Authors: Lori Copeland
Ashley’s stomach growled as Aaron hoisted her up on the
horse. She wasn’t too crazy about having his hands on her, but since it was
impossible for her to mount otherwise, she kept quiet. “Watch it—I’m sore.” She
winced.
Settling herself, she looked down at him. “I’d kill for an
Egg McMuffin and a cup of hot coffee.”
“That does sound tasty,” Aaron agreed in a tone of someone
accustomed to dealing with the insane.
After mounting behind her, he wheeled the horse, and they
galloped off.
A short time later the elderly man’s small house came into
view. The whitewash on the old cottage was stained and the door sagged on its
hinges. The house wasn’t exactly a picturesque setting out of a history book.
Ashley saw two small children crouched upon a tiny hearth feeding a small fire with
sticks of kindling as she entered the front room.
Ashley had to squint to make out the furnishings. She was
blind as a bat without her contacts, and she’d taken them out the night before.
Reaching into her purse, she withdrew her glasses and put them on.
After moving toward the fire, she warmed the tips of her
fingers as she looked at the furnishings in the sparse room. Other than a table
and three chairs, there was only a scarred lowboy, a small cabinet that held a
few dishes, and a dry sink. The curtains at the narrow windows had faded to a
nondescript blue years ago. The family obviously was very poor.
A tired-looking woman appeared from the back room, carrying
a pan of water and a cloth.
“How is Rebecca?” the old man asked anxiously.
“She is not good,” the woman said, shaking her head.
Aaron shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to Ashley as he
followed the woman and man into the bedroom.
Glancing over his shoulder, he motioned for Ashley to
follow.
“No!” she mouthed silently.
“Yes!” he mouthed back. “Now.” He looked at her glasses and
frowned. The frames were most unusual.
Ashley followed him unwillingly.
The room was small, the darkness broken only by a small
candle burning beside the bed. The woman on the bed was so pale she appeared
waxen.
Stepping back into the shadows, Ashley watched as Aaron
began to examine the woman. As he worked, he spoke reassuringly, trying to calm
the woman’s fears.
Ashley had a feeling he was an excellent physician, though
she knew his knowledge was pitifully limited. She thought about all the things
people had learned about the science of medicine since Aaron Kenneman’s day,
and she suddenly had an overwhelming urge to share with him the exciting news
about polio, diphtheria, whooping cough, heart disease, cholesterol, oat bran,
X rays, CAT scans, and penicillin. But she dismissed the idea. He wouldn’t
believe her. Not in a million years.
“Been painin’ most of the night, Doctor. Don’t know what it
could be,” Rebecca complained. “’Fraid a pox has been sent on me.”
“When did the pain begin?”
“ ’Bout an hour after I ate.”
“What did you eat?”
The woman sent a suffering look toward her husband.
“Cabbage, rutabagas, and beans, Doctor. Nothin’ else,” the man assured him.
Ashley puffed her cheeks out. Gas, she thought.
Aaron smiled, patting the woman’s shoulder reassuringly.
“Well, we’ll see if we can’t make you—”
Beebeepp. Beebeeppp. Beebeeppp. Beebeeppp.
The woman drew back warily. “What...is it, Doctor?”
Ashley froze as the alarm on her watch began to play a
perfunctory seven o’clock wake-up call. The watch had been a gift from her
sister, who found it amusing that the alarm played an old World War I tune, “I
hate to get up, I hate to get up, I hate to get up in the morning!”
She glanced up to find four pairs of stunned eyes transfixed
upon her.
Aaron shot her an I-don’t-know-what-it-is-but-stop-it look.
Now. “’Tis nothing to concern you, Rebecca.” Smiling lamely, Ashley slapped at
the alarm, trying to silence it. She could see the noise was upsetting the old
man and woman.
“It’s nothing...just my watch.” She pointed at her wrist
apologetically.
Rebecca drew back on her pillow, her eyes growing very
large. “‘Tis a witch, Hubert...’tis a witch!” she breathed. “Mayhap the same
witch who sent a pox on me!
“See here, Doctor! You had no call to bring a witch into
our home!” Hubert accused.
