Once a Rebel Read online

  “I think I’ll join you out there,” Gordon said. “It will be pleasantly cool.”

  Molly smiled. “If Miss Callista and I sleep outside, too, Grandma and Grandpa can have their bed back.”

  Josh chuckled. “A mighty fine idea. I’m not fond of sleeping alone.”

  “Me neither,” Sarah said with a smile. “I miss your snoring.”

  Gordon wouldn’t miss Josh’s snoring, but he envied the older couple the deep affection that bound them together. He and Callie had great affection, but it was an open question whether it would be enough to hold them together.

  The balcony was indeed pleasantly cool, though there was more activity in the streets than usual. Trey and Molly spread out their blankets on the left end while Gordon and Callie took the right end. Gordon was pleased when she spread her pallet beside his. Not close enough for trouble, but close enough that when everyone had settled down, her hand was able to glide over and take his.

  He lifted her hand to brush a kiss on her fingers, then settled down into sleep. He was grateful for both his self-control and his fatigue. If he’d given in to temptation and seriously tried to seduce Callie this strange week, she’d probably have brained him with the barrel of her pistol.

  Instead she was becoming increasingly relaxed around him, and encouragingly responsive to his kisses. Next time he asked her to marry him, she might actually give the question serious consideration.

  If not, well, he’d bide his time and ask her again later.

  * * *

  Callie awoke at dawn to find that she’d migrated over to Richard’s side and burrowed under his arm to rest her head on his shoulder. She tilted her head up and saw that he was watching her with amusement in his gray eyes. Seeing she was awake, he gently stroked his palm down her arm to the side of her hip. It felt dreadfully wonderful. He didn’t say a word when she silently scrambled away, but the amusement deepened.

  She lay on her back, and remembered that today war would surely come to Baltimore, and her stepson would be part of it. Her hand moved back to take Richard’s and he threaded his fingers between hers. Her feelings for him were complicated, but at the moment, she’d take any comfort she could get.

  They lay like that until Trey began to stir. “Today’s the day!” he said in a husky voice. A man’s voice, not that of a boy.

  Molly, who was not an early riser by choice, said crossly, “I accept that you’re keen to get yourself killed, but can you be quieter about it?”

  Callie smiled at the familiar sibling banter. “Time we all got up, I think.” She suited her actions to her words and sat up with a yawn.

  “Time all you sleepyheads got moving,” Sarah said from the balcony door. She sounded like her usual healthy self. Sleeping with her husband’s warm body next to her must have improved her energy. She continued, “I’ll make us some breakfast, and then I think we all should go to the nearest church and do some prayin’.”

  “Hard to argue with that,” Richard said as he stood and rolled up his pallet. “I just hope God remembers my face when I set foot in that church. It’s been a long time!”

  “Then a good thing you’re going this morning, because I guarantee the devil knows your name!” Chuckling, Sarah returned to her cooking.

  Beginning the day with laughter was not a bad thing, Callie decided. Laughter and prayers. They needed both.

  Chapter 20

  The nearest church was Methodist and only a few blocks away. The streets were crowded with people dressed in their Sunday best to attend services, restless militiamen waiting for their summons to war, and packed wagons as some households decided it was time to leave the city.

  Seeing how many were heading to the same destination as they were, Gordon observed, “The church will be full to overflowing. I assume this isn’t usual?”

  “No,” Sarah replied soberly. “We aren’t the only ones asking God for some extra protection today.”

  Gordon tried to remember the last time he’d been in a church. Probably it was when an old classmate, Daniel Herbert, had married in London the previous year. The ceremony had taken place in the very grand St. George’s, Hanover Square. The church they were approaching today was far more modest in design and materials, though the steeple had aspirations.

  Since Callie and Molly were chatting together and Sarah had Josh’s arm, Gordon fell in beside Trey. The young man wore his militia jacket and carried his rifle and pack, ready to be called at any moment. He asked, “What outfit are you with, Trey? That dark green you’re wearing is similar to the rifle brigades of the British Army.”

