them.

“We want only to talk to you! We will not hurt you!”

The Indians paid no attention him but just kept coming. One of them turned and fired on the man who wanted to talk to them.

“You treacherous dog!” roared Bill, firing at the Indian, who yelled, clapped a hand to his arm, and then ran into a thicket.

“Up, lad! After Church!”

J.J. leaped up, remembering to take with him the long-barreled gun lying beside him.

The forest was dim and cool under the sheltering branches of oaks and maples that must have been standing before the time of Columbus. The volley of shots directed their way made him realize that this wasn't the time to moon over the scenery. He was surprised to find himself still standing and the men around him apparently unhurt.

As they returned fire, the man whom J.J. now recognized to be Captain Church cried, “Do not fire your guns all at once, or they'll run upon us with their hatchets!”

Feeling totally useless, J.J. turned and ran back with the others to the field of peas.

“Under the fence, lad,” urged Bill, running beside him.

J.J. threw himself down in the field of peas and held his breath. Men were standing up and ramming powder and shot into the barrels of their guns. Now he could see why they hadn't been shot. The enemy only had one chance to knock you off. Then they had to recharge their guns. That gave you time to run away, unless they came at you with hatchets as Church had said they might.

The hill above was swarming with Indians, the sunlight glinting on their weapons.

“They think to gain the advantage by surrounding us,” observed Bill, lying on his stomach beside him. His bulk was comforting to the boy, but his words were not.

“So what do we do?”

“Don't fret, lad. Church has a plan. He always does. A good Christian gentleman, a man of parts, he is. I should know. His sister is my wife.” Looking keenly at him, Bill asked, “You new to the Indian war?”

J.J. nodded uneasily. If Bill only understood how new!

“Then 'tis best you stick with me. Now what would your name be, lad?”

“Tom,” he said. “Tom Eldridge. Sir,” he added belatedly. People seemed to talk awful formal in this time period.

More of Tom's memories started pouring in: joining Church and his men to fight Indians who were burning English settlements; Church making friends of Indians living near his farm before King Philip's War and even during the war and using friendly Indians as scouts and warriors. Church used tactics he'd learned from the Sakonnet warriors he trusted, tactics like slipping through the woods and surprising the enemy, often at night when they least expected it. Church didn't wait for Metacom's forces to attack but attacked first.

They had found fresh Indian tracks that very day that led to Captain Almy's field of peas.

“I'm pleased to meet you, Tom Eldridge. As to our situation here, Church confided in me earlier that there be boats ordered to attend on him. If you look over yonder, I reckon those be the ones.”

J.J. looked in the direction Bill was pointing and noticed for the first time a group of men and horses standing on the other side of the river beside several boats pulled up on the shore.

“Strip to your shirts, men,” bawled Church, lying a few yards away, “so the men across the river know us to be Englishmen!”

Smart idea. The Indians weren't wearing shirts, only the English. J.J. wished that on a hot summer day like this that he could take off his shirt, too.