Authors: Lori Copeland
Turning slightly in the saddle, Aaron winked at her. “But,
alas, Gage will find nothing but a bum full of musket balls.”
Ashley grinned.
“Am I right?”
She just grinned again.
The three rode hard under the cover of darkness.
“Three if by sea, two if by land,” Revere would call
occasionally over his shoulder.
“No, one if by land, two if by sea,” Ashley would call back,
wishing like blue blazes he could remember the proper signal!
At the crossroads, the horses turned and galloped off in
different directions. Revere detoured toward his house while Ashley and Aaron
continued to the Old North Church.
A light was burning in the window as Paul rode into his
yard.
The door flew open, and Rachel, in her nightgown, bounded
down the steps. “Paul, I’ve been worried about you!”
“I’m sorry, love.” After dismounting, Paul kissed her
absently. Arm in arm they started toward the house. Paul failed to see
Elizabeth’s wagon, and he caught himself as he nearly stumbled over the toy.
As he righted himself, his boot came down on the wooden cow
he’d made for Joshua, and he went to his knees. His ankle twisted painfully,
and he muttered a sharp obscenity under his breath.
Rachel sent him a reprimanding look as they hurried toward
the house. “Your language, Paul!”
“I have told those children a hundred times not to string
toys around the yard! If they must play with everything they own, make them
keep them in the backyard!”
“Yes, dear.” Noting the urgency in his steps, Rachel become
worried. “Has something happened?”
“Come inside,” Paul murmured. “Time is of the essence.”
Rachel’s brow furrowed as she followed her husband into the
house.
A moment later Paul rushed out the door again, pulling his
coat on.
“How long will you be gone?” Rachel called as she tried to
keep stride with him. By now most of the children were awake, some pressing
their noses against the windows, others trailing after their father, babbling
incessantly.
“I’m not sure, dear—watch the dog! Mortimer—” Before Paul
could finish the dog had bounded out of the house and struck off down the road.
“Oh, dear, Paul! Mortimer is out again,” Rachel called to
Paul Jr.
“Mortimer!” Paul snapped his fingers. “Get back in there,
boy!”
Mortimer paused only momentarily, then turned and bounded
off in the opposite direction again.
A grumpy Paul Jr. appeared in the doorway, trying to rub the
sleep from his eyes.
“Get Mortimer back in the house,” Paul called.
Paul Jr. yawned. “I’ll fetch him, Papa.”
Patting little Joshua’s head, Paul sidestepped him only to
stumble over Elizabeth as she headed back to her wagon. “You children be good,”
he called. “Mind your mother!”
The confusion had awakened all the children by now, and they
poured out of the house to tell their father goodbye. It was several minutes
before Paul could kiss them all and get on his way again.
“You be careful,” Rachel fretted as she helped to push him
back up into the saddle.
“I’ll be fine,” he promised. He leaned down and kissed her,
then gave her braid an affectionate tug. “Keep my side of the bed warm, Momma.”
After turning his horse, he galloped out of the yard,
clapping his hand to his hat, coattails flying.
Aaron and Ashley were just returning from the church when
the three met up on the road again.
Dust fogged the air as they pulled the horses to a halt.
“How is John?” Ashley asked.
Paul looked completely blank for a moment. “I forgot to
ask.”
“Time is passing swiftly,” Aaron cautioned. “We must be on
our way.”
“I have a boat hidden near Charlestown ferry,” Paul
supplied, “but I will need someone to row me across.”
“I can row you across.” Aaron lifted the reins and was about
to be off again when Ashley called to him.
“No, you can't.”
The two men glanced at Ashley.
“History doesn’t record it that way,” she said meekly.
Aaron thought for a moment. "Why can’t I row him
across?”
“Because...” She prompted their response with her fingers.
“Because...I’m not mentioned in the history books?” Aaron
guessed.
She shook her head no.
He thought for another moment. “Because...someone else did?”
She smiled.
“Who?”
She held up her finger. “Temper, temper.”
“We don’t have time to play games!”
Paul shook his head, marveling at how the two could cross
swords so often.
“Please, friend, let me try.” Paul cleared his throat,
accustomed to dealing with a woman. “Aaron can’t row me across, but someone
else can?”
Ashley nodded.
“David and Henry live not far from here. I can have them row
me across,” Paul said simply.
The two men glanced back to Ashley, and to their relief, she
nodded.
A short time later, four horses and five riders galloped
toward the dock near Charlestown ferry where Paul's small boat was kept hidden
in the shadows. The small craft bobbed in the water as the riders came to a
stop.
A bright moon was hanging overhead as the four men and one
woman viewed the large English transport lying in the harbor.
