“I want to thank you, again,” he began, “for your excellent…ummm…care of the burned men and also the General. Your service to the Crown is appreciated.”
Nodding graciously, she replied, “Thank you, Colonel” Where was this leading? He was making such a production about it.
“The General and I were so impressed by your skills that we would like you to stay on in place of Gordon as the camp doctor.” When she stiffened, he hurried on, “You will, of course, be compensated.”
Deborah stared at him, blinking with astonishment. The idea was ludicrous, especially since she had the same job with the opposing army. Shaking her head, she politely began, “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Before you decline,” he interrupted, “you might consider a few things. First, I could view your brother as a horse thief to be hung when caught.” She knew the shock must have shown on her face because satisfaction began to spread over his. “Or I could view him a young child who is not responsible for his actions. Second…”
“This is outrageous.”
“…With you here on our staff, I will personally direct the search for your brother to ensure his safety. Third, the presence of only blankets in your cart could be considered suspicious in time of war. Those suspicions could be the basis for a charge of treason, the penalty for which is also death.”
“This is barbaric.”
“No, this is war. In any event, Mistress Morgan, and whatever you decide, you will not be leaving this camp. Now, we can make it a…umm…pleasant stay, or we can make it otherwise.”
“Oh! This is intolerable! I can’t believe I’m hearing this from a British officer. How dare you? You want to hold me prisoner for some imaginary offence and then you want me to help you for the privilege. This is monstrous.” She paused, the seed of an idea taking shape. “But then, again, maybe this is to be expected of a British officer. Col. Tarleton is also well known for his unscrupulous dealings with both soldiers and civilians.” She allowed her voice to trail off as the barb hit its mark. She watched his eyes narrow and his jaw clench. Perhaps she had played that card a little too…
He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Then, again, maybe she hadn’t. “I find this behavior intolerable, even in time of war. You have no cause to subject me to this kind of intimidation. I’m sure the General will have something to say about this outrage.” She pushed past him and flounced out of the house in search of Cornwallis. Marshall followed at a much more leisurely pace, but still managed to stay just behind her. Young Lt. Harvey walked toward the house.
“Where’s the General?” she barked at him.
“Uh, ma’am, he’s over with the 63rd Foot, there.” He pointed over her left shoulder. She picked up the hem of her skirts and marched in that direction. With his mouth opened like a codfish, he watched her go.
“The very idea!” she said to no one in particular.
Harvey looked at his superior with the kind of expression that very young men and beaten puppies wear so effectively. “Sir?”
Marshall shook his head briefly and muttered, “Women!” He also continued in the direction of the 63rd Foot.
“Sir?”
**
Cornwallis thought it was a capital idea.
Chapter 6
The sky was already light when she came downstairs for breakfast. After several days of passive resistance to her new duties, and a great deal of soul searching, she decided that the British troops were still human beings, however much Tarleton and his friends tried to obscure the fact. She had made it her life’s work to heal, and war or no war, that’s what she would do.
Cornwallis was taking Tarleton to Winnsboro today. One thorn in her flesh was pulled. With him gone, she felt less resistant to dealing with the British.
She took a plate from the oak side board and looked over the selections of breads and other items. Clearly, other members of the eclectic household had broken their fast before her. The platters of ham, muffins, and eggs were half empty. Used plates and flatware littered the long table. The door to the kitchen opened, and Rogers entered with a carafe.
“Tea, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Rogers. How did you know I was here? There’s no one else here for that tea.”
He poured. “I was about to clear the table when I heard you. The sixth step squeaks even with your light tread. Would you care for anything else?”
“No, thank you. Um, yes, do you have paper and pen nearby?”
He took several sheets from the sideboard drawer and the ink stand from a cupboard below. He bowed at her thanks and left.
With winter soon on them, Deborah needed to insure her supply of herbs was adequate for the challenge. Many of the things she needed grew wild or cultivated on the Kershaw property. She wrote them down and their uses, the better to gauge the kinds of things she would have to purchase. Passionflower made an excellent sedative. The bark of the sassafras tree would help heal the sores soldiers acquired during long marches. Woundwort lived up to its name. The leaves of turtlebloom helped constipation and bayberry eased the inevitable winter colds, as did some bee balm she was lucky enough to find. Boneset, her choice for fever, was her prize find.
She needed a number of herbs that had died back with the cold weather and some that she just couldn’t find: mustard, lobelia, spotted dog, and others. A trip into Camden town was required.
The one item that she simply noted on her list with no explanation was buckthorn. If she knew that a big battle was planned, a little buckthorn, strategically administered, to loosen the bowels of the right people might come in handy. No need to commit that use to paper, though.
Slowly cracking her hard-cooked egg, she thought about the ramifications of a little medical sabotage. If Rogers was still loyal to his old master, perhaps he might be able to help dispensing the “medication.” She would have to talk…
The door swung open with a bang, and she jumped. Marshall strode in and headed purposefully towards the food, without so much as a glance or a by-your-leave. He grabbed a plate with one hand and a biscuit with the other. Stuffing the biscuit in his mouth, he began to take some of everything.
