For Love or Country: The MacGregor Legacy | Book 2 (20 page)

“What are you doing?” Tyra asked.

He sniffed and used the back of his hand to wipe tears from his smooth skin. The color in his face deepened as he looked away in shame. His chin trembled, as he struggled not to cry in front of her. He scratched the side of his left eyebrow as his mouth twisted in emotional agony. Tyra knew the look. Kirk was determined to try and be strong. She waited until he could speak.

“I know Scott is already buried someplace else, but he deserves to be in the family cemetery with the rest of us. Even if his body cannot be here, I want something to mark his memory, so people will not forget him.”

Tyra’s heart constricted in pain as if someone held it in a fist, twisting it back and forth. She stepped closer, hoping the words she was about to speak connected with Kirk. He needed to know he wasn’t alone in his grief. “Kirk, none of us will ever forget him.”

“I know, but what about after us? When everyone who knew him is gone?” He held up the slab of wood he had been working on. “I am making this to mark the fact that Scott MacGregor lived on this earth—and he was loved by his family.” His voice broke, and he turned away.

“Kirk, unfortunately it happens in every generation, but there is a place where Scott’s name is written and will never be forgotten. ’Tis the Book of Life.” She leaned forward and touched his arm.
“He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white raiment; and I will not blot out his name from the Book of Life, but I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels.”

Tyra had never been great at remembering Scripture, but she was grateful this verse had come to mind when she needed it. Sensing it would be best to let him contemplate the message she had given him, Tyra gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I love you.” She turned and walked away, praying a silent prayer for God to mend Kirk’s young heart and give him peace.

As she walked back to the house, Tyra felt a sudden drain of energy. She had tried to be strong for her mother and brother, but her own grief tugged at her. A moment of weakness, flushed through her tired body and her shoulders might as well have been carrying a cannon ball. The heaviness weighed her down like an anchor lodged deep in the dirt. Loneliness engulfed her until she longed for Hugh’s return. How could she be craving the comfort of a man who may one day have to choose between his allegiance to his country and a budding relationship with her?

She shook her head as if ridding herself of the unwanted defect in her heart and closed her eyes.
“Lord, give me strength.”

Chapter 20

20

I
t took a little convincing, but Hugh finally persuaded his brother to allow Darren to come with him. On the way to The MacGregor Quest, Hugh told the lad about Scott MacGregor’s death. Darren was quiet for a moment as he looked out over the terrain around them, viewing the flowing Cape Fear River and the pine trees on the other side.

“How is Kirk?” Darren asked.

“He is as well as can be expected under the circumstances.” Hugh relaxed his hold on the reins and tried to keep the tension out of his neck and shoulders.

Over the last few months he had come to care a great deal for the MacGregor family, and he did not like seeing them in so much pain. His role as a British soldier in their home had always caused him a bit of discomfort, but now it was worse. “We have not talked much since he discovered the news.”

“I know how he feels. I lost my brother two years ago in the war,” he said in a somber tone.

“I am hoping you will be able to cheer him up,” Hugh said.

“I hope so, too.” Darren glanced up at him, his dark eyes wide with questioning. “You are different from Colonel Morgan. I am glad you came. Thank you.”

“At one time my brother and I were much the same. We had it hard growing up and as the older one, he always thought it his responsibility to take care of me. Our Father worked all the time, and when he was not working, he drank.” Hugh thought back to the small prison cell where his brother had spent the last few months of his life. “Being a prisoner of war has made him hard.”

They lapsed into silence as he drove down the lane and The MacGregor Quest came into view. The white house with three pillars on the front porch was a welcome sight. Not only the people here, but the place had grown to his liking as well. The overcrowded streets of London, and the dank smell of the city had transformed into a place representing depression. Here, he enjoyed the wide-open spaces and the fresh air, especially the salt air. The majestic cleansing about it drew him.

Tyra stepped out on the front porch in a blue gown with a grey shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her red hair slipped out from under her white cap like a halo around her face. Private Stoneman walked the horse from the stables toward her. Tyra must have heard him approaching in the wagon since she looked up with a smile and waved. Private Stoneman followed her gaze and turned. Hugh let the wagon roll to a stop, set the brake, and jumped down. Darren leaped to the ground on the other side and hurried around the front.

“Hello, Darren,” Tyra descended the porch steps and strolled to him with a fond smile and a warm expression in her eyes. “I am so glad you could come. Kirk is in the barn making a cross for Scott. I think he could use your company.”

“I brought a bag of clothes,” Darren lifted a brown bag. “Should I set it inside before I go?”

“I will take it for you,” Hugh offered.

Darren handed over the bag before turning to run toward the barn.

“Where are you going?” Hugh looked at Stoneman. He had asked the man to stay here in his absence. He was not pleased to see him leaving.

