“Ye’re goin’ta print it then?”

  Amity’s conviction came from a solid place of surety deep inside herself that she didn’t know existed. She would write the accounts, and she would have them printed. “Yes.”

  “Like a book.”

  “Yes. It will be a book.” Her concept of the book morphed rapidly. What it would be hadn’t taken shape yet, but it would be different from the animal stories she crafted for her siblings.

  Mary wrenched her arm from her companion’s and pointed Amity to an empty stool. “I’ll tell ye about my Daniel if ye’ll print it. His parents would love that and so will my son.” She looked pointedly at the group. “And me.”

  Mary placed her kettle on the hook over the fire and gave it a stir before sitting next to her. Amity could just see her father’s coat sleeve from her spot next to the fire.

  Mary described how Daniel and his brother, Jonathan, decided to join the army. How they followed Woodford to Norfolk. Fighting Captain Squire at Hampton. Crossing the James River in fishing boats while evading the captain. Boldly standing against Dunmore and his fleet while they threatened the inhabitants of Norfolk.

  Amity’s heart quickened. A vision of Simon against the silhouettes of burning warehouses avoiding falling planks running alongside Daniel filled her mind. Simon leading his men in a charge against the invading British while safeguarding women and children still fleeing for their lives into the surrounding countryside. Daniel died of a British bullet on Church Street. Her vision stopped short of tears when she saw a bloodied Simon breathing his last on a flame-lit street.

  “How will you get home?” he asked.

  “Jonathan will take me and Danny back home when his enlistment is up next month. If he lasts that long.”

  “Is he injured?”

  “No. But if the rumors are right, and Colonel Henry isn’t made general, he won’t stay.”

  “Do they care so much for Colonel Henry?”

  Mary stood and curtseyed. “Major Peyton.”

  Will acknowledged Mary with a slight nod. “Miss Archer, your father has been worried.”

  “Peyton.”

  Will swung around.

  A glow of relief calmed Amity. A broad grin spread across her face before she could check herself. “Simon.” Not bloody. Breathing. Full of air, in fact.

  “I have been here with Miss Archer, Peyton. There is nothing to fear.”

  Amity stepped across the space between them and took Simon’s arm.

  “Morgan. Didn’t know you were here.” Her father boomed into the group.

  “Reed. Good to see you. I was out for a walk and chanced across Amity listening to a riveting account of the battle of Norfolk.”

  “Indeed.” Papa gave Mary a once over.

  Amity introduced Mary Cook to her father.

  “May I come back to see you?” Amity asked.

  “If you like, miss.”

  “I should. I haven’t taken any notes, and I do wish to get it right.”

  Mary bobbed a short curtsy. Amity did the same, and Mary’s eyes widened. “Not between friends,” she whispered.

  The muddy path between the tents was not quite wide enough for Amity to take Simon’s offered arm, so she followed her father with Simon and Will close behind.

  “Nice to see you again, Miss Archer. Perhaps I shall see you yet again before you return home.” Will ventured once they’d reached the carriage.

  “Perhaps you will, Mr. Peyton.” Amity turned from him to face the carriage.

  Simon offered his hand as she placed her foot on the first step. “I understand you will be attending Andersons’ ball tonight.”

  “Yes, I believe my father will attend us this evening.”

  “Will you save me a dance?”

  I’ll save all of them if it will keep the suitors away. “I’d be delighted.”

  He handed her up into the coach. The clanging rustle of the camp quieted behind the doors of the carriage.

  “I specifically required you to stay by my side while I visited the camp.”

  “I know, Papa, but standing there listening to you talk to Will Peyton is no different than me talking to him at the card party a few nights ago.” They pulled away from the camp. “I could see you from where I sat.”

  “The point is I could not see you.”

  “Yes. Papa.”

  “You may not go there again.”

  “But—”

  “Never again.”

  She knew the tone.

  He would not change his mind.

