Chapter 21
“Hello! Hello?” Hammering sounded on the warehouse street door, and a young voice called, “Mr. Gordon? Mrs. Newell?”
Callie froze. She was sitting on the balcony resting after a day of collecting and storing water and other provisions so they would be ready for a possible siege or occupation by British troops. Richard and Josh had hauled up casks of water and cooking fuel, using the hoist on the back of the building.
Josh had built sturdy anchors for the rope ladder, and Sarah had sent Josh out for medical supplies. Josh said wryly it was a pity none of them smoked since they had a lifetime’s supply of tobacco sitting in the middle of their drawing room.
Early Monday morning, three cannon shots had announced that the British were landing at North Point, the peninsula east of the city that lay between the Patapsco and Back Rivers. As General Sam Smith had predicted, the land attack would come from the east and would have to get past the massive earthworks that Richard had helped dig.
The city hadn’t emptied out as Washington had, and the remaining residents were quietly determined to face what might come. Sporadic cannon and gunfire barked from the east, and word spread that General Stricker has set up skirmish lines of his best troops across the narrowest part of the peninsula in hopes of blocking a British advance.
But that was all at a distance. With Trey’s friend Peter Carroll shouting from below, danger had become very personal. Callie leaned over the railing and called, “I’ll be right down to let you in, Peter!”
She was fast but Richard was faster. He risked life and limb by racing down the steps three at a time, and by the time Callie reached the bottom of the staircase, he’d already let Peter in to the small hallway. Peter’s uniform was dusty and the right sleeve was torn off and turned into a sling to support his crudely bandaged right arm.
“What’s wrong?” she asked sharply. “Where is Trey?”
Peter wiped his sweaty face with his left hand, visibly trying to collect himself. “He’s alive, but wounded. He needs help.”
“How seriously is he injured?” Richard asked. “No, come upstairs first so everyone can hear at once.”
Callie knew that made sense, but her heart hammered with anxiety as she followed Peter up the stairs. He was weaving from exhaustion.
When he emerged into the main sitting area, the three Adamses converged on him, Molly carrying a tankard of chilled lemonade because Richard had brought up ice earlier. “Here, drink this, then tell us about my brother!”
Peter sank into a chair and emptied half the tankard with one long swallow. While he drank the rest more slowly, Sarah came to him with the medical kit she’d assembled earlier. She removed the improvised sling and examined his arm. He winced under her gentle fingers, but she said soothingly, “Nasty and bloody but only a flesh wound. I’ll pour whisky over it, which will sting, but make it less likely to fester. When it’s bandaged properly, you’ll be able to use it a little.”
He inhaled sharply as she applied the whisky. “Trey has a leg wound and another in his shoulder. There don’t seem to be any bones broken, but he’s lost a fair amount of blood, and even with my help, he can barely hobble along.”
“What’s been happening?” Richard asked. “We’ve heard artillery and gunfire, but it didn’t sound sustained enough for a pitched battle.”
“Skirmishes, not battles, sir,” Peter replied. “General Stricker sent a group of us sharpshooters ahead to provoke a fight before more British soldiers landed. It worked. Trey was one of the shooters and I was his spotter.” He swallowed hard. “The British commander, General Ross, is seriously wounded or dead. I think dead.”
There were shocked noises from everyone. If Ross was dead or incapacitated, it might end the land attack. At the least, the attack would be blunted. Ross was an outstanding officer and his next in command was unlikely to be as capable.
Face pale, Callie asked, “Where is Trey now?”
“Since I’m no use with this arm, our lieutenant said to help him behind the lines to a surgeon. I had to half carry him, and it got to be too much for both of us. I left him at an empty cabin off the Philadelphia Road. Trey said you have a cart and a pair of horses. Can you come and bring him home?”
“Of course,” Richard said, sliding naturally into command. “Josh and I will go. Peter, you’ll need to ride with us to guide us to Trey.”
“I’ll go,” Callie said. “I have more nursing experience than any of you men.”
“And I have more yet,” Sarah said belligerently as she bandaged Peter’s arm. “I want to go to my grandbaby!”
Before Josh could protest, Richard said, “You haven’t fully recovered yet, Sarah. You need to be here and fit to patch him up.” His gaze shifted to Callie and Molly. “I know you want to come, but you’re both too pretty to take into a war zone. The potential for trouble is too great.”
“You surely make a refusal sound good!” Molly said ruefully.
“He has a very talented tongue,” Callie agreed before she realized how suggestive her comment was.
Mercifully not taking the innuendo up, Richard said, “We won’t be back for hours, so keep your pistol close to hand just in case.”
“I will.” Reluctantly she accepted that he was right; she and her pistol should be here since neither Sarah nor Molly knew how to shoot. “Sarah, do you need to replenish anything in the medical kit before they take it?”
“As long as they don’t decide to drink the rest of the whisky, there are enough supplies.” She closed her medical kit and handed it to her husband.
“I’ll collect blankets to pad the cart,” Josh said. “Gordon, will you go to the livery stable and get the horses harnessed and bring them to the back of the warehouse? The cart is stored back there.”
“Of course.”
Callie asked, “Peter, how far is it to where you left Trey?”
