The Promise Read online

  “And more sons?”

  “I am relieved we only have one son in this war.”

  “WHAT IS THE MATTER with Tillie?” Caleb asked, climbing the fence to sit beside his brother and watch Abraham Cook's mule trot recklessly around the small pen. Tillie stopped, kicked her back hooves high, let out a bellow, and then re­turned to trotting in a circle. Each time the mule came too near the fence, both brothers quickly lifted their legs. “She is old and I find it alarming she is so lively.”

  “Something has distressed her,” Uriah agreed, glancing at the horses in the corral. All the other horses were calm. “Do you suppose some­thing bit her?”

  “Perhaps, but I haven’t the courage to check.” Caleb quickly swung his legs to the outside just before Tilley thrust herself against the fence. “Steady yourself, Tilley.”

  “Brother, do you hear music?” Uriah asked.

  In her upstairs bedchamber facing the back of the house, Elizabeth parted the curtains and pushed the win­dow open a crack to air out the room. She considered the width of the open­ing and the cool air rushing in for a moment, and then gently tapped it open just a little bit more. “Music?” she muttered, pushing the win­dow wide open.

  “Mary!” she shouted. “Mary, come quickly.”

  Her sister rushed into the room, “What is it?”

  “It is bag pipes.” Elizabeth pulled her to the window then quickly grabbed a shawl off the nearby chair to wrap around her sister's shoulders.

  “Mister Cook comes back from war,” Mary smiled. “How wonderful.”

  “Can you see anything, my dear?” Caleb yelled, looking up at his wife.

  Elizabeth squinted her eyes against the sun and looked beyond the fences to the tree-lined road until she spotted movement. “I can see a man...no two men,” she yelled back just before the figures disappeared behind the trees again.

  “Is it Mister Cook?” Caleb shouted.

  “I cannot quite make it out.”

  One by one, other windows opened and three sets of twins, the Henderson's, and two servants stuck their heads out.

  The music grew louder. “Why, I do believe...Mary, I believe it is John,” Elizabeth whispered. “Do you see him, Mary?” She turned to watch the joy on Mary's face, but Mary had shed the shawl and was out the door.

  Mary raced down the stairs, through the kitchen, out the back door, and up the lane with tears running down her cheeks.

  “It is John,” Elizabeth shouted, watching the rest of the family fly out the back door after Mary.

  “Girls, let his Mother greet him first,” Caleb yelled, racing after all three sets of twins.

  “I see they have all anticipated me,” Elizabeth mumbled, closing the window and wrapping Mary’s discarded shawl around her own shoulders. “He has come at last.”

  Matthew put his arm around Etta's shoulder and kissed her on the Cheek. “John is home.”

  “John who, my dear?” Etta asked.

  As soon as he saw Mary, John forgot his straggly beard and dirty torn clothing. His pronounced limp was hardly noticeable as he walked faster and then began to run. When she was about to reach him, he dropped his mus­ket and knapsack, pulled the hat off his head, and opened his arms wide.

  “Mama,” he breathed, holding her tight and kissing her repeatedly. “You are the most welcome sight in the whole world. I have sorely missed you, Mother.”

  “And I you.” Mary wiped the tears off her cheeks and drew back to look at his face.

  John laughed, “I fear we are about to be trampled.” He released her and held his arms out again. He hugged the first two sets of twins and then put his hands on his hips indignantly when the smallest twins greeted Mister Cook instead. Next, it was Caleb he hugged, each man laughing and patting the other on the back.

  But when Uriah reached him, both men looked into each other’s eyes for a time before they embraced. “Why Papa, I do believe you have missed me.”

  “Missed you? Have you been away?”

  “I require the best of Mahala's carriages,” John said, wrapping his arm around his mother again while watching Caleb pick up his musket and hat.

  “Indeed? Already you make demands?” Uriah asked, raising his eyebrows. But John's expression was serious. “Bring a horse!” Uriah shouted to one of the men in the corral.

  “Will a tired old mule do?” Caleb chuckled as Tillie rounded the corner of the fence and headed for them.

