“Besides,” she added practically, nudging the bag with her foot, “what harm could it do to loose a bastardized version of The Cat in the Hat on the eighteenth century?”
He laughed in spite of his uneasiness.
“Nobody would print that one. A story showing children being deliberately disobedient to their mother? And not suffering Dire Consequences for doing it?”
“Like I said. Not the right time for a book like that,” she said. “It wouldn’t … stick.”
She’d got over the emotional breakdown altogether now—or at least that’s what she looked like. Long red hair spilling loose down her back, face animated but not troubled, her eyes on the road and the horses’ bobbing heads.
“And then I have Jane,” she said, nodding at the bag and lowering her voice. “Speaking of dire consequences, poor girl.”
“Ja—oh, Fanny’s sister?”
“I mended the drawing, but I promised Fanny that I’d paint Jane, too,” Bree said, and frowned a little. “Make her more permanent. And Lord John says Mr. Brumby is providing me with the best painting supplies that money and a solid Tory reputation can buy in Savannah. I couldn’t persuade Fanny to let me take her drawing, but she did let me copy it so I’d have something to work from.”
“Poor girl. Girls, I should say.” Claire had told Brianna, after the uproar over Fanny’s getting her monthly, what had happened to Jane, and Bree had told him.
“Yes. And poor Willie, too. I don’t know if he was in love with Jane or just felt responsible for her, but Mama said he showed up at her funeral in Savannah, looking awful, with that huge horse. He gave Da the horse, for Fanny—he’d already given Fanny to him, to take care of—and then he just … left. They haven’t heard anything about him since.”
Roger nodded, but there wasn’t much to say. He’d met William, Ninth Earl of Ellesmere, once, several years before, for roughly three minutes, on a quay in Wilmington. A teenager then, tall and thin as a rail—and with a striking resemblance to Bree, though he was dark-haired—but with a lot more confidence and bearing than he’d have expected from someone that age. He supposed that was one of the perquisites of being born （at least theoretically） to the hereditary aristocracy. You really did think the world—or a good part of it—belonged to you.
“Do you know where she was buried? Jane?” he asked.
She shook her head. “In a private cemetery on an estate outside the city, is all. Why?”
He lifted one shoulder, briefly. “I thought I’d maybe pay my respects. So I could tell Fanny I’d gone and said a prayer for her sister.”
She glanced at him, soft-eyed.
“That’s a really good thought. I tell you what: I’ll ask Lord John where it is—Mama said he arranged for Jane to be buried, so he’ll know where. Then you and I can go together. Do you think Fanny would like it if I made a sketch of the grave? Or would that be too—upsetting?”
“I think she’d like it.” He touched her shoulder, then smoothed the hair back from her face and bound it with his handkerchief. “You wouldn’t have anything edible in that bag, would you?”
52
Ripe for the Harvest
From Colonel Benjamin Cleveland
To Colonel Fraser, Fraser’s Ridge, North Carolina, Colonel John Sevier, Colonel Isaac Shelby, etc …
Dear Sirs:
This is to inform you that as of the 14th proximo, I shall be riding with my Militia through the Farms and Settlements that lie between the lower Bend of the Nolichucky and the hot springs, with the intent of harassing and dislodging such Men as be of a Loyalist Disposition living therein and I invite you to join me in this Undertaking.
If you are of like Mind with me in appreciating the Threat we harbor in our Busom and the Necessity of Exturpating it, bring your Men prepared with their Arms and join me at Sycamore Shoals upon the 14th.
Yr. Srv.
B. Cleveland
“WHAT ARE OUR CHOICES?” I asked, trying to sound calmly objective.
Jamie sighed and set down the ledger.
“I can ignore Cleveland’s letter—including his spelling. Like the last one. Nobody kens I’ve had it but you and Roger Mac and the tinker who brought it. Fat Benjie willna wait long for my answer; he’ll have his harvest in soon, and he’s hot to be about his hunting before the weather turns.”
“That would buy us a little time, at least.”
One corner of his mouth turned up.