  “Exactly, sir! I’m in Captain Aisquith’s Rifles because I’m such a good shot. I’m the youngest in the company.” His voice lowered. “They think I’m seventeen and a couple of other boys are about that age, but I’m actually younger.”

  “Maybe the other boys are lying, too?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Trey said, looking crestfallen.

  “It’s an honor to be in such an elite group no matter what your age,” Gordon assured him. “But I haven’t heard anyone in your family mention that you’re in a company of sharpshooters.”

  “I didn’t explain because they’d worry even more than they do now,” Trey said. “A lot of the militiamen will be stationed in the earthworks you worked on, but special troops like us will be sent out in advance. We’ll get to do real fighting!”

  “There’s good reason why your family wouldn’t be enthralled with that knowledge,” Gordon said dryly. “Real fighting can lead to real dying.”

  “I’m not going to be killed,” Trey said confidently. Seeing Gordon’s raised eyebrows, he added, “But if I am, at least it’s for a good cause.”

  Hoping the boy’s confidence wasn’t misplaced, Gordon asked, “Where did you learn to shoot so well?”

  “My father taught me. He said I was a natural marksman.” Trey looked wistful. “I miss him. It wasn’t right, him having my mother and Miss Callista as well, but he treated all of us well.”

  “What about your half brother, Henry?”

  Trey’s good nature vanished into a scowl. “He’s mean. A bully. I don’t think my father much liked him, but he was the oldest and legitimate, so my father had to make him the heir. Henry was mostly away at school in England, but when he came back, he was always after my family. My mother and Molly and I were all scared of him. That’s one reason I figured I should learn to be a good marksman.”

  “Henry was dangerous?”

  “Oh, yes.” The youthfulness left Trey’s expression. “He wanted to sell all of us, me, Molly, and my grandparents, to another island. On Jamaica, my father had friends who might have helped me and Molly for my father’s sake, but on another island, we’d just be more slaves.”

  Gordon now understood how Trey had developed the tough-mindedness a soldier needed. “A good thing Miss Callista was there to take you all away.”

  “She’s our angel,” Trey said in a low voice. “Without her . . .” He gave Gordon a hard look. “You know how special she is?”

  “I do. I always have.” And she was becoming special in new ways now.

  When they reached the church, they saw that soldiers were stacking their weapons outside, with a corporal from the City Brigade keeping watch over the weapons. When Trey hesitated, the guard said, “Don’t worry, no one will steal it. But you can’t enter if you’re armed.”

  Luckily, Gordon’s pistol was concealed. Trey reluctantly laid his fine rifle on the far side of the pile between the other weapons and the wall, and they joined the rest of their party inside. The last pew on the right had space for the six of them, though it was a tight squeeze.

  Gordon generally found church services boring, but on this particular Sunday, the singing was heartfelt and the atmosphere was electric with fear and anticipation. The silver-haired minister gave a rousing sermon based on a biblical passage about the Israelis conquering a much greater force.

  The sermon was interrupted when a cannon boom
ed from nearby. A second shot sounded, then a third. Trey leaped to his feet, burning with excitement. “That’s it, the assembly signal from the courthouse!”

  A clamor filled the church as voices cried out and people leaped to their feet. The minister slammed his Bible shut and raised his voice. “My brethren and friends, the alarm guns have just fired!” he roared, his trained voice cutting through the cacophony. “The British are approaching, and commending you to God and the word of His Grace, I pronounce the benediction, and may the god of battles accompany you!”

  Gordon gave the minister top marks for drama and appropriateness. Trey was in the middle of the church pew, and he had to work his way past all of his family. He hugged the womenfolk and shook hands with Josh and Gordon. Then he was away, scooping up his rifle outside and heading off to assemble with his sharpshooter company.

  Callie got to her feet and said in a voice that was almost steady, “Time to head for home now. We can keep praying wherever we are.”

