This is a llooonnnngggg chapter, and I do apologize for the length but just couldn't divide it. thanks ahead of time for staying with it!

Chapter 1: An Ideal Life

Charles Towne late May 1776…

Young Betsy Burwell arose still tired from her late evening before. She sat up in her bed for a moment, stretching and yawning. Then she stayed still for a minute trying to shake the sleep from her eyes and head. After a time, when she was fully awake, the girl looked over to the open window and was amazed that, at this early hour, just how noisy the streets of Charles Towne were.

Miss Burwell was used to the peace of their family's country plantation, in the Piedmont near the border of North Carolina. It was quiet, with much room to roam. The family which consisted of her mother, Katy, father Harry, and her brother, 17 year old brother Steven, were in the city at their mansion there. The South Carolina Assembly was meeting and her father was to address them and assess their feelings about possible independence from England.

As she got out of bed, Betsy sighed as she remembered that the family's time together would end in a couple of days when her officer father would have to leave them to move on to duty in some other South Carolina town. She had enjoyed their two week reunion, and delighted in seeing her mother happy and seemingly worry free again in the presence of Colonel Burwell, happy to give up temporarily running a family and plantation for the war absent officer.

Her mother, Katy, was heavily pregnant at seven months. The woman, though she would miss Harry, was tired and weary carrying this child and would be glad to get the journey back to the plantation over with soon. Then she could rest somewhat and have the baby in the peace and quiet of the country, though her husband may not be there.

Betsy knew that her parents were thrilled to be having another child. And though the girl never doubted her mother and father's love for one another, she saw a renewed spark of romance between them with this pregnancy as the family reunited in Charles Towne.

The couple had pulled strongly together in hopes that they would have a healthy child this time. Katy had had several miscarriages, and had also mourned the deaths of Betsy's younger brothers in the last five years. At age 38, after 20 years of marriage to Harry, living through the death of two sons, the failed pregnancies, frequent absence of her beloved husband, Katy knew that this was probably her last chance at having another child. She had hoped to give the colonel another son.

The young girl walked across the room to the door and opened it. She looked out into the hallway and called, "Pansy! I'm ready to get dressed!" Then she waited a moment and heard no reply.

"Mother! I need help with my dress!"

No reply from her mama as well. Betsy closed the door and shook her head. They're probably busy with some vendors on the doorstep or out in the kitchen building, she thought.

Miss Burwell went back to the dresser, where she shed her night dress and threw it over a nearby chair. She poured some clean water into the fine porcelain bowl and dipped a linen into it. The girl closed her eyes, sighed, and smiled as she ran the cloth over her body, the cool water refreshing on this already hot Charles Towne morning. After washing up, she then stepped over to the full length mirror to brush her hair. Betsy reached for the brush then stopped as she looked at her image in the glass.

The thirteen year old girl, nigh fourteen in two more months, looked intently at her naked body. She was amazed at how her figure, still somewhat straight like a board, lithe and a bit boyish, now possessed new assets that she did not have before. Seemingly overnight, her once flat chest now had small rounded breasts. They reminded her of little green apples, as she judged the size, with light pink nipples, so fair in color was the pink that she thought it must be the shade of a fairy's wings.

Her eyes traveled lower to her belly button, then below, to where a small patch of dark hair had appeared right over her womanly folds. She didn't like how the hair there looked and hoped that more would not grow.

She brought her eyes back up to her chest, all in all pleased that she was starting to look more like a woman. She grinned despite herself, amazed that these new small curves fit into a stay, and chuckled that a tightly laced corset made them look even bigger. She had learned that boys and men liked to look at that area of a woman. As for the stay itself, she was still getting used to wearing one when she went out in public or for formal gatherings.

Betsy picked up the brush and ran it through her sandy brown hair. When she finished, she raked her fingers through the soft tresses. She concentrated for a moment on carefully twisting her locks into a loose chignon, which she quickly pinned to the back of her head. This was just another thing to get used to as a young woman: wearing her hair up in public. As a proper society lady, she would no longer be able to get away with wearing her hair down and long as little girls were allowed to.

Young Betsy Burwell had other strange stirrings within her young body and mind. Indeed the girl had romantic inclinations that seemed to move her heart and mind, as well as leaving her body breathless, flushed and tingly. She now seemed to notice handsome men and boys, and had imaginings of a traditional courtship with them. The girl recollected how only two days ago over tea, her mother had talked privately with her about betrothal and eventual marriage.

Katy had confessed to her daughter of Harry's desire to have the girl betrothed and married to some tidewater gent from a wealthy family with good upbringing and society connections. Her mother told her that the match would be someone of her father's choosing, and he would have the final say on anything regarding a marriage. When Betsy asked who her papa was thinking of, her mama imparted that he had a couple of young men in mind, but she knew not who.