He thought a moment. “Maybe four miles or so. About halfway back from where we shot Ross and this side of the fighting unless our troops retreat like they did at Bladensburg. We should be back by nightfall.”
“There will surely be delays,” Richard said. “Don’t worry, we’ll return with Trey as soon as is possible.” He moved to his satchel and pulled out his pistol. It was on top of his other belongings and already loaded. He holstered it, then slung a powder horn and a pouch for shot on the other hip.
His expression had changed and he was no longer her amiable Richard, but the menacing Lord George Audley who had thundered out of the night in Washington to rescue her. A dangerous angel.
“You all be careful!” Sarah kissed her husband hard.
Richard stepped up to Callie and drew her into a full body kiss. Not a polite brushing of the lips but mouth and tongue and pulling her hard against him, his hands moving hungrily over her back and hips.
After an instant of resistance, she fell into the embrace with equal hunger. Fire burned through her veins and her brain, eradicating awareness of where they were and the crisis they faced. Her trusted friend, the man she cared for most in all the world . . .
Then he released her, his breathing rough. With his steadying hands on her arms, he said forcefully, “I’ll be back, Callie. Never doubt it. And we’ll have Trey, so don’t worry. I will be back!”
He spun on his heel and left. Callie stared after him, touching the fingers of her left hand to her lips. What had just happened?
Her life had turned upside down. Again.
Round eyed, Molly exclaimed, “I thought you were just friends!”
“We were.” Callie moistened her lips with her tongue, still shaken. “That’s changing.”
Sarah gave a deep chuckle. “Next time that boy asks you to marry him, you need to say yes!”
Maybe she would. The idea was starting to make sense.
The apartment felt very empty after Richard and Josh and Peter left. In the silence, Molly said uncertainly, “Trey will be all right, won’t he?”
“He will.” Sarah put a comforting arm around her granddaughter. “Peter Carroll didn’t sound too worried. It’s just that a leg wound makes it hard to walk, and it’s a mighty hot day. The boy is tired.”
Callie didn’t disagree with any of that, yet a pall of anxiety hung over her. Was danger really threatening, or was she generally tied in knots of anxiety? It felt like real danger coming at them. Maybe a small group of British soldiers would make their way into the city. Or British sailors might come ashore in a small boat to wreak havoc.
Both ideas were highly unlikely. Yet her unease wouldn’t lift.
A tired Sarah relaxed in the padded, extended chair. Eyeing Callie, she said, “You look like a cat dancing on hot coals, Miss Callista.”
Callie took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “It feels like something is about to happen. Not the British invading the city. At least not yet. But something.”
“There could be plain old criminals,” Molly suggested. “With so many men off in the militia, looters might break into houses that don’t have men to defend them.”
“Maybe that’s what I’m feeling,” Callie said slowly. “As a way to keep busy until the men return, how about if we practice what we’d do if thieves did break in? Like the drills that soldiers are always doing.”
“I like that idea,” Molly said. “Trey told me that’s why soldiers drill all the time. So they’ll know what to do when they face danger. Most people just freeze when something terrible happens. We’ll do better if we’ve practiced how to react.”
“Exactly!” Callie said, struck. “When the British soldiers broke into my house in Washington, I felt paralyzed, like a terrified rabbit. I don’t think I could have done anything more since they outnumbered me, but I hate myself for feeling so helpless.”
“No one likes feeling helpless,” Sarah said with a touch of grimness. “Let’s work out what we’ll need to do if we have to defend ourselves.”
Callie regarded her pistol thoughtfully. “In Washington, I knew a single shot wouldn’t be enough to save me from a squad of angry soldiers. But if there was a break-in here, it would probably be only a few men. I need to put the pistol in a convenient place, along with powder and shot for reloading.”
“How about this?” Molly pulled a small table to a position with a clear shot to the doorway. Then she put a basket with her rag rug materials on the edge toward the door. “You can put your pistol and ammunition there and someone coming in won’t see them.”
“Perfect! What about knives? We have Sarah’s good sharp cooking knives, but it would be hard to throw them accurately without a lot of practice.”
Molly considered. “Knives work best close up. I don’t want anyone to get that close to me!”
“I certainly hope not, but if several drunks break in and see three females, they might decide they want to amuse themselves.” Callie swallowed hard. “Which means they would get far too close.”
They all fell silent, too aware of the possibilities. Molly said, “I have a good-sized scrap of tanned leather. I could fashion it into a couple of sheaths for the smallest knives that could be worn on a thigh.”
“You have a delightfully wicked mind!” Callie exclaimed. “Let’s get to work on those.”
“Don’t forget tobacco,” Sarah said. “We’ve got great barrels of it just sitting here. They’re nice and stable on their flat ends, but if we turned a couple on their sides, they’d roll fast if pushed, and they’re heavy.”
“Brilliant, Sarah! Molly, let’s start by tipping a couple of the barrels on their sides and aiming them toward the doorway. After that, we make sheaths for the knives.”
Her stepdaughter smiled. “This is fun, in an alarming way.”
“I’m sure it will come to naught,” Callie said. “But the preparations will keep us busy.” She laid her loaded pistol, her powder, and her extra balls on the table behind the rag basket. She’d told Richard earlier that she wasn’t sure she could try to kill someone. But her opinion on that was changing.