  Tilley brayed as she passed Uriah, and brayed again as she trotted right by Abraham Cook and the smallest twins. Then she abruptly stopped, brayed once more, turned around and ran back. Again, she missed.

  “Me bloody mule has gone and got herself blinded.” Abraham laughed when the mule stopped to look back. He walked to her, grabbed both of her ears and rubbed them affectionately.

  Uriah whispered to John, “Is it serious?”

  “Not so bad as all that.” John put his dirty hand on his father's shoulder and lifted his foot. The souls of his shoe and leg­ging were gone. Blood mixed with dirt covered the bottom of his bare foot. “It would seem even the best cobblers cannot make a shoe to withstand this war for more than three months.”

  “YOU MUST REST.” MARY pulled a pillow out from behind him, fluffed it, and then put it back.

  “Mama, have you seen the journal Maralee and Roselee kept for me. I believe they have a talent for writing. But Mama, I find not one story of your jokes. Why is that?”

  “I have been busy,” Mary said, straightening his blanket for the third time. “Matthew will be in shortly to tend your feet. Can you sleep until he arrives?”

  “I have slept for days. I am not sleepy, nor am I hungry.”

  “Then we will simply talk. I have missed our talks.”

  “So have I. Etta came early this morning.”

  “Did she?”

  “She was quite lost. For an instant, I thought she remembered me. She took my hand and patted it the way she used to. I asked if she was well, and what do you think? She said, 'oh well, never mind all that now.' Then she left.”

  Mary laughed. “Are you expecting Miss Wade to visit after school again today?”

  “Aye, with all six cousins to chaperon us, unfortunately.”

  “Good. Now, I would like to give a ball. We will play games instead of dance. Would that suit you?”

  “My feet will be forever in your debt.”

  “Rest,” Mary said, getting up and leaning over to kiss his forehead.

  “Can you invite Mister Cook?”

  “Of course we can. I’ll set your father to the task.”

  TWO WEEKS LATER, THE Dunlops and their son George were the first to arrive. Abraham Cook came with Sarah Williams, her husband, Peter, and their son Adam. Seth Shaw, his parents in tow, waited hopefully to escort the eld­est twins to the dinner table and when the front door closed for the last time, the gathering of Carsons and guests numbered nearly thirty.

  “I do not understand,” John said, seated not far from the front door with his feet on a stool. “Where can Hester and her father be?”

  Mary affectionately touched his face, “We can wait no longer, son, it would be rude to our other guests.”

  “You are right, Mama, and I am hungry.” His feet were nearly healed, but he allowed her to help him to the head of the table in the dining room.

  “You are the guest of honor,” she said, as he sat down.

  “I see. Is that why you and my father sit at the other end?” John whispered.

  “The easier to keep an eye on you,” Mary giggled. “I have asked Mister Whiteburn from the church to say a pleasant, but short prayer of thanksgiving, and then we will eat.”

  “It is a fine meal,” Matthew said, finding a seat in the middle of the long table, then glancing around at the pleasant place settings and well-laden platters.

  “Indeed it is,” Caleb agreed, taking the chair next to Matthew. Across from him, Eliza­beth patiently answered the same question Etta had asked only moments ago, and then n
od­ded for the children to sit at the smaller table.

  Matthew bowed his head, listened to the prayer, strummed his fingers lightly on the table, said 'Amen' loudest, and instantly stuck his fork into a slice of turkey on the platter in front of him. As he ate, he enjoyed all the chatter around him, chuckled at a comment or two and then asked, “Where is that handsome Miss Wade? She and John have been insepa­rable.”

  Caleb confided, “I believe he has taken quite a fancy to her, and why not? She is the most beautiful young woman in Virginia.”

  “Not counting your own six daughters.”

  Caleb was careful not to let Elizabeth hear him, “Do you mean Aunt Charlotte's curse?”

  At first, John watched the door constantly, and then as dinner progressed and the con­versation grew more intense, he only glanced that direction occasionally. By the time sweet bread was served, he was fully engrossed in a discussion with Mister Dunlop to his right.

