Chapter 143 - Benjamin Reacts:
Beth and Nathan watched helplessly as their father got rip roaring drunk. A jug was being passed about the militiamen at the camp fire, quickly hidden from view anytime a Continental regular happened by. Benjamin sat between his two children on an overturned log, he swayed where he sat, his shoulder touching Beth's when he went too far to the right, and then Nathan's when he went too far to the left. If they weren't there, Beth wondered if he would keep sloping one way or the other until he fell onto his side completely. Thomas was no help, he'd almost pounced on the jug as soon as it appeared. He was well on the way to being in a condition similar to their father's. Gabriel had disappeared as soon as the jug was produced, he was a far better behaved Continental than Thomas was. Alby Scott and Adam Danvers where there, sitting next to Adam's older brother Bill Danvers, Curly and lastly Reverend Oliver - who was the last person in the world Beth wished to sit with, considering where she'd been these last months.
A clergyman and a sinner. No doubt, if he became aware of her recent past, he would do his utmost to redeem her devil owned soul. She wasn't even sure if that were possible.
For a wonder, the Reverend was turning a blind eye to the drinking. There were several from Benjamin's old crew - those who called themselves veterans of the 'Battle of Fresh Water'. All of them, except Reverend Oliver, had helped Benjamin in the attack against Tarleton's force, attacking the small unit that had foolishly camped between rail fences. Mr. Rollins, his sons Bryson and Kevin. Mr. Danvers. Curly. Matthew Black, to name a few. And all of them were fiercely loyal to Benjamin. Beth appreciated that, but she wished the loyalty didn't extend so far to helping their commander get well and truly soused.
"These here, Beth. These are the men that will carry it, all the tales they've heard, and all the tales they're going to hear." Benjamin said softly in her ear, pointing discreetly beyond their own campfire to the militia and the Continentals beyond. His words were slurred and his breath stunk of whisky. "This scandal with you and Burwell, which they still believe to be true. When they go home, your tale will go home with them. They'll tell their wives. Their children. Their mothers and fathers. Their friends. These are the men that will carry the tale of you, Beth."
"What can we do?" Beth asked dubiously.
"We make sure they know you're not bedding Burwell, that's what we do. Oh, and we hope like hell that they never hear about you and Tarleton. But let's just deal with one step at a time," Benjamin said. He tipped his head back and gulped from the jug. Nathan plucked it from his fingers and passed it to Mr. Rollins, who was sitting on the other side of him, out of ear shot.
"I don't think it matters if they carry ill news of me back home, papa. I'm ruined in Pembroke anyway. They know I was unfaithful to Burwell with William. Then I married William, and then he burned down the town…"
"Doesn't have to be worse than that though, does it? Don't mean they should go home thinking you've got even more to be guilty of. We need to stop rumours of you and Burwell while we still can."
"How? Do I say something to them?" Beth looked around at the militiamen, then looked beyond it to the multitude of campfires. If she stood before them all and denounced the rumours of her and Burwell, would she be believed? She doubted it. "I don't think that's a good idea, father."
"Besides," added Nathan, "You can try tell them she's done nothing with Burwell, but they all know what she did with Tavington in Arthur Simms chamber."
"Like I said, it doesn't have to be worse than that, does it? Anyway, that's old news and besides, she's married to him, aye? How many girls go to the alter with their bellies out to here?" Benjamin said. He held his hands three feet away from his stomach, mimicking a pregnancy and Beth's eyes bulged. Gods, he was drunk, to suggest such a thing. "As long as she marries the fellow who got her into that state, it doesn't matter much. A bit of a frown, but not enough to bring the whole family to its knees. Don't worry about that. It's this Burwell rot we need to stifle."
"I honestly can't see how I can," Beth said incredulously.
"Not you. I'm the one that's going to have to do it," Benjamin laughed. Laughed! Beth exchanged a worried look with Nathan. There was no humour in their father's laughter, no amusement. It was a bitter chuckle, one crippled with anger. At her? He'd certainly been furious earlier. But now he sat there on the log with her, whispering, conspiring, and there hadn't been a thread of anger directed toward her the entire time. It was confusing, to say the least.
"Will they believe you? Will it work?" Can the standing of our family be saved?
"Maybe. Probably not if they start hearing rumours about you and Tarleton, or about me and Charlotte," he shrugged. "Don't matter. We can only fight one battle at a time. We'll do what we can to stem the damage. In truth, I'm already damned," he laughed again, took a long pull from the jug that had come back around again. The light from the roaring flames flickered over his lopsided grin.
"No one knows about you and Aunt Charlotte," Beth said, hoping to make him feel more at ease with what he'd done. She'd done far worse. "Or not enough know, not outside the family."
"Eh. I'm not truly talkin' 'bout me and your aunt. I'm talkin' more 'bout you marrying the Old Butcher. Many here are wonderin' why I'm not sending you away. My daughter who married a Britisher. They say I should be shunning you. Not because of the gossip that's goin' round about you and Burwell. Though that's part of it, they'd be wonderin' it even without that. Colonel to the Patriot Militia, whose daughter up and married a Colonel of the Redcoats. They're all wonderin' why I'm sitting here with you, why I'm not cutting all ties to you. Perhaps they'll be questioning how dedicated I am to the Cause. That's why I'm damned. Greene knows by now too. He'll be thinkin' those things, too, no doubt."
"I'm sorry," Beth said softly.
