“The marriage would settle both of you down,” Aunt Elizabeth continued as if Rowena’s horrified expression meant nothing. “When the war is won, James will farm the land. I hope we will have our property returned, then we’ll gift you several acres. You’d do well enough together.”
Rowena unwound her tongue. She’d never consent to this. Her aunt must be sipping laudanum. “No, no. I think that would—”
“Sister. I must object.” Father leaned forward, his face vexed. “That is a, do forgive me, very inappropriate suggestion. On such an important topic, you should have spoken to me in private first. I hesitate at such a match.”
“Thank you, Father.” Rowena turned to her aunt. “I’m sorry, Auntie, but I have no desire to marry James, or to marry at all for the time-being.” She stood, her cheeks burning. The toast she’d eaten churned in her stomach.
“Rowena, please stay.” Aunt Elizabeth fingered the chatelaine that hung from her waist, the piece where keys and other items jingled—now they had no housekeeper—then she gripped her hands in her lap, glancing at her brother. “Robert, I was only… You’re right, I should have consulted you. How remiss of me.” She sighed, eyes lowered. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I heard noises that interrupted my slumber.”
Rowena started. “Dear Aunt, I’ve explained. I had Anne doing extra duties. That’s why I mention the pay increase. If we can manage that, Father.” She knew she rambled and twice smoothed her skirt. “Now, I must—check on my pony. The poor thing has been neglected. No more marriage talk, please. If you’ll excuse me?”
“Yes, my dear. We’ll speak later.” Father nodded, his gaze troubled, as he sipped his tea.
She prayed that he would remain steadfast. Eligible men were difficult to come by these days, but—never James! She’d no attraction to him and couldn’t think of him in that way. He was like a third older brother, the most annoying of them. And now she didn’t trust him.
Besides, she refused to marry until she was older, much older. The war would be done, her world no longer entrenched in uncertainty.
Picking up her skirts, Rowena hustled out the rear parlor, and down the corridor toward the front door.
Out in the fresh air, she sucked in breaths. Then she worried she’d left her father and aunt alone to decide her fate, and Father might dither. Why had she so little control over her own life?
Women were considered weak, flighty, and needing the stalwart guidance of men. But who made these assertions? Who started the war? She gritted her teeth. Stubborn, pompous men.
Other females demanded rights men wanted to deny to them. Rowena recalled the book The Medley by Englishwoman Jane Gomeldon. The author had fled her cruel husband around 1740, lived life as a man for a time, then championed women’s education, their rights to dress as men, and choose lovers. Mrs. Gomeldon had died the previous year, 1779.
The book was given to Rowena by her governess, a strong-minded woman she still missed since she’d retired three years past. She’d told Rowena she was too quick-witted, too outspoken—she’d said it as a compliment—but to remember that intelligent women were seldom appreciated and must use other means to get their way.
Father had little idea Rowena read such books, though her mother had encouraged her.
With a huff of resolve, Rowena rounded the house and crept through the rear door, up the bare, narrow servants’ stairs, and into her room. From under her bed she dragged out the shirt and breeches she’d worn the previous night. Snatching her sewing box from her dresser, she returned outside the same way, glanced over her shoulder, then headed for the stable.
She glanced at the burnt building nearby, the dairy where she’d once helped with their small cheese production, when they had cows. Rebels had stolen the cows and set fire to the structure last year.
The fields around the farm lay fallow, where once they’d grown oats as feed; but the laborers had deserted them. And Andrew and William’s absence added to their struggle and her worries.
She entered the stable. The redolent scent of hay enveloped her. The empty stalls where their confiscated horses had once resided increased her muddle.
She set down the items she’d carried in. Lily and Trent snorted at her. She stroked both their silky noses. And patted the bony nag that pulled their cart; the animal’s hot breath caressed her hand. “Sam, are you here?”
A moment later footsteps from the back. “Aye.” He came out, a pitchfork in his hand, blond hair loose. “Hope we’re not goin’ to town this night. Not after that blackguard almost cut your throat, Miss.”
She tried not to quiver, reliving that. “But he must be a Loyalist, or he wouldn’t have let us go.” She sat on a stool and opened her sewing box. Her mind needed activity to calm it. Was the dark stranger also leery of James, and that’s why he’d lurked outside the tavern? “I will speak to James as soon as I see him. He can’t be the traitor I worry he might…” She met Sam’s scrutiny. “I also thank you for traveling with me.”
Sam forked hay into the animals’ stalls. “I couldn’t let you go alone. Didn’t believe you’d go inside the tavern. But your roamin’ gets me out an’ about.”
She suspected that his family had scant care of which side of the war to champion; they were too busy trying to survive. She better understood such struggle now.
Lily snuffled through her food. Trent glanced down as if such fodder was beneath his effort. A carrot or apple would do better, but Cook had little to spare.
