Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Patriot, but I do own two apple trees.
CHAPTER THIRTY: A World of Their OwnThey had been at sea over a week, and were nearing their destination. The passage had been easy, and Tavington was pleased that his family found their second voyage far less arduous than their first. Julia ran about on deck, watching the sailors at their work, and was everyone's pet.
He had been glad to have this pause between his life in the army, and what would soon be his life as a farmer in a new land. Simply becoming accustomed to civilian clothes took something of an effort, although Elizabeth loved his dark green coat. He still wore his sword, but that did not make him unusual in these times.
The lookout called out, "Land, ho!" Sure enough, a hazy dark line became gradually more visible in the distance. Bordon joined him at the rail, glowing with anticipation.
Tavington said, "You looked pleased. In fact, you look ready to declaim."
His friend gave a self-deprecating laugh and admitted, "I feel ready to declaim."
"What would it be?---'Hic domus, haec patria est'—"
Bordon laughed again. "Very likely."
Julia had overheard. "What does that mean?"
Bordon explained, "It is from the Aeneid, when Aeneas sees a favourable omen, and says 'Hail, O promised land of my destiny! Here is my home, my country---' and then goes on about it at pretty good length."
"I can believe it," she said sourly, and walked over beside Tavington. "Probably somebody else is saying just the same thing, only about Kentucky and in English."
Tavington affectionately put an arm around the thin little shoulders; and they were intent on the land, until another call startled them.
"Ship off the port side!"
They crossed the deck, and Tavington saw Captain Locke observing an object through his spyglass.
"It appears to be a derelict. She's lost the foremast and seems to have suffered some fire." He snapped the glass shut. "There may be survivors. We had better have a look."
Sure enough, as the distance lessened, they saw a few figures on deck, waving to them, and still closer, they could hear the pleas for help.
Locke called out to them, "What ship are you?"
A figure at the bow answered, "The Scylla, out of St. Augustine. We were attacked by rebels, and escaped in a fog. We are taking on water, and must abandon ship."
They hove close to the foundering vessel, and Locke offered to send some men over to see if the damage could be repaired.
"No!" came the answer. "We are certain nothing can be done. Request permission to come aboard."
The company and passengers of the Palinurus gathered to have a look at the wounded ship and its crew. Elizabeth and Polly, carrying her baby, came out on deck to see what the commotion was.
Locke called out again, "Do you need help salvaging your cargo?"
"We jettisoned the cargo to keep afloat. There's nothing to save but our lives."
The Scylla's men had put out in a longboat, and Locke ordered a ladder lowered for them.
Tavington quietly remarked to the captain, "If they are in such mortal danger, why have they not already rowed to land?"
Locke looked quickly at him, and they shared a sudden, frightening surmise. The Scylla's men were scurrying quickly up the ladder, and as they climbed out onto the deck, they were already drawing their weapons.
Their leader, tall and sunken-eyed, shouted, "Surrender your ship in the name of the Continental Congress!"
Chaos erupted. Tavington pushed Julia toward her sister, shouted, "Get below!" at the women, and drew his blade instantly. He felt cold fury that these damned rebels would try one last time to threaten everything precious to him. Bordon shot one of the rebels with a pocket pistol Tavington had not known he possessed, and the man fell back, knocking two of his comrades from the ladder. I have got to get one of those myself, if I live through this, Tavington thought wildly. Or two or three. His own beautiful pistols were carefully stowed in their case in his cabin.
Captain Locke shot another of their assailants. Tavington drove at the leader, knocking a henchman aside with the hilt of his sword. The privateer took aim at him, and fired, but the ship gave a sudden lurch, and the ball went wide. He dropped the pistol and drew his own sword just in time to meet Tavington's. Their blades clashed together, striking sparks, and Tavington nearly had him with a slash that scratched his opponent's jaw and left a thin scarlet mark.
Pausing to wipe his face, and beginning to look more warily at Tavington, the privateer hissed, "You have no idea who I am."