  “CEASE SIR!” Thomas Dunlop shouted, banging his fist down hard enough to topple three glasses, and then abruptly standing up causing his chair to fall backwards.

  Sitting between her husband and her son, Mrs. Dunlop quickly gathered the cloth nap­kins within her reach and dabbed at the spilled beverages. The room went deathly quiet. Hands holding forks hung in mid-air and mouths saying unfinished sen­tences remained opened. At the other end of the table, Uriah gripped the arm of his chair, prepared to rise, as did several other men. John didn't move. Instead, he stared at his father's face.

  “Would that the ladies were not present,” Dunlop yelled, pointing his finger at John, “I would find great delight in calling you out for such a vile report as this! Any man of worth, having his heart set toward Virginia could not, indeed would not allow such contemptible viciousness to cross his lips.”

  “On my word, Sir,” John said, keeping his voice soft, “I love Virginia every bit as much as any man here. It is the only home I have ever known. I assure you, I would not say it, nor would I have believed it, if I had not heard the same from those who were there.”

  Towering above with his fists clenched, Dunlop shook with rage. “Then I call you a liar, and noth­ing less than a complete retraction will be of satisfaction. Shall you retract, Sir?”

  Elizabeth quietly got up, ushered all the children out the door, then sat back down and grabbed Etta's hand.

  John kept his eyes on his father's. “I will not retract, Mister Dunlop.”

  Dunlop stomped around the table to the stone hearth, and then spun around. “In that case, tell them all, boy, if you dare. If you are so bold as to report it to me, will you be so foolish as to say it to your own father?”

  John slowly lowered his eyes to his plate.

  “I thought not,” Dunlop said. “You are a coward as well as a liar.”

  Uriah pushed his chair back and stood up. “Mister Dunlop...”

  “He cannot retract, Father,” George Dunlop interrupted. “He cannot retract ... for what he says is true. The Virginians ran, Sir. When the British fired at Camden, most all the Virginians ran.”

  Dunlop searched the face of his son, but George didn't look at him. Quietly, Uriah moved his chair forward, sat down, and reached for Mary's hand.

  “Impossible,” Lawrence Shaw claimed, “I will never believe it.”

  Adam tried to calm the situation, “The British spread the same rumors after every battle.”

  “It is not a rumor,” John said.

  Abraham Cook spoke, drawing his words out slowly, “What the lad says is true. God forgive me, I was there and I ran.”

  “But George, you did not run, did you boy?” Worry lines had grown deep in Dunlop’s forehead. His son didn't answer. “George, tell them, I beg of you, tell them you did not desert.”

  “Forgive me, Father,” George answered, “I should have told you, but I could not. When I returned home, you spoke of having such pride in a son who fought bravely.”

  “You ran?” Dunlop grilled. “You are my son. You are the grandson of a man highly regarded in the King's regimentals in England. Surely, you are not a deserter.”

  “If'n he did run,” Abraham said loudly, “’twas not of his choosing. Better men than we ran and well before the rest of us.”

  George finally faced his father, “The men in the rows before us ran even before the British fired. Only a few remained and they died where they stood. I see now I should have stayed and died with them.”

  When the elder Dunlop's shoulders began to slump, John got up and limped to the mantle. “The fault cannot be laid at the feet of your son, Mr. Dunlop. Let it be placed where it belongs – at the feet of all Virginians.”

  “ALL VIRGINIANS?” two men shouted at once.

  “Yes, all Virginians,” returned John, his own anger rising. “They send their beloved sons to war with as little as a jacket and one loaf of bread. In their arrogance, they expect the balance to be provided by General Washington. But surely they have heard the accounts. In their hearts, they do not honestly believe Wash­ington capable of providing for such an army. How do they expect others to be making contributions when they are not?”

  “Oh, that again,” Shaw groaned. “For five years we have read the notices Washington constantly posts. He needs this and that to win the war. But it is a war without end. Many of us who sided with the Colonies in the beginning gave as much as we could afford. Some even gave what they could not afford. But now...”

