Chapter One: Church on Sunday
The cart rolled and jolted its slow way into Pembroke.
"Woah," Thomas Smith pulled the reins, halting the horse, bringing the cart to an abrupt stop when a group of children darted across the dirt packed road, almost under the horses hooves. He chuckled indulgently and jerked the reigns again, the horse clipped clopped steadily toward the church.
Lyra gazed at the villagers as they made their way toward the white steepled building, everyone wearing their Sunday finest. The men serving in the rebel militia had discarded their travel worn, beaten and stained tan leathers and heavy woolens for fresh cottons and linens, the women put away their usual day wear for the fine dresses they kept for special occasions, weddings, church and the like. Mostly cotton and woolens, but here and there Lyra spied silks such as she herself wore.
Mrs. Charlotte Selton, for example, gliding along at Benjamin Martin's side, her bodice and skirts were the finest silk, and newly made too - where Lyra's were older and showed some small signs of damage no matter how much care Sally took.
A quick glance over her shoulder showed Sally, sitting in the back of the cart, where she would remain throughout the service. Slaves were not permitted in the church with white folk, after all. Lyra gave the older woman a tremulous small smile, and received a reassuring nod in exchange.
Smith jumped down from the cart and offered her his hand to assist her. She climbed down carefully, holding her skirts away from her ankles so they would not snag her feet and trip her. The last thing she wanted was to end up sprawled in the dirt.
Taking her stepfather's arm, Lyra was led across the street toward the church gate. Catching sight of Gabriel Martin, she stifled a gasp and averted her gaze, quickly in case her stepfather noticed her interest in the young man. She stole quick glances in his direction; Gabriel, however, was far too intent on Anne Howard to notice Lyra Mathan.
Anne's family, Patriot through and through, owned a supply store in Pembroke and were quite wealthy. She and her mother where the only other women wearing silks. Unlike herself, Anne was pretty with her dark hair and bright blue eyes, she had a fine figure. She was kind and friendly, outspoken and sharp of wit. And she held Gabriel's heart in her pocket.
Comparatively, Lyra was shy, not outspoken. By no means stupid, she hardly considered herself sharp of wit. She was not pretty, either. No - Lyra was beautiful. With her curly white blonde hair and her large green eyes, her heart shaped face, she was beautiful in a way that had men staring, as the men of Pembroke did now as she passed them by.
Lyra lowered her eyes, she always did, as more than one pair of eyes gazed at her frankly. It made her skin crawl, she wanted to return to the cart and hide in the back with Sally. Wives of the men staring swatted at their husband's arms, some even gripping tightly and dragging their husbands away, with a scowl cast in Lyra's direction which made her sigh, she certainly did not invite their husbands attentions, and had no desire for them.
Her breath caught when she spied Gabriel Martin, the only man present not shooting her quick glances. If he stared at her the way the other men did, she would not mind at all. With his blonde hair and brown eyes, he was a dream.
She continued on by, strolling at her stepfather's side. Well liked, handsome and just shy of forty years, Thomas Smith was hailed warmly. He raised his hand and waved, slapped companions on the back in greeting. Lyra hung back and smiled politely, not engaging in their conversations. Most of the talk centered on the Green Dragoons, the latest raids and skirmishes, the ever growing rebel militia ranks.
Patriot militia, Lyra chided herself as she glanced around at the men who had risked coming out of hiding to converge in such a public place. Every second Sunday, the men laid down their weapons to attend Reverend Oliver's sermons.
Oliver himself greeted his flock as they entered the church, nodding and smiling warmly, holding hands with the women as they passed him. He clasped Lyra's hand in both of his, the two spoke quietly before Smith led her into the church. Finding herself sitting beside Mrs. Charlotte Selton, Lyra shifted uncomfortably. Charlotte was polite, friendly even, though Lyra found the older woman intimidating. Then again, Lyra found most women intimidating, always glaring at her.
Benjamin Martin leaned forward to speak quietly to her around Charlotte and Lyra replied in quiet tones. She was grateful when Oliver came forward to begin the ceremony, for no matter how polite and warm and friendly he was to her, Benjamin was still the leader of the rebel militia, he was the Ghost, and it terrified Lyra no end.
Patriot militia! Lyra chided herself again. Say 'rebel' militia aloud here and see what happens, I dare you!
Nonetheless, they were traitors for their rebellion against the Crown. Lyra's English born father, dead for many long years now, would be rolling in his grave, as would her more recently deceased mother. Though she was South Carolina born and bred, her mother had been a Loyalist through and through. What possessed her to marry a Patriot after Lyra's father passed away, she did not know. Nor was she ever likely to find out, her dear mother had passed away two years ago now.
The sermon was long, Oliver was making up for lost time it seemed. Her bottom was sore from sitting too long on the hard bench by the end. Eventually, however, the Reverend closed his Bible and looked down on his flock from the pulpit and after leading them in a prayer for the fallen soldiers, and a plea for victory for the Patriots, he announced the service finished.
The men, including Reverend Oliver would depart Pembroke with their families, remain in their homes for the evening before picking up their weapons again and resuming their fight against the British.