Mrs. Burwell informed her that she may or may not love the man. The woman advised her young daughter that once the decision was made, that it would be to Betsy's advantage as a future wife to get to know her suitor, and at least try to culture some feelings of fondness for him to make things easier. Her mother also disclosed that sweet feelings for him would make it easier in their bedroom when her future husband may decide to make certain demands of her. Katy didn't explain about "the demands", and Betsy didn't ask.

Instead, Betsy asked more of the matters of the heart, she recalled. "Did you love father when you married him?"

"No," her mother answered, "because we had been friends and playmates and only that since we were young. We had done nothing but play together childishly in games, and I would run from him when he would tease me with spiders and frogs and snakes."

Betsy closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how she had listened closely as her mama told of falling in love with her father eventually.

"But, I found romantic feelings for him when I saw him in his uniform days before our wedding," the woman sheepishly admitted. "And that, over time, turned into love when I saw him as a husband, then a good father. I've grown to love him even more deeply with each passing day. I love his bravery and his depth of conviction over certain things."

The girl knew her mother was referring to her father's stalwart feelings on independence in the colonies and a new nation. Betsy had seen him jailed a couple of times over not cooperating with the King's authority. The young woman had also experienced his being away from home for long periods with his military duty, and more recently, as he had become a commander in the colonial regulars.

Miss Burwell didn't share the same feelings of admiration of Colonel Burwell's political convictions as her mother did. Indeed she could scarcely understand the motives behind the revolution. The young girl despised her papa's sometimes long absences; she loved him and wanted him to be home.

Betsy was also not keen on her officer father's devotion to the cause and being one of its commanders. She sometimes felt that he loved the military and the cause of freedom more than his own family. But when she would think this and begin to feel upset, she would try to brush the thought quickly from her mind, not wanting to dwell one more moment upon it. The thing the young girl wanted most was for the war to end, and her father back home with them on the plantation, just being a farmer and businessman.

Betsy turned from the mirror and crossed the room to the wardrobe. She pulled a respectable looking pink and gray dress from within then walked back to her bed, laying the garment out on it. She sat down on the edge of a nearby chair and pulled her delicate stockings on her thin legs. then drew her lacey white shift over her head and down her lithe body.

Again she made her way over to the door and opened it. She peaked out into the hallway both directions hoping to catch sight of her mother or the servant.

"Pansy! I'm ready for help with my stay!"

"Yes miss!," the servant called back from somewhere in the house. "I'll be there right soon as I finish up with the master's bed linens."

"That's fine. Thank you," replied Betsy as she closed the door again.

The girl walked over to the chaise lounge situated under the window and stretched out on it as she waited for help dressing. She closed her eyes when a cool breeze came in through the window and slid like silk over her skin. Her eyes still closed, a lazy smile spread across her face as she recollected the night before.

Her family had attended a lavish ball at the Middleton's Charles Towne mansion. It had been the first party she had been allowed to go to as a young lady now ripe for potential suitors. And though she'd danced with many men that evening, she had enjoyed dancing with one young man in particular. He was a soldier for the Virginia uniformed militia and the young girl was smitten from the first sight of him.

Major George Rogers Clark was down from Virginia by request of Governor Henry to observe the climate for war and politics in this very cosmopolitan southern city. He was recently back from the Northwest Territory where he had been a land surveyor, and making somewhat of a name for himself. He was a very tall, solid, and handsome young commander with hair of copper red, sometimes looking like fire.

The twenty three and one half year old gent was the son of John and Ann Rogers Clark, the second eldest of ten children. The Clarks lived in Virginia and were wealthy planters; a well known family with good society connections. But George had proved to be their wild child.

An adventurous youth with no fear and huge ambition, he left home at age nineteen to travel down the Ohio River into the heart of the British controlled Northwest Territory and savage Indian country just to "have a look at the land." He made frequent surveying trips there and back for Governor Henry to plat out tracts of land. The land was offered at cheap prices to any buyers. When war broke out in 1775, he hurried back to Virginia where he joined the militia and quickly rose through the ranks.

At the party, young women had thronged about the popular officer, wanting to be regaled with his stories of bravery on the wild frontier. But he broke away from the crowds of admirers several times during the night to dance or chat with Miss Burwell. Betsy remembered that for as tall and imposing as this young man was, he was an excellent dancer. She recalled how gently, yet firmly he spirited her across the dance floor in his strong arms.

Yes, Betsy Burwell had been at ease in his company and enjoyed it. She was genuinely sorry to see the evening end and leave Major Clark's company. The girl had to admit that she was absolutely taken—infatuated—with this with the young officer who was ten years her senior. She could scarcely believe that he had not been snatched up by some Virginia society lady and married already.

