Star keeper, p.31
Star Keeper, page 31
He put a hand to the chosen mount’s neck and ran his hand up and down, talking to it softly as he had seen Noel do. He was nowhere the horseman that his friend was, but he had picked up the custom of making friends with an animal before mounting it. The horse shied as Aristotle neared, but Malcomb’s hands gentled him. Then Malcomb took the reins and led him quietly down the street, moving aside as a noisy band of redcoats drunkenly stumbled down the street. Malcomb leaned over and stopped Aristotle’s soft growl, then once the soldiers had passed, he mounted the horse and whistled to the dog as he’d heard Noel do.
His prayers were answered when the dog followed obediently, trotting just behind the horse. Perhaps the beast wasn’t as bloody stupid as he’d thought. The next problem was filtering through British lines with the animal.
Malcomb did something he had never done before. He prayed.
Chapter 23
Annette stood at the railing of the Star Rider as the ship rounded a bend and its crew prepared to anchor off the Maryland coast.
She was going home. Why, then, was she so miserable?
John Patrick had kept his word. For nearly three weeks, they had scarcely exchanged a word. When she saw him, she left the deck and retreated to the cabin. Her willpower was sorely tried in his presence, and she did not want to test it again.
How could someone love so much, so painfully? How could someone tolerate the feeling that she was betraying everything she believed in?
They had sighted three British ships during the voyage. John Patrick had either outrun or outwitted each one. Her mind told her she should want the Star Rider taken, the cannon destroyed. Her heart wanted something else altogether. She could not bear harm coming to its captain—or his crew, who had tried so hard to make her comfortable.
In any event, she could only stand and watch, or retreat like a child to the luxurious cabin that was a mockery. Only Billy Boy was available for companionship, and the parrot’s vocabulary was definitely limited. Despite the alert interest in his beady eyes, she found little stimulation in reciting her woes and hearing a sympathetic “bad boy” in reply. He was, in all truth, a hurtful and constant reminder of John Patrick and Martinique.
She felt her heart being torn in two.
Be true to herself, or true to him. Could she do both? She no longer knew.
She didn’t even know whether he really wanted her. He had never mentioned marriage or a future together.
Annette tried to unravel all the warring emotions as the anchor was dropped, and the jiffy lowered. She was anxious to see her father and, hopefully, to hear of Aunt Maude and Betsy. She wanted to know that they were all well. And yes, she wanted to go home.
Or did she?
Be careful what you wish for.
All her adventures gone. The freedom. The pure joy of sailing on a fine day, of walking into a jeweled sea, of exploring new lands.
Even worse was the knowledge that all those other wondrous, enchanted emotions and sensations would disappear into practical, work-filled days. She would reopen the hospital and care for her father. She would try to do good works. The magic would fade into shadows that would probably haunt her until the day she died.
She felt a tear trickle down her cheek.
Then she sensed John Patrick behind her. She did not turn. She did not want him to see her despair, when she should feel elation. He had finally agreed to give her what she told him she wanted.
“You will be back in your home in another week,” he said in a low soft voice.
This was her home. This ship. Maryland. Wherever he was. Why had it taken so long to realize it?
She didn’t answer.
“Will you change your mind?” he said. “Will you stay in Maryland?”
She turned and looked up at him. His eyes were intent, searching. She knew his gaze would probably seduce her into jumping into a school of sharks if he asked.
He put a hand on her shoulder. It was so natural a movement, yet so powerfully explosive to her heart that shudders ran through her. “Will you be here?” she asked, wishing she hadn’t as his eyes clouded.
“Not as long as the war continues,” he said.
“Ah, war,” she said bitterly. “The call of the sirens.”
“No, love,” he said. “I admit it was that once, but no longer. Too many people have been killed, too many lives ruined. But neither can I turn my back on something I believe.”
She leaned against him, feeling his warmth. Yet still she shivered. She wanted to stay with him. Dear God, how she wanted that. Could she watch him sail away over and over again, knowing he would be attacking British ships, killing British soldiers? Could she wait, never knowing if he would return?
“Then I cannot stay,” she said, her heart breaking into shards of glass, each piece slicing through her.
His fingers touched her hair. He leaned over and kissed her lips ever so lightly.
Then he turned and became the captain again, his voice barking out orders.
Annette’s heart lurched as she walked through the door of the Sutherland home. She had not wanted to wait, and so she and John Patrick had walked to Tim Wallace’s farm. Then John Patrick had borrowed a buggy to bring them here.
The sound of the approaching carriage must have aroused the house, because John Patrick’s mother stepped out just as they pulled up. Fancy Sutherland met Annette as she jumped down, not waiting for any help.
Mrs. Sutherland embraced her, then stepped back, looking at her. “Are you all right, Annette?”
She nodded, moved by the warmth in Fancy Sutherland’s eyes.
“I am going to have to take my son to task,” the older woman said, “even as big as he is. But that can wait. I have a Christmas gift for you.”
After giving John Patrick a baleful glare, she took Annette’s hand and led her inside to the parlor, gaily decorated for Christmas. This and That barked loudly, clamoring for attention, but all Annette saw was her father as he stood, a smile lighting his face. “Annie,” he said as he held out his arms to her.