Tavington felt the fierce dark joy of battle sweep over him. He smiled menacingly at his unexpected enemy, and said, "In a moment, it will be 'who you were.'" His blade arced up from below, and sliced across the man's chest, tearing open his coat and drawing blood. The privateer dodged backwards.
The rest of the Palinurus' company, encouraged by their leaders, joined in the struggle. Unarmed men found hammers and axes. Others pulled knives. The Scylla's crew found themselves at a sudden disadvantage, crowding up the narrow ladder, and confined to one area of the ship; while the defenders could fire upon them from front and sides, from the quarterdeck, and from the rigging. The privateers, accustomed to shocked prey, slow to resist, were taken aback by the immediate and aggressive response.
Tavington hoped a little discouragement would be enough. Privateers were not in business to sacrifice their lives or to destroy property, but to seize largely intact ships for profit and their passengers for ransom. A portion of their takings must be paid to whichever government had given them letters of marque, but the rest was theirs, and many a once-respectable sailor had grown rich in this half-piratical trade. If the attackers withdrew, the Palinurus was not armed to pursue them, nor would Tavington risk the women and children on board to seek vengeance.
One of the privateer crew screamed wildly, his hand pinned to the rail by one of Strephon's knives. Tavington glanced over, and saw the look of satisfaction on his servant's face. Seeing him distracted a moment, his opponent lunged forward, nearly running him through. Tavington neatly sidestepped the thrust, and pulled his attacker forward, making him lose his balance.
He was not the Scylla's captain for nothing, though, and while falling, lashed out with his foot to trip Tavington. Stumbling, but not quite going down, Tavington found himself coping with the privateer captain, stabbing up from below, and a short, very aggressive confederate of his, running at Tavington with a cutlass.
The latter stopped suddenly, looking surprised, and Tavington, not wanting to fall for that old ruse, kept his eye on him. The sound of his wife's voice behind him was a shock.
He glanced behind him and saw that Elizabeth was there, aiming one of her father's pistols down at the head of the privateer captain. The other was pointed rather waveringly at the rest of the ship in general. It was briefly aimed at Tavington, and he carefully moved aside.
She cried, "I can't bear this! I won't endure anymore of this! Drop your weapons and surrender or I'll shoot you! I swear it!"
The privateer's crew backed away, with a few cautious chuckles.
"Put the pistols down, Ma'am, before you hurt yourself," a one-eyed rebel suggested slyly.
Elizabeth trained the left-hand pistol directly upon him. "Rebels! Pirates! Do you know how tired I am of you? " The pistols were shaking slightly in her hands, and she took a breath and steadied her grip. The short fellow who had run at Tavington began to edge forward.
Tavington was just about to tell her to hand him the pistol, when she fired. The short rebel clapped a hand to the side of his head, where blood was flowing from his wounded ear.
"She shot me," the rebel said, in disbelief. "She shot me." He fell to the deck, stunned by the glancing impact.
Elizabeth looked like she could not quite believe it herself. She was distracted just enough that the privateer captain rolled away, sword in hand, and was on his feet. Tavington saw the movement and shoved Elizabeth behind him.
He shouted at his wife, "Where is Julia?"
"Mrs. Bordon locked her in the cabin with her while I ran for the pistols."
Tavington rolled his eyes, hoping that someone would stay where she belonged. "Give that to me," he ordered, pulling the pistol brusquely from her hand. He trained it on the privateer captain, who eyed him, looking for an opportunity to escape.
The Palinurus' company was doing well, and had put the privateers on the defensive. Bordon had accounted for another one of the attackers, and it looked like the privateers had had enough. A thrown belaying pin made Tavington duck, and the privateer captain shouted, "Back to the ship!" and flung himself over the side. The other rebels still capable of this followed suit.
The Palinurus' defenders ran to the port side and the few with loaded weapons tried to pick off the swimming enemy. All missed. Tavington decided not to waste a shot on such a target, and turned to Elizabeth, smiling. She looked harassed and beautiful, and Tavington could not help kissing her before all hands.
"My brave girl," he said with astonishment, "what were you thinking?"