The girl noticed that Clark had spent part of the evening conversing with her parents, and she wondered what had passed between them. By all accounts, Harry Burwell was fond of the young man as most of the tidewater colonial officers were. He had indeed distinguished and endeared himself to all with his daring accomplishments and conquering charm.

Betsy sucked in a sharp breath, shivering as she did, recalling the feeling of her hand in his, and the innocent nearness of her body to his as he held her in his arms while dancing. She made a decision right then that if the Major should ask to court her, she would accept—with her father's permission, of course.

A knock at the door brought the girl out of her reverie. With a disappointed frown, she answered, "Come in."

Pansy the servant trotted into the room and straight over to the bed. Betsy stood as the woman got quickly to work at helping her dress. The older lady wrapped the corset about the girl's thin body and began lacing and pulling, and repeating the same over and over.

"Umph," Betsy puffed as she gripped tightly the top edge of the high footboard of the bed lest she be pulled to and fro as the garment was laced. Miss Burwell was still admittedly learning to breathe in a tightly laced stay. And as Pansy drew the strings as tightly as possible, the girl looked at her body transforming into young curves in the mirror, courtesy of this piece of material bodily entrapment.

Betsy smiled as Pansy finished off the lacing, the tightness heaving the small, rounded orbs of her chest up to form a proper and bountiful looking bosom for potential suitors to coyly inspect. The girl stood still a moment, taking a couple of shallow breaths to steady herself lest she pass out from the tightness of the garment.

Pansy gathered up her nightdress and began making the bed. "Did you have a nice time at the party last evening," asked the servant, making conversation as she attended to her duties.

A slow, serene smile crept across Miss Burwell's face. She could feel herself starting to blush and quickly, nonchalantly turned away from the servant, not wanting to reveal any of her girlish feelings to the older woman.

"Yes," she answered, "I had a wonderful time!"

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

Colonel Harry Burwell and Major George Clark, both in crisp, clean, blue and buff colored uniforms of the Colonial Regulars, watched at the crowd filed into the large meeting room in one of the many old buildings in Charles Towne. The throng had soon filled it to standing room only, anxious to witness the vote on whether or not South Carolina should enter the war. The May morning was already hot, and the crowd just served to drive the heat higher.

Harry looked about the room and noticed the heads of many of the area's prominent families dotting the assembly. He saw the Rutledges, Horrys, Pinckneys, Draytons, Hugers, Laurens, and Haynes. He even saw Mr. Middleton there, looking prim and proper, not showing a sign that he had overindulged to the point of delightful drunkenness at his own party last evening.

Next, the colonel's eyes saw a tall figure, dressed immaculately and handsome in the clothing a wealthy man would wear. As the man smiled and bowed, greeting the people around him, Harry sighed in well hidden trepidation. He didn't know the young man well, but knew his face well enough to recognize James Wilkins. Burwell knew the man and his family had Loyalist leanings and hoped that young Wilkins wouldn't speak up publicly on the subject. The Wilkins' family winery and distillery were making a hefty profit supplying spirits to the redcoat army.

Burwell's eyes scanned the crowd across a few rows behind Wilkins and caught sight of the beautiful widow Charlotte Putnam Selton, wife of the late John Selton, and daughter in the Putnam family, both wealthy local families. Next to her sat her nephews, Gabriel and Thomas Martin, so Harry knew that their father, Benjamin, could not be far.

His eyes swept the room again, and quickly spotted his old soldier friend, sitting quietly, looking somewhat pensive. Though he and Ben had fought together on the side of the British years ago, Harry had no idea what stance Martin would take.

Colonel Burwell looked across the aisle from Martin to finally see his pretty and very pregnant wife, Katy, seated in the second row. She saw between their seventeen year old son Steven Marshall, his middle name after his mother's maiden name, and their daughter Betsy, looking like a proper young woman, yet still girlish.

Burwell had been so intent on looking about the crowd that he hadn't noticed that young George Clark had left his seat. The always affable and outgoing red haired officer had worked his way through the gallery, greeting people he had met at the Middleton soiree last night, impressing as he remembered their names. Harry watched the tall major as he walked comfortably about the room, stopping at last to greet Burwell's own family.

George stretched his long arm over the heads of the front row to take Mrs. Burwell's hand with a shake and a bow of his head. After acknowledging Steven, he then took Betsy's hand with a smile on his face that looked as if it was only reserved for her. As he bowed his head to her, he stole a secret and very quick glance at her youthful cleavage then lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"Good morning, Miss Burwell," he said politely, nodding his head to her. "I trust you had a delightful time at the party last night?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you." She smiled demurely and looked down quickly after her emerald eyes met his of sapphire, which had a playful look in them. The girl looked back up and saw her father looking at their exchange, studying it. She knew that as usual, nothing escaped her papa's notice.