  But Mary Cook could come out of the camp. She would send a note inviting her to tea. She would probably laugh at that. She sat back against the seat and let her mind fill with the images Mary had painted. There was much to record before she dressed for the ball that evening. She didn’t have time to examine why Simon had filled her head as Mary described her ordeal.

  Amity had filled ten pages of her journal by the time Lucy came to help her dress for Anderson ball. Emotionally drained, she let Lucy choose her dress. White cotton printed with crimson birds and flowers. Wigs no longer being the fashion since the start of hostilities, white ribbons adorned her hair.

  A giddy thrill vibrated through Amity as she gazed in Andersons’ window. Dancers bobbed and swirled to the music provided by the band in a corner of the room she couldn’t see from the street. She hoped a few soldiers would be present at tonight’s ball, so she could ask about the action they’d seen so far. Mary’s account was vivid enough to evoke visions of Simon, but it was only one version. It would make a very short and lopsided book. She needed more material. She supposed it would depend on whether or not the men had the funds. She and her aunt attended for free, women always did at these things, while men had to pay.

  Mr. Anderson bowed before her aunt. “Mrs. Foster, so glad you could attend this evening.”

  Aunt Clementine preened in her indigo gown. Even her father, despite being fifty-five on his last birthday, looked dashing in his full dress of hunter green. Across the street in the candle glow of the Raleigh soldiers laughed.

  Amity gestured toward the group. “It must be Colonel Henry.”

  “Yes, that is him. Front and center.”

  “I wonder why he is out tonight. The rumor I heard was that he did not receive what he requested from Congress.”

  “You heard correctly. He has been given and turned down command of the First Virginia Regiment. He’s leaving tomorrow.”

  “Turned it down?”

  “He wanted to be commander and chief.”

  At once enveloped in the warmth and light of the room Amity scanned to see if she knew anyone. She missed Robbie at once. How hard it was not to have a confidant when so many incredible things were happening.

  Simon bounced into view. He led Mrs. Blackstone expertly through a turn in the set.

  Amity’s buoyancy flattened.

  Robbie never said a bad thing about anyone. She could help Amity find something good to think about the black-haired, porcelain doll that was Winifred Blackstone. More importantly, how had she forgotten that Simon was smitten and would not likely be available to keep unwanted suitors away? Obviously, his asking her to dance this evening was only to mask his attentions to Mrs. Blackstone. One didn’t dance too often with one’s intended until she was formally one’s intended. It’s not as though Amity cared anyway. How often had she told herself they wouldn’t suit? She should be grateful to him for taking the burden of respectability off her shoulders. “Would you care for some punch, Aunt?”

  “Not yet, child. We’ve only just arrived. I do not see our friend Mr. Peyton among the set.”

  “I believe he is with Colonel Henry tonight.”

  “More’s the pity,” Clementine muttered.

  Grateful for small mercies, Amity drifted behind Clementine as she sought a chair. Her father worked his way toward a group of men standing in the far corner of the room by the bar.

  “At least I see your Mr. Morgan.” Clementine arranged her skirts around knees that sat at a little higher angle when she was in small chairs. She slipped her crossed ankles to one side. She looked uncomfortable. No wonder Uncle William finally made chairs for them both.

  “You misunderstand Aunt. Simon is an old family friend.”

  Clementine was not convinced.

  “I believe she—” Amity indicated Mrs. Blackstone “—is much more to his liking. She is bookish like him.”

  Clementine waved her hand. “Enough. You don’t know what you are talking about.”

  The set ended, and as Simon led Mrs. Blackstone to the punch table near the entrance, one of her father’s friends presented himself.

  “Miss Archer, would you do me the honor?”

  Amity knew his wife and daughters; there was no danger from this man. “I’d be delighted Mr. Lewis.”

  Following the set, another of her father’s friends arrived to escort her to the floor. She wondered if he was slipping them each a coin. After the third set, Amity pleaded exhaustion and headed for her aunt.

