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The Lieutenant's Secret Love

By Elva Cobb Martin

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Title: The Lieutenant’s Secret Love (Book 5 Charleston Brides)

Theme verse: “All things work together for the good of those who love God, those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28

Prologue
Charleston, South Carolina 1784
The dark lines of the master’s brow and his loud drunken command shot tremors through Ezekiel as he stood in the doorway of the master’s study. Cuddling a newborn wrapped in a blanket in his black, bony arms, he lowered his head, and a long, heavy breath gushed from his lips.
“I said take that baby and leave it far out in the woods to die. I’ll not have another female in my house. This ‘pose to be a son.” Carter Seymour’s harsh words echoed through the plantation house. He sat forward behind his desk and pointed his finger. “You hear me, boy? Don’t think I’m too drunk to mean this.” He slumped back in his chair where he’d spent the night as his wife struggled to give birth before she died.
“But, sirrah. She’s a healthy one. A real blessing on this Good Friday.” Ezekiel’s large hands shook, holding the small bundle from the previous night’s birthing. He bent his gray head down to look once more at the girl child with her curly blond wisp of hair, wrapped in a Seymour white baby blanket. “I’se real sorry about Miz Seymour. And look, this baby’s got that crooked little finger just like her mama.” He held up a little hand with its miniature fingers spread. The smallest finger on the left hand bent at the middle joint.
Seymour’s eyes widened when he saw the peculiar trait of his wife. “Take it out of my house. I never want to see it again,” he thundered, and reached for his whiskey bottle.
The child stiffened at the loud, angry words, and Ezekiel clasped her closer. He looked down at the tiny infant wrapped in the lacy covering with a C and S embroidered on one corner.
The little one whimpered and pushed a tiny fist toward her rosebud mouth. Her face wrinkled, and she began to cry. Turning, he stumbled out the door, shaken in mind and heart. He had no choice but to obey his master. His old heart hammered in his chest and made his legs heavy and slow.
Ezekiel passed down the long hall lined with servants who’d heard the master’s loud, drunken command and the babe now weeping. The maids and footmen stared at him with rounded eyes and stunned faces.
He walked through to the kitchen where his wife Molly stood wringing her hands. Tears streamed down her face. She handed him a sugar tit she had dipped in milk. Ezekiel gave it to the baby, whose tiny mouth stopped in the middle of a sob and latched on the little ball of old linen with a spoonful of sandy sugar gathered in its center. He headed out the back entrance of the large house and swiped a tear that trickled down his weathered cheek before it dripped from his chin onto the little one in his arms.
Leaving the plantation grounds, he trudged deep into the woods. Scents of pine, sweet cedar, and the damp earthy smell of decomposing leaves flowed around him and the child. The morning sun moved higher in the sky with the promise of more heat to come. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow.
The baby slept after the sugar tit ran out, but soon awakened and cried. He fell down on his knees next to a dirt road at the edge of the forest. “Lord Jesus, you knows I don’t want this baby to die. I ain’t no murderer. I needs your help. I’se in a terrible place on this Good Friday ‘fore yo Resurrection, Lord. Show me what to do.”
The squeaking wheels of a wagon and clip clop of horses’ hooves approaching interrupted his prayer. Quickly, he placed the little bundle up against the trunk of a large oak that sheltered the roadway. The baby cried in earnest when his arms no longer held her. Ezekiel scrambled behind bushes and hid.
He heard a surprised feminine voice. “John, will thee stop the wagon? I’m sure I hear a baby crying.”
Ezekiel peeked from his concealed spot. A bonneted woman in a plain gray dress with a white collar sat in the wagon holding a sleeping child in her arms. Another youngster sat on the wagon floor at her feet, clutching her skirt with one hand, sucking a thumb with the other.
“And it’s not our Michael or Adam.” The mother lifted her eyes and searched the shaded forest and wild growth encroaching on the roadway.