Elizabeth was wide-eyed and shaking, and she clung to him desperately. "I knew you did not have your pistols. I could not let them harm you. I could not let them take everything from me again."
As he held her, neither he nor anyone else noticed the rebel whom Elizabeth had shot stagger to his feet. Tavington heard the cry of alarm from Bordon, and the report of a pistol.
Automatically he raised his own pistol and fired at the sound. The rebel coughed up blood and fell heavily to the deck, shot through the lung. Captain Locke and his sailors crowded around him, and hid the man's dying struggles from Tavington's view.
Elizabeth had gasped and clutched at him convulsively. Tavington fearing the worst, gripped her arms, and looked her over anxiously.
"My love, are you all right----are you wounded?"
She let out a soft, sighing breath, and reached slowly up to her hair.
Tavington, in wretched suspense, waited for her answer.
She pulled off her lace-trimmed cap and looked at it with dismay. There was a round hole in the ruffled brim.
"He's ruined my cap," Elizabeth said with wondering indignation. Tavington, satisfied that no greater harm had been done, pulled her fast against him, laughing with relief.
"It is not a laughing matter," she protested, still trembling with delayed shock. "That was my favourite cap."
The rest of the Scylla's crew were rounded up and chained below. Regret on his face, Captain Locke saw the Scylla restep the foremast that they had taken down to disguise themselves as a wreck. The enemy raised sail and moved away slowly, to the jeers of the Palinurus' crew and passengers, now very pleased with themselves. None of their own people had been killed, but two of the crew were badly wounded, and one of Bordon's farm labourers had been dealt a hard knock to the head with a pistol-butt. There were a number of other injuries, mostly sword cuts, that would need care. Locke ordered the ship's surgeon to see to them at once.
Bordon came over, anxious for Elizabeth's safety. Elizabeth was still volubly upset about her spoiled cap, but assured him that she herself was unhurt.
"Not for want of effort," sneered Tavington, as the dead rebels were rolled over the side, and sank beneath the waves. Some gulls overhead echoed his contempt with raucous cries.
He looked thoughtfully at the pistol in his hand. "That may have been the last time I fire a shot in anger," he told Bordon.
Elizabeth said, "I pray you are right." She took his hand, and they went below.
The women servants were at the foot of the ladder and they sobbed and embraced one another as Tavington assured them of their safety. The baby was screaming in the Bordons' cabin, and they could hear Polly comforting him.
Julia called out, "Who's there? Is that you, Lilabet?"
"Yes," laughed her sister, "the pirates are gone. One of them wounded my cap, but William shot him."
"Serves him right," growled Julia. "May I come out now?"
Tavington and Elizabeth looked at each other. Polly opened the door, smiling, and Julia ran out to embrace both of them. Bordon pushed past them to go to Polly and hold her and the baby.
"Julia, my dear," said Elizabeth, "you must not bother us for a little while. Why don't you and Keziah go out on deck and look at the land?"
"All right!" cried Julia, darting away to find Keziah.
"And don't fall overboard!" Elizabeth called after her.
They glanced at the oblivious Bordons, and quietly entered their own cabin.
His blood still up, and thinking over the last few minutes and what might have befallen, Tavington returned his pistols to the their case. Then he took Elizabeth by the shoulders, and gave her a quick, hard shake. "Never do that again!" he blazed at her, and suddenly pulled her close for a deep, searing kiss. He pressed her back on the narrow bed, and took her quickly, with her effulgent consent. She could not quite keep silent throughout, and in only a few minutes they were clutching at each other, gasping for breath in the stuffy little room.
"Never do that again," he repeated in a whisper, pressing a kiss into her disordered dark hair.
"I cannot promise such a thing," she whispered back. "Not when the punishment is so sweet."
They lay still, each holding the other close, listening to the other's heartbeat. Through the dusty, rippled panes of their cabin's window, they could see the Palinurus draw ever closer to its safe harbour at last.
***
Annapolis Royal, once the capital of the colony, was a pretty, bustling, little port town with a fort, some stores, a few decent looking houses, and comfortable accommodations for them all at Mr. Sinclair's Inn.