“It’s the Somerset,’’ Ashley whispered reverently. Aaron’s
grave gaze fixed on the English man-of-war. “That it is.”
“Is it armed?”
“You tell me.”
She sighed. “It is. Sixty-four guns.”
Aaron glanced at the moon, disturbed to find it so bright.
Paul would have to row right by the British ship to reach the other side.
Paul muttered, “I meant to bring a cloth to wrap around the
oars to muffle the sound. I left the house in such a hurry, I forgot to get
one.”
He muttered again a few moments later. “I’ve run off without
my spurs too!”
Henry nudged Aaron, winking knowingly. “Doesn’t Abigail
Watson live just down the road?”
Ashley glanced up and frowned when she saw Henry and Aaron
grinning at each other. “Who’s Abigail Watson?”
Aaron’s face sobered immediately. “No one.”
“No one?”
“Just a woman I know,” he said easily.
“Another ‘widow’ woman?”
The four men chuckled uneasily.
“Aaron, why don’t you see if Abigail has something we can
wrap around the oars?” Paul said with just a hint of a grin still lingering at
the corners of his mouth.
As Aaron returned to his horse, Ashley followed him. After
swinging into the saddle, he glanced down to find her standing there looking at
him. “I’ll be back momentarily.”
She smiled nicely. “I’ll go with you.”
“It isn’t necessary.” He paused as guilt flooded his face.
“Do the history books mention Abigail?”
“Not by name.”
“Oh.” He finally offered his hand and lifted her onto the
horse behind him. Moments later they galloped off down the road.
“Who is this Abigail Watson?” she asked, trying to make
herself heard above the thunder of hooves.
“Just a friend.”
“How good a ‘friend’?”
A smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Does it matter?”
Ashley was surprised to realize that it did. She had known
Aaron Kenneman only days, but she was beginning to think of him as hers.
“How much are you going to tell her?” Ashley whispered as
they crept around the corner of Abigail Watson’s house a short while later.
“As much as I need to.”
“How do you know she won’t run to the British?”
“She won’t.”
“You seem to know your ‘friend’ well.”
She could see his wry grin in the moonlight. She reached out
and punched him soundly.
Stooping down, Aaron selected several small stones,
straightened, and tossed them at a second-story window that glowed with a faint
light.
“Is this Abigail’s bedroom?” she mocked.
“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” He picked
up another handful of stones and tossed them at the window again. A moment
later, the window was thrown open and a pretty young woman poked her head out.
“Aaron! You goose! Why are you standing out there? Come in,
darlin’.”
Aaron started forward, but Ashley latched on to the back of
his coat. “Hold it, ‘goose,’” she threatened. “You’re here on business.
Remember?”
“I can’t stay, Abby,” he called back with more regret in his
voice than Ashley thought necessary. Stepping from the shadows, Ashley eased
closer to him so that Abigail would be sure to see her.
“Then why be bothering me so late, darlin’?” Abigail’s
pretty features grew petulant as she spotted the young woman standing with
Aaron.
“I need a favor,” Aaron called.
“Of course. Anything...you know that.”
“Just anything, you silly ol’ goose. You know that.” Ashley
smirked under her breath.
“Jealous?” he returned under his breath before he lifted his
head to Abigail. “A friend and I must cross the river, but we need something to
muffle the oars. Some kind of cloth?”
“A cloth?”
Ashley punched him in his side.
“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” he added.
Abigail hurriedly stepped out of her petticoat and pitched
it out the window. “Will this do?”
Catching the garment in his hand, Aaron grinned. “Thank
you—”
His words caught in his throat as Ashley jerked his arm and
turned him firmly back in the direction of his horse.
When they arrived back at the boat, Paul was still muttering
to himself about leaving his spurs behind.
“‘Twould make the ride easier if I had the blasted things,”
he complained.
“I could ride back and get them for you,” David offered.
“No, we haven’t the time.”
Mortimer suddenly came into view, loping down the road, his
tongue hanging out in a heavy pant.
“Mortimer!” Paul stood up in the small boat, a smile
breaking across his face. “Quick, a pen and paper.”
“For what?” David asked.
“I need to send Rachel a note.”
Ashley fumbled in her canvas bag and came up with bank
deposit slip and a ballpoint pen, which she quickly handed to Paul.
Paul gazed at the strange implement, then hurriedly
scribbled a note and tied it around the dog’s neck. “Go home, Mortimer. Home,
boy!”
The dog whirled and was off again, racing back down the road
with seeming purpose now.
“Will he mind?”
“On rare occasions.” Paul only hoped this was one of them.
Handing the pen back to Ashley, Paul viewed the blobs of
black ink staining his fingers.