“Could be a baby goat, you know, caught in a vine or something,” the man holding the reins replied.
“I believe it’s a baby. Will thou please go search, husband?”
The man stopped the wagon and climbed down. He walked in the direction of the sound toward a large oak.
Ezekiel pushed back into the undergrowth, not daring to breathe.
“A baby for sure, dear Sarah, and it looks like a newborn,” the man called out. He bent and picked up the bundle with care and looked into the tiny porcelain face. The crying stopped. “And it’s got violet eyes, the like of which I’ve never seen.” The next moment, the little countenance wrinkled up and heartrending cries again filled the air.
He hurried back to the wagon, shaking his head. “Who in tarnation would do a thing like this and leave this tiny helpless one out here in the woods?”
His wife laid her own sleeping child into the basket beside the toddler at her feet and reached for the sobbing infant. She rocked it in her arms. “I do believe it’s a newborn and probably about to starve.” She touched the snowy blanket and fingered the lace. “But its coverlet denotes it to be from rich folk.” Without another word, she opened her bodice, pressed the little one to her bosom, and nursed it. Suckling sounds and the gentle whisper of the wind in the trees replaced the cries of the child. The toddler boy at her feet pulled himself up by grasping her skirt. He reached a pudgy hand out to pat the bundle with gentle care. “Babee? Babee not cry now?”
His mother smiled at him. “Baby happy now, dear Adam, and it looks like thee may have a new sister or brother.” The boy patted the small bundle and laid his head on her knee. She called out to her husband. “Thee should see if thee can find anyone about.”
The man looked up and down the road and walked a distance along the sides. “Hullo, is anyone out there?” He peered into the trees and called out several times.
Ezekiel shrank into the shadows.
The woman spoke from the wagon. “Will thou take us home, John White? Someone did not want this wee one, but God saw fit to have us come along in time to save it.” She pulled back the blanket and a joyous cry broke from her lips. “It’s a girl. What a blessing for us to finally have a lassie after losing our Hannah. God has sent a replacement on this Good Friday of all days. Shall we call her Hannah after our poor lost lamb the Lord has in His good care?”
The man smiled and nodded, swung back up into the buggy, and snapped the reins on the backs of the two horses. “Home, my four-footed friends, home.” The horses moved forward at a brisk pace as if they understood the word.
Ezekiel stood from behind the bushes and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He raised his hands toward heaven. “Thank ye, Lord. Thank ye.”

Chapter 1 Sixteen years later (1800)
Hannah White rode her mare Bella through the forest to the secret place she loved, a hidden pool with moss-covered banks where deer and her other animal friends came to drink. No human had ever appeared at her special place, but many animals came. She could spend hours sitting and watching the parade of thirsty creatures. Besides deer, a raccoon and a fox often came by, as well as several kinds of birds. They would fill the nearby trees and move lower and lower in the branches, ever watchful of her, before hopping to the edge of the water to sip a drink.
She dismounted, laid her head against the shoulder of Bella for a loving moment and patted the mare, then tied the reins on a tree branch. She sat in her favorite spot on a rock, admitting a good view of the lake’s colorful visitors. As the sun climbed higher and the animals finished drinking, she undid her braided hair, wiped the perspiration from her brow, and slipped out of her boots and muslin dress. She gasped as she stepped into the cool, shadowed pool. The refreshing wetness wrapped around her feet and rose to her waist as she walked farther in, soaking her petticoat and chemise, which she didn't mind. She’d lie on the mossy hillside until it dried before returning home. Today was a glorious summer day, but most happy because her older brother Adam would return from his two-year Navy stint at sea, battling Barbary pirates attacking American merchant ships. How she’d missed her strong, cheerful, handsome sibling.
She emerged from the water and sat on a warm, moss-covered rock. After squeezing the excess moisture from her thick tresses, she lay on her back to dry her underclothing. Drowsiness pressed against her eyelids.