They were all exceedingly glad to disembark onto solid ground. Once their wives, children, and servants were situated at the inn, and their possessions unloaded and stored at a warehouse, Tavington and Bordon were free to ride out with some of the builders, and explore and survey their lands and likely house sites. The tender young leaves of spring made a pale green mist in the trees. Tavington was enchanted with everything, and he could see that Bordon felt the same.
There was a kind of road running parallel to the river from Annapolis Royal, through their properties, and on up the valley. It was possible to find traces of the old Acadian fields. Gradually, they were improving their maps and getting a better idea of the lay of the land.
"I don't think I appreciated what a lot of land two thousand acres really is," said Bordon with awe.
Tavington agreed. Their holdings were like little realms of their own. The soil seemed fertile, the river and tributary streams full of fish, the lands themselves rich with game and timber. It was wonderful, simply wonderful, and more than he had ever dreamed of.
Within a few days they had discovered several possible locations for the houses. Reporting back to Elizabeth and Julia, Tavington found them absolutely determined to ride out with him and give their opinions as to where their home should be built.
"My love," murmured Tavington, not wishing to quarrel about it, "in your condition it would hardly be safe---"
Elizabeth looked reproachful and insistent. "I promise," she said, a little testy, "not to hurt Candace. I know she will not hurt me."
Julia jaw was set. "Quicksilver needs a nice long ride. And so do I."
***
After consulting with Bordon, it seemed that Polly was also anxious to see their new properties. At a distance of over twenty miles, it was inadvisable to make the trip and the return in one day. Accordingly, a wagon was loaded with tents, cots, and supplies: it would also carry the servants who were coming along. Another wagon was covered and a featherbed laid inside for the ladies to rest upon if the ride became too tiring, and for Polly to have privacy while nursing the baby.
The little expedition set out on a sweet May morning. Elizabeth, Julia, and Polly were pleased by everything they saw, and seemed the better for the exercise and air. When the Bordons turned aside to explore some proposed house sites, Tavington rode on with Elizabeth and Julia to consider the location of their own new home.
They could only hope to see a few particularly pretty spots. An area of nearly eight square miles would take a long time for thorough acquaintance. Tavington took them to a favoured place on some rising ground, not far from the road. Prospect, foliage, and size were all approved. Elizabeth and Julia had never before seen birch trees and found them very beautiful. Tavington took them back further into the woods, along their own quick-flowing stream.
Elizabeth turned in the saddle, and looked past Tavington. "What is that white back there?"
"I don't know." Tavington looked himself. Past some pines there was indeed something white. As they rode closer, he saw it was an apple orchard in full bloom.
It was a very old orchard. Tavington could see it would need attention. He dismounted, and examined the trees more closely. Many of them were full of dead wood, and new seedlings and saplings were growing up haphazardly among them. The place would need pruning and thinning, but it was an orchard, and it was all theirs.
Julia slid off Quicksilver and stood under the branches. Soft white petals floated down, lightly sprinkling her hair. She gathered up a handful and breathed in the fragrance approvingly.
"This can't have grown by itself," Elizabeth observed. "Someone must have planted it." Tavington helped her down carefully, giving her belly a discreet caress. She smiled, and kissed him quickly. Julia did not deign to notice.
Then he saw it. "There," he said, pointing.
They walked over to the ruins. A little cabin had stood there. A chimney remained, and parts of two walls. Years ago, it had been burned down.
"Well," Elizabeth reflected, standing near what had once been the hearth. "We are not the first to lose our home."
"All they had to do was swear loyalty to the King," Tavington told her. They caught each other's eye and laughed at the irony. He added, "If they did not, the buildings were burned, and the inhabitants exiled. Some remained: there are still French around here; mostly Huguenots, who were not influenced against England by the priests."
Julia asked him, "Where did the people who lived here go?"
"I'm not sure, my dear. Many of the Acadians went south to Louisiana."
"I hope they are all right."