"You've said that a lot tonight," Benjamin said and Beth felt the rebuke keenly. The first one, since they had all sat down together. She picked up a stick and stabbed the fire with it.
"Got a lot to be sorry for," she said, willing back the tears. She'd made her bed, now she had to lie in it. "What will happen?" To her father, as a consequence for her marrying Tavington in the first place.
"Eh. Might start doubting my commitment and my loyalty. I hold a Superior rank over men Greene needs to fight the British," Benjamin nodded as if to himself. "If I'm not true, I could easily cause some havoc among them, if I were so inclined. At least for a little while. Until they hang me for it."
"He doesn't think you're a spy!" Beth gasped.
"It's him not knowing me well enough to know either way, that's the problem. Doesn't know me from Adam, and here he is, with reason to doubt me."
"Because of me," Beth whispered. The jug came round again and she was hard pressed not to take a swig. Doing so before her father would solidify his poor impression of her, so she handed it on to him without taking a drop. In a stronger voice, she said, "well, I'll be going soon enough. Maybe it'd be better that you don't come near me between now and then. Make it look like you want nothing to do with me." As things stood between them, surely that wasn't far from the truth?
"Nah," he said, shrugging.
"Why not? If it's going to make your position with General Greene more… solid… then why not?"
"Because I don't know when I'll see you again," he said, putting a drunken arm around her shoulders. "Because you're my daughter and, thanks to Thomas climbing down my throat, I know now that I haven't been the best of da's."
Drunk or not, it felt wonderful to have her father's arm around her. She leaned her head on his shoulder, glad now of the whisky he was drinking, for making him affectionate. Maybe he would avoid her tomorrow when the whisky was gone from his body and he was sober again, but for now, it was pure bliss.
"I haven't been the best of daughter's, either," she said. "I don't blame you for my actions."
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not taking the full blame," Benjamin said. "I told you I wouldn't cut you off if you went back to him, and you're goin' back to him. So I ain't goin' to cut you off. That means I'm not goin' to start avoiding you, just to make Greene and the others happy. No matter what they all say I should do. Besides, fuck them."
"Papa!" She gasped, hands flying to her mouth. She heard him cuss so rarely, it was jarring, when he did it.
"Twenty-five years, I've been in the militia, fighting right alongside most of these bastards. The older ones, anyway. I was nearly killed in the war, helping to keep our border secure from the French and the savages. They wouldn't have nothing to fight the British for now, if we'd lost back then. And what of all the hours of all the days I gave to the Assembly. Politics," he spat. "Bah. I'd take all those hours back, if I could, and I'd give them to you, Gabriel, Thomas, Nate and Sammie. And now I'm back in the thick of it and I'm failing the youngun's as I've failed you older ones. I've got two sons serving in the Continentals, I've got Nate now, constantly at my side, doing his part too. Any one of them could die like that," he snapped his fingers, "and I could lose them forever. I have lost my home, it's a damned British fort now. And these bastards would dare doubt me because you up and married Tavington?" His voice was rising, others around the campfire were listening intently. He wasn't calling them the bastards, not his most loyal men. Silence fell among them as they hung on his every word. It was those men further afield, under Greene's command, some under Burwell's, and some from other militia companies. Never Martin's own - they were loyal to him to a fault. It was those outside Benjamin's circle, they were the bastards. "They don't have the right to tell me how I should deal with you or this marriage. Me being in this army, sleeping on the ground, breaking my back, killing Redcoats; that don't give them a right to tell me how to deal with my family, or to look down their nose and doubt me when I don't do what they think I aught. Fuck them. If they want me gone, I'll fucking go." He lurched to his feet as if he intended to go then and there. Beth realised just how drunk he was. He weaved precariously - Nathan grabbed his arm and Thomas appeared from around the fire to grab his other, both of them keeping their father from falling into the flames. Benjamin continued to rage, his tirade rising to a crescendo. "They think what I've got to offer the Cause is less than the scandal of my girl fooling with and marrying that Britisher? Fuck 'em. I'll just go home. Let them deal with all this rot themselves."
"Father, sit down," Thomas commanded. Benjamin ignored him.
"They think all my years as a militiamen count for nothing? They reckon my time fighting off the braves and the French for this Goddamned state ain't worth a damn? I'll kindly take myself home and thank you all for coming," Benjamin bowed, one hand behind his back, the other tipping his tricorn, a gentlemen taking his leave. Some of his men applauded. He plopped his hat back on his head. "After all I done, my daughter missteps once - once! - by falling in love with the wrong man, and all I done counts for shit? If that's how it is, fuck them. And fuck you too, Burwell." Beth whirled on the log and saw the General striding from the dark into the light of the fire, drawn by Benjamin's yelling like a fly to honey.
"Please calm down, Sir," General Harry Burwell said, taking on a formal stance and tone.
"Why. What you goin' to do. Hang me? Flog me? For telling God's own truth. Where's the gratitude, can you tell me that? All I done. All I sacrificed. All I've lost. Greene started his own militia what, seven years ago? I've been doing this for more than three decades!"
"Your term of service to this country is not in question -"
"No. But my loyalty is, because my daughter married a Britisher. And fuck everything else I've done, eh?"
"You are drunk, Martin, and frankly, you're setting a poor example for your men indeed. Retire to your tent, Sir. That is an order."
"Oh. I'm a poor example, am I?" Benjamin laughed that same laugh of earlier, only this time, fury outstripped the bitterness. "You taken up with that pretty hussy - there's a grand example for you. And to put the feather in the cap, you let everyone think it was my daughter between your sheets instead of, of - what's her name?" He asked Beth.
