Beyond the Fire Page 7

  “With my lord’s permission, Master James needs to know what you plan to do about reinforcements. The sooner I inform him that he is not alone, the sooner he will be encouraged.”

  It was hard for John to control his emotions. “You have a loyal heart, my lad, but you will not leave alone tonight.”

  A look of dismay crossed the youth’s face. He was about to protest when John held up his hand and smiled. “Fear not. You will be able to leave tonight, but you will not leave alone. I will send the mounted bodyguard with you. You should eat and rest while preparations are being made.”

  John laughed at the relief displayed on the youth’s face. “Come! Let’s find you something to eat in the kitchen while I set the guard in motion.”

  They walked through dark hallways until they reached the pantry, where John located cheese, bread, butter, and milk. “There are apples in that barrel,” he said, pointing. “I’ll leave you in charge of these while I make other preparations. There is a cot in the adjacent room. Get some rest after you’ve eaten your fill and packed food for your return journey. We will prepare a fresh horse for you. Now, get some food and rest. Don’t worry about missing the ride. My men will come to the larder before they leave, and you will never sleep through that!” John laughed as he left the bewildered youth at the pantry table.

  Stepping into the brisk night air, he walked quickly across the courtyard to the barracks. The sentry on duty snapped to attention when John approached.

  “Young man, fetch Seagood, please. I’ll watch your post while you are gone.”

  The young man disappeared and soon returned with the captain of the guard. John motioned Seagood away from the barracks and kept his voice low. “Seagood, I want you and a strong body of men to ride to Green Meadow, starting as quickly as you can. James is in trouble! I will come as soon as I am able. If the council calls for arms, it will require time to assemble the troops and move west, but James needs help quickly. Choose your men and then come to the pantry to pack your victuals. James’s messenger is waiting for you there. Get ready, and I will see you off.”

  Seagood nodded and disappeared. Left alone, John strayed toward the cemetery located behind the chapel. Helen was there. Seagood always reminded John of his own wife. She’d been gone twelve years now.

  Gazing beyond the nearly invisible stones, John was oblivious to the cold mist beginning to whip his hair. His mind began to relive picnics, rides in the meadow, and little boys bouncing around their mother’s knees.

  A strange thing had happened when James and Thomas were young. A sea captain had docked in Sebring, bringing a tale of a rescue and lad who could not speak. Shipwrecks at sea were not uncommon, but this lad was unique. The first time Helen laid eyes on him, he captured her heart. Without a home and no ability to speak, the lad had come to Stafford House and had become part of the family. Helen had named the lad Seagood, saying, “I know the sea has given him to us for our good.”

  Being somewhat older than James or Thomas, Seagood had tried to hold himself aloof, but the boys included their new “brother” in every rough-and-tumble game they knew: wrestling, foot races, horse rides, studies, and even exploring the underground sewers of Stonewall. The last would have horrified their mother, had she known, but John had found the boys, whipped all three, and never said a word to his wife about the incident.

  Seagood had grown to love horses and weapons. The rough-and-ready life of a soldier was to his liking. Not to be outdone by their older “brother,” James and Thomas had followed suit. They had all become skilled in the use of sword and spear, and only last year they had helped Gaff defend Great Bend, proving their courage in battle.

  The wind moaned through the trees and stones, but John thought of the twinkle in Helen’s eyes. She had been expecting again! Thus, Philip had joined the family. He grew and learned to handle the sword and spear, but he had no desire for such things. His joy was in books and plants and the nurturing of heart and mind.

  Then had come the fateful year when fever had raced across the country. Helen had cared for the sick daily, until one morning she’d been too weak to rise. John had felt her brow; she too had the fever.

  They’d carried her back to Stafford House and placed her near the window in her bedroom. The house had grown quiet as the cool sea breeze whipped her hair. John had watched her listless eyes struggle to focus on the gardens below. Three days later, she was gone. Only her memories remained.

  John liked this place where memories of her were strongest. Even now, he could almost hear her saying, “John, what are you doing out in the cold? You have guests inside, and the boys will be leaving soon. Pull yourself together, and see the boys off.”

  He became aware of horses crossing the courtyard. Turning, he saw the silhouettes of men and animals headed for the great house. The dim torchlight caught the faint glitter of spear tips.

  Reluctantly, John reined in his thoughts and turned toward the house. Brushing cold moisture from his face, he strode quickly to the kitchen, where his men were quickly packing food in their knapsacks. All these men had grown up with Seagood, James, and Thomas. Most were sons of staff who had worked at Stafford House for years. Some were James’s and Thomas’s friends from Waterfront and Sebring.

  John remembered good days gone by when all these boys had romped through the house and around the grounds. Now they were grown men, preparing to ride to war. What if they never returned? A shadow passed before his eyes as he thought of their mothers and fathers learning of their child’s death. These men knew the danger of war, yet he knew they would go, regardless of the peril.

  John entered the pantry, and every man stiffened to attention. “At ease, gentlemen,” John said. “Finish packing your victuals while I get James’s messenger.”