Her horse’s neigh and the sound of hoof beats coming near roused her, and she sat up, startled. No one ever came this far into the wood.
To her dismay, a horse and rider appeared in front of her before she could reach for her dress. And not an ordinary horse or person. The beautiful, glossy black stallion lowered his head and sniffed in her direction with pricked, fine-shaped ears. The young man in the saddle, dressed in a green silk waist coat and breeches, grinned at her, and his eyes devoured her.
Heat flooded her cheeks at being seen in her undergarments. She jumped up and tried to move around the horse and rider to fetch her dress, but the rider reined the animal to block her path.
“Sir, I beg of you. Let me pass.”
“Why should I, you lovely forest nymph.” Pride and daring laced his voice.
She placed her hand on the velvet nose of the horse and whispered to him. The animal moved back, but the rider swung down from the saddle, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her to him.
Hannah pushed him away. He fell back against his mount, and the horse snorted.
She slipped past them both and reached for her dress. But as she bent to retrieve it, he caught her from behind.
He turned her about and tried to kiss her.
She kicked his shins and scratched his cheek.
The young man cursed and twisted her arm behind her back. “Now I have you, little tigress, and you will not escape this time.
She cried out in pain.
He pressed her close and looked into her face. “What? Violet eyes? I’ve never seen such.”
“Turn her loose, you scoundrel, or you’ll see death like you’ve never seen before, either.” Her brother Adam’s firm voice, with iron-like authority, made her heart fly.
Thank you, Lord.
Dressed in his smart, blue and white American naval uniform with its lieutenant insignia across his shoulders, Adam burst through the trees with a drawn pistol gripped in his wide, tanned hand.
Her attacker released his hold on her and faced the newcomer. The youthful surprise blanketing his face stiffened into haughtiness. He adjusted his silk waistcoat and frowned. “Who do you think you are, sailor?” He spit out the last word with derision. “Get off my property. I’m Saul Seymour and this is Seymour Plantation land you’re trespassing on.”
“No, it’s not. This spot belongs to my father, John White. He tenant farms for Drayton Plantation.” Adam lowered his pistol and grinned at the young man, as if he were dealing with a misbehaving child.
Hannah slid her dress over her head, pulled on her boots, and hurried to stand beside her brother.
“We’ll see about that, you squid.” With one more furious glance at Adam, Saul Seymour turned on his heel and mounted his horse. He pressed his legs into the animal’s sides and galloped away.
Hannah sighed. “Adam, I’m glad you came along when you did.” She reached up and hugged his thick, corded neck. “And we’re so glad to have you home. Mama and Papa will be most happy.”
Adam pulled her arms from around his neck and looked into her face, frowning. “Are you okay, little sister? Did he harm you?”
“No, I’m fine.” She gave him a big smile to relieve his worry. “You know, I think Saul Seymour is about my age, and probably spoiled and been given everything he’s ever wanted. He’s another of the Lord’s many lost sheep.”
“Now don’t you go excusing the rascal, you tender-hearted one.” Adam picked up his sailor’s ditty bag where he’d dropped it and hefted it to his shoulder.
She mounted her horse, and they turned and started back toward home at a comfortable pace.
Adam spoke to her. “Hannah, would you promise me not to come out alone anymore this far from the house?”
***
She looked down at him from her saddle with the wide innocent, violet eyes Adam knew well. It probably never occurred to her to be afraid or worry when immersed in the wonderland of nature she loved.
“Why?” Her voice was both playful and serious.
“I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Saul Seymour.”
The frown stayed glued on his face despite his effort to relax it. Besides the shock of walking up on the scene he’d just dealt with, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Hannah had grown up in his absence. He’d left her two years earlier as a thin waif of a girl, more bones than flesh and thick, unruly hair neither she nor their mother seemed able to keep managed for more than a few minutes.
