Chapter 18: Reunion in Camden

One day was wretchedly like another: the pain, the filth, the stench, the shattering boredom. Tavington lay on the soiled straw of the field hospital trying to keep his mind active and healthy, as he marked time by light and darkness, by the disgusting slops the surgeon's assistants spooned into him, by the changes of his foul bandages, by the surgeons coming to bleed him. He was a mass of sores from the lancets. Some of the wounds had become red and angry. Recently he had imagined getting hold of a pistol and shooting the next man who came to cut him. A pleasant pipe dream. No one was going to save him from this hell. He must endure, and save himself.

Cornwallis, he knew, was angry with him—but there was nothing new in that. He might blame him for the defeat, but it was Cornwallis who had pushed the troops too fast and too far; Cornwallis who had committed them to battle without scouting first. If Tavington could but survive, and return home, he felt he could more than defend himself. In fact, he could wreak his revenge on Cornwallis for his soft-headed, soft-hearted, weak-willed pursuit of the war.

An iron fist is all these rebels understand.

He recalled, with furious loathing, his duel with Benjamin Martin. How unfortunate, what damned bad luck, to meet the swine when he himself was exhausted and wounded. If he ever had the chance to face his nemesis again, he would be prepared—in peak condition, and armed to the teeth. He must live, if only to spite Cornwallis and to seek revenge on the rebel bastard who had savaged him.

Despair welled up. He drifted in and out of consciousness; sometimes feverish and confused, sometimes chilled and desolate; sometimes in a drugged haze of laudanum. Always, always, there was the pain. Now and then, he thought Moll Royston or Nan Haskins had come to feed and clean him, but they could not heal his wounds, and they could not take him from the hospital. He was so alone: forgotten in this hellish place. Rawdon had visited him once or twice: a few others, like Nettles of the 17th had looked in, but their brief visits only punctuated the endless stretches of nothingness. Life was moving on without him. Another man was leading his dragoons, and Tavington was trapped in this field hospital in the middle of nowhere.

It was cold. Tavington shivered under the rough horseman's blanket. He slept as much as possible: to conserve his strength, and to make the time pass somehow. It was hard to keep track of the days. He had heard it was February, but was not sure of the day. He lay one afternoon in passive wretchedness, when he heard raised voices outside.

"Madam! You must wait, and we shall take you to the Colonel. He is extremely weak, and such a surprise might injure him."

"What utter nonsense," remarked a familiar, acerbic, female voice. "I wish to see my husband at once. I hardly think he will expire with happiness at the sight of me."

Tavington began to smile, and a faint thrill of hope quickened his blood. She's here. I cannot believe it.

But it was undeniably Jane. Jane in a dark traveling cloak, with her loyal retainers in her train: Biddy, dignified and compassionate, looking about with grim disapproval; and her pretty daughter Letty, arms full of bundles. Jane had seen him, and was coming his way, a shocked expression on her face.

He looks like a ghost! she thought, appalled. William Tavington, the handsome rake of Charlestown, was as thin and white as a sheet of paper. Paper-like, too, was the translucent skin pulled too tightly over the too-prominent bones. He was awake and his pale, arresting eyes were fixed on her. He was happy to see her.

And so he should be! Jane took in the terrible place at a glance. Her husband was lying in straw not fit for horses. The entire place reeked of urine and voided bowels. The men were filthy and riddled with sores. William was heavily bandaged: obviously naked under what looked like a horse blanket. She walked quickly among the cots, ignoring the surgeon's protests behind her.

"He must stay here, Mrs. Tavington! He is far too ill to be moved. He must be here for regular bleedings, or he will surely die!" Jane paused to look at the surgeon, his work apron covered with indescribable foulness. She pressed her lips together, and turned away. As she walked toward him, Tavington heard her angry muttering.

"He can at least die more comfortably than the Army would permit! I hardly see that anything I could do would be worse than this!"

Tavington was already smiling slightly as his wife reached his bedside.

"Good day to you, Madam," he whispered. "I hope your journey has been agreeable." Abruptly, his eyes closed and he was asleep once more.