Betsy looked back up at Major Clark's handsome face, his eyebrows raised and face held regally as some old world gentleman would. His eyes sparkled at her as he seemed to momentarily center all his attention upon her. With all the confidence she could summon to try to prove that she was a cultured young lady, she spoke.

"Did you have a nice time at the ball, Major?" she asked, returning the pleasantry.

"Yes," his face lit up a bit as a sly, yet roguish smile crossed his lips. "Very fine, indeed."

The copper haired officer then bowed to the Burwell family, turned, and strolled back to his seat. As he did, Betsy, not moving her head as not to be noticed, let her eyes follow the young man as he departed. Her lips parted slightly to let out an inaudible sigh of disappointment, wishing that she could have some more time to spend with the youthful officer to get to know him more. The short and polite exchange of greetings didn't seem to satisfy the girl, again leaving her to marvel at these new feelings that would rear their head from time to time as she matured into a young lady.

Miss Burwell soon saw her father and mother locking eyes on one another, a look of knowing passing between them. The girl quickly hoped her parents weren't suspecting that anything untoward had happened between their daughter and the young major last night. Surely, she surmised, they had to know known Clark to be nothing less than a gentleman, and that they must have seen that she had conducted herself in a lady like, yet shy way last evening, just as they had wanted her to.

Harry pulled himself away from his silent conference with his wife when he noticed the speaker moving toward his seat at the head of the room. Knowing that the meeting was about to start, he quickly sat down next to Major Clark. He leaned over to the young officer from Virginia and whispered, "Don't rush off after this is over. I have a matter of importance to discuss with you."

"Yes sir," George answered dutifully, wondering if the matter was business related, or one of personal importance. But those thoughts soon evaporated with the sound of a wooden gavel hitting wood.

With the assembly called to order, the crowd hushed politely as the speaker introduced some people about the room giving brief descriptions of the men. He ended his stodgy introductions with a last and very playful one.

"And if you haven't met this fire haired officer to my right, I have no doubt you surely will soon," said the speaker, his arm extended out to indicate just who he was speaking of. Young George Rogers Clark was surprised when he looked up to see the speaker gesturing to him, not thinking he would be since he was just down to observe and not on the agenda to speak.

The speaker continued on. "He has been the guest of every gathering of late in this town, and has become a very popular young man. He is surrounded by crowds everywhere he goes—especially female admirers."

The crowd laughed and so did George, who then smiled warmly to the assembly as he stood and bent his tall frame into a gentlemanly bow. The red headed officer sat as the speaker gave a brief description of his latest exploits and genteel upbringing in Virginia, humbled and trying not to look embarrassed. The speaker finished the introduction with his own final and cordial greeting to the copper haired Virginian.

"Welcome, Major Clark."

"Thank you, Mr. Speaker."

With the introductions and the laughter out of the way, it was time to get down to the serious business of supporting or denying South Carolina's involvement in the war for liberty from King George.

Harry sat quietly through two speakers: a pacifist advocating peace; the other strongly advising to do nothing and stay out of everything. The colonel wasn't afraid to speak in front of people for he had to address his soldiers regularly. He was worried more about how they would take his advocating of war. The crowd had seemed strangely subdued during the other speakers and he hoped they would be equally as calm and hear him out as well. The officer hoped there would be no explosion during his oration either due to passion or the heat of the room.

Colonel Burwell looked again at the paper agenda and notes he held, knowing he was next to speak. He took a breath and stood as the crowd conversed amongst themselves in between the rotations.

Mr. Drew banged the gavel to get the attention of the crowd, which was growing restless. "Our next order of business—"

"And our last, if we vote a levy!" Mr. Simms interrupted sarcastically.

The crowd erupted at the remark, some laughing at the sarcasm, others trying to chime in with their sentiments. The speaker knew that to keep things moving, he had to keep a heavy hand on distractions. "Order! Order! Mr. Simms, you do not have the floor."

Speaker Drew hammered on the wood again. "Our next order of business will be an address by Colonel Harry Burwell of the Continental Army," he announced. "Colonel Burwell."

Harry turned and bowed slightly and respectfully to the speaker, then faced the crowd. With hands clasped behind his back, his eyes scanned the sea of faces before him.

"You all know why I am here," he began in a calm and even tone, "I am not an orator and I would not try and convince you of the worthiness of our cause."