  “Then that leaves only two kinds of Virginians to fight the war,” John interrupted, “Those who will continue to desert and those who will die just to save their honor. If Virginia does not support them and quickly, the British will have the victory. And a British victory, I assure you, will be far more regrettable than we can ever imagine.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Son, do not speak so harshly to our company?” Mary pleaded.

  John went to her and put his hands on her shoulders, “Do forgive me, Mother, I did not mean it upset you. But in this room are some of the richest and finest men in all of Virginia. If I...if we do not make at least part of them understand the ur­gency, many a boy from Virginia will lose his life for naught. Even these fine men would have run had they been faced with the anguish at Camden.”

  “Aye, they would'a,” Abraham put in.

  “General Gates ran,” George added, his voice cracking.

  Matthew nodded to the servers standing motionless along the wall, “I was just entertaining thoughts of refilling my glass. I believe a drink all round might ease the situa­tion considerably. Do you agree, my dear Caleb?”

  “I do,” Caleb answered. One of the servers filled a glass and handed it to George, but the other servers stayed where they were.

  “You say we Virginians willfully neglect our sons at the front.” Ed­ward Foster grumbled. “May I remind you, we are not the sole Colony engaged?”

  “No, we are not,” John agreed “However, most of the other Colonies have little left to give. Their land has been ravaged, their sons killed and their funds depleted. Yet, worse than the lack of supplies is our neglect to take a firm stand either for or against the war.”

  Said Mister Foster, “And with just cause. How can men be ex­pected to de­cide? Our hearts lean neither toward the Colonies nor England. Surely, you see it is a decision that does not easily come.”

  “With all due respect, Mister Foster, I am not yet twenty. I do not pretend to understand loyalties to England, but let me make it plainer. I would not blame a man for choosing either side. It is no decision at all that is found wanting.”

  “I vowed we would choose neither side,” Uriah said.

  “As you have often said, Father, and I agreed before I understood. The boys go to battle neither loving the side they are on, nor hating the one they fight. Without a firm purpose, they question why they are about to die and with no ready answer, they run. Having disgraced themselves and dishonored their families, they re­turn to the army humbled, only to desert once again in the next battle. Capta
ins cannot be certain how many men can truly be counted among the dependable. Father, the Americans switch sides.”

  “Surely, you are not serious,” Adam said.

  “The Continental army offers little food and supplies, so they switch sides to fill their bellies and gain ammunition. The man you shoot at in the morning skirmish could well be standing next to you in the afternoon.”

  Mister Shaw said, “You speak of food for the army as though we have it to give. A man can hardly be blamed for wanting full payment for his crops. He must support his family, buy seed for the next planting, and General Washington offers only Continentals. What alternative is there?”

  It was George who answered, “Many a hungry soldier would heartily agree. In fact, he often counts his pouch of worthless Continental money.”

  “Are the British so daft they do not know the Americans switch sides?” Uriah asked.

  “Father, the British switch sides as well. The Colonies are British Colonies, after all.”

  “They report,” George said, “the British people have grown weary of war and refuse to be drafted.”

  Matthew scoffed, “They empty the prisons instead.”

  “Yes,” George agreed, “many a British soldier finds he is in the company of those unopposed to slicing his throat for as little as his shoes. On the American side, he at least does not have that concern.”

  “What can the matter be?” Etta asked.

  Elizabeth quickly put her arm around Etta's shoulders, “Do not be alarmed, dear. All is well.”

  “In the fall,” John said, smiling at Etta and intentionally lowering his voice, “many a man abandons his post to see to the harvest, then again in the spring for planting. It is acceptable, although all know the harvest will be sold to fill the belly of the British.”

  “We are not well trained, Father,” George said, as Dunlop walked back to the table, picked up his chair and sat down. “We must save the gun powder for battle and cannot practice.”

  Mister Foster still growled, “You ask us to provide munitions and arms, but we have no factories and no guarantee of winning, now do we?”