Rowena peered around the curtain, out the wavy leaded window of Mrs. Odinsell’s cabin. A group of mounted Redcoats accumulated about a hundred feet away. Three days had passed with her hovering over her father, afraid if he became feverish, his wound infected.
“British soldiers are at the trading post.” She bit her lip, anxious to leave, to keep heading south.
“Thank goodness.” Aunt Elizabeth slipped beside her. “Perhaps we can request they escort us to Florida.”
Rowena thought of Chitto’s warning not to reveal whose side they favored—and her own experiences. She turned to her aunt. “I’m sure they are too busy to escort us that far. Besides, we’re not certain of the villagers’ allegiance, so we mustn’t make a show of approaching the soldiers.”
The cabin’s rear door opened, and James stepped inside. “A king’s regiment is here, asking questions, checking loyalties.”
Aunt Elizabeth raised her small, gripped together hands. “Could you arrange a private meeting with whoever is in charge, to request help?”
“Mother, they will demand to know why I’m not in uniform.” James moved close and clasped his mother’s hands in his large ones. “The army is depleted, spread too thin around their colonies; they need men.”
“Oh, all of this is giving me a headache.” She moved away from him. “My life was not supposed to turn out this way. Now, without your father…”
“None of us expected these events to become so severe, Auntie.” All their lives were shattered—many days Rowena felt on the verge of a howl—but they had to find a way to fit in to each changing circumstance.
She glanced across the room to where her father slept. He was recovering nicely thanks to the healer’s ministrations. Father needed more rest, but they must continue their journey soon.
Sam kneeled close to the bed, polishing Father’s and James’ boots with dubbin, made of wax, oil, and tallow. James had purchased this mixture from the post, along with the large iron pot for Chitto’s wife. The oily aroma was a comfort to her, reminding her of home, their farm, Mersheland.
Daphne and Mary sat on the settee, as far apart as possible, mending clothing. They’d barely spoken since Mary had pushed the girl aside at the one tavern.
Their fingers worked needles through fabric at an amazing speed.
“Why didn’t you join the military?” Rowena asked her cousin, her voice low. “Spies are soldiers and sailors, too.”
“At first, I expected to stay close to Easton and therefore Eastern Pennsylvania, for my mother’s sake. If I was in the military I could be sent anywhere, even the West Indies.” James peeked out the window. “And I realize I’ve been rough on you, Ro. I let my worries explode in anger, but I wanted to protect you from your own actions.”
“Though you’ve been a terrible irritant, I sometimes suspected that.” She lightened her tone to a tease and studied him.
James had grown haggard and thinner since learning of his father’s death. His manner was more subdued.
“However, men need to realize that women aren’t children. We are capable.” She wouldn’t mention that his mother wasn’t one of them.
“Remember your escorts into Philadelphia, the Chandlers?” James asked quietly. “I heard whispers that the woman was hanged as a spy. It’s a dangerous occupation.”
She brushed a finger along her throat, then steadied herself. Poor, silly Mrs. Chandler—a ruse that hadn’t worked? God be good to her. “I am sorry to hear that.” Rowena closed the muslin curtains. “Have you heard any more about General Arnold or…Mr. Pritchard?”
“You aren’t fooling me, Ro.” He moved away from the window with a jerk. “I warned you before. Stay away from him. He’s not who you think he is. He’s treacherous and betrayed a woman.” He hissed out his words.
“What do…” She tamped down the question at his glower, though wondered exactly what he meant. Betrayed a woman? No matter, she’d probably never see Derec again. “If the soldiers come here, what should we do?”
“I’ll have to hide to avoid being pressed into service. I intend to see your father and my mother safely to East Florida. And you, too, of course.” James gave her his usual smirk. “I trust that you, with your indomitable manner, will know how to handle the soldiers.”
* * *
A half hour later, Mrs. Odinsell entered the cabin with a basket. “The British army is visiting the village. They might be on my step shortly. You never have mentioned which side you support.”
