The Sword of the Banshee (18 page)

“It is the most beautiful place on earth,” he echoed.

The coach roared up to a building, constructed of multi-colored field stones surrounded by a wooden porch. A bell hung by the front door alongside a sign saying, “The Willow Creek Inn.”

The coach rocked as the driver and passengers up top jumped off. Everyone began to stir and gather their possessions. Suddenly, Mr. Dunham’s gray eyebrows shot up. “All this time we have been visiting and I still do not have your name--or that of your brother. He is certain to be an acquaintance of mine.”

“My name is Lorna Calleigh, sir,” said India. “And me brother is Mr. Quinn Calleigh.”

The man looked startled, and the smile dropped from his face. Before India could ask for an explanation, the driver opened the door and everyone began to get out. Once outside, Mr. Durham tipped his hat to India, picked up his polished cane and hustled off to a carriage waiting for him.

“What now, Miss?” said Phineas, yanking India’s bag possessively from the hands of the innkeeper’s boy who had just picked it up.

She looked around as the coach departed. The passengers were leaving for home, climbing into carriages or onto horses. She noticed the innkeeper lighting lanterns on the porch. He was a stocky man about India’s age with light hair and blue eyes.

“You need a room, Miss?” he said.

She nodded. “
We
need a room.”

The innkeeper scrutinized Phineas, jerked his head and said, “There is room for you in the barn. It is clean and dry in there.”

“No,” said India. “The boy will share a room with me.”

Their eyes locked for a moment then the innkeeper said with a shrug, “Very well.”

India followed him into the tavern. The candles in the chandelier overhead did little to illuminate the smoky bar room. The timbered ceiling was low, and the wood paneling absorbed every bit of light except the firelight coming from the large field stone hearth. The floors creaked loudly as India and Phineas crossed the room.

After taking payment from India, the innkeeper gestured for them to sit down at a table by the fire. Several men sitting in the corner stopped talking and watched India and Phineas sit down. They were obviously local tradesmen and farmers. The innkeeper instructed a servant girl to go upstairs to prepare a room.

“There is venison stew tonight if you are hungry,” he said to India.

She nodded, and he brought their supper promptly along with tankards of ale. India and Phineas ate in silence by the fire as the men spoke in low tones in the corner. India could see the embers glowing from their pipes as they smoked, and occasionally they would call to the innkeeper for more libations. It was obvious the topic of conversation was emotionally charged because once or twice a voice would rise in anger, but only for a moment.

It was growing late and after gobbling his supper, Phineas’ chin bobbed onto his chest as he fought sleep. The wind and wild ride to the Brandywine Valley had taken all his reserves. The candle stub on their table guttered and jumped sending wild shadows across the room. India watched the last bit of twilight fade outside and decided to finish her business for the night. She was weary and ready for bed.

When the innkeeper passed, she asked, “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. Could you tell me if Mr. Quinn Calleigh lives in this village?”

Suddenly, all talking ceased in the tavern, and the innkeeper stared at India. She frowned and looked at the men in the corner then back at the innkeeper.  Phineas’ snored loudly beside her. “He is me brother and I have come to join him here in America.”

“Your—your brother, Miss? I am sorry to tell you this but your brother passed several months ago.”

India let out a little gasp, stared at him a moment, then cast her eyes down, biting her lip. Lifting her chin she asked, “What happened?”

The innkeeper shifted his weight from one foot to the other and said, “There was a difference of opinion over in Granby and he was shot by a tor--” and he caught himself.   “A villager. I—I am sorry.”

India swallowed hard, and stood up slowly, squaring her shoulders. She murmured, “I am most grateful,” and reached over to wake Phineas. The men watched her in silence as they climbed the stairs to bed.

*           *            *

“I need to bathe, Phineas. Please get some water,” stated India, the next morning as she bent over looking in a mirror.

Phineas stretched and rolled over on his blankets by the bedroom door. India had urged him to sleep by the fire, but the boy had refused. He believed it would be safer for her if he slept by the door. He told her even if he didn’t hear an intruder the man would probably trip over him on the way in, raising the alarm.

When he returned with water, India pinned up blankets by the tub for privacy. Phineas sat on the floor leaning against the bedroom door eating a loaf of bread with apple butter.

In her shift, India eased herself down into the warm water. After sliding under to wet her hair, she lathered her scalp and skin with soft soap. The water felt delicious. She had not bathed in months.

“After you are done eating, plan on getting more water and bathing yourself, Phineas. I won’t have a dirty little boy accompanying me.”

“Yes, Miss,” he said with his mouth full.

India looked outside. They had gone to bed early and rose early. The sun had not yet come up. Firelight illuminated the room.

“We are going to have an interesting day, I think,” India said, her arms dangling over the side of the tub.

“Why aren’t you sad about your brother being dead?” Phineas asked. She had told him the news that morning.

“Because he is not dead,” India stated.

Phineas’ eyebrows shot up. “How do you know that?”

India rolled her head back and forth to loosen her neck. “They were lying. I could feel it. Quinn Calleigh is still alive. For some reason he is in hiding. I believe it has something to do with this rebellion.”

“I heard those men use that word last night,” the boy said.

“What word, rebellion? Ah ha, good boy, this is why I have you. From now on I want you to watch, listen and report everything to me.”

India took a deep breath and relaxed again staring into the fire, deep in thought. She was glad to have the boy with her. He was smart and wise to the ways of the street. Not only could he be helpful, but India liked him.

She looked over in the direction of Phineas and asked, “If you did not pinch pocketbooks in Philadelphia, how did you eat, Phineas?