“Sorry,” Ashley murmured when she saw his blank dismay. “I
forgot it leaks.”
Aaron and Paul busied themselves tearing Abigail’s flannel
petticoat into strips, then tying the pieces around the oars.
Ashley watched for Mortimer’s return, praying the dog
understood the importance of his mission.
Twenty minutes passed, and the dog failed to return.
“I can linger no longer,” Paul whispered. Reaching out, he
took Aaron’s hand. “Wish me luck, friend.”
The two men shook hands. “Godspeed, Paul.”
“Thank you, good friend. I’ll need it.”
Aaron pushed the small boat out into the water with Paul,
Henry, and David aboard.
“I surely do wish I had my spurs,” Paul muttered as Henry
and Paul began rowing away from the bank.
Ashley suddenly spotted Mortimer coming back down the road,
running like the wind.
“Wait!” Ashley whispered. “Here comes Mortimer!”
“Mortimer! Good dog!” Revere whispered jubilantly.
Two minutes later Mortimer bounded up to the group with
Paul’s spurs tied to the strap around his neck.
“Bless you, Mortimer!” Paul cried out softly.
Aaron knelt and removed the spurs and hurriedly tossed them
to Revere.
Paul caught them, smiling. “Mistress Wheeler?”
“Yes?”
“Do the history books mention my dog?”
Ashley grinned. “Yes!”
“That’s nice,” she heard Aaron grumble. “I’m risking my skin
for a cause, and history’s never heard of Aaron Kenneman, just Mortimer,
Revere’s dog.”
Chapter
Eleven
The sound of the oars cutting through the water began to
fade.
Ashley and Aaron stood arm and arm, watching the small boat
holding the three men skim across the moonlit water.
When a few minutes had passed and Aaron had not spoken,
Ashley squeezed his arm. “You want to be with them, don’t you?”
Disappointment tinged his voice now. “I have planned for a
very long time to be a part of this night.”
Laying her head on his shoulder, Ashley focused her eyes on
the English vessel. “You know, if we could find another boat we could follow
them,” she said.
He turned, hope springing to his eyes. “It would not alter
history?”
“Not if we keep a safe distance. We can stay behind Paul,
and if he should run into any trouble, you can be there to run interference.”
“This ‘run interference’? What does this mean?”
“It’s sort of a football term—do you know anything about
football?”
“I have heard of the game.”
“As long as you don’t directly interfere with Paul’s ride—”
“I would not interfere,” he interrupted shortly. “I have
helped shape the events of this night.”
“I know.” She patted him reassuringly again. “Do you know
someone who can lend us a boat?”
“Yes.”
“Someone nearby?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go, Kenneman. We have a very important ride to
make.”
“I might have known,” Ashley complained as they climbed into
the small boat a short time later.
The nearby “friend” had turned out to be yet another one of
Aaron’s female acquaintances. Molly Rahaus had proved only too eager to be of
assistance to the handsome young doctor.
“Petticoats and boats—what a woman won’t do for a man,”
Ashley groused.
Aaron caught her waist as her foot slipped, nearly dumping
her into the water.
Ashley seated herself on the board seat directly behind him
as he picked up the oars then pushed the boat away from the bank. “How many
women ‘friends’ can one man have?”
“I can only answer for myself.”
“And that is?”
“Not nearly enough.” He winked and grinned at her.
Ashley watched the tight ridge of muscles in his forearms as
he began to cut the oars through the water noiselessly.
A hoot owl called and Ashley scooted forward anxiously
wrapping her arms around his waist, she closed her eyes, holding on to him
tightly.
“’Tis only an owl,” he consoled.
“’Tis a loud one!” she whispered back. Resting her head on
his back, back used twice, change one she sighed. “I know this is going to
sound crazy, but at times I almost wish I wasn’t dreaming.” Her arms settled
more possessively around his waist.
“At what times are those?” he asked.
“Times like now.”
“What is tempting about this hour? We are in a small boat,
praying to get by an English man-of-war before we are blown out of the water.
Seems an unlikely event to relish.”
Snuggling closer, she hugged him tighter. “I know, but even
though we are in danger, I enjoy being with you, and I suspect that even if you
are troubled about who I say I am, you have enjoyed me.”
She had seen the way he listened with rapt interest when she
talked about some event or amazing medical occurrence in the twenty-first
century.
Noting the way he stiffened at her remark, she whispered,
“What’s wrong?”
“What you said...it is improper.”
“What?” Ashley tried to think what she might have said to
offend him.
“That you...enjoy me,” he murmured. “’Tis not true.”
“But, I do."
