Chapter 27

Billy was right. Philip Wells was in love with Anne Conroy, with the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, the most pleasant person he had ever met, the most arousing woman he could imagine. He had not realized that fact, hadn't even thought about it much, but after he and Billy Fields sat in the smoky tavern drinking ale and sharing a platter of fried oysters, crab crisps and blood sausage, he knew he loved the bright and lovely young woman just as the one-armed soldier did.

She was all Billy could talk about and his stories were funny and wonderful. He obviously loved her and had good reasons to do so. Anne was exciting to look at and a joy to be with. He wanted her, longed for her, ached for her. And he knew that Billy did too and suspected that there might be others.

The next morning when he awoke, he thought of Anne as he washed his face and shaved, something he seldom did on Saturday since he always shaved on Sunday morning before going to church with his family. He did his best to ignore his arousal and resisted the obvious temptation to masturbate. He whistled as he walked to Mr. Maguire's office, feeling unusually happy and carefree.

When Anne arrived in her old farm buggy with buckets of eggs and her black pasteboard folder of documents and copies, he rose to greet her enthusiastically. She stopped and stared at him, blinking and surprised by the grin on his face. "Mr. Maguire is over at Chesterfield, taking an affidavit I think. Some sort of land dispute of course. I'm glad to see you. Isn't it a fine day?"

"Indeed, it is that," she said, taken aback by his exuberance and soapyness. "Here's my work. Fourteen copies, most of them short. I'll probably spend my shillings before I leave town." She smiled at him and noticed that he seemed to be looking at her oddly, rather sheepishly. "Which blacksmith is better, I mean as a farrier?"

"Blacksmith?" he said, feeling his heart beat rapidly, his face begin to redden as he opened the cashbox. He had known several girls, even courted one or two sporadically, kissed a few, danced with more, but never felt like this. Now he didn't even know what to do with his hands.

"Yes. Both of the old horses need shoeing." Now he is blushing, very strange behavior. Can Billy be right? "And the well needs a new handle, a crank, some good rope, and a new cover I guess."

"Oh, blacksmith, horseshoes, right. I'd say Jamison, just past the courthouse and the old whipping post. Good man, fair prices, knows his trade. Does iron work too, makes nails, that sort of thing, shoes horses I'm sure. Of course, he's rebel if that matters to you"

"Thank you for giving Billy Fields a bed. That was very kind."

He nodded, feeling awkward, slightly foolish. "Pleased. Any time. Fine fellow, that. Would you like to go to church with me tomorrow? Tisn't far you know. The minister only comes down here once or twice a month; deacon does for the usual service most days. Ten o'clock." Things seemed to be speeding along, down hill, and he had no idea where the brake was located.

"I'm not much of a churchgoer I fear." She licked her lips and felt his gaze, remembering when she had stopped going after her stepmother criticized her dress and behavior, even insisted that she sang too loudly. "Did you know that over in Annapolis we had a preacher who kept a pistol on his pulpit?"

He nodded again. "I heard that. But over here, it's pretty peaceable. The old minister, when he couldn't pray for the king without getting in trouble, he just up and left. We were having Tory trouble back then, mostly up north, had to send a company. Now the deacon does the job. Terrible preacher, just awful I fear" He knew his words were tumbling out, but he went on. "Dull as mud. My father calls him a conciliator. He's certainly no rebel, but he does not ask prayers for the king or for the congress either."

Anne smiled. "I think not, at least not this Sunday. But I thank you. I know I should."

"Is Mr. Fields still here?" Philip looked out the window, thinking Billy might be riding beside her.

"No. I'm sure he found someone going across. I saw a number of boats being loaded when I passed the dock. He might have stayed at the inn." She quickly added the afterthought, a bit embarrassed to be doing so.

"There's a lot of trade on Saturday, what they call trade and some call smuggling." He laughed. "Our corn goes to Annapolis in jugs, most of it anyway."

"No one who lives in a place called Pirate's Luck is going to look down on that." She took the shillings he held out to her and put them in her soft, leather purse and pulled the drawstring tight. "Is there more work?"

"Oh yes. Yes. Almost forgot. Several deeds and a court order of some sort, mandamus I think Just three or four pieces so far. I'm getting a lot more read now that you're doing the copying, a lot more." His mouth was dry and his heart was thumping.