A More Perfect Union: Emily's Vow Part 3

Frank noted with satisfaction the look of resignation on Emily's face as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her brown dress needed to be replaced with something brighter, more like her personality. He could envision her in golden yellow with a fine white lace bonnet and matching gloves. In time he'd see to it. At least she had agreed to the captain's request for Frank to look after her safety. Their initial meeting had gone smoother than he hoped, given his new though pretend position in town. He doubted he would be accepted as a loyalist, especially after fighting as a patriot. h.e.l.l, he wasn't so sure about his mission as a spy and what it meant.

"I've come to escort Miss Emily and Miss Samantha home before the storm arrives." He noted Samantha smirking at him as thunder rumbled overhead. He bristled. Was she laughing at his concern for their safety? They'd best accustom themselves to it.

He straightened the lace edging dropping from his cuff. When he glanced back at Emily, he saw her watching his hands. Then she met his look steadily. What was she thinking? Could she be remembering his hand holding hers, as he thought of often, G.o.d help him, even while married to Elizabeth?

"How kind and considerate of you, Frank, to see to their safety," Mrs. Abernathy said. Raising her voice, she called across the room, "Girls, please, gather your things. I shall not have you soaked to the skin this time of year. Jasmine, please ask Solomon and Richard to dismantle the loom for Emily."

Samantha raised a questioning eyebrow before gathering her skirts in one hand as she crossed the room to a chair by the fireplace. What was that about? After all, he merely wanted to ensure their safety. Emily stood overseeing the preparation of her loom for the short walk home. Good, she at least behaved as he expected her to. This time, anyway.

While the two black men broke down the heavy loom and bundled it for the walk home, Frank watched impatiently as the three young women hugged each other in turn in farewell. Lightning flashed beyond the windows. Did they not understand the fierceness of the threatening storm? Coupled with the fact that he had postponed several important meetings so he could see them safely ensconced in their own homes, he grew concerned. He remained silent and calm with an effort, impatient to be off.

Emily hugged Mrs. Abernathy fiercely before releasing her with a smile. "Farewell on your travels, Aunt Lucille."

"Be safe here." Mrs. Abernathy met Frank's eyes, and he nodded. "I believe Frank will see to that."

"I'm sure he will." Samantha chuckled.

Frank stiffened at the sound of her throaty laugh. "It is my duty to protect my family."

"Duty, yes, you've always done your duty," Emily clipped out, anger singeing each word. "That does not make it less annoying to be treated as though I do not have any sense."

"That is what you deserve for acting recklessly." Frank stepped closer to her. The sweet scent of lavender surrounded her. He inhaled deeply as he cradled her bundle of sewing. "If you had done what your father requested, you would not have ended up in such a spot last evening."

"Nothing we could not handle," Emily replied. "A couple of belligerent British apes pretending to be tough men."

"In the middle of the street nothing too bad would have happened." Samantha turned to address the older woman. "Mrs. Abernathy, I have a few shirts finished to go with you." She handed her the small stack.

A crack of thunder shook the house as lightning again flashed outside. Frank flinched. Another southern storm to batter the town. Hopefully not another hurricane developing. Frank had slogged his way home through the remnants of the last hurricane and did not relish the idea of repeating the experience. He'd nearly drowned in the sloppy mud and onslaught of rain. He learned later the British ships had arrived earlier than necessary to avoid that particular storm. So they were in town longer, the men more frustrated and embarra.s.sed at failing to win the war, which led them to be belligerent. But their actions proved even worse beyond the limits of the town. Within the town's confines, the British officers could more readily hold the men accountable when they overstepped. Even so, crimes against the citizens occurred daily. All the more reason he needed to protect Emily and Tommy. He gripped Emily's arm in preparation for ushering her bodily from the room if necessary, but Mrs. Abernathy's voice stopped his exit.

"You sew beautifully, Samantha. The st.i.tches so evenly s.p.a.ced and firm. I'm sure the men will be proud to wear them." Mrs. Abernathy hugged the stack to her chest as she looked from Samantha to Emily and back to Frank. "But Frank is right to be impatient. Now off with you before the storm hits. We will send word as to when we will return."

"You will be back in time for the ghost stories and festivities?" Samantha asked.

