Stranger in Williamsburg Page 13

  “If it was the wily Devon, he will likely make his way through the woods to the James River, where his boatman is probably still lurking, just in case he shows up,” Marcus said. He sighed. “At any rate, he won’t get far. Colonel Armstrong himself is heading up the search party. That’s why he couldn’t come after you, and sent me.”

  “And I suppose Uncle Ethan gave you strict orders to bring me straight home!” she muttered, still angry in spite of her relief at having company out there in the darkness.

  “Well, now, Miss Sarah, Colonel Armstrong said I was to bring you home, but I don’t recall him saying exactly how to do it.”

  “What do you mean, Marcus?” Sarah asked impatiently, tired of his games.

  “I figure,” he went on, “so long as we get home about dawn, it won’t matter how we go about it, or if we take a little detour.”

  “Detour?”

  “Aye, missy, I figure we could rest here awhile, then turn around and head back to Williamsburg. Or in about the same amount of time, we could ride as hard as we can toward Norfolk, overtake a certain party, and still get back to Williamsburg at about sunup.”

  “Oh, Marcus!” she cried. “Thank you! I…I don’t know how to thank you!”

  “Nonsense,” he said. “I’m sure your uncle would want us to warn the militia of Devon’s escape. He could try some scheme to help his lady spy escape with him! Now, just let Gracie drop in behind Jake here, and if they’re taking the lady to Norfolk by carriage—and I’m sure they are—we will overtake them long before dawn, for we have no carriage to coax through the mud.”

  So for the next couple of hours Sarah dozed in the saddle as Gracie obediently followed Jake’s steadily moving form down the road. It was still very dark when she was awakened by the mare coming to a complete stop.

  “Why are we stop….?” She began sleepily.

  “Shhh!” Marcus warned.

  Then she heard it, too—the creaking of leather and the groaning of wooden carriage wheels ahead of them. She turned to look questioningly at Marcus, but she couldn’t see his face in the darkness.

  Suddenly they were surrounded by men on horseback. Sarah stifled a scream as a gruff voice called, “Who goes there?”

  “It’s Marcus, from the Governor’s Palace!” he answered quickly. “And Colonel Ethan Armstrong’s niece. We bring you warning from the colonel!”

  A militiaman rode closer, holding a lantern up to light their faces. Sarah gasped as she saw the guns aimed at them from all sides. Then she recognized the lantern holder. It was Seth Coler! Tabitha would be glad to know where he was, but she would be upset to find out that he really was involved in the war.

  “My cousin, Tabitha, sends you her best wishes,” she whispered impulsively. In the lantern’s glow, she saw a puzzled frown crease his forehead under his tricornered hat. “The girl who comes to watch you slop the pigs at Chowning’s,” she explained. Then a pleased grin chased the frown away. He cleared his throat and stared ahead of him, trying to look military and important, Sarah guessed. She could still see the hint of a smile, however.

  Marcus pulled a paper out of his shirt and held it out to the men, but the one who appeared to be the leader shook his head. “Save it for the captain!” he snapped. “Men, surround them and take them to the carriage. Captain Randolph will want to question them.”

  Just around the bend, Sarah saw the black shape of a carriage stopped beside the road, its lanterns flickering against the darkness.

  The captain held Marcus’s paper up under the side light of the carriage. Then he peered closely into Marcus’s face. “Why, it is Marcus!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing out here on the road on such a night? Man, don’t you know this free paper won’t protect you if you fall into the wrong hands? Why, this paper could be destroyed, and gold would end up in somebody’s pocket from the sale of a new slave to some southern cotton plantation!”

  He handed the paper back to Marcus, and turned to Sarah. “And who might you be?” he asked.

  “I…I’m Colonel Ethan Armstrong’s niece, sir, Sarah Moore, from Kentucky,” she stammered, trying not to look at the carriage. She suspected Gabrielle sat in there listening to all they said, just as she had sat in Christiana Campbell’s and the Raleigh Tavern picking up war secrets to pass on to her fellow spy.

