Uriah rose from his chair and lit his pipe with an ember from the hearth. "We were just talking, Elsa. Your sister was saying how much you would enjoy visiting Aunt Abby in Richmond."
"No, I wouldn't. " Elsa looked at Reagan. "Why would you say that? You know I don't like it at Aunt Abby's."
Reagan came to her sister, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Papa thought it might be good if you had a little holiday."
"I'm not going. I'm not leaving Philadelphia."
"Elsa? What's gotten into you?" Reagan withdrew her hand. "Has Captain Thayer been talking to you again?"
"Captain Thayer is nice to me. He doesn't treat me like a baby like you and Papa. " Elsa lifted her chin. "Philadelphia is my home and no lobsterbacks are going to chase me from it."
Reagan laughed, glancing at her father. "Where on God's fertile earth does she get these things?"
Uriah puffed on his pipe. "Perhaps she'd be more willing to go if you went with her."
"Papa! I said wasn't going. I can't. You know that!"
Elsa poured herself a china cup of coffee from the pot on the center of the table. "If Reagan doesn't have to go, I don't have to go. " She sipped her coffee leisurely. Just the other day she had told Reagan that she actually preferred the taste of coffee to tea.
Reagan didn't know what to say. She couldn't imagine where this new sense of independence in Elsa had come from. It had to be Grayson. He had emphatically denied giving her any encouragement, but still, Reagan was suspicious. Who else did she speak with outside the immediate family?
Uriah smiled sadly. "What am I going to do with you girls?" He shook his head. "You're as stubborn as your mother, the both of you."
"I think you should send her, Papa," Reagan said crossly. "I don't know why you didn't send her with the Smiths when they left last fall."
"The truth is that I'm a selfish man, else I would have sent you both to Richmond when we heard the British were marching on us."
"You couldn't do it alone. You can't," she said meaningfully, referring to their printing.
Uriah pulled his pipe from his mouth, drawing himself to his full height of nearly five feet five. His eyes narrowed. "I could, Reagan, and I can. You keep that in mind when you take those chances, because if I decide your safety is really in danger, then you and your sister will be gone from this house. I wouldn't care if I had to tie and gag you both. " He picked up his book with an ink-stained finger. "Just keep that in mind, missy."
Reagan watched in stunned silence as her father left the room. She didn't know what on earth had possessed him to rant in such a manner!
Elsa smiled smugly over the rim of her coffee cup. "Guess you better be a good girl, Sister."
The moment Uriah and Reagan heard the splintering of glass in the front room of the printshop, he leaned forward and blew out his lamp on the desk.
They'd been working late tonight in his small office in the rear of the shop. They had been going over the account books trying to figure out where they were going to get money to buy firewood and wheat for flour when their supplies were gone. The white paper money Uriah had was worth nothing in the city under siege. No vendor would take anything but hard coin or bartered goods. Like the other families that had remained in the city, the Llewellyns were nearly destitute.
"Who do you think it is?" Reagan whispered.
"Shh. " Uriah eased off his three-legged stool. "Soldiers, I'm sure, looking for evidence."
She could hear the front door latch clicking. The hinges on the door groaned and there were heavy footsteps. At least four men, she surmised. "We can't just stand here in the dark."
"That's exactly what we're going to do," Uriah responded, pressing his ear to the inner door that separated the two rooms. "They'll find no evidence and then they'll go on about their business."
"They've no right!" She took a step, but Uriah's hand shot out in the darkness.
"I said we stay here. " He took her by the arm, pulling her back from the door. "We can't afford another confrontation. If they shut me down here, I'll have no way to earn enough money to keep the press going below the carriage house!"
Reagan cringed at the sound of the first chair breaking against the wall. She could hear harsh voices as the men ransacked the front room, obviously in search of something. Pottery shattered and she knew their precious linseed oil was flowing over the floor. A rack of type was knocked over and she heard the letters scattering over the floor.
"Doesn't sound like soldiers to me," she hissed.
Before Uriah could stop her, Reagan's hand was on the doorknob. She flung open the door and burst into the front room. A lamp glowed on the counter near the door. "Can I help you?" she demanded acidly.