  Sarah also stood, looking very weary. “Can, and will.”

  As they merged into the crowd flowing slowly toward the church exit, Gordon was behind Callie and saw her glancing around, her expression wary. He asked quietly, “Is something wrong?”

  She smiled apologetically. “I keep feeling that I’m being watched. It’s probably just general nerves.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. I’ve learned to listen to my intuition.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe Henry Newell wouldn’t come all the way from Jamaica, but the warehouse business is here and there is a potential dispute about ownership. Might he have hired men to watch if you or the rest of the family came to Baltimore?”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” she said uneasily. They moved through the front door onto the street, and she drew a deep breath of fresher air. “Thanks so much for giving me still more to worry about!”

  He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder before releasing it. “I’ve always found that having many worries reduces the anxiety about any individual concern.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind.” She took his arm as he moved forward beside her. “What do we do now? I’ll go mad with waiting!”

  The center of the street was full of militiamen streaming toward their gathering points. Like other civilians, their party drew to the sides of the street to let the soldiers through. “I’m not good at waiting, either. Usually if there’s action, I’m stuck in the middle of it, keeping my head down and trying to stay alive.”

  “I’m glad you aren’t this time. I have enough worries.” Her grip tightened on his arm. “This isn’t your fight.”

  Perhaps not. But it felt wrong to watch a boy who wasn’t yet fifteen go off to fight and perhaps die. “We need to keep busy, and one way to do that is to prepare for the worst. The worst won’t happen because there are a lot of troops here, they have more experience of the terrain than the British and better defensive positions, and many are Baltimoreans. They’re fighting for their homes and they’re as dangerous as cornered wildcats. But preparations will help keep us sane.”

  Callie smiled. “In other words, busy is better.” Gordon agreed. Not only would busyness distract them, but it would help him keep his hands off her. The sooner this crisis was over, hopefully with a minimum of damage, the sooner he could move his covert courtship into the open.

  Chapter 21

  “Hello! Hello?” Hammering sounded on the warehouse street door, and a young voice called, “Mr. Gordon? Mrs. Newell?”

  Callie froze. She was sitting on the balcony resting after a day of collecting and storing water and other provisions so they would be ready for a possible siege or occupation by British troops. Richard and Josh had hauled up casks of water and cooking fuel, using the hoist on the back of the building.

  Josh had built sturdy anchors for the rope ladder, and Sarah had sent Josh out for medical supplies. Josh said wryly it was a pity none of them smoked since they had a lifetime’s supply of tobacco sitting in the middle of their drawing room.

  Early Monday morning, three cannon shots had announced that the British were landing at North Point, the peninsula east of the city that lay between the Patapsco and Back Rivers. As General Sam Smith had predicted, the land attack would come from the east and would have to get past the massive earthworks that Richard had helped dig.

  The city hadn’t emptied out as Washington had, and the remaining residents were quietly determined to face what might come. Sporadic cannon and gunfire barked from the east, and word spread that General Stricker has set up skirmish lines of his best troops across the narrowest part of the peninsula in hopes of blocking a British advance.

  But that was all at a distance. With Trey’s friend Peter Carroll shouting from below, danger had become very personal. Callie leaned over the railing and called, “I’ll be right down to let you in, Peter!”

  She was fast but Richard was faster. He risked life and limb by racing down the steps three at a time, and by the time Callie reached the bottom of the staircase, he’d already let Peter in to the small hallway. Peter’s uniform was dusty and the right sleeve was torn off and turned into a sling to support his crudely bandaged right arm.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked sharply. “Where is Trey?”

  Peter wiped his sweaty face with his left hand, visibly trying to collect himself. “He’s alive, but wounded. He needs help.”

  “How seriously is he injured?” Richard asked. “No, come upstairs first so everyone can hear at once.”

  Callie knew that made sense, but her heart hammered with anxiety as she followed Peter up the stairs. He was weaving from exhaustion.