  “Your father is taking me home.”

  “Are you not well? I’ll get our things.”

  Clementine caught her hand before she could move. “He has already gone to get them. You may stay. Mr. Morgan can bring you home.”

  “Aunt.”

  “He has your father’s blessing.”

  Amity paled. “Blessing for what?”

  “Did your father not ask him to escort you as he would his own sister?”

  “Yes, of course, but I can be ready to leave with you and Papa. There is nothing to keep me here.”

  “Nothing?” Simon appeared at her side. “I believe you promised me a dance.”

  “So I did—”

  “Very good to see you, Mr. Morgan.” Clementine bestowed on Simon the same beam of graciousness she’d given to Mr. Anderson upon their arrival. “Reed will take me home. I trust you may escort our girl home when this merriment is concluded?”

  “Indeed I shall.”

  “What shall you do, Mr. Morgan?” Mrs. Blackstone asked.

  If she looked like porcelain at a distance, up close she was nearly flawless. Amity would have to take some time later to determine why she was not happy for him. She supplied the required bob when the introductions came around to her.

  The fiddler drew his bow across the strings.

  “Amity?” Simon offered his hand.

  She placed her hand in his.

  “Mrs. Blackstone, may I present my dear friend, Mr. Lewis.” Papa bellowed.

  Amity retreated to the dance floor hiding a smile.

  She stood across from Simon and slipped back to the first dance they’d shared. Oh, how her heart thrilled when he’d offered his hand. Hazel eyes sparkling as they did now, changing color in the candlelight. Chestnut hair pulled into a curlew at his neck. Broader now, he filled his suit with a manly bearing that was missing when last they’d danced. He was all man now with the same open smile that caused her lungs to deflate.

  Turning under his arm brought her close enough to smell the pine soap he always used. Images of walking with him in the gloaming, golden lights twinkling out of windows, speaking of homey things—none of that. He belongs to Mrs. Blackstone. Good thing she knew they would never suit or she’d be in big trouble. The set finished in a flourish and not too soon for her ragged emotions. Distance. That’s what she needed. Punch.

  “That was rigorous set. Would you care for a drink?”

  Groaning out loud was not anymore polite than ‘I need some distance to figure out what your presence is doing to me’ so she settled on, “Yes, I would, thank you.”

  Mrs. Blackstone occupied the chair vacated by Aunt Clementine.

  Amity chose to follow Simon to the refreshments.

  The line for a cool drink angled from the stairs toward the street entrance. Amity took her place next to Simon amidst the few gathered in the vestibule. Through the farthest window, which gave a mere slice of a glance into the street, she gleaned movement. She moved to the doorway. From the door, she saw them come. Like a snowball gathering mass, soldiers rolled down the street.

  Glass shattered. Dance music played behind her. The mob kept coming. Men hastily pulled on coats, and stood on porches, wives, and children close behind.

  “What do you think they want?” Simon’s voice tickled her ear. A crowd formed behind them jostling for a look.

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll find out.” Amity stepped off the porch and entered the crowd. She pushed her way toward the center. Soldiers, raising fists and shouting to be released, moved out of her way at a slight nudge. “What’s it about?” She asked the first soldier.

  The man turned toward her. “Who are you then?” The man grabbed her waist sliding his hands higher. “Ain’t you fancy?”

  Her voice deserted her. She dug her heels in to push away but found no purchase in the muddy sand. She balled both fists and hit him in the ear.

  “Hey!” He released her and took a step back.

  Amity retreated into a wall. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

  The man’s eyes widened, and he put up his hands.

  Another pair of hands landed on her shoulders. Without a blink, she spun around and swung her fist. Simon caught the blow in his much larger hand.

  “Amity?”

  “That man—” She turned to point to the man, but he was gone.

  A whistle shot through the crowd.

  Simon rested hands on her shoulders. Chest heaving, Amity stepped back into his protection.

  The soldiers stilled and waited.