The officer paused for an instant then continued. "I'm a soldier…and we are at war. From Philadelphia we expect a declaration of independence. Eight of the thirteen colonies have levied money in support of a continental army. I ask that South Carolina be the ninth."

Again Mr. Simms interrupted, seemingly unable to contain his thoughts. "Massachusetts and Virginia may be at war, but South Carolina is not."

"Hear, hear!" James Wilkins called in second to the remark.

"This is not a war for the independence of one or two colonies, but for the independence of one nation." Harry, good at reading men, knew that this last controversial remark of his would incite passion, so he stayed quiet, allowing the bunch to air out their excitement. He watched and listened, staying stoic and still in his spot, moving only to shift his weight from one foot to the other.

Mr. Wilkins stood and spoke up, airing his loyalist leanings, just as Harry had feared that he might. "And….uh…yes," James spoke up in a sarcastic tone, "what nation is that?"

"An American nation!" Mr. Howard from Pembroke shouted in answer.

"There is no such nation, and to speak of one is treason," Wilkins warned.

"We ARE citizens of an American nation!," shopkeeper Howard argued back proudly, "And our rights are being threatened by a tyrant three thousand miles away!" Peter Howard had lost his leg in a war injury years ago, and was now feeling the effects of taxation in his mercantile business.

Suddenly, Benjamin Martin, Harry's old friend and fellow soldier broke his silence and spoke up. "Would you tell me please, Mr. Howard," the farmer began as he faced the Pembroke shopkeeper, "why should I trade one tyrant three thousand miles away for three thousand tyrants one mile away?"

The question elicited laughter from the assembly, which Martin hadn't meant to be funny. The unintentional humor rankled Colonel Burwell, who kept his composure, although he was nearly glaring at his old friend. Harry stayed silent, sensing that Ben wasn't through yet.

"An elected legislature can trample a man's rights as easily as a king can," Martin calmly pointed out.

"Captain Martin," Harry spoke again, addressing his friend by his old rank from years ago, "I understood you to be a patriot." His tone was one of seriousness directed at Benjamin, clearly implying that the commander wasn't amused at Ben's comment.

"If you mean by patriot, am I angry about taxation without representation, well, yes I am," Martin clarified. "Should the American colonies govern themselves independently? I believe that they can, and they should. But if you are asking me, am I willing to go to war with England? Well, then the answer is most definitely NO!"

Colonel Burwell sighed heavily and looked down at the floor, flustered that this influential local farmer and his friend advocated against war. Harry tried hard to hide his disappointment.

Mr. Middleton weighed in. "This…. from the same Captain Benjamin Martin whose fury was so famous during the wilderness campaign?"

Benjamin replied in a split second to the question, offering and explanation and an excuse for his past behavior, of which he wasn't proud and hoped that people would forget. He was unhappy to find that this past action still haunted him. "I was intemperate in my youth—"

Middleton interjected just as quickly, unwilling to let the local farmer excuse himself. "Temperance can be a convenient disguise for fear."

Before Martin could defend himself again, Harry spoke up. "Mr. Middleton," he began as he took a couple of steps away from where he stood to walk toward the section where the planters stood, "I fought with Captain Martin under Washington in the French and Indian war. There's not a man in this room, or anywhere for that matter, to whom I would more willingly trust my life."

Colonel Burwell's face and eyes, complete with raised eyebrows, conveyed the sincerity of his words to the crowd . The commander turned and slowly paced back to where he stood just a moment ago.

"There are alternatives to war," Martin pointed out. "We take our case before the King; we plead with him."

Harry turned quickly on his spot back to face the crowd and countered, "Yes, we've tried that—"

"Well then we try again and again, if necessary to avoid a war," Benjamin interjected.

The colonel stepped off his spot again, moving back toward where Martin stood. Harry cocked his head slightly to the right and seemed to momentarily forget that there was a crowd present. He looked directly at Captain Martin, addressing him as if they were the only two people in the room.

"Benjamin, I was at Bunker Hill," he began, his voice raised for the first time during this address. "The British advanced three times and we killed over 700 of them at point blank range and STILL they took the ground. THAT is the measure of their resolve."

The colonel seemed to remember that he was before a crowd and not only speaking with Martin. He once again composed himself and returned to his calm and even tone. "Now if your principles dictate independence, then war is the only way. It has come to that."

The gallery cheered now, seeming now to sway toward the cause of war. But Martin quickly squelched their approval.

"I have seven children. My wife is dead. Now, who is to care for them if I go to war?" asked Ben, hoping to make a point.

"Wars are not fought only by childless men," countered Harry.

"Granted," conceded Martin, though the man was hardly finished. "But mark my words. This war will be fought not on the frontier or on some distant battlefield, but amongst us; among our homes. Our children will learn of it with their own eyes. And the innocent will die with the rest of us. I will not fight. And because I will not fight I will not cast a vote to send others to fight in my stead."

