Chapter 15
Callie’s excitement at finally reaching Baltimore was muted by the time their sailboat entered the city’s harbor. It was late afternoon and golden light poured over boats and buildings. They’d already passed Fort McHenry, a small brick fort that Hawkins said was sometimes called the Star Fort because of its shape.
The fort and harbor were rife with military activity. Their small vessel, the Sally May, had passed over a boom designed to prevent enemy warships from entering the inner harbor, and it was backed up by barges bristling with cannon.
Closer to the waterfront a strange structure crossed the harbor, rising and falling on the waves. “What is that?” she asked.
“They’ve used barges to create a temporary bridge to move men and supplies over to the fort,” Hawkins replied.
Richard studied the connected barges. “I can’t help but think about the bridge of boats in Porto on that fatal day we met.”
“This bridge of boats is sturdier and it’s not crowded with fugitives,” Hawkins said. “But I’d rather not risk my life on it.”
Callie stared at the chained barges and made a mental note to ask Richard more questions later. But for now, her attention was on this reunion. She’d burned with impatience for the last week, but finally, she was here.
It had been almost a fortnight since she’d sent her family north. The journey to St. Michaels had been slow in the damaged Zephyr, and twice they’d had to shelter in one of the many creeks and rivers that ran into the bay when they saw the clustered masts of Royal Navy ships.
St. Michaels had proved to be a charming town, where memories of the previous year’s British attack were vivid. The owner of Landers Shipyard was happy to undertake repairs to the Zephyr; he and Hawkins had done business before. Landers also negotiated the hire of a swift sailboat that was small enough to be overlooked but large enough to carry all of Callie’s family.
Hawkins clearly enjoyed having a small, responsive boat he could sail with his own hands. He’d brought one of his sailors to help and Richard also acted as crew. To Callie’s inexpert eyes, Richard seemed as skilled as Hawkins. She supposed he’d qualified as an able seaman by the end of the long voyage from Britain to Botany Bay, and he’d been on and off ships ever since.
Now, finally, her journey was over. She sat on the right of Hawkins, who was at the tiller to guide the boat in. “Newell’s is right on the waterfront.” She scanned the solidly built warehouses that lined the harbor. “There!” She pointed. “That tall building with a hoist at the top and a church spire beyond.”
Richard sat on Hawkins’s other side, intently studying the streets and buildings. “There seems to be a lot of preparation for a possible attack, but not a mass evacuation as there was in Washington.”
“This city is larger, better defended, and has more to lose,” Hawkins said. “There also must be a competent military man in charge, which Washington didn’t have.”
“I hope you’re right!” Callie said fervently as they glided gently to the pier nearest Newell’s warehouse. Richard and Hawkins’s sailor attached the mooring lines, then Richard climbed onto the pier and extended a hand to Callie. “Almost there, Catkin,” he said encouragingly.
She scrambled up onto the pier, thinking how much easier this would be if she wore the trousers Richard had supplied. But now that she was in Baltimore, she needed to look and act like a woman of authority.
Hawkins said, “I’m going to call on a fellow I’ve done work for in the past. Later we can determine the next step.”
Callie nodded, wishing she knew what that was. Then she set out for Newell’s warehouse at a fast walk. When Richard fell into step beside her, she said, “You needn’t escort me. The warehouse is just a few steps away.”
“The city is in turmoil, so you’re stuck with me until your situation is settled.” He gave her a half smile. “You’ll be rid of me soon.”
The knowledge was painful, but also a relief. Richard was too disquieting for her peace of mind.
Her step quickened as she approached the warehouse. The wide loading doors were closed, but she saw a light from the small office in one front corner of the building. She stepped inside, blinking at the loss of sunlight. The office looked much as she remembered it, with a counter, several chairs, and drawers and a table behind.
The place seemed unoccupied. Then she saw a figure behind the counter. It was a woman making a rag rug with braids of scrap fabric spread over a table.
Not a woman, a girl. Her stepdaughter. Callie recognized her an instant before Molly looked up. “Miss Callista!” she exclaimed, racing around the end of the counter.
The girl tumbled into her arms, gasping, “We were so afraid you were dead!”
Callie hugged her hard, trying to remember when Molly had become taller than she was. “I’m so glad to see you! Why did you think I was dead?”
“News reached us that our house was burned down by the British and no one knew what had become of you. We were afraid that you were trapped inside when the fire was set.” She hugged Callie again. “The last fortnight has been horrid!”
“You must tell me everything that has happened. But first I want you to meet an old friend of mine who escorted me here from Washington.” She gestured at Richard, who waited quietly inside the door, then hesitated, realizing that she didn’t know how to introduce him.
He solved that by saying, “I’m Gordon.” He extended his hand. “Callista said you were beautiful, Molly, and she did not exaggerate.”
