Polly followed Heather to the front door. “’Tis just the post rider. We may still be able to do the preserving without interruption. I will get him a drink.”
After the post rider left, they returned to the common room. Heather scanned the items he had left with her. “The Gazette and a letter from the Duncans with another one attached to it.”
Mary hobbled toward her. “Perhaps they have word from Donald.”
Polly stood. “I will take the girls to the cottage. You two rest and read.”
Heather walked to the settee closest to the window. “Come over here, Mary, so you can rest your leg on the hassock.” She opened the letter and began reading aloud.
“’Tis dated August twenty-fifth.”
Dear Heather,
We hope this finds you and the family well. When I saw Andrew Macmillan ten days ago at Brady’s, he mentioned that you had a good crop of wheat this year and seemed well. He was on his way to Philadelphia.
She looked up. “Andrew had not mentioned that he was going to Philadelphia.”
Mary tapped the parchment. “Mama, read.”
“Sorry.”
“We were pleased when Donald came home. It was only for a day as he carried another packet to a location not far from here. He looked well, but thin. He asked us to extend his best wishes to your family when we next saw you.
Our main purpose in writing to you is to pass on the attached letter. ’Tis from an Oden and Anna Fleming, a couple in Swedesboro, New Jersey.
Patrick O’Brian brought it and told us of the providential encounter he had with the Flemings as well as the uncanny set of circumstances that led him to believe there was more about Matthew’s disappearance than we had been told.”
Heather stared at Mary a moment before continuing.
“Patrick said he had delivered some furniture to the Flemings. The previous fall, the Flemings had visited family in Philadelphia when they saw Patrick’s work and commissioned him to build some cabinets. He told them he would deliver their order when completed and made that delivery about a fortnight ago. When his conversation with the Flemings turned to family, Patrick mentioned his brother in Alexandria.
Mr. and Mrs. Fleming told him about an injured Virginia man they found, sheltered, and cared for last winter. Apparently, the man had been shot not far from their village. The entire time they nursed him back to health the man would only tell them his name was Matthew. He would never give them his surname. One night, some British Regulars showed up at their home looking for him and identified him as Matthew Stewart. The soldiers took him. They told the Flemings he was a prisoner of the Crown, a Patriot courier, and would be imprisoned or executed.”
Heather dropped the letter to her lap.
Mary muttered. “So, the soldiers took him back to Philadelphia.”
Heather felt like she had been kicked in the belly. “Aye, that was where Matthew was passing the information he carried.” The pain was as fresh as when they had first learned of his death. She began shaking and her voice cracked. “The brutes murdered him and left him on the ground to rot. ’Twas no different than the way they treated prisoners back home.”
Mary placed an arm around her shoulder. “Is there more, Mama?”
Heather’s tear-filled eyes traveled back to the letter on her lap.
“Adam writes:
Tis believed that the soldiers took Matthew back to Philadelphia. This letter probably comes as a shock and opens up wounds, but we knew you would want to know.
We will make a visit before the month is out. Till then, take care and let us know if we can be of any assistance. Maggie sends her love.
Adam”
Heather opened the other note and held it so Mary could read over her shoulder.
Mrs. Stewart,
We just learned of your association with Patrick O’Brian. He writes this for us.
We are grateful to finally contact Matthew’s family. We found him by Raccoon Creek. He had been shot and also suffered a head injury. We brought him home, and Anna cared for him. In time, he improved. Though we asked, Matthew never told us his full name or where we could find his family.
We thought he must be in some sort of trouble and hiding, but we were not afraid because we knew Matthew was a good man. When he was strong enough, he planned to go home, but then the soldiers came for him.
We send sympathy for your great loss.
Respectfully,
Oden and Anna Fleming
Heather put her arms around Mary as their tears flowed.
“Why would God let this happen, Mama? ’Tis so senseless, so evil.”
“Some things we will never understand this side of heaven.”
The two held each other and cried quietly. Heather sniffled. “God has not deserted us.”
“It feels like He has to me.”
Heather lifted Mary’s chin. “Think about what we have just received. Through an amazing set of circumstances, we have learned what happened to your father, as unjust as it was. ’Tis powerful proof of God’s faithfulness. The Lord did not prevent the evil perpetrated, but He revealed your father was rescued and cared for when he was injured. ’Tis some comfort.”
Mary sighed. “We must share these letters with the others.”
When Polly returned, Heather read the letters to her.
Polly wiped away her tears. “We can put off doing the preserves until tomorrow.”
Heather tied on her apron. “Nay, work is a tonic, as my mother used to say.”
Heather shared the letters with Thomas and Mark when they returned from Whitney’s Mill. The grief came like waves that day.
Searching for things to be grateful for had been a struggle. Right before falling to sleep, thought of a blessing came. I’m thankful we did not have any patrons today.
Heather tossed in her sleep. She dreamed of a fire. She was running, trying to escape the heat and flames, holding on to Matthew’s hand. Why was there no sound when she screamed? But the flames followed them, licked at their heels.
