Authors: Jennifer Horsman
Christina
heard the shots from the other room. She suffered the only thought a mother
could have and she rushed back into the nursery, thinking only of grabbing her
child to hide under the bed. She flew through the door and immediately Justin
placed his son in her arms. Little Justin partially woke from his sleep and
felt the comfort of his mother. He half smiled and unbelievably fell back to
sleep.
Richard
burst in the room. "Soldiers! Everywhere! What should I do?"
"Do,
Dr. Morrison?" Justin questioned all too calmly. "Why, do what any
man would do seeing his wife and child abducted, but do make the charade good,
my life will depend on it."
Richard
watched in frightened stupefaction as Justin stepped behind Christina and
holding her tightly to himself, he raised his pistol to her head.
Christina
blanched white and pressed her child to her bosom. "And oh—" Justin
suddenly remembered, "get those annulment papers to Boston as soon as
possible."
A
half dozen soldiers burst through the front door with a frantic clamoring as
they immediately started to search for Justin Phillips. Darrell was heard
screaming murder, identifying himself and his connections—everyone who was
anyone in court—all of whom were going to be notified of this outrage against
Dr. Morrison's house.
"Scream,
Christina."
She
turned frightened and confused eyes to him.
"Do
as I say, sweetheart," he whispered.
She
screamed.
"Dr.
Morrison, please—add to the clamor."
Richard
suddenly made sense of it. He turned and raced down the hall to the stairs.
"My wife! Help me! He's got my wife!"
Justin
pushed Christina through the door and down the hall to the top of the stairs
just as two soldiers started up at Richard's call. Everyone stopped at once at
the sight of Justin Phillips holding a pistol to a young lady and her child.
The room was abruptly still. Betty simply fainted, quietly falling in a heap at
the doorway.
"Gentlemen,"
Justin addressed the crowd at large, "have you ever seen what a pistol
does to a head? Not a pretty sight," he assured them, looking from face to
face for the one man—and there was always one—who would play the hero to
attempt a rescue. "Unless you've a curiosity for it, I suggest you grant
me passage."
She
could not believe this was happening to her.
The
soldiers seemed to be waiting for someone else to give orders. "Oh,
God!" Richard cried strategically, positioned between the soldiers and
Justin on the stairs and holding his chest as though about to suffer a seizure.
"Let him go! Dear God, don't let him hurt her—let him go!"
Justin
was impressed by Richard's performance. "Don't doubt it, gentlemen,"
and then in that commanding voice, "Now move it!" The soldiers slowly
fell back. "In there." Justin indicated the parlor and to a young man
wearing a lieutenant's uniform, "Tell them outside. And oh—do drop that
pistol."
The
young lieutenant stared angrily for a moment, unable to accept his impotence,
and Justin saw suddenly the hero. The young man dropped his pistol, turned in a
sudden rush to the door. "He's got a woman and a child," he called
out. "Stand back and allow passage."
"My
driver too," Justin ordered.
The
order was related and Brahms, held by the pistols of four men, found himself
suddenly released. He climbed back to the driver's seat and quickly took the
reins, knowing this would be a hasty departure if ever there was one. The
soldier's attention was fastened to the house; no one noticed the driver
fussing with the carriage lantern but the neighbors who watched from the safety
of their windows. It would be a story they told for years to come.
Justin
made his way slowly down the stairs, Christina and child held firmly in tow.
Richard kept in front, looking every bit the terrified husband. "Back up,
lieutenant," Justin snapped as he neared the door. The young man slowly
backed toward the parlor, waiting his chance, while Justin, careful to keep his
back to the wall, progressed to the door. He kicked the lieutenant's pistol out
of the way, then purposely turned his back at the door frame to allow the young
lieutenant this one opportunity to play the hero.
The
opportunity was instantly seized. With hands firmly on an already drawn sword,
the young man charged at Justin, and at the exact moment, Justin swung around
and slammed the butt of his pistol into the lieutenant's face. And before
anyone else could move, Justin had the pistol back to Christina's head again.
Little
Justin woke with a start. Sensing his mother's fear and the cold night air, he
started crying. Christina clutched him even tighter to herself. Any minute the
soldiers would decide she wasn't worth the price of losing Justin Phillips.
They would fire indiscriminately, and oh God—
Brahms
calmly withdrew two pistols from the driver's seat and ordered the soldiers to
drop their weapons. Reluctantly, one by one, each man tossed his pistol to the
ground.
After
a quick assessment of another dozen or so soldiers disarmed outside, Justin
pushed Christina down the steps toward the carriage. "Should anyone
follow," he stopped to warn them, "I shall shoot them both and escape
with less of a burden. Do not doubt my ruthlessness; history should speak for
itself."
Beauty
could not believe the nerve of the cat sitting snuggled in the tree. Just feet
away! She barked furiously at it, wanting to make the cat see she would tear it
to pieces, but the cat just sat there, watching the foolish effort with but
lazy indifference.
Beauty
barked, jumped, barked.
What?
What was that?
She
stopped barking to listen to the unfamiliar sounds. She sniffed; too many
humans for this hour. Sounds of humans coming from the direction of down the
street...
The
hair slowly lifted from her coat and she started running.
With
Christina still held at gun point, Justin slowly made his way down to the
carriage. A dog barking sounded from the near distance. Closer. Christina's
head snapped around to see. Beauty ran toward her to attack him. No warning or
stalling, just a great rush. She saw it even before it happened.
"Beauty!
Nooo!"
