"It must be quite the book, to keep your attention after all that."
Elizabeth looked up, startled, and immediately had to shield her eyes against the mid-day sun. It was obviously a soldier addressing her—the silhouette of a hat and bayonet gave it away—but which exactly she wasn't sure. They were all the same, at least in her experience. Still, he'd yet to say anything lewd to her (yet) and the last thing she wanted was to be discourteous to one of Hewlett's men. He at least was gentlemanly.
"'That'?" she asked, looking up only briefly from her book.
The man raised a hand, ticking off each event on a finger. "Mr. and Mrs. Woodhull had… ah, a bit of a row, as did Mr. Woodhull and Woodhull senior when he arrived, the youngest Woodhull was crying up a storm earlier—poor thing is ill—there was some sort of crash that came from the kitchen, and," the man trailed off, cocking his head towards the side of the house. "I think the chickens have escaped."
"Chickens," Elizabeth repeated. She raised her boots and peered underneath, as if expecting to find one underfoot. "Is that something that should concern us?"
The man laughed, finally stepping forward and giving Elizabeth a clear view of his face. She was startled to find that he was quite handsome, even beyond the appeal of a well-starched uniform, and his eyes were unexpectedly kind. He smiled, quick, his lips spreading wide over his face in a manner that reminded Elizabeth of children—free of judgment, yet just a little bit self-conscious. She was shocked to feel herself smiling back.
"I believe you're safe. If not, I will protect you." The man bowed, though Elizabeth noted a blush staining his cheeks when he rose back up. He looked equally shocked at his own words.
He was certainly nicer than the other soldiers stationed in Setauket. Funny too. Feeling daring, Elizabeth set her book to her right and patted the spot on the stone wall to her left. The wall wasn't terribly high, just large enough to keep the Woodhull's few farm animals in (though apparently the chickens had become rather devious). Elizabeth delivered goods to them every Saturday and though they weren't particularly close, Mary had never begrudged her a few moments on their lovely property, especially when the weather was nice and Elizabeth had a fine book to read. Normally she hated for anyone to interrupt this time… but perhaps some company wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
"Sit," she offered, patting the wall again. "You must be tired. Hot too in this heat."
He shook his head though. "As much as I'd love to, truly, I fear that Major Hewlett has called me to the chapel." He pulled out a note from his inside pocket, waving it for her benefit. "Messenger. Another thing you missed. I'll admit, I'm slightly worried leaving you alone with that book. Who knows what might become of you."
Elizabeth smiled, shaking her head. "I will pay more attention. I promise. Though I can assure you, the only thing I'm at risk for is becoming lost."
"Lost?"
"In an excellent tale."
He chuckled, nodding appreciatively. "Perhaps next time I'll be able to stay and you can tell me all about this captivating story." It was only partly a promise—more of a hesitant question—and Elizabeth looked briefly to the space beside her, letting him know that his company would still be welcome.
The man turned to go… but then paused.
"I'm sorry, but… well. I'm still learning names around here. You're Elizabeth, yes?"
Her breath caught briefly in her throat, wondering when he'd heard her name. Elizabeth only just managed to stutter out a 'yes.'
"And your occupation?"
"B-baker," she squeaked, then desperately cleared her throat.
The man smiled, the sun behind him making it seem all the brighter. "Really? What a coincidence. I'm Baker too. Ensign Baker."
One week later Elizabeth was taking a stroll through the balmy night. Though admittedly, a stroll with a particular destination in mind.
She'd 'bumped' into Ensign Baker numerous times over the last few days and each time she did she'd grown to like him just a little bit more. He always had a smile for her, or if not that a look in his eye that told her he wanted to smile. Twice now he'd bowed as she passed. Three times he'd trailed off in speech, awkwardly moved to silence as she waved or dropped a curtsey. Once he'd helped her pick up a load of apples she'd let fall, their red romantically vibrant against the green of the grass, both of them bumping hands as they reached for the same thing.
Now the stars were out and Elizabeth carried a very different kind of food.
"For you," she announced, startling the men. They were gathered around Major Hewlett's home—or the judge's, rather—keeping watch through most of the night in case of rebel attacks. Elizabeth didn't think there was a good chance of any such thing happening. The Major, for all his fairness, was a rather paranoid man, and his soldiers thought as much too—if their lounging frames were anything to go by. Ensign Baker straightened quickly though when Elizabeth came out of the shadows, basket in hand.
"Eh?" another man asked. He sniffed the night air. "Did you bring us food, Ms…?"
"Guard," Elizabeth said, somewhat curtly. She couldn't abide their manners. The two other soldiers circled her like wolves. Only Baker stood politely off to the side.
"You didn't have to do that," he murmured.
"… no trouble," she said, and cast a shy smile.
Removing the towel, Elizabeth revealed a whole basket of sweet rolls, the bread coated lightly in sticky syrup. The man ooo-ed at her work—Baker included—and they were so enticed by the scent that it took them a moment to actually dig in. When they did though, Elizabeth felt something in her shoulders releasing, particularly when she saw the expression of pleasure that crossed Baker's face as he bit into her food.
"You like it?" Elizabeth ventured, then beamed at the look he gave her.
"Yes, though… if I may be so bold, I like more than just the food…"
"You may be bold," Elizabeth said and before she could lose her nerve she rose on tip-toe, granting Baker a swift, soft kiss under the cover of darkness. "Check the bottom of the basket," she whispered. "There's something there just for you. A gift from your baker."
Pleased with her wordplay, burning at her daring, Elizabeth flew back down the house steps, raising her hand at the gratitude that sounded behind her. She didn't hear Baker's voice though. Not that she expected to.
She'd hear from him soon enough. She'd hidden her book beneath the rolls, tucked under another towel.
Perhaps he'd read it. Then there'd be a story to tell.
Perhaps they'd get lost together.