Rowena exchanged a furtive glance with Father. She sat on the bed’s edge, holding a bowl of soup. Her father, who refused help, spooned in the meaty broth. “It’s often wise to keep any strong opinions to ourselves.”
“We only want a…decent, fair solution, for both patriots and loyalists.” Rowena began not to care who won, only that any peace wouldn’t destroy one or the other.
James, accompanied by Sam, had left the cabin twenty minutes past—to conceal themselves, the mules, and Kayfill.
Mrs. Odinsell reached into her basket and set a pie on the table. “My son’s wife sends this peach pie to you with their compliments.” The sweet, fruity aroma enticed.
Rowena gave a quick smile. “Please, thank them for us.”
“Does Cedar Shoals consider themselves neutral, or otherwise, Mrs. Odinsell?” Father asked in a stronger-sounding voice. He laid the spoon in the empty bowl.
Rowena tensed. She admired her father’s tenacity in speech, and in all he’d endured. But wasn’t caution important now?
“It’s difficult to say, Mr. Marsh.” Mrs. Odinsell almost smiled for the first time. “We are a country torn asunder. I’m inclined to think you are loyalists.”
Aunt Elizabeth and Mary stared from the settee where they played cards—supplied by their hostess, to Rowena’s surprise. Many people thought card-playing a sin.
Daphne was on her knees, scrubbing the cabin’s wood floor with dampened river sand. She slowed and raised her head, swiping a mobcap lappet from her cheek.
Rowena stood with the bowl clutched in her hands. Would this woman evict them? “Again, we would like to see an end to this war. Too many have suffered. Too many have died.”
“I agree.” Mrs. Odinsell cut the pie into slices. “And the colony of Georgia is caught in an unfortunate position from both sides.” Her allegiance remained hidden.
Someone knocked on the door. Aunt Elizabeth started. Rowena put the bowl in a bucket, trying to maintain her composure. They could hardly scoop Father up and rush out the rear of the cabin.
Daphne hopped to her feet, wiped her hands on her apron and, after Father and their hostess nodded, opened the door.
A tall British officer blocked the sunlight. “Good afternoon, I’m here to speak with Mr. John Odinsell.”
“I’m his wife.” Mrs. Odinsell stepped forward. “My husband is in the forest, hunting game. How may I help you, sir?”
“I’m Lt. Botsford. We are speaking with every male in the area to make certain we have no troublemakers, or men who have shirked their duty.” His high-pitched voice belied his towering presence.
“My oldest son is in the army, and my husband, sad to say, cannot serve. He has one leg shorter than the other due to a childhood accident.” The woman didn’t say which army her son had joined.
The officer put one long leg, like a spider, inside the cabin and strutted in a few feet. Botsford had a chiseled face and pointed nose. He nodded to Rowena’s father. “And who is this man?”
Aunt Elizabeth crumpled a card edge, and Rowena prayed her aunt wouldn’t faint. Or beg for help. Their hostess might have rebel sympathies.
Mary nodded to the officer. Daphne resumed her floor scrubbing.
“This poor man was shot by thieves, army deserters I believe. He is under my care.” Mrs. Odinsell reminded Rowena of Aunt Joan, calm in what could turn into a crisis.
“They attacked my maid as well; horrid men.” Teeth gritted, Rowena washed the bowl in the bucket of water with soap shavings and quickly dried it. Was Gap-tooth dead, still tied to the tree? A gruesome image.
The officer’s boots clicked across the floor as he approached the bed, trailing the scent of horse and leather behind him.
“Good day, sir.” Father scooted up on the mattress to appear less weak, Rowena surmised. “What may I do for you?”
The lieutenant’s shadow cut across Father. “What is your name and where do you head?” he asked in his feminine voice.
“I’m Robert Marsh. I served in the French and Indian War, where I was wounded, many years prior to our recent altercation.” Father grimaced as he tried to move his leg. “We travel to southern Georgia, where we have family.”
“I have reports of a younger man of strong stature who is with you.” The officer scanned the small cabin, his pointed nose sniffing. “Where is he?”
Aunt Elizabeth rose from the settee. “Lieutenant, if I may have a word.”
