Heading toward Camden with Miss Wilde and her sisters, and over one hundred former slaves of all ages and both genders in his wake, Tavington began to feel all too much like Moses in the Wilderness. He was uneasy having such a large party of non-combatants to protect, and took special care of the encampment that night. He only hoped his charges would not wander away in the dark and be shot by his own pickets.
Alert as always, he noticed the Dragoons looking surreptitiously at him: he was unsure just why. From the corner of his eye, he could see Bordon's pleased look, and Wilkins' shocked amazement. His own face expressionless, he looked over his men and discerned repressed grins on many of the war-hardened faces.
It occurred to him at last that his quarrel under the tree with the fair Miss Wilde might have been interpreted by those who saw but did not hear as a tender scene. His whisper in her ear might have looked like a kiss; her angry response like passion. It was too absurd to deny, and too embarrassing for a proud man even to acknowledge. Passing the innocent McKay he growled, and was cheered at the panicked response.
Seated on a fallen log near a fire, he stared introspectively into the flames, and tried not to taste his rations. They would have actual food tomorrow at Fort Carolina. In the meantime, he would have to subsist on the memory of Miss Wilde's pound cake. Spoiled and demanding as she was, she had her merits. Perhaps he should have invited her to join the officers for dinner. Cornpone and maggoty dried beef? There's an invitation no woman could resist. Perhaps he should be check on the ladies to see if they were comfortable and secure. And lying on the dirty ground, with only the sky for roof. Perhaps Miss Wilde would have a few choice words for him. Now that's very likely. Would I prefer to sit here and wonder, or go find her and hear them for myself?
Rising instantly, he made his way toward the canvas-covered wagon and the fire near it. He saw a sleeping Wilkins wrapped in a blanket close by. Miss Wilde was washing Julia's face with a handkerchief. Someone had already taken out the featherbed, and it was neatly and incongruously made up with a quilt and three fat pillows. Amelia was resealing the water cask on the wagon's side, and started at the sight of him. She touched her elder sister's shoulder.
"What is it, Melly?" Miss Wilde caught sight of Tavington, lit by the dying fire's last flickers. "Oh, Colonel Tavington." She took in a breath to speak, and let it out again.
"I just wanted to see if you and your sisters were all right," he said quietly. She gave a sweet, ironic smile and finally, a nod.
"Yes, we're really quite all right, except for leaving our family home and most of our possessions, and wondering what shall become of us, and where we shall live, and my arms feeling as if they could drop off from all the driving---but I will stop complaining now because, really, we are all right. Really." She gave another, firmer nod, and caught Tavington's eye, and laughed.
Julia looked exhausted, but she caught her sister's spirited mood, and told him with smothered excitement, "We're going to sleep outside right here with all our clothes on!"
Amelia seemed mortified, and Tavington barely heard her whisper to Julia, "Don't talk to a man about sleeping and clothes!"
"What? Should I talk about no clothes?"
"Hush, Julia!" Miss Wilde softly admonished her. "People are trying to settle down to rest, and so should you. I want you and Melly to get under the quilt and try to sleep."
"I can't sleep! This is so exciting!"
"Try anyway." Miss Wilde lifted a corner of the quilt and motioned to Julia to lie down. Gamely, Julia took off her shoes and crawled to the middle of the featherbed. Melly hung back, whispering in Miss Wilde's ear.
Miss Wilde sighed, nodded, and walked over to Tavington. "How long will the journey be tomorrow, Colonel?" she asked softly, leading him away from the wagon.
"Not more than half a day." He frowned. "Surely you already knew that?"
"I needed to walk you away from the wagon. Melly was too bashful to lie down in front of you. She's—not comfortable with men." Miss Wilde blew out a breath and looked up at the stars. "There's Lyra. I love constellations that look like their names. And Delphinus," she pointed east.
"You are an astronomer, Miss Wilde."
"Just a watcher of the sky." Her head was tilted back, face pale in the dim light. "When I was a little girl, my father taught me the name of every star and every flower, every tree and every bird. He loved the natural world so much, and wanted everyone else to love it too."
"You must have loved your father very much." She was very near. The soft night breeze carried the light scent of the rosewater she used to rinse her hair.
She said nothing in response. Puzzled, he tried to make out her expression, and it appeared more thoughtful than anything else. Oh, well done, Will, he thought. Such a way you have with the ladies.
He tried again. "I've always admired your father. It must have been exceedingly difficult to observe his subjects and pursue his art, and still raise a family and manage your extensive plantation."
"Hmm," she smiled sadly, and then gave him a peculiar look. "My father--" she began, and stopped. To his surprise, her lips curled sardonically, and she gave a little laugh.
