Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

T he morning after Tabitha refused Edmond’s offer of help, he hoed manure and compost in with the thick black soil for the melon patch while Tabitha and Dulcie prepared mounds for planting. Tabitha had protested his assistance, but Dulcie had supported his determination to resume some physical activity.

The frequent rains of the last week had given way to mid-April sun that warmed their backs while the soft, sultry breeze carried birdsong and cloying floral scents. The showy yellow flowers of the nearby tulip tree had begun to bloom, along with the Ogeechee lime trees and switchcane along the creek bank where Edmond had picketed Maximus. The stallion ripped up green grasses and chewed contentedly, flicking flies with his tail.

“If Cyrus has a froe, I could use it on some of those split logs to make new shingles for the roof.” Edmond nodded toward the shed.

The full brim of Tabitha’s straw hat remained downturned. “No need. He will be back soon enough.” After breaking their fast, she had put off Edmond’s attempt to draw her aside for a private conversation, and her continued refusal to even look at him made it seem unlikely she would allow another opportunity.

In her mind, he was already gone. What had caused her to withdraw after her unexpectedly affectionate gesture yesterday morning and the things she had said about her childhood last night? Things which made him want to help her even more? He could only presume he had presented his ideas too forcefully—and right after she revealed how her father and husband had kept her under their thumbs.

Once again, he should not have allowed his emotions to enter the equation. He could surely have persuaded her if he had stuck to logic. But somewhere along the way, the need to prevent the Jacksons’ tyranny had turned into a genuine desire to help Tabitha. A woman as spirited and determined as she deserved independence just as much as this land did. The two goals were becoming entwined in Edmond’s mind.

He would just have to speak his piece in front of Dulcie. Perhaps she would support him. Tabitha probably had not even told her of Edmond’s idea to generate income. “Tabitha, I know you prize your independence, and perhaps I spoke too forcefully last night, but you have to allow me to help. Not just today, but in the future.” Maybe if he explained about his mother, it would wring some understanding from her. “What I propose would benefit all of us.”

She lifted her head, but rather than looking at him, she raised her gloved hand. “Listen.”

Edmond cocked his ear. Indeed, underbrush cracked and hooves trod the path from the road. He tossed down the hoe and limped toward the side of the house where he’d left the rifle he’d been issued upon his return to Fort Howe. But a lowing brought him up short. Cattle!

“They are back!” Dulcie leapt to her feet as the first two brown-and-white cows came into view. A bull followed, chestnut-colored with black markings, maybe eight or nine hundred pounds, swinging his horned head in irritation. Cyrus edged his mount to the steer’s side to head him off.

“We have to open the corral.” Tabitha scrambled up, and she and Dulcie ran across the yard to remove logs from the fence so Dougal and Cyrus could drive the cattle into the muddy enclosure.

Edmond grabbed his crutch instead of his rifle and used it to help shoo the animals in the right direction.

“Get the rail back in place,” Dougal called from atop his mount as the cows circled around the corral.

Dulcie dragged her end of a log toward the enclosure.

Tabitha, who had been staring at the livestock, jumped into motion to assist. Once they had both logs back in position, Dulcie ran to her husband. He dismounted and wrapped her in his embrace. Edmond and Tabitha approached Dougal as he slid down from his mount, his hair damp and his face streaked with dirt.

“Bloody beasts.” Dougal swiped off his cocked hat and ran his sleeve across his forehead. “Herdin’ a bunch of heathens would’ve been easier.”

“Surely, a wee passel of cows did not cause you trouble, Private.” Edmond clenched his friend’s shoulder and gave him a light shake. “We were beginning to despair of your return.”

“Good to see you, too, and fit enough to harass me, sir.” It was Dougal’s turn to grab Edmond by the arm, grinning. “When I left, you looked about two paces from death’s door.” His answering shake made Edmond chuckle and plant his crutch more firmly on the ground.

Tabitha turned back from assessing the corral. The log had left a smear of mud across her petticoat. “There are only six. Where are the others?”

Dougal’s mouth went flat as he replaced his hat, and Cyrus drew near, frowning as he led his horse. “Sorry to say, Miss Tabitha, but the answer to both your questions is six is all we could find. Folks are sayin’ the Loyalists took two thousand head of cattle back to Florida with ’em.”