"We wouldn't miss it," Mrs. Abernathy confirmed.

"Farewell, Amy." Emily shook off Frank's grip and clasped her cousin's hands in her own. "I will miss you."

Samantha put an arm around Emily's shoulders. "I'll keep my word and visit you. We'll be fine."

"Is it wise for Amy to go with you, Mrs. Abernathy?" Alarm arced through him. They simply did not fathom the dangers lurking beyond the town gates, where the rule of law weakened with each mile.

The woman's mouth actually curved into a smile. "It is necessary."

"But Madam, you must protect yourselves."

"I refuse to live in fear even during a war." She laid a hand on Frank's arm. "Do not worry, young man. We will have an escort."

Frank relented though his angst over their safety settled like cold, congealed gravy in the center of his stomach. "Very well, then. With the fighting so near and the British desperate for men and supplies, I beg you to not let your guard down because of talks of peace. The fighting continues despite the rumors."

He refrained from telling them of the recent ravishment of several women at the nearby town of Monck's Corner. In the event, it served no purpose to worry them. He and Captain Sullivan had witnessed the flogging of the culprits, but that did not negate the abuse the unfortunate women had suffered at their hands.

Anger curdled his stomach as he recalled Emily's bonnet in the foul British soldier's hands. The ladies did not appreciate how close they had come to experiencing the same treatment as those poor women. To take precautions seemed sensible and not an undue burden as the ladies seemed to imply.

"Now be off." Mrs. Abernathy took Samantha by the arm and walked her to the door, calling over her shoulder, "Come along, Emily."

Frank waited for Emily, but she glared at his arm as if it were a rattlesnake before slowly gathering her skirts in her left hand and wrapping her right hand at his elbow. Resisting a sarcastic retort, Frank patted her hand and smiled at her.

"That was not so bad, was it?"

She looked up at him with indignation. "Let us go."

She waited for him to step off, but he hesitated. No warmth shown from her eyes, yet he could not allow her to venture along the street alone. The very idea of her putting her reputation or, worse, her life at risk chilled him. The barbarous British best not even touch her. What would Elizabeth have said if he allowed her sister to be injured? He glanced again at the solemn face with eyes of liquid sapphires.

Studying her silently, he realized she resisted his company. Her animosity hung between them, palpable and intense. She used to look at him with welcoming eyes but now those same eyes peered at him with distrust. He'd need to work on changing her opinion of him. For now, it mattered not. In the event, he had promised her father, and Frank's word was his bond.

Grimacing, he grasped her elbow and ushered her down the stairs and out the door.

He would see her safely home no matter her desires.

Chapter 3.

Emily held her head high, neck stiff, as she endured the four-block walk through the wind and darkening sky to her virtual prison. She'd left the nasty bonnet at home this morning, unable to consider wearing it before it could be thoroughly cleaned. Gusts of wind grabbed her curls, whipping them about her face. Frank's charms entertained Samantha until they reached her home on King Street, and their lighthearted debate over the best herbs for curing a stomachache allowed Emily to nurse her resentment without being called upon for her opinion. Just as well, given her mood. After saying good-bye to her friend, Frank again cajoled her into taking his rigid arm. She easily ignored the familiar heat rising through his cloak and the iron muscles beneath her hand. However, the electrical current pa.s.sing between them made it impossible for her to think straight.

Drawing on every bit of self-restraint Aunt Lucille had taught her, Emily schooled her expression and continued the normal sway to her walk, despite the unrelenting march of Frank's strides. Ahead of them, the slaves carried the loom and materials, racing the storm home. She would prefer to shake off his escort and make her way home alone after the way he treated her, if doing so would not prove his point. No, better to behave as a lady rather than succ.u.mb to the delicious temptation of giving in to her wayward thoughts.

A burst of wind sent her tresses into a chaotic dance, reminiscent of Medusa's snake hair. She tugged the ma.s.s from her eyes with one hand. The long skirts of her day dress whipped about her legs, plastering across her thighs and tangling with her cloak, making it difficult to keep up with Frank's pace. A broadside blew past, and he cursed under his breath.