Annette stood still for a moment. He had not called her Annie since she was a child. She remembered that, even as her heart thudded at the sound of his voice. She ran into his arms and felt them close around her just as they had years ago. She buried her head against his heart. He was back! Her father was back with them. The Sutherlands had somehow accomplished a miracle.
Just as Jonny had said they would. She had not believed him. Just as she had not believed so many things.
She swallowed hard, then leaned back to look at his face. Life glittered in his eyes, even as a long-awaited smile played over his lips. “You look wonderful,” she said.
“So do you, daughter,” he said slowly, his eyes studying her face. “I missed you, but you look well and—healthy.”
“Is that sun in your complexion?” Aunt Maude said worriedly as she appeared on the stairs and hurried to embrace her niece. “And I certainly hope you had a chaperon …”
Annette looked at her aunt in amazement. “How …?” Her voice trailed off.
“That nice Dr. Marsh sent us here. Betsy and Franklin and I.” She looked puzzled for a moment. “I am not quite sure how we got here. I thought we were going to New York. But we ended up here, and dear Hugh is so much better.”
Betsy flew into the room, hugging Annette. “I am so glad to see you. Isn’t it wonderful about your papa?” Then she added in a whisper, “There is another Christmas surprise for you.”
But Annette had every surprise she needed; her father was back again from wherever his mind had retreated. She went back to him and touched his cheek. “But how? When?”
Hugh spoke slowly and deliberately. “Ian took me over to the school each day, and I watched over the children when they played. Then one of the children fell from a swing, and I … had to call Ian for help.”
Fancy added, with a little catch in her voice, “Now he teaches at the school.”
“And the child?”
“She’s fine. She just lost consciousness for a few moments, but Hugh clucked over her like a mother hen. He still does. I think,” Fancy Sutherland said, “he needed a purpose.”
Gratitude swelled inside her, as Annette looked back at her father. Why had she not guessed that? Why had she not involved him more in the hospital, instead of sheltering him? Had she, by wanting to protect him from further hurt, actually crippled him?
With sudden insight, she wondered whether she had tried to do the same with John Patrick. By wanting to keep him from danger, would she actually destroy all that she loved in him?
She looked toward the door. He was standing there, tall and commanding, as the two dogs sniffed and madly wagged their tails. He’d apparently listened to at least the last part of her conversation with her father, and his lips had twisted into a smile. But she saw no pride, only a certain wistfulness.
Fancy Sutherland went over to her son and looked up, then put her hand to his cheek. Annette watched him put his arms around her and give her a bear hug.
“Welcome home,” she said.
“I am afraid it is not for long. I have to leave tonight.”
Dismay clouded Fancy Sutherland’s face.
“But I’ll be back soon. I promised Annette I would take her to Philadelphia, her and her family.”
Silence suddenly filled the room.
“Annie—” her father started to say.
“But—” her aunt chimed in.
Her family had been entirely seduced by the Sutherlands—as she had been. Could she now force them back to Philadelphia, where, if John Patrick was right, they could be in danger? She didn’t think so, but …
“You are all welcome to stay,” Fancy said hurriedly.
“We have to—” Annette broke off the words as she saw her father’s eyes lose some of their glow. He had apparently found some kind of peace here. Could she really take him back to war-torn Philadelphia?
Fancy looked worried. “It will be dangerous. Noel sent a note saying he’d sent your family here for that reason.”
John Patrick’s brows furrowed together. “Did he say the Careys were under suspicion?”
“No. He just said Philadelphia was becoming dangerous and that there might be another battle soon.”
Annette knew now she couldn’t take them back. But she could go back and make sure Maude’s house remained safe. It would be the least she could do for the aunt who had taken her in. She would be safe if the city remained in British hands, and if not … well, surely even the rebels wouldn’t hurt a woman, especially if she held a note from their hero, the Star Rider.
“No.” John Patrick’s denial was low. So he suspected again what she was thinking. “If Noel thought it dangerous for your father …”
“You promised,” she said flatly.
A muscle throbbed in his cheek.
“Daughter?” her father said.
“You can stay here,” Annette said. “You and Aunt Maude. I will look after the house in Philadelphia.” She knew she had to get away from him, from the feelings he aroused in her.
Both of them looked at her with amazement.
Fancy broke in. “Why don’t we wait until Ian returns home? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. He will surely be back then. He might have a letter from Noel or some news.”
Annette looked toward John Patrick. She had sensed his urgency on the voyage back.
He hesitated, then nodded his head curtly. She knew he meant to change her mind, but she had no intention of allowing him to do so.
“Where is my father?”
“Chestertown,” Fancy said wryly. “Delivering a horse someone wanted as a Christmas gift.”
John Patrick grimaced. “He actually sold one?”
Annette must have looked curious, because Fancy turned to her. “Ian does not like selling his horses. Buyers have to meet certain criteria. If he had his way, he would never sell one, but our stable is quite full at the moment, and the Hayeses are friends. It’s a mare for his oldest daughter.” Then she turned her attention back to John Patrick. “Will you stay? At least through Christmas. And I am sure Annette wants to spend it with her family.”