“Two thousand?” Tabitha gasped. She stared at the bovines still jostling about the corral, churning up mud. “You mean to say, out of our original two hundred, this is all that remain?”

Cyrus dipped his head. “’Fraid so.”

Dougal stepped forward. “We scoured every swamp and savannah from here to the Satilla, Mrs. Gage. Cyrus speaks true.”

“But this will not be nearly enough…” Tabitha bit her lip as her words trailed off.

Dougal’s face creased with compassion. “It may be that some turn up later from the canebrakes, but for now, this is the best we could do. We are sorry not to bear better news.”

“I understand.” She squared her shoulders. “I am thankful for the half dozen you were able to bring. I know it can have been no easy task.” Her words made Edmond’s chest expand with pride in her. “You men must be tired. Thirsty. Hungry. Come into the cabin.”

“My horse is picketed near the creek, if you wish to use the line.” Edmond gestured past the house.

Cyrus reached for the reins of Dougal’s stallion. “I will take them.”

“I will go with you.” Dulcie shot her husband a soft smile as she rubbed his horse’s nose.

“And I will warm the remainder of this morning’s porridge.” Tabitha turned toward the cabin, but before she could hurry away, Edmond caught her arm.

“Tabitha, now more than ever, you must reconsider my offer.” Edmond did his best to keep his tone low, persuasive but not overpowering. When she pulled away, he released her, but he rushed his words. “Let me go to Mr. McMullan on your behalf. You will need the income from timbering. If Mr. Jackson knows how you will get the money, he may give you more time.”

Tabitha’s gaze swung from him to Dougal, who watched them with his brows knit and an expression of intense curiosity. “Thank you, Sergeant Lassiter, but after today, I believe our paths must diverge.”

Stubborn woman. He wanted to shake her as he had shaken Dougal. To make her see reason. But any further urging from him would only make her an enemy. “Very well.” He stepped back and dipped his head. “Should you change your mind, you will know where to find me.”

Early May, 1777

T wo weeks had passed since Tabitha had last seen Edmond Lassiter, and she couldn’t help but think of him as she and Dulcie ferried across the Altamaha on their way to visit Dulcie’s father at River’s Bend. Spring floods carried extra sediment and debris downriver, making the crossing difficult. ’Twas with relief that they spied Cyrus awaiting them on the opposite bank, his stallion and Tabitha’s mare in hand.

“You made it across safely.” Dulcie kissed his cheek after Tabitha paid the ferryman. “I was praying the whole way.”

“Thankfully, these two are strong swimmers.” Cyrus handed Tabitha Cora’s reins.

Tabitha stroked her mare’s brow and murmured words of appreciation and comfort. Then she said, “Thank you, Cyrus. I should not have allowed my indecision to put off this trip.” While she had stood firm about not involving Edmond in her plans for the future, she had remained torn about the best way to secure Hugh Jackson’s money. Finally, she had decided she and Cyrus would travel to Darien in search of Jack McMullan while Dulcie visited her mother at River’s Bend.

Dulcie eyed the log walls and bastions of Fort Howe. “I still think we should see if Sergeant Lassiter is free to ride with us to Darien.”

“I am certain he is too busy with duties. It seems there is an unusual amount of activity at the fort.” As Tabitha spoke, in fact, a company of mounted rangers turned off the main road for the palisade, riding past an encampment of soldiers that overflowed the fort walls. Tents had sprung up like ecru-colored mushrooms in the green field where horses were picketed, swirls of smoke from a dozen campfires twisting toward the glary gray sky and hanging heavy on the damp air. From inside the stockade, a snare drum rolled and sharp orders echoed.

“He would not be too busy for you. I daresay he has been waitin’ for you to come to him.”

Tabitha turned away. Dulcie had made her opinions clear in more than one hearthside evening discussion. She insisted the sergeant harbored some special admiration for Tabitha, but Tabitha sensed a darker, more personal motive beneath his benevolence. Whatever he concealed, it could not be good. “Never again will I make myself beholden to a man I do not know. Besides, if this Mr. McMullan doesn’t want to work for me, I will find someone who does.” With a grunt, Tabitha hoisted herself into the saddle. She straightened at the ache in her back from too many hours bending to weed the flax field.