  “Gentleman,” Patrick Henry’s voice rang through the street. “I have heard your requests to be released from your enlistments. Let us go back to camp to discuss it, shall we? Business of this important a nature should not be discussed on our public streets. I order you back to your camp. I shall be with you shortly.”

  “Now. Amity.” Simon released her shoulders and grabbed her hand. He let her go only after he’d gotten her back to Anderson’s. “Do not go outside.” He ordered before marching off.

  The soldiers retreated from the door.

  “That was very foolish of you, Miss Archer. You could have been killed or worse.” Mrs. Blackstone called her attention back to the people standing around her in the vestibule.

  Anger blazed. Amity crossed her arms. “Nonsense. I was very safe among the soldiers of our country.”

  A sardonic look pinched Mrs. Blackstone’s face. “Suit yourself, but you should be careful out there among unsupervised men. Dressed as you are what do you think they will take you for? Certainly not a fine lady. They will treat you as they think you are.”

  Amity tugged at her stomacher, rising bile burned her throat. Of course, that is what the soldier would have thought.

  Where was that coach?

  ~*~

  Simon held Amity’s hand across the yard to the carriage and handed her in. He took deep even breaths. This was not like dealing with Hester. Hester knew he loved her. Hester knew his authority. He’d had occasion to lay down the law. She yelled and carried on until they could come to some agreement. He had no authority over Amity. She could walk away convinced once again that they wouldn’t suit. Maybe she was right. The tension hadn’t left his body from finding her among the troops earlier in the day before he lost her in the mob. “Tell me that somehow you were pushed off those steps. That you did not deliberately walk into that mob of soldiers.”

  She said nothing, face turned toward the window.

  “Your father will ask me...”

  “I stepped down.”

  He slapped his hands on his knees and swallowed an expletive. “How will I explain that you were accosted in a mob of soldiers because I didn’t prevent you from taking off?”

  “I didn’t think—”

  “That much would be obvious to a deluded person.”

  “Simon.”

  “Are you deluded?”

  “No. I am writing a book.”

  He sat back and folded his arms. “You are writing a book.” Of course, he knew she wrote tales for her siblings. He’d heard they were quite good, but this was the first he’d heard anything like this.

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t think you wrote about those kinds of animals.”

  “It’s not a child’s book.”

  “Go on.”

  “I would love to, but we have arrived. I hope you don’t have to tell Papa about this evening, but if you do, then I shall deal with the consequences. But I am not sorry.”

  10

  “Good evening, Miss Amity.”

  Amity gave Lucy her cloak and muff.

  “Mr. Morgan, Mr. Archer asked if you would please meet with him in Mr. William’s book room.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Lucy, if anyone asks, I’ll be in my room preparing for bed.” Amity curtsied. “Thank you for escorting me home, Simon. I had a lovely time.”

  He bowed rather than show the anger that still shook him by taking her hand.

  Simon arrived at the study door.

  “I thought you wanted to get out of town, Clementine.”

  “Have you spoken to Mr. Morgan about escorting us to Winchester?”

  “If I do so this evening will you make your arrangements?”

  “Yes.”

  Simon stepped into the doorway.

  Clementine stood. “The man himself.”

  “Simon, I have a very great favor to ask of you.”

  “You want me to escort your daughter and her aunt to Winchester?”

  Reed’s features stilled.

  “I heard you as I walked down the hall.”

  Reed relaxed. “Clementine is anxious to get out of town. Amity has always wanted to see the mountains—”

  “I have old friends in Winchester.” Clementine continued, “it is past time I went to see them. The fighting seems to have quieted in that part of the world, at least for now.”

  The idea of taking Amity and her aunt out of town was too good to be true. There must be some kind of catch somewhere. He put his hand in his pocket and cupped the stone.

  “I believe I will have time to take them, Reed, provided it is not to be an extended stay.”

  “We should be gone a month, no longer than six weeks, depending on the weather, of course.”