"Electa Alden," she whispered, shocked.
"Electa Alden!" Benjamin shouted. "Yes, General, let us speak of examples when you've let everyone in camp think that it's my daughter you got in between your blankets at night instead of pretty Electa Alden!"
"I told you, Benjamin, I did not know that was the rumour!" Burwell ground out, stepping closer, looking furious. "If I had, I would have quelled it immediately!"
"Oh, you would've? Jesus man, it ain't quelled now! They're all still thinking it! You there!" Benjamin shouted at some poor fellow who was standing amidst quite a few more, all of them watching with a sick fascination as the two Commanding Officers went toe to toe. "Do you believe the rumour to be quelled? Or do you still think my daughter is screw-"
"Father!" Beth lurched to her feet, stunned that he would confront the gossip so brutally, so publicly. He said he was going to speak to them. She'd thought he meant individually. Or in small groups. Quietly cajoling them to believe over a few jugs of whisky. Not this… this -
"- screwing your General?" Benjamin shouted and Beth wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. The fellow was as silent as a stone. He began to walk backward until he had disappeared in the crowd.
"Father, stop this!"
"Is it because you wanted her to be? You wanted it to be true, so much so, that you let everyone else think it was. That way every time you were ruttin' away on top of pretty Electa Alden, you'd feel like you were on my daughter?" Benjamin shouted at Burwell over Beth's head. "Take her to Virginia, will you?" Benjamin lurched forward so suddenly that Beth was pushed out of the way. Someone caught her as she fell, and several more caught Benjamin before he could close on the General. He fought to get past his own militiamen and his sons, but his time in the prison camp had taken their toll, he was not as strong as he used to be. But his voice was still as loud as it ever was. "You talk about examples? Because I've had a few whiskeys and am telling y'all the truth? What of you, wanting to fuck your best-friends daughter?" Beth dropped to a log and stuck her fingers into her ears, but it was not enough. Her father's words came to her - muffled - but still entirely too coherent. "How's that for an example? Best you retire to your tent, Sir. Best you take your bawdy woman, for you won't ever be taking my little girl!"
"Seize him and put him under guard until he sobers!" Burwell's shout was as audible as Benjamin's had been and Beth watched in horror as several Continentals began to come forward and her heart began to pound as Benjamin's militia began to rise and move in to position, as if to stop them.
My God, will they battle one another? Beth thought. Her fingers were still in her ears, she shot a glance at Burwell, whose eyes were fixed on the militia who were moving in to protect their leader. Burwell looked… Less than pleased.
"What of the other rumours, aye?" Benjamin shouted. "You let them all think she was in your bed. You let them drag my girl's name through the mud, and all because she married a Britisher, instead of you? You could have married her, but you refused! You want to kick me out of the army? I'll go my Goddamned self!" He shouted, before striding off from the camp fire toward the Continentals. Two of them, looking unsure, fell in behind him, as at least ten militia fell in behind them. Still protecting their Colonel. Beth's eyes whirled to Burwell, fearing that he would order them taken in hand also, and what would happen, if he did. When he made no move that could lead to a civil war within his own ranks, all she could do was sit there reeling, stunned. Nathan dropped down beside her. He seemed to be reeling too as he groped blinding for her hand. To comfort her? Or to get comfort.
"General, I'm so sorry," Beth said, rising again, "I've never seen him like this."
"I have," Harry said. "The last time his world crumbled around him. Please, Mrs. Tavington, I will take my leave of you but before I go, please know that I did not know of the rumours. I thought they disapproved because of the time we were spending in one another's company, you being my former fiancé and now married to my enemy. I never imagined that they thought... If I had known, I would have put a stop to it, I vow on my honour. We've come such a long way since you arrived of settling the unpleasantness of our past. I thought we'd found true peace between us. I beg you, please believe me, I did not have a hand in those rumours. I would never do anything to hurt you. Not again."
"I know," she said, taking his hand and squeezing his fingers. Then releasing the hold just as quickly; they were not alone, she couldn't count the amount of men watching outside the circle of her father's now abandoned campfire. "I agree. I'll treasure this last week, for the peace it's bought us both. General Burwell, what is going to happen to my father?"
"I'll arrange for him to be given a tent, with a bed, and a brazier to keep him warm. I'll ask his own men to watch over him, rather than use mine. He'll sleep it off and tomorrow, he can make his decision about what he intends to do. Stay or go."
"If he goes, we go, all nine hundred of us," Rollins, the only one to have stayed behind, warned Burwell. "You can be sure of that. Sir."
"Yes, well…" Burwell trailed off, not seeming to want to deal with the implications of that just now.
"My father, he's just… he's angry," Beth said into the silence. "Frustrated and feeling immensely unappreciated. Perhaps I did more damage to his place in this army than I ever realised possible by marrying a British Officer. But that was my choice, one he was vehemently against. Should he really disown me, a daughter he loves, just to keep hold of a standing that he has already earned ten times over?"
"More than most Officers here, I daresay," Thomas snapped, visibly angry. "If the mis-step of his child is all it takes to undo all of the good my father has done for the Patriot Cause, then I have to tell you, it makes me have second thoughts about committing my life to it. It makes me worried. And all of you," he pointed to the crowd beyond them, "should be worried of the same. What is the point of going to all these efforts, risking so much, and in my father's case, putting his whole life into something, only to be spurned because of the deeds of one of your children? Is the Continental Army truly so fickle?"