  “Colonel Armstrong was preparing to escort Miss Sarah on a small journey when Governor Henry sent for him to head up the search party for Devon,” Marcus explained. “Pelham has let the spy escape!”

  Sarah heard a gasp from deep inside the carriage.

  “No!” the captain breathed. “You mean there was no guard posted at the gaol except Pelham? With the most infamous British spy in history lodged there? This will warrant looking into, my man, and Pelham had better have his excuses lined up like ducks in a row!”

  He rode around the carriage, giving orders to his men, checking the chains that secured the door handles of the vehicle.

  “Where are you headed, Marcus?” he asked when he came back.

  “Norfolk, sir,” Marcus answered truthfully. “But, Captain, Colonel Armstrong’s niece is exhausted, about to fall from her saddle. Is there anything….?”

  “Let her ride in the carriage,” the captain interrupted. “Our lady spy won’t harm her. The young lady can rest awhile.”

  The next thing Sarah knew, she was seated inside the carriage next to Gabrielle.

  Chapter 21

  “Cherie, you have come!” Gabrielle exclaimed softly. She leaned forward, the glow from the carriage’s lanterns reflected in her dark eyes. She took both of Sarah’s hands in hers.

  “Yes, Mademoiselle,” Sarah answered. But, now that she had found Gabrielle, she had lost all the words she had planned to say.

  She pulled one hand free, reached into her pocket, and took out the little tin cup. “I want you to have this,” she managed to say, placing the cup in Gabrielle’s hand. “I bought it the day I met you, back before anything happened between us, good or bad.”

  “I am so sorry, cherie, for the things I did to you. You were right. I did betray your friendship. I used one dear friend to help another. And I destroyed something very precious in the process.” She stopped, unable to go on. Instead, she squeezed Sarah’s hand.

  Sarah didn’t know how to answer. She sat silently until the driver flicked his whip, and the carriage lurched forward.

  “Did you know that Alistair has escaped from gaol?” she said finally.

  “Oui. And don’t misunderstand me, Sarah. I do not regret for a moment helping Alistair, only that I used you to do it. I would do the same things again, but I would do them differently. Ah, cherie, I would give my life for the opportunity to do them differently!”

  Again, Sarah did not know what to say.

  “You are such a bright pupil, so eager to learn, and so exciting to teach! I had grown so fond of you, and now I have spoiled it all. You can never forgive me, and I don’t blame you, cherie.” She pulled her hand away to cover her face. “I do not deserve your forgiveness,” she cried.

  Sarah reached out to comfort her, and felt the wetness of real tears on her face. “But I have forgiven you, Mademoiselle,” she said. Then, all the things she had thought while standing in front of the milliner’s shop came tumbling out.

  “You have given me so much, Gabrielle,” she finished. “You have opened my thoughts to so many wonderful things, things that will go with me for the rest of my life! And when the bad thoughts come, I will replace them with those, and think of you with gratitude and....” She stumbled over the word, then finished, “…with love.”

  Gabrielle gave Sarah a quick embrace. “I will always remember you, cherie, as the sunlight that touched briefly a very dark and lonely time of my life. And I will cherish this cup for as long as I shall live.”

  “The etching on the cup represents the American colonies becoming a free nation, and you may not like that,” Sarah said. “But maybe it can remind you simply of one wild Kentuckian and
the freedom she holds dear.”

  “As I once told you, m’amie, my French and English blood wars in my veins. Had it not been for Alistair, I might have felt differently about this American Revolution.” She was silent a moment, then added, “When this war is over, and it will not endanger you for me to do so, I shall write you and tell you where I am. Perhaps you will find it in your heart to answer my letter.”

  “I would like that, Gabrielle,” Sarah whispered, as the carriage jerked to a halt and the door opened.

  “Another storm is brewing, Miss Sarah,” Marcus said loudly, “and I have told the captain that I am sure Colonel Armstrong would want us to return home and resume our journey on a better day.”

  She knew he was making a way for them to get back to Williamsburg before dawn. He had given her this moment with Gabrielle. She could not ask for more.

  “I believe you are right, Marcus,” she agreed, loudly enough for the captain, riding beside the carriage, to hear. She turned to embrace Gabrielle one last time.