The girl who’d just thrown her arms around his neck and hugged him was a woman with curves in all the right places. Her hair had become the color of sweet sorghum syrup that glistened like gold when it caught a ray of sunshine blazing over the trees. She was, in fact, everything and more like the beautiful young woman he’d dreaded her becoming—and local, unscrupulous men discovering. And, to make matters worse, his sister appeared unaware of her charms. How would he ever protect her when he traveled on long naval stints at sea away from their family’s small farm? Especially when she was determined to be a free spirit traipsing over the countryside.
The two of them reached the yard of the cottage, with Hannah astride the mare and Adam walking alongside, shouldering his thick bag. A baby goat skipped from behind a shed to Hannah as soon as she dismounted. “Hello, there, Rupert. Are you glad I’m back?” She bent, picked the young creature up, and hugged him and then set him back down. He playfully butted at her leg with the soft horn nubs barely visible on his head. She walked toward the stable, leading her mare.
A cry came from the kitchen window, and Adam’s mother Sarah came running out to them. “Adam, my son. Thee made it home.” He dropped his sailor’s sack and opened his arms to embrace her.
Their freed house servants, Mammy and her thirteen-year-old daughter, stood on the porch looking on and smiling. He walked up and hugged Mammy, who’d helped raise him. She patted his muscled arm. “Lawsey me, Master John. You done got thick and hard. What kinda work they give you on them ships?”
“Way too much, Mammy, that’s for sure.” He grinned at Ada. “And you’ve grown at least a foot taller, young’un.”
The girl’s face crinkled into smiles.
The evening meal proved a blessed affair with his family that he’d looked forward to for months. Younger brother Michael and Hannah sat on either side of him at their wooden table. His mother and father took their usual seats across from them.
John White led in the blessing. “Father God, we thank you for bringing our son Adam back safe. We ask you to bless this food now and keep us strong for our labors and your kingdom work. Amen.”
Adam grinned. His father knew how to pray a brief prayer when folks were hungry. Steamed cabbage, creamed corn, and baked chicken had never tasted so good to him. He ate two wedges of his mother’s hot corn bread still in its iron skillet. How he’d missed his mother’s cooking aboard ship.
After the meal, Michael, especially, wanted to hear about every port Adam’s ship had sailed to and whatever adventures had come his way. He planned to join the Navy after his eighteenth birthday, coming up in two months.
His father smoked a pipe and listened with few interruptions.
Mammy, her husband Samson and daughter Ada—who made their home above the stables—sat in the kitchen doorway, happy to be invited to hear Adam’s stories, too.
Hannah sat at her brother’s feet on the braided rug and offered no comments. Her bright eyes didn’t leave his face as he related exciting, often frightening adventures of his past two years at sea.
Finally, his mother, Sarah, stood from her rocker and laid her sewing in the basket at her feet. “Now, children, thee may stay up as long as thou wantest to, but remember, it’s still a workday tomorrow and the harvest won’t wait.”
His father grunted an assent, stood, and knocked the burned ashes from his pipe into the fireplace. The servants left by the back door.
The next few weeks passed quickly for John as corn, wheat, and vegetables made it from the fields and garden into the barns or to the kitchen larder. He made the most of the three month’s leave he had to help with the harvest. He also bought a pistol for Hannah and trained her how to use it. Another gift he found for her brought the most joy—a mixed mastiff puppy he hoped would grow into a huge guard dog. The pup had sustained several injuries before being abandoned by its owner, but Hannah’s gift for healing soon had him mended. She named the pup Hercules, and the two of them became instant friends and inseparable.
Despite his warnings, Hannah continued her visits to her wooded, happy places after she completed her day’s work or at the crack of dawn before it began.
One day she came back from a long jaunt with the half-grown puppy at her heels and confided to Adam. “I see no one, but I have the feeling at times I’m being watched.”