***
There was so much to do. The house sites were chosen, and construction begun on Bordon's home. Fields were laid out and cleared, and the plowmen set to work. They could at least sow kitchen gardens, and a few small fields this year. The old orchard was put in order: Bordon took some of the young trees that were cleared away; the rest Tavington transplanted near his house to make a second orchard that would be a fair sight someday from his library window.
In their desire to get their homes and barns completed, both Tavington and Bordon found themselves performing tasks that they never would have considered back in England. The exercise was satisfying, and there were no near neighbors to be shocked at their ungentlemanlike activities. By the middle of July, Bordon's house was complete and they all moved in. Bordon and Polly, at either end of the dining table, smiled secretively at one another. It appeared that there would be yet another Bordon in due course.
On the night of August 29th, Tavington and Elizabeth took a walk by the river and looked at the stars. Last year at Yorktown seemed a world away. Tavington's life had changed beyond recognition, and the changes had been decidedly for the better. Elizabeth smiled and pressed close to him, her hand on his arm, while she looked up at the summer constellations.
"Virgo," she said, pointing out the bright star Spica. "My sign."
"Not anymore," he smirked. She gave him a glance of mock reproof and leaned even closer.
***
The apples ripened in the old orchard, and proved very good indeed. Everyone went out to help pick them, and they had not enough barrels for them all. Tavington congratulated himself on his own forethought in having brought a cider press. They would experiment with various ways of making cider, and surely some of it would turn out well. He had heard that cider had been the drink of the Acadians, and now he understood why.
Elizabeth's condition made her even more beautiful in Tavington's eyes. He had never seen anything as charming as his enormously pregnant wife feeding apples to an equally gravid Candace. There's something that John Wilde should have lived to paint.
If Candace's foal proved to be a filly, he would train her up as a proper lady's horse for Julia. In a few years, she would outgrow the pony, and there would be a new rider for Quicksilver, anyway.
Zebedee and Miriah Hopkins came to call at the Bordons. They lived a short distance away, and had come from New England just before the war had broken out. They had never considered supporting the rebels, and were fairly smug about having avoided the "late unpleasantness." They brought with them a horde of grim-faced children, ranging from five months to fifteen. Julia failed to find them charming.
"Those Hopkins girls did not even wait to be introduced before they asked me if I were 'saved.'" Julia sniffed, and said to Tavington, "I told them you saved us from the rebels, and they thought I was 'turrible frivolous.' I should hope so."
The Hopkins' acquaintance proved useful, however, for Mr. Hopkins knew all there was to know about sugar maples, and was pleased to show off his knowledge to the newcomers. Tavington wrote down some of the details after the family left, and was eager to try refining maple sugar from his own trees when the time came.
News trickled up to them of the outside world. Tavington found he cared very little about any of it. The world of their own they were making seemed more absorbing than all the affairs of England, France, and the Colonies combined.
***
Their home was finished on the second of October. It took only a few days to move all their possessions into it. There was little indecision, as they all had had plenty of time to plan minutely the exact location of every stick of furniture, every picture on the wall, every book on the shelves, every piece of crockery in the kitchen. Julia's delight in her own room, with its elaborate furnishings and elegant rose velvet draperies, had them all nearly mad one moment, and helpless with laughter the next. She stood before the dainty dressing table, arranging her silver brush, comb, and mirror just so; dithering over the perfect placement of her scent bottles. She even tried to obtain Tavington's opinion on these matters, and he laughed and disclaimed any understanding of such feminine mysteries.
She stroked her velvet drapes, looking a little sad.
"I suppose once that baby comes, you won't have time to be my friend anymore."
Concerned that she would even think such a thing, he said, "Always, always, my dear Julia. I shall always be your friend and your brother. You were my first friend at Arcadia, after all." He sat carefully in her small, soft armchair, wanting to quash such imaginings at once. "I know you don't care much for babies, but this baby will be your very own niece or nephew. The child will look up to you, and you will have a great influence on its upbringing."
Rather consoled by the idea of being a figure of authority, Julia nodded. "I suppose our baby will be better than those Montgomerys. I just hope it doesn't drool as much. Now," she said, somewhat restored to her usual humour and returning to the subject she liked best in the world, "do you like the peacock feathers or the ostrich plumes in the vase?"