  Then she was out of the carriage, on the mare’s back, and riding toward Williamsburg behind Jake and Marcus, through the rising wind, as fast as the mud would allow.

  They were moving too fast for conversation, so Sarah gave herself over to replaying in her thoughts all that had passed between her and Gabrielle in the carriage. She was so glad she had seen her and been able to tell her she had forgiven her. It would have been awful knowing they had parted enemies, after all the hours of companionship they had shared in the little brown house.

  Pictures flashed through her mind of Gabrielle teaching her and her cousins to serve tea, to curtsy, to embroider; of the two of them bent over her evening studies, Gabrielle correcting, encouraging, praising. She sighed. Would she ever have another tutor who could open for her the windows of the world as Gabrielle had done? Surely she would not find one with Gabrielle’s wit and charm. But Sarah also knew that she would not be fooled again by someone like Gabrielle. She felt very old and wise, and, suddenly, very tired.

  She supposed she would be in a great amount of trouble when she got back to Williamsburg. How could she ever make up for all the worry she had caused? She had been so bent on doing things her way!

  “I’d give my life for the opportunity to do things differently,” Gabrielle had said. Sarah knew how she felt. She wished there were some way she could move time backward to the happy days before she had taken her uncle’s papers, before she had gone off on her own to find Gabrielle. She knew she deserved any punishment her aunt and uncle might give her. She had been unforgivably foolish and headstrong.

  “You must forgive to be forgiven,” Marcus had told her. Well, she had forgiven Gabrielle. If she asked Uncle Ethan and Aunt Charity to forgive her this one last time, would they? Would God? Marcus said God was always ready to forgive if someone were truly sorry.

  Sarah saw ahead of her that Marcus had stopped his horse at the corner of Nicholson Street. Then she realized that she could see him, sitting on Jake’s back, waiting for her to catch up with him. The sky was beginning to lighten.

  “Miss Sarah, I hope you know how much danger you were in tonight, out there on that road alone,” he began when she reached him.

  “Marcus,” she broke in, “I promise I will never do such a stupid thing again! I was so scared until you found me! But I had to see her! And it was worth any sacrifice,” she added.

  He studied her for a moment. “The Good Book says, ‘To obey is better than sacrifice,’” he said solemnly. Then he nodded his head, as though satisfied with the quick guilt and regret reflected in her eyes before she dropped her gaze from his. He turned Jake and rode on down Nicholson Street.

  Though the sun’s rays were beginning to spill over the trees at the eastern end of the street, the Armstrong house was still in shadow as they tied their horses to the hitching post and went up the walk.

  Uncle Ethan was waiting in the hallway when Sarah opened the door. “Thank you, Marcus,” he said. “Would you please put the mare in the stables? You may ride Jake home and return him later.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m much obliged to you, Colonel Armstrong,” Marcus answered, “but Jake’s tired, too, and ole Marcus has no proper place for him to rest. I’ll just see to it that both horses are rubbed down and tended to, and then I’ll go on home. Good night, Miss Sarah,” he added, turning to leave.

  “Thank you, Marcus,” she said fervently. “Thank you so much!”

  “You may go to bed, Sarah,” her uncle said, as he shut the door. “I have read your note, and we will discuss this later, after we’ve both had some rest. I am exhausted, as I suspect you are.”

  He walked to the stairs, then turned to face her in the growing light. “My mission was successful,” he said seriously, “was yours?”

  “Yes, sir,” she answered, returning his look steadily.

  He put one hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad, Sarah,” he said. “I really am. But will you promise me one thing?” It was impossible to read his expression in the dim hallway.

  Sarah took a deep breath. “Yes, sir,” she answered, knowing she was in no position to refuse, after all the trouble she had caused.

  “Don’t keep any more secrets from me, please? I’m getting too old for all this excitement!” He grinned down at her, but his weary sigh was real, she thought, as she followed him up the stairs.

  Sarah went into Abigail’s room, undressed, and put on her long, white gown. She started toward the bed, then turned and padded down the hall into Megan’s room. She crawled into bed beside her little cousin and pulled the thick quilt over her shoulders.

