A Woman Compelled by Christian Charity
Surrounded by the musket fire of the American Revolution, Rachel Garnet prays
for her family to be safe. When the British invade the Mohawk Valley, and
her father and brother don’t return from the battle, she goes in pursuit of
them. She finds her brother alive but her father has been killed at the hand of
the enemy. Amidst the death, how can she ignore a cry for help…? Rachel
reluctantly takes in a badly wounded British officer. But how long can her
sense of Christian duty repress her hatred for his scarlet coat?
A Man Lost to the Devastation of War
Passages of Scripture and fleeting images of society are all Andrew Wyndham
recalls after he awakens to the log walls of his gentle prison. Even his name
eludes him. Rachel Garnet insists he is a captain in the British army. He
mourns the loss of his memory, but how can he hope to remember war when his
“enemy” is capturing his heart?
A Scarlet Uniform Holds the Power to Unite or Divide
Andrew’s injuries are severe, his memory slow to return, and the secret of his
existence too perilous to ignore. As Rachel nurses him back to health, his
hidden scarlet coat threatens to expose the deeds of her merciful heart, and
Andrew is forced to face a harrowing decision—Stay hidden and risk losing the
woman he loves or turn himself in and risk losing his life.
This week is the anniversary of the release of my debut novel, The Scarlet Coat.
The Scarlet Coat - sneak peek:
The last rays of sun faded into twilight, and the wind
whispered through the trees, as if warning Rachel to turn back. She encouraged
her pa’s stallion forward, though her pulse threatened to strangle her.
Somewhere, not far away, a wolf wailed into the night. The mournful song
resonated within her, bespeaking tragedy. She searched the deepening shadows of
the forest. What if all the British hadn’t retreated? What if there were still
Indians and Tories out there, waiting behind those trees?
Something unseen rustled the leaves, and a
twig snapped. Lord, what am I doing? How would she even find them out
here in the dark? Maybe she should go home or to the Reids’ for another night.
Her course of action seemed so clear when
General Herkimer, and what remained of his regiment and the local militia,
limped their way alongside the Mohawk River from Oriskany. The general lay on a
stretcher, his leg below the knee wrapped in a crimson cloth, his face pale and
expressionless—like so many of the men with him. Eight hundred had marched
north the day before yesterday and barely half returned.
Her pa and brother were not among them.
Stay with the Reids. That was all Pa had asked of her.
Benjamin Reid’s bad leg compelled him to remain behind and watch over their
farms. Though the safest place for her, Rachel could no longer wait there
trying to carry on a casual conversation with any of the Reid girls or hide
behind her mother’s Bible. She couldn’t abide the confines of their snug cabin
a minute longer without knowing her own family’s fate. Since losing Mama to
illness two years ago, Pa and Joseph were all she had. She couldn’t lose them,
too. But she’d ridden for hours now. Where was she?
A little farther along the trail, the wind
shifted slightly, carrying on it the odor of burnt powder and blood. Battle.
Rachel’s hand came to her stomach in an attempt to calm the sickness churning
within.
The horse whinnied, shifting as he tossed
his head.
“Whoa. Easy, Hunter.” She slid to the
ground and surveyed her surroundings. Both sides of the road were heavily treed
and thick with underbrush. Even still, she could make out the dark forms of
fallen men. She stumbled over her feet but kept moving. “Joseph! Pa!” You
can’t be dead.
Dragging the horse, Rachel ran. Each step
constricted her throat until she could hardly breathe. Bodies littered the
road—Indian, Tory, and American alike. She maneuvered around them, searching faces
in the faint glow of the remaining light. She should have brought a lantern.
The road sloped downward into a deep
ravine. Her feet faltered. Hundreds of men—a patchwork of blue and homespun.
All motionless. All dead. If only she could close her eyes or turn away, but
every muscle held her in place.
The rasp of a voice jolted her from the
trance. She yelped and spun toward the intruder.
“Rachel?” The murmur of her name
accompanied the form of a man emerging from the trees. “What are you doing
here?”
“Joseph.” Relief at seeing her brother
alive stole the strength from her legs. They trembled as she moved to him and
brushed her fingers across his cheek, stained with dirt and powder. His sandy
brown hair was tousled and appeared just as black. Rachel wrapped him in her
arms and clung tight. “Why didn’t you come back with the others? I was so
worried...afraid something happened to you and...”
She glanced to his face and the strange
expression that marked it. More accurately, a complete lack of expression. “Where
is Pa? What happened, Joseph? Tell me.”
“Tell you? You can see it, can’t you?
Everywhere you look.”
Of course she saw it. All of it. But…
“Where is Pa?”
Joseph looked back, and Rachel followed
his gaze into the blackness of the timbered ridge of the ravine. She pushed
away and moved stiffly in that direction. Pa.
“No.” Joseph’s cold hand seized hers.