It was impossible to sleep soundly. Jane was not angry with him, it seemed, for a pleasant change. She was speaking sharply to the surgeon. She sent a servant out to look for something. Biddy and Letty were bustling around him. He liked the idea of being attended to, but was ready for another nap. He fell asleep, lulled by Jane's pointed questions and inflexible demands

The next time he awakened, he was on a stretcher, and being carried from the hospital. The fresh, clean air was a shock, but a good one. He was lifted high, into an enormous carriage, and laid on a bed of down inside. Women's petticoats rustled around him, and the coach began to move. He fell asleep again, as if rocked in a cradle.

-----

"Moll, she's gone and taken him away!"

The Green Dragoons' head laundress looked at pretty young Nan Haskins with considerable compassion. "Well, she's his wife, ain't she? I reckon she's the one who ought to be taking care of him. Good for her, I say."

Nan shook her head miserably. "I may never see him again."

"Don't twist good linen like that. You sit and let me do it. Here." Moll Royston gave the girl a heavy mug of what was purported to be tea: hot water colored with tea leaves steeped for the third time. At least it was warming and would help calm the younger woman down. Moll waited until Nan was drinking, and then said brusquely, "It's time you moved on, honey. It's no good dangling after the Colonel: he's a married man. Even if he weren't sore wounded and well-nigh dead--even if he weren't a gentleman, he wouldn't be for you—not legal, anyways. I'd find myself another regiment and another sweetheart."

"You haven't moved on," Nan replied, too unhappy to be polite.

"I ain't done mourning for Royston, that's a fact. I'm not sweet on the Colonel, nor expecting things I can't get. You're a pretty girl, Nan, and you're young. You can still find yourself a good man who'll do right by you. You get out there and find him."

"I could still do the Colonel's laundry. I expect that fine lady won't know the first thing about life in the army, her and her servants and her fancy carriage! Probably never had to wash so much as a handkerchief in her life."

"And why would she, if she is a fine lady? Wouldn't be fitting. You stay away from the Colonel, Nan. I'm telling you true. You'll just make misery for yourself. I reckon Mrs. Tavington will need help. If anybody sees to the Colonel's linen, it'll be me!" She took the girl by the chin and looked gravely into the clear grey eyes. "You know I'm right."

"I know." Nan gave a resigned nod. She would not leave the safety of the fort, of course. Cornwallis had left all the women behind, when he headed north. But Moll was right: there was the garrison here, and a whole fort full of convalescent men. Tavington might well die, anyway. There was a sergeant in the Volunteers of Ireland who had sought her out, and spoken kindly to her. Nan gave Moll another nod, and turned away, pulling her cloak around her against the wind.

-----

"Not bad, Miss Jane," Letty said, admiring the room. "Not bad at all."

Jane had a rag in her hand, and was clearing dust from the split-log mantel. "The owners had fled, and with the departure of Lord Cornwallis and his army, there was just the garrison, and so not such a demand for billets. Lord Rawdon was very kind." She paused, and looked at the little room with a firm nod of satisfaction. "It will do, Letty. It will do very well."

She glanced over at Tavington, asleep in the big bed that had been brought down from the larger of the two upstairs rooms and placed in the tiny parlor. It was a little backcountry house, and better than many, with wooden siding covering the original log walls. It had four rooms, two below and two above: in addition to the parlor, there was a big kitchen that would do for the servants' dining and sitting as well as cooking. A narrow bed was found for Jane, so she could sleep in Tavington's room without disturbing his rest. A small table and a pair of plain wooden chairs, a washstand, a candlestand, and a rocking chair were the only other furnishings. Jane's little spinet was pushed tidily into a corner, and Jane promised herself that she would take the time to tune it when Tavington was not so ill. Biddy and Letty would share one of the upstairs rooms, and Silas and Seth the other. It was no Cedar Hill, but they could survive. Jane had never been in such a small house in her life, but compared to the rough taverns and inns or sleeping in the coach, it was luxury indeed. The stable was of logs, and not in good repair, but it would provide shelter for the horses. The coach would have to bear the weather, for there was no room to put it under cover.

The parlor was the best room in the house: the only one with plastered walls. They had moved out the wooden settle and most of the chairs, placing them around the kitchen hearth. Letty made up the beds and swept the floors. Biddy was already at work in the kitchen, cooking down a shockingly expensive chicken for broth for Tavington, and supper for everyone else. It was a miracle that any chicken within twenty miles had survived the residence of an army. Alas, the chicken itself was a tough old rooster, and even after hours of stewing, was not likely to be a toothsome meal.