"Here, here," Rollins said, folding his arms across his chest and staring hard at Burwell. "Reckon we aught to shed ourselves of the Continentals and go protect South Carolina on our own."
"If we fall here, we all fall," Burwell said, finally addressing the second problem - the potential loss of at least nine hundred militiamen. "We must stay united. If we break off into all those small bands again, we won't stand a chance against the British."
"Then fight for my father, Sir, because you are this close to losing him," Nathan said, holding his thumb and finger only slightly apart to indicate a very small gap.
"And put paid once and for all to all these hideous rumours regarding my sister while you're at it, the vile lies being said about her by your own men," Thomas spat. "What did my father do to deserve that? Or is my sister to be so despised in her choice of husband, that they'll say anything they like about her and get away with it? Find out who started that talk, and make them face us, my sister's brothers."
That was a terrible idea, but it did have its merits. How was Burwell going to quell the rumours? By telling his men they were lies? And demanding they believe him? That would only make them believe the gossip even more. With Thomas confronting Burwell here and now, before such a large audience, demanding the culprits be bought forward to admit they'd seeded lies, would be far more effective, than Burwell denying it on his own.
She doubted there was one single instigator, however. Not one man for her brothers to question and force the truth from. As soon as these soldiers had started seeing her with Burwell, constantly in one another's company, they all would have started thinking the same thing. In the eyes of these men, her virtue was already in tatters. Yes, she'd married Tavington, and yes, dallying with him could be forgiven, for she had married him. But not by these men - they would never forget or forgive, not when - in dallying with Tavington before marriage - she'd been unfaithful to Burwell, her fiancé, their commander. The rumours would have sprung up from one hundred untrusting men at once.
Would Thomas have their brothers fight them all?
"You will not be able to find them, brother," Beth said, lifting her voice to be heard by one and all. "Besides, father has revealed the identity of the General's… visitor… Soon, the army will know that it's Electa sharing his bed, not me. This entire conversation is unseemly and I will entertain it no longer. General Burwell, if you could put an end to my involvement in these horrid rumours, I would very much appreciate it."
"It will be done," Burwell said, using his formal tone. "I hope you will accept my humble apologies, Mrs. Tavington. I feel ill to my core, knowing my actions have bought unto you such suspicion and foul comments." Not your fault, Beth thought but did not say. "You are a beloved and dear friend and I vow, I will rout the seed of this horrid rumour and have the instigators whipped. I will do everything within my power to wash this stain from your name," Burwell declared and Beth had to stifle laughter.
Dear heaven, no one in this world is powerful enough to do that, she thought.
"I will be content to have my innocence restored, Sir." And that was God's own truth; though she doubted it ever would be. Harry bowed again. Beth turned to Thomas and waited, wondering if he would continue to make his unrealistic demands that might end with some poor innocent soul being whipped. He seemed on the verge of speaking, then snapped his mouth shut, as if uncertain what to say or how to proceed. To put a final end to it, Beth said, "will you escort me to my tent, brothers? I wish to retire." Without waiting for an answer, she began walking away. Nathan and Thomas fell in behind her, and it was one of the hardest things she'd even had to do, trying to keep her head high under the weight of the stares of Burwell's men as she passed through them and into the night.
The Martin family convened in Benjamin's tent the following morning. Burwell had lifted his guard, the tent outside was now surrounded by Benjamin's trusted militia, all of whom were standing far enough away from the tent, to give those within the privacy they needed. Beth was sitting on the straw strewn ground next to her father, who held a hot cup of cider in his hands. Across from them and to either side were Gabriel, Nathan and Thomas.
"You're all Officers," Nathan was saying. "Are they just letting you go? Isn't that desertion?"
"Oh, after last night, I believe General Greene is quite happy to see the back of me," Benjamin snorted.
"It wasn't so easy as that," Thomas chided and Benjamin made a placating gesture with his hand.
"No. He haggled like a fish wife, I guess he realises I'm worth something after all. He is letting me return with my men to South Carolina, but he is not allowing me to 'retire' from the Continentals. I am still a Colonel, but am no longer under Burwell's command, I answer directly to him. All of this on the condition that I continue to lead the militia and not let them fall apart again," he laughed softly, as if he could not have cared less, as long as he was allowed to leave the main army and Burwell's command.
"You spoke to him?" Beth asked softly. "What did he say?" Her father had said some unsavoury things about Greene the previous night, which surely must have reached the General's ears by now.
"Greene made an inspiring speech about my valour," Benjamin said. "My bravery and my dedication to the Cause. He told me he was grateful for all I had done and asked that I not retire at this time. I told him I can not serve under Burwell and he agreed, considering what Burwell's men have been saying about my daughter. At least I had his support there; his opinion is that Beth has been defamed, slandered and ridiculed in the worst possible way, and he puts it down to being maliciousness toward the wife of an enemy Officer. He apologised," Benjamin lifted his eyebrows, indicating that he was still surprised by that, even now. "On behalf of the Continental army, for the unworthy treatment my daughter has received."
