Authors: Loves Spirit
Jonathon’s voice was raw from barking out orders above the din of battle. Men scrambled to reload the cannon as quickly as possible keeping up a steady barrage. Two more cannon were fired from the
Destiny
, one hitting the deck of the frigate, the other ripping a hole in the side of the ship near the water. Suddenly fire erupted on the deck of the British ship, and sailors yelled, scrambling down from the rigging, running in panic. Jonathon watched as the fire licked the lower sails which caught and erupted into flaming banners. Timbers from the rigging fell to the deck spreading the fire quickly. No more cannon fire came from the frigate.
“Should we move in, Captain?” Gates asked.
“Wait a bit, Gates, they still could fire on us.” Jonathon did not want to take the chance that some of the sailors would continue to fire even if it meant being trapped in a burning ship. The flames were spreading quickly, and with no sails, the frigate yawed into the waves. The gaping hole in the side of the ship dipped below the surface of the sea, and the ship began to take on water. There was no possibility of being fired on now, so Jonathon gave the order to approach the frigate and take prisoners. As the
Destiny
neared the frigate, the British ship gave out a low, loud moan and slanted into the waves. Men were screaming and scrambling to the higher parts of the ship, and Jonathon gave the order to lower boats into the water, but to no avail. With a shudder, the ship sank into the sea.
Smoke hung in the air burning Jonathon’s lungs, but he listened as the crew of the
Destiny
raised shouts of “Huzzah” at their victory. He laughed as his men slapped each other on the back and raised their fists in triumph as the last of the frigate sank below the waves. Then they turned sober eyes to the deck where their dead lay still and the wounded moaned in agony. Gates hurried along the deck assessing wounds and ordering the injured taken to appropriate stations.
Jonathon searched the waves for any survivors and, finding none, ordered the sails to be set for full sail again. Leaning against the rail, he stared into the churning sea. While any battle got his blood pumping and thrust him into the role of commander, he always felt a sense of disquiet at the end. Perhaps it was a normal aftermath to his body’s complete immersion into the instinctive mode of self-preservation, a kind of natural balancing. But he knew it was more than that; he knew it was a sadness at the loss of lives on both sides. He also knew that he was fighting for a just cause, for freedom, for liberty and for the spirit of a new nation founded on those beliefs.
• • •
Emily gasped as tightness gripped her belly. She had felt this sensation before, but never this powerfully, and it took her breath away. Joanna glanced up from her sewing and watched as Emily ran her hands across her abdomen.
“Are you all right, Emily?” she asked.
Emily nodded. Joanna put down her sewing, her eyes watching the movement of Emily’s hands.
“I am fine, Joanna. I have had another of those contractions that seem to squeeze my entire middle. Oh my! And it does not help when my child then kicks like a mule!” She laughed. Although concerned about the pain she knew she would endure during childbirth, Emily felt eager about actually holding this tiny being in her arms. But she did not want the baby to arrive early; he had to give Jonathon time to return.
As if reading her mind, Joanna took her hand.
“Emily, I know that Jonathon promised he would be here for the birth … ”
“And he will be, Joanna! I believe it with all of my heart.”
“I believe he will be, too, Emily. If it is at all within his power to be here, but — ,” Joanna squeezed her hand.
“I have to believe it, Joanna. Too many times I have nearly lost him. I cannot bear to think that again. If he is alive, he will be here.”
Joanna nodded. “Yes, Emily. Yes, he will be. How are you feeling right now?”
Emily smiled. “No more contractions. I believe it was just preparation.”
• • •
Andrew was almost fully recovered though his shoulder was stiff and sore. He donned a light linen shirt, cotton stockings, and tan breeches before attempting to pull on his boots. Sitting on a chair, he carefully bent forward gripping one boot and gingerly tugging it on. He sucked air in through his teeth as pain shot through his shoulder. Determined, he gritted his teeth and yanked on the other boot deciding that completing the task faster would lessen the pain. Lightheaded from the exertion, he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.
After resting a few moments, he slowly stood and started for his bedroom door. Glancing out the window, he saw Jenny in the garden. Yes, he was glad to be up and about.
