The Promise Read online

  “Aye, it is not yet dawn, you know.”

  “Did you tell them?”

  “I did not.” Mary leaned down to hug little Matthew. “I did not want to excite their anticipation.”

  “Papa?” Caroline asked.

  “He is quite well. He does not cry out in the night nearly as much as he did, and he will be so pleased to see you.”

  “And Mama?”

  “She too is well. You will enjoy her. Her stories have grown quite farfetched.”

  “In your last express, you said Uriah and Caleb had not yet returned. Are they back?”

  “They are not. They sent a rider to tell us John has been marched and they hope to discover where. We have had no word since. Yet, you are here, this dread­fully cold winter has turned to spring and I am quite sure all of the Carson men are fine.”

  “But Mary, you are not fine.”

  “I merely grow old, my dear.”

  “But Mary...”

  “Come, you must tell me everything before the rest wake and take you from me.” Mary helped Caroline off with her cloak. “I am quite annoyed you have not yet introduced me to your friend.” Mary smiled sweetly at the stranger standing next to Caroline.

  “You cannot dissuade me. There is something in your eyes...tell me.”

  “Well, if you must know, Hester is gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “Oh, Caroline, my heart breaks for my son, and I cannot think how we will tell him. Hester is married.”

  “But you said she agreed to wait for John?”

  “She did and I believe she meant to.” Mary leaned down to take little Matthew’s heavy coat off and accepted the man’s coat as well. “You see, she was married before she came to Richmond, but she thought her husband lost at sea. In reflection, I find it most odd. Many a day we sipped tea together and never once did she say a word about her husband. She even used her maiden name.”

  “But her husband was not lost at sea,” said Caroline.

  “No, he was not. Lieutenant John Wyley was held captive in Canada. Once he escaped, he made his way here to recover her.”

  “Oh, Mary, I fear the same will happen to me. Was she quite upset at his arrival?” Caroline asked.

  “Not in the least. In fact, she glowed with happiness, but I would not like my son to know. It was plain to see she loves her John Wyley very much. When she came to tell me, I found myself torn between my sorrow for my son and my joy for Hester. I had grown quite fond of her.”

  “How sad for John,” Caroline said.

  “How sad indeed, and I cannot think how he will bear it.”

  “But you are going to tell him?”

  Mary laid the coats on a settee, “Uriah insists we tell him, but I do not believe we should.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want my son to keep his love for her alive while he is at war. Let his heart break when he is home and safe with us. Can you believe what Hester said to tell my son?”

  “No, what?”

  “She said to say she loves him still and were it allowed, she would take two hus­bands.”

  Caroline’s mouth dropped, “Surely, you do not intend to tell him that?”

  “No.” Mary answered, beginning to grin as she studied Caroline's face. “My dear, I do not think I have ever seen you so colorful. Is it your escape from Boston, or is it the extraordinarily quiet man beside you.”

  Caroline took Mary’s arm and guided her to­ward the stairs. “Do you mean the Frenchman?”

  “French is he?”

  “The handsome one? The one with glorious blue eyes the color of a clear summer morning, which he turns toward no woman save me?”

  “The color of summer, is it?” Mary lifted her skirt and began to climb the stairs.

  “The tall one? With dark hair and accomplished manners?” Caroline looked back to smile at the man who had taken a seat and was holding little Matthew on his lap.

  “Tall, dark hair, and accomplished manners? I see.”

  “Why, Mary, I cannot imagine who you mean.”

  Mary stopped halfway up the stairs and put her hands on her hips. “Do not taunt me, I have devices of torture?”

  “I am not afraid.”

  “Perhaps I will tell him your deepest secrets.”

  “My dear, you would need to learn French to do that.” Caroline sighed, “Oh Mary, I am so happy. I believe I have at last found my own Uriah.”

  “I can see that and I am pleased.” Mary hugged her again. Then her expression turned grave, “Caroline, the British took almost all our horses.”