Annette did. She turned pleading eyes on him, and she saw surrender.
“Until Christmas Day,” he conceded.
“You can leave me in Chestertown,” she said. “I can take a coach from there to Philadelphia.”
His face was a mask.
“You did promise,” she reminded him again.
“So I did.” Then he turned back to Fancy. “I’ll stay through Christmas.”
She’d won.
So why did she feel that she had lost?
After supper, John Patrick asked Annette to go out to the barn with him. She didn’t want to be alone with him or leave her father, but the plea in his eyes made it impossible to refuse him.
She remembered the last time she was here, when she had so desperately refused to accept the Sutherland hospitality. So much had happened since then.
John Patrick opened the barn door and led her to a stall. A bay mare stuck her head out of the stall, whinnying a welcome. Annette stood stunned for a moment, then buried her head in the soft neck of the horse. “Sasha,” she murmured.
The horse whinnied again, a soft equine expression of delight. Annette closed her eyes and heard her heart beat faster just as her throat seemed to close. Finally, she turned her head.
John Patrick was leaning against a post, watching, a smile on his lips. “Merry Christmas,” he said softly. “It’s a little early, but I couldn’t wait.”
“How—?”
“Before I left Philadelphia, I asked Noel to try to find the horse. He hired someone to search the county where you lived.”
She could barely comprehend his words. She had mentioned the horse to him only once, and yet he had remembered.
The man she had thought unfeeling.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her heart constricting.
He fished a carrot out of his pocket and handed it to the mare. Sasha nibbled daintily at it, her eyes watching her mistress as if afraid she might disappear again. Annette stroked the soft neck. “You look thin,” she whispered. “We have to fatten you up.”
But where? She had no place in Philadelphia to keep the mare. She swallowed. “Will you … keep her here?”
“Then you insist on going to Philadelphia?”
She turned to him, afraid her heart was in her eyes. “We cannot expect you to keep all of us here forever. I must see if I can bring them back to Philadelphia.”
“You can all stay as long as you like.”
“No. I don’t think I can stand to watch you sail off to war, not knowing whether you will come back, not knowing if … you are responsible for killing a friend.”
His hand touched her cheek, and he leaned down and kissed her gently, tenderly, before backing away. “I said I would never force you into anything again,” he said with a voice that broke in midsentence. “And I won’t. I will leave you to a proper reunion with Sasha.”
The next day passed swiftly. Christmas Eve. Annette tried to smile for the others. She tried to be happy even while she knew her heart was breaking.
She saw very little of John Patrick. She suspected that he was staying aboard the ship.
Ian returned, and she was surprised at how pleased she was to see him. Her family had always been small, and she reveled in the warmth and numbers of this one. Relatives seemed to be all over the place, including Aunt Fortune and the famous Katy. The latter was staying at the house over the holiday.
Annette found she liked them all enormously.
Still …
She tried to warn herself not to care so much, and she prepared to return to Philadelphia.
“Are you sure?” her father asked anxiously.
She wasn’t. But she also knew she could not stay here and spend her life waiting for John Patrick, to wonder whether he was coming back, or whether he lay somewhere in the sea’s depths.
If nothing else, she could start the hospital again. She could try to help preserve lives, even though everyone else seemed bent on destroying them.
So she replied, “Yes,” even when doubts racked her.
That evening, she rose from her bed and went to the window. The night was dark, the moon invisible above a layer of dark clouds. A wicked night, she thought, wondering why that image flitted through her mind.
Annette sat on the window seat for a long time. She would miss this house, and everyone within it. Then, as her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she saw a horseman approach, riding as if the devil himself were chasing him. Another silhouette followed behind him.
She knew instantly it wasn’t John Patrick.
The burly form seemed to fall rather than dismount, and then she heard a heavy pounding on the door. She put on a nightrobe Fancy had loaned her and hurried downstairs, other family members joining her in the hall. She was momentarily reminded of another such pounding, another rush downstairs, and her heart jerked frantically.
Fancy was the first at the door, and she threw it open. Katy, who was staying for the holiday, followed.
Annette immediately recognized Malcomb. Beside him was Aristotle, Noel Marsh’s dog.
Fancy seemed to recognize him, too. “Malcomb?” Annette heard the fear in her voice.
“Dr. Marsh has been taken by the British. He’s been charged with treason,” Malcomb said, collapsing against the wall in exhaustion..
Behind her, Annette heard Katy’s anguished cry.
Summoned from his ship, John Patrick strode up and down the room, questioning Malcomb sharply. His face had grown harder as the Scotsman repeated his tale. He had gone to General Washington, but the general had reluctantly decided that he could do nothing. Ironically, after John Patrick’s rescue of his men, security at the Walnut Street Prison had become unassailable.
Noel’s trial was set for next week.
He had not been hanged immediately, Malcomb had learned, because the evidence was still being compiled. The Quakers still considered Noel one of their own, and the Quakers were the bedrock of British support in Philadelphia. They would require hard evidence. But the Brits, according to the information Washington had received, were determined to make an object lesson of the doctor.