"Frank, wait." She slipped her hand from his arm and stopped. Richard and Solomon, striding fast ahead of them, kept moving, glancing at the dark, tumultuous clouds gathered above. Jasmine followed the men at a dogtrot to keep up, one hand holding on to her kerchief covering her dark curls. Emily longed to be with them as they disappeared down the street. She glanced up through her rioting hair at Frank and saw the storm clouds gathering in his eyes as well.

"We have no time; the storm is nearly upon us," Frank said, reaching for her arm. "We must get ourselves safely home."

She started to follow, then blinked at him, confused, when his words seeped into her brain. "What do you mean home?"

"Not now, Emily. Let's go." Frank urged her to follow him, but she refused.

"Explain, or I'm not going anywhere with you." She set her jaw and braced her feet, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited. He couldn't possibly mean what he'd just said. A coldness having nothing to do with the increasing rain encased her bones. Fat drops made tiny craters in the dirt, which soon blended together at their feet as the rain fell harder.

Frank shrugged, water dripping from the points of his tricorne hat. "Your father invited me to stay at his house until I get settled."

She caught at her rebellious locks, glaring at him as panic rose to choke her. "You can't stay with us. I won't allow it."

"Mercifully, that is not your choice. It is your father's invitation I've accepted, not yours. Can we go inside now? You're soaked to the skin."

He was right, blast the man. She could feel the tiny b.u.mps on her skin as she started to shiver. She grew cold to her core from the deluge and the horrific truth that she must share her home with this man. How could she possibly avoid him under her very roof? At least the s.p.a.cious house meant less chance of contact. And surely he'd be about town, not in the house all day. She exhaled. All would be fine. She nodded mutely.

"Finally." Frank looked pointedly at his proffered arm once again.

Emily sighed, raising a hand to shield her face from pelting rain as she regarded him. Anger coiled in her stomach and pressed for release. How dare he be so patronizing? "Honestly, Frank, anyone would think you believe me incapable of walking on my own."

A sudden blaze of lightning rent the sky nearby, immediately followed by an explosion of thunder that rattled windows in the buildings around them. Despite herself, Emily jumped. "Oh!"

Frank nodded grimly toward the smoke rising in the distance from behind the buildings. "Seems if the British won't bomb the patriots out, Mother Nature will have her try. We must get inside. Now!" He tugged her along by the hand as they ran the last half block to the street door of her father's house. Without pause, he pushed open the door and pulled her onto the piazza. b.u.mping into one of the two imported rattan chairs, they hurried across the porch and through the door into the house.

"Next time, don't dally so." Frank closed the door harder than necessary.

"There won't be a next time if I can help it." She wrung the water from her waist-length hair. Shaking out her skirts, Emily focused on her sodden clothes as she started toward the parlor fire that awaited, and nearly collided with her father.

The burly man stood as though braced on board ship during a fierce storm, hands resting on his hips. Stunned by the worry in her father's expression, Emily gazed at him.

"Father?" She preferred to think her knees shook from the cold, wet clothes she wore and not as a result of his dark expression.

"Where have you been?" One of his ma.s.sive hands cut a swath in the air before returning to his hip. "You should have been home before this storm hit. Have you no sense?"

Out of breath, Emily removed her wet outer garments and handed them to Jasmine. She took time to collect her wits before speaking. She knew better than to challenge her father when his mood matched the weather roaring about the house. She handed Jasmine the cloak. "Please dry these out for me."

"Yes, miss." Jasmine curtsied and cast a worried look at Emily's father, but stayed nearby.

Emily turned hesitantly to face his wrath. She drew a deep, steadying breath, preparing to defend herself. He watched her movements, brows pulled together in a frown as he studied her expression. While physical measures were out of the question, unlike earlier with the soldiers, her verbal persuasion tactics waited, ready to talk him around to her way of thinking. Though it wouldn't be easy. Emily opened her mouth to explain, when Frank cleared his throat.

"All is well, Captain." Frank took three steps forward. "I escorted Emily and Miss Samantha to their homes, safe and sound, as promised." He handed his wet cloak to Jasmine, who promptly fled the room, staggering under the weight of the wet garments. He ran a hand through his hair, drops of water falling to his shoulders and lingering before leaving a dark spot. "Though a bit wet, I'm afraid."

