It all sounded believable. She looked into Mary’s amber eyes and waited.
“He comforted me, and when I looked up at him to thank him ... he sort of ... kissed me. I certainly did not expect it to happen. Mark and Douglas were in the garden and started squealing like pigs. I pulled away and came inside. It was so awkward.”
“Philip is a very compassionate young man. I can well understand how something like that might happen.”
“Philip is like a brother to me. What should I do?”
“You are a young lady now, and the boys you have grown up with, as well as some of your newer acquaintances, are young men. Young women your age need to be more circumspect about conversations and behavior so as not to be misunderstood. I am not faulting you at all, dear, because I can imagine myself as a young woman getting into such a situation.”
“What must Philip be thinking?” Mary’s face showed her distress. “Should I say something to him? I do not want to hurt his feelings.”
Heather shifted Sara in her arms. “’Tis possible the kiss took Philip by surprise also, and he may be as embarrassed as you are. Were it me, I would not bring it up but continue to treat him with kindness. If he approaches you again in such a personal way or says something about it, you may need to tell him you consider him a very special friend, like a brother. He is a sensitive person, and you must be sure not to hurt him.”
Heather had little time to dwell on Mary’s plight. Matthew’s preparations for his journey took most of the next day. He told the children of his travel plans, and he spent time with Thomas and the boys in the morning and early afternoon going over the details of the farm chores that would need addressing in his absence.
Later, after the children had gone to bed, Heather reached up and stroked Matthew’s cheek. “I love you, and I will miss you. We all will.”
He held her close, looking into her eyes. “You know how deeply I love you, more with every passing day. You and the children are always in my thoughts and prayers.”
Matthew’s kiss warmed her. They always did. She never doubted his love for her and the family, and he seemed in good health, yet something weighed him down that he had not addressed.
When Matthew pulled away, his smile brought tears to her eyes. He caressed her face and reached for the Celtic cross at her neck. He rubbed his finger across the raised knotted design.
“You are a good man, Matthew Stewart. I’m forever grateful ’twas you who bought my indenture and then married me.”
He laughed. “Best investment I ever made, and I never doubted for a minute the Lord orchestrated the timing and outcome of that endeavor.” He kissed her forehead before moving to her waiting lips.
“Matthew, tell me we will not go to war with England. I love our life.”
“I wish I could, but that would be giving you false hope. We must each follow the path God has set before us, no matter the cost.”
She backed off at the intensity of his remark. “I need to see to Sara.” As she picked Sara up and began feeding her, heaviness engulfed her. Was she partially responsible for Matthew’s evasiveness? Had her bristling each time the escalating tension and violence in the colonies was brought up made him less than candid? She needed to make more of an effort to accept what she could not change.
When he returned from his trip, she would endeavor to do just that.
Somehow, the decision did not ease her worry.
Early dawn the next morning, Heather stood on the front porch as Matthew loaded his pack behind the saddle. “Are the others still sleeping?
“Aye.”
The glance Matthew gave her reminded her of the tenderness and passion they had shared the night before. She must not weep and make leaving more difficult for him. Why was she so emotional? Was it because she had just borne a child or was it something else? She felt a churning in her gut, and the peace she had felt in recent days had vanished. Her fingers brushed the cross that hung from the blue ribbon around her neck, a recent habit she had developed whenever under stress. Slowly, she untied the ribbon at the back of her neck. She held the cross in her hand and brought it to her lips. Kissing it, she looked into the face of the giver of the gift.
“Here, Matthew, I want you to take this with you. Bring it back to me when you come home.” She handed it to him as he leaned down from the roan mount. They kissed, and once more, she looked into those brown eyes that melted her like butter.
“I will keep it close to my heart, beloved, until I return.” He pulled back on the reins before turning the horse down the drive.
She wrapped her shawl tightly across her and watched as Matthew and his horse disappeared down the lane in the early morning fog. A sick feeling filled her, and tears ran down her cheeks. Was it his leaving or her fear of an impending war she wanted to ignore? Perhaps both. “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.” She reminded herself of verses she’d known all her life. “Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day.”
I must combat my fears with prayer. Lord, watch over Matthew and keep him safe while he is apart from us.
CHAPTER 20
Matthew arrived in Philadelphia the second week of November. He wasn’t surprised when the doorman at the Ferguson home said that Henry was no longer in residence. Before mounting his horse, he opened the folded note Henry had left for him.
Sorry to have missed you, Matthew. Travel across the Delaware River to Pomona Hall in Camden, New Jersey. I look forward to seeing you and introducing you to Constance. Henry
Matthew looked down Locust Street. He would need to find a ferry crossing nearby to reach the New Jersey side of the river.
Upon arrival at Pomona Hall, a doorman ushered him into a small room.
A stocky and stern-looking woman entered the parlor a few minutes later. “I’m the housekeeper, sir. May I be of assistance?”
“Mr. Henry Ferguson left a message that I was to contact him here.”
The woman studied him for a moment. “Mr. Ferguson was here but left five days past. He said he was going to Swedesboro.”
“Swedesboro? And where is that from here?”