But the broth would be better than the viscous, mysterious substance that was being fed to the patients at the hospital. No—the staff there meant well, for the most part, but were too understaffed and too low on resources to give the men the kind of care they needed. At least there would be one less for them to worry about.

And if he must die, at least he can die in relative comfort. Jane sighed. She had spent so many months nursing her grievances, and thinking only of her own hopes and plans, that it quite took the wind out of her sails to find Tavington so frail and diminished.

No doubt he'll be angry that I left Papa's house. If we're to quarrel, he'll need to build up his strength first.

A rap at the front door, made her look up from her contemplation of her husband. Letty went to see who it might be, and the raucous female voice had Jane rushing into the little hallway to moderate the disturbance.

A tall, red-haired woman loomed in the doorway, peering eagerly around Letty. She balanced a huge basket of washing on one shelf-like hip. Over her shoulder was slung a battered musket.

"Mrs. Tavington? The Colonel's wife?"

Jane came forward, wondering what this strange woman wanted.

"I am Mrs. Tavington. How may I---"

"Don't let me trouble you, ma'am. I reckon you got enough to do. Just came by for any washing you need done."

"Oh! You're the laundress---"

"Moll Royston's the name. Just plain Moll. The Colonel's a fine man." Briefly, the plump, florid cheeks assumed an unwonted gravity. "—A fine man. Always did right by me and mine, the Colonel. Only right I come to pay my duty to you, ma'am. This your sister? You favor each other a little around the jaw."

Letty's eyes were enormous.

"Ah—" choked out Jane, embarrassed and nonplussed. "Letty is my maid. And I do believe we have some linen for you. Ah--do you always carry a musket with you?"

Moll grinned and jerked her head at her weapon. "Wouldn't be without it. This house ain't in the inner works, ma'am. The world's full of varmints, and the menfolk ain't always there to protect the womenfolk."

Jane thought over her journey, and puzzled over the term 'inner works.' Army jargon, of some sort. "No, indeed. That is very--sensible of you."

The huge woman remained at the door, chatty and unabashed, while Letty was sent to round up all the household's soiled linen. Seth, when applied to, ran upstairs to put on his one spare shirt and put the garment that he had worn all the way from Charlestown into the welcome wash.

Desperate to quiet the boisterous laundress down, Jane fell to speaking in a repressive whisper. It took a full minute, but soon Moll was whispering in her turn, and took up her huge basket of washing again with no visible effort.

"You need anything, ma'am, you just holler."

"Thank you," Jane replied, still astonished, watching the Amazon amble away.

Letty was watching her too. "That's the biggest woman I've ever seen. She's bigger than most of the soldiers in camp."

Jane began to smile. "She'd do for a soldier. Too bad we didn't have her with us when Cunningham's men stopped us. She could have taken them on single-handed."

In the kitchen, they found Biddy at work at the freshly scrubbed table, making poultices for the Colonel's wounds. Various pots simmered or boiled at the hearth, in addition to the chicken. A chipped basin and pitcher stood nearby.

Biddy looked up. "Letty, honey," she told her daughter. "Go to the medicine box and get out some bandages. First thing we do, we're going to wash the Colonel and change all his dressings. Them things on him are dirty as a pig wallow. I got some nice poultices made up new, the way my Mama taught me."

Jane was nervous about such an undertaking, and glad to do as she was told. With jug and basin, with medicines and poultices, the women entered the tidy little parlor like a procession of priestesses. A good fire was made up on the hearth, and towels were placed to keep the bed dry. Bit by bit, they washed her husband's injured body.

"Just one part at a time," Biddy told her, "and then dry and cover him up. You don't want him catching no chill." Jane agreed. He groaned and muttered as the warm water touched his flesh, but only once half-opened his eyes.

Jane had seen him naked on more than one occasion, but had never looked at him in such a focused way. An arm, exposed, examined, washed, dried, and carefully covered. His legs, long and strong.

"Needs his nails trimmed," Biddy observed, "we'll do that soon."

His most intimate parts were uncovered, and Biddy nodded at her to busy herself with washing. Jane blushed and looked away as she wiped at him quickly.

"Don't be that way, honey. You wash him proper. That's not going to do no good. " She showed Jane how to do it, explaining each step. "You need to know this honey, in case you have a little boy. You don't want him dirty and sore 'cause you want to be a lady."

