Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Savannah, Georgia

Mid-June, 1777

T abitha’s black silk dress rustled as she descended the stairs inside her parents’ house on St. James Square. She was already regretting agreeing to a supper with guests this evening—just an old friend of Tabitha’s, her husband, and her brother, as Tabitha’s mother assured her. But it had required Dulcie to dye one of the few silk evening gowns Tabitha had held onto for her forays into town. And she had no idea how to play the grieving widow. Neither could she reprise her role of spirited coquette. What was her public persona supposed to be?

When voices rose from the foyer, Tabitha paused on the landing and lifted her hand to her suddenly racing heart. She glanced up as Dulcie passed in the upper hall, hoping for a smile or nod of encouragement. But the servant’s expression—eyes sad, mouth drawn tight—clenched Tabitha’s chest with regret.

Dulcie and Cyrus had not wanted to come to Savannah, and the longer Tabitha remained, the more they withdrew. Being here forced them back into the role of servants…slaves. Tabitha regretted that but did not know how to change it. Three days prior, Cyrus had returned to the Altamaha, unable to leave his crops untended any longer. Tabitha had convinced Dulcie to remain with her a few more days.

When Tabitha and Cyrus had returned from Darien to River’s Bend to fetch Dulcie and gather what remained there of Tabitha’s finer attire, the couple had entreated her to come home with them and await the return of Sergeant Lassiter. But every day she might tarry in hope of aid from a man she did not even know if she could trust—and who might not return—brought her closer to another call from Julian Jackson. She was now past his date of reckoning, though ’twas doubtful he would come to Savannah seeking her. At least, not yet. Before he did, she had to persuade her father of the wisdom of investing in timbering.

That was another thing. Dulcie did not approve of Tabitha allowing her parents to believe she still owned and lived at River’s Bend. Tabitha had told her parents that Lord Riley had sold his townhouse, but she hadn’t told them what he’d done with the plantation. She had not lied directly…just not offered up the full truth.

Father would never invest his finances into what he would consider a dying cause. Only if she did not appear weak or desperate might she convince him to partner with her, sending his lawyer or clerk to gain an audience with Mr. McMullan and providing earnest money if necessary. So far, she had dropped casual suggestions into his ear, but pressing the matter would only reveal her hand.

Meanwhile, Mother kept finding reasons for Tabitha to extend her stay. No doubt, with her daughters both living far from Savannah, her mother was lonely. At least Temperance was not here to complicate matters.

Tabitha took a deep breath, willing herself to descend the final flight of stairs. She had faced down painted natives and Burntfoot Brown himself. Why should she fear a few of Savannah’s elite?

From the entryway, Tabitha’s old friend Meg Collins gave a squeal when Tabitha came into view. The petite blonde broke away from greeting Tabitha’s parents and hurried forward to embrace her. “Oh, my dear, my deepest condolences.” She kissed Tabitha’s cheeks. “’Tis so good to see you at last.”

“Thank you. You look well.” Tabitha forced a smile. Meg’s form had taken on new curves that overflowed the bodice of her burgundy silk gown. Rouge highlighted her impeccably pale skin.

Meg waved and leaned close to whisper. “I can barely fit in my clothing. Three children and counting.” She touched her abdomen.

Tabitha’s lashes fluttered as the unintended barb hit the mark. “Congratulations.”

“But you…slender as ever. You always did make a robe à la francaise look stunning.”

Tabitha drew her arms close to her sides. She had always loved the way the box pleats of the regal style fell from the back of her shoulders to her hem and sailed behind her when she walked, but next to Meg’s new polonaise gown with its looped swags and ruffled under-petticoat, she felt like a relic of the past decade. When had fashion changed so much?

“And your color is good. Does she not bloom of the countryside, Charles?” Meg turned to her husband, who approached with a tentative smile.

“Like an English rose.” The debonair lawyer cut a bow over Tabitha’s hand.

“And you remember my brother, Ezekiel.” Meg indicated a ruddy-cheeked, fair-haired man of about Tabitha’s height who turned from handing a servant his hat and walking stick. “A partner in Charles’s law firm.”

“Of course.” Tabitha curtsied. “But where is your lovely wife this evening?” Several years before, Ezekiel had married a meek young woman Tabitha had never taken much notice of. Even now, she failed to recall her name.

Tabitha’s mother glided forward and placed her hand on Ezekiel’s elbow as the man dipped his head. “Sadly, Mr. Whitmire lost his dear Caroline to childbed last year.”

“I’m so sorry.” Heat flushed Tabitha’s cheeks. “I have been away from town too long.”