A man spun around to face her and she took a step back. It was the half-breed she'd encountered in the Blue Boar Tavern weeks ago.
Indian John's scarred face broke into a crooked smile. Three ruffians turned to stare, but he gave a wave of his hand. "Keep looking," he bellowed. "I'll take care of the captain's whore."
Reagan tasted her fear like ashes. Her judgment had been poor. Her father had been right, they should have remained hidden. Behind her, she could feel the pressure of Uriah's hand on the small of her back.
"What are you doing here?" Uriah demanded. "Get out of my shop or I'll call the soldiers!"
Indian John laughed viciously. "The soldiers is who sent me, old man. Looks like ye're in a bit of trouble. " His gaze fell to the bodice of Reagan's serge woolen gown.
"We've done nothing wrong. Please just go," she beseeched, her eyes locked on the half-breed's one good eye. "We want no trouble."
The three men continued to overturn furniture. A man with a tarred pigtail threw a crate of paper onto the floor and began to drizzle black ink over it.
Reagan sidestepped Indian John and snatched the jug of ink from the pigtailed man's hand. "Get out of here," she threatened. "Get out of here or I'll—"
"You'll what?" Indian John caught her by her shoulder, sinking his fingers into her soft flesh. He spun her around, yanking the front bodice panel of her gown.
The sound of tearing material ripped the air and Reagan balled her fist and knocked the halfbreed in the ear.
"Reagan!" Uriah shouted.
Indian John's hand went to his injured ear in surprise and Reagan lifted the jug in her other hand and brought it down over the half-breed's skull.
Indian John howled with pain as the pottery jug glanced off the back of his head and broke on the floor. "You little bitch!" He pulled back his fist and punched her squarely in the jaw.
Reagan flew backward under the impact. As she picked herself up off the floor, she saw her father swing a chair over his head and knock the halfbreed down. A man in a wool cap shoved Uriah against the wall and began to pound him with his fists.
"Papa!" Reagan cried. She hurled herself at her father's attacker, knocking the ruffian off balance. Her starched cap fell from her head and her hair tumbled to her shoulders.
Uriah sank his fist into the man's soft stomach and he doubled over onto the floor.
"Run!" Uriah shouted. "Get help, Daughter."
Indian John scrambled to his feet, swinging the butt of a rifle. Uriah picked up a long, stiff rod used for shifting type and defended himself.
Reagan found the ladder back of a broken chair on the floor and snatched it up, but a third man intercepted her before she could bring it crashing down on the half-breed's head. She screamed and the third man covered her mouth with his hand. She sank her teeth into the dirty flesh of his palm and he gave a yelp.
"Whore!" the man cursed, slapping her soundly across the face. The chair fell from her grasp as her head reeled back under his blow. The man pinned Reagan's hands behind her, but she kicked and bucked so hard that the pigtailed men came to his rescue.
"What's the matter with you, Lenny? The wench too much of a woman for you?"
The pigtailed man approached her and she raised both feet off the ground kicking him in the groi
n. The man holding her lost his balance and all three fell to the floor. As she struggled to get free of the tangle of arms and legs, she saw Indian John backing Uriah up against the wall.
Uriah swung his stick, ducking and darting like a man half his age. The half-breed was growing angrier by the second as he swung harder and harder with less accuracy each time. Uriah's short legs carried him over a broken stool and Indian John swung his rifle above the front counter, missing Uriah but striking the lamp in the process.
The oil lamp fell to the floor and suddenly the printshop was in flames. The spilled varnish and linseed oil acted like a wick drawing the fire across the floor.
"Run, Reagie, run!" Uriah shouted. His spectacles fell, the fragile glass shattering on the floor, and Indian John pressed his advantage. He slammed the butt of the rifle into Uriah's temple and the gray-haired man went down.
The men who held Reagan pinned to the floor leaped up, freeing her, and she crawled the short distance to her father. "Papa! Papa!" Tears ran down her cheeks as she lifted her father's head. His eyes were closed; there was no blood, but she could detect no rise and fall of his chest.