Tavington knew himself trapped, and rendered his opinion without a trace of levity.
***
The servants, too, were happy to be in their own place. Elizabeth had promised Chloe that she would always have a room of her own; and the maid, along with their other servants, was given sufficient time to arrange her own chamber as she liked.
Tavington had somehow always imagined that Strephon and Chloe would become attached to each other, but his reading of the human heart was completely out in this case. It was Dandy and Strephon who seemed on the way to becoming a fond couple.
"I rather thought he fancied Chloe," mused Tavington, one night as he got into bed. Elizabeth looked tired, now at the weary end of her confinement, and he helped arrange some pillows around her for her comfort.
"She did not fancy him," Elizabeth told him briskly. "She does not fancy anybody. She said when she first came to me that the chief charm of liberty was the freedom to say 'no' to men. I did not enquire further into what is evidently a painful history. I promised her then that she would have a room of her own as soon as I had a house of my own. She is certainly worth it."
***
Elizabeth was obsessively arranging the nursery, and spent so much time there that Tavington was a little surprised to note one day that she had instead spent an entire morning writing letters at her little desk in the parlour.
"I take it you are writing to Amelia, " he remarked. "Have you any idea how to direct it to her?"
"I am sending it under cover to Judge Henderson. He is often away on his travels, but he does have a home, and the letter should eventually make its way to him. He is the one most likely to know how to locate David and Amelia." She rested her head in her hand, and seemed deep in thought. "I told them how to direct a letter to us, and how to find us if Kentucky proved not to their liking. I said that they would be most welcome to join us. I did not know what else to say." She caught the kind and amused look in his eye, and smiled back. "Except, of course, that they are soon to be uncle and aunt of a most remarkable child; and that the Annapolis Valley is a little paradise, and that we are blissfully happy."
He leaned over for a kiss. "All perfectly true. You are a most veracious correspondent."
She kissed him back, and then said gravely, "But Amelia is not the sole object of my efforts. I wrote first to Cousin Charlotte, so she would know where we are and that we are well. And then----then I wrote to my Uncle Ned."
"I thought that relationship was closed."
"So everyone in the family has told me, but I do not know why. What I principally know about Uncle Ned is that he is our closest living relative. He cannot possibly know what has happened to us, so I spent some time giving the history of our family and of the war: about the loss of my father and Richard, and Cousin James and Cousin Frank; about my mother—his sister's –death; about the final days of Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva. I told him about the loss of Arcadia, and about you." Here she gently laid her hand over Tavington's. "I told him of our marriage and that you and I and Julia were here and happy in Nova Scotia. Even if he cares nothing for us—even if he hates us all—he still has a right to know what has become of us. It was in some ways a sad letter to write, for the toll of disasters seems high when summarised on a few sheets of paper. Still, I think it did me good to chronicle the past few years—so much so that I made a copy for myself."
"It will be a useful reference if you ever write your memoirs—The Adventures of Femina Carolinae."
"Do not tease me. It is you who should consider writing your memoirs. Captain Bordon agrees with me."
Julia came into the parlour and overheard the last exchange.
"Are you writing your memoirs? What a wonderful idea! Make them good and bloody!"
Tavington gave a wry laugh. "That shouldn't be difficult." He shook his head. "Soldiers who write their memoirs are either defending past mistakes or trying to give themselves undue importance. I feel no need to defend myself and I know just how much I contributed to the war."
"Then you should tell everybody the truth," declared Julia. "People always find that unusual and refreshing. And don't write it like so many of the histories—all dry, with only battles and no women at all. You should put in the battles, of course, because I suppose that's the point, but you should tell about other adventures too, like saving us. In fact, you should put lots of women in it because people like to read about them, and then it won't just be old jealous soldiers reading it."
"My darling girl, I wouldn't know where to begin."