“’Tis all right. I would not expect you to know.” Ezekiel flashed her a glance, almost as if afraid to hold her gaze. Before her marriage, he had never had the gumption to speak with her. Now, a certain wary hope lit his face. Surely, ’twas only the kinship of loss he expected.

But Tabitha’s stomach swirled at the smiling glance her mother spent between them, the ever-present mouchet, or beauty mark, trembling on her cheek. Marjorie Scott now powdered her hair to cover the gray lacing her black tresses. “The two of you should have much catching up to do over supper.” She fluttered her lashes and patted Tabitha’s shoulder. She turned to the company assembled. “Shall we go in?”

When Ezekiel offered his arm with an almost apologetic smile, Tabitha swallowed and slid her fingers onto the bend of his elbow. So this was her mother’s plan. Her father’s too? Apparently, for Judge Scott gave her an encouraging nod before he led her mother into the dining room with golden light from bayberry candles gleaming off china, silver, and mahogany furniture. A centerpiece of sugared fruit and roses crowned the table.

Ezekiel seated Tabitha and cast her several sideways glances as servants brought in the first course of roast chicken, veal pie, carrots, cabbage, and pickled cucumber. “Do you entertain much at River’s Bend, Mrs. Gage?”

“No, not very much.” Tabitha adjusted her ivory-handled fork next to her plate.

“I hear ’tis a beautiful place.”

“Yes, very beautiful.” She grabbed her glass as soon as a servant filled it and took a swallow of the spirits within, stronger than the cider she had grown accustomed to. She covered a cough. Did Ezekiel think he would become master of a rice plantation if he won her?

“But no doubt, not very safe.” He picked up his fork and cut into his veal pie. “We have heard of the raids along the border.”

“Indeed.” Father spoke from the head of the table, his forehead furrowed beneath his white wig. “Lachlan McIntosh moved his family to a house across the square last fall. ’Tis ironic that his plantation was ransacked not by Loyalists, but by Patriot troops searching for food. The house, barn, all the outbuildings were destroyed. Two dozen slaves escaped.”

Charles speared a bite of chicken. “The rebels are disorganized and will turn on themselves. The feud between Button Gwinnett and the McIntoshes is evidence of that.”

Tabitha sat up straighter. “I heard that Mr. Gwinnett authorized this latest invasion of Florida.” The reason she had to worry daily over the safety of a man she shouldn’t care so much about. “Why does he dislike the McIntoshes so? They are greatly respected near Darien.”

“Oh, my dear.” Meg tittered and laid her hand on the table. “You speak in present tense. That must mean you have not heard of the duel.”

“What duel?” Tabitha shook her head. The ringlets Dulcie had arranged slid over her shoulder.

“The duel between Lachlan McIntosh and Button Gwinnett.” Meg’s eyes widened. “It happened last month after General McIntosh called Gwinnett a scoundrel and a lying rascal. When the two men met on the field of honor, McIntosh took a bullet in the arm but recovered while Gwinnett sickened from his wound and died.”

When Tabitha’s frown of confusion lingered, Ezekiel expanded on his sister’s comment. “Georgia’s new constitution called for a governor, not a president, and Gwinnett was defeated for the post.”

Tabitha’s head began to ache. The type of drama and gossip that had once fed her now seemed petty and convoluted. “But why call him a scoundrel and a rascal?”

Her father’s grim expression reflected his disapproval of women participating in political discussions. He must have felt the need to curtail it by supplying the necessary facts, for he said, “Gwinnett wanted McIntosh’s appointment over the Georgia battalion. And he made accusations about a rice shipment some in the Continental Congress believed Lachlan’s younger brother George diverted to England. He was proven innocent, but Gwinnett had him arrested. Even now that Gwinnett is dead, the House of Assembly plans to send George to the Continental Congress to stand trial.”

Meg leaned forward with her brows raised. “Can you believe all the excitement you have missed?”

Tabitha resisted the urge to laugh out loud. But she had even less desire to reveal her run-in with Burntfoot Brown and his Indian allies to her old friend than she had to her parents. Because that would necessitate explaining why she had been all the way down on the Satilla River in the first place. She was more than happy to focus on the second course of baked apples and potato pie with sides of watercress and nuts while the men lamented how many sons of prominent Loyalists—such as the three Habershams, James Jr., Joseph, and John—now involved themselves in the Patriot government.

But when the discussion circled back around to how Lachlan McIntosh would be returning to Savannah to recruit and to honor those from the recent campaign, her head snapped up. “They are back from Florida?”

“Indeed, and there is to be a military ball for the officers who receive promotions. Not that we will be going.” Meg gave a disdainful sniff but managed to look faintly disappointed at the same time. “Though I imagine your sister and brother-in-law will be there.”