Ashley slapped the watch more forcefully, mumbling under her
breath. “Shut off, you stupid thing.”
Rebecca began to weep and wail, thrashing about upon the bed
in an effort to escape the evil power.
The tired-looking woman sprang bravely forward to try to
knock the watch off Ashley’s wrist while Hubert bolted toward the bed to throw
himself protectively over his wife’s body.
Swearing softly, Aaron stepped between the bed and Ashley
and took her firmly by the arm.
“What?...Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s only a watch,” she
explained as he proceeded to drag her from the room.
Aaron didn’t know what it was that this strange woman was
wearing strapped to her wrist, but it was leaving.
“This is stupid...I can explain...let go of my arm!” she
demanded as he hauled her out the doorway, past the two round-eyed children
sitting on the hearth, and out the front door.
Her indignant shrieks shattered the serenity of the quiet
countryside as Aaron dragged her toward a small lean-to. She had to run to keep
from falling on her face in the blasted cloth slippers!
“Where are you taking me?”
“I’ll tell you where I’d like to take you,” he snapped.
“And I’ll tell you where you can go,” she shot back. “You’re
not my keeper!”
He jerked the door and pushed her into a small shed that was
dark and smelled of...cow! Before she knew what he was about to do, Aaron had
found a length of twine and bound her hands like a Christmas goose. “Now stay
here, and be quiet!” he ordered.
“You jerk!”
He strode out of the shed and slammed the door without so
much as a backward glance.
“Ooohhhhh!” She was mad enough to spit. How dare he tie her
up in a smelly old shed and leave her there!
She sat for a moment, trying to figure out what to do.
Moooooo.
She lifted her gaze to find a cow placidly chewing on a
mouthful of hay, staring at her.
“He thinks he can get away with this,” she seethed.
Moooooo. The cow contentedly munched on hay, apparently
agreeing.
Ten minutes later Ashley had managed to loosen with her
teeth the twine tied around her wrists. In the process she’d lost a hairpin,
the cow had trampled it into a pile of manure, and she’d caught her skirt on a
nail and it now had a jagged three-corner tear in the front. But it didn’t
matter. She was free, and she’d love to see the look on the schmuck’s face when
he came back and discovered that she had outsmarted him.
Ashley snatched up her canvas bag and crept out of the shed.
Luck was finally with her. A narrow lane ran behind the shed, and all she had
to do was follow it back to town.
After kicking off the tight slippers, she started off down
the road at a brisk pace. It was still early, and few people were stirring. She
had no idea where she was going, but she would not permit a man to treat her with
such disrespect.
She walked for over a mile before she dared to lessen her
pace. The sun was up now, and the day promised to be a muggy one.
Slogging along, head down, dejected, weary, and just plain
exhausted, she swore to give up sauerkraut and pepperoni for the rest of her
life.
A man’s voice suddenly came to her from behind.
“Well, well. And who might this be?”
“A pretty young maid,” a second man’s voice answered.
Ashley whirled, her heart slamming against her ribs as she
discovered the source of the masculine voices.
The first voice belonged to the incredibly handsome dragoon
leading the mounted infantry; the second belonged to one of the fourteen
British soldiers riding with him.
Ashley’s heart dropped five stories. British soldiers.
Fifteen of them. Dressed in the uniform of the English ordinary soldier, they
stared back at her, but it was the captain leading the mounted infantrymen who
commanded her rapt attention.
The man sat upon his horse with a jaunty air that fairly
shouted his importance. He wore a bright red frock coat, the skirt rakishly
held back by the hilt of his sword, and knee britches. His black boots had been
shined carefully, and the white gloves he held in his right hand were
immaculate. He was quite a magnificent sight, this masculine specimen of over
two hundred years ago.
“Good morning, mistress,” he said with a slight nod. “I am
Captain Benjamin Browning. Where might a maid such as yourself be going so
early in the morning?” he asked.
“I’m...”Ashley’s mind raced feverishly for a reason he would
find plausible, “taking a walk,” she said, summoning up her most winning smile
for him. “’Tis a splendid morning, isn’t it?”
Captain Browning leaned easily on the pommel of his saddle.
“It is rather early in the day for one so fair to be taking a walk, is it not?”