Julia bounced excitedly on the sofa. "You should begin at the beginning. You should tell about your mother's horrid family and how they mistreated you. Wouldn't they just die of shame? And serve them right! You should tell about your dreadful school and about being a young officer. I'd like to know more about that. You can get back at everyone who has ever been mean to you! You can tell about being wounded and how much it hurt. And then you can tell everyone how you would have won the war if it hadn't been for Sir Henry Clinton and the Royal Navy---and the weather, of course."
Elizabeth laughed, "She really is right, you know. Please consider it as a future project."
"I promise to think about it. Right now, I am too happy with my family to need other employment."
***
Tavington loved waking in his own house. Every day he opened his eyes and saw his own bedchamber. The room was his, and the bed, and the splendid green brocade bed curtains. Peculiarly and privately his own was the pretty pregnant wife curled on her side next to him. He would get up and look out the window, and everything he could see was his. Of course, everything also belonged to Elizabeth, including himself, but that was a very agreeable thought.
This morning he would take Aeolus out for a gallop in the autumn air. Their first little harvest was already gathered and stored, and he had the leisure to please himself. October 19th was not an auspicious anniversary, and he felt the need to do something to avoid thinking of this date last year, and the unhappy recollections of the surrender. He might ride all the way to Annapolis Royal to undertake some errands. The trees were ablaze with all the colours of the fall.
"So beautiful," murmured Elizabeth, sitting up in bed. She was looking past him, out the window at the trees. "Autumn in South Carolina was never so vivid."
Tavington sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. "Sometimes I wonder what your father would have made of it."
Elizabeth looked curiously at him. "You were thinking of my father? How odd. I dreamt of him last night, wandering about our birches with his sketch book." She shifted her position, obviously uncomfortable. "I have mixed feeling about my father, but I do miss him. I wish he were here, with my mother and my lost sisters and brothers. I miss my cousins, and I even sometimes miss my aunt, with her keen observations. If they had not died, they might all have been here with us."
"They are here with us, and they always will be."
She put her hand on his arm. "My dearest, I do not wish to alarm you, but we might need more company than memories today. Mrs. Bordon promised to be with me when the time came---and I think the time has certainly come."
After that, the house was turned upside down. Tavington raced Aeolus over to the Bordons' to fetch Polly. She came, prettily flushed with pleasure and excitement. Bordon came along, to bear him company and hammer him unmercifully at chess. With most of the womenfolk attending Elizabeth, the two men were left to the cooking and attendance of Strephon and Keziah. Julia sat glumly in the library with her brother and his friend, banished from her sister's room, and she politely refused Bordon's offer of a game.
"They think I don't know what's going on, but I do. And I think," she said very pointedly, looking up toward Heaven, "that women's affairs have been very poorly arranged."
***
It was well past eight o'clock in the evening when they called him in to see his wife and son.
Elizabeth was pale and fragile, but glowing with the happiness of new motherhood. She held a squirming, pink creature out to Tavington. Obliged from courtesy to take it, he stared at little William Fitzroy Tavington. Such an ugly thing, thought Tavington. How shall I ever love him? Then the baby gave Tavington a crooked little smile; and he loved him.
Elizabeth was irrationally apologetic. "I am very sorry, my dearest, that little William should be born on this day, but indeed I could not help it."
Tavington smiled tenderly at her, "My love, I am delighted at the day. It replaces an unfortunate memory with a most joyful one. There is no better way to put the past behind us, and indeed to make us forget it altogether."
She smiled tiredly back, "It no longer grieves you, then, that we lost the war?"
"No." said Tavington, kissing his son. "No. The King lost the war. We won."
---
Author's notes: This chapter is for Lesley, who wanted pirates.
Letters of marque were contracts between ship owners and governments, granting the right to raid enemy shipping for a share of the take. As the British government did not regard the Continental Congress as a legitimate government, privateers taken in arms were generally treated as pirates. Nonetheless, American privateers effectively disrupted British shipping throughout the Revolution. Rather than blasting their prey out of the water (which would have been counter-productive), they relied on bluff and subterfuge (as I show above).
The Sinclair Inn, dating from 1781, is still to be seen in Annapolis Royal.
There is but one chapter left—the epilogue!