Page 1 of Lady of Charade
PROLOGUE
NEAR BALTIMORE, 1812
Sarah picked up her musket, hoisting it over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her and walked outside, inhaling deeply as the sounds of forest life filled her ears.
She smiled to herself as she began down the path toward the gathering of houses. She greeted the people she met within the small village as she continued on through it, her boots crunching over the leaves at her feet as she re-entered solitude — from the human variety of living creatures. The forests around her were full of animals of every type. The birds sang to her as she continued along, the rustle of trees around her telling her that there were squirrels or rabbits or something of the like following along beside her. She felt no fear, however — only appreciation for the company. She carried the musket as a precaution, if ever a bear, wolf, or human decided to attack, but she had rarely had to use it, and hoped to not require it anytime soon.
Sarah was well aware that she could have waited for a neighbor to accompany her for her weekly visit into the town, but today she had felt the need for a walk alone. Her mother, gone two years now, would have chastised her, but it was on days like today that Sarah felt her presence remaining with her the most.
She stopped suddenly, seeing long green stems with white fluffy flowers — black cohosh — emerging from the greenery just off the path, and she clipped a bit of it before placing it into her bag. One never knew when it might be required, for she had found it quite effective in treating a variety of women’s ailments.
An hour later she emerged from the brush into the cleared land, where the slowly growing town awaited her. Sarah’s mother had taken her east to the city enough times for Sarah to know that this town was still rather primitive despite the influx of new residents, but she enjoyed being away from the busyness of Baltimore or another such settlement. She appreciated knowing the names of all who lived near her and of being close to nature, which called to her. She could hardly imagine living in a place surrounded by tall stone buildings and strangers rushing by her, deep within their busy lives.
“Hello, George,” she said as she entered the general store, which also doubled as the post office.
“Miss Jones!” he said, his lips beneath his great beard and mustache turning up into a smile. “I was wondering when you might come in. Here for supplies, are you?”
“I am,” she said as she began to quickly peruse the shelves for her regular purchases, before more slowly searching the shop for a few additional items.
“Let me guess,” George said, leaning over the counter on his thick arms. “You are looking for food stores for not only yourself but also for others in that little village of yours.”
“Mabel just had her babe, and Landon has no wish to leave her at the moment,” she said with a smile as she thought of the young married couple. “They do not need much, just a few things to get by.”
“You’re quite a woman, Miss Jones,” George said, eyeing her. “My Lois and I worry about you, out there all alone.”
“I’m not alone,” she said, raising her eyes to his. “There are people settled all around me. I only need to shout and my protectors will come running.”
“That may very well be,” he agreed, “But are you not lonely?”
“I am far from lonely, George,” she said with a smile. “In fact, there always seems to be someone at my door seeking my company.”
“Company or treatment,” he amended, and she nodded.
“True. But I am happy to help.”
Sarah had learned from her mother, Mary, how to use the land to tend to the ailments of others. Her mother had learned from her own mother in England, where she was considered something of a witch. Here in America, Mary had added to her wisdom with knowledge assumed from both villagers and an Accohannock woman, who was married to a white man and had seen in her a shared spirit.
“Well, one of these days, I hope you accept a man who comes calling upon you,” George continued, not moved from his mission. Sarah inwardly sighed. He meant well, but she did wish that for just one week she could come to see him without having to discuss the fact that she remained alone, unmarried. It was not as though she had not had any propositions — oh, no, there were plenty of them. But each man seemed to come from a place of wanting a woman to take care of him, rather than being interested in her, Sarah Jones.
“I appreciate your concern, George, truly I do, but I promise you that I am perfectly fine. If the right man comes along, well then, I would not turn him away. But I have yet to find him, and so I will remain alone with my potions and my nearby friends.”
“Very well,” he said, throwing his hands in the air as if he simply had to accept defeat. “Oh, before I forget — I have a letter for you.”
“A letter?”
“Aye. Seems to be all the way from England.”
“England?” Sarah raised her eyebrows. She had no ties to anyone in England, as far as she was aware. “You are jesting.”
“I am not,” he said, holding the envelope out to her. It was slightly torn in one corner, looking as though it truly had traveled all the way from her mother’s country.
The moment she had the letter in her hands, every instinct within her was telling her to rip it open to determine just what the contents held, but she decided to wait until she was within the confines of her own home, where she could read and react accordingly. Sarah could tell George was nearly as curious as she was herself, but she simply thanked him, paid for her items, and slung her bag over her shoulder as she left the store, greeting others she knew before she made the return trip home.
She was halfway there when she could no longer resist the suspense. She could practically feel the letter calling out to her, begging to be read. Sarah walked over to a fallen log, and took a seat upon it as she rifled through her bag before finding what she was looking for. She pulled out the envelope, ripping the seal at the back, opening it to find a light scrawl atop a piece of flimsy paper. Crisp bills fluttered out with it, as well as a ticket.
Sarah,
You do not know me. I wonder at how you are — have you made a life for yourself there in America? I can hardly think of living in such a place, but then, your mother was always something of a wild one. She could not be contained, certainly not by her father, nor by any other man.