"My father was a naturalist, an artist, a man of science," she said carefully, testing her words. "He could be all of those things because my mother made it possible for him."
"I don't understand."
She bit her lip. "My father was a naturalist, an artist, a man of science," she repeated. "He was also a negligent farmer, an incompetent businessman, a careless husband, and a partial and unkind parent." She gave a long sigh. "There. I've said it. You mustn't imagine, Colonel, that I've ever said this to anyone else." She looked up at the sky again. "I don't know why I'm confiding in you. Perhaps the extraordinary events of the past few days have made a revolution in me."
He rolled his eyes. "I trust not, Miss Wilde. I have all the revolutions I can handle already."
She laughed softly, and took his arm. "I must sound a dreadful harpy. I think what I'm trying to say is that my mother deserves a great deal of credit. It was she who was the planter, the businesswoman, the firm and loving head of our family. She kept the estate, the family-- our whole little world--running smoothly; while my father painted, went on his expeditions, and traveled at will to London to see his engraver and publisher. I can't bear that she be forgotten or even discounted."
He laid his free hand on Miss Wilde's. "Surely that will never happen, Miss Wilde, while you live."
"Perhaps I should write a book about her."
"Perhaps you should. And entitle it, The Adventures of Femina Carolinae, by her daughter."
She smiled, more at peace now, and looked back toward her sisters, now angelically at rest under the quilt. "But first things first. I have my sisters to care and provide for, before I start performing any literary feats."
"To that end, you must get some rest. And so must I," he said, walking her toward her wagon. "Do you have any place to stay in Camden?"
"Yes," she began hesitantly. "We have kin in Camden. I have been deciding whom I could best approach." She wrinkled her nose. "Our most likely shelter is with an elderly great-aunt, who is not exactly…."
Julia at that moment sat straight up and declared, "We are not staying with Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva, and that's final!" She flopped back on the featherbed, and pulled the quilt over her face.
Amelia murmured a protest. Miss Wilde disengaged her arm from Tavington's with an unamused glance at Julia's quilt-covered body.
"Good night, Colonel."
"Miss Wilde." He was reluctant to leave, but could find no excuse to linger. Miss Wilde was sitting on a campstool, tugging at her boots, when Julia popped back out from under the quilt.
"We can't stay with her!" She sat up, and told Tavington earnestly, "She's the meanest old lady on the face of the earth. Her house always smells peculiar and she's always making fringe, and she has that picture!"
"Julia, hush! Beggars can't be choosers. Camden will be crowded with refugees. Even if it weren't improper, it would be impossible for us to find lodgings there by ourselves. Cousin Mary Montgomery doesn't even have room for her own children, and that leaves Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva. Now go back to sleep. Colonel Tavington doesn't want to hear gossip about our family."
Julia appealed to him. "Colonel, don't go! Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva will be miserable to us! She says spiteful things to Lilabet about being an old maid, and she makes Melly play the pianoforte in front of strangers, and she'll make me look at that picture again!" She hissed at Wilkins. "Cousin James, Cousin James! Wake up and tell Colonel Tavington about Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva's picture. Isn't it the worst thing in the world?"
Wilkins thrashed about in his blanket and stared wild-eyed at Julia. "What's wrong?" he croaked.
Miss Wilde quickly knelt on the featherbed and pushed Julia down bodily. "Shame on you! There's no reason to wake Cousin James! I'm sorry, Colonel. All this strain is finally telling on her."
Julia wriggled rebelliously, and refused to be quiet. "It's the worst thing in the world. Isn't that right?"
Wilkins moaned sleepily, "Oh, Julia, honey, don't make me think about Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva's picture. We'll all dream about it now." He burrowed down into his blanket and covered his ears. "'Night, Colonel."
"It's a picture of a skinned dog! What kind of person would have a picture like that and make a little girl look at it? I ask you." She began shaking uncontrollably. Kneeling next to Miss Wilde, Tavington took Julia's hand in his.
"Julia, stop this now!" his voice was soft but stern. "I am ordering you to settle down and let everyone sleep." The child looked beseechingly at him. "Go to sleep," he repeated. "We can talk about this when you're safe in Camden."
"Will you call on us there?" Julia pleaded. Miss Wilde blushed and shook her head at Julia, but Tavington reassured her.
"It would be an honour."
"She'll be mean to you too."
"I shall be fully armed."
Julia smiled at that, and nestled back against her pillow. Miss Wilde looked her thanks at Tavington. She knelt, bootless, on the quilt and gave a long tired sigh. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but remembered himself; and with a curt nod, bade the ladies goodnight.
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