Stopping in the dining room, he filled a plate with leftover leg of lamb, pork pie, tomatoes and eggs, and biscuits swimming in syrup. He poured coffee into a cup and sat at the table to enjoy Dora’s breakfast fare. While he ate, he pondered his plans for the coming fall. He was to return to William and Mary College to continue studying, and though he looked forward to that, he was reluctant to be away from Jenny. Her presence at Brentwood Manor had become so much a part of their routine that the thought of not seeing her everyday filled him with sadness. Each evening the family sat on the veranda enjoying the breeze. On rainy evenings, they enjoyed games of whist, and he chuckled thinking of how competitive Jenny was. Always good-natured, she enjoyed teasing him if he was losing, and she flung empty threats at him when he was the victor. He loved how her eyes lit up when the game was favoring her, how she would smile and reveal her dimple, rendering him so befuddled he was unable to concentrate. No, it would be difficult to not have Jenny in his life every day. Thoughts of her compelled him to make quick work of breakfast and hurry outside.
Andrew scanned the garden for any sign of Jenny, but he did not see her. Thinking she might be sitting down on the lawn, he traced a path through the flower beds and shrubs searching for her, but to no avail. He wandered around the grounds checking the veranda and outbuildings, and then guessing she might have decided to go riding, headed down to the stables.
Odors of hay and horses welcomed him as he entered the darkened interior. His nose tickled at the dust that floated in the air, and he heard the gentle rustle of the horses in their stalls.
“Jenny? Are you in here?” Andrew called, looking in each of the stalls. “Are you hiding on me, Jenny?” He yanked a stall door open thinking she might be lurking behind it.
“Jenny is not here, Andrew.”
He turned and Deidre stood before him. Backlit by the sun through the stable door, her hair was a radiant, golden halo. She stood almost as tall as he, and her green dress was cut low, her breasts swelling above the bodice. She smiled at him through her lashes.
“Jenny is not here, but I am, Andrew.”
“Good day, Deidre.”
She moved close and played with the strings on his linen shirt, her hands pressing against his chest. The scent of musk rose from her hair and enveloped them. He stepped back.
“Are you afraid of me, Andrew? Are you afraid of women? Do you fear you will not please? I can help you; I can show you ways to please Jenny that will make her call your name out.”
Suddenly the stable was stifling, and Andrew felt dizzy. He shook his head to clear it, and stepped away again as she advanced on him.
“I am not afraid of you, Deidre, and I do not need your schooling in the ways of love.”
“So you and Jenny have already traveled that road. I see.”
“Do not dare to say such things about Jenny,” Andrew said.
“Oh, the knight in shining armor; how valiant of you. But Andrew, you and Jenny are young and inexperienced. Think of what I could provide to help you to please her.” Deidre stepped to him and pressed her breasts against him. He tried to retreat, but his back was against the stall door.
“Deidre, I am not interested in what you have to offer.”
Reaching up she pulled his face toward hers. The effect of her breasts, full and warm; the musky scent of her; and the closeness of her lips disconcerted him. Taking advantage of his distress, Deidre placed her hand on his buttocks and pulled him against her pelvis. Rubbing against him, she kissed him, her tongue prodding and licking.
“Andrew!”
Like a shot, Jenny’s voice pierced the air. Andrew pulled away and pushed Deidre aside. He looked at Jenny, her face ashen.
“Jenny — no!”
She spun and ran from the stables, her sobs floating back to him. Turning, he glared at Deidre.
“You planned this. You knew she was nearby, and you intended for her to find us.”
Deidre’s eyes glinted in the murky light.
“Of course not, Andrew. I wanted to help you.”
His eyes raked her.
“You want to help no one but yourself, Deidre. You wish to destroy anyone who finds happiness in life. You tried to destroy Emily and Jonathon, and now you are trying to destroy my happiness with Jenny.”
“Jonathon? Jonathon loves me. I am to have his child.” Deidre’s haughty stare had melted into a look of confusion.
“Just listen to yourself, Deidre. You take pleasure in destroying the happiness of others.”
“Jonathon wants me to stay at Brentwood Manor to bear a son. His heir. He loves me.” Her voice became sing-song and childlike, her eyes glazed, and she stumbled out of the stables into the daylight.
