About the Book:
When American colonists resort to war against Britain and her colonial attitudes, a young couple caught in the crossfire must find a way to survive. Pioneers in the wilds of New York State, John and Lucy face a bitter separation and the fear of losing everything, even their lives, when he joins Butler’s Rangers to fight for the King and leaves her to care for their isolated farm. As the war in the Americas ramps up, ruffians roam the colonies looking to snap up Loyalist land. Alone, pregnant, and fearing John is dead, Lucy must fight with every weapon she has.
With vivid scenes of desperation, heroism, and personal angst, Elaine Cougler takes us back to the beginnings of one great country and the planting of Loyalist seeds for another. The Loyalist’s Wife transcends the fighting between nations to show us the individual cost of such battles.
Book Links:
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Read an excerpt from The Loyalist's Wife
Chapter One
New York State
April, 1778
JOHN WATCHED HIS SMILING LUCINDA carry the pail of water into the cabin and thought how lucky he was to have fallen for her. She hefted the bucket to the sideboard and began filling the kettle. In the last two years she had learned to milk the cow, yoke the oxen, and chop wood for their stove. She barely reached his shoulder and was so slight he could wrap his arms around her until they touched his own sides again.
From his chair at the table he watched her. White apron ties streamed over her grey homespun skirt which swept back and forth over plain dark shoes darting across the bare plank floor. She hummed a sprightly tune and he smiled to hear its joy, a reflection of his own since they married. He wanted to reach out for the flaming red-gold tendrils cascading down her back, sparkling in the morning sun which streamed in their one window. He longed to stretch out the happy moment.
“Lucy.”
She flashed him a wide smile and brushed an errant curl behind her ear.
“You should let me carry the water,” he said.
“Honestly, I don’t mind. I can carry it just fine.” Two spots of brilliant blue sparkled his way and she winked at him before swishing her skirts around back to her task.
He chuckled and reached for the red-hot axe head on the stove top. The broken handle bits needed to be chipped out and replaced with the new handle he had made before he could cut more wood. He should be out in the field finishing the planting but Lucy would need the axe. “Stand back. Away from this axe head.” With his hammer and chisel, he pried out the bits of burned wood. “There. The rough part’s done.”
Lucy moved to his side and set the kettle on the stove. “Why are you doing that just now? Shouldn’t you be finishing the plant¬ing?” She laid her hand on his arm a moment before carrying on with her chores.
He set the axe head to cool on the metal shelf above the stove. Already its red heat was dissipating but John felt his own temperature rising. He took a long, lingering breath, held it a moment, and sat again at the table.
“I have something to tell you, Lucinda.”
“Lucinda! Only my father ever called me that.” She looked at him again and set the water dipper on the dry sink. She wiped her hands on her apron and sat at the table facing him. “What’s wrong, John?”
He cleared his throat, swallowed, and spoke. “You know what’s been happening with the militia and the British? I mean the fights and the tension everywhere?” Of course she knew. Why did he start with that?
“Yes,” she said. “That rider last week spoke of ruffians in Boston again and the King’s men leaving entirely.” Her brows twisted into a frown. “But what does it all have to do with us so far away?’
“That rider, Hilton Cross, was looking for men to ride with Butler’s Rangers, a group of soldiers who support the King, and...” he reached for her hands across the rough-hewn table worn smooth with daily living, “I am going with them.”
He held his breath and watched his reflection shrink in her nar-rowing eyes. Her hands jerked out of his.
“You’re going where?” Her voice rose with each word. “You’re leaving me here alone?” She stared, right into his soul, it seemed. “You’re not joking?”
“No, I’m not joking. Lucy, we have to fight for what we have. We cannot just sit back and hope the British will do it for us.”
“But…you need to be here. To do the planting. And…and clear the next three acres.”
“I’m sure you can do the chores, and the clearing can wait until I get back.”
“But when will that be, John?” She had tears in her eyes now. She sat back in her chair and stared at him. “You might never come back.”
“Now, now. Of course I will,” he said, but a slight tremor took hold of him and he sat silent a moment. “I’ve thought and thought about what is best to do.” He straightened his shoulders. “We must stand up and fight for our land. It’s the only way to get rid of these ruffians once and for all.” He reached again for her hands but she pulled away.
“How long have you been preparing that speech?”
“Lucy. That’s not how it is. Please listen to me!”
She pushed out of the chair and stormed through the curtain into the bedroom. He could hear her slamming drawers and mut¬tering. And then she stomped back into the room.
He faced her. “The crops are almost planted. It will be months before harvest. Don’t you see? I have to go now!” He slammed back from the table and glared at her, his fingers clenched into tight fists. “I thought you would understand. I thought you’d want me to fight for our land.”
“I don’t understand why you’ve taken sides with the British. There must be something you’re not telling me.”
John flinched but held his tongue. She didn’t need to know. “Can you really be leaving me to do all of this work myself? I, I...” She twisted back and forth before him, for once at a loss for words. And then she reached for his arm. “But, John, the land stealers we heard about...”
He swallowed but sat silent, watching her, wishing he might wipe away her worry, wanting to hold her to him and keep out the warring world. Why can’t she see?
She slumped into a chair and dropped her face into her crossed arms. Her shoulders heaved. Her breath came in great gasps and he watched her hands tighten and whiten on her arms. He knew she was trying to hold back tears and his own eyes were blinking fast. He stomped to the door, opened it, and crashed outside.
About the Author:
Her latest work is The Man Behind the Marathons: How Ron Calhoun Helped Terry Fox and Other Heroes Make Millions for Charity. Byron native, Ronald G. Calhoun, was the chair of the Canadian Cancer Society team who managed the Marathon of Hope, Terry Fox’s run in 1980. Ron also managed the Jesse’s Journey walk across Ontario and later across Canada, as well as Steve Fonyo’s Journey For Lives and the blind Ken McColm’s Incredible Journey across Canada. Ron’s honours are many and well deserved. Elaine is delighted and humbled to be the author of this important book, a different kind of Canadian history.
Elaine leads writing workshops and speaks about her books to many groups. Through her website she writes a blog about the writing and reading world and more. She lives in Ontario with her husband. They have two grown children.
Elaine on the Web:
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