"Yes, I can see that." Her father indicated for them to follow, then strode down the hall and into the parlor. Once inside, he closed the door and faced Emily. "Young lady, it's a good thing I asked him to keep an eye on you after you went against my express wishes, traipsing around town like that last evening. What have you to say?"

Emily cringed at the umbrage in her father's voice. The patter of the slaves filled the silence as they moved about the house doing their various ch.o.r.es, low voices and distant singing weaving a sense of well-being that had permeated her home all her life. Tommy's coos and giggles from the upstairs room filtered through the wood slats of the ceiling and interwove with Mary's melodious tones as the young slave cared for him. Emily plucked at her wet skirts, trying to put into words why she felt compelled to rebel against his expectations. How could she explain something she didn't understand? She looked up at him with what she hoped was a serene face.

"I'm sorry, Father, but I had to. The only other person in town who did the weaving died in that awful bombing last year. With only two of us left, the ladies need me to weave the cloth they require."

"You are not a lowly seamstress, miss. You are my daughter, and you will do as I say. Not what the matrons of this town might ask of you."

"You would have me turn my back on my brothers and other men in need?" Her voice trembled, and she swallowed, refusing to allow her worry to show. He could not stop her from helping her own family. She pictured her brothers, in tattered shirts and trousers, shivering in the crisp fall mornings. She stiffened her cold back, warmth from her growing determination thawing her bones.

Her father's hands grasped his hips as he leaned toward her for emphasis. "No, but you must be more-" He paused, his gaze flicking to the ceiling, then returning to her face. "More circ.u.mspect about where you go and when you leave this house. The b.l.o.o.d.y British are desperate. I'll not have you suffer in their hands."

But his clouded eyes suggested he withheld his true reasons. She searched her father's expression, his worry and concern enveloping her. Thoughts of the loss of her long-dead mother and more recently deceased sister played in her mind, his losses as well. She glanced at Frank, who moved to the blazing fireplace to encourage his clothes to dry. The dancing firelight accompanied by pops and hisses from the burning logs created a cheerful atmosphere in the formal parlor at odds with the tension inside her. Her cold skirts clung to her legs, chilling her entire body, and she longed for the fire's warmth. But Frank lingered by the hearth, oblivious to her plight. Going to the fire with him standing there was as appealing as when she had a baby tooth yanked from her mouth when but a child. The memory of the resulting ache caused her jaw to tense. She wished he would move away.

As if he read her mind, Frank crossed from the hearth to sit on the stuffed divan in front of the shuttered window. Shivering, Emily started for the fireplace. Her father noticed her trembling.

"You're soaked through," he said gruffly. "How dare Lucille permit you to venture out into this storm? What was she thinking?"

"It was not her fault." Emily couldn't stop the glance at Frank. "The good captain was concerned about getting wet, because I slowed him down. That was not my intention, of course."

"What do you mean?"

"I was surprised to learn that Frank will stay with us." Emily searched her father's expression. Only curiosity and traces of annoyance lingered in his eyes. "He said you invited him?"

"Yes, once I learned he had nowhere else to stay." He tugged on his waistcoat to smooth it in place. "He will ensure your welfare when I cannot."

"Father." Emily placed her clasped hands before her. "Please, you must allow me to do what I can for the cause. Let me contribute something meaningful to show my support." And receive support in turn from Amy and Samantha.

Her father shook his head slowly. "You do not realize. With events such as they are, I cannot allow you to leave the house alone. I will not risk losing my only daughter. Your safety is my primary concern."

His scowl warned her not to argue. He tugged on the pointed edge of his vest, straining the bone b.u.t.tons neatly aligned down the front. His dark blue coat with gold piping on the cuffs and lapel edges indicated his intention to leave the house. He had arranged his hair into a simple queue, so his agenda did not include town business.

Frustration churned inside. How unfair he might venture out and about, but she could not. Anger burned her throat. Thunder rumbled in the distance, signifying that the storm now hurtled past Ft. Moultrie which was situated in the middle of the harbor, and on out to sea.

"But Father-" Emily couldn't bear it. She simply could not stay cooped up in the house every day. She must make him understand. She grasped for anything plausible to convince him not to restrict her in her own home unless escorted. "Who will go to the market?"