Eyes wide, sitting so rigid she shook, Deborah watched him fill his plate. Her shaking hand hit the flatware and the small noise alerted him to her presence. He whirled, barely keeping the food on the plate. He stopped chewing and a red flush crept up his face. Trying to swallow, he studied her. Finally the food went down, and he went on the offensive. “Thinking bad thoughts, Mistress Morgan?”
Of all the…Deborah fumed. Just being around him threw her normally refined thoughts into complete chaos. Without thinking of the consequences, she said, “My thoughts are no worse than your manners, Colonel.” Two could play at that game. Besides, she had no intention of answering the question.
He bowed slightly. “Honors to you, madam,” and moved to the other side of the table. “My apologies. I have been up for several hours, getting Claiborne and his regiment on their way with Cornwallis. This is the first chance I’ve had to eat.” He rescued a slice of bacon slipping off his plate. He sat down across from her.
She nodded graciously, if a little wobbly. The folly of verbal sparring with the man who practically accused her of treason reawakened her good sense. She returned to her list.
Kit watched her make a note or two. Rogers came in, silently poured him a cup of tea and left. “I was under the impression that most colonials couldn’t read or write. I’m impressed.”
Deborah carefully replaced the pen in the ink well before she looked up at him. “Do you read and write, Colonel?” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Roughly the same proportion of people are literate here as in England. Our social systems are very similar, since, until recently, we all considered ourselves English. Those who can afford education get it. My father did not learn until he was an adult, and he made very sure that we did. I presume that your father saw you educated, too.”
With a s
mile slightly off-center, he nodded. “Again, I am sent down in disgrace.” He gestured at her paper. “What are you doing?”
“As it turns out, something that concerns you. There are a number of herbs and supplies that I need that I am not able to obtain here. I shall be obliged to go into town to get them.”
“Really?”
“Do you wish your men properly cared for over the winter?”
“Yes.”
“Then really.”
“Let me see your list.” She passed it over to him. The “haves” and the “needs” were precisely labeled. “That quack Gordon may have had some of this among the pile of stuff he requisitioned. He won’t be there to help you, but I can’t say I’m sorry to see him gone. Take a look through the supplies first.” He sat back and played with his tea cup for a moment. “We’ll go into Camden after lunch.”
**
Shopping list in her skirt pocket, Deborah adjusted her lightweight shawl around her shoulders as she stood next to the wagon. It wasn’t her horse hooked up. This one didn’t look quite as well cared for as the bay that brought Adam and her down here. The sky was clear and blue, but a gust of cold wind blew through the shawl, and she shivered. The weather was going to change soon.
Strong capable hands grabbed her from behind and lifted her into the wagon. She shrieked and tried to kick free just as the hands shifted her towards the bench.
Not being quite over the seat, Deborah had to scramble to keep from toppling ingloriously to the dust. She ignored the groan behind her. Furious at her mishandling, she rounded on her assailant. “Why you…”
Marshall hung on the side of the wagon with one white-knuckled hand. Bent over, he was breathing hard through his teeth. As she watched, he straightened partly and looked up at her with his head cocked. “Madam, while I am only second son, my mother has made it abundantly clear that I am to produce as many grandchildren as possible for her to fondle. I pray that you will not make it impossible for me to oblige her.”
She stared at him blankly for a moment. His grimace and the arm still protecting his loins told their own tale. “Oh my, oh heavens…, I didn’t mean…” She reached out and then withdrew her arm in embarrassment. “I hope you’re…, that is to say…, I would never have…, please forgive me…, this is terrible…, do you need…”
He held up the hand that had cradled his injury to stop the torrent of words. “I will survive, and so, I trust will my mother’s hopes. I acquit you of deliberately trying to sabotage them, but please look before you go on the attack the next time.”
Marshall slowly walked around the rig and hauled himself onto the bench. He looked at her, huddled on the far edge, just as another gust sent her shivering. His eyes narrowed, “Don’t you have anything warmer?”
“No, I should have been long home by now,” she snapped, half indignant, half defensive.
He turned and jumped to the ground. With some care, he straightened and then strode briskly into the house. A few minutes later, he returned with a striped, wool blanket that he draped around her shoulders.
His consideration so shocked her that she could barely speak. She just stared at him. He watched her without a word. That he should be thinking of her comfort after…after… It dumbfounded her. He was a British soldier. He wasn’t supposed to be…nice. Suddenly she found the horse’s tail to be of incredible interest. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Silence reigned during the drive through the camp. Row upon row of troop tents filled what had been the Kershaw’s carefully tended gardens and fields. Roughly two-thirds of the men marched west to Winnsboro for winter quarters with Cornwallis and Tarleton. Marshall commanded those remaining in Camden.
Off to the right, a battalion drilled. She could hear the orders and curses bawled by the drillmaster. Tents gave way to bare dirt, the foot-pounded pathways and blackened campfire rings stretching out beyond the road gave mute testament to the size of the army her father and brothers faced.