Rowena stepped over and gripped an arm around her aunt’s shoulders. The woman could endanger their supposed neutrality. “Auntie, let me apply a vinegar rub to your forehead. I know your head aches mightily.”
“No, no, I’m really fine, dear.” Aunt Elizabeth struggled to pull away. “I just want to talk to the—”
“I’ll be gentle, I promise.” Rowena steered her aunt to the opposite corner of the cabin. “I realize he’s one of us, but I don’t know whose side our hostess supports. We must be careful,” she whispered. She regretted they couldn’t talk openly to the British soldiers.
“You must forgive my sister, Lieutenant. She recently lost her husband, a tragedy for us all, and she hasn’t been well,” Father said with a wince as he again settled himself. “About the young man you mention. He had a head injury two years ago, in the army, and now is relieved of duty.”
“The British army, I trust?” Lt. Botsford stood stiff before the bed, hands clasped behind his back. “Who did he serve under?”
Rowena held her aunt so tight, the woman wriggled like a fish.
“He served most valiantly under General Howe.” Father smiled sadly. “But now…we do despair for his future.”
“My cousin is quite addled, we hardly know what to do with him. He ducked a cannon ball and fell from his horse.” Rowena used glib words to mask her distress. Her father’s steady banter helped. She prayed Mrs. Odinsell would know why they lied and not contradict about James. But would she be compassionate toward them afterwards?
“I see.” Botsford rocked back on his heels. “I’d still like to converse with this person and ascertain for myself his malady, his fitness for service.”
“He is out at the moment. Would you care for tea, Lieutenant?” Mrs. Odinsell asked, her expression benevolent. “We have delicious peach pie as well. Georgia is famous for its peaches.”
The tall officer faced her. “No, thank you, Madam.” He bowed to her then turned to Father. “Send the young man to me as soon as he returns. What is his name?”
“Springfield,” Rowena blurted, recalling the battle. She met her aunt’s wide eyes. “Sometimes he wanders overnight, like a stray dog, returning after breakfast.” Her father had used his true name, but she assumed James would wish to remain anonymous.
“Very odd, indeed. I will expect him at our camp north of the town when he does arrive. Along with any other capable men. The king needs soldiers.” After another curt bow, Botsford left.
Glances darted back and forth in the room like arrows. Rowena’s knotted muscles slackened a fraction.
Father sighed. “Well, I believe we must be on our way before dawn.” He dipped his head to their hostess. “I thank you for your kindness and generosity, Mrs. Odinsell. I am in your debt.”
“It was my pleasure, sir.” The woman nearly smiled for a second time. “We must assist one another in such troubled times.”
Aunt Elizabeth tugged free. “Rowena, you practically broke my shoulder. And I’m completely confused.” She smoothed her auburn hair beneath the edges of her little white cap.
“I apologize, and we are all befuddled.” Rowena watched their hostess. Would she tell the lieutenant they planned to sneak away? Or was she a rebel? The woman suspected they were Tories and could report them to any ‘Patriot’ authorities. Her brain fogged, Rowena must remain the discreet guest and not inquire as to any fidelity. “Ma’am, as my father said, we are in your debt.”
When James and Sam returned, their hostess long gone, they rushed to sneak away not an hour before dawn, but as soon as the sun set. Rowena deposited several coins on the table for Mrs. Odinsell. Her family crept out the back door into the thick dark where crickets chirped. Rowena swatted at mosquitoes, thinking with a sad twinge of that night they stole away from her home in Easton.
Father was laid out in the back of James’ wagon, with Aunt Elizabeth tending him. Mary hunched on the bench with James.
“I don’t want to kill no one else, if possible,” Sam whispered as he urged their mule on. He’d acted distracted lately, which upset her. So many would be scarred by this war.
“Of course not. No sane person would.” Rowena nudged his arm with her elbow. Soldiers could be watching them, and she held her breath. Nervously kneading the splintery wagon bench with her palms, as the wagons trundled south on a back-trail James had scouted, she pictured them wandering forever—like a band of gypsies absconding in the humid night.