She threw the coverlet aside and bolted upright, out of breath, her skin drenched with perspiration. No flames. She smelled no smoke.
She glanced around, but no moonlight lit the pitch-black room. It was impossible to see. She made her way to Sara’s bed in the corner. Sara slept peacefully, while Heather’s heart beat rapidly in her chest. What would bring on such a nightmare?
She tried to brush off the images that had invaded her sleep and reminded herself that everyone was well. Think on that, and not the terror that came this night.
Two weeks later after breakfast, Heather bounced Sara on her hip in the common room and looked at her son, who sat on a settee, engrossed in the newspaper.
“What are you reading so intently, Mark?”
“The Gazette.”
“I see that. What has your interest? Is it a report of a missing servant or a farmer selling a prize mare?”
“We are to be called the United States of America.” Mark held up the paper.
She looked over his shoulder. “Aye?”
“’Tis the name of our nation. The colonies ... nay, the states together will be the United States of America.”
“That sounds rather imperious.”
“Sounds like our country has the authority to govern itself. I rather like it.”
The United States of America. Is that what Matthew had died for?
Would his sacrifice amount to anything?
“I’m taking Sara up for a nap. Please keep care of Douglas while Mary and I pickle this afternoon.”
Hours later, Heather wiped the perspiration from her brow and untied her apron. “Finally finished.” Ten jars of pickled vegetables rested on the table at the far end of the kitchen to cool.
Mark put down the book he was reading. “I say we go fishing.” He addressed everyone but looked intently at Douglas.
Douglas ran over to her. “Yes, Mama, yes. May we go fishing?”
She shook her head at Mark.
He had plied Douglas to do his bidding.
“Very well,” she answered. “We can all take some baskets, and Mark, you carry a ladder. There are apples in the orchard we can stop and pick on the way home.”
Two hours later as they returned to the Green, Philip and Todd relieved them of their baskets of apples.
Polly held Laura’s hand as they approached. “Looks like you got some fish, Douglas.”
Douglas grinned. “I did.”
Heather reached where Polly and Laura stood. “If you have not already eaten, join us for supper. We can fry up these fish. Then I need to prepare for tomorrow’s church picnic.”
Polly nodded. “We would love to join you. I will come and help. I thought your gesture to go stay with Hannah tomorrow so her family could go to services was very generous.”
She shifted Sara as the child waved at the boys. “I only regret I did not think of it sooner.”
While the boys scaled and gutted the fish, Heather took Sara inside to the common room.
Mary stood by the window that looked out on the kitchen garden.
“Would you mind the girls while Polly and I get supper ready? ’Tis good to see you up and about and not in as much discomfort.”
Mary turned and smiled. “Of course. I walked to the pond and back with little pain.”
“No wonder you look so refreshed.”
“It improved my attitude. I recalled happier times, times with Papa and visits from the Duncan family. Do you remember our game of Blind Man’s Bluff when Donald tripped me?”
“Oh, yes, I remember that.”
“Donald comes to mind more and more. I hope this war ends soon. I hope all our friends come home without injuries.”
Heather set Sara on the rug. “We all pray for that, dear, but ’tis not a realistic expectation with war. Some men may never return, and others may arrive home severely wounded. Our love for them should not depend on them returning home unscathed.”
“I know. I just want everything to remain the same.”
“Our world has altered drastically and will continue to change. We need to adjust to whatever comes, and we need to do it with a courageous and grateful heart.”
CHAPTER 34
Heather patted her neighbor’s hand. “Hannah, I know how you love sweets, so I brought you some apple fritters.”
A subtle smile formed on Hannah’s lips as she reached for the golden-brown pastry. “I love your baked goods, Elizabeth.”
At least Hannah responded, even if she had confused her with Matthew’s late wife. Heather spotted the clock on the mantel. She had been at the Whitcombs’ for about a half hour.
Yesterday morning when she’d suggested to George that she would stay with Hannah so their family could attend Sunday services, he initially resisted. But a look at Martha and Teddy changed his mind.
“Are you certain, Heather? Hannah can get—”
“I am well acquainted with Hannah, and I will look after her. You and your children need to be around others, and attending church will do all of you good. Plan on staying for fellowship afterward. I will bring a basket of food you can take to share.”
The sight of Martha’s smile would be worth every minute she spent with Hannah, and giving this needy family some refreshment was a blessing to Heather.
When she told Polly and Mary of her plans, they said they would sit with the Whitcombs in church and at the fellowship.
It had been chilly when Heather arrived at the Whitcomb farmhouse. George, Martha, and Teddy were dressed in their Sunday clothes and ready to depart. Hannah initially looked confused but soon settled down.
While Hannah munched away at the sweet pastry, Heather opened her Bible. “While you eat, I will read from the fourteenth chapter of John. We can have our own service right here.”
A gentle smile formed on Hannah’s face.
“‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.’”
Later, the two women walked outside to a bench near the barn, where they sat. Heather asked Hannah questions about her childhood and youth, and Hannah smiled and laughed as she shared long-ago memories.