"Oh," Beth sat up straight, her eyes widening. "I… I didn't expect that…"
"Because everything they said about you was true, lass. Only they had the name of your lover wrong," Benjamin said and Beth slumped and averted her gaze. "What I am saying," Benjamin continued, "is that you don't expect anyone to stand up for you at this time, because you know you have done the things you're being accused of; you just didn't do them with Burwell. I do not mean to be harsh, but that is the reason you don't expect a personage as high as Greene to defend your virtue. I, too, was somewhat taken aback by his ferocity - he was outraged that a woman of your standing - a gentleman's daughter - would be humiliated by those beneath her. To be honest, I couldn't help but to think 'if only you knew'. Not just about you, lass. But about me, too. As Thomas has pointed out, my own actions have been less than honourable. So no, I was not expecting such vehement support from him. Not in this. But I'm well pleased he did. So, to cut a long story short, Gabriel and Thomas have decided to transfer accompany me, Gabriel wishes to transfer to my command, their requests were also accepted, and therefore we are going home."
"You can't go home," Beth said. "Fresh Water is occupied by the British and you're still an escaped prisoner."
"I didn't mean Fresh Water. I just meant 'home'. South Carolina, to where my children are. Where I can visit them, which I intend to do far more regularly. I won't be settling down any time soon; as I said, I will continue to lead the militia in raids against British forces, which will require me to move from place to place, always in hiding. This isn't over, not by a long shot. But for now, when we leave here, it will be for the Ferguson's." Thomas lit up by this and Benjamin nodded in acknowledgement. "You will want to visit with Miss Ferguson, I expect?"
"I certainly would," Thomas grinned.
"We will stop there for a spell. That Greene can haggle like a fish wife - I'd hoped to be on my way home today, but he's managed to convince me to linger here for a few weeks, to harass Cornwallis' force as best I can as they follow Greene, who is going to continue northward toward Virginia. When the British Battalions are gone and this area is quiet, we'll drop back down into South Carolina, see what we can do about the forces at Winnsboro. With Tarleton and Tavington gone, I expect we'll have far more success in keeping the British subdued there, we might even be able to take back Charlestown. Mr. Rutledge is still the Governor of South Carolina, despite the British occupation. I will find him and go where he orders. At some point, Greene will be too far to send me orders, so I will take them from Rutledge instead. It will be far more preferable, serving under Rutledge than Burwell."
"Is your friendship over?" Beth asked, unable to keep the sympathy from her voice.
"He wanted to make you his mistress. My daughter," Benjamin's lips tightened. "Given the slightest encouragement from you, he would have done so; and you'd both be on your way to Virginia by now. Those are not the actions of a friend, Beth. Forget him, my mind is set," he said, voice hardening as Beth opened her mouth to argue against his ending of such a long standing friendship, because of her. "The only thing you need to think about now, is what you intend to say to your husband when you see him."
"Oh dear God," Beth pulled her knees up as far as her pregnant stomach allowed and buried her face in her arms. There was some comfort, pretending there was nothing more to life than the darkness floating behind her closed eyes.
"I am going to send you with a letter," Benjamin continued, ignoring Beth's distress. "You believe that your marriage is beyond repair. No doubt, so does he. I intend to inform him that he has a choice; that if, after you are reunited, he finds it impossible to repair the divide between you, if he can not make your marriage work, then he is to take you to Mr. Ferguson's house, where you will be safe until such a time as I can come for you. I don't intend to tell him that I'll be near by, that is not something he needs to know. I will inform him in this letter that in taking you to the Ferguson's, his decision will be final and your marriage dissolved and he is to return control of your inheritance back to me."
"How can you so easily dissolve my marriage when I could not?" She asked, stunned. "I asked the reverend in Tarleton's camp and he refused!"
"He isn't a family friend," Benjamin said grimly. "I have Reverend Oliver, lass, and he has agreed to see the job done, if that comes to pass. I intend to make it clear in my letter to Tavington, that if he does take you to the Ferguson's, Reverend Oliver will consider it abandonment and deem your marriage void."
"Can it truly be that easy?"
"With the support of the Clergy," Benjamin shrugged. "And Reverend Oliver is all the Clergy we need. So, if that is what William decides, then I will take you to your aunt and you will live with her until my time with the militia is done. If the war is decided in our favour, you will reside with me at Fresh Water. If the British win, we will have your mother's money and we'll work out what we'll do from there. Either way, we'll see the rest of our days out in peace and quiet."
Beth lifted her head. She shifted her legs until they were crossed again and she placed a protective hand over her stomach. "You will help me raise my baby?"
"Yes, I will help you raise my grandchild," Benjamin said and Beth smiled as overwhelming and vast relief flowed through her.
"Can't we just do that?" She asked carefully, not wanting to rouse her father to anger. "Can't we skip the rest?"
"No. No easy road for you. You're going to try to make it work and if he doesn't let you, well, that's his choice. Tavington needs the opportunity to make his decision, we owe him that much," Benjamin said and Beth sighed. "Reverend Oliver has said that a husband abandoning his wife is one of the few ways a marriage can end in such a way that allows the wife to remarry without censure. Without one of you being widowed, that is. If you are inclined to marry again, Reverend Oliver has said you will be allowed to, though you'll have to wait a few years, as the abandonment law requires. Less, if William actually writes intensions to that effect. What I am trying to say is, it won't be considered bigamy, if you remarry."
"Oh," Beth said, feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. "I was never really thinking that far ahead, to be honest."
"As your father, I have no choice but to think that far ahead. It is why I am going to write the letter. Tavington will know he has an escape route if he can't handle being with you again, but he will also know that he can't come back in two years time thinking he can reclaim you then. His decision, once made, will be final."
"When do we leave for the Ferguson's?" Thomas asked.
