Surrender the Night (21 page)

With a nod, Rose slipped her fan into her reticule and headed down the street. Though she hurried her pace, the trip back to the church seemed to drag on forever. All along the street, from every shop and every corner, curious eyes seemed to follow them. But finally, Uncle Forbes’s church came into view, and Rose released a shaky breath. That was until General Smith marched from the sick house, Aunt Muira on his heels. Though the General’s face was its usual unruffled mask, Aunt Muria’s was quivering with distress.

Rose froze, her heart seizing in her chest.

“Thank goodness you’ve returned,” her aunt cried out. “We must go to the Myers’ farm immediately.”

“Elaine?” Rose’s heart clinched. The warning bells of St. Peter’s rang fresh through her mind. “What happened? Is she alive?”

The general halted before Mr. Reed and eyed him with a curious gaze. The breath of relief Rose had just released crowded back in her throat.

“It was the British, dear. And yes, she’s alive.” But the way her aunt said the words caused Rose’s hands to tremble.

“And who might you be, sir?” General Smith asked Alex. Mr. Reed stiffened.

“Why he is our new man of work, General, Mr. Alexander Reed.” Her aunt came to the rescue. “Mr. Reed, bring the phaeton around. We must leave immediately.”

With a nod, he darted off.

Rose pressed a hand over the veins throbbing in her throat. “What brings you here to our church, General?”

“I heard rumors of wounded British soldiers hiding amongst our own and thought some may have wandered into your uncle’s care.” The general’s hardened gaze followed Mr. Reed as he disappeared behind the church and remained there until he reappeared, leading the horse and phaeton. “And I wanted to inform your aunt and uncle about the attack on the Myers’ farm. I know the Myers are friends of your family’s.”

“Yes, indeed. Rose has known Elaine for years.” Aunt Muira gestured for Mr. Reed to hurry.

Rose wobbled, and Amelia slipped her arm through hers.

“Very good. Well, if you’ll excuse me. I must be going.” General Smith slid his bicorn atop his head. “Ladies.” He bowed slightly and after they bid him adieu, he marched away.

Much to Rose’s relief.

Numbly, Rose allowed Mr. Reed to assist her into the carriage. She didn’t have to ask what had happened to her friend Elaine. She knew. Her thoughts drifted to Elaine’s wedding last summer. How happy the couple seemed as they rode off in their open-air carriage after the ceremony, all the guests tossing rose petals at them.

“Tell me they didn’t harm James.” She asked her aunt after they were all settled on their seats.

“He wasn’t home.” Rose couldn’t remember her aunt’s tone holding so much pain. “I need you to be strong, Rose.” Leaning forward, she squeezed her hand once again. “For Elaine.”

With a shake of her head, Rose tore her hand from her aunt’s grasp and lowered her gaze. “I don’t know if I can.” Yet hadn’t she just promised herself to not allow fear to keep her from helping others?

“She’s asking for you, Rose. You’re the only one who can help her.”

Mr. Reed leaped into the driver’s seat, jostling the carriage to the right, then snapped the reins and sent them on their way. Amelia stared vacantly out the window as if she couldn’t handle any more trouble for one day.

Rose agreed.

No, Lord, please send someone else
. Rose stifled a sob. Every ounce of her wanted to help her friend—wanted to help all women who’d suffered as she had, but thick bars of fear kept her locked far from those in need.

“I am not strong like you, Aunt.” Rose swiped a tear from her cheek. “When I help these women, it’s like I’m going through it all over again.”

Aunt Muira cupped Rose’s face with both her hands and forced her to meet her gaze. “You are your father’s daughter. There is strength in you, Rose.”

“My father is gone.”

“Your father lives on in you. And your heavenly Father is within you as well. Draw upon His strength.”

Rose tightened her jaw. God had never helped her before. Why would he now? Yet, Elaine’s sweet face drifted through Rose’s mind. The way her blue eyes sparkled and dimples formed on her cheeks whenever she smiled. Rose could not turn her back on her friend—as God had done on her—not when Elaine needed Rose the most.