Mother dipped her head. “I daresay they will. Temperance and Ansel arrive tomorrow.” At Tabitha’s wide-eyed glance, she added in a low tone, “I was sure you would want to see your sister before you left.”

Tabitha swallowed hard. Temperance would see through her little tableau that all was well in the first hour. Most likely, Tabitha would be no more successful in hiding her resentment for the role her sister had played in forcing her into such a position. If Temperance had heeded her many warnings all those years ago, Tabitha would never have had to step in and save her. Not only her, but the family honor.

No doubt, their mother had dragged out Tabitha’s visit with the express purpose of reuniting her daughters, who had scarcely seen each other over the past ten years. Likely, she imagined some bond would be forged from the meeting.

But a more pressing concern was uppermost in Tabitha’s mind. She turned to her father. “Did you hear what happened with the campaign?” With his political and military connections, he would be among Savannah’s first to receive news

He frowned. “To my understanding, the Patriot flotilla was unable to rendezvouos with the mounted forces. Blown off course, ’twould seem. They ended up on Amelia Island, where some of their men were assaulted while stealing provisions. Colonel Elbert burned every house and killed all the livestock. He finally gave up trying to navigate the narrow passage around the island and came home in disgrace.”

“And the mounted contingent?” Tabitha held her breath, waiting for word of Edmond. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

“Got what they deserved as well—ambushed by Brown’s Indians and Loyalists and the Regulars of Major Mark Prevost. They fled in a panic. Several were killed and twice as many wounded. Forty prisoners taken, half of whom the Indians later massacred.” He chuckled over Tabitha’s soft gasp, rubbing his hand atop his silk embroidered waistcoat.

Tabitha’s stomach soured. Had any made it out alive? Was Edmond even now a captive? Or worse, had his body been left to molder in the Florida swamp? She shoved her knuckle to her lips.

Her father snorted. “Such a bumbling disaster could hardly be termed an expedition, if you ask me.”

“Totally inept.” Charles raised his glass of wine and swallowed the remainder.

“Your Loyalist friends would say that, would they not? And yet, none of you were there.” Sliding her plate away with a shaking hand, Tabitha chanced a glance at her mother, who kept her gaze downcast. At the very least, the division in their family, with Ansel and Temperance serving the Patriot cause, must trouble her. Had Tabitha just given away that she now harbored similar worry for the Patriot soldiers? Especially for one in particular. Just how much worry surprised even Tabitha herself.

Suddenly, she had to get away from that table. From Ezekiel’s admiring glances and the other men’s scorn for those who risked their lives for freedom, hacking through the wilderness with a courage and determination those at this table would never understand. Even if she could not join their fight, she needed at the very least to belong to a place where people were honest and hardworking. Where she might learn if Edmond had returned safely.

She slid her chair back. When all eyes turned to her, she offered an apology. “Pardon me. I find I am not feeling well. I beg your leave to retire early.”

“Oh, my dear, we have not had time to renew our acquaintance yet.” Meg’s pleading expression stayed her. “And my brother…well, I was telling him of your unparalleled skill on the spinet.”

“Yes, she was.” Ezekiel shot her a hopeful glance.

“Indeed, daughter, would you not stay long enough to render a tune for our guests?” Mother looked truly distressed. Tabitha’s failure to adequately entertain their company would shame her.

As much as she yearned to run, Tabitha forced her shoulders to relax. “Perhaps a song or two.”

“Then let us adjourn before my daughter expires.” Though everyone tittered at Judge Scott’s teasing exaggeration, the implied rebuke lodged inside Tabitha’s chest. If he knew her true circumstances, he would consider her every bit the failure her husband had, and far more disgraceful than the Patriot soldiers.

They made their way to the parlor, where Ezekiel seated her at the spinet while servants offered rum, coffee, and cake. Thankfully, Tabitha’s musical ability was one area no one would find her deficient. Henry had purchased a spinet and had it delivered to River’s Bend as a wedding present and had kept her supplied with the latest sheet music for her to play for him of an evening. Those hours had been among the few in which she found contentment. She knew a number of classical movements by memory and rendered several while Ezekiel looked on with rapt attention from a nearby chair and her parents and the Collins murmured amongst themselves.

When Tabitha finished a minuet portion of a Mozart serenade, Meg’s brother applauded with far too much enthusiasm. “Bravo! That was sublime.”

Meg straightened on the settee. “Have you the latest Bach keyboard trios, Tabitha?”

“I do.” Setting aside her coffee, Mother rose and hurried to Tabitha’s side. “I picked up a copy from the printer just last week in hopes that we might make use of it while Tabitha is home.” She riffled through some pages on the music stand, then held out a small booklet. “Here we are.”