"No, of course not," Jane agreed, thinking how glad she was that Biddy would be in charge of such things. On the other hand, it was a useful thing to know for her husband's sake.

The water in the basin was growing grey. Biddy sent Letty to empty the basin out back and fetch more hot water.

The next step was to deal with his injuries. Jane felt quite sick at the sight of her husband's torn flesh. Letty glanced at her in concern, but Biddy remained calm. "Of course you feel bad for him, honey, but that don't do him no good. You got to take care of him, even if it's hard."

The shoulder wound was very bad indeed. Biddy clicked her tongue at the sight, and slowly removed the filthy poultice. "Get rid of this," she murmured to Letty.

Taking her time, she looked at the wound and prodded it very gently. "Some proud flesh here, but not as bad as it might be," she told Jane. She tended to this part of the washing herself, and then bound the wound afresh. Jane puzzled over the odd things in the poultice: moss and green mold and spider webs and all manner of strangeness, but Biddy seemed confident it would do him good.

"Don't you let those doctors draw any more blood, honey," Biddy urged her. "He's just about as pale as milk now. He don't need to lose no more blood. Look here how they got him all tore up."

"But the surgeons—"

"Honey—men die from losing too much blood. I don't set no store by bleeding." Biddy went on, carefully removing the filthy dressings, and replacing them with clean ones. She worked quickly, trying to keep her patient warm. Jane nearly fainted at the sight of the hole in his side. It took over an hour, but Tavington was considerably cleaner by the end of it. Jane touched his still face, the fine-cut jaw dark with stubble.

Biddy smiled at that. "Next you'll need to learn to shave him, honey. Men like that."

"I--Handle a razor? More likely he'd want Seth."

Biddy just smiled the more. "Now why would he want Seth when he can have you? You'll see."

Tavington opened his eyes to the wavering light of a candle by his bed. It took a moment to realize that he was in a proper bed, and not laid on straw. It was strange, and deliciously comfortable. He looked across the room and saw Jane, sitting in a rocking chair. She looked very amiable, not frowning as she so often did.

He watched her for awhile. She was sewing some small white things. Some female folderol. No, perhaps that was something for the child. His child. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Ah! Now she was frowning again, concentrating on her tiny stitches.

Biddy glided into the room and saw that Tavington was awake. She gave him a quiet nod, and murmured to Jane. "The broth is ready, honey. Will you feed him, or should I?"

Tavington waited, feeling a little flutter of hope.

Jane said, "I'll do it. What about our supper?"

"I thought that old devil weren't never going to give up, but I took a good, sharp knife to him, and he done give up at last."

Tavington was rather alarmed by this exchange, but reasoned that he could by no means be described as an "old devil."

All became clear, when Biddy left and returned with a tray bearing a bowl of steaming broth. It smelled rather nice, he thought. Letty entered, too, and he was presently surrounded by a trio of females, gently propping him up, and hovering as Jane sat to spoon broth into him. Had he not been so weak, he would have laughed at the sight of the three women over the steaming bowl, watching him intently. They reminded him of the three witches in Macbeth, but they might not appreciate being told such a thing.

But he was very weak, and glad of something better than the hospital slops. Jane, rather shyly, sat on the edge of the bed, spoon in hand. Letty held a napkin to keep him clean, and Biddy stood by, sternly watchful. After all, he decided, it's not really that amusing. It's actually rather—disturbing. He set such thoughts aside wearily, and tried not to take notice of the three pairs of female eyes watching every spoonful fed to him. It was a little embarrassing, too. Opening his mouth for the spoon made him feel—"like a baby bird," he whispered.

"You hush now, Colonel," Biddy reproved him. "You just take every drop of that broth, and then go back to sleep."

But then, the broth finished, and the women's eyes no longer fastened to the movements of the spoon, Tavington pronounced his need to relieve himself. Biddy was prepared for that too, producing a ridiculously elaborate pot de chambre she had brought from Jane's room in Charlestown, and organizing her assistants to attend him. Tavington demurred at some of the arrangements.

"Surely it is not necessary for Letty—"

Biddy sniffed, and told Letty to serve up Miss Jane's supper here, and then call in Silas and Seth to the kitchen for theirs. That still left his newly acquired nursemaid and his young wife to help him. It was significantly different from the care in the hospital, and Tavington managed a little amused smile for his wife, as she touched and tended him so conscientiously.