She studied his less than formal riding attire. “Swedesboro’s around twenty-five miles southwest. I was born and raised near there.”
Another twenty-five miles? It would be impossible to complete his task and be home within a fortnight.
The woman continued. “The village is beyond Mickleton near Raccoon Creek in Greenwich Township.”
“Much appreciated.” He nodded and left. There was nothing to be gained from wallowing in frustration. Best to get the packet to Henry so he could get home.
After traveling a couple of hours, Matthew stopped at a creek to rest. He dismounted and rubbed the mare’s neck. “You thirsty, Bonny?” He had to be about halfway to his destination. Something moved in the fallen leaves behind him while his horse drank from the creek. Was it another rider or a deer? He scanned the area around him but saw nothing in the dense woods.
When the horse was satisfied, Matthew tied the reins to the branch of a nearby tree. Sitting on the trunk of a fallen oak, he ate the bread and cheese purchased earlier in Philadelphia.
Stephens’ reminder to be careful in case he was being watched flashed through his mind. Ever since he left Pomona Hall, he had felt an uneasiness he could not explain. Perhaps it was guilt over his deception that was gnawing at him. When he’d finished his meal, he pulled the small silver cross attached to the blue ribbon from his waistcoat. As he rubbed the raised surface, he pictured Heather standing on the porch shivering the morning he left, her expression one of trust, love, and hope. It tore him apart that he was hiding his mission from her. Someday, he would tell her and hoped she would understand that it was his way to provide aid in securing their future. He looked around but heard no further sound. Must have been deer. They probably watered here also.
He continued south until he came to another creek, probably Raccoon Creek. He must be near Swedesboro by now. If Bonny was as thirsty as he was, they best stop to get a drink.
The cool water was refreshing. Just as Matthew raised his eyes, leaves behind him rustled, and he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. He jerked forward and collapsed. He heard the loud report of a musket, followed by intense pain.
His world turned black.
Matthew winced at the pain in his side and head. Struggling to remember what had happened, he fought to open his eyes, and when he did, everything looked blurry. He shifted to get his face, now nearly numb, out of the icy water. The pain in his side was like a knife stabbing. If only that were numb.
What had happened? There were no sounds, and no one seemed to be around. It was getting dark. How long had he been there? How would he get help?
He pushed himself up and moved slowly away from the creek. He could do no more, though. The work robbed him of what little strength he had. His eyes closed. He was going to die if help did not come soon. Was this how it would end? He forced himself to take a deep breath, to feel the life fill his lungs. The effort brought more pain than relief. Please let me live, Father. Let me get back to my family.
Pictures flitted through his mind. Heather walking back from the pond, smiling and waving at him. Her hair like golden wheat, loose and blowing in the breeze. Mark and Mary chasing each other in the apple orchard. Douglas lifting his chubby arms, his baby face bright with joy. Sara in her mother’s arms.
A noise pulled him back from the memories.
Was that Bonny neighing? Was she still nearby?
Your will be done, Father.
Heather stood over the kettle stirring the chowder and glanced out the window. It was dusk. Mary should be returning from the Whitcombs’ soon. She shivered as the chilly wind howled outside.
Mark came through the kitchen door. “Douglas, where are you? I need you to man the door while we bring the wood in.”
A big grin appeared on his face as Douglas came running to the door and held it open. “I’m manning the door.”
Heather chuckled. It felt good to laugh, a rarity the last few weeks. Why had Matthew not sent word? He had been due back over a week ago.
Douglas shivered as he opened the door each time one of the boys approached. “Hurry, Mark, ’tis cold in here.”
Mark and Todd carried wood inside for the hearth and fireplaces.
Mark brushed by Douglas and sneered. “’Tis a lot colder outside. Do you want to carry the wood while I hold the door?” His eyes were no more than slits as he carried an armful of wood into the kitchen and placed it in the wood box near the hearth.
Todd entered with his arms full. “Where do you want these, Mrs. Stewart?”
“The common room.”
Todd stopped near the kettle. “Smells good.”
“Ham and corn chowder. Let your family know supper will be served about seven.”
“Yes, ma’am.” When he returned to the kitchen and reached the door, he leaned down and patted Douglas on the head. “You can close the door now, little man; we are finished.” Todd turned to leave just as Mary came through the door. Philip entered behind her with a basket of kindling and set it by the kitchen hearth. “Todd left this by the door.” He grinned at Mary while she hung her cape on a peg, then continued out the door.
Heather pulled some bread from the oven. “I’m glad you are back. Would you set the large table for supper? The Gordons will join us.”
As Mary hurried to complete the request, Douglas came alongside her. “Why does Philip always have that silly smile when he looks at you?”
She scowled. “Douglas, you need to go and sweep up the wood chips.”
Heather stopped slicing the bread and peered at Mary. Everyone’s short temper in recent days only aggravated her own worries about Matthew. “What is wrong? Did you see the dejected look on the tyke’s face when he left the kitchen?”
“I’m sorry, but I have had a bad afternoon. First ’twas Mrs. Whitcomb’s strange behavior and then Philip pursuing me.”