Chapter
Five
“Well...I didn’t plan to walk this far.” Ashley turned,
gazing about her with innocent confusion. “I don’t seem to know where I’ve
wandered, kind sir.”
His brow lifted with concern. “Mayhap you are lost?”
She lifted her hand to her temple, pretending to be
hopelessly mixed up. “Oh, dear, mayhap I am.”
The men shifted in their saddles, exchanging amused looks.
The untidy doxy was clearly from one of the local nunneries. A couple of the
men chuckled as they viewed her dirt smudged face, flyaway hair, and tattered
dress. Though winsome, this lovely one obviously commanded little coin for her
skills.
Thinking to tease her a bit, the captain leaned forward
again, smiling. “Or mayhap you are a spy, and you are walking the back lanes to
carry messages?” His eyes sparkled devilishly as his experienced eye measured
her from head to toe.
Ashley shook her head mutely.
“No? Mayhap you’ve gained some bit of information from a
British dragoon well into his cups?” the captain needled.
Oh, Lord, he knew, Ashley thought hopelessly. She might as
well be honest and just pray that she could gain his sympathy. “Well, no, I’m
not a spy, but listen, I’ll be honest with you.
I’m...I’m not just taking a walk, I’m trying to escape from someone,”
she admitted.
If she was in the protection of fifteen British soldiers,
Aaron Kenneman wouldn’t dream of trying to recapture her.
The captain’s smile faded slightly. “Oh?”
“Yes, a—a doctor. Please.” She stepped forward, holding her
hand out to him. “You must help me.”
“You are trying to escape from a doctor?” he inquired.
“Yes, and he’s an arrogant pig!” she snapped, shifting the
strap of her bag higher on her shoulder.
Fifteen sets of brows rose simultaneously this time.
“A...pig?” the captain repeated.
“You wouldn’t believe what a pig—but we don’t have so much
time that we can stand here wasting it.” She glanced down the road. It was
imperative that she remain calm and not say anything that would alert the
soldiers to the fact that in some circles she was thought to be crazy, although
she knew that it did sound strange that she was attempting to escape a doctor.
Maybe she shouldn’t have told them that. “Uh…the man will be coming after me
any minute now. We’ll have to hurry.”
“This…doctor is holding you against your will?” the captain
asked, his eyebrows climbing.
“Listen.” Ashley thought that the captain looked like an
understanding type. “I know I can’t explain this sensibly, but there was this
small misunderstanding about my watch —the one my sister gave me for my
birthday? It plays this silly little World War I song: I hate to get up, I hate
to get up, I hate to get up in the morning...
The captain nodded as if he’d heard the song.
“Oh, you have heard it?"
He glanced over his shoulder, flashing his men a wry smile.
Turning back to Ashley, he nodded. “Of course. Please, go on.”
Encouraged by his astute perception of her situation, Ashley
continued. “Well, Rebecca really lost it. She started screaming and carrying
on, accusing me of being a witch, and so…the… doctor,” Ashley carefully
refrained from revealing Aaron’s name, realizing the soldier could still decide
to hand her back to him, “he drags me out to this stinking shed, ties me up,
and leaves me with a cow! Can you believe it?”
The captain shook his head sympathetically. “You are
Rebecca?”
“No, my name is Ashley Wheeler. Rebecca is Hubert’s wife.”
The captain nodded again as if he understood perfectly.
“Can you just please call me a cab?” Ashley finished
wearily.
The captain turned to look at his men again.
The men shrugged, then nodded charitably.
The captain turned back to Ashley. After clearing his
throat, he complied gruffly. “You are a...cab.”
“What?”
“You are a...cab.”
“Oh…no, I mean…” Ashley froze, realizing the serious slip of
the tongue she’d made. She wasn’t in twenty-first-century Boston, she was in
eighteenth-century Boston, and these men had never heard of a cab!
“I...meant to say, could you call me a...horse,” she amended
quickly, knowing that sounded even more stupid, but she had to have some form
of transportation to escape.
The captain turned to look at his men again. This time their
faces clearly indicated that this is where they drew the line. Daft or not,
they were not going to call any woman a horse.
