She smiled apologetically. “I keep feeling that I’m being watched. It’s probably just general nerves.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. I’ve learned to listen to my intuition.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe Henry Newell wouldn’t come all the way from Jamaica, but the warehouse business is here and there is a potential dispute about ownership. Might he have hired men to watch if you or the rest of the family came to Baltimore?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” she said uneasily. They moved through the front door onto the street, and she drew a deep breath of fresher air. “Thanks so much for giving me still more to worry about!”
He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder before releasing it. “I’ve always found that having many worries reduces the anxiety about any individual concern.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” She took his arm as he moved forward beside her. “What do we do now? I’ll go mad with waiting!”
The center of the street was full of militiamen streaming toward their gathering points. Like other civilians, their party drew to the sides of the street to let the soldiers through. “I’m not good at waiting, either. Usually if there’s action, I’m stuck in the middle of it, keeping my head down and trying to stay alive.”
“I’m glad you aren’t this time. I have enough worries.” Her grip tightened on his arm. “This isn’t your fight.”
Perhaps not. But it felt wrong to watch a boy who wasn’t yet fifteen go off to fight and perhaps die. “We need to keep busy, and one way to do that is to prepare for the worst. The worst won’t happen because there are a lot of troops here, they have more experience of the terrain than the British and better defensive positions, and many are Baltimoreans. They’re fighting for their homes and they’re as dangerous as cornered wildcats. But preparations will help keep us sane.”
Callie smiled. “In other words, busy is better.” Gordon agreed. Not only would busyness distract them, but it would help him keep his hands off her. The sooner this crisis was over, hopefully with a minimum of damage, the sooner he could move his covert courtship into the open.
Chapter 21
“Hello! Hello?” Hammering sounded on the warehouse street door, and a young voice called, “Mr. Gordon? Mrs. Newell?”
Callie froze. She was sitting on the balcony resting after a day of collecting and storing water and other provisions so they would be ready for a possible siege or occupation by British troops. Richard and Josh had hauled up casks of water and cooking fuel, using the hoist on the back of the building.
Josh had built sturdy anchors for the rope ladder, and Sarah had sent Josh out for medical supplies. Josh said wryly it was a pity none of them smoked since they had a lifetime’s supply of tobacco sitting in the middle of their drawing room.
Early Monday morning, three cannon shots had announced that the British were landing at North Point, the peninsula east of the city that lay between the Patapsco and Back Rivers. As General Sam Smith had predicted, the land attack would come from the east and would have to get past the massive earthworks that Richard had helped dig.
The city hadn’t emptied out as Washington had, and the remaining residents were quietly determined to face what might come. Sporadic cannon and gunfire barked from the east, and word spread that General Stricker has set up skirmish lines of his best troops across the narrowest part of the peninsula in hopes of blocking a British advance.
But that was all at a distance. With Trey’s friend Peter Carroll shouting from below, danger had become very personal. Callie leaned over the railing and called, “I’ll be right down to let you in, Peter!”
She was fast but Richard was faster. He risked life and limb by racing down the steps three at a time, and by the time Callie reached the bottom of the staircase, he’d already let Peter in to the small hallway. Peter’s uniform was dusty and the right sleeve was torn off and turned into a sling to support his crudely bandaged right arm.
“What’s wrong?” she asked sharply. “Where is Trey?”
Peter wiped his sweaty face with his left hand, visibly trying to collect himself. “He’s alive, but wounded. He needs help.”
“How seriously is he injured?” Richard asked. “No, come upstairs first so everyone can hear at once.”
Callie knew that made sense, but her heart hammered with anxiety as she followed Peter up the stairs. He was weaving from exhaustion.
When he emerged into the main sitting area, the three Adamses converged on him, Molly carrying a tankard of chilled lemonade because Richard had brought up ice earlier. “Here, drink this, then tell us about my brother!”
Peter sank into a chair and emptied half the tankard with one long swallow. While he drank the rest more slowly, Sarah came to him with the medical kit she’d assembled earlier. She removed the improvised sling and examined his arm. He winced under her gentle fingers, but she said soothingly, “Nasty and bloody but only a flesh wound. I’ll pour whisky over it, which will sting, but make it less likely to fester. When it’s bandaged properly, you’ll be able to use it a little.”
He inhaled sharply as she applied the whisky. “Trey has a leg wound and another in his shoulder. There don’t seem to be any bones broken, but he’s lost a fair amount of blood, and even with my help, he can barely hobble along.”
“What’s been happening?” Richard asked. “We’ve heard artillery and gunfire, but it didn’t sound sustained enough for a pitched battle.”
“Skirmishes, not battles, sir,” Peter replied. “General Stricker sent a group of us sharpshooters ahead to provoke a fight before more British soldiers landed. It worked. Trey was one of the shooters and I was his spotter.” He swallowed hard. “The British commander, General Ross, is seriously wounded or dead. I think dead.”
There were shocked noises from everyone. If Ross was dead or incapacitated, it might end the land attack. At the least, the attack would be blunted. Ross was an outstanding officer and his next in command was unlikely to be as capable.
Face pale, Callie asked, “Where is Trey now?”
“Since I’m no use with this arm, our lieutenant said to help him behind the lines to a surgeon. I had to half carry him, and it got to be too much for both of us. I left him at an empty cabin off the Philadelphia Road. Trey said you have a cart and a pair of horses. Can you come and bring him home?”
“Of course,” Richard said, sliding naturally into command. “Josh and I will go. Peter, you’ll need to ride with us to guide us to Trey.”
