The Beloved Land (6 page)

Nicole and Gordon both murmured polite rejoinders. “I found it to be most excellent, General,” she added. “Particularly during this time of scant provisions.”

“Well, then, I too am delighted.” A brief gesture drew his officers to their feet. “Gentlemen, perhaps you would retire and grant me a moment alone with our guests.” To his aide he added, “Ask Cook to leave the table as is.”

“Very good, sir.”

Only when the door closed behind the last departing officer did the general lean toward Gordon. “Captain Goodwind, you will be pleased to hear that our American Revolutionary Forces have recently extended our hold of coastal territories to include two of the harbors between here and New York.”

Gordon also leaned forward. “Well done, sir.”

“Thank you.” The man reached to the sideboard behind him and hefted a silver box. “A runner brought a selection of cigars. This year’s crop. Virginia’s best. Do take your pleasure.”

“Thank you, sir. But the delights of tobacco escape me.”

The general took his time selecting a cigar and lighting it with a candle. “You have heard of our newest vessel, the
Constitution
?”

“Rumors only. She is said to be a mighty ship.”

“Mighty indeed. She was fashioned from sheaves of the hardest wood known to man, live oak timber from southern Georgia. She saw duty in these recent battles. I have it on good report that English cannonballs bounced off her side.”

“I would like to have seen that, sir,” Gordon said, obviously intrigued.

“Fired well within range, yet they bounced off and fell back into the sea.” The general’s tone held the satisfied air of knowing he had hooked his prey. “We’ve heard rumors the English sailors have renamed the vessel
Ironsides
. Well put, I would say. Our own sailors have adopted the name as their own.”

“I hope I have opportunity to view the vessel myself,” Gordon said. Nicole leaned farther back in her chair so the two men could converse more freely. She had no desire to see any ship called
Ironsides
.

The general harrumphed quietly. “Indeed. But there is a purpose behind this little tale. In the second harbor, Captain, we captured your old vessel.”

Gordon smiled. “That is good news indeed, General. Her owners will be most delighted. …” The general’s fingerwaving denial stopped him. “Of course,” Gordon quickly said. “The spoils of war. Forgive me.”

“Your allegiance to distant obligations and owners is commendable, Captain. And your loyalty to America is not questioned.” The general puffed upon his cigar, eyeing Gordon through the smoke. “As a matter of fact, I am quite willing to return the vessel to your command.”

Nicole stirred, and Gordon looked at her before asking, “And in exchange?”

“Let me review for you the situation we face. This has been the longest and harshest winter on record. Our supplies are dwindling fast. Unless we can convince GeneralWashington to send the fleet north, the British blockade will continue to keep us trapped. I wrote Washington about this very fact. The runner who brought this fine tobacco also brought his response.”

He paused to roll his cigar about the ashtray. “Washington has informed me that we have been promised provisions from the French government of Louisiana. But the battles in Georgia and the Carolinas have cut off all land routes.”

Nicole was beginning to realize where the conversation was headed. A dangerous mission through the blockade to Louisiana … She shut her eyes in an attempt to work through the tumult within her mind and heart. Behind closed lids she was once more deep within the bayou country of her growing-up years.

She opened her eyes to find both gentlemen watching her. She understood this as well. Nicole was both surprised and assured by her own calm tone. “You require my presence on the mission.”

“I confess, it would help matters greatly,” the general nodded. “There is no doubt that Captain Goodwind will need an intermediary with the French. We are seeking not only one vessel’s worth of supplies, you see. We would like to have the captain establish a regular trade route for supplies.”

Gordon said, “Such a venture in wartime will be expensive.”

“If you agree to this assignment, we will send with you letters of credit drawn upon banks that operate in both territories.”

“I see you have thought this through.”

The general put his cigar down and leaned forward even farther. “I cannot overstress the gravity of our situation. Our supplies are so depleted we shall be forced to send you away with virtually nothing in the way of provisions.”

Gordon could not hide his astonishment. “But we are facing a voyage of several weeks! And foraging on the way will be impossible with the British on the ground.”

“I am well aware of that. But the fact is, sir, my men are starving.” He waved an angry hand. “I have heard the rumors around Boston and Cambridge—that the army is hoarding all foodstuffs for the push against Cornwallis and his men down York way. That is simply not true.”

“Things are that bad?”

“Things could not be worse. I have learned that some of my men garrisoned farther out have taken to boiling down their belts for soup.”

Nicole knew what had to be done. There was no question. She said, “We will not require provisions from here, General.”

Gordon’s shock was on his face.

“My fiancé and I shall need to discuss this. But if he agrees to take on this task, we can make do with whatever provisions you are able to spare.” Nicole turned to Gordon. “Before we travel south, we shall first go north.”

“North?” queried the general.

“To Nova Scotia.”

“But, ma’am, forgive me, the Canadian colonies are firmly within British hands.”

“That may well be, sir.” She rose to her feet and offered the general her hand. “But I can assure you, we will be well received in Nova Scotia.”