As soon as Dulcie was mounted behind Cyrus, they rode toward River’s Bend, putting Fort Howe—and talk of its occupants—behind them.

At the driveway to the plantation, Cyrus pulled up his reins. “Maybe you should wait here, Miss Tabitha, while I check an’ make sure the Jacksons aren’t up at the house.”

“’Tis a good idea, Cyrus.” She smiled her appreciation, and she and Dulcie waited while the man trotted his mount ahead. What would she do without these two faithful servants?

In about five minutes, he appeared at the end of the lane of Spanish-moss-draped live oaks and waved his arm for them to come on. They urged their horses forward, and Tabitha stifled a surge of yearning as the house came into view, the white porticoes gleaming among flowering hedges. While she might miss the comforts of wealth, her years at River’s Bend had been empty. She had played a part here, a shadowy actress in a half life that brought more pain than pleasure. Now, her body might hurt, her stomach might growl, but she was free. She just had to figure out how to remain that way.

Cyrus led them past the main house to Marcus Long’s cabin at the head of the row of slave cabins. They had timed their arrival in hopes of finding him at home for his noonday meal, and Tabitha relaxed a bit when he came out onto his porch. He greeted them, hugged his daughter, and helped Tabitha to dismount.

A few minutes later, he saw them settled around his board with servings of succotash and Annabelle’s crusty white bread, which Tabitha devoured as though it were the finest European pastry while Dulcie filled her father in on their plan. Tonight, Tabitha would soak in a bath, wash her body and hair with scented soap, and sleep in the feather-mattress embrace of her old bed. Tomorrow, she would ride to Darien refreshed and dressed in her smart navy light-woolen habit to call upon Mr. McMullan. He would see she was a lady of quality and good for her word, even though she no longer had her husband’s name and title to back her. Ha. As if she ever truly had.

“The only thing we could not decide was whether we should take the payment from the sale of the cattle with us in case the logging crew required earnest money,” Tabitha told the overseer after Dulcie concluded her summary, “or leave it with you in case the Jacksons come to call while we are gone. It might go some distance in easing our request for an extension on payment of the debt.”

“Hm. As to that…” Mr. Long sat back, rubbing his beard. “You can rest easy for a bit. They have important company from Savannah and shan’t come in search of you just now.”

“Oh, praise be,” Dulcie murmured, spooning up a bite of stew.

“I would not sing your halleluiahs yet. Mr. Hugh Jackson came to see me a couple days ago. Asked me to make sure you knew his expectations. I was going to ride out tomorrow to see you.” Mr. Long’s gaze slid to Tabitha, wary and regretful.

She shrank back on the bench. “What expectations?”

“A reminder that he had given you through spring to make a decision—payment, the land south of the river, or betrothal to Mr. Julian. He put a date on it. The last of May.”

Tabitha struggled for a deep breath. “But we cannot pay him three hundred pounds. Not until the end of the year.”

Mr. Long’s mouth pulled into a grimace. “He will say that leaves you two options.”

Dulcie sat forward. “Perhaps if you gave him the fifty pounds we can spare from the sale of the cattle and we showed him a contract with Mr. McMullan, Mr. Jackson would agree to wait for the rest once the timber is logged.”

“Perhaps. But you will never get that contract from McMullan, not the two of you.” Mr. Long’s gaze toggled between Tabitha and Cyrus. “They despise Negroes and would put no stock by doin’ business with a woman.”

Just as Edmond had said. Tabitha smacked her hand on the board. “That is absurd. Surely, the proper arrangement would persuade them.”

Tabitha’s heart fell as the overseer shook his head, his expression grim.

“What about someone else?” Dulcie glanced between Tabitha and her father. “There must be someone else in the parish capable of loggin’ some trees.”

“The McMullans are the only experienced loggers not gone off to fight.” Mr. Long withdrew a flask from inside his coat and sat forward to splash some strong-smelling liquid into his pewter tankard. “Besides, the Jacksons were firm. I fear you stand no chance of convincin’ them to defer payment unless you can give them some official guarantee.”