“Am I tiring you, Hannah?”
“No, ’tis been nice.”
“If you are chilly, we can go inside and continue this while I heat up the beef stew.”
Inside, Hannah sat at the table, and Heather served the stew. While they ate, Hannah’s eyes darted from one thing to another around the large front room.
“Shall I read to you, or would you like to rest?”
“I need to clean. Look at the dust on the furniture.” Hannah got up and grabbed a rag.
Heather joined her dusting the furniture. Hannah’s demeanor improved when she focused on something outside of herself, even if it was only the dust. They spent the next hour cleaning each of the places Hannah selected.
Shortly after two o’clock, George and the children came through the door. Heather and Hannah had been laughing, and the surprised but joyful looks on the faces of Hannah’s family members were ones Heather would long remember.
George walked outside with her when she readied to leave.
“I cannot believe the change in Hannah. What did you do?”
Heather told him what they had done. “When she was busy, she seemed more herself,” Heather said. “I think changing her perspective helped. Be encouraged.”
“Your being here today was a gift.” George sounded and looked more at peace. “Attending Sunday services was what we needed.”
“If you think it helps, I will come periodically. Let me know when you need someone to stay with her.”
“I will.”
Heather walked the well-worn path back to the Green. The change she had witnessed in Hannah’s attitude and the joy she had seen in the Whitcomb family lifted her own spirits. The back of the Green came into view. Had the Gordons and the children returned yet from church and the social?
She had made her way to the side of the house to collect a bucket of water from the well when the sound of a neighing horse alerted her. They must have returned.
Carrying the full bucket, she walked to the front of the Green. Andrew’s bay and another horse were tied to a fence rail, but when she looked around, her own wagon was nowhere in sight. Tucking some loose strands of hair into her cap, she headed inside to find Andrew in the common room.
“What a pleasant surprise. I assume the children told you I was with a neighbor.”
Andrew’s expression was odd. He smiled when he took the bucket from her.
“What is it?” She glanced around the kitchen. “Where are the children?”
“They are not here. We thought you were still at church.”
She glanced around the kitchen. “We? How did you get in?” So much for her strong new locks.
“The hidden key, though it appears to be a different one.” The raspy voice that came from the doorway leading to the common room took her breath away. She turned in the direction, certain her mind was playing tricks on her.
Her knees buckled at the sight of the tall, emaciated shape filling the doorway.
“Matthew!”
Heather reached for the side of the hutch as Andrew caught her and gently held her up. Her eyes never left the image before her.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Matthew drew near. “I should have let Andrew prepare you, but I couldn’t wait.” He reached for her and took her in his arms.
“You are alive. I cannot believe ... How can it be?” She gazed into his tear-filled eyes, her shaking hands moving to rest on each side of his thin face. “You are real. I do not understand. We were told—”
“I know. Andrew explained it to me. I will tell you, but for now, just know I am home by the grace of God ... and with the help of some very good friends.” Matthew tightened his hold on her and buried his face in her neck.
Her arms encircled his
lean torso. She choked on the lump filling her throat. “Oh, Matthew, my heart. Thank God you are safe and home at last.” Matthew’s tears ran down her neck while her own fell on his chest.
When her eyes opened, she saw Andrew gazing out the window, his back to them.
“Andrew, Andrew, our eternal thanks.”
He turned to face them, his eyes also tear-filled. “I’m going to the other room, or perhaps to take a walk.” He looked happy but awkward sharing in their reunion.
“You shall do nothing of the sort, Andrew Macmillan,” Heather said. “You have brought my Matthew home.” She held Matthew’s gaunt face in front of her. “Sit down and let me get you something to eat and drink.”
Matthew sat. “I can wait for food. I’m more content than I can say just being home.”
She caressed his face. “You look so tired and pale.”
“I’m exhausted, but I will try to explain.”
She jumped at the sound of a wagon approaching. “That will be the children. Let me go outside and prepare them.”
Andrew turned back to the window. “They are coming up the lane.”
Matthew stood beside her and gazed out the window.
She turned to Andrew. “Please take him into the parlor for a few minutes.”
Andrew put an arm under Matthew’s. “They will have recognized Stirling.”
Thomas stepped down from the wagon first. He assisted Polly and Mary, who each carried the little girls. The boys stepped off the other side of the wagon.
Philip took the reins of the horse and unhitched it. “Mr. Macmillan must be here.”
Heather turned toward him. “Aye.”
Andrew came through the door.
Thomas smiled and shook Andrew’s extended hand.
Polly came alongside Heather. “How was your time with Hannah? The Whitcombs looked very happy in church today.”
“Aye, very well.” Heather reached out for Polly’s free arm. She pulled her aside and whispered. “Andrew has found Matthew and brought him home.”
Polly gasped. “Alive?”
“Aye, Shh. Your family must come over later, but first we need some time with the children.”
“Praise God! Of course,” she whispered. “Tell us when you want us. May I tell Thomas?”
A Heart for Freedom: He longs for freedom, but won’t risk the lives of those he loves. Page 22