Secret in the Barn
Caring for the Enemy
Beth twisted and turned all night after the strange soldier turned up at their door. She was in a glade, walking faster and faster trying to find her way out. Then she was running, and suddenly a light burst through the trees and she was standing on a flat plain. Smoke was everywhere. The roar of gunfire split her skull, pounding in her eardrums. Covering her ears, Beth ducked and ran, screaming wordlessly to drown out the cries echoing in her ears that she heard from the hospital. Then out of the chaos, a hand grabbed hers, warm and strong. She lifted her tearstained face and saw Samuel looking down at her.
“Go back to bed, little sister. Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise.”
His face structure shifted and morphed until she was looking into the face of the wounded soldier, his clothes covered in mud and blood.
Beth sat up with a jolt.
Early morning light spilled through the curtains, staining the walls a pale lemon color.
Beth rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but something kept making her eyes pop open. As if her mind were trying to remind her of something.
Then her eyes flew open and stayed open.
The redcoat.
He was in their barn.
A light thumping noise, followed by a rubbing sound caught her ear. Standing up and wrapping a shawl around her from a nearby chair, Beth opened her door and padded out to the main room. Remembering Samuel’s face in her dream made her heart ache.
In the dim light of a new fire, Father was bent over the sticky puddle on the hearth, scrubbing it into obscurity. Mother was nowhere to be seen.
“A little early for you to be awake, isn't it?” Father's deep voice resonated in her head.
Beth pulled her gaze away from the dark stain on the floor. “I had bad dreams.”
“I am sorry.” He rested his hand on his knee. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Beth shook her head. “Where is Mother?”
Father resumed cleaning. “Out back, tending to our guest. She might use some help. If you're up and awake, why don't you see if you can be of use to her?”
He looked back up at her again. “But remember what I said, Beth. You can help Mother take care of him when she needs you, but do not speak to him more than you must.”
Beth's heart tripped at the thought of being near the redcoat again. But she returned to her room, got dressed and made her way out into the kitchen garden. The vegetable plants were almost ready to harvest now, but the cold might take them away if no one picked them first. Beth wondered who had lived here before the battles of Lexington and Concord. Who had eaten from these plants? Who slept in her room? Who warmed themselves by the same hearth every night where Beth and her family did?
She felt like an intruder in someone else's home by the time she reached the small barn. But Dr. Warren had made the living arrangements for her family before they came to Concord, so everything must be all right.
Beth inhaled deeply before opening the door, feeling as if she were about to enter a forbidden place.
There were two stalls for horses, and one larger pen area, perhaps for cattle or exercising the animals. There was a place for feed and keeping saddlery and other riding equipment. The scent of hay, dirt, and something else tickled Beth's nose. She followed the other smell to the far stall where she found Mother with her back to Beth. She was bent over a pile of hay on which was spread the quilt from Beth's bed. On top of the quilt lay the soldier.
His scarlet coat and shirt had been removed, leaving him in only his breeches and boots. A blanket had been tucked around his lower half, but his broad chest was bare, moving up and down in uneven breathing. Most of the blood and mud had been cleaned from his skin, revealing several small tears and bruising along his flesh. Next to them was a small pair of extractors and a glass cup. Beth saw a blob of blood inside it, and hugged her arms tight around herself.
Mother was intent on wrapping the man's midsection in strips of bandaging, the odd smell coming from the bottle of ointment in her other hand. The man grimaced even under her gentlest touch, but his eyes stayed closed.
Both of them looked absolutely exhausted.
Beth hung back, craning her neck in an attempt to see without coming closer.
Now that he was cleaned up and without his menacing red uniform, the soldier looked like a different person. Less threatening. More vulnerable. In fact, he looked just like all the other wounded men that Beth had been helping to take care of recently. Seeing him in this way made it harder to believe that he was a battle-hardened enforcer of a far-away king.
Mother stopped, pulling her hands away from the last bandage with a soft sigh that sounded like the last of her energy was disappearing with it. She stood up slowly, putting the back of her hand against her forehead.
Beth took one step forward, drawn to encourage her mother but still wary of their injured visitor.
Hay rustled beneath her shoes, and she paused mid-step.
Mother turned quickly and a tired smile brushed her lips.
“Beth, dear,” she tried to speak, but evidently the effort was too great, and she simply held out her hand. “Here, it's alright.”
Beth hesitantly went to her and wrapped her arms around Mother's waist. Mother put her free arm around Beth and kissed her head, still holding the extra bandaging, ointment, and, Beth could see, the cup with the blood in it.
“He was lucky, you know,” Mother whispered almost too quietly for Beth to hear. “A few inches over and this ball would surely have entered his heart.” She clinked something in the glass, and Beth realized the blob of blood was actually a musket ball.
