Read Online The Colonel's Lady by Laura Frantz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Frantz
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loss . . .
The carefully couched words seemed only to finalize the fact that her father wasn’t coming back and she was four hundred miles from civilization without a shilling to her name to return her there. Hot tears splashed onto the paper, making the ink spot and run.
Y our father died in the line of duty, honorable to the end . . . not only a scrivener of the first rank but a fine soldier. I was with him at the last and must convey his concern for you, his beloved daughter. I ndeed, his final words were these: “ T ake care of my R oxie.”
She got up onto the bed where her father’s unforgettable tobacco scent still lingered and bit her lip till it nearly bled. Colonel McLinn’s letter still lay in her hand, and she turned away from it, perplexed.
He hadn’t told her how it had happened. “In the line of duty,” he’d said. What did that mean exactly? Indian arrow? British saber? An accident? Perhaps it was better he’d spared her the particulars. He was a gentleman, after all.
And what did it truly matter? Knowing the sordid details wouldn’t bring Papa back.
The letter fluttered to her feet, and she gave way to the pain lashing her heart. Sinking down on the dusty hearth stones, she put her head in her hands and wept.
8
Papa’s worn Bible on the trestle table seemed to call to her. When she’d first arrived, it had been open to the Psalms. Now it was turned to Ecclesiastes as if moved by some unseen hand. Bella, perhaps? In the dim light of the first day of January, Roxanna leaned over the candlelit page and let the words seep into her worn soul and begin to miraculously mend it.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die.
She’d been very little when Papa had taken her on his knee and told her how it was to be a soldier. He’d served with the British during the French and Indian War, long before he’d joined the American army. ’Twas a hard life. Adventuresome. Dangerous. Deadly. But death hadn’t been a stranger to any of them back then. Her brother William had drowned before the age of eight, and baby John had died of a fever. After that, ’twas just her and her parents in their snug stone house, somewhat reminiscent of Colonel McLinn’s. There’d been no more children. Papa was often away with the army, and somehow she’d grown accustomed to the lonesome absences, if her mother had not.
She remembered that Papa believed a man was born not by happenstance but by design, that the Almighty fixed one’s time on earth like He fixed the stars in heaven. There were accidents, calamities, death. But these were ordained also.
Still, her heart hurt.
Hungrily, she searched the next verse, her sadness tempered word by word. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. Oh, how she wanted to laugh—and dance! Was there to be only weeping and mourning in her future? If she stayed in this cheerless room and was of no use to anyone, there would be. And she simply must see about Abby.
She dressed in indigo wool, sweeping her hair back with pins so that it warmed her bare neck. Blowing out a solitary candle and banking the fire, she slipped out onto the frozen parade ground, so unobtrusive that not even the sentries took notice. She was drawn to the big blockhouse kitchen, glad to find it empty, the hearth containing a few red embers beneath its bed of ashes. In time she had it blazing and was boiling water, grinding coffee, cracking eggs, and making breakfast. For an army.
An hour later Bella appeared, wide-eyed and grateful. “Law, Miz Roxanna, you can smell them cakes clear to my cabin. I hope you’ve made a heap o’ coffee cuz the men are startin’ to rouse.”
Dovie and Nancy soon followed, red-eyed and yawning. Had they been up all night? Roxanna greeted them, hardly pausing in her work, glad to find them too tired to talk. She served them cups of steaming coffee and they smiled
The carefully couched words seemed only to finalize the fact that her father wasn’t coming back and she was four hundred miles from civilization without a shilling to her name to return her there. Hot tears splashed onto the paper, making the ink spot and run.
Y our father died in the line of duty, honorable to the end . . . not only a scrivener of the first rank but a fine soldier. I was with him at the last and must convey his concern for you, his beloved daughter. I ndeed, his final words were these: “ T ake care of my R oxie.”
She got up onto the bed where her father’s unforgettable tobacco scent still lingered and bit her lip till it nearly bled. Colonel McLinn’s letter still lay in her hand, and she turned away from it, perplexed.
He hadn’t told her how it had happened. “In the line of duty,” he’d said. What did that mean exactly? Indian arrow? British saber? An accident? Perhaps it was better he’d spared her the particulars. He was a gentleman, after all.
And what did it truly matter? Knowing the sordid details wouldn’t bring Papa back.
The letter fluttered to her feet, and she gave way to the pain lashing her heart. Sinking down on the dusty hearth stones, she put her head in her hands and wept.
8
Papa’s worn Bible on the trestle table seemed to call to her. When she’d first arrived, it had been open to the Psalms. Now it was turned to Ecclesiastes as if moved by some unseen hand. Bella, perhaps? In the dim light of the first day of January, Roxanna leaned over the candlelit page and let the words seep into her worn soul and begin to miraculously mend it.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die.
She’d been very little when Papa had taken her on his knee and told her how it was to be a soldier. He’d served with the British during the French and Indian War, long before he’d joined the American army. ’Twas a hard life. Adventuresome. Dangerous. Deadly. But death hadn’t been a stranger to any of them back then. Her brother William had drowned before the age of eight, and baby John had died of a fever. After that, ’twas just her and her parents in their snug stone house, somewhat reminiscent of Colonel McLinn’s. There’d been no more children. Papa was often away with the army, and somehow she’d grown accustomed to the lonesome absences, if her mother had not.
She remembered that Papa believed a man was born not by happenstance but by design, that the Almighty fixed one’s time on earth like He fixed the stars in heaven. There were accidents, calamities, death. But these were ordained also.
Still, her heart hurt.
Hungrily, she searched the next verse, her sadness tempered word by word. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. Oh, how she wanted to laugh—and dance! Was there to be only weeping and mourning in her future? If she stayed in this cheerless room and was of no use to anyone, there would be. And she simply must see about Abby.
She dressed in indigo wool, sweeping her hair back with pins so that it warmed her bare neck. Blowing out a solitary candle and banking the fire, she slipped out onto the frozen parade ground, so unobtrusive that not even the sentries took notice. She was drawn to the big blockhouse kitchen, glad to find it empty, the hearth containing a few red embers beneath its bed of ashes. In time she had it blazing and was boiling water, grinding coffee, cracking eggs, and making breakfast. For an army.
An hour later Bella appeared, wide-eyed and grateful. “Law, Miz Roxanna, you can smell them cakes clear to my cabin. I hope you’ve made a heap o’ coffee cuz the men are startin’ to rouse.”
Dovie and Nancy soon followed, red-eyed and yawning. Had they been up all night? Roxanna greeted them, hardly pausing in her work, glad to find them too tired to talk. She served them cups of steaming coffee and they smiled
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