"And your principles?" queried Burwell, reminding the South Carolina farmer of what he had stated moments earlier.

"I'm a parent. I haven't got the luxury of principles," Martin said flatly.

With this, the crowd began to clamor excitedly. Some in the gallery left suddenly as if more answers and conflict lie outside the assembly room.

As the remaining crowd murmured around them, Katy Burwell suddenly felt her daughter gripping her hand tightly. She looked at the girl, who had an alarmed look on her face.

"What is the matter?"

"Is it really true Mama?" asked Betsy. "Will they fight near our home?"

"No, of course not," Katy replied, trying to assuage the girl's fear. "Father will keep us safe, you know that. He will not let any harm come to us!"

Moments later, the meeting officially adjourned and the crowd filtered outside, but seemed to stay on the green and the steps of the building, as the votes for the levy were counted. There was a tension; no one wanted to leave as they needed to know right away what the results were.

Major Clark had been stopped at the top of the marble steps by a group of women all wishing to introduce themselves to the handsome officer. Much taller than the ladies and easily able to look over their heads, he soon spied Colonel Burwell off to the side, standing alone in the shade of a tree. George quickly excused himself and hastened to the senior officer's side.

"You wanted to speak with me, colonel?" Clark reminded.

"Yes," answered Harry. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty-three, sir."

"Why is it a young man your age isn't married yet?"

George Rogers Clark couldn't help but laugh at the question, then he smiled as if remembering some fondness from long ago. "My parents ask me that every time I return home. They ask the same of my older brother, Jonathon as well. He is twenty-five. Ma and Pa think we should both be settled with wives and a mess of Clark children by now."

The young officer went on, as the colonel listened intently. "My sister, Ann, is the only one who is married. She is twenty-one and already has two babes. And though my parents are happy with this, they're anxious to have a couple of male heirs bearing the Clark name."

"I can understand their sentiments," Burwell commented with a smile.

"I've been too busy soldiering to find a woman," George admitted.

"Since your parents goad you about this, I suppose they have someone in mind for you?"

"No. They haven't mentioned it. They only state that they want good matches for us all, which, I am sure, means wealth and society."

"My wife and I want the same for Steven and Betsy," Harry revealed, his words measured.

"I see, sir."

The colonel's next phrase was cautious, yet calculated. As he spoke, he looked across the green at Betsy, who was speaking with a group of girls, not taking his eyes off his daughter. "Do you suppose your parents would accept a South Carolina girl of wealth and privilege for a daughter-in-law?"

Clark smiled, now nearly sure of what the colonel wanted of him. "I think they would be satisfied with the match." He looked at Miss Burwell, across the lawn from him. She was a youthful, sprouting beauty now. The young man could only imagine how beautiful she would be in a few years, in her womanhood.

Burwell turned back to George, watching the major as he admired Betsy from across the way. "And you? Would you like a pretty young Burwell as a wife?"

"Certainly."

"Are you ready to marry?" asked Harry.

"My parents know so," Clark replied, both men laughing at the comment.

"Yes, I suppose I am," George admitted, quickly reverting back to a serious demeanor. "I'm going to regret leaving here and not having the chance to spend more time with Miss Burwell. I had a delightful time conversing with her last night. I was completely at ease."

"I think Betsy was too," Harry pointed out. "Very well, then. I'll make a gentleman's agreement with you."

"Sir?"

"Katy and I aren't ready to let her go. She's not quite fourteen," Burwell divulged, " but yet, I know I must procure a good match for her."

"Colonel, may I speak freely?"

"Of course."

"My parents are ten years apart in age, same as your daughter and I," George began. "My own mother was fourteen when she was betrothed to my father. Then she married him at fifteen. They've had a joyous marriage for twenty-six years. Why not plight the troth now?"

"She is still a bit young," Burwell explained, "and you are leaving to go back to the frontier, which makes you absent for a few months or a year."

"Yes, sir."

"So…..my deal is this," Harry commenced, "I pledge her to you, and in your absence, I promise not to grant her courtship to any other suitor—she will wait for you. When you return from your mission to the wilds, seek me out. At that time, I'll allow her betrothal to you and have a respectable dowry ready. Then after a short courtship, you two will marry just after she turns fifteen."

"Yes sir, that's suitable," Clark agreed, shaking Colonel Burwell's hand to cement the deal. "I agree to it. Only one thing, though."

"Yes?" asked Harry.

"Would you write to my parents and inform them of this. They will never believe me."