"Today. As soon as we've finished here." Benjamin, however, made no move to rise from the hay covered ground. Beth could see he wasn't feeling the best - his night of drinking had left him feeling ill, sapping what little energy he had. His voice was hoarse, from all his bellowing. The siblings looked uncertainly at one another, unsure if they'd been dismissed to begin preparations to leave, or not. At length, Benjamin spoke, and his voice was even more raspy than before. "When your mother died, I…" He trailed off for a moment and Beth felt herself going stiff. She shared a glance with her brothers, Nathan and Gabriel looked weary but Thomas became ice. He was the one who'd confronted Benjamin with those home truths, accusing him of being a hypocrite, dishonourable and a poor father. None of them had wanted to discuss it since and now that Benjamin had broached it… They were all weary, especially Thomas, the instigator.
"We don't have to talk about that, father," Gabriel said, shifting uncomfortably where he sat.
"Either speak for yourself or shut it," Thomas said. "I want to hear this. I think we deserve to hear this." For a wonder, Gabriel's lips closed. While the others kept their gaze averted, Thomas met their father's eyes, stare for stare.
"Yes, well… when your mother died… I was bereft. I felt like I was drowning in the ocean, with nothing to cling to. You accused me of being a ghost… Yes, that was an apt description, I think. I felt utterly alone and entirely incapable of accepting the help of others, though many tried. I was aware of you, but I did indeed feel apart from you. I could not engage. If I could go back and change anything, it would be that. I'd return to my children, my grieving children, and I'd try harder to be your strength. You were all so young, back then. Only the older of you could even understand what had happened," he said, looking to Gabriel and Beth. "I would change that, if I could." He seemed to be far away, as if, when he looked at them, he saw them as the children they'd been when their mother had died. His eyes were filling, Beth curled her fingers around his as he dashed at tears with his other hand. They had come a long way since yesterday, she realised, when he did not pull his hand from hers. "But I can't. I can't change it. I can't change that I sought solace with your aunt, I can't change that I did not marry her, which in turn denied you a mother. I can't change not being there for you, not giving you the guidance and assurance you desperately needed. I need to ask you, all of you, how I can make amends. How can I redeem myself in your eyes?"
"Bring us back together," Thomas said immediately, no hesitation. "Our family is shattered. First with mamma's passing. And now with Aunt Mage's. Beth taking off and… doing what she's done. Aunt Charlotte... also doing what she's done. We can't bring back the dead, but it's time we put what pieces we can back together. And we can't do that without Beth. We probably can't without Aunt Charlotte, either," he finished, seeming reluctant to admit this last part.
Benjamin nodded. Giving Beth's fingers a squeeze, he said, "I am sorry. For the things I said yesterday -"
"Don't be," Beth replied. "I deserved it."
"Your own father called you a strumpet. No daughter deserves that," Benjamin said softly and Beth's eyes shot downward as the pain of hearing those words seared through her body once more. "I'm sorry, I should not have said it."
"And I'm sorry," Beth whispered. "For everything. All of it."
"I know you are," Benjamin squeezed her fingers again. "Thomas, I apologise for being a hypocrite. Do you, all of you, do you want me to marry Charlotte?"
At this, the siblings exchanged another look.
"I think that might be out of your hands now," Gabriel said. "If she's going to marry Mr. Singleton. Besides, there's no point if you're going to be miserable."
"We're sending Beth back to be miserable," Thomas pointed out.
"Though I really could kiss you right now, the glaring difference is, William and I are already married," Beth said reluctantly.
"And marrying aunt Charlotte now won't fix the past," Gabriel added.
"Do you want to marry her?" Nathan asked and their father became quiet, reflective.
"Yes, do you want to?" Thomas repeated. "Have you forgiven her?"
"She told me that in doing so, it would be me finally making a sacrifice for her for a change," Benjamin sighed. "I think… I think I'm getting close to it. The way I've been feeling without her… Well. Would you be for or against it?"
"Definitely for," Beth and Thomas both said. Nathan was chewing the inside of his cheek, his gaze averted.
"I don't know," he said finally, shrugging. "I think… She did wrong, but she could have been flogged helping me get the younger children away. I know she loves you… I think I'm for."
"I think…" Benjamin said. "I think it is a discussion she and I need to have. If, as Gabriel said, it is not too late."
"Do you love her?" Beth asked.
"I did, once," he replied. "And I do still."
"Then why didn't you marry her? Before Bordon, I mean," Thomas said.
"I built that house for your mother," Benjamin's voice was quiet as he tried to explain. "I couldn't have another woman living there." Thomas arched an eyebrow and Beth knew what he was thinking. But you could couple with another woman there… Luckily he did not say it. Her father must have sensed what Thomas was thinking, for he rushed on. "And I didn't want to live at Drakespar, with John's memory walking the halls. I couldn't see a way around it, so perhaps a year ago, I purchased another property." The siblings expressed surprise but Benjamin continued speaking, leaving no opening for questions. "I was going to build on it, give Charlotte and I our own place, a place neither Elizabeth or John had claim too. A place that was entirely mine and Charlotte's. I had plans drawn up for a double mansion, one to rival Drakespar. Elizabeth was always content with the smaller great house and in truth, I knew Charlotte would be as well, she would have been happy living at Fresh Water, as long as she had me." He paused, the words weighing heavily upon him. She loved him, he was all she'd ever wanted. She'd been trying to protect him, she would do anything for him. After contemplating this for a moment, he remembered what he'd been saying and continued. "But - well, I have my pride." A sad smile crossed his face. "I wasn't going to marry her and gain her husband's wealth, and then make her live in a house half the size of the one John built for her at Drakespar. I was going to wait until the house was built, then take her there and propose. The plans for the house were finalised, construction commenced. I don't know what state it's in now - I never told the overseer to stop… In the end, I found I couldn't wait for the house to be finished to propose, not when she -" He cut short, his face going momentarily slack. He whispered, "not when she protected you against Tavington, she bought my children back to Fresh Water, leaving Drakespar burning behind her… Gods, how could I forget what she did for you?" He rubbed a lax hand over his creased brow. The siblings were silent; Beth hadn't been there, but the others remembered. Aunt Charlotte, doing everything within her power to protect Benjamin's children. He was looking quite disgusted with himself now. "It's what prompted me to propose," he whispered. "I couldn't wait another minute longer. But then…" He drew a ragged breath. "Well… Bordon. I barely remember anything that came before Bordon. Lord, I'm as bad as Burwell, who forgot everything Beth did for him, as soon as he learned about Tavington…"
"As you said, this is a discussion you should be having with Aunt Charlotte," Nathan said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.