At last he consented to lie back, unable to suppress a faint groan, and Jane gave him some laudanum drops. "Don't leave," he whispered, as he began drifting into a drugged haze.

"No, indeed," she promised, sitting down to a crockery dish of boiled chicken with cornmeal dumplings. "I shall have my supper and sit with you. I'm not going anywhere."

Somewhat troubled, a flicker of memory made him frown. "I told you to stay in Charlestown until I came for you."

Biddy smiled as she left the room and shut the door. Jane looked up from her dinner, quite composed. "So you did. And I said that if you didn't come for me, I would hunt you down. And so I did. And here I am."

Not quite rational, he shut his eyes, and murmured. "Good."

-----

In the comfortable warmth of the kitchen, Biddy told her that they still might lose him. "Those wounds could turn bad, honey—and he's got a lot of them. All we can do is keep him clean and warm and fed."

An army surgeon, Mr. Smith, came by every day to look at those various wounds. Jane steeled herself to stand there, watching, while the man probed for pus and foreign matter. William would clench his teeth and moan. It was all Jane could do to keep from flying at the well-meaning Smith and boxing his ears. The man sniffed at Biddy's dressings, but let her have her way. And after every visit, Biddy insisted on washing the wounds again with wine, and redressing them.

"Don't hold with doctors," she scoffed. "They do more harm than good, with all their bleedings and their fancy talk." Biting her lip, she told Jane, "If I hadn't been just out of childbed myself, I could have tended your poor Mama when you were born, 'stead of some doctor killing her. Doctors are no good."

Jane, trusting in Biddy's wisdom, tended to think so too, though some of them had sensible ideas about keeping the camp clean. She had always found army talk terribly boring, but now she was in an army camp herself, and it all had new meaning for her. She tried hard to understand about the various regiments, and their officers. Men could get very touchy if one mistook their rank. If she was to be an army wife, she must do a proper job of it.

She had a new helper and ally. The day after her arrival, there was a knock at the door, and a pale and worn-looking Captain Bordon was shown in to pay a call. Jane had liked him in Charlestown, though she knew he was her husband's friend rather than her own. Nonetheless, he was a tactful man, and knew how to conduct himself in a sick room. Jane was glad of such a visitor, and they conversed quietly.

Jane could not help but notice that he was unwell. "You were also wounded in the battle, sir?"

He shook his head. "Alas, I was wounded in a skirmish some days before and missed the Cowpens altogether. We were attacked by a band of rebel militia, and I was stabbed. Nearly the end of me, but the Colonel--" he gestured at the sleeping Tavington "--fought off the last of the devils, even though he had been shot himself, and rode for help. I undoubtedly owe him my life." He turned a grave gaze on Jane. "He is a very brave man, and a brilliant fighter. You, as a woman, cannot know what a fine soldier he is. I can only ask that you take my word for it."

"Oh, I don't doubt you in the least. I know I'm terribly ignorant of military matters. Perhaps you can help me understand more about them. Sometimes Colonel Tavington wakes, and is full of questions about the situation, and I hardly know what to say."

Bordon smiled. "An excellent notion." Letty appeared, with a steaming pot and cups. Bordon raised a pleased brow. "Is that real tea?"

"And sugar, if you like."

The captain enjoyed his two cups, and stayed to talk quietly for some time, glad of something to do. His wound had been too severe to recover in time to leave with Cornwallis and the army heading north, and he found himself somewhat at loose ends. "When I'm a bit better, I'll apply to Lord Rawdon for some sort of staff work. I confess I'm somewhat concerned about my professional future. Perhaps I should have listened to my parents and taken orders."

"You were to be a clergyman?"

"Yes, but I preferred a life of adventure. I've certainly had my share."

"I wish you were a clergyman. Then you could have married us instead of that dreadful Mr. Blethers!"

Tavington opened his eyes at the sound of Bordon's muffled laugh. "Bordon," he whispered, recognizing his friend. A faint smile brightened the pale face.

Bordon pulled his chair closer to the bed, and spoke softly to the wounded man. "Colonel, how do you do? I am very happy to find you awake and in such good hands."

