{"id":1197,"date":"2019-02-14T12:41:25","date_gmt":"2019-02-14T17:41:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1197"},"modified":"2020-06-01T09:07:14","modified_gmt":"2020-06-01T13:07:14","slug":"shadowed-in-silk","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/shadowed-in-silk\/","title":{"rendered":"Shadowed in Silk"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Shadowed in Silk<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by Christine Lindsay<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was invisible to those who should have loved her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the Great War, Abby Fraser returns to India, where her husband is stationed with the British army. She has longed to go home to the land of glittering palaces and veiled women . . . but Nick has become a cruel stranger and a cruel father to their three-year-old son. It will take more than her American pluck to survive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Major Geoff Richards, broken over the loss of so many of his men in the trenches of France, returns to his cavalry post in Amritsar. His faith does little to help him understand the ruthlessness of his British peers toward the Indian people he loves. Nor does it explain how he is to protect Abby Fraser and her child from the husband who mistreats them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Amid political unrest, inhospitable deserts, and Russian spies, tensions rise in India as the people cry for the freedom espoused by Gandhi. Caught between their own ideals and duty, Geoff and Abby stumble into sinister secrets . . . secrets that will thrust them out of the shadows and straight into the fire of revolution.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Chapter 1<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

December, 1918<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abby Fraser gripped the railing of the New\nDelhi<\/em> and lifted her chin to defy the solitary expanse of sea. She refused\nto believe a wife needed an invitation to join her husband. The war was over at\nlast. Nick and she were married, and it was about time he remembered that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One of the Queen Alexandra\nnurses escorting the Indian troops home stood beside Abby. With a rustle of\nstarched cotton, Laine Harkness leaned over and whispered in her ear. \u201cWhy do\nyou look like you\u2019re headed for the Black Hole of Calcutta and not about to\nhave a passionate reunion with the love of your life?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abby ran a hand down her linen skirt and\nwatched the blue line of shore draw closer. What could she possibly say?\nInstead of replying she cuddled her little son, Cam, nearer to her side. In\nless than an hour he\u2019d meet his father for the first time. Had she been foolish\nnot to wait for an answer from Nick? So few letters from him in four years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know you\u2019re American,\u201d Laine went on, \u201cbut\nI assure you, the only thing to be afraid of in this part of the British Empire\nis the wife of your husband\u2019s commanding officer.\u201d She shuddered with drama and\ngrinned maliciously. \u201cOnce you\u2019re settled in your shady little army cantonment,\nthe old battle-axe will whip you into shape in no time. Then you\u2019ll be quite\nthe proper memsahib<\/em>. It\u2019s them that run the colony for us Brits. Don\u2019t\nyou think for a minute it\u2019s the Viceroy or our army\u2014it\u2019s the average colonel\u2019s\nwife.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abby crinkled her nose as she smiled. \u201cYou\nwin. Is this better?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMuch better. You were altogether too peaked\nfor meeting your handsome lieutenant.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 The New\nDelhi<\/em> sliced her way through the narrows of Kolaba Point, and the familiar\nscent of Bombay reached out to Abby. Laine was right. No sense worrying.\nTucking a strand of hair into her chignon, she savored a tantalizing whiff of\noverripe fruit, roses, marigolds and cloves, mingled with the acrid smell of\ndust. She lifted Cam up and snuggled her face into his neck, but he wiggled in\nher arms. At three years old he was heavy, much too big to be carried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the deck below, Indian soldiers stood with\ntheir British officers waiting to disembark. Yanking on her arm, Cam laughed\nand pointed to the tugboat pushing the ship into her berth, and Abby laughed\nwith him. She felt six years old again. Like the troops, she was home. So\nclose. In a few minutes she could touch her birthplace, so much brighter and\nwarmer than Aunt Doreen\u2019s dismal mansion in upstate New York or her father\u2019s\nretirement manor in the Yorkshire Dales.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 As\nsoon as the liner stopped, it was as though an oven door dropped open, and hot\nair rushed in. On the quay, a kaleidoscope of color and humanity dazzled Abby\u2019s\neyes\u2014Hindu women in saris<\/em> of every hue, hot pinks, ochre yellows, lime\ngreens. Parsee women wore their skirts of equally brilliant shades, their black\nhair ornamented with lace and gold. People balanced immense bundles on their\nheads. Bengali clerks rushed here and there, wearing yards of white muslin and\nHindu caps, while other men wore turbans or solar topis. On the dock, uniformed\nsoldiers joined the throng. So many people. She\u2019d forgotten that claustrophobic\nfeeling, the teeming press of millions. But she loved it all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She hugged Cam and scanned the crowds of\npeople on the quayside for Nick\u2019s lean face and startling blue eyes. He\u2019d be\ndown there waiting for her, wouldn\u2019t he? Her gaze stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There he was. Her pulse pounded. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A tall soldier wearing his tan uniform,\nepaulets at his shoulder, his cap on his head, peered upwards at the passengers\nlining the ship\u2019s railing. She could barely catch her breath as she waved. Cam,\nnot seeing who she waved at, threw out his small hand, pumped it up and down,\nand laughed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nick looked up and waved. Her wide smile\ndimmed, and her hand went still. It wasn\u2019t Nick. Someone farther along the\nship\u2019s railing sent an answering wave to the stranger on the quay. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abby steadied her breath and swung her gaze\nover the crowd. Where was he? In addition to her letter announcing she was\ncoming, she\u2019d telegrammed Nick with her itinerary before she left Southampton.\nShe\u2019d sent another telegram and checked twice with the purser when they stopped\nat the Port of Aden days ago, and still there\u2019d been no message from him. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSee you soon . . . goodbye . . . Christmas .\n. . take care of yourself,\u201d the nurses said between hugs as they crowded toward\nthe gangway. But Laine remained at Abby\u2019s side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease, Laine, go with the others. You\u2019ve\nbeen wonderful, but Nick will be here.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t know that for sure.\u201d Laine\u2019s\npracticed look was that of a nurse hating to give bad news. \u201cYou can\u2019t fool me\nwith that Yankee stoicism of yours. The whole voyage out, you\u2019ve tried to hide\nyour concerns.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLaine, please.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, all right.\u201d Laine grew gruff as she\nrelented, tucking a dark strand of hair under her nursing veil. \u201cI\u2019m always\nsticking my nose in where I shouldn\u2019t. Occupational hazard.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abby took Laine\u2019s arm and shook it. \u201cDon\u2019t be\nsilly. I don\u2019t know what I\u2019d have done those first days of the voyage if you\nhadn\u2019t taken pity on me till I got my sea legs. We\u2019ll see each other on the\ntrain later anyway.\u201d She gave the nursing matron a firm hug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Laine joined the nurses, but Abby didn\u2019t\nwatch them leave the ship. She arched her neck to look into the sea of faces\nbelow. Sunlight glinted off the tin roofs at the quay and bounced off the\nground. She squinted like a cat soaking up its rays and, taking a deep breath,\nmoved toward the gangway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A half hour later she carried Cam on her hip\nand walked out of the blistering customs shed. A hired bearer followed with\ntheir baggage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 The\nwarm breeze loosened tendrils of hair at the base of her neck, and she blew\nfrom the side of her mouth to free a strand clinging to her cheek. Too bad she\ncouldn\u2019t tie it back in a plait like she used to. But as the wife of a British\nofficer the time had come for chignons, silk stockings, and serving tea with\ncucumber sandwiches in flower-laden gardens. Time at last to be a proper memsahib<\/em>.\nHer insides skittered. Time at last to be a wife. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Please, Nick, where are you?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The crowd thinned, and her fixed smile began\nto slip. She kissed Cam on his grime-streaked cheek. Her little boy made up for\neverything. He had Nick\u2019s deep blue eyes, the right one slightly more narrow\nthan the left so it always seemed one side of his face grinned in mischief.\nWithout the help of the single photograph she had of her husband she doubted\nshe\u2019d have remembered his features. The echo of his voice faded long ago. Had\nthat happened during the first year of the war? Or the second? But they\u2019d only\nknown each other those few weeks in England before he\u2019d shipped out to India. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Coldness seeped into her veins. Was it\npossible she\u2019d disappeared from Nick\u2019s thoughts? She roused herself. If that\nindeed had happened, she\u2019d fight it. She\u2019d win back their brief flash of love\nand turn it into something to last a lifetime. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWon\u2019t be long, honey,\u201d she said to Cam, more\nto bolster herself. Nick would be here. Of course he would.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m thirsty, Mama.\u201d Cam fussed, but she\ndidn\u2019t have the heart to scold him. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Over his complaints came the reed-like notes\nof a lute, the backdrop to thousands of voices, calling out, bartering,\nchattering. Overlaying the odor of burning cow dung patties hung the pungency\nof blossoms. Dust and spices clouded the air. Horns beeped and trolley cars\nrattled past. Wooden axles on bullock carts squeaked, counterbalanced by the\ntinkling of bells. It all smelled and sounded like home, except there was no\nsign of her husband.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cMrs.\nAbigail Fraser,\u201d boomed a voice with a Cockney accent. \u201cPaging Mrs. Abigail\nFraser.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abby whirled around to wave to a burly\nEnglish sergeant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The soldier presented her with a telegram.\n\u201cHere you are, madam. May I hold the boy for you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Entranced by the soldier\u2019s uniform, Cam went\nto him willingly while she held the envelope for a long moment before tearing\nit open to read:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sorry STOP Away on Business STOP Meet your\ntrain in Amritsar STOP Nick STOP <\/p>\n\n\n\n