“I’m afraid I am unable to assist you,” the captain said at
last.
“Then could you just take me with you, and drop me off at
the first town we come to?” At least she would be safe from Kenneman, and would
have more time to decide what to do.
“Of course,” said the captain. “I’ll have one of my men take
you wherever you wish to go.”
“Oh, thank you!” So he didn’t think she was crazy after all.
“Bennett, there is a jail nearby,” the captain said quietly.
“See to the young lady’s comfort while she is escorted there.”
“Yes, sir!”
The captain lifted his hand, and the line of troops began
moving forward.
“Jail? No, wait a minute!” Ashley shouted to the captain’s
retreating back. Why had she asked him to call her a cab? Where was her mind?
Of course he would think she was crazy!
“You’re a danger to yourself, my lovely, wandering about,
babbling like a demented magpie,” he called.
“No, listen to me, please!” she cried. “I’m telling you the
truth! I’m having this crazy dream...you have to help me!”
“The guards will find someone to assume responsibility for
you,” he promised.
Stunned, Ashley felt herself being lifted off the ground and
placed on a horse behind one of the soldiers. Dear Lord, they were really going
to put her in prison until someone came to claim her! And no one would ever
come! Aaron would have no idea what had happened, and, even if he knew, there
wasn’t a prayer he would come after her. Not after the trouble she’d caused.
In all too short a time, the small infantry reached the
jail. Ashley looked at the solidly built stone building with thick bars on the
narrow windows, and she knew she was going to be sick.
Clamping her hand over her mouth, she bolted toward the
bushes, and, while the men looked on, she threw up.
The soldiers wrinkled their noses, stoically trying to keep
from gagging as they listened to the anguished heaves, strangled gasps, and
muttered oaths coming from behind the bushes.
Returning a moment later, Ashley, pale and shaken, marched
past the white-faced men, determined to see this thing through.
Captain Browning emerged from the prison a few minutes later
followed by a surly looking fellow who smelled as if he hadn’t been near water
in weeks.
“This is the young woman. She says her name is Ashley
Wheeler, though we can’t be certain. She babbles madness.” The captain’s eyes
swept over Ashley’s pale face with regret. “’Tis a waste of womanhood, to be
sure.”
“My name is Ashley Wheeler, and I’m not crazy,” she
insisted. “You can’t throw me in jail just because I was walking along a road.”
“’Tis better to hold your tongue, woman!” Captain Browning
commanded.
“I will not! You have no jurisdiction over me. I am a United
States citizen, not under British powers!”
“Ah-ha! You are a colonial spy!”
“No!” Ashley retorted warily. “I’m not a spy.”
‘Then what are you?”
“Nuts,” she conceded. It was better that they think her
crazy than a spy.
“See how she babbles. I will leave her in your command,” the
captain said to the jailer. “I will notify the authorities in case someone
should be looking for her.”
“’Tisn’t likely,” the jailer conceded. “But she can stay.”
His beady eyes studied her from head to foot, and Ashley
instinctively drew closer to the captain’s side.
“You can’t leave me here with this...this man,” she
whispered. “I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”
“There is nothing more that can be done with you,” Captain
Browning said, tugging his cocked hat lower on his forehead. “Take her,” he
directed the jailer.
Ashley struggled to elude the jailer, but he pried her from
the Tory’s grasp and marched her, screaming, into the prison.
As the burly jailer pulled her inside the dank building, her
senses were assaulted by myriad terrible sights, sounds and smells. Her feet
slid on the slimy floor, and her stomach rolled.
“I’m going to be sick again,” she warned.
Laughing, the jailer snagged a ring of keys off a hook and
unlocked a thick wooden door leading to a narrow passageway. After yanking her
through the doorway, he dragged her along a small corridor where the darkness
was broken by low-burning torches. There was the sound of wings fluttering
overhead and tiny feet scurrying across the stone floor.
Ashley’s heart was beating wildly as she stumbled along
behind the jailer, her eyes growing wide as voices from dark cells called to
her.
Poor, tortured souls dragged themselves to their feet to
peer through the narrow bars on the doors, their hands extending beseechingly
to her.