“’Tis not true,” he snapped. “I have acted as a gentleman—no
matter what the circumstance!”
“I didn’t say you hadn’t.”
“You did. You said that I have enjoyed you, and you
me—and...we haven’t.”
“You don’t like me?”
“Like you? Yes. Enjoy you? I have not—although I do not find
the thought disagreeable,” he admitted.
She frowned. “You don’t find the thought of enjoying me
disagreeable?”
“’Tis not the thing a man speaks of with a lady,” he
bristled.
“Wait a minute.” It suddenly dawned on Ashley that they’d
hit another communication gap. “Exactly what does ‘enjoy’ mean—to an
eighteenth-century man?” Aaron continued to row, his jaw set tightly. “It
means...What does it mean to a twenty-first century woman?”
“It means to have a good time or to take pleasure in. What
does it mean to you?”
“It means—well, to a man it means that he...enjoys his
wife.”
“He should.”
“Physically.”
“Oh.” She grinned. “Well, he should.” Wriggling closer to
him, she rather liked the thought that he wouldn’t find “enjoying” her all that
bad.
“Stop wiggling, wench. You’ll dump us both in the river.”
“I was just thinking”—she deliberately made her breath warm
against his ear now—“that being out here with you is really quite romantic.”
“We are on a grave mission. There is no time for...this.” He
squirmed as she hugged him closer.
“But this doesn’t take much time, and it’s so...tempting,
wouldn’t you say? The river, the moonlight...”
“The British waiting to level us with their cannon,” he
returned dryly.
“Being here with you,” she continued. “Moonlight always
makes me...feel romantic, doesn’t it you?” She smiled when she felt him tense
again. “Am I making you nervous?”
“I am not accustomed to having a woman be so—”
“Forward?”
“Yes.”
Sighing, Ashley shifted back to her seat as Aaron resumed
rowing. If circumstances were different, she’d show him how daring a twenty-first
century woman could really be.
“Stay well to the right of the ship,” she whispered.
“’Twould be easier to go to the left.”
“No, to the right. I can see men standing on the left side
of the ship,” she murmured.
A man’s voice carried occasionally on the air, and the smell
of pipe tobacco came to her.
Silence filled the small boat as the English man-of-war
loomed closer. Since there was nothing in the history books about either her or
Aaron, she wasn’t at all sure how this spontaneous little outing would turn
out.
After lifting the oars from the water, Aaron rested them on
the sides of the boat, allowing it to drift silently beneath the bow of the
Somerset.
Holding her breath, Ashley shut her eyes and prayed that
fate was as committed to keeping history intact as she was.
She was practically certain that history hadn’t mentioned
the man-of-war firing on anybody...or almost certain.
The small boat bobbed along, slamming lightly across the
water as it sailed past the English ship.
When they were safely on the other side, Ashley wilted with
relief. “Bingo!” she whispered.
“Bingo?”
“Never mind.”
Grinning, they exchanged a brief victory kiss.
“Good job, Kenneman!”
‘The credit goes to you, Mistress Wheeler. You’re an
excellent navigator!”
Their gazes suddenly locked in the moonlight.
“Like you, Mistress Wheeler, I suddenly find myself wishing
that we were sharing more than what you claim is only a dream,” he said softly.
“Ditto, Dr. Kenneman, a big ditto.”
Paul and the two other men were just pulling their small
craft onto shore when they heard Aaron and Ashley approaching.
They called softly to Paul, who was just starting to climb
the steep ravine. Turning, he quickly made his way back to the shoreline.
“What are you doing here?” Paul asked.
Aaron helped Ashley out of the boat, then turned to Paul. “I
will stay close behind you, for I cannot let you make this ride without my
protection.”
Paul glanced at Ashley. “Can he do this?”
Ashley nodded. “We’ll be nearby if you need us.”
“Then we must be off,” Paul whispered.
Aaron stepped forward, his features grave as the two men’s
eyes met.
“If anything should happen...”
“Rachel and the children will be cared for,” Aaron returned
quietly. “Ride well.”
“This night we begin our fight for freedom.”
“And fight we will.”
The men shook hands again, then bidding the others good-bye,
Paul, Aaron, and Ashley scaled the ravine, then struck off down the road on
foot. When they’d gone about a mile, Ashley and Aaron dropped back, leaving
Paul to proceed to Charleston alone.
Within a few minutes, lanterns came into view. Paul quickly
proceeded to a white clapboard house where a man was waiting in the shadows
with a horse saddled and ready to travel.
“I have seen the signal in the church.” Colonel Conant
stepped out of the shadows and handed Paul the reins of the horse. “The
redcoats come by sea?”
Paul nodded.