  SOON AFTER THEIR ENCOUNTER with the Queen's Rangers, the Chesterfield militia began its march away from the James River in a four-man wide column. Under the command of General Nathaniel Greene, they walked up and down hillsides, across valleys and through fields – moving ever south. With muskets held high, they crossed the Nottoway River leaving Petersburg to the west, the Roanoke River near Danville, and the Dan River above Reidsville. They waded through Virginia streams and then North Carolina creeks already beginning to swell with the spring rains. They marched all day, stopping only when the sun set. As word spread, un­trained men from nearly every county along the way fell in line behind them, eager to fight Cornwallis and his massive British army. Then troops and commanders from other southern battles came. And as they drew nearer to Guilford Courthouse, the small regiment had grown to an army of more than four thousand men.

  With an outpost positioned in front and in back of the column, unkempt men of all ages with scraggly beards, ragged clothing, and worn shoes repeatedly shifted the weight of their knapsacks and muskets as they walked. Side by side, the strong, the weak, the determined, the indecisive, the trained, and the untried of the Continental Army, marched. Each man suffered an empty stomach and a need for rest. Still, he marched.

  “So many,” Uriah whispered, searching the endless stream of faces from his hiding place midway up a hillside. “We must get closer.”

  “There,” Levi whispered, pointing toward a tall man coming around the bend. For an instant, the man looked their way, his dark eyes flashing as they caught the sunlight. “Is that your son? If not, he should be, he looks just like you.”

  “Aye,” Uriah said, taking in a deep breath. “It is John.” He watched until John passed and then sat back. “He is alive, Mary,” he whispered. The three men waited until the last man was out of sight before they mounted their horses and left the hillside. An hour later, they were ahead of the regimentals again.

  “How do we get the food to him?” Uriah asked, standing near the edge of a swollen creek. “He is in the middle and we have far too little for them all.”

  “Perhaps we could hand him food as he marches.” Levi suggested.

  “Aye, and have him refuse because the others have nothing. At times, I think I have fathered a stupid child.”

  Caleb sneered, “His is not stupid, he is caring – and he gets it from me. Is that not so, Lord Rodes?”

  Uriah examined his brother's angry face, “I...“

  But Caleb lifted a hand to stop him, “John comes first. We will set aside our own war until this one is finished. Do you agree?”

  “Agreed,” Uriah said, beginning to breathe again.

  Levi carefully watched the odd exchange between brothers, and then turned to the problem at hand. “I believe this situation calls for a British General.”

  Late in the afternoon of the second week in March, 1781, Uriah drove a stolen Brit­ish wagon with British beans, British rice and British potatoes to the outpost in the rear of the Continental army. He stopped the wagon, got down, handed the reins to a man, mounted his horse, tipped his hat, and rode away while the men watched.

  Moments later, a heavy guard surrounded the wagon and headed it through the hun­gry men. “MAKE WAY!” the guard shouted repeatedly as he increased the speed, making men dive for the side of the road. John hurried out of the way, watched the wagon pass and then moved back to the cent
er of the road.

  “We eat tonight,” the man next to him declared.

  John barely glanced at the new face beside him. He shifted his knapsack to the other shoulder and walked on. Then he noticed the man's precision march and began to look at his clothing. The stranger wore new shoes, clean white leggings and breeches, a green jacket, and a white scarf stylishly tied in tiers down the front of his jacket. The barrel of his musket glistened. Surrounded by sandy hair under his three-cornered hat, the man's round face glowed with color and his hat had an unusual crease on the rim. John visually examined the hat.

  “I do not prefer it myself,” Levi said, lifting the hat off his head and offering it to John. “Looks too bloody British if you ask me.”

  Not missing a step, John shifted his sack higher, took his worn and dirty hat off and let it fall to the ground. He reached for the one Levi offered, looked at the odd crease once more and then put it on his head.

  When the two men passed a clearing and walked toward another wooded area, Levi leaned close. “I believe your father wishes to have a word with you.” He nodded toward the trees.