Meg joined them, taking the score from her, but Ezekiel hovered over Tabitha with eyes solely for her. “I only pray I do not embarrass myself before such an accomplished musician.” He reached for her hand, and before she stopped to think, she gave it to him.

But her fingers never made it to his lips. For he paused, frowned, and turned her palm over. “My dear lady! Whatever have you been doing with your hands?”

A n hour later, Mother wavered before the parlor fireplace, her dark gaze boring into Tabitha’s. “And you have been living in a log cabin—with slaves?”

Father led her to the sofa opposite Tabitha’s chair and helped her sit down. Her parents had remained standing since bidding their guests goodnight. Tabitha’s explanation of working in the garden had failed to satisfy, her fumbling attempts to wave off their concern earning dismayed expressions and awkward silence. Finally, Meg had suggested they take their leave. And then Father had pulled the whole shameful truth from Tabitha.

“Dulcie and Cyrus are not slaves.” Despite everything, it seemed important to point out this fact.

“Oh, my sweet heavens.” Mother covered her face, then abruptly dropped her hands to her lap. “Why did you not stay here after the funeral?”

“I did not know then. And once I did, I did not want to run to you with my tail between my legs. I’d been married eleven years. I am hardly a girl to come back home to my father. I wanted to salvage a modicum of self-respect. After all, Henry left me three hundred acres of good timberland and two hundred head of cattle…though the Loyalists stole most of them.” She snagged her lower lip between her teeth, then added, “I sold a handful to the army.”

Father spoke over the moan that tore from Mother’s chest. “The Patriot army?”

She quailed under his glare. “Of course. They are the ones at Fort Howe.” Could he not be proud she had managed six months on her own?

“So this investment you speak of…it is not some idle whim as you have allowed me to believe.”

Tabitha held her head up. “’Tis a matter of survival. Especially now that the cattle are gone.”

Father jerked the hem of his waistcoat down. “I will not have my daughter living in such circumstances. Working the fields like a slave. Vulnerable to marauders and raiders.”

“What would you have me do, Father? Wed Ezekiel Collins?” Though he would probably not have her now that he suspected she had fallen on ruin. They could consider themselves fortunate if Meg did not spread tale of Tabitha’s decline all over town by the week’s end, supposed friend or not.

“Julian Jackson would be a far better prospect.”

She had known she should not tell him about the Jacksons’ ultimatum. Tabitha clenched her hands together. “I shall never wed Julian. The Jacksons are cruel and mistreat their slaves. They have a terrible reputation with women. And they ruined Sergeant Lassiter’s family.”

“Who is Sergeant Lassiter?” Frowning, Mother cocked her head.

“The man who helped me when I went searching—helped me round up cattle. Edmond…” She paused and swallowed the emotion that threatened to rise upon speaking his name. “Sergeant Lassiter was the one who recommended Jack McMullan’s logging crew. They are friends of his family.” Ignoring her mother’s confused expression, she turned back to her father. “If you will help me secure the contract, I will not need to marry again or give up my land as payment to the Jacksons.”

Her father stiffened his spine. “Financing this uncouth venture would only enable you to remain in base circumstances. No, if you will not marry Julian Jackson, you will forfeit your land in payment of your husband’s debt and return home.”

Tabitha spluttered, holding her hands out. “And what of Dulcie and Cyrus? Do they mean nothing to you?” Of course not. They were not even his slaves.

“They are free.” He shrugged one shoulder. “They can find their own way. Elsewhere.”

“But that land is their home.”

“Then they can find a way to save it. It should no longer be a concern of yours.” Father ran his hand over his face. “I acknowledge that this is partly my fault. I pushed you to marry Lord Riley. I had no idea of the financial troubles within his family.” He cut her a sideways glance.

That admission was more than she could have hoped for. She softened a bit. “I know that, Father.”

He raised his head. “What’s done is done.” Over a decade of silent suffering, dismissed in four words. “You will disentangle yourself from this situation and return to your family.”

“And then what?” She could no longer imagine herself here, content with pointless rounds of visits, navigating the complex intrigue of local politics—even those of this household.

Her father flicked his hand. “Eventually, you will marry again.”

“Please, Father. No. Give me some dignity. Some choice of my own this time.” Tabitha rose, holding her hands out. “Is not one loveless marriage enough?”

“Whether you marry for love or not is up to you. But I will not support this foolhardy endeavor. You are not a frontierswoman, Tabitha. You are a lady. And you will behave as such. Now, I cannot imagine we have anything else to discuss tonight.” Her father strode from the room. A chill descended in his wake that even the compassionate stare of her mother could not dispel.

Tabitha closed her eyes as the walls of her opulent prison threatened to close in on her just as they had a dozen years ago. She was out of options. If she wanted a solution, maybe it was time she looked outside herself.