"You killed him! Murderer!" she screamed. In a rage, she leaped up, taking the pole from beside her father's lifeless body. The printshop was engulfed in flames, but she didn't feel the scorching heat, she didn't see the shooting orange flames. She swung the stick, cracking Indian John in the back. "Turn around," she demanded over the roar of the blaze. Two of the men were already running for the door.
Indian John spun around and Reagan swung the pole over her head. She didn't hear the pigtailed man come from behind. She felt a brief streak of pain as something hit her on the crown of the head and suddenly she was crumpling to the floor. The heat and flames of the room dissolved slowly into a cool blackness.
"Get out of here," Indian John shouted to the pigtailed man. "The roof's gonna come down!"
"The old man's dead, but what about her?" The pigtailed man held his arm across his forehead. He could smell his own hair singeing.
The half-breed John took one look at Reagan and then turned, running for the door. "Leave the bitch!"
Sterling came out of the Blue Boar and looked up. A block north, flames shot into the night sky, filling it with bright light and falling cinders. A fire bell clanged in the distance and a man carrying buckets ran by.
"What's burning?" Sterling shouted after him.
"Printshop on High Street," the man panted. "It's a goner, but we're trying to save the buildings around it."
Sterling raced down the street, turning onto High. "No God, please," he murmured. "Not Reagie. Please. " His feet flew over the cobblestones and he passed the man with the buckets. Up ahead he could see a crowd of onlookers huddling across the street from the Llewellyns' printshop.
Sterling came to a halt in front of the crowd. "Anyone in there?"
"Don't know," a woman offered. "Saw a couple of rough men come out, but they ran that way. " She pointed toward the harbor.
Sterling swore beneath his breath as he sprinted across the street.
"Hey, Captain. You can't go in there," someone protested from behind. "If there's anybody in there, they're dead by now!"
Sterling pushed through the line of people passing buckets of water. He ripped off his coat and took a bucket from someone's grasp. He doused his scarlet coat with water and threw it over his head.
"Reagan!" he shouted as he ducked into the burning structure. The heat was so intense that it nearly knocked him backward. Sterling dropped on all fours and began to crawl across the floor. Even on the floor the smoke was so thick that it sucked his breath from his body. "Reagan! he shouted hoarsely. "Reagie!"
"Here," came a voice. "I'm here."
"Where? I can't see you. " The cinders stung Sterling's face and hands as he crawled toward Reagan's voice.
Out of the inky blackness came a hand, and Sterling clasped it. Tears ran down his sooty cheeks. "Reagie?"
"Grayson! Papa's dead. He's here, but I can't find him!"
Sterling stood, swinging Reagan into his powerful arms. She clung to him, coughing and choking, as he made his way out of the burning building.
Outside, Sterling knelt on the sidewalk, his chest heaving. Reagan clung to him sobbing. "We can't leave him to burn, Grayson. " She struggled to escape his grasp. "I have to get him out."
Sterling took one look at the blazing building. Orange and red flames shot high above the crumbling roof. Ceiling joists were beginning to cave in. He straightened, leaving Reagan on the cobblestones.
She watched from the walk as he entered the shop again. Flames shot higher and higher in the air and the citizens hurried to soak the buildings on each side to keep them from catching on fire as well. Seconds passed, and Reagan rose on her knees. A full minute had elapsed, and still there was no sign of Grayson. The center beam of the structure gave a groan and fell and Reagan sank down, burying her face in her hands. Now she had lost both of the men she loved.
Suddenly there was roar from the crowd. Reagan looked up through a veil of tears to see Grayson leaping through the front window of the printshop, Uriah's crumpled body thrown over his shoulder.
Reagan stumbled toward Grayson. He eased Uriah's lifeless body to the ground. Reagan stood before him, sobs wracking her body. He put out his arms and she came to him.
Two men gently lifted Uriah's body and carried him away from the burning building. Sterling's chest burned and his eyes stung. His right forearm had been burned when a timber fell on him as he was bringing Uriah out of the fire, but he felt no pain, only the agony in his heart.