After three attempts, Rowena threaded a needle. “I proved you wrong, didn’t I, by going in? I will try to tighten these clothes even more. I suppose I rushed the first time. I must look more the part.” Other male garments, her brothers’ old clothes, were stowed in trunks in the attic. She planned to go through those again, for something smaller. Mother had saved them for the poor, but never got around to doling out the clothing.
Sam grinned and leaned on the pitchfork. “Sewin’? The girl in you comes out, aye?”
“Can’t I be a girl, a female, and a soldier for the king? It’s not fair I must choose.” She dragged the shirt into her lap and turned it inside out. “Now my aunt is anxious for me to marry.”
“Mrs. Atherton wants you safe, cared for, Miss.” Sam set aside the pitchfork and picked up a broom.
“I intend to care for myself.” She jammed the needle in and out, the thread clumsily bunching the material. She didn’t wish to be a man’s servant, shut up in a house, and bored. “Women have done that, forged their own way. And if couples marry, men should be our partners in the union, not masters.”
Sam swept the broom across the dirt floor, forming stray stalks of hay into a pile. “I know you’re clever, an’ brave. You wouldn’t do well with a master. I’d pity the man.”
“Well, there’s slight fear of that. No one will force me to wed.” Rowena cringed, thinking of her cousin. She tightened the shirt’s left side to better fit, knotted the thread, rummaged for her scissors, and snipped it off. She held up the shirt. “Oh drat, this still looks terrible.” She switched the garment to the right side.
“Aye, I see you have no skill, as you said.” He laughed.
The material heaped in her lap, she smirked. “Thank you very much. I supposed I never tried hard to learn. I’m better at shooting pistols. We need to practice some more.”
“If I has the time.” Sam gave her a teasing smile.
She almost asked him if he was overworked, since their older stable hand had ‘vanished’ a week ago—to join the revolutionaries no doubt. But then with fewer horses to tend…
A bird rustled in the rafters. She glanced up at the loft, remembering happier times, games with her brothers. Were they safe down in Charles Town? From what she’d garnered, their British forces had fired heated shot from cannon into the waterfront, burning several buildings. Then the rebels had surrendered the city.
She sighed. “I used to play in here as a child. When being a lady didn’t matter so much.”
“We all must grow older, Miss.” He winked at her.
“I’d still like a choice in how I do that.” She must formulate her next plan, even if she risked running into Black Devil again. “If I need to go back into town, to the—”
Hoof beats outside made them both look toward the stable entrance. Rowena snapped shut her sewing box, stuffed the shirt under her thigh, and kicked the breeches beneath her skirt.
James rode in and dismounted.
“Rowena, what are you doing out here?” He led in his horse, Billy; the one he’d managed to keep by hiding the beast away from plundering soldiers. His clothes were covered in dust. “Bothering the help, are you?”
“I’m visiting Lily.” She had trouble meeting his gaze, repelled by what her aunt had suggested.
“Good day, sir.” Sam continued to sweep where it no longer required sweeping.
“You should stay inside, near my mother, Ro.” James led his horse to the hay, and the animal began to munch. “I’m certain there is much to do in the house.”
Rowena stiffened in irritation. She slipped off the stool. “And what do you do, James? You disappear for days, yet you’re not in the military. What are you up to?”
Sam hurried forward and clutched the horse’s bridle. He flashed her a warning look. “I’ll take Billy to the trough, sir. I’m sure he’s thirsty.”
When James turned from her to say yes to Sam, Rowena stashed her box, breeches and shirt under a loose hay bale.
James stared back at her as Sam led the horse out. Her cousin approached; his shadow slid over her, his tall, lanky form blocking a slash of the entrance light. “I’m sure I don’t know what you imply; don’t be a goose.”
“I take great pains to not be a goose.” She studied him in the chill that inched across her chest. “Just what activities do you involve yourself in? And for whom?”
“For whom? What do you mean by that?” He narrowed his eye to slits in his long face.
She gathered her wits and met his gaze. “You discuss the loyalist cause with Father. You disparage the rebels. But what—”
“You have no reason to inquire into my business.” James leaned down, grimacing. He stank of sweat. “You could put yourself in danger asking such questions.”
“Why are you men so afraid to give women any power or knowledge? We’re not all delicate flowers.” Like his mother, she didn’t say. “You keep us ignorant when we could assist you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His gray eyes turned to storm clouds. “As a girl, most of whom are feeble-minded, you’re useful for breeding and keeping a house in order. Think of your future. You step on a precarious line here.”
Rowena struggled not to slap him. She’d never heard such mean words from him before. Yet she’d not allow him to intimidate her. “What do you do at night, out in the woods with a stranger, and drinking with Mr. Long at the Bachmann Publick House?”