  When he emerged into the main sitting area, the three Adamses converged on him, Molly carrying a tankard of chilled lemonade because Richard had brought up ice earlier. “Here, drink this, then tell us about my brother!”

  Peter sank into a chair and emptied half the tankard with one long swallow. While he drank the rest more slowly, Sarah came to him with the medical kit she’d assembled earlier. She removed the improvised sling and examined his arm. He winced under her gentle fingers, but she said soothingly, “Nasty and bloody but only a flesh wound. I’ll pour whisky over it, which will sting, but make it less likely to fester. When it’s bandaged properly, you’ll be able to use it a little.”

  He inhaled sharply as she applied the whisky. “Trey has a leg wound and another in his shoulder. There don’t seem to be any bones broken, but he’s lost a fair amount of blood, and even with my help, he can barely hobble along.”

  “What’s been happening?” Richard asked. “We’ve heard artillery and gunfire, but it didn’t sound sustained enough for a pitched battle.”

  “Skirmishes, not battles, sir,” Peter replied. “General Stricker sent a group of us sharpshooters ahead to provoke a fight before more British soldiers landed. It worked. Trey was one of the shooters and I was his spotter.” He swallowed hard. “The British commander, General Ross, is seriously wounded or dead. I think dead.”

  There were shocked noises from everyone. If Ross was dead or incapacitated, it might end the land attack. At the least, the attack would be blunted. Ross was an outstanding officer and his next in command was unlikely to be as capable.

  Face pale, Callie asked, “Where is Trey now?”

  “Since I’m no use with this arm, our lieutenant said to help him behind the lines to a surgeon. I had to half carry him, and it got to be too much for both of us. I left him at an empty cabin off the Philadelphia Road. Trey said you have a cart and a pair of horses. Can you come and bring him home?”

  “Of course,” Richard said, sliding naturally into command. “Josh and I will go. Peter, you’ll need to ride with us to guide us to Trey.”

  “I’ll go,” Callie said. “I have more nursing experience than any of you men.”

  “And I have more yet,” Sarah said belligerently as she bandaged Peter’s arm. “I want to go to my grandbaby!”

  Before Josh could protest, Richard said, “You haven�
��t fully recovered yet, Sarah. You need to be here and fit to patch him up.” His gaze shifted to Callie and Molly. “I know you want to come, but you’re both too pretty to take into a war zone. The potential for trouble is too great.”

  “You surely make a refusal sound good!” Molly said ruefully.

  “He has a very talented tongue,” Callie agreed before she realized how suggestive her comment was.

  Mercifully not taking the innuendo up, Richard said, “We won’t be back for hours, so keep your pistol close to hand just in case.”

  “I will.” Reluctantly she accepted that he was right; she and her pistol should be here since neither Sarah nor Molly knew how to shoot. “Sarah, do you need to replenish anything in the medical kit before they take it?”

  “As long as they don’t decide to drink the rest of the whisky, there are enough supplies.” She closed her medical kit and handed it to her husband.

  “I’ll collect blankets to pad the cart,” Josh said. “Gordon, will you go to the livery stable and get the horses harnessed and bring them to the back of the warehouse? The cart is stored back there.”

  “Of course.”

  Callie asked, “Peter, how far is it to where you left Trey?”

  He thought a moment. “Maybe four miles or so. About halfway back from where we shot Ross and this side of the fighting unless our troops retreat like they did at Bladensburg. We should be back by nightfall.”

  “There will surely be delays,” Richard said. “Don’t worry, we’ll return with Trey as soon as is possible.” He moved to his satchel and pulled out his pistol. It was on top of his other belongings and already loaded. He holstered it, then slung a powder horn and a pouch for shot on the other hip.

  His expression had changed and he was no longer her amiable Richard, but the menacing Lord George Audley who had thundered out of the night in Washington to rescue her. A dangerous angel.

  “You all be careful!” Sarah kissed her husband hard.