Heather took off her apron. “The chowder is simmering. Shall we go upstairs? ’Tis near time to feed Sara. You can tell me what happened.”
With Sara in her arms, Heather closed the bedroom door once Mary entered.
“I passed the boys herding the sheep on my way to Martha’s, and Philip came running over, questioning me about where I was going. I was clearly on the path to the Whitcomb home, and I probably was a bit curt with him. ’Tis just that lately, since he ... kissed me, I’m worried he may try it again.”
Heather placed Sara to feed. “Perhaps he was just being friendly. Be patient with him. Philip has a kind heart.”
“I know. Then, when I got to Martha’s, her mother was sitting in a chair, staring out the window. She did not move or acknowledge either Martha or me when we entered the room, so we went upstairs to work on our needlework. Poor Martha was so embarrassed she began apologizing and tried to explain that her mother was sad.”
“Hannah is overwrought by Tobias leaving to join the fight.”
“I know that. When I asked Martha if she had heard from James, she told me he had written to her and was also thinking of joining the Patriot cause.”
“Oh no, not James, too.”
“James said his father has business in Fairfax, so they may come here before the end of the year.”
“’Twould be nice.”
“Martha asked me where Papa was and when he was coming home.”
A lump formed in Heather’s throat. The same anxious feeling kept returning. “What did you tell her?”
“I could not answer her because I do not know.”
“I’m sorry I did not get more information from him before he left.”
Mary reached for Sara’s hand, caressing the tiny fingers. “’Tis not like Papa to be gone over a fortnight and not tell us where he was going.”
Heather bit her lip. “I asked George Whitcomb and all our neighbors if your father mentioned to any of them where he planned to purchase the Devon cattle. I thought if we could trace him there, we might get some answers, but no one knew anything about his plans. I am at a loss as to where to turn next.” She shook her head and rubbed her temples.
“My afternoon did not end with that,” Mary continued. “On my way back to the Green, Philip was waiting on the path. He said he wanted to make sure I got home safely. I told him I could take care of getting home by myself. Oh, Mama, the hurt look on his face stung.”
Heather shook her head as she changed Sara’s wet clothing.
“Philip took my hand and told me I was special. So, I told him he was special too and that he was like the older brother every girl wants.”
“What did he say?”
“He looked confused and said he was Todd’s older brother. So I told him I could not imagine a better older brother.” Mary handed Heather the baby’s blanket.
“Very artfully done. For being caught off guard, I think you handled it quite well. You assured him you valued him and cared for him in a special, yet sisterly way.”
“Do not credit me for being so nimble. For days I have mulled over in my mind how to respond if the situation arose. And if I did well, why is my heart so heavy?”
“You were gracious to Philip. We can only pray he will receive it well, though he may feel confused or bruised for a while. Now, we need to get downstairs and get supper on the table.”
Both families gathered in the common room for the meal.
Heather fought back tears when Thomas offered the blessing and again asked for Matthew’s safe return. Where could he be? What could have delayed him? The questions were never far from her mind. And the answers kept getting darker, scarier. Yet, she must remain strong and hopeful for the sake of the children. And for her own sake as well. She must believe he would return to her.
She ladled chowder into everyone’s bowl and observed Philip watching Mary, who was ignori
ng him. How was that situation to be solved?
Thomas looked at her. “’Tis hog-killing time.”
She nodded. “Aye, we cannot put it off any longer. You and the boys can start on that, and we—”
“I will care for Laura and Sara to free you and Miss Polly to assist them,” Mary offered. “And of course, I will help if we have any guests.”
Heather looked at Mary and chuckled. “How generous of you, dear.”
Matthew pried his eyes open. He turned his head to the side as he took in the savory scent of roasting meat, which made his stomach roil. He retched until nothing more came up. Wincing from the pain in his side and stomach, he rolled his head back to the softness of his resting place. His eyes closed briefly as he caught his breath and tried to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth. He opened his eyes again at the sound of a voice.
“Herr? Mister?”
Was the cloudy vision of a woman’s face above him an apparition? He closed his eyes.
A cold hand touched his forehead.
“Du är feberisk, herrn … Ahh! You are feverish.” She walked away and soon returned with a bowl. “Jag kommer att ha en tendens till dig.”
“Ma’am?”
She wrung out a cloth and placed it on his forehead. “I will tend to you. Talk engelska ... You should rest. ’Tis good you are conscious.”
Was he conscious? He felt in a fog. His eyes closed, and he drifted to sleep again.
When he awoke, he scanned the small room. Everything still appeared foggy. A couple sat muttering by a hearth.
“Ma’am?”
They walked to his side. “I am Anna Fleming.” She nodded to the man. “Husband is Oden Fleming.” The woman spoke slowly and enunciated each word melodically.
Matthew stared up at the tall and lean couple, perhaps in their fifties. “Where am I?”
The woman placed the damp cool rag on his brow. “Swedesboro. You injured.”
“Yes.” That much he knew.
She pointed. “Your head hurt, and you shot in the ... side.”
A Heart for Freedom: He longs for freedom, but won’t risk the lives of those he loves. Page 13