"Yes," Tavington managed, after a little cough. "Mrs. Tavington is looking after me now. So agreeable." He licked dry lips. "Is that tea?"

Jane smiled, and fixed a cup with plenty of sugar, as Biddy had advised. Once it cooled a little, she found Bordon quite amenable to helping her raise Tavington enough to sip from it. To her surprise, he eagerly drank it all down, and seemed the better for it. He was settled back on his pillows, and gave them a stronger smile.

Bordon told him, "I had heard of Mrs. Tavington's arrival, and came to pay my duty to her." He turned to Jane, and asked, "Is your father not in at the moment?"

"My father?" Jane was puzzled. "My father is in Charlestown."

Quite appalled, Bordon controlled his face with an effort. "He did not accompany you?"

"No," she replied. "But he did copy out a good map of the road before I left. It was most helpful."

"Indeed." Bordon maintained his calm, deeply shocked that a father would allow his young daughter to travel alone and unprotected through a countryside at war. He thought of his own little girl, and found the whole thing incomprehensible. "I hope your journey was---" he coughed to cover his confusion "—safe and comfortable."

"Not too bad, really, except at the end. My servants are so very steady and faithful, and gave me such good advice about supplying myself. I should not have thought of the tea, but for my maid Biddy."

Tavington had not really been clear-headed enough to think before about what the journey must have been like for Jane. He fastened on what was unsaid. "And what happened to distress you at the end?"

"Oh—" she said, not wanting to make much of it. "We were stopped by Captain Cunningham and his militia. There was some misunderstanding. However, Mr. Nettles and his dragoons were there, and dealt with it. Then Mr. Nettles escorted us to Camden, and all was well."

Bordon smiled, with an uneasy look at his Colonel. "Excellent."

"As you say," Tavington murmured, feeling sleepy again. When he was better, he would have to have the whole story, so he could know if Bloody Bill deserved to be added to the list of men he needed to kill.

-----

He slept on and off through the following days and nights, reveling in the comfort of the feather bed, hoping he did not soil it too badly. Soft, female voices, slow and thick with the accent of Carolina, were equally comforting. Sometimes everything seemed dreamlike, and at others of unnatural clarity. Bordon had visited, he remembered, as he had often at the hospital, but he seemed to recall him here. There were other male voices, heard from another room—equally soft Carolina voices. More servants, perhaps?

Once he heard Lord Rawdon's rather nasal tones, as if from a great distance, speaking to his wife. Had Rawdon come to call? Tavington tried to attend to the conversation, but the threads of it eluded him.

The laudanum had dulled his pain, but not extinguished it. It remained, crouching in wait, straining at the leash, ready to spring out and tear at him if the drug weakened. When those times came, he could not keep quite still, and once he called out for Lucy to fetch Mamma, until he remembered that he was not at home in England.

The women of the household surrounded him periodically, like his personal hareem, or perhaps like the ladies at King Arthur's deathbed. If he were to die, how surprising to see only gentle, kind faces. Jane, his wife, would sit and spoon invalid food into him: now broth, now sweet rice cooked soft, now some corn mush. It was so clean. He was so clean. He had never quite appreciated being clean as he should. He woke again to hear Biddy talking about shaving him. That would be wonderful.

Biddy smiled when his eyes opened, and he was still and quiet while the good woman showed his wife how it was done. Jane was frightened of the razor, but willing to learn. Slowly and carefully, between them the two women succeeded in getting him shaved, while the pretty Letty kept them supplied with soap and hot water. The light sweep of the razor, the drip of the water, another sweep, a delicate rasp up under his chin, under his nose. He was toweled dry in soft pats by Jane's little hands. She leaned over him, looking very serious. He caught the whiff of lavender and lemon.

"How nice you smell."

Drowsiness washed over him, and eyes half-shut, his lashes refracted the dim sphere of candlelight into little rainbows. The shimmers of green and red and yellow faded to grey, and his eyes closed.

-----

Notes: Here I must give a belated acknowledgement to pigeonsfromhell, whose plot bunny I appropriated. In her original sketch, this would have been pretty much the end of the story, but as the following chapter indicates, I couldn't stop here!

Thank you again to all my reviewers. I have, I swear, been replying to every signed review. Unfortunately, fanfiction dot net seems to be misbehaving again. I really do look forward to hearing from my readers!

Next—Chapter 19: Little House in the Backcountry