Justin
had no choice. One shot fired and Christina screamed at the same moment Beauty
cried out and fell with an ugly jerk to the ground. Christina started forward
with her scream, but the wind was knocked from her as Justin thrust her forward
to protect her with his life.
"Don't
anyone move!"
Brahms
enforced Justin's order by aiming his pistols at any number of the helpless
soldiers. No one moved. Justin quickly pushed Christina and his son inside the
carriage with himself and instantly the carriage jerked forward. So taken by
the rush of events, not one of the soldiers wondered why—if Mr. Phillips had
truly intended to shoot the lady—he had placed himself in the line of fire
those tense moments after the dog went down.
Justin
quickly slipped out the opposite door to join Brahms in the event someone
followed. The carriage was joined by his men. It would be a long ride to
Portsmouth, where his ship sat waiting to take them to Boston.
He
shouted to Jacob, who nodded and drew back to make certain no one followed. He
turned back and settled in the seat beside Brahms, watching with some disbelief
as the man attempted to rekindle his tobacco beneath the wind and moist fog,
the terrifying speed of the carriage.
"Anything
for a smoke," Justin commented dryly.
"After
that, I deserve it," Brahms in turn called against the wind. "I
suppose you already know who informed the authorities of your
whereabouts?"
Justin
nodded.
"Not
one of ours?" Brahms queried.
"What
do you think?" Justin asked rhetorically.
"No,
but I can't figure who then."
"Someone
from my father's house. I was suspecting it. God knows there's enough rivalry
and jealousy to warrant it."
Justin
would not be surprised if his father's entire house—from the stable hands to
Lady Phillips herself—knew every intimate detail concerning Christina and her
child. His father had never been very careful to guard the secrecy of either
his personal or business matters, a subject he would definitely bring up in the
next letter. If Jefferson's Embargo Act got through congress—and he thought it
would—he and his father would be partners in one of the grandest smuggling
adventures yet. He would need his father's complete trust.
"It
makes sense," Brahms said finally as a cloud of sweet-smelling tobacco
disappeared into the moving fog. "If it had been one of our men, they
would have taken us at the ship."
"Exactly."
Brahms
expertly guided the horses around sharp bends and twists in the road and Justin
still found himself bracing the driver's rail for each. Danger was suddenly a
force with which to contend with Christina and his son inside.
"Well,
that was a close one for sure." Brahms laughed, managing reins and pipe
simultaneously.
Justin
didn't know he meant the last turn or the run-in with Britain's finest.
"Had
it been anyone else but you, I'd have wagered my life they'd have got you.
Christina? She's all right?"
"I
think so." Justin stared straight ahead.
"That
must have been her dog." Brahms thought out loud. "It looked just
like Beau. She must have got it because she missed the old fellow."
This
thought had also occurred to Justin.
"And
that was your son in her arms." Brahms steered the conversation as well.
Justin
nodded.
"I
couldn't take my eyes off the redcoats long enough to look. But you've seen
him?" Justin nodded again and Brahms laughed at his expression. "Now
that's a father's pride written all over you. Let me guess—he's big and healthy
and he looks just like you."
The
carriage raced along and as Justin waited for Jacob's return, he related to
Brahms all he had been told of his son, including that strange sense of
familiarity he felt upon seeing him, as though he had already known him.
Brahms
was interested in this. "Well now, either Cajun's heathen beliefs in the
reincarnate soul are right or—" he grinned—"the feeling comes because
he is already so much like you. In which case, I bet he's a handful for his
mother."
Justin
smiled. "That's what her maid said."
Brahms
added purposefully. "The two of you will be fine parents—that boy is bound
to be spoiled rotten."
"Yes.
At least if I have anything to do with it."
Brahms
laughed just as Jacob returned to signal all was clear. The carriage slowed to
an even pace and Justin rose to return inside the carriage.
"Is
Christina nursing the babe herself?" Brahms asked.
Justin
had no idea.
"If
she is, she'll be thirsty. Take her this cask."
"How
the hell do you know that?"
"My
wife." Sadness marked his features. "She was a midwife before she
died. Babies are one thing I know all about."
Brahms
reached a hand to stop him and Justin stared at it, illuminated by the carriage
lantern directly above. Long and thin, his hand looked like a musician's or
scribner's, too delicate for a man whose life was at sea. A wedding band tied
the hand to a past which its owner would not forget. The calluses looked oddly
misplaced and it reminded Justin that Brahms had never been meant to do the
hard labor he demanded of his men.
"I
know something else too." He looked directly at Justin. "I know she
put you through hell—everyone does—but don't lose her. God, Justin, don't lose
her. I had no choice," he added, "but you do."
"It's
a different story, Brahms."
"Is
it?"
Justin
made no reply.
* * * * *
Christina
was remembering the day she had gotten Beauty. She had yet to be showing then
and Richard and Darrell had taken her out for an open air carriage ride in Hyde
Park. She spotted the little boy on a corner standing alongside a dog much
larger than himself, a dog exactly like Beau. And in his arms was the last
puppy.
"Stop!
Please stop!" she had called to the driver. The carriage stopped and
before either Richard or Darrell could guess her intentions, she flew out the
door and straight to the dog.
"Oh,
just look at him," she said to no one but herself as she knelt to rub the
huge head with both hands. "He's just like Beau!"
The
boy saw that he was finally going to rid himself of the last pup. "E's a
she mum and this," he said, knowing well his business and placing the
bundle of living fur in her arms, "is 'er pup. Genuine Saint Bernard. Bred
pure."
"Oh,
Richard," she said as the two men approached, "just look at
her!"
Richard
was looking; looking at the size of what he feared was the mother. "Oh
God, I think I'm in trouble."