Within a half hour and at the direction of her aunt, Mr. Reed turned the carriage down a dirt road that wound through a valley of tall grass waving in the breeze. A small creek splashed and bubbled nearby accompanied by a chorus of meadowlarks. The happy sounds and beautiful sights were at odds with the despair threatening to sever Rose’s heart. Despair for Elaine. Then as if reading her dismal thoughts, a blast of smoke-laden wind blew in through the window and stung her nose. Aunt Muira coughed and drew a silk handkerchief to her mouth. Rose leaned out the window to see a gray mist hovering over a patch of pine trees in the distance. Her stomach tightened. She faced forward again and clamped her hands together in her lap. Aunt Muira touched Rose’s arm and offered her a comforting look as the carriage bumped and jostled over the uneven road.

They slowed and Rose thought she heard Mr. Reed groan. Forcing herself to peek out the window again, she saw what was left of a small cottage perched beside a pond. She drew in a gasp. Half of the small house lay in a black charred ruin, the other half, though darkened with soot, remained intact. The coach jostled over something in the road, and Rose’s cheek struck the edge of the window. Ignoring both the pain in her face and the one in her heart, she jerked her head back into the carriage and searched for a breath of air. “Where is Elaine?”

“In the house, I believe,” her aunt replied.

Amelia gaped out the window. “Oh my.”

Mr. Reed brought the carriage to a halt before the scorched building, and Aunt Muira grabbed her satchel, opened the door, and leaped out before he had a chance to hop down and assist her.

Not that he’d intended to aid them, for as Rose took a tentative step down onto the muddy soil after Amelia had debarked, she noted that Mr. Reed remained on his seat.

Staring at what was left of the blackened house.

He glanced her way, a look of horror crossing his face, before he grabbed his crutch and jumped down.

“Come along now.” Aunt Muira forged ahead, her tone that of a school matron.

But Rose couldn’t seem to move her feet.

A family of ducks—a mother, father, and seven babies—glided happily over the pond to her right as if no tragedy had occurred here. But the wisps of smoke spinning off the charred wood of the cottage spoke otherwise. Movement dragged Rose’s gaze to the left of the house where several yards away beneath a massive oak tree, a man halted his digging and looked up. Two fresh mounds of dirt sat amid a scattering of crosses and stones. Rose’s throat clamped shut.

Abandoning his crutch against the carriage, Mr. Reed approached her. “What happened here?”

By the guilt lacing his tone, Rose knew he had already guessed. Nevertheless, she could not help but lay the charge at his feet. “Your people happened here, Mr. Reed.”

Pain etched across his eyes. He swallowed and offered her his arm.

Ignoring it, Rose ventured forward.

Splinters of wood poked out from a large hole in the front door
that hung limp on its hinges. Aunt Muira knocked and waited with the patience and composure of a lady making a social call. Within seconds the wooden slab swung wide with a heartrending squeak to reveal James, Elaine’s husband. Wild, swollen eyes stared at them from within a red face that was streaked with soot. A torn, stained shirt did nothing to hide the cuts and abrasions across his arms and chest, and a drop of blood oozed from a wound on his head. Without saying a word, he ushered them inside.

Aunt Muira and Amelia disappeared within, but Rose remained at the threshold. The smell of singed wood, sickness, and sorrow threatened to send her back to the carriage. Perspiration dotted her neck. She whispered a portion of her father’s song.

Mr. Reed remained by her side but said not a word.

Gathering her resolve, Rose ventured within. Holes in the wall to her left revealed the darkened remains of what had been the kitchen and dining room. Smoke bit her nose and throat, and Rose swallowed. Voices lured her to the back of the house where traitorous sunlight flooded a parlor that—because of what had occurred within—should have been enshrouded in gloom. Aunt Muira drew up a chair before a woman lying on a sofa and leaned over her, hiding the woman’s face from Rose. But she knew it was Elaine. And she wasn’t ready to face her friend just yet. Amelia knelt beside Aunt Muira and took Elaine’s hand in hers, only adding to Rose’s guilt at her own inadequacy.

Shards of glass littered the floor below broken windows where torn, singed curtains fluttered on the incoming breeze. The Hepplewhite side cabinet Rose had so adored lay in a pile of sticks by the cold fireplace. No doubt the rain she’d heard last night had put out the fire before it could consume this half of the house. For aside from the shattered windows, and a burn mark on the floorcloth, the parlor appeared undamaged.