He placed his hands on her small shoulders and uneasiness creased his brow. “There, can you understand now why I’m asking you to please stop going so far out, dear sister?” He dropped his hands. “You’re too pretty to be safe out there alone. How will I ever have peace about your safety when I have to go back to sea?”
She grinned. “All right, I promise to curtail my longer treks until Hercules grows up to help guard me. And I’ll always ride Bella instead of walking. Will that make you happier?”
He took a deep breath. “And I’ll be praying daily for you, Hannah, to be wise and stay safe.”
One morning after breakfast, three weeks before Adam’s planned departure, two horses with riders pranced into the yard. John White opened the door and greeted the Seymour Plantation owner and his son, both dressed in silk waistcoats and polished black boots. When they dismounted and came up on the porch, he invited them into the sitting room, his face tight. His father had no dealings with the largest plantation owner in the parish. The Seymour Plantation was a neighbor to the Drayton Estate, on which John White was a tenant farmer, but six hundred acres separated the two properties. They all sat in the simple, straight-backed chairs around the fireplace.
Hannah and her mother stayed in the adjoining kitchen with Mammy and her daughter.
After the usual pleasantries about weather and planting, Charles Seymour took charge of the conversation. His son had not said a single word, but he kept throwing glances at Adam. Michael was already at work in the south field with Samson.
“Now I guess you’re wondering why we’ve come. Well, here it is.” He gestured to his son, whose proud face brightened. “Saul here wants to take your daughter as his wife. I know they’re both young, but she’ll have everything she could want and one day will be mistress of Seymour Plantation. What do you say?”
Adam suppressed a snort, but his father’s face turned pale.
Finally, John White cleared his throat and spoke. “Sir, I cannot imagine why you’ve come here with such a request today. Hannah...will probably marry one day, but, as far I know, she doesn’t even know your son.” He cast a stiff glance at Saul as he spoke and his voice was cold and exact.
Hannah stepped into the front room from the kitchen with her mother behind her.
“Father, I’ve met Saul Seymour once.” She eyed the young man. “And I have no desire whatsoever to marry him now or ever. I must decline.”
Saul smiled a strange smile at her, as if her words carried no weight.
Adam’s heart swelled at Hannah’s simple, confident response.
John White took a deep breath. “There, you have your answer, sir. Hannah will have the freedom to make her own choice of marriage partner when the time comes.”
Charles Seymour frowned, and his already ruddy face went a shade darker red. “No, that’s not the end of it, Mr. White.” He stood and cracked his riding crop across his boot.
The loud, harsh sound caused Hannah to gasp and her mother to shudder. Adam clenched both his hands into fists.
“What do you mean, sir?” His father’s voice, which held a slight tremor, surprised Adam. Seymour was nothing but a bully, maybe a wealthy one, but still a bully.
Adam stood. “You’ve heard my sister’s response and my father’s, sir. I don’t think you and your son have any more business to conduct here.”
Charles Seymour turned a hard, assessing eye on Adam. “Well, let’s just see if I have.” He walked to the window and tapped it with his riding crop. “Come see.” He motioned to John and Adam, and they stepped to the window. Seymour stood aside. Several sweating horses entered the yard from the woods, stamping and neighing. Answering neighs sounded from the stable beyond the house.
His father’s eyes widened, and Adam’s nostrils flared as he peered at the scene. Four riders milled about, armed with swords and muskets and carrying unlit torches—desperate men you could pay to do most anything from the looks on their hard faces, their scraggly clothing, and gaunt mounts.
A wicked smile creased Seymour’s face but never met his hard eyes. “Yesterday I bought your tenant farm from Thomas Drayton. The girl comes with us, or we’ll burn this place to the ground, the barns, too, and shoot the animals. You’ll only escape with your lives.”
Adam made a move to reach the musket hanging over the fireplace, but Charles pulled his pistol and barred his way. “I only have to give the men outside a thumbs up, and two of them will light their torches, and the others will begin shooting every animal on the place. You ready for that?”
 

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