“’Tis what we have feared,” he breathed.
“The British are on their way to Concord to destroy supplies
and take Adams and Hancock. I must rouse the countryside,” Paul gathered the
reins.
“Of course. God’s speed, my good man.”
“I will need two more swift horses,” Revere requested as he
mounted.
Colonel Conant hurried away and returned awhile later
leading the horses.
Pointing to Ashley and Aaron, Paul tipped his hat, then
whirled and was off in a fast gallop.
Five minutes later Ashley was warily eyeing the black
gelding she was to ride. The animal looked hostile to her, and she wasn’t crazy
about the thought of keeping company with him for the next few hours.
“I can’t ride this thing,” she declared.
“There is little choice unless you ride with me,” Aaron
whispered as he swung into his saddle.
Ashley thought about the harrowing rides she’d taken with
him lately and suddenly the horse didn’t look so menacing.
“I’ve never ridden alone before,” she warned as she tried
unsuccessfully to hook her foot into the stirrup.
“Then ’tis a good time to begin, wouldn’t you say?” He
looked at her and grinned as she danced around, struggling to hoist herself
aboard the beast.
Grunting, she finally heaved herself into the saddle.
Glancing at Aaron, her face flushed with victory. “I guess it ’tis, pilgrim.”
“Pilgrim?”
“That’s my John Wayne impersonation.” He was about to open
his mouth when she stopped him. “John Wayne was one of the best cowboys that ever
rode the big screen, pilgrim.”
This time he didn’t even bother to ask.
Ashley managed to find the reins, which Conant had
thoughtfully tied over the horse’s neck.
“How do I make him turn?” She studied the bridle as if it
were a long, repulsive black snake dangling across the saddle.
“If you want him to go right, pull the reins to the right.
If left, pull to the left. Kick his sides to go, and pull back evenly on the
reins to stop.”
“Oh, sure thing.” Ashley lifted the reins gingerly. Right,
right. Left, left. Brakes, pull back.
“Ready?”
“No.” Ashley moaned as they started off at a bone-jarring
trot. But by that time, it didn’t matter. They were off.
****
For the first mile, Ashley’s horse contentedly loped along
behind Aaron’s. Managing to sit up straighter in the saddle, Ashley decided
that this wasn’t going to be so bad. It wasn’t going to take her long to get
the hang of it.
But five minutes later, she was forced to amend her
optimistic view. She was in trouble. Big trouble. The stirrups were too long,
and she had difficulty staying in the saddle. With each bounce, she slid
sideways, which seemed to annoy the horse. In retaliation, he tossed his head
and made strange whinnying noises that in turn annoyed her.
Just when she was convinced that she would be able to keep
up, Aaron would kick his mount into a faster canter. There was nothing she
could do but follow, her teeth jarring with every hoof beat.
By the time they’d ridden a half hour, it was all she could
do to hang on to the saddle, keep hold of the reins, and attempt to keep her
feet in the stirrups. By this time, her thighs were raw, her ankles bruised and
bleeding from being beaten by the wooden stirrups, and her feet and calves
locked in one long painful cramp from the unnatural strain.
Turning to glance over his shoulder at her, Aaron grinned.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Ashley muttered, losing all hope now that she would
ever bear children. “Just peachy.”
“Well, bear up, 'pilgrim,’ ” he called. “We have a long ride
ahead of us!”
The horses continued their rapid pace. The night was
pleasant with the moon climbing high above them in a diamond-studded sky.
Just outside Charleston Neck, Aaron suddenly reined his
horse to the side of the road. Straight ahead of Paul, he could faintly detect
two men on horseback sitting under a tree. He watched, wondering if Paul had
spotted the two riders.
Trotting up beside him, Ashley pulled back on the reins,
trying to halt her mount. "Whoa...whoa...whoa!”
Aaron turned to look at her, scowling. "Mistress
Wheeler, your shouting is distressing.”
"You want to talk distressing? Ride this nag for ten
minutes, then we’ll talk distressing.”
Aaron turned back to watch as Paul galloped closer to the
horsemen hidden in the shadows.
Suddenly one of the riders sprang out ahead of Revere, while
the other attempted to overtake him from behind.
Swinging around, Paul raced back toward Charlestown Neck
with the two men in hot pursuit on his tail.
Aaron caught the flash of a red coat as he spurred his mount
into action. Groaning, Ashley held on for her life as her horse broke into a
gallop to follow.
The two English officers rode hard, but Revere managed to
outmaneuver them as they sped along the moonlit countryside.
“Slow down,” Ashley shouted as her horse rounded a bend at
breakneck speed. Her fingers dug into his mane as she hung on, reciting
prayers.