  He stepped into the adjacent room where the lad lay curled tightly upon a meager cot. John had to shake the boy several times before he opened a sleepy eye. Suddenly the lad bolted to his feet, stammering, “I didn’t miss them, did I?”

  “No, but you nearly knocked me down,” John said with a laugh as he led the boy into the pantry. “Gentlemen, meet your new comrade. He will ride with you tonight.”

  There was an awkward moment as the boy, much younger, stared in awe at the grown, fully-armed men. Seagood moved to the front and eyed the boy closely. The lad sensed he was on trial. Intimidated but unflinching, he stared back into Seagood’s clear sea-green eyes. After a long moment, Seagood’s face softened, and he offered his hand. No words were spoken, but the boy had officially joined the guard.

  Scanning the room, John saw that the men were fully outfitted. Each wore a dark, hooded cloak, and underneath was a wide belt containing a sword, dagger, double-bladed hatchet, and quiver filled with arrows. A small spade was packed inside a knapsack, along with a blanket and three days’ provisions. A small water pouch hung on each belt, nearly rounding out their gear.

  Outside, a small, sturdy shield hung over the horn of each saddle. It was black with a single golden cross in its center. Underneath, securely attached to the shield, was a strong wooden bow. Spears methodically lined the pathway, handles planted firmly in the earth, tips pointing to heaven. To finish the gear, each man wore a leather helm. It had a bronze strap running from front lip to rear lip, and from right to left ear. When the bronze was polished, it shone like gold against the black helm.

  “Seagood,” John said, “this lad has come in peace with little or no armor. I am afraid he returns to war.”

  Seagood nodded and pointed to the far end of the table where a belt of weaponry and a cloak were neatly stacked. A huge man brought them to the lad, quickly fastened the belt in place, and handed the lad the cloak. “Do you know how to use these?” he asked.

  “Well enough in practice, sir,” the lad said timidly. “I don’t know about in real combat.”

  An understanding smile crossed the big man’s face. Putting an arm around
the boy’s shoulders, he said, “No man knows what kind of metal he’s made of until he goes through the fire. You’ll do fine. Remember—you are not alone.”

  The men quickly finished filling their knapsacks with provisions and shouldered their packs. Armed and supplied, the company filed into the darkness. Each man chose his spear and untethered his horse. The same huge man led the young messenger to a black mare. “Wart, this is your horse.”

  “That isn’t my na—” the lad started to say.

  “I know it isn’t the horse you rode in here. That poor nag was half dead. Treat this lady well, and she will carry you a long way.”

  “I know how to care for a horse,” the lad mumbled under his breath. “And Wart isn’t my name.”

  “What’s that?” the big man queried.

  “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Rudy. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just curious.”

  The men passed silently down the hill toward the tug. Across the river they could hear a whistle announcing that the ferry was ready to be pulled away from Stonewall.

  John led the men to the ferry, but as the first group boarded the raft, he pulled Seagood aside. “James may have overstepped his authority in Green Meadow. He ordered the evacuation of the city without Devia’s input or consent. He may have enemies among our own people as well as from the outside.”

  Seagood nodded as the tug returned. He saluted and led his black gelding onto the raft with the remainder of his men. The dull clump-clump of horses’ hooves on heavy wooden planks was barely audible above the moan of the rising wind.

  Through the black mist, John could see dark silhouettes on the distant shore. At a signal, all mounted and turned west on the Greenway. The horses soon caught their rhythm and thundered into the night.

  It was dark when Bill got home, and Mary was frantic with worry. “Bill, are you all right? What took so long? Why are so many people going east in carts and wagons? What is happening?”

  Bill realized how disturbing it would be to see all the traffic on the Greenway and not know why. Taking Mary in his arms, he kissed her and held her close. “Master Johnson has asked all women and children to leave Capri if the army is called out. Would you consider going with Ella Walton to Waterfront?”

  “Is Ella leaving?” Mary looked surprised.

  “Yes, her father is taking her and some others to stay with an aunt in Waterfront. She wanted you and your mother to join her there.”

  “Did you ask Mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She won’t leave Capri.”

  “What do you think I should do, Bill?”

  “I’d really like you to go with Ella.”

  “When will she leave?” Mary asked.

  The problem of getting Mary to Waterfront suddenly hit Bill. With Ella’s family gone, who would take Mary and her mother? He would have done it himself, if he didn’t have to report for duty every day. Most of the men in the community were in the same predicament.

  Bill groaned. “They left this afternoon.”

  “Why didn’t she ask me?” Mary asked, confused and hurt by the oversight.

  “Because I was too slow in telling you about joining the army,” Bill growled. “She didn’t want to be the one who broke the news to you.”

  Mary bit her lip, clearly holding back angry words, and her eyes flashed, indignant. “I’ll just stay with Mother,” she said. “At least she will take care of me.” Her auburn hair whirled with an angry toss of her head, and she stomped to the curtain that divided the bedroom from the kitchen. “Good night!” she stormed and yanked the curtain shut.

  Bill slumped into a chair. What have I done? he thought. Why didn’t I tell her sooner? Why didn’t I make preparations? What do I do now?

