Rebecca by Jo Ann Ferguson Page A

in the carriage, he had not seen her shed a tear, although too often he had seen them gleaming in her eyes. He had expected her to be unhappy to leave her familiar world, but she was trying to hold it all inside her. With no one was she sharing her sorrow.
    He put his hands on her arms to stroke her softly through the coarse material of her shirt. Soon he would have her dressed in the satins and silk that her loveliness demanded. If she could believe that he longed to make her happy, she might be able to see past her sorrow.
    â€œLeave me alone!” she pleaded through her sobs. “I know I will have to endure sleeping in your bed, but can’t you have the decency to leave me alone now?”
    Wounded by the loathing in her voice when he had only been trying to comfort her, he stood and walked away from the bunk. He wondered if this could be the same woman he had remembered with such fondness from their last meeting. Then Rebecca had been a delightful child, more interested in his well-being than her own life—which could have been forfeit for harboring the last surviving man of a mission that had turned into a suicide assignment. He had been one of the despised English soldiers who represented the overlord upon whom these proud, independent yeomen had turned their backs in derision.
    He sat in the chair by the table and was silent. Rebecca did not want his sympathy, but he could not leave her alone in her misery. Whether she could accept the fact or not, she needed him as he had depended on her so long ago. As she could not have left him to die, he could not abandon her.
    When she was asleep, Nicholas opened her bag to search for a clean nightdress for her to redress in when she awoke. As he pulled one out, a piece of paper floated to the floor. He bent to pick up it and could not contain his curiosity as he unfolded the time-yellowed paper. His eyes widened in shock as he saw it was a letter dated “July 1777.”
    Dear Rebecca ,
    The hour is late, but I wanted you to know that I am doing better every day. My recovery is mostly because of you. The doctor says by next week, I will be able to resume my command. Although that is good news, it means going back to fight this war which seems so endless. I am tired of the war, but I will have to do as I have vowed when I became a captain in service to the king you despise so deeply.
    I hope you are well, little wife. Have you kept the promise that you would tell no one of our wedding? Be brave, Rebecca. If I survive this conflict, I will set this whole thing right for you. I know it would not be easy for you to be married to a man you do not know. If it is meant that I should come back to you, we will work it out as you want. I just did not want to die without thanking you for your sweet compassion for a wounded stranger.
    The candle burns low, so I will stop now. As I fall asleep, I am thinking of a little lass with long, dark braids and a laugh that teases starlight from the sky to twinkle merrily in her eyes. Take care, Rebecca. I wish I could hear how you and your family are doing, but I have no address I can give you to write to me. Somehow, I will find a way to get this to you. You know that I am thinking of you with fondness and gratitude.
    I remain your devoted friend and
    Your husband,
    Captain Nicholas Wythe
    Nicholas looked from the letter to the pale face of the woman. When he had written that note, it had been a scant two weeks before the battle where his commander had surrendered their unit to the Continentals. He had given the letter to one of their scouts to post secretly so it would reach Rebecca. After his capture, he had been unable to write for fear of compromising Rebecca and her family. At the height of the conflict, it would have been dangerous to be known to have a friend on the wrong side.
    All these years, she had kept his letters. She even had planned to take them with her to Bennett’s house. He wondered how she would have