  John glanced at the man's face and then scanned the wooded area. When the bushes didn't move, he looked away.

  “Do you wear your father's hat, John?” Levi asked.

  John finally understood.

  “Come along then.” Levi pulled John through the bushes until they reached Uriah. He waited until the boy put his foot in the stirrup and then shoved him up on a horse behind his father. Quickly, he hoisted himself up on the other horse and started through the trees.

  John took his hat off, set it on his father's head, wrapped his arms around him and laid his head against Uriah’s back. “Papa, how...”

  “Quiet son, there are British scouts everywhere.” Uriah guided the horse with one hand and held on to John's arms with the other. Twice, the men stopped to listen and as John began to sleep, Uriah smiled and held his arms tighter. When they reached Caleb, the smell of freshly cooked stew hung in the air.

  “I was there,” John said, shoving another spoon-full of stew into his mouth. The fringe on the sleeve of his leather jacket repeatedly dragged across his plate, but he didn’t care. In the soft glow of late evening, John's eyes seemed to brighten with each bite. “I was in the James River when the Queens Rangers fired on us. I’ve never swam so fast in my life. By the time I got to the shore and made my way along the river bank, the British had retreated. And would you believe,” he said, swallow­ing and taking another mouthful, “in the midst of it, we came under the command of a Frenchman instead of Colonel Davis.”

  “Son, if you eat so fast, you’ll not keep it down,” Uriah warned.

  John stopped chewing, swallowed, and turned to grin at Caleb. “He has come all this way to tell me how to eat? Will I always be a child?”

  Caleb nodded, “I have suffered the same fate for years. But do go on, you were telling about the French Colonel.”

  “Well, when I heard the Colonel shouting in French, my first thought, if you can believe it, was that it was another one of Mother's splendid jokes. Are you amused?”

  “I can see how that might occur to you,” Uriah chucked.

  “There are so many of you, do they expect a large battle?” Caleb wondered.

  “Aye, in the morning and not far from here.”

  Said Levi, “Then it is true, you will fight Cornwallis.”

  “We fear we are greatly out-numbered. Cornwallis has been spotted not ten miles away with many men.” Finally full, John handed the empty plate to Caleb. “We are relieved the North Carolina militia has connected up and Brigadier General Morgan's troops will soon join. They soundly defeated Tarleton at Cowpens and boast of a great victory. It has lifted the spirits of the whole Army.”

  Uriah got to his feet and walked to his horse. He opened his bag, pulled out a pair of shoes and handed them to his son.

  “Excellent,” John said, pulling his old shoes off and putting on the new ones. When he finished hooking them, he tried to stand up. Grinning, he sat back down, “I fear I have a dreadful disease. My body is unwilling.”

  Levi chuckled, “It is called marching disease. It will pass in a year, or I daresay, two. Would you mind terribly, if I joined you? The skirmishes of my experiences have grown wearisome and I would enjoy a good fight.”

  “I would be proud to fight next to you. Virginia will need all her sons tomorrow. Father, we have a giant and he is as large as the stories of the Baron. He is nearly a head taller than I, and he carries a sword that is longer than most men are tall.”

  “Have you received your orders?” Levi asked.

  “The first line is to shoot twice and then fall back as they did at Cowpens. And the First Virginians will take the first line.”

  “Are you in the First Virginians, son?” Uriah asked, greatly concerned.

  “I am, but I am in the command of a good man named Von Steuben. He will not run, Father.”

  Uriah looked away, “I see.”

  John was eager to change the subject, “You must tell me, does Mahala keep all my lovely ladies safe?”

  “They are all well,” Caleb confirmed, carefully placing a hand full of twigs on the glow­ing embers of the small campfire.

  “And Hester? How is she?”

  “John...” Caleb started.

  Uriah cut him off, “She is quite well and misses you greatly.”

  John looked relieved, but Caleb looked irritated, “Obviously, I know nothing – not even my own name.”

  “I thought we agreed to wait.” Uriah shot back.

  “Well, I have changed my mind – Lord Rodes.”