“I hope you do not mind, but I asked him to deliver two letters for me,” Tyra said. “I needed to write my aunts and inform them of Scott’s recent death. Kirk is upset, and he wanted to hold a small ceremony in memory of our brother.” Guilt kicked him in the gut as her red, swollen eyes filled with new tears and reminded him of her grief and lack of sleep. His anger faded as fast as it had brewed.

“No, of course not.” Hugh shook his head and strode to Stoneman, gripping his shoulder. “Thank you for delivering her letters.”

“’Tis the least I can do,” Private Stoneman said with a brief nod. He grabbed the reins and mounted his horse. Nudging the animal’s flanks, he launched in motion, cantering down the lane.

Hugh strolled back to Tyra and stopped before her, an idea forming. “Is there a pastor I could go into town and get for you?”

“No.” Her chin trembled as more tears flooded her green eyes, making them look even larger. “We were once part of the small Presbyterian church in Wilmington, but after the war started, we stopped attending. Things changed. People changed.”

“What do you mean?” Hugh tilted his head, trying to see her better, but she turned away.

“The Presbyterian church is run by Scotland. Most Scottish families are loyal to the King of England because they took an oath after the Jacobite rebellion. Scots do not break their word once they have given it. Everyone in the whole church are loyalists. When the Revolutionary War began and my father and brothers enlisted with the Continentals, we were told we were no longer welcome.”

Hugh stepped closer and touched her arm, but she jerked away. She leaned against a white pillar and took a deep breath, brushing a red curl out of her eye. “I went to church with those people my whole life. I have known them since I was a child. Their betrayal was painful to my mother—to all of us. The one time we needed our friends and their fellowship, none of them were there. I always thought we at least we had our faith in common, but I was wrong. They are hypocrites—all of them.”

He stepped closer and placed his knuckled finger under her chin, forcing her to gaze into his eyes. He could tell from her reluctance she had not regained her trust in him. Yet, she didn’t flinch or jerk away as she had a moment ago. He sensed she wanted to trust him, as much as he wanted her to. “Do not worry about them. Your faith does not rest in their misguided opinions and crass judgments.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of her forehead. “Instead, place your faith in the Lord where it belongs and where it can move mountains—even hardened hearts.”

The words he had spoken came from deep inside him. He wasn’t sure where he had gotten such wisdom. Was it the Lord whispering to his confused heart? He hoped so, especially since he needed to cling to those words for himself and his brother.

***

The next morning they held a small service for Scott in the family cemetery on a hill by the main house. The distance was too far for Aunt Blair to travel from Charles Town while expecting. Aunt Carleen and her family arrived in time from the north side of Wilmington. A few families attended from the Whig party, such as Mr. and Mrs. Saunders who owned the boarding house in town. Mrs. Baker came and Tyra had no doubt Mr. Simmons would have been there, if he had not been in prison. None of their friends from church came.

Tyra and her mother had stayed up late mending black gowns for mourning, adding to their already-drained energy. The dim candles had not provided enough light to see by, and Tyra’s fingers were sore from several needle pricks. As she stood among her family and close friends, her heavy eyelids drifted closed until she blinked to force them open. She imagined her eyes looked as red and gaunt as her mother’s.

While Kirk placed the cross into the ground, Tyra read a passage from 1 Thessalonians, chapter Four.
“For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God, and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words.”
Tyra’s voice faded as her emotions rose and came close to choking her. She took a moment to compose herself, taking comfort in the words she had read. Once her heart beat with a new peace, she continued. “This is why I know this is not the end. We shall see Scott again—one day in heaven.”

The others took turns sharing a memory about Scott, most were funny moments to lighten the mood and lift their hearts. Mama continued mopping at her eyes with her handkerchief. The service was simple and painful, yet it helped to provide a way to say good-bye, even though he could not be buried here. Afterward, Tyra felt a relief she had not expected. She appreciated Kirk suggesting the service. It was a blessing to honor his memory.

Afterward, they strolled back to the main house, doing their best to ignore the hot sun heating their scalps and cooking their red faces. Some of the women beat their fans in front of them. Tyra’s mouth watered at the thought of all the food people had brought over to pay their respects. Her stomach churned like a storm at sea, and her parched throat felt scratchy.

Her mother dropped on the settee in the parlor, and Tyra sat beside her, taking her hand in hers. Neither of them spoke, but they drew a quiet strength from each other. They did not have to play the hostesses since Aunt Carleen and her cousin, Rebecca, took on the roles for them.

Tyra and her mother were grateful for their thoughtfulness in serving food and tea to their guests. She appreciated Uncle Ollie for spending time with Kirk and taking his mind off things. Throughout all the activity, Tyra was ever mindful of Hugh’s quiet presence lounging in the back of the crowd at the service, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he would be welcome. Even now, he stood in the parlor corner giving up a seat to their guests. He did not engage in conversation unless someone approached him first, and to her relief, Uncle Ollie had made an effort to talk to Hugh before heading outside to check on Kirk and Darren.