"But I want to know what you think. How I can redeem myself in your eyes. Will marrying Charlotte help that in any way?"
"I think having the discussion with her would be enough," Beth said, shifting uncomfortably. "I can't really weigh in here, I have a lot of redeeming to do, myself. But Aunt Charlotte is our flesh and blood. I believe you should try to reconcile with her, at the very least. As you said, she's done so much to protect us, she's done so much for us. And I think you need to remember, she was trying to protect you that night, to give Josiah more time to reach you and warn you. It went too far, it got out of hand. She loves you. She did what she did, for you. There was no malice behind it. She did not lust after him. Her affections never strayed."
"She enjoyed it," Benjamin said, making it clear he was struggling to get past that.
"Our bodies betray us," Beth said, face crimson, eyes on her hands. It was not an easy conversation to have with her father and brothers, but it needed to be said.
"Talk to Aunt Charlotte," Thomas agreed. "Marry her, don't marry her. But talk to her. Tell her what you just told us. Listen to what she has to say in return. If you don't marry her, at least make it so that next time, when we all come together again as a family, it can be as a family. And find Samuel. Talk to him, too. Apologise for forcing him to do what his mind was not ready to comprehend. Do better with the little ones. That's all I care about."
So blunt, Beth thought as she felt her father stiffen beside her.
"Do you want me to retire? From the Continentals and the militia?" Benjamin asked softly.
"Absolutely not," Gabriel said, voice firm. He glared at the others, as if daring them to argue. "The Cause needs you, father. We need experienced soldiers, if we're going to win this war. Don't leave the army, father," his tone mollified slightly as he continued, "though I think we're doing the right thing, returning home. It'd be good if we station ourselves near to where the children are so we can visit them more often. That will be enough. You might not have been there for us as much as we'd have liked, and I know you want to change that with the little ones. But that doesn't mean you should stop fighting, the Cause is too important to abandon now, and we need men like you, experienced in battle, men who can anticipate the British."
"You don't think I'm abandoning them?"
"For another year, at most? No," Gabriel said. "The children are fine for now, a year won't make too much of a difference. We grew up without a father for nearly nine years." Benjamin tightened his lips, looking very much like a person who'd been punched in his stomach. "I didn't mean it to come out like that," Gabriel said. "You gave us everything you were able to - a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes on our backs. I know plenty who never even had that. We all," he waved his hand to the others, "had the same upbringing and it's only Beth who…" Gabriel stopped dead and Beth felt her stomach sink. She was the only one who'd failed the family. "Well, I mean, that's only one out of five us, isn't it?" Gabriel finished. He did not back track, did not try to deny or fix what he'd been about to say. What he left unsaid, was a thing he believed and embarrassment spread through her; Beth had turned out no good.
"Well, two out of five," Thomas corrected. "I haven't exactly been a pillar of virtue. Mr. Ferguson isn't going to be able to withdraw his support of my marriage to Lucy, because Lucy and I… We…"
"Oh dear God," Benjamin groaned.
"Not that!" Thomas said quickly. "We just… Did a bit more than kissing. I guess I aught to admit that, with all the accusations I've made in the last day. So yes. Two out of five. And then there's Sammie, whose gone off and doesn't want nothing to do with us. So three out of five and swinging the wrong way." Thomas paused, his amused fleeing. "Are they really such good odds?"
"Jesus, Thomas," Gabriel snapped.
"You want me to coat it with sugar? I won't. Sammie is gone, because of da. Beth needed better guidance. She did not have it. She made ill choices that she will have to carry to her grave. End of story. Do you think this would have happened if we'd had the privilege of our father's influence and attention?"
"We'll never know," Gabriel said.
"Now you're just being fool stubborn. What did you say to me last night? Grow a back bone, Gabe."
"What did you say last night?" Benjamin asked.
"Nothing, I… I was agreeing with Thomas, is all."
Thomas began to laugh.
"Very well," Gabriel said reluctantly. "I was saying that if Anne gives me a daughter, and if Anne passes away, leaving me to do the raising," he looked sick, grief stricken just at the possibility, "I will not leave her to be raised by her brothers."
"You've learned from me how not to raise children?" Benjamin asked and while Beth thought he might have been trying to sound amused, he was unable to hold back the bitterness from his voice.