He swallowed his bread and replied, “Sometimes I stole food from the carts, but usually it was easiest to go and see the sailors.”

“Did you work on the wharf?”

Phineas shook his head. “No, Miss. If they didn’t have money for the whores, they would scrog me instead. Afterward they would give me food or money,” he said matter-of-factly, taking another bite.

India was thunderstruck. She stared straight ahead, trying to comprehend what she had just heard.

“I am going down for some more apple butter,” Phineas said. He waited a moment for her to respond, but heard nothing

“Miss?”

India blinked and said, “Wait, Phineas,”

“Yes, Miss?”

India’s heart was pounding and she licked her lips. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Things will be different for you now. You are working for me and only me.”

“Yes, Miss,” the boy said. He waited a moment and then asked, “Can I go now?”

“Yes, run along,” India replied.

Chapter 16

“You look too nice,” Phineas said to India as she pinned her hair up under a mob cap.

“Why?” she asked.

“You don’t look like a servant girl,” he said.

Phineas stepped back and scrutinized her. India had put on clean clothing that had belonged to one of the housekeepers back in Ireland. It was homespun and plain, but Phineas was not satisfied. He stepped forward and ripped the hem of her skirt, then went to the hearth, stepped in some ash and wiped his feet on her slippers.

“Oh!” India cried, but she allowed him to continue.

“Put a little ash on your face too,” he demanded.

“I just bathed,” she protested, but he continued to stare at her, so she obediently bent down and smeared a bit over her face. She looked at him for approval.

“Don’t hold your head up so high,” he instructed. “You’re a servant, not a queen.”

“Alright Mr. Martin Pierpoint,” India said. “Now it’s your turn.”

She pulled a comb out of her bag and attempted to untangle the mop on his head. His dark hair was short, and after she had washed it, it stood straight up in every direction.

“Why is your hair so short?”

“I cut it,” he explained. “With this,” and Phineas pulled a scalping knife out of his britches.

India jumped back. “Put that away,” she gasped. She had been around weapons for years but never one wielded by a small boy.

“You will grow your hair long, and then we will tie it back. This is far too unruly.”

India stepped back and looked at him. At last after the dirt was washed off, she could see the little boy. He was short and very thin. His bones poked out of his skin and his clothes hung on him like he was a hanger. He had freckles across the bridge of his nose and chestnut eyes.

“Next we will clean your teeth,” she announced. She took a vial of vinegar and sage water out of her bag, soaked a cloth and began to scrub Phineas’ teeth. She was surprised that he did not protest. As she had suspected, since he was young, his teeth were still in good condition. They were crooked but not rotten.

“There, we are ready to go,” she said.

As they were walking out of the bedroom Phineas asked, “How come you never smile, Miss?”

India stopped and looked down at the boy. She didn’t like comments about her demeanor. She started down the stairs and mumbled, “Next you’ll be calling me an Ice Queen.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said.

As they came down the stairs, Mr. Muller, the innkeeper, was just stepping into the room carrying a keg on his back. He set it on the bar and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. His sleeves were rolled up, and he was sweating profusely. He nodded a greeting but avoided looking at them directly. After tapping the keg, he finally said, “What can I do for you?”

“Would you tell me please, where they have laid me brother to rest?”

He studied her face a moment then said, “At his home, about a half hour walk south on the Willow Creek Road. You can’t miss it. It’s made of shakes and stone, the biggest house in these parts.”

That afternoon, India and Phineas set out on foot for the Calleigh homestead. It was a sultry autumn day, and although there was not a cloud in the sky, India felt a storm brewing.

The Willow Creek road wound through the Brandywine Valley cutting through fields and woods, never far from the river. The first crossing was a covered bridge. Phineas was so delighted when he saw it that he ran ahead of India into the structure and began to climb inside of it. He waited until she reached the bridge and then swung down from the rafters in front of her face and screamed. India shrieked, sending Phineas into peals of laughter.

India had been around very few children, and she was bewildered at the things that amused the boy. He stuffed tree frogs into his pockets, threw rocks into the river and chased squirrels. She walked along placidly behind him, enjoying the harmony of nature while he tore up the road and down the river banks, waded through water, and scrambled up trees. It made her tired watching him.

At last they came around a sharp bend in the road and there sprawled out before them was the Calleigh home. It was on a hill, overlooking the river, surrounded by maples, oaks and weeping willows. The center of the house appeared to be the original structure constructed of field stones, flanked on either side by later additions covered in shakes.

India stopped and stared. She had never seen a dwelling quite like this. She had lived in many grand structures that were opulent and imposing, but they were cold and impersonal, nothing that felt like a home. The Calleigh residence was large, but it was unpretentious and quiet. The coffee-colored field stones seemed to warm in the autumn sun, and the stairs curling up on either side of the front door seemed to bid welcome. The sycamores around the house encircled the structure affectionately, and the Brandywine River drifted idly past as horses grazed in the pasture. It was apparent that this dwelling had been built with affection and care.

“You looking for someone?” called a man stepping out of a stone barn, wiping his hands on a towel. His skin was pock-marked, he had long red hair and a scraggly auburn beard.

“I am Lorna Calleigh,” India said walking over to him. Phineas ran along behind her. “I have come to visit the restin’ place of my brother.”

The man narrowed his eyes and growled, “I don’t remember Calleigh saying he had a sister.”

The man’s impudence annoyed India, her eyes flashed a bright blue, and she said, “I don’t remember him saying he had a keeper.”