Not like the lady lying on the cream-colored sofa.

James approached Rose, arms extended. “She’s been asking for you, Rose.”

Rose took his hands, and he drew her into an embrace. Startled by his familiarity, she hugged him in return as his body convulsed with sobs.

“I’m so sorry.” Rose’s voice emerged as a squeak.

He squeezed her tight, then withdrew, wiping the moisture from his face and spreading black soot over his cheek. His gaze swept to the door where a glance told Rose Mr. Reed had followed her into the house.

“And who are you, sir?” James demanded.

“I am the Drummond’s servant.” Mr. Reed’s voice had lost its hauteur.

James’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched his fists. “Your accent reeks of British nobility.”

Rose stepped between them. “He is a friend.”
A friend
. She surprised herself at her quick declaration.

Yet James did not seem so convinced as his lips twisted in a snarl.

Aunt Muira removed medicine and bandages from her satchel and began rubbing something over Elaine’s face.

“What happened?” Rose asked James in a low voice.

Anguish darkened his face. “British raiders.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I was in town when the warning sounded. I got here as fast as I could.” His jaw tightened. “We caught the bloody wretches in the act before they could burn down the entire house. But not before …” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Rose’s legs wobbled. Mr. Reed grabbed her elbow and steadied her. The air seemed to retreat from the room. She could hear her aunt whispering words of comfort to Elaine. But Rose knew full well that no kind words, no amount of medicine or herbal tinctures or thoughtful attentiveness, would ever heal the wound Elaine would carry for the rest of her life.

“Thank you, Mr. Reed.” She gave him a nod, and he released her arm with a frown.

James stared benumbed at his wife. His jaw trembled. Rose lowered her chin. How could she help this man? How could she help Elaine when she couldn’t even help herself? She clasped her hands together
and inhaled a shuddering breath. She must be strong.

“I saw your man digging graves,” she said to draw James’s mind off his wife for a moment, although even as she said the words she realized the new topic would bring no comfort.

James swiped at his moist cheeks and gazed out the window. “When we fought them off Joseph and Willie were killed.”

Rose gasped. James’s stableboys were but fifteen and twenty—orphans whom he had taken in to help out around the farm.

“And your wound?” Rose pointed to his bloody forehead.

“They knocked me in the head pretty good.” James dabbed at it.

She grasped his hands again. “Allow my aunt to tend to you as soon as she’s done with Elaine.”

Nodding, he sank into a chair. “They took everything from us. Everything of value.” He dropped his head into his hands.

Rose knelt before him. “Thank G—” she started, quickly amending, “but you are alive. You and Elaine.” She would not give thanks to God, for there was no sign of Him anywhere.

“Rose.” Elaine’s weak voice tugged at Rose.

God, if You’re there, please give me strength
. Rose struggled to rise. Her head grew light, and she lifted a hand to steady herself. Mr. Reed’s firm grip on her elbow once again saved her from embarrassment.

She wanted to thank him for his support, for his kindness, but under the circumstances it seemed highly inappropriate. His people had done this. He carried their guilt by association. She must remember that. Tugging from his grip, she made her way to the sofa. Aunt Muira stood and snapped her satchel shut. She gave Rose an encouraging nod and pressed her hand on Rose’s arm.

“I’ve done all I can. Now she needs a friend.” Then facing Amelia, Aunt Muira ordered her out of the room. “Mr. Reed,” she added as she passed him at the door. “Fetch some water from the pond, if you please. Come, James. Let me tend to that wound.”

Rose watched as they ambled out the door, leaving her alone with Elaine.

Lowering herself onto the chair her aunt had vacated, Rose finally glanced down at her friend. Red and purple marks swelled on her cheeks and neck, and her once crisp blue eyes melted in a sea of red,
puffy skin. Fresh bandages wrapped around her right arm and forehead. She held out her hand. Rose took it and brought it to her lips.

Nausea churned in her belly.

She brushed the tangled hair from Elaine’s face and closed her eyes. She could do this. She must do this.