"I'm sorry, but yes, I guess so. Fact is, you let her wear breeches and run off with Thomas and Nathan to go hunting, with Colin Ferguson. I'm glad that Beth has some ability to protect herself. She knows how to shoot and it'll make an attacker think twice. But for the rest? How often was she alone, sometimes for days on end, with Colin Ferguson and only these two buffoons to chaperone her?"
"I swear, on everything holy, on my life, on papa's, on mamma's grave, on anything you want, nothing ever happened between me and Colin," Beth begged, worried they would not believe her, considering her recent past. "I swear, I never -"
"We know that," Gabriel cut in. "But my point is, papa should never have let you run off in the first place. Combing the woods for game. Sleeping rough. Learning to cuss when she should have been at home, working on her needlework. Or reading. Fifteen years old and running around in breeches out there in the wild. Might've been alright if it was just us, her brothers, but there was Peter Cuppin too, and Colin. I'll never allow that for my girls. Never. I'll teach them to fire a rifle, I do think that's important. But the rest? They'll be staying home and helping around the house or learning their lessons and if Anne is gone, I'll get them a governess to teach them what a mother aught. I want to raise wilful girls that will voice their opinion to their husband's, like Anne does with me. But I won't be raising hellions, my girls won't be thinking that it's alright for them to behave just like a man does, that's for damned sure." Silence reigned. Gabriel became rueful, regretful. "I'm sorry, father. I'm sorry, Beth."
Beth nodded, though she said nothing.
"It's not all bad," Gabriel said to his father. "It's not as though you were never, ever there. We did learn from you as well. Thomas has his eyes set on a nice girl from a good family. He's hard working and is not lacking the courage of his convictions. Nathan is doing the same. None of us are thieves, liars, we don't cheat or swear or drink -"
"Much," Thomas snorted.
"Well, you more than any of us," Gabriel said. "Anyway. Our upbringing couldn't have been all that bad, now could it?"
"Unless you've turned out the way you have despite me, not because of me," Benjamin said with the bitterness of before. He appeared to need a distraction, he rose abruptly and went to stand at the small table. His back was to them, Beth had the feeling he needed to compose himself. The siblings were quiet, giving him the time he needed. When he returned, it was with a glass of milk, which he handed to Beth before resuming his seat beside her. She looked at it, startled. "Mrs. Garland has said you need to drink milk. Drinking it now will help you to produce it later and if yours and William's child is anything like all of you, you're going to have a big eater on your hands."
Yours and William's. He was acknowledging that her child was not a bastard. Beth smiled, relieved.
"You spoke to Mrs. Garland?"
"Yes. And she told me all the reasons why she knows this child is William's. She has this little book, she sat down and showed it to me, explained a few mid-wife facts I never would have known. If she says you're six months along and that you were already pregnant back at Fresh Water, then I guess I believe it. Perhaps you were right, maybe that is part of the reason you fired up at William like that - your mother had a temper during her pregnancies, also."
Beth didn't know what to say, settling for, "thank you for the milk." She took a sip. If she was startled before, she was stunned when his arm came about her shoulders.
"I do love you, you know."
Her face crumbled and she worked to fight back tears. Nodding wordlessly, she buried her face in her glass.
Thomas was watching thoughtfully, some of his stiffness faded. "Just bring the shattered pieces back together, father," he said. "That's all."
Benjamin nodded, agreeing.
"I will do my best," he promised. As he removed his arm from Beth's shoulders, he said, "as for William, I suspect he will question you, about Burwell's intentions."
"I won't tell him, I won't tell him anything, I promise -"
"You go two steps forward and one step back," Benjamin sighed. "Lass, I'm not asking you to betray your husband. Not for us, not ever again. I know you intend to be faithful to him from now on, if he decides to keep you. You can't be faithful with your body only - you must be true to him in all things, from this point on. Your brothers will not put pressure on you to spy," he glanced at Nathan, who had done exactly that, not so long ago. "When he questions you, you will tell him everything."
"I know a lot," she warned. "Like how my father intends to go to South Carolina to harass the British forces there."
"Eh. That's a given, isn't it? But I've said nothing of where I intend to be," he said wryly. "I won't be at the Ferguson's long enough for him to hunt me down there."
"That was a deliberate omission, wasn't it? Where you'll be later?" She asked. "I'd bet you already have it all planned out up here, don't you?" She tapped his forehead and he grinned at her. "But you're not telling me, because you've said I have to be honest with William when he questions me."
"And you will be. I'm telling you to reveal all and be honest, but I'm not stupid. You can't tell him what you don't know. He won't actually gain any advantage from anything you say. I won't help the British, lass."
"I'll have to tell him you said that, too," Beth said, smiling. "I just realised though, he will ask me who helped you to escape," she said, sobering. "If I tell him that, and if Thomas, Nathan and Lieutenant Watson are captured later, they might be hung for it."
"Watson will hang either way, should he be caught," Benjamin pointed out. "I won't ask you to lie, Beth. Not anymore."
"Perhaps she can omit certain things, though?" Nathan asked.
"Her position will be precarious enough," Benjamin said. "And yes, that is her own fault. But no, no hedging either. She can not do that, not anymore. He will ask his questions. You will answer honestly. It's up to us now, to change plans accordingly and to protect ourselves by not getting caught and falling into his hands. We will not hide behind your sister."
"When are you going to make contact with him?" Beth asked when the silence stretched.
"I have scouts trying to determine his exact location already. When I know where he is, I'll send him the letter along with directions. I doubt you'll be at the Ferguson's for long, before he comes for you."
Beth felt both drained and resigned. "At least I'll see Cilla and Harmony again."