“Help me...help me...the voices pleaded weakly from the
bowels of the blackened cells.
At the end of the long row, the jailer unlocked a door and
thrust Ashley inside. She cried out as she tumbled onto a pile of damp, dirty
straw.
“Oh, please, you can’t put me in here,” she pleaded.
The jailer laughed, his round belly jiggling merrily. “If
there be anything I can do to make you more comfortable, just let me know, my
lovely! Thomas Bulfoonery be at your service!”
“No, please!” Ashley raced toward the door as it swung
closed with a dull clang. Doubling up her fists and sobbing now, she beat on
the heavy wood, but her hysteria only made the jailer laugh harder. He turned
and walked away, leaving her in the darkness.
A damp cold penetrated her body as she huddled on the straw.
She closed her eyes, refusing to accept the fact that she was in an
eighteenth-century prison. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be.
Sounds closed in around her. Low moans, wailing, a man’s
voice babbling gibberish in a nearby cell.
After what seemed like hours, Ashley summoned enough
strength to pull herself to a sitting position. She was thirsty. Her eyes
located a wooden water bucket with a gourd dipper to one side, and she wondered
how long it had been there. A filthy metal pot was set in the opposite side of
the cell. Apparently, the pot was the only bathroom facility available.
Ashley closed her eyes. Oh, please, she prayed. Just let me
wake up. I’ll do anything. Anything. But when she opened her eyes, the same
dismal sights confronted her.
A squeak in the corner made her freeze. Rats, three of them,
scampered across the floor, their red eyes watching her warily. Ashley leapt to
her feet, pressing herself against the door. “Help! Help! There are rats in
here!”
A burst of laughter came from the cell opposite her. “Rats,
you say? Then you’ll have meat for supper, my lovely!”
The rats scurried into the cracks, but it was several
minutes before Ashley could move. Rats. She shuddered.
Spotting the tiny window, she edged her way around the cell,
still pressed to the wall. Standing on tiptoe, she peered between the bars at
the small court enclosed by stone walls. Her heart sank when she saw that the
courtyard was empty.
Wrapping her hands around the bars, she tried to pull
herself up higher, hoping to catch a breath of fresh air. She was so out of
shape! With a groan of disgust, she dropped back to the floor, heartsick. She
swallowed a cough that persisted in tickling her throat. Great! All she needed
now was a case of pneumonia.
She glanced around and spied the water bucket again. After
moving closer, she hesitantly peered inside. Three large, black, bloated bugs
floated on top of the water.
Ashley winced, vowing she wouldn’t drink the water even if
it meant she’d die of thirst. Not wanting to worsen the already deplorable
conditions, she gingerly lifted the bucket with the tips of her fingers, and
carried it to the window. A few seconds later she was drenched, but she had
managed to fling most of the water through the bars.
Then she flipped the bucket upside down and climbed on it,
welcoming the whisper of fresh air.
Laying her head on the wooden sill, she stared bleakly at
the deserted courtyard. She should have stayed with that arrogant American
patriot.
At least he smelled better than this wretched place.
****
Lunch arrived through the slot in the door. Ashley hurried
to catch the bowl, but it fell to the floor with a noisy clatter.
“Woe is me! Guess you’ll wait till supper,” the jailer
quipped, then burst out laughing as he moved to the next cell.
Ashley stared at the mess in disgust. Great. She was trapped
in a nightmare with Howard Stern
The afternoon seemed unending. Ashley spent most of her time
standing on the bucket at the window or sitting on the pile of straw filing her
fingernails with the file she’d found in her bag. She tried to imagine the look
on Aaron’s face when he’d returned to the shed and found her gone. She tried to
imagine the look on her face when she’d encountered the British soldiers and
realized what a fool she’d been for trying to escape.
The evening meal arrived, and Ashley was waiting for it.
After she caught the bowl as it shot through the slot in the door, she turned
up her nose. The meager fare looked to be even worse than whatever still lay on
the floor from lunch.
Studying the thin gruel and thick slice of dark bread, she
realized she would have to eat it. If she didn’t, she would become too weak to
escape if the chance were to present itself—which it probably wouldn’t, but she
had to be ready just in case.