It would have been easy to blame him since he wore a redcoat and fought for the army who had killed her brother, but in her heart she knew it was no more Hugh’s fault than anyone else in her family. Captain Morgan did not kill her brother. He was not responsible for this hideous war. It was not fair to hate him because he was British. Such prejudices had no place in her heart, and she didn’t want such feelings to be festering inside her like a disease. Yet, she could not bring herself to let go and trust him with her whole heart.

Right now too much grief consumed her. It took all her will to get through each moment. Sorting through her emotions would have to wait. Her family needed her strength and clarity of mind. She prayed God would give her everything she needed for the days to come.

“Please forgive me, but I believe I need to lie down and rest now.” Mama stood as Tyra set her coffee on the table beside her chair. She rose to her feet and took her mother’s arm.

“I shall help you,” Tyra said.

“Nay,” Mama shook her blond head, patting the top of Tyra’s hand. “I can take care of myself. Please stay and keep our guests company.”

“Will you not eat something before you go?” Tyra wished she could take away all the pain reflecting in her mother’s blue eyes, but it would take a miracle. Only the Almighty and time could be a place of refuge and heal her grief. It was bad enough losing a brother, Tyra could not imagine losing a child. “Mama, you have eaten naught all day. You need to keep up your strength. You will need it.”

“My stomach is like a rock. I cannot eat. Sleep is what I need.” Mama pulled away and strolled from the parlor as her skirts made soft swishing sounds.

Aunt Carleen carried in a new tray of buttered biscuits and paused by Hugh, offering to serve him. Tyra was so thankful for her thoughtfulness, it eased her discomfort for him.

“Have those redcoats not already taken enough?” Miss Baker asked in a disgruntled tone. The lines on her forehead and around her mouth wilted into a frown, making her look every bit of her middle age. “Carleen, I realize you Quakers are neutral in this war, but right now you ought to be thinking about the feelings of your family and the grief they must be going through.” She turned away and flipped out her fan, waving it in her face with a vengeance.

“Mrs. Baker, thank you for your concern, but my aunt is doing exactly as we want. While we are grieved by my brother’s demise, we are logical enough to realize Captain Morgan is not personally at fault.” Tyra glanced in his direction, and the intense focus he gave her almost made her forget what she had planned to say, so she looked back at Mrs. Baker to regain her thoughts. “In fact, he has been most gracious to us compared to how the other British soldiers have treated other Continental families. He has defended us against others in his army, brought us food, and treated us with utmost respect. When Captain Morgan is here, I feel safer than when he is not.”

All eyes turned toward Tyra as other conversations in the parlor faded to silence. She could feel her cheeks grow warm, but forced herself to meet the gazes of the others in the room. Rebecca and her aunt wore approving expressions, while others ranged from confusion to surprise. “The MacGregors may not have converted to Quakerism as my aunt and uncle have, but we will not slight anyone in this house for having a difference in opinion or where they come from. We have been the victims of such behavior from people we thought were our friends. We shall not do the same to someone who has shown us naught but kindness.” Tyra stood and folded her hands in front of her. “Please excuse me. I believe we need another pot of tea.”

***

As Hugh stood in the parlor and listened to Tyra defend him to all her friends, he realized she was the most honorable woman he had ever known. It angered him at how people from her church had treated Tyra and her family. Their actions reminded him of the way people had treated him and his family back home, and all because of his family’s poor status.

Such inequality had existed for centuries in England, and the reason in the ideals of the American colonists now appealed to him. Being here on the other side of the world in the midst of a war and all the controversy gave him a different perspective than he had grown up believing. Without knowing it, Tyra had challenged him to examine his own ideals, and when he compared his to hers, his came up lacking.

The next few weeks passed in silent solitude around the MacGregor house. Darren and Kirk spent their time hunting game and fishing. Due to their diligence, none of them went hungry. Preparing the meals kept Tyra and her mother busy so they did not concentrate as heavily upon their grief. Uncle Ollie and Aunt Carleen stayed an extra week to help out and keep them company. Rebecca was a great comfort to Tyra, as was her mother to Mrs. MacGregor. After their departure, letters arrived often from them throughout the rest of the month.

At the end of July, Hugh arrived home from a long day in Wilmington with news he dreaded to impart. As he rode by the vegetable garden Tyra and her mother had planted, pride swelled inside him. Their garden was filled with life, growth, and abundance just like the MacGregors. These women were survivors and regardless of what they had faced, they found ways to keep going. Rather than be defeated, or fall victim to the pieces life left after tragedy, they still rose each morning to embrace life. So many women in London had given up and allowed unfortunate circumstances to dictate their low station in life. The MacGregor women lived by the faith they believed, unbound by the traditions of society, and unlimited by one’s station.