Molly smiled and took his hand. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”
Callie realized that after a mere fortnight of separation, she was much more aware that Molly was a young lady, no longer a girl. Her stepdaughter was stunning, with dark wavy hair and golden skin that complemented her lovely face and figure. And like her beautiful mother, she had warmth in her eyes. She’d also learned to accept a compliment graciously without having her head turned.
Callie asked, “Why are you here in the office, and why has the last fortnight been a nightmare? Has something gone wrong beyond being uprooted from our home?”
“I’m keeping an eye on the office because the manager and warehousemen have joined their militia companies and are drilling all day and into the night,” Molly explained. “There’s no one else to do it. Grandmother came down with a horrid fever and frightened us to death.”
“Sarah is ill? I must go to her!” As Callie turned to find the stairs, Molly raised a hand.
“The crisis is over and she’s doing well, but she’s resting now. There’s no need to rush upstairs. Come behind the counter and we can exchange news.”
Callie halted reluctantly and followed Molly into the sitting area in the back of the office. Richard came along, silent but interested.
“Where’s your grandfather?” Callie asked.
“Once Grandma started to get better, Grandpa volunteered to help dig fortifications east of the city. They say it’s the most likely place for a British attack,” Molly said. “General Sam Smith is in charge of the city’s defense, and he called for every man who had a pick, a shovel, or a wheelbarrow to start digging earthworks on Hampstead Hill.”
“Working together to defend the city is promising,” Richard said. “Not like in Washington.”
“I hope you’re right. Most of us have nowhere else to go,” Molly said soberly.
“What about Trey? Is he also out digging?” Callie asked.
“He’s joined a Maryland militia regiment and is drilling with them,” Molly said, her voice flat.
Callie gasped. “He’s only fourteen!”
“Almost fifteen, tall for his age, and he knows how to handle firearms. He’s not the youngest to enlist.” Molly turned her hands up in a gesture of helplessness. “How could I stop him?”
“You couldn’t have,” Callie said, not wanting Molly to feel guilty. “I don’t know if I could have, either. He’s a stubborn lad, your brother.”
“And of an age where boys are anxious to become men,” Richard said quietly. “Joining the militia doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll be sent into battle; it’s too soon to know. But his willingness to defend his family and home is admirable.”
“I keep telling myself that,” Molly said, her smile crooked. “What happened to you, Miss Callista? Why was our home burned down when they say most houses in Washington were spared?”
“Pure bad luck.” Callie gave a succinct explanation about the snipers, the shooting, and the fire.
Molly bit her lip. “Everything is gone? My clothes and my room?”
“I’m afraid so,” Callie said gently. Molly loved pretty things and had worked hard sewing her gowns and decorating her bedchamber. She’d thought she would be returning to them. “I was dragged out by some soldiers so I escaped the fire, but”—her gaze went to Richard—“if my friend here hadn’t come when he did, it would have been very bad.”
Molly was not a sheltered innocent, and she could guess at what might have happened. Horrified, she exclaimed, “You’re all right? You weren’t hurt?”
“I’m fine.” Callie smiled reassuringly. “My knight on a white horse rode to the rescue in the nick of time. Very like the Gothic stories you enjoy.”
“Thank you!” Molly said to Richard. She looked like she wanted to kiss him, but she refrained. “Would you like to see Grandma? She might be awake by now.”
Callie jumped to her feet. “The sooner the better!”
Molly locked the front door, then led the way from the office to a staircase in the adjoining corridor. There were a lot of steps since two floors of storage space separated the ground floor from the living quarters. As they climbed, the close air became stifling.
Callie hadn’t seen the upstairs apartment on her previous visit to the warehouse, only heard it mentioned, so she didn’t know what to expect. She vaguely recalled hearing that there was a sitting area and a pair of bedrooms, but some of the space was used for storage when the warehouse was too full.
The door at the top of the stairs opened into a long, narrow area that extended the length of the warehouse, though the available space was diminished by a cluster of massive barrels. A faint, not unpleasant scent of tobacco permeated the air.
The apartment was crude, with worn furnishings and walls of rough planks. But a sitting area had been set up with chairs and a high-backed bench arranged around a worn rag rug, and windows in front and back allowed ample light.
The two bedrooms were carved from the back of the space and jutted into the main area with a primitive kitchen in between. The sitting area in front had a door leading to a strip of flat roof that had been turned into a balcony with a view over the harbor. Callie glanced out, then away as her imagination produced nightmare images of Royal Navy warships sailing in to occupy a shattered city. “Sarah is in one of the bedrooms?”
“Yes, the one on the right.” Molly gestured.
The door to the bedroom was open. The window at the back had been raised so there was a bit of a breeze, though not enough to freshen the stale air and lingering scent of illness. It was a far cry from their luxurious home in Washington.
Sarah lay on a straw mattress on a simply constructed bed, her eyes closed and her face drawn. Her nightgown and the light coverlet over her were damp and wrinkled and she looked frighteningly fragile. Chest tight, Callie knelt beside her. “Sarah, are you awake?” she whispered. “I’m here, safe and sound.”