“I have been up with him all night.” Mother yawned and pressed her hand against her eyes. “But I am afraid I will fall asleep on my feet if I stay here much longer.”
Beth opened her mouth once, twice, three times, but the silence was suddenly so thick that it weighed on her tongue like the same lead from the bullet.
“Mother...would you like me to sit with him?”
She felt Mother's eyes on the top of her head. “By yourself?”
“Father said I should help you,” Beth said, the words sounding awkward. “And you need to rest, Mother. You cannot be of help to anyone like this.”
She finally looked up and saw Mother was looking over at the soldier. His face was relaxed slightly now, his chest rising and falling. He looked to be asleep.
“I do not want you to be alone with him,” Mother said, covering her mouth on the last words to hide another great yawn.
Beth touched her hand. “I will be fine, Mother. He cannot hurt me. And I will sit over there.” She pointed to the corner opposite of where he lay, the one nearest to the door. “Just so that someone will be here if...” She swallowed. “...When he wakes up and needs more care. And if he does need something, I can come straight to you.”
As she spoke, Beth marveled at her own words. Who was this person speaking in her voice who sounded so brave and confident, when in her heart she was shaking and fearful as a mouse?
“My good girl,” Mother whispered, pressing Beth against her one last time. She gave the soldier one last look before adding, “I am proud of the good nurse you are becoming.”
Beth felt her face heat, but she took Mother's hand again.
“Why don't you go lie down,” she suggested tentatively. “I will call you soon.”
She knew Mother was debating with herself still, the caregiving part of her anxious to stay and look after her patient, but the rest of her begging for rest. With a final sigh, she slowly turned and went to the door.
“Remember, Beth.” She stopped. “If he wakes, you must come and get me immediately. He will be in much pain.”
Beth swallowed the ball in her throat and nodded. She sat down on a pile of hay, bunching it together a little more before perching upon it in the agreed-upon corner. The faint rustle was loud in the quiet little barn.
Beth let herself watch the stranger, thinking that it was not rude because he was sleeping and the reason why she was there was to look after him, anyway.
His features were slack with relaxation, lips parted while breathing in a manner more calm than last night. His dark, damp hair was falling out of its queue, straggling across his forehead and around his face. His skin was pale and tinged with a bruising purple around the delicate sockets of his eyes. His entire body was thin and stiff, as if unused to lying still. Beth focused on the bandages wound around his torso.
A soft rustle overheard drew her eyes upward. Perched on one of the beams running beneath the barn roof was an owl. It gazed, unblinking, down on her in the dim light.
Beth exhaled quietly. “Hello, beautiful one. What are you doing here?”
The owl’s wings whispered, and it turned its head halfway round. Even though there was only the candlelight and the morning grayness peeking through the ajar door, she could see the fine browns and gold of the bird’s feathers. Quiet, steady, but present, the owl turned its head back around and watched her. Its sharp beak turned down toward its breast, but its wise eyes and calm presence gave Beth a sudden reassurance. No matter what was happening out there in the world, with all the fighting and the gunshots and fear, there was beauty in God’s creation. There was simplicity of life and softness and silence. There was not only war, but there was peace. There was not only death, but also life. There was not only emptiness, but also hope.
And even though she could not fly like an owl, Beth could walk, could run ahead of the darkness biting at the heels of her life. She could face the days ahead with a steadiness and peace of mind. Just like the owl sitting serenely above her. Maybe she could learn to fly above it all, too, yet still provide a peaceful presence to those around her.
Beth sighed and looked back down at the sleeping soldier. She hoped he would sleep the rest of the day. She knew there was indeed great pain waiting to assault every nerve in his body when he awoke. And yet, he almost looked peaceful, lying there with his eyes closed. Beth reminded herself this was a soldier who had undoubtedly killed men in battle, perhaps more her own countrymen, Massachusetts men, than she ever wanted to know.
He stirred then, and his eyelids fluttered.
Beth's breathing quickened. Instinct told her to go for Mother right away, but deep down she wanted to be brave, wanted to show she could stand the situation without running away. After all, what can he do?
She also could not deny the curiosity, simple and intense, running through her veins.
Breathing as quietly as possible, she adjusted herself on her seat, listing her head ever so slightly. Would he awaken completely or slip back into unconsciousness?
Sweat started to glisten where it popped out on his skin. Without him even being fully awake, Beth knew his body was already working hard to right itself, to correct the foreign intrusions and flesh damage.
Then his eyes opened fully, and she was right in his line of vision. Beth squeezed herself back.
His eyes darted around above his head for a moment as he lay without turning his head. But slowly, as if he could sense her presence by the same oxygen they shared, he moved to look around until he was staring directly at her.
She tried to read the emotions in his face, feeling she ought to say something of reassurance. Surely he did not want to be here any more than they wanted him to be, but they also would never have just sent him away to die somewhere without care. In spite of the truth, however, Beth could not make her mouth open to say the words. So they continued to stare at one another.