Reagan held tightly to him, her face pressed into the cambric cloth of his shirt. He pushed back her thick auburn hair, wiping the soot from her face. "Shh," he soothed. "It's all right, sweetheart. Cry, it will make both of us feel better."
Reagan clung to Sterling, still disoriented by the smoke. Her knees were so weak that she couldn't stand. Her lungs burned as she gasped for clean night air. When Grayson lifted her into his arms, she made no protest. Suddenly the world was fading again. "Where are you taking me?" she managed. Her strained voice was barely a whisper in his ear.
"Home," Sterling answered, kissing her hot, damp brow. He pushed his way through the crowd, oblivious to the freezing rain that had begun to fall. "Home, Continental."
Chapter Twelve
Sterling pushed open the front door of the Llewellyn home with the toe of his boot. "Nettie! Elsa!" he hollered. He took the stairs two at a time.
"Grayson?" Elsa called from the front hall. When she saw her sister unconscious in his arms, she gathered her skirts and came running up the steps.
"What's happened? Is she all right?"
Sterling carried Reagan to her bedchamber and laid her gently on the bed, but he was hesitant to let go of her. He cradled her head in his arm, brushing her rain-soaked hair off her face. Her eye had been blackened, by someone's fist. Her upper lip was split. "Elsa! I need some warm water and towels. " Violent anger coursed through his veins. He didn't know who had done this to her, but he would find out. He stood up, stripping off his wet cambric shirt. "Where are her sleeping gowns?"
Elsa ran out of the room. "At the foot of the bed," she called from the hallway.
Sterling flung open the cedar chest and removed a soft swanskin gown. He pulled Reagan's shoes off, then her hose. Elsa came in the door carrying a water pitcher, some flannel towels, and a bottle of rum tucked beneath her arm.
"Help me get her clothes off, Elsa. " He sat on the corner of the bed and raised Reagan to a seated position, letting her slump against his broad chest.
Elsa climbed over the other side of the bed and began to unlace the bodice of Reagan's gown. Without ceremony, she stripped her sister down, removing her torn bodice, and petticoat, then her corset. When Elsa got to her sister's chemise, she glanced up at Sterling.
"It's wet, take it off."
"My sister—"
"I won't tell if you don't."
&nbs
p; She looked up at him, then lowered her head, seeing to the task.
Sterling eased Reagan onto the bed and placed a bolster under her neck. He tried not to stare as Elsa unbuttoned and slipped the linen chemise off Reagan's shoulders. His breath caught in his throat, and he looked away as she drew back the last bit of chemise and threw it into the pile of wet clothing on the floor.
Sterling retrieved the flannel gown and again lifted Reagan, squeezing his eyes shut as Elsa maneuvered to get the gown over her sister's head and her arms in the sleeves.
Reagan's breasts pressed against Sterling's bare chest and he struggled to gain control of his desire. My God! he chastised himself. The girl's father is dead, she was nearly burned to death, and all I can think of is my lust for her.
"Lay her back," Elsa ordered, and Sterling eased Reagan back, thankful the torture was over.
Elsa pulled the skirt of the flannel gown down and began to tug the coverlets over her sister's now-trembling body.
"What happened?" Elsa asked as she poured warm water into a basin next to the bed. "Where's the fire? Where's Papa?" She took a clean cloth and began to wipe the soot from Reagan's face. "Someone's hit her."
Sterling's voice caught in his throat. How could he tell her her father was dead?
Elsa looked up at Sterling. He was shivering now, too. She grabbed a flannel towel from the bed and threw it to him. "You'd best dry off or you'll be down with the croup. " She turned her attention back to her sister. "He's dead, isn't he?" she said softly.
Sterling tightened the towel around his shoulders and lowered his hand to Elsa's. "He is."
A sob escaped Elsa's tightly compressed lips, but she continued to bathe Reagan. "The printshop?"
Sterling took a step back. "There was a fire. I managed to get Reagan out, but your father was already dead. Somebody saw some men running from the shop. " He paused, feeling so inadequate. "I'm so sorry, Elsa. But I'll find them. I'll find who did this. " His voice cracked and he looked away.
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