Sarah’s eyes fluttered open and she gave a sweet, tired smile. “Miss Callista! I knew you must be all right. You’re like a cat with extra lives.” She tried to lift a hand, but it wavered until Callie caught it. Her friend’s bones felt frail.
“You must be going mad lying here,” Callie said affectionately. “At home you’re never still.”
Her friend made a face. “I surely am tired of this room. But when Josh gets home tonight he’ll take me out to the balcony for a bit of fresh air, and in a day or two I’ll be able to walk around again.”
A soft male voice said, “Would you like me to carry you out to the balcony now? It’s cooler there and the view is better.”
Wary of a strange man, Sarah jerked her attention to Richard, who stood in the doorway. He had the ability to look both elegant and self-effacing.
Callie said reassuringly, “This is Gordon, an old friend from Lancashire. He rescued me from Washington and escorted me here.”
Deciding that was a good enough recommendation, Sarah said, “Indeed I would like some fresh air. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course it isn’t.” He grinned at her. “I like sweeping lovely ladies away.”
Sarah laughed. “Your old friend is a sweet-talkin’ ladies’ man, I see.”
“We all need a skill,” he said as he bent to the bed.
“I’ll put a folded quilt on one of the long chairs,” Molly said.
Leaving the coverlet over Sarah, Richard carefully slid one arm under her back to help her sit up. Then he moved the other arm under her knees. “The worst thing about fevers is the way they leave a person feeling weak as a tired baby,” he said sympathetically. “I had one fever that left me almost paralyzed for a fortnight. I wondered if I’d ever recover.”
He punctuated his light sentences by carefully lifting Sarah, no easy feat when she was lying on the floor. Callie stood by in case help was needed, but he managed smoothly. That lean build concealed strength.
He carried her sideways through the door so he wouldn’t knock her against the frame. Molly held the door to the balcony open. Several of the wooden chairs had high backs and extended seats so legs could stretch out comfortably. With the quilt for padding, the one Molly had prepared made a cozy nest.
Once Richard settled Sarah into place, Callie smoothed the coverlet over her and adjusted a small pillow behind her head. “How is that? Are you comfortable?”
Sarah sighed and leaned her head against the high back of the chair. “Oh, yes. The fresh breeze from the harbor is so fine.”
Molly came out on the balcony carrying a tray with a pitcher and several small, dented pewter cups. “Grandma, here’s some of that cool mint tea you like.” She set the tray on the table and poured a cup, then handed it to her grandmother.
“Thank you, Molly.” Sarah was now strong enough to hold a cup and sip. “You’re such a good girl.”
“I try. Here, there’s enough for all of us.” Molly poured three more cups and passed them around.
Callie accepted hers and settled into one of the plain wooden chairs. The tea was cool and sweet. Richard accepted a cup with every evidence of pleasure and chose a chair by Callie. She sipped her tea, relaxing into this moment of peace.
“There’s quite a view from here,” he said. “We can see all the way to Fort McHenry.”
He was right about the view. She just wished that so much of the activity wasn’t war related.
For several minutes, they all silently savored the peace. Then Molly stood and looked over the railing. “Look, Trey and Grandpa are coming this way! Wait until they see you, Miss Callista!”
Callie also stood, drinking in the sight of the men in her family. Josh looked muddy and tired, but he was his usual strong, utterly reliable self. Dear God, Trey was the young soldier beside him! In his uniform jacket, he had the confidence and swagger of a man. She bit her lip, proud but also sad that her beautiful little boy was only a memory.
Molly called, “Grandpa, Trey, look who’s here!”
The two men raised their heads and Callie waved to them. Josh grinned widely and Trey gave an exuberant shout. “Miss Callista, you made it here safely!”
“Yes,” she called down. “Now get up here so I can hug you!”
In just a couple of minutes, she was doing exactly that. Hugging Trey felt so right and good. When they released each other, he smiled mischievously. “You’ve become just a bit of a thing, Miss Callista.”
“I’m average height!” she retorted.
“And we Adamses are all above average!”
It was sadly true; she was the shortest person here. In Washington, she’d not really noticed. With a twist of her heart, she realized that there she had been the linchpin of their household. She owned the house and earned most of the money that supported them. But everything had changed, including the patterns of her family.
While she’d been hugging Trey, Richard had introduced himself to Josh, offering his hand. She saw that they were doing the male measurement ritual of sizing each other up. Approval seemed to be mutual.
Josh said, “Miss Callista, have you snuck a British soldier in here? He talks just like you.”
She laughed and introduced Richard to Trey. His easiness with the Adamses spoke to how varied a life he’d lived.
“So you rescued Miss Callista?” Josh said.
“Yes, a member of her family sent me to find her and make sure she was safe.” He paused, and Callie was suddenly certain that he was going to toss a bombshell into their midst.
“And then to bring her home to England.”