“Where am I?”
His voice startled her. She tried to wet her dry throat.
“Concord, Massachusetts,” she almost whispered.
I'm talking to him. We are having a conversation.
But was this not much different from talking to one of the wounded men at the hospital? Beth felt her spine straightening. No, of course not. He was a man who had gotten hurt, no doubt in combat, and now he needed care and information. That was the end of it. What was there to fear?
Is he not the enemy?
According to her family, to the Cause, perhaps he was. Then the voice of Dr. Warren echoed back to her...
“No matter the color of his coat, if there's a person who needs our help it is our God-given responsibility to provide that help if we can.”
The words gave her strange but true comfort. She would not be a coward. She would be brave. She would do what needed to be done to help this man. No matter the color of his coat. Even if it was the same color as the blood she washed off her hands from the hospital every day.
“That's not what I meant.” His voice sounded harder, stronger. He seemed almost angry. “What place is this? How did I come to be here?”
Beth slowly stood up. Go get Mother.
But the curious side of her was winning. Perhaps if she let herself wonder she would not be afraid. Her questions might crowd out the fear.
“You got injured, somehow,” she heard herself saying. He twisted his neck to look at her. “You came to our home and collapsed on the doorstep. We – my mother is taking care of you.”
His eyes darted over her, coming to a rest at some point over her shoulder. “But...” He struggled to release the words. “That cannot be...”
“Yes, sir, I assure you that is what happened–”
“No,” he cut her off, the roughness in his voice growing. He lifted one dirty hand and pressed it against his eyes. “This is not your home.”
“What?” Now confused herself, Beth dared to take another step forward. “I don't understand. How would you know where my home is?”
“I do not know where your home is, and nor do I care.”
Why is he so angry? She could tell he was, even as he lay there on the hay, inhibited by injuries and unable to move much of his body. His fingers flexed, balling into a fist. His mouth tightened, though that might also have been from pain. It was really his words that gave his emotions away. Hard, demanding, careless, spoken in a voice meant to rebuff.
“Are you in a great deal of pain?” She swallowed, forcing dampness down her dry throat.
He glared at her. “Enough.” His head pressed back further against the tickling hay. Then he jerked forward so suddenly Beth flew back to the door, her hand tight around the latch. Her heart was a drum in her chest.
“Where is my satchel?” he demanded. “I need it. Where is it?”
Beth tried to slow her heartbeat, slowly letting go of the door. She twisted her lips, confused again, until she remembered the brown leather bag he had been carrying on his person last night. Where had Father put it...
“I, I don't know,” she said in a small voice. “Father moved it somewhere after you fainted.”
“What!”
Now she knew he was afraid. She could almost hear the pounding of his heart, matching the speed of her own. His eyes were wide in alarm. His skin was beaded with sweat from both pain and fear. She could tell from his twisted expression how hard he was trying to hide his pain and his fear, but his eyes were now melting with the struggle.
“Are you going to cry?” she asked him. “Sometimes crying helps.”
“Leave me alone,” he said roughly. “You're just a girl, one of those colonials." He tried to shift his weight, but then let out a stifled gasp. He twisted his head away from her. Ignoring the bite in his words, Beth took one step closer.
“Would you feel better if you had your satchel with you? Is there something in it that could help ease your pain?”
She caught a glimpse of his teeth as his lips pulled back with the effort of shifting his weight. Then he looked at her, and bit lips together before saying in a voice perhaps intended to be more considerate, “It is important because it has something very special to me inside. I want to make certain it's safe.”
Beth listed her head. She couldn't help but be intrigued.
He was watching her as if to gauge her reaction.
“Would you...” He licked his cracked lips. “Would you bring it to me?”
His voice sounded so different from a moment ago when he had called her a wretched girl. And yet, warning bells were tolling in her head.
“Please,” he begged. “I need it.”
Don't speak to him. Don't trust him. Don't help him.
Isn't that what Father had said? But then, wasn't she out here to help care for him? And if that entailed speaking to him and bringing him his own personal belongings, where could the harm lie? Perhaps there was a medicine or balm of some sort in his satchel that could ease his pain.
“Are you sure it would help if I found your satchel for you?”
She realized he could probably hear her attempt to justify what she had already almost made up her mind to do.
“I know...it would.” His eyes closed for a few seconds as he inhaled deeply. He reached a trembling hand up to wipe the sweat from his upper lip. The sudden weary placation in his voice touched her.
She took a deep breath and turned away.
“I'll be back,” she said over her shoulder.
She closed the door behind her, scurried through the dead garden, and reached the back door to their house. The purpose of her mission already filling up her chest, she turned the handle and walked in.