All noise ceased and a buzzing filled her\nhead, leaving her only marginally aware of the sergeant returning Cam to her\narms and leaving. She blinked and raised her hand to shield her eyes from the\nsharp colors and white sunshine. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 The\nlast of the passengers moved away, and a swarm of children with extended\nbellies called out to her, \u201cMaa maa, maa maa<\/em>,\u201d all stretching out small\nhands to grab her skirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cI\u2019m\nsorry.\u201d She gave them a few annas <\/em>from her bag. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I don\u2019t have\nany more.\u201d She wasn\u2019t sure if the moisture blurring her eyes was for Nick not\nmeeting them or for these poor children as young as Cam begging for their food.\nMost of the children wandered off when the coins were gone, but a few stayed at\nher knee gazing up at her. A lump grew in Abby\u2019s throat as she caressed one\nlittle girl\u2019s head, but even this tiny one fled when a stench came close,\ngagging Abby. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 A\nwild-eyed sadhu<\/em> with three bars of sandalwood paste scoring his forehead\nstrolled toward her. With Cam in her arms and her back to the luggage cart, she\nhad nowhere to turn. Ash covered the sadhu\u2019s<\/em> emaciated body and long,\nmatted hair. She tried to catch his eye, but his gaze\u2014dead-looking\u2014bore through\nher as though she weren\u2019t there. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He swerved and glided past her, and she shook\nher head. For a moment she was back in Albany, unseen by those who were\nsupposed to love her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

~*~<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Geoff\nRichards\u2019 throat thickened as he and his risaldar<\/em>-major, Muhammad Khan,\nmingled with the troops on the quayside. His men stood with their usual spit\nand polish as the ranks were dismissed. Like him, their joy to be back on\nIndian soil shone from their eyes, but their smiles couldn\u2019t quite cover the\nshadows there. Only a fraction of them were coming home. He could still\nenvision every one of his men who used to ride out with him on parade. That was\nbefore they left India for European shores. And paid a terrible price for the\nBritish Empire. If the Indian people didn\u2019t hate them, then . . . perhaps they\nshould. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The familiar shaking began in his right hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Geoff clenched it into a fist behind his back\nand stopped to talk to a few soldiers lingering outside the customs shed. \u201cWill\nany of you chaps from Rawalpindi have a chance this year at the Christmas polo\ntournament?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 A Sikh\njemadar<\/em> squared his shoulders, his eyes glinting black with his grin.\n\u201cYes, sahib<\/em>, your regiment will not be able to keep up with us in a polo\nchukka<\/em>. I can guarantee it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRight. I\u2019ll take that as a warning, Kanvar.\nWe\u2019ll see you at the tournament in Lahore.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Geoff clapped the young Sikh on the arm. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Dhyan\nSingh stood on the outskirts of the group. Both he and his brother had served\nin Geoff\u2019s regiment while in France. Geoff moved toward the soldier, but the\nmemory of Dhyan\u2019s brother, dying in his arms, pulled Geoff back to the nightmare\nof the trenches. He locked his hands behind his back, clenching his fist in an\nattempt to still the tremor. Dear God, I failed them . . . brought only one\nson home to his mother and father. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

 He\nmanaged a smile. \u201cAh, Jemadar<\/em> Singh, how many chukkas<\/em> will you\nplay when you get home? You must be terribly rusty, old man.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Dhyan\ngrinned. He, too, acted like a man recently come back to life. \u201cSahib<\/em>, I\nam sure I will have no trouble playing at least ten. If my brother, Manjit,\nwere here today, he would say you would be having many, many troubles playing\neven two or three.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 The\nmen\u2019s laughter roared, and Geoff leaned toward his risaldar<\/em>-major.\n\u201cKhan, did you hear that? I think I\u2019ve been advised to stick to cricket. Seems\nrumors are about, my polo days are on the wane.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 His\ngrin matched that of the men. It was good to talk about something that didn\u2019t\nmean the choice between life and death. But his laughter stopped. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cam Fraser and his mother stood not far from\nhim. He\u2019d know the child anywhere, having played marbles and shuffleboard with\nhim a number of times on the voyage. Other than a nod and exchanging the time\nof day, he\u2019d hardly spoken to Cam\u2019s mother. Why were they still here? According\nto ship\u2019s gossip, Lieutenant Fraser was to meet them. But here she was,\nbalancing the boy on her hip, and with her free hand brushed a lock of\nchestnut-colored hair from her face. And no husband in sight. The trace of fear\nin her eyes was belied by her clamped mouth that silently said I can look\nafter myself<\/em>. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of course she could. He\u2019d leave her to it.\nHis own plans were set, and he began to follow his men, but it was too late. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy saw him and squirmed free of his\nmother\u2019s arms, shooting off like a missile to him. Geoff swept the child up,\nfeeling the warm little body and wiry arms and legs wrap around him. Cam rested\nhis head against Geoff\u2019s chest. The sensation of the child\u2019s curls under\nGeoff\u2019s chin brought a shiver of feeling he\u2019d thought long dead and buried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Geoff\u2019s voice quavered as he took steps in\nthe direction of the boy\u2019s mother. \u201cChin up, old man. There\u2019s a good soldier.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n