George soon took his leave of his future father-in-law and crossed the green toward Miss Burwell. He watched her intently as she talked and laughed with her friends. As he walked, he could scarcely contain himself after having been sworn to secrecy by Colonel Burwell not to speak of their bargain to anyone. After all, it would be Harry's honor alone to announce the betrothal when he saw fit. Clark was happy with the prospect of having Betsy as his wife and felt sure he would grow to love her. He thought about deflowering his young wife in their wedding bed, and tried to disguise a lascivious smile as he did.

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Katy Burwell sat alone on a bench under a large shade tree, watching the crowd as they milled about after the result of the levy vote, which carried, was announced. The heat and humidity was already stifling at midday and she fanned herself trying to find some relief. And though she bore her late life pregnancy stoically, she knew that summer was the worst season in which to be large with a baby. The woman knew that the heat and swelling of her belly would only get worse in the next couple of months.

As Mrs. Burwell tried to stay cool, she saw the three people she loved the most occupied at various points about the lawn, enjoying the social aspects of being back in Charles Towne, reuniting with people they didn't see regularly. Only moments ago, she watched with curiosity as her husband talked to the handsome, copper haired Major Clark, who towered in height over everyone near, including Harry.

When they parted company, she gazed at her pretty young daughter, now a ripe beauty, as she conversed with her friends. Katy watched questioningly as Betsy's friends bid her farewell, leaving the girl alone to talk with the good looking Clark. The woman looked on as George and her daughter talked and laughed together, the same as they had done last evening at the Middleton's ball.

Across the walk to her left stood her son, a near match for his father, talking and joking with Gabriel Martin. She was apprehensive watching this, just knowing that at any moment, she would watch Steven sign his name on the sheet which sat in front of a uniformed colonial who seemed only too eager to enlist soldiers.

Over to her far right, her eyes caught Benjamin Martin, whom she hadn't seen in what seemed liked years, talking with her husband. Mrs. Burwell couldn't help but notice that Ben's eyes didn't leave Gabriel as he spoke with Harry. In fact, she could not mistake the fact that Martin was glaring across the green at his son. Katy continued to look on as her husband spoke calmly to Martin, never showing any emotion.

Finally after what seemed an eternity in the heat, she locked eyes with Harry as he crossed the grass toward her. She sighed, relieved that he was joining her and hoping he would take her home so that she could lie down in the coolness of their bedroom.

The pregnant woman could not sit for one more moment and struggled to push her body up off the bench. Colonel Burwell saw this and hurried over to her, wanting her to stay off her feet.

"No," she waved him away, "I can't sit anymore. Please help me up."

Harry gave her his arm, which she gripped as he put his arm about her waist to steady her as she stood. "I'm missing out on all the good conversation and gossip," she said, glad to be standing.

Mrs. Burwell sighed. "You are a popular man this morning, Colonel Burwell."

The subtle hint that she'd missed sitting with him gave him a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry, my dear. I had to attend to business."

"With Captain Martin?" she asked, puzzled, since they hadn't seen the Martin family in awhile.

"Not really," admitted Harry. "He was upset. His oldest son just enlisted to fight, defying him, and he wasn't too happy about it. I was trying to comfort him. I assured him that I would see that Gabriel would serve under my command where I could keep him out of the fighting, making him busy as a quartermaster or courier."

"Oh no," Katy gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "Steven did not enlist with Gabriel, did he? I saw the two talking, looking as thick as thieves."

"Of course not," her husband assured. "He knows better."

Katy recalled a couple of heated arguments in the past couple of years, in which father and son fought over Steven wanting to enlist to serve. She closed her eyes as she remembered Harry's firm refusal and threats of consequences if the boy did.

"Oh, Harry, you wouldn't really go through with it, would you?"

"What? You mean my promise to disinherit him? I meant it and I will do it. He knows his place is to stay home and protect you, Betsy and the new baby, and to run the plantation in my stead."

"Darling," she cajoled, "he is too much like you. You don't expect him to sit this war out while you fight?"

"Yes, I do," the officer answered firmly.

A moment of quiet passed between them as both looked about the area. Their eyes landed on Betsy, who was still talking with George Clark.

As she studied the conversation between her daughter and the young officer, Katy spoke. "By the way, you and Betsy have spent a great deal of time this morning with Major Clark."

Harry said nothing, smiling a bit and chuckling nearly under his breath. But it was enough to give him away to his wife.

"Pray tell, Harry, just what were you and the major conspiring about?"

"What makes you think that?" Burwell joked with another rare smile.

"Come now, Harry, we've been married twenty years. I can tell."

The colonel let out a laugh then wrapped his arms about his wife, kissing her, unable to contain his excitement.

"Harry!" she protested, gently pushing him away, wondering what people would think about their public display of affection.