Dulcie turned a pointed look on Tabitha. “We must ask Sergeant Lassiter to accompany us.”

Tabitha remained focused on Dulcie’s father. “Would you go with us instead?” She knew better than to hope, but she had to ask.

Wrinkles radiated out from his lips as he pinched them together. “I’m sorry, Miss Tabitha. I cannot risk word of that gettin’ back to the Jacksons. This sergeant, is he the one who came to your aid on the Satilla? Who was goin’ to help you round up the cattle?”

“The one who stayed with us after the rattler bit him, yes. He sent one of his men in his place while he recuperated at our cabin.”

“He is the one who suggested hirin’ Mr. McMullan in the first place.” Dulcie lifted a brow as she voiced Tabitha’s omission. “His mother’s family are distant kin to the loggers.”

Her father took a sip of spirits before plunking his tankard on the table. “Then I suggest you fetch him at once. From what I hear, the Patriots are mobilizing for another invasion of Florida. Militia floatin’ down from Sunbury while a mounted contingent will cross the Altamaha any day now to rendezvous with them on the St. John’s. Then onto St. Augustine. ’Tis Button Gwinnett’s idea. He has been doing all he can to discredit the McIntosh brothers and seize power.”

The breath left Tabitha’s lungs in a rush, and her back sagged. “Then we cannot possibly ask Edmond for help.”

“It may be that he will remain at the fort,” Cyrus pointed out. “Some will. Or he might have time to go with us tomorrow while the troops muster. ’Tis worth askin’. It sounds like our only chance.”

Tabitha met Mr. Long’s eyes, and he gave a firm nod. “You will not get Jack McMullan to sign on with you without him.”

“Very well.” She sighed. “Perhaps you would ride back to the fort to inquire, Cyrus?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cyrus plucked his hat off the bench and rose. “I will go straightaway.”

As he left the cabin, a frown tugged down Mr. Long’s brows as his gaze slid to his daughter. “Where did you say this sergeant was from?”

Dulcie sipped her cider from her pewter tankard. “His family is from Savannah. His father was a factor for cotton and rice planters on the coast.”

Mr. Long’s hand fell onto the table with a thump. “That is where I know the name from.”

Dulcie straightened and set down her cup. “I thought it familiar too. He was your factor?”

“He was. A while back—maybe almost two years now—Lord Riley transferred his business to a new factor. Mr. Jackson—Hugh—had told him some unsavory things about John Lassiter. Implied he was dishonest, dippin’ into the profits, if I recall correctly.” He scratched the silvery bristles on his cheek.

Tabitha gasped. “No wonder Edmond hates the Jacksons. Did you learn if it was true…about his father being dishonest?”

“Never did find out.” Mr. Long started stacking their bowls. “But I cannot imagine a man workin’ to stop a man like Hugh Jackson so hard if the rumors about his father were true. Seems like somethin’ a man would do to clear his name to me. Now, we should walk over and get you both settled. Annabelle will be eager to see you.”

Questions swirled in Tabitha’s mind as she followed Dulcie to the big house. Was the harm Hugh Jackson had done to Edmond’s father the source of the pain she had often glimpsed in his eyes? The impetus for his willingness to help her? If he did so out of a desire to prevent the Jacksons from hurting her as they had hurt his family, how could that be bad? Or did he operate from a desire for revenge?

Edmond had avoided speaking of his family, almost as if he’d had no life before he joined the rangers. What had happened to his father? Where was his mother? Before Tabitha considered any sort of partnership, she would require some answers, even if she risked losing Edmond’s help with obtaining a contract with Jack McMullan. She had learned her lessons about trust. Any man she allowed close to her from here on out would have to prove himself worthy of it.

Even so, when horse hooves sounded on the driveway, her heartbeat clipped into double time. She ran to the front entrance as Cyrus climbed the front porch steps…alone.

Tabitha held the door open. “He could not come?”

Cyrus swept off and clenched his hat. “He was already gone, ma’am.”

Gone without a word. Riding into danger in the Florida swamps, maybe never to return. Something twisted in Tabitha’s chest, and she clasped her hands.

She knew now she had to manage this on her own.