“There is nothing left in there. He’s dead.”
“Let me go.” She wrenched away, breaking
free before he was able to grab her arm and pull her back. Her vision hazed.
“Let me go. I need him.”
“It’s too late, Rachel. He’s dead. I was
with him. I watched the life bleed out of him...nothing I could do to stop it.
Don’t go up there.” His voice pleaded and his eyes glistened. Joseph wiped a
sleeve across his nose and motioned to Hunter. “Please let me take you home,
and I’ll return for Pa’s body.”
Rachel stared into the trees, aching to
pull away once again. She took in a jagged breath, managed a nod, and then
surrendered to his firm hands. He assisted her into the saddle. Joseph retained
the reins to lead the horse, but they didn’t make it more than a few steps before
an unusual cry wafted in the breeze.
Shivers spiked up and down Rachel’s spine.
“What was that?”
“It was no animal.”
The mewling of human suffering perforated
the night. A yapping howl followed—a wolf answering the plea.
“You stay here.” Joseph forced the thin
leather reins into her hands, shooting her a warning glance before he hurried
off the path and into the thick foliage.
Ignoring his order, Rachel dropped to the
ground, twisted the reins around a branch and ran after him. She wouldn’t be
left alone again. Not in this place. Not in the gathering dark. As she caught
up to him, she gripped his sleeve.
Their gazes met.
Joseph’s mouth opened; then, he nodded his
head. Turning away, he allowed her to trail him.
Her fingers remained tangled in the fabric
of his shirt.
They followed the moaning to a tiny meadow
strewn with more bodies.
Rachel gaped at the shiny black patches of
blood evident on almost every corpse and covered her nose and mouth against the
stench saturating the air.
As they drew near, the moans ceased.
Joseph called out, but there was no reply.
“He must be here somewhere.” Frustration edged his voice.
“Maybe he’s too weak. We’ve got to find
him if he’s still alive.”
Joseph moved out, stepping over the
fallen, checking each for any sign of life.
Rachel stood back, frozen. Motionless.
Numb. The man’s whimpers, though now silent, resounded in her mind. What if he
were still alive? What if he woke again to this dark and death, only to become
as the corpses surrounding him, with no one to lend him life…to help him?
Rachel forced her feet into action as she
picked her way around a dead Indian. Though she tried to keep her eyes averted,
they rebelliously wandered to the large hole in the middle of his chest. Her
hand flew to her mouth as she lurched away. Stumbling backward, her feet
tripped over a red uniformed body. She landed hard on the ground beside him.
Bile rose in her throat and she twisted, retching into the nearest bush.
“What happened?” Joseph rushed to her.
She sat upright and wiped her mouth with
the back of her sleeve. Her whole body shook.
Joseph grabbed her arm and pulled her to
her feet. “You shouldn’t have seen this. Let’s get you home. Whoever it was
must already be gone.” He led her away, stepping over a fallen soldier’s body.
Rachel shrieked as the hem of her dress
snagged on something.
“Do not leave…me.” An almost voiceless
plea met her ears. “Please.”
She pivoted on her heel to where the
soldier lay in his blood, his eyes wide, one hand extended. Rachel shivered.
Joseph also reacted, bringing his pistol
to the enemy’s position.
The man coughed, and closed his eyes in
pain. His brilliant scarlet coat and white breeches were smudged with grit and
mud, his right hip a bloodied mass of flesh, probably ripped through by a
musket ball.
“Rachel, go to the road.” The pistol
trembled in Joseph’s grip.
“You’re going to kill him?” She glanced to
the soldier.
His eyes remained closed. His mouth moved
slightly as though speaking to someone. Perhaps he was praying.
Pushing past the nausea, Rachel swung back
to her brother, reaching for him. “You can’t do this.”
Joseph jerked away. “This is exactly what
both he and I have done since morning. How many of our neighbors do you think
he’s personally sent from this life?”
Silence hung between them.
Joseph lowered his head and weariness
returned to his voice. “I’m so tired of this, but there’s no other choice. Go
back to the road and wait for me. I’ll be along in a minute.”
She couldn’t do it. Rachel moved, but not
in the direction required by her brother. Instead, she knelt beside the wounded
soldier and laid a cautious hand against his cool forehead.
His eyes fluttered open and peered up with
evident fear. Confusion ridged his brow. Did he know he could expect no mercy
and therefore could not understand her actions? His eyes rolled back, and his
head slid from the large stone on which it had been resting. His body became
limp with no sign of life other than the shallow, irregular breaths which moved
his chest.
“Joseph, I know he’s our enemy, and I do hate
him…” Rachel shook her head as she tried to swallow back the bitter taste still
coating her tongue. “But we can’t kill him, and we can’t leave him to die out
here like some dog we don’t like. Can we? I…I don’t know anymore.”
Available at: Barnes & Noble Indigo/Chapters Amazon