  John looked from one brother to the other. “What?”

  Uriah returned his brother’s glare and then finally shrugged. “Fine, I will tell you, but do allow me to finish before you question me. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Caleb promised.

  “Our father’s name was Lord Jonathan Samuel Rodes, and being the eldest son, I was set to inherit the title.” Uriah tried not to watch the shocked expression on his son’s face. “Our father was English and our mother was Jacobite. Both of Mary and Elizabeth's parents were Jacobite.”

  Caleb grew incredulous, “You knew their parents?”

  “Caleb, you agreed.”

  “Very well.”

  Uriah hesitated a moment to gather his thoughts, “After Mary and Elizabeth’s mother died, the girls and their father came to live with us. Both fathers hated the way the King ruled, favored the side of Bonnie Prince Charlie and often spoke out accordingly. When it appeared the Jacobites might win, the King...the King ordered the executions of our fathers.

  On the twenty-ninth of January, 1746, and with the King watching from inside his carriage, our fathers were bound and slashed repeatedly with swords. At the end of a great length of time, a shot was mercifully sent through the head of each man to end his life.”

  Caleb blinked repeatedly, but didn’t say a word. Levi’s head was bowed and John simply stared at his father in disbelief.

  “Signs were hung around their necks de­claring them thieves, and Mary and I were forced to look upon the bodies. I was ten and she had only just turned eight. To this day, I do not understand what evil made the King do such a thing.

  A month later, our mother also died and we four children were left to the mercy of a man who claimed to be our elder brother. He took my title, our inheritance, sent us to Ireland and the girls were sold.” Uriah held up his hand to stop him when John started to speak. “We were given new names to spare us the shame of being the sons and daughters of thieves.

  Christopher Rodes is your real name, Caleb, and you are the son of a very fine man who loved you very much.”

  Caleb could hardly take it all in. It was a long time before he finally said, “I understand now. This is why you were filled with rage and why Mary was so afraid of Redcoats.”

  “Do you mean my mother was forced to look at the bloodied body of her own father?” John ask
ed.

  “It was her birthday,” Caleb breathed. “That is why she will not allow us to cele­brate it.”

  Uriah took a forgotten breath, “Yes. Before she understood, she thought she was to take a ride in the King's carriage as a birthday surprise from her father.”

  “Dear God,” Levi muttered taking his hat off. “I had not heard that.”

  “Elizabeth does not know, does she?” Caleb asked.

  “No, Elizabeth believes her father died of fever and it is best for her that way.”

  Each man remained deep in thought before Caleb finally asked, “Mister Moore, how did you know our real names?”

  “I saw the crest on your brother’s scarf,” Levi answered. “Your father’s crest is known by all Scotsmen and none believed he was a thief. Too late, my older brother arrived to take charge of the four children, but they were gone.”

  “You said the girls were sold. How did you find them?” Caleb wondered.

  At last, Uriah smiled. “It took all of twelve years, but Mary used the King as a reference. She never imagined anyone would check, but a letter somehow managed to land on my desk. Her real name is Colleen Stuart and she had written ‘Mary Colleen S. Jackson’ on the paper.”

  IT WAS AN ORDINARY morning, not unlike any other morning in the wooded North Caro­lina hills. Levi and John went back to the army and Caleb slept fitfully, but Uriah had barely closed his eyes. An hour before sunrise, the brothers hid the horses further west, then walked to a large field in front of a building that sat on a hill. A second hill, a larger one, was across from the first and beyond that were two smaller clearings separated by trees. The name of the building was Guilford Courthouse.

  “I have never killed a man,” Caleb said, his musket gripped tight in his hand.

  “I did not think you had,” Uriah admitted, watching the flurry of activity from the crest of the hill near the courthouse. He quickly stepped out of the way as men rushed by, each headed in a different direction.

  “What do those men do?”

  “It appears they report the activity of both armies to General Greene, then take new orders to the Captains,” Uriah pulled Caleb out of the way of an oncoming rider.