"I can." Frank inclined his head as he winked at her. "I pa.s.s by the market on my way to and from the printing office."

His lopsided grin ignited a fire inside her. Why did he not comprehend how trapped she felt? The household and its accompanying responsibilities surrounded her, memories of fun and laughter suffocating her.

"You wish me to not attend church then?" Frantic, Emily glanced from her father's stony face to Frank.

"Of course you shall attend church, but I or Frank will be with you. Otherwise you're to find something to do here until an escort is available. Enough. This conversation is over. Jasmine!" He strode to the writing desk. Removing a small bundle of papers, he studied the pages in his hand, ignoring her.

She could not let him. This was not over. Not yet. She hurried to him, her damp skirts still clinging to her legs. She brushed a wet clump of hair back from her face, grimacing at the sight she imagined she presented.

"Father, please. You must hear me. I feel so trapped by being forced to stay at home unless some man can walk with me. I've walked alone through town all my adult life until the blasted British invaded. But you must know that I'll not live in fear."

Her father slammed his ma.s.sive hand onto the richly embellished mahogany desk before him, its echo a gunshot in the room. Emily jumped and stepped backward, one hand flying to her mouth to stifle the cry threatening to escape. She was startled but not afraid. He would never harm her.

"Emily, you're trying my patience with this foolhardy notion of yours. The times have become much more dangerous and you do not comprehend all that you should. You must obey me." Captain Sullivan shoved the bundle none too gently into an inside pocket of his coat. His eyes flicked to the door as Jasmine appeared there. "It's about time."

Jasmine entered the room and stopped beside him, her eyes wide and frightened, and cleared her throat. "Yes, sir?"

"My cloak and hat," he barked.

Her father must be very upset to speak to any slave in such a manner. Emily gripped her hands together and waited. She sympathized with Jasmine but dared not intervene.

The slight woman bobbed once and slipped from the room. After the many years that she had worked for Emily, Jasmine knew how to handle his ire. Jasmine had served as Emily's personal attendant and housekeeper for the past ten years, ever since her father brought the twins to town to live after their aunt declared them fit to run a household. At fifteen years, Emily and Elizabeth had a.s.sumed full responsibility for managing the small house garden, food preservation, candle making, sewing and mending, and overseeing the cleaning of the house. As time permitted, Emily also read from a Bible to Jasmine until she learned to read for herself. That was an accomplishment Emily was particularly happy about, for Jasmine's benefit and edification. If the day ever came when Jasmine won her freedom, she possessed the ability to read.

A flash of annoyance swept through Emily. It simply wasn't fair. Jasmine free to leave the house and she confined to quarters. She needed a compromise and fast, before her father left and the matter closed without the possibility of revisiting it. She scanned the room, searching for inspiration. No new ideas surfaced and she turned her gaze back to Frank, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He stood, tall and handsome with twinkling gray eyes, as her only answer, whether she liked it or not.

"I do not fathom the reasons for the depth of your concern, Father." Emily met her father's eyes, pressing a hand on her stomach. "But if you're so worried about my safety, I shall renew my promise to only leave the house with a proper escort." Her heart thudded in her ears as she waited for his response. She hoped he'd agree with her renewed vow to adhere to his demand. Once he did, then she needed to investigate the nuances of the definition of the word proper. Spots formed before her eyes, and she forced herself to take a breath, unaware she'd been holding it.

A light flickered in her father's eyes as he returned her look. She couldn't imagine what worried him so. She had never seen her father afraid of anything. Not when she was a child and slaves threatened to revolt. Not when his three sons-her equal parts loving and annoying older brothers-somberly left to fight for the fledgling country's independence. Not even when the British bombs exploded all around town, barely missing the house as they aimed for St. Michael's steeple a mere three blocks away.

The presence of fear in her father worried her more than the threat of confinement to the house and garden.

"What is it?" Her voice emerged strained, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "What happened?"

"I take it you've not heard about the four women outside of town who were beaten and raped by the British soldiers?" His eyes glistened, his voice gentling, though still hot with outrage. "On their way to church, men attacked them. One poor soul even lost an eye in her fight to escape, though she did not evade the ravishment that followed. I took pleasure in attending those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds' whipping. Indeed I did."