Andrew’s eyes followed her, a feeling of confusion enveloping him. Watching her transformation both fascinated and repulsed him. He did not understand what he had just witnessed, but he shivered in the August heat.
He needed to find Jenny and explain what she had seen. Surely she would understand once he described Deidre’s strange behavior. But how could he explain something he did not understand? All he knew was that Jenny was hurt and he wanted to take that hurt away.
Returning to the manor, he took the stairs two at a time and hastened to Jenny’s bedroom door. Knocking, he called out her name.
“Jenny? Jenny can I please talk to you?”
No answer. No sound at all from the other side.
He knocked louder.
“Jenny? Jenny, please let me in. I can explain.”
Nothing. He tried the door. Locked. So she must be in the room.
“Jenny, please. Jenny, I love you, please let me in.”
He tried for several more minutes before giving up. Turning to leave, he saw Deidre’s door close.
“Damn!”
He pounded down the stairs slamming the front door as he left.
• • •
The oppressive August heat bore down on Jonathon, a drastic change from the cool sea breezes he’d been used to for the past month. His shirt clung to his back, the sweat dripping in rivulets down his neck and along his spine. Sweltering, he often brushed away drops of perspiration that dripped from his hair into his eyes and blurred his vision. Astride Neptune, he was galloping along the road at a quick pace, thankful for his swift mount. Stephen Alcott had kept Neptune groomed and exercised in anticipation of Jonathon’s return, and when he had arrived at Stephen’s home earlier that day, he was grateful for his friend’s practicality.
Jonathon’s heart beat a quick rhythm as he rode, for he knew Emily’s time was near, and he was determined to keep his promise. Memories of their precious time together before his trip to Philadelphia had been the source of his strength while they were apart. Smiling to himself, he remembered her laughter at her own slower pace, all the while glowing with the joy of their child. Her scent of jasmine filled his mind, and the image of her lying in the candlelight, her skin luminous, her eyes afire with passion stirred him to nudge Neptune to a faster gait.
Jonathon usually slowed to a leisurely speed once he reached Brentwood property, but today he was a man driven by love and his solemn vow. The lush, green forest flew by unnoticed as he focused on the road ahead. Once again sweat blurred his vision and as he raised his hand to wipe his eyes, a shot passed just over Neptune’s head grazing Jonathon’s left arm.
“Halt!” The voice echoed in the trees.
Jonathon reined in Neptune who reared and snorted. When the horse landed, it sprang back, its path blocked by a company of riders. Jonathon was surrounded by the scarlet of British uniforms, stark against the verdant countryside.
August drenched Virginia in heat and humidity. Emily’s clothing clung to her damp skin, her hair hung in heavy ringlets try as she might to tame them with combs. Movement was unbearable with the weight of her baby, but she defied the summer’s torturous conditions, strolling the gardens each morning. Knowing that soon she would hold her baby — hers and Jonathon’s baby — kept her spirits up and compelled her to stay active. Her back was particularly uncomfortable this morning, and she rubbed it as she walked. The baby, so active for the last few weeks, had suddenly quieted and a whisper of fear for his health niggled at the back of her mind.
She did not roam far from the manor because her need to visit the necessary seemed constant. She laughed as she remembered a desperate urgency to relieve herself that morning, and she was sure that trying to run with her lopsided figure provided an amusing sight of awkward loping and desperation. Pausing, she felt her abdomen tighten as it had been since early morning. Each time the tightness was more intense, now growing more painful than uncomfortable. She turned and started back in the direction of the manor, her heart beating faster as she realized the consequence of these sensations. Along the path she had to stop, for the cramping made her gasp, it was so sudden and so strong. Clutching her belly, she felt its hardness, solid like the brick of the manor. Rivulets of sweat formed on her forehead having nothing to do with the heat. Nearing the manor, she scanned the veranda for Joanna because she knew this was the beginning of her labor. As if on cue, Joanna appeared at the French doors leading out to the terrace and, spotting Emily, she waved gaily, and then looked closer, her smile fading and concern covering her face. She ran to her sister-in-law and took her arm, supporting her weight.