A new but familiar face turned upon her, beaming a smile bright as the sun. She stopped short, confused and alarmed.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Josiah Thatcher exclaimed, sweeping her a low bow. “We wondered where you were. An honor and privilege to see you again, dear girl.”
Beth barely remembered to bob a curtsy in response. Her puzzled brain, still on edge, took in the details of her surroundings in one quick span. Mr. Thatcher straightened himself and placed his hands on the shoulders of a young girl at his side, drawing her in front of him. Father was standing close by, his features frozen in a tense smile Beth knew could not be genuine. Mother, too, was there, quietly setting out a tray of biscuits on the table. Her face was also strained with the effort to look pleased they had visitors in their home. Under the circumstances Beth could not fault her. Her own heart was stumbling over itself again with the danger from their guests.
All three of them. The two in the house and the one in the barn.
But as her eyes darted round the room, they caught on something tucked away not quite out of sight in the corner by the hearth.
The unmarked case of the British officer.
Longing to walk toward it but not daring to call attention to it, Beth forced herself to look away. There would be time later.
“You remember Mr. Thatcher, from the coffeehouse, Beth?” Father said politely.
“Yes, Father.” She looked curiously at the girl.
“I spoke to you of my daughter, Captain Daniels and Miss Elizabeth,” he said jovially, his hands pressing into the shoulders of the girl in front of him. His voice was filled with pride. “Please allow me to introduce my own Caroline Thatcher. I believe you girls are close in age?”
His charming face twisted in question as he looked at Mother, who dipped her head.
Caroline stepped forward, her long blond ringlets falling over her shoulder as she and Beth both curtsied to eachother. When Beth looked up again, she noticed the vibrant blue in Caroline's eyes. Combined with her fair skin and summery gold hair, she was one of the most beautiful people Beth had ever seen.
“Pleased to meet you,” Beth said, and Caroline gave her a hesitant smile.
“Aye, you as well.” Her voice was melodic.
“Well, I cannot tell you the joy this gives me to see our girls acquainted, Captain Daniels,” Mr. Thatcher said gaily, one of his hands settling back on Caroline's shoulder. “Does it not you?”
“Aye,” Father's lips curled back. “I am happy for Beth to know another young person in this town where we know so few.”
Another person to hide our secret from.
“So this is where you are staying,” Mr. Thatcher mused aloud as he moved toward the hearth. Closer to the satchel in the corner.
“Excuse me,” Father exclaimed, stepping around his visitor and picking the satchel up.
Beth caught her breath, as if Thatcher seeing that bag would betray them all.
“I do apologize for the mess. We weren't expecting company.”
Father's voice was cool and light as he tucked the satchel under his arm, keeping the front facing toward his body as he bowed his head quickly to Thatcher. “Let me just go remove this.”
Mr. Thatcher bowed in acknowledgment, and Father retreated to the room he and Mother shared.
Beth groaned inwardly. Now the satchel would be even harder to obtain.
When Father returned, he invited their guests to take seats near the fire.
Mr. Thatcher leaned over his knees.
“So, Captain Daniels, have you any news from Boston?”
Father raised his chin, his eyes turning wary. He glanced at Mother, who promptly turned to Beth.
“Elizabeth, why don't you and Caroline go for a walk? It is rather lovely out, and you'll enjoy the fresh air and the chance to become better acquainted.”
Beth recognized the tone in Mother's voice all too well. They did not want the girls to hear what they were about to discuss.
“Yes, Mother,” she nodded, and Caroline, at a look from her father, did the same.
But why would Father discuss his Mechanics news with Mr. Thatcher? Beth felt like she had spent most of the past twenty-four hours being confused or alarmed.
Well, maybe it's not about the Sons of Liberty. Perhaps they just don't want me to know what is happening in Boston.
The idea sent a shiver down her spine. She had visited Boston but a few times in her short life, she and Mother having to travel with Father for business in the city. She recalled few details but many, so many people, overwhelming the streets and docks. Ships with white sails ballooning on the wind in the harbor. Smells that assaulted the senses. A tremor of busy yet somehow orderly chaos had seemed to vibrate throughout the city, pulsing with life and trade. And to think now Boston was occupied by a new installation: an army of occupation there holding the city under siege. Their uniforms the same color of the blood Beth too often washed off her hands and smelled around her every day in the hospital.
Beth was only thirteen, but she could well feel the tremor of change sweeping over her. War was upon them. The country had lost blood. Men were dying by the hands of men and had made enemies of each other. But if she could just remember to fly above the darkness, to keep a bright spot of light in her heart, then maybe, just maybe, she too could soar with the quiet serenity of an owl in the dim morning light.
Copyright 2022, Summers Rose. All rights reserved.
About the Creator
Summers Rose
Hi there! Books and stories play an important part in our lives, and I want to inspire people, make them happy, and cause them to think with the stories I create. Maybe teach a little history, too!
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