  Head in his hands, the big, confident man sat at his table and sobbed like a baby. A candle burned late in the Cotton house that night. It was some time after Bill had finally gone to bed that he heard horses thundering down the Greenway, passing westward into the night.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Council

  Morning at Stonewall dawned cold and gray. A roaring fire in the hearth did little to cheer the stewards of Amity who had gathered the day before. Everyone dreaded the decisions this group would have to make. Gammel tried to ease the tension by telling a story, but no one listened. Breakfast was served, but few ate.

  It was late when John came into the room and joined the stewards. He’d slept little, and his eyes were bloodshot. Trying to sound cheerful, he addressed his guests. “Gentlemen, I trust you slept well.”

  Only a few men bothered with a response, but John overlooked it and continued. “As you know, council is called for this evening. You have been gracious to come so early. There are six members of the council yet to arrive. Until tonight’s meeting, you may have access to the entire house and grounds. The fireplace will be stoked for your comfort, and our cook will keep apples and cheese on the table during the day. We will sup late this afternoon to accommodate late arrivals. Please make yourself at home.”

  John cleared his throat. “If anyone has a question, I will try to answer it at this time.” The silence was deafening. John could see men watching him through wary, guarded eyes. He could only imagine what they had heard about the mounted guard leaving during the night. All around the room, John could see men watching him the way a lamb might observe a lion. He could see fear in their eyes, and it seemed they were all afraid of him.

  “Ahem.” John cleared his throat. “I have a few things I need to complete, so I will now retire to the study. Please make yourselves at home.” Grabbing a small loaf of bread and an apple, he made a hasty retreat.

  There was an uneasy stir in the room. Eyes shifted nervously from one to another. Rumors spread and grew rapidly. “John is for war. We are here solely to approve his plans to take this nation to war. Didn’t he send troops to help Gaff last year, even when not everyone thought it was prudent?”

  Someone had checked the stables and reported that the mounted guard was gone. Rumor had it that they had been sent west last night. That, coupled by John’s appearance and reluctance to remain in the room, caused the rumors to grow and flourish.

  Not everyone believed the rumors. Gammel and Simone knew John better than most and were outspoken in his defense. However, they soon found themselves excluded from the little groups that were forming.

  A young man slipped unnoticed into the room, listened to the talk for a few moments, and then vanished through a side door. Finding the stairs, he climbed to his father’s study. Stepping noiselessly to a heavy door, he stood and listened for a moment, assuring himself that the master of Amity was inside and without company. Without knocking, he opened the door and said, “May I come in?”

  John looked up from his reading and smiled broadly. “Philip, it’s good to see you, my boy! Where did my man find you: at Rhoop’s or Gandrel’s? Or were you off to see your young lady in Sebring?” John laughed heartily at the thought of his messenger calling on a lady to find his son.

  “Not the latter, Father, but you were right about the former,” Philip said easily, pulling his wet cap from his head. John watched his broad-shouldered son easily swing a chair over the grate that allowed heat to pour into the room from the fire downstairs. He stepped behind the chair and sighed as the heat warmed his damp clothing. “Ah, that feels good. Why did you call me, Father?”

  John smiled at Philip’s casual question. He was so unlike James, who would have had a sword in his hand when asking the same question. To James, life was a battle to be won; to Philip, life was to be lived. They were so different, yet both were natural leaders of men.

  John turned to Philip. “I wanted you to know that James has asked for help. Jabin is poised in the forest just west of Green Meadow.”

  The color drained from P
hilip’s face, but he asked no questions.

  “I sent Seagood and the mounted guard out last night,” John continued. “They will help James all they can. You have probably heard that a council has been scheduled for tonight. Amity lies in the balance.” John looked directly at Philip as he spoke. “I do not know what action the council will take.”

  Philip suddenly came to life. “Is there any question what must be done? We must mass troops and defend Amity. What other action can be taken?”

  “I once would have thought the same,” John said sadly, “but I have heard many things in the last day or two that make me wonder. The group downstairs is not cohesive in their talk. There is talk of peace at any price. Rumor has it that the Stafford family is opposed to peace. They think we want war.”

  “Do they know that Jabin is just west of Green Meadow? Do they know of James’s request?”

  “No, I’ve shared that with no one but you. It might bias certain members of the council before the meeting ever begins. That news will come out tonight when everyone can hear it and have their say.”

  “But what will you do if the council should say no? Will you leave James and Thomas to fend for themselves?”

  There was a long silence. Finally John spoke, but he didn’t answer Philip’s questions. “I would like you to be present at the council this evening.”

  “But I can’t vote—” Philip began in protest.

  “I didn’t ask you to vote,” John interrupted, “but, debate is open to everyone. We will withdraw for the actual vote, but I think you should hear all sides in this matter as each district speaks its mind. I really want you to be there.”

  “Then I will be, if the Lord is willing,” Philip said, rising from the chair. “Thank you, Father. This conversation has warmed me, inside and out.”

  John smiled at his son and realized that the tension was ebbing out of his own body. “Thank you for coming, Philip. Say, you never said where my man found you.”