The forest, from which the formerly-lush fields of the Kershaw estate had been carved, loomed up over the edge of the tent city. Deborah knew that in the summer, this place would be green and lush, but now the denuded trees looked sad, almost as if they sensed the turmoil going on around them and mourned for the ravished land. Still, in its own way, there was a stark beauty to the forest. The lines of the tree branches showed clean and clear, with no leaves to obscure them. The forests around her home near Charles Town, Virginia looked very similar to these, a combination of oak and pine, although with possibly a few more pines in the mix. The thoughts of home made her sigh.
“A shilling for your thoughts.”
“Humph. At that rate, you’ll be almost entirely without funds in a fortnight.” She turned her attention to him. Even here in the humble, old wagon his demeanor gave witness to an upbringing full of pride, position, and money. He held the reins, loose and confident, as though a blooded stallion pranced between the traces instead of a broken-down cob. His uniform, set before the brown of the forest, gave him the look of an imperious cardinal among sparrows. The few strands of dark hair blown free from his queue did little to soften the image.
“Very well, so be it. But I insist on getting my money’s worth.”
Although she hadn’t abandoned her position on the far end of the bench, she was still much too close to him for true comfort.
“I was just thinking how much this looks like the land around my home and how beautiful it is, even in winter.”
“Oddly enough, I was thinking something along those same lines. This reminds me of a forest on my family’s estate in Devon. My brother and I used to race our horses hell-bent down the lane until one day we nearly ran into my mother’s gig. When my father found out, he birched us both until we could barely sit and sent us to our rooms without supper. Mother brought us up something later; I don’t think my father knew,” he chuckled at the memory. “At least he didn’t know until after the fact. Anyway, there wasn’t much that he could do to us that we hadn’t already done to ourselves. I don’t think Stephen or I have ever forgotten the look on her face as we bore down on her that day.”
She could hear water gurgling. He guided the wagon around a bend, and the creek came into view on their left. It was high after the recent rain.
Entranced beyond her wishes at his vignette, Deborah found herself curious about him. “You have the one brother?”
“Yes. At one time, I think my parents wanted a houseful of children. As time went on, I rather suspect that they were profoundly grateful that God only ‘blessed’ them with two. A couple of hell raisers.”
“Mine didn’t stop with two. I have three insufferable older brothers.”
“Um, what’s his name, Adam, is older than you?”
“Yes.” Whoops, a slippery slope, she thought. “He apes his brothers and they can be unbearably…male on occasions.”
His laughter startled a nearby bird into flight. Deborah jumped with the bird, startled beyond words at his amusement, but the sound was entrancing, for all its uniqueness.
“My mother would agree with you entirely.”
“She sounds like an exceptional lady. But, being a mother, I can’t imagine she was entirely pleased with you going off to war.”
“Um, no, but she realizes that there are very few good opportunities for a second son, and I have no leanings toward the church.”
“Why aren’t there?”
“What, oh, opportunities? Well, the core parts of English estates are usually entailed.” At her quizzical expression, he explained. “Under English law, it is possible for estate inheritance to be set up under the conditions that it is passed on in its entirety to following generations. Those properties have to be transferred to the eldest son. Sometimes there are other properties that don’t fall under the entail, and they can be sold or bequeathed away. Most families don’t like to break up their properties, though, because of the interlocking financial situations that usually develop. So, younger sons generally h
ave to shift for themselves.”
“I guess it makes sense, but it does seem rather harsh, just because of an accident of birth. We don’t do that here.”
“Maybe so, but that is the way it is in England. It prevents the gradual breakup of the estates.”
“So, why did you choose the army?”
“I’m not particularly partial to ships, so it was better than the navy.”
The road turned again and went over a narrow bridge. He gave it his attention. She glanced over at him while he focused on the road. He really was an exceptionally good-looking man. His hair glinted when a sunbeam, sneaking through the trees, caught it. If only he weren’t a redcoat, she’d be quite partial to…
Whoa, none of that my girl, she admonished herself.
After crossing the bridge, they quickly broke out of the forest. Camden lay before them. It was a goodly-sized town in a land where most outposts of civilization were small and sparse. She could see at least two steeples rising high above the town. From the dispersal of the buildings, there appeared to be a number of cross streets and parallels to the high road.
Their first stop was the chemist’s. Deborah found most of her herbs and supplies there. When they continued on into town, she looked at him with her eyebrows raised. “We still have some things to get,” he explained cryptically, and she knew no more that before.
Kit stopped the wagon outside Kershaw’s Dry Goods Emporium. “Might as well do business with our hosts.” Kershaw’s was one of the largest businesses in Camden, providing the basis for the fortune Joseph Kershaw spent on the estate the British army currently occupied.
She followed him into the store, mentally ticking off the necessary items to be found here: bandages, splints, a sharp knife, and other things. Gordon’s medical supplies consisted of one bloody, smelly mattress; several lumps of wet, molding gauze; a number of rusted bone saws; and a jar of dead leeches.
Since it was the middle of the day, mostly women were in the store. The obvious customers with baskets on their arms greeted Col Marshall with either an ingratiating titter or a frosty nod. Two women were not customers. Mistress Kershaw stood behind the counter, making entries into a ledger. The younger, a bonny lass of about fifteen, was dusting some bottles near the front and greeted them politely, but without any great warmth. “Good day to you, sir, ma’am. May I help you?”