"I brokered a match for our daughter. She will marry into the Clark family," he said, pleased with himself at the strategic union.

Katy's jaw dropped and her eyes rounded. "But she is so young."

"Yes, I know," the officer conceded, "You saw them last night, and now when you look at them, how much at ease they are in each other's company."

"But they only just met," she protested.

"Yes, but the opportunity was there," Burwell countered. "They are not betrothed yet, I just promised him that while he is gone on the frontier that I would refuse any other offers of courtship for her. I'll plight their troth when he returns, and she will be older by then."

Harry went on, convincing his wife of his plan. "Also, this assures that by not marrying her now, he can't take her away from us with him to the frontier, making it so that we would probably never see her again."

"I couldn't bear that," Katy shuddered.

"Nor could I," the colonel agreed. "As young newlyweds, they need to be near family and friends for help and advice, not alone out in the wilderness just the two of them."

Neither of them voiced what they were most afraid of: Betsy being kidnapped or killed by Indians if something happened to George, or if he couldn't protect her. They couldn't bear to think of her in a lonely cabin in the woods threatened by Indians….or Redcoats, since they controlled the region.

"Hopefully by the time he returns from the frontier," Harry guessed, "the man will have the wilderness out of his blood and be ready to settle down and make a proper home with Betsy."

"But you can't make him stay," Katy pointed out.

"No, but I can encourage it," answered the colonel. "I could use my influence to get him a commission here. Maybe part of Betsy's dowry could include some land nearby."

Katy smiled. "You always have everything in hand," she commented in a tone implying relief.

Her grin soon turned into a grimace as she gasped. "Oh," Mrs. Burwell winced, sucking in a breath.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked in concern.

"Yes," she forced a smile, looking up at her husband. Her hand dropped to her swollen belly, which she rubbed, trying to sooth the child within her. "He's awake now. I don't think he will be an assemblyman for her slept through the whole meeting."

Colonel Burwell placed his hand on his wife's middle, feeling the baby kick hard. "He's strong. He will be a soldier."

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Author's note: General George Rogers Clark was a real life Revolutionary War officer. He commanded the forces that took back the Northwest Territories from the British, effectively "closing the back door" so that the English could not get another foothold in the colonies there after losing the original thirteen. He was called "the Hero of the Northwest Territory" at that time and today is called the "Father of the Midwest." Clark had an audacious plan, put to Patrick Henry, that he would capture the forts in the Northwest Territory and get the area under rebel control. He did just that and took Governor Hamilton prisoner. His men loved him and followed him across the southern Illinois plains in the middle of stifling summer heat and humidity, and they marched across the same area in the middle of winter, crossing a swollen Wabash River, and spending days cold and wet in icy water, to surprise Fort Sackville and the town of Vincennes (Southwestern Indiana) and take it, and that is where Hamilton surrendered to him. He was an adventurous and brave officer who basically had no fear, and due to lack of men (he had a legion of 175—that's all) and no artillery, he had to use psychological warfare and the element of surprise to make up for the lack of manpower, and it worked! He was made a colonel when he conquered the frontier, then later a General. Like Nathanael Greene did, Clark, who was from a wealth Virginia family, financed himself and borrowed when needed, the money to pay for the campaign and his men as our fledgling government had no money. The government never repaid him, even though he had receipts and promissory notes, and his debtors called in the debts he borrowed from them, causing his wealthy family to pay off as much as they could, though Clark still ended up dying bankrupt from the war.

For info on George Rogers Clark, visit: Go to my profile page here to access-website is at the top of profile- ffdotnet won't let me put a link to a website here. Facebook link is at the bottom of the profile page.

You can also search the net for him and many fine articles come up.

My profile here has a picture of Clark at about age 26.

Recommended Watching: A great documentary about Clark from the History Channel exists and is still shown from time to time. It is from the "Frontier: Legends of the Old Northwest" series, and the one about Clark is called "Long Knives." It can be found for sale on Ebay and Amazon, and is still sold at the History Channel online store. It is a great watch! I think Esther has been putting up portions of this DVD on Youtube, which you can find thru the site listed above.

Recommended reading about Clark: A good biographical novel about George Rogers Clark (it is basically a biography but novelized—it is very accurate, the research was thorough) is "Long Knife" by James Alexander Thom. Another book about the entire Clark family (George had 5 brothers and 4 sisters. All six brothers were officers and two of his brother-in-laws were officers, as well) is "From Sea To Shining Sea" by James Alexander Thom. Both are very historically accurate bios, just put into novel form. These books are at libraries and still in print and selling at bookstores and online. Mr. Thom writes on his website that these have also just become available in "e-books" and able to download them to Kindles and Nooks and those types of things.