The villagers filed out of the church and milled for a long while, chatting until they finally began to disperse. Lyra spoke briefly with Anne and Gabriel, she tried to keep her eyes on Anne for the most part, her heart pounded when she gazed at Gabriel.
"I have been thinking, Lyra. It is awfully lonely on that farm of yours and it is becoming unsafe out there now with the Green Dragoons getting closer by the day. I've spoken to mother and she agreed - and, well - I thought you might like to come and live with us."
"Truly, Anne?" Lyra put her hand to her throat, her eyes wide with astonishment. "You would let me live with you? It does get terribly lonely and I am frightened of the slightest noise and... Well, that would be wonderful!" She glanced over her shoulder at Thomas Smith, speaking with Mr. Howard only a pace or so away. He had kept an eye on Lyra, and an ear out for her conversation as he always did, and he was already shaking his head in the negative. Lyra lowered her eyes, crestfallen.
I should have known.
"Come now, Thomas!" Mr. Howard said in defense of Anne's plan. "She is alone out there, with only her maid to aid her. Honestly, the farm is no place for her - it is getting too hot out there."
Of course, Mr. Howard was not speaking of the weather.
"I will think on it," Thomas said, with his gaze still on Lyra.
Which means no. He simply does not want to get into an argument with feisty Anne Howard in the middle of the village.
A short time later, her stepfather led her back to their cart.
Lyra sighed again as they departed the village. They travelled along the roads with the other carts and men on horseback, until they turned down the road that would eventually lead them to their farmhouse. Any moment now, when they had the road to themselves, her stepfather would reach for her hand. When he was sure there no one else except for Sally the slave, to bear witness, he would place her soft hand on the hard bulge between his legs.
So well liked... The face he showed the villagers was not at all the face he showed her, or her late mother before she died. Lyra often wondered if he had killed her - she had been beaten and bruised so often, Lyra wondered if she had simply laid down and died.
Mrs. Bryant told her that it was ridiculous, her mother would never leave Lyra with such a brute, her mother had died of an illness and there had been nothing they could do. But Mrs. Bryant had not lived on the farm for two years now, Smith had sent Lyra's Governess packing almost as soon as her mother was in the grave.
Hmmm, yes, here we go again, right on cue.
As expected, Smith took Lyra's hand as they passed under a canopy of trees lining the long road, and he pressed it against his erection.
She had discussed it with Sally, who, at twenty-five years old, was so much older and wiser than seventeen year old Lyra. They both believed he found it amusing to show such a kind and gentle nature to the world, and in turn be such a brute to his step daughter. She did not protest of course, the first few beatings had been more than enough to dissuade her. Instead she applied pressure and he sighed with pleasure as she circled her palm around and around.
They would be home, shortly, and he would be taking her into her room. She would sit on the edge of her bed and pleasure him with her hands as he stood before with his breeches around his thighs, until he spilled his seed somewhere on the coverlets on her bed.
She was still a virgin, thankfully, but it was only the fear of getting her with child that stopped him from taking it that far, Lyra and Sally pinioned.
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"Father?" Why he insisted on her calling him that, considering his plans, was beyond her. "I was thinking, perhaps it would be a good idea for me to go and live with the Howard's in Pembroke."
"That little minx has been in your ear again, hasn't she?" He grated. In Thomas' opinion that Anne Howard was nothing but trouble. Two months had passed since she first suggested Lyra move to Pembroke and reside with the Howard's and Thomas had known then that he had not heard the last of it.
"Well... Yes, she mentioned it again this morning, she speaks of it every time we attend church, now. But it makes sense, don't you think? You are gone from the farm for longer and longer these days, and what if those Dragoons do come by? It gets frightening out here, and it is hard on Sally and I, looking after ourselves and the farm. Do you think -"
"No," Thomas scowled at his stepdaughter. She looked so much like her mother it, so beautiful, it took his breath away. He had lost count of the number of men that approached him to discuss a match between their sons and Lyra. By Hades, some of those men were asking for her for themselves! Widowers and older gentlemen who had never married. He fended them off, one and all. "Do you want old Howard chasing you around the house, trying to get into your skirts?"
"He wouldn't -"
"Lord, you are a stupid thing sometimes. He would, as would most of the men in Pembroke. No, if I left you there, the next time I returned you'd be married to one of those little bastards that are too cowardly to join the militia and fight for our country, our freedom." And all of Thomas' plans, all the waiting, would come to naught. He would be her husband, the moment she turned eighteen, come hell of high water.
How far to push him? Lyra wondered. His mind was set, that much was clear, no amount of arguing would change it. She wanted to live with Anne but... One look into his eyes decided her. To push was to be beaten again, and she did not want that. He had not had to hit her for many months now.
"Very well," she lowered her eyes.
"Sally!" He bellowed for the slave, "is that washing dry yet? I have to pack!"
At least he will be gone soon, only one more night.
It was so much more pleasant without him there, the constant threat of violence and outbursts of temper unsettled Lyra and Sally's nerves. The slave was spared his attentions but not his anger, and though the woman belonged to Lyra, there was nothing she could do to protect her. She could not even protect herself.