Chapter 5

The days since Catherine’s letter arrived had taken on a subtle undercurrent of energy and preparation. Little was said. But in fact the household could sense that decisions had been made. Charles’s brother in far-off Nova Scotia was ill. Anne would soon travel to work her healing skills upon the man who had raised her as his own. Of course her new husband, Thomas, would accompany her on this perilous journey.

But what of their precious John?

Anne knew the matter of her son was discussed by all. She observed conversations trail off as she entered the kitchen or rear workrooms. She saw how the servants gathered about Thomas when they thought she was elsewhere.

But nothing was said to her. Not directly. Not even Thomas pressed her. The two occasions when she had attempted to lay out the issues, he had heard her out, then merely commented, “Whatever you decide, dearest Anne, I shall accept as the right course to take.”

“But I want you to help!”

“This is the aid I feel I should give,” he responded, stepping closer and taking her hand.

“But this is no help at all!”

“He is your son, Anne,” he said, looking at her face.

“He is yours now as well.”

He did not disagree. “You know I love little John. I never dreamed it would be possible to love anyone so totally as I do you. And now I find it is not you only but John as well.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what I should do?”

“You have just answered your question. What
you
should do.” Thomas turned her hand over and kissed the center of her palm. “In this situation, Anne, you are the only one who can decide.” He led her over to a settee and they sat down together.

“You are the child’s mother,” he continued, still holding her hand. “I would like to think that even were John my own flesh and blood, I would be able to remain objective about this. This is a decision for his mother.”

She lowered her face and began rubbing her forehead with her hand. “I don’t understand—” “No. And it is difficult for me to explain. But I shall try.

Should John remain here, I will miss him terribly. But you are his
mother
. I can scarcely imagine what it could cost you to take such a step.” Gently he stroked her bowed head. “This is one decision you must make yourself. Only know that whatever it is, I shall second it and have full confidence it is the right decision.”

This is England in spring,
Anne mused as she prepared to accompany Charles and Thomas to London for a few days in preparation for the journey to Nova Scotia. All the world seemed poised to burst into birdsong and blossoms. But just as she put the final item in her valise, then came the clouds outside her bedroom window. Very soon the dark was so thorough it seemed to fill the bedroom with its gloom. Anne fastened the straps on her case and listened to Thomas play with little John in the sitting room of their private quarters. The large Harrow manor was indeed gracious and lovely, but Anne felt truly at home when she and Thomas and John were behind the apartment’s door.

She heard a knock on the large double door and Thomas’s voice greeting Charles.

“My apologies for rushing you, but we really must try to beat this storm,” Charles explained.

“I am ready,” Anne called, opening the bedroom door. She let Charles come in and take her leather case. She walked into the sitting room and stooped down to hug her son. “Now, promise me you will be a good little lad and do everything Nanny tells you,” she whispered in his ear.

John shook his head, his face drawn into a frown.

“We will be back so very soon you won’t even know we are gone,” Anne said, hugging the child again, then setting him down. “All right, then.”

“Let’s be off, then,” Thomas said.

John’s face began to cloud like the sky outside their home. “Mama and Papa stay!” he cried.

“Come, child, let’s go see if Maisy can’t find you a little gingerbread man.” Ignoring his tears, the big woman scooped up the child and headed for the back stairway.

Anne stood in the doorway, listening to John’s wails recede in the distance. Her heart felt as if it were held in place only by the stays of her corset. If it was this painful—for both John and her—to depart for just a few days, how on earth could she bear leaving him for an entire season?

“I must say, every time I read Catherine’s account of her father’s revelations, I grow all the more astonished.” The letter lay open in Charles’s lap, held in place by a hand as the carriage rocked and swayed over the winter’s ruts.

The three travelers had joined the Great Trunk Road running the entire way from Bristol to London. The battered carriage itself, a far cry from the polished brougham Charles had used before the war, resembled the local postal carriages to avoid unwelcome attention. The driver was accompanied up top by two stout and well-armed footmen, for the roads were increasingly unsafe from highwaymen and other vagabonds taking advantage of the unsettled times.

Charles had no interest in calling attention by raising questions about his movements. Now that the tides of war were turning in the Americans’ favor, Charles’s previous declarations of support for their independence drew suspicion and malice from those allied to the king. The Harrow position and holdings were kept safe by only two factors. First, the merchant class and the religious among the commoners were growing increasingly strident in their call for an end to the conflict, and Charles was seen as their representative within the landed gentry. Second, Charles did not flaunt himself or his perspectives. Thus he managed to avoid becoming a target. Thus the last thing he would do would be to travel the main roads in a shining carriage with the family crests emblazoned upon both doors.

Thomas leaned forward in his seat. “Please read again the portion about the grandfather’s search, will you?”

“Let me see, where does that begin? Ah yes, here we are.” He looked up before reading. “The letter speaks of Celeste,” Charles explained, “the name by which Edwin referred to his first wife in the diary. Shortly after returning to England, though, he never used her name again, simply stating ‘my dear’ or ‘my love.’ ” Charles adjusted his half-moon spectacles and began to read. “ ‘Celeste’s brother, a fisherman, risked his life to take Edwin across the Channel to England and safety.’ ”

“I still can’t fathom his leaving his wife behind,” Thomas remarked.