You get yourself home to us who love you best, though there be mountains and lyons in the way.

Your loving true friend, Curiosity Freeman

writ by her own hand, the first day of December in the Year of Our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Fourteen.

When she had finished reading, Hannah dropped the letter to her lap and put both hands on her face. As if to hide tears, or a smile, or both.

“Oh, I am so glad,” Jennet said, hugging her. “What a good omen. The best omen.”

Hannah nodded, unable to speak for a moment. She stood, and took a deep breath to clear her head. They were in the apothecary with the door closed, but all around them the building seethed with noise and movement.

“Luke should hear this news, too. It will mean so much to him to know our father is coming.”

“Aye,” Jennet said. “But there’s no time to go running about looking for him. I’m expected in the clinic this last half hour.”

“He’s still being kept busy translating, then?”

Jennet drew in a deep breath. “At the moment he’s most probably still at headquarters, but they’ll assign him to a company today,” Jennet said. “Commander Patterson took a liking to him, apparently. Luke expects to be put aboard the Carolina.”

“I’d rather see him on the Carolina than in the infantry,” Hannah said.

Jennet’s mouth quirked. “Aye, weel. We’ve been unco unlucky when it comes to ships. I’d prefer—” She paused, and when Hannah gave her an encouraging nod, she went on. “I was wondering if perhaps there wad be a place for him in the same company as Ben.”

Hannah saw how very uncomfortable Jennet was making this unusual request, and how much it meant to her. She said, “I can ask.”

She folded the letters carefully. “At any rate, Luke needs to see the letter; it’s excuse enough to send for him.”

“And where will you be?” Jennet asked. Her tone had shifted: sudden awareness, and suspicion, too. And with good cause.

“I’m going to the field hospital,” Hannah said. “They need experienced surgeons.”

“Oh, no,” Jennet said. “Not that. Haven’t you done enough?”

“I haven’t even started,” Hannah said. She would have turned away but Jennet took her by the wrist, her grip hard.

“Who sent for you? The army doctors?”

Hannah laughed. “Of course not. It was Ben’s idea.”

For a moment they looked at each other, and Hannah was struck by an odd mixture of emotions. Affection, impatience, sadness.

“I can’t stay behind,” Hannah said, “knowing I could be of help.”

Jennet flushed with irritation. She said, “And did ye no just read the wise words of a woman as dear to ye as a grandmither? Ye cannae help every puir soul that comes your way, Hannah Bonner.”

“But those that I can help, I will,” Hannah said. “As long as we are here, I will.”

Jennet blinked, resigned. “I don’t like it,” she said. “Not one bit. But at least I’ve got an argument that must swing Luke to my way of seeing things. He’ll want to be near you, and that’s enough to keep him off the Carolina.”

She looked about herself as if she were suddenly aware of how late it was in the day. “I’ll have to go find him straightaway.”

Chapter 45

In fine weather, on good roads with a fresh horse, sixty miles was not much of a distance, not to Kit Wyndham, who had been born and raised on the broad expanse of the North American continent. In England and Europe, where land was far more precious, sixty miles was a different proposition altogether. Kit had learned that lesson in his three years on the Iberian Peninsula.

Now he was learning to measure miles again. Sixty miles from New Orleans to Pea Island, where the British troops were massing for the invasion. Every step of the way through the soggy, freezing wet. More than fourteen hours after Kit left New Orleans the fisherman’s boat set him ashore on Pea Island, where he was greeted at bayonet point.

He identified himself to the marine on watch, offered the right password. Kit allowed himself one question. “Any word of General Pakenham?”

The marine sent him a sidelong glance, and then shrugged. “Expected any day. Couldn’t be too soon, if you was to ask me, sir.”

Trudging through the miserable encampment in ankle-deep mud and muck, Kit considered. Spirits must be abysmally low if the men were talking to strangers about their unhappiness with command. Kit thought longingly of hot water and dry clothes and food, things that he would be doing without for a long time to come. As the thousands of men bivouacking on these five barren acres had been doing without. Over the last week Admiral Cochrane’s sailors had been ferrying men from the fleet to this island in a frenzy that did not spare space for tents or even sufficient rations.

He made his way toward the command tent, passing company after company: riflemen, infantry, artillery, the Highlanders who made it a point of pride to scoff at the weather. The West Indies troops who suffered more than the rest in the freezing rain. It seemed to his eye that their numbers were already much reduced. The wretches had another twelve hours or more in open boats to look forward to. The navy would dump them on solid ground within reach of New Orleans, but whether they would be in condition to bear arms, that was the question.

For the first time Kit felt real doubt about the outcome of the operation. They had the advantage in numbers of experienced soldiers and sailors, but it seemed a very long way from Pea Island to New Orleans, through bayou and ciprière, and then back again. Not only men, but power and ammunition and artillery guns had to be carried every step of the way.