  Tomorrow, she thought, yawning, she would ask forgiveness for all she had done. Uncle Ethan’s attitude tonight hinted that it would be granted. If so, she vowed she would be so obedient she would never need to ask again! She would be content here, too, until she went back home, and she would do her best to get along with everybody in the Armstrong household. Even Abigail!

  The wind whistled softly around the eaves of the house and whispered through the cedar outside Megan’s window. Suddenly, Sarah remembered what Marcus had said about God trying to speak to them on the wind. If that were true, she wanted to hear what He had to say. She really did. But she was just too tired now to listen.

  She turned over on her side and snuggled closer to Meggie. Maybe, like Uncle Ethan, God would talk to her tomorrow, she thought drowsily, feeling herself sinking into sleep.

  ###

  Echoes from the Past

  Some interesting facts about Williamsburg and colonial times

  When Sarah came to Williamsburg in 1777, it was a thriving little town of busy shops and taverns scattered along Duke of Gloucester Street, with the Colonial Capitol at one end and the College of William and Mary at the other. Charming brick or wooden houses, with steep gabled roofs and small-paned windows, surrounded Duke of Gloucester, and behind each of them was a fenced garden filled with herbs, flowers, shrubs, and trees.

  The shops on Duke of Gloucester Street sold merchandise brought down the James River. The goods came from Boston, Massachusetts; from England, France, or Italy, and included spices, buttons, and ribbons. Sarah could buy a piece of ribbon for her dress or hair for a farthing (about a penny).

  Williamsburg had many craftsmen who sold their wares in the town. The blacksmith made nails, candle holders, hinges, and horseshoes. The cooper made barrels, buckets, and wooden utensils. The printer and bookbinder turned out newspapers and broadsides (large, one-page announcements), and leather-bound books. The brick maker made bricks to pave the streets and construct houses and shops. The lumberyard provided clapboards for the outside and lumber for the inside of Williamsburg buildings.

  The taverns (restaurants) served hearty meals and provided sleeping rooms for travelers. Strolling musicians entertained diners with tunes played on the violin, mandolin, flute, or hornpipe. Some taverns, like the Raleigh and the Kings Arms, were gathering places for the wealthy, the educated, the political leaders
of the day. Colonial men were not ashamed to have their wives and families accompany them there for a meal.

  Taverns like Chowning’s and Shield’s catered to the less genteel (well-bred), and gaming (gambling) was common there. Sometimes the patrons drank too much “hard” cider (fermented apple juice) or other strong drinks and spent a night in the local gaol (pronounced jail) with criminals, prisoners of war, and those who could not pay their debts.

  Christiana Campbell’s tavern on Waller Street, down by the Capitol, was less fashionable than the Raleigh, but not so bawdy (vulgar) as Chowning’s or Shield’s. George Washington, Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, and other Patriots sometimes met there or at the Raleigh to discuss plans, like those overheard by Gabrielle Gordon and passed on to the Demon Devon.

  Some poor men and women who were seeking their fortunes, came to America as indentured servants. Like Sara’s friend Betsy, they agreed to work for a certain number of years for anyone who would pay their passage across the ocean. When their debt of passage was paid by their agreed years of work, they were free to live their own lives.

  Not all colonists were poor, however. Many were wealthy in their own right. Some were well educated and wanted good schools for their sons. In 1693, long before Sarah was even born, the Virginia General Assembly sent the Reverend James Blair to England to ask King William and Queen Mary to establish a college in Williamsburg so “…that the youth may be piously educated,” as he put it, “and the Christian Faith may be propagated amongst the Western Indians, to the Glory of Almighty God.” To this day, the College of William and Mary is busy educating students.

  Girls were not allowed to go to school in Sarah’s time. They were either taught at home by their mothers, grandmothers, or aunts, or they had tutors. Even with a tutor, most colonial girls did not study Latin or history or geography, as Sarah did with Gabrielle Gordon. They learned to sew and embroider, to manage a household, to play the piano or harpsichord, to write or accept invitations, to be a gracious hostess, to curtsy, and to dance.