Freedom's Light

by Colleen Coble

  He pulled on his greatcoat and limped outside. This was a peaceful spot. Gurnet Point stuck out like a pointing finger into the water and seemed nearly an island with water on three sides. He stirred restlessly. He needed no peace right now. He had too much to do. Major Tallmadge would surely need his assistance. Birch hoped word had traveled down the coast about the loss of the Temptation. Otherwise, his superior may wonder if he’d turned traitor.

  “It is surely strange to see you up and standing on your own two feet.”

  He hadn’t heard Hannah come up behind him. “Aye, it feels strange as well.”

  “Dreaming of sailing off?”

  She looked lovely today. A sea-green gown covered a white petticoat and deepened the color of her eyes. Her dark-blue cloak brought out the sheen of her hair. She had not bothered with a hat, and her black hair hung in ringlets down her back. How would it feel to twirl one of those curls around his finger? He would likely never find out.

  He gave her a brusque nod. “I must be off on the morrow.”

  Her smile faltered and she looked away. “I’m not surprised. You have not really been with us these past two days.”

  “Would you care to walk along the beach?” He offered her his arm. He should not be going anywhere with her. The warm feelings he held for her were dangerous.

  She took his arm. “It’s too cold to be gone long. And I must soon tend the lights. Dusk will be here.”

  “Do you ever think of leaving this place, Mistress Hannah? This is a lonely job for a woman.”

  “Sometimes. I would love to sail to exotic ports, to see how others live.” She sighed. “Instead God has put me here on this rocky coast for some purpose.” She paused and looked back toward the twin-towered lighthouse. “It will be even lonelier when you are gone.” She bit her lip as though she wished she could call the words back.

  Her admission warmed his heart. Perhaps she held him in some regard. But he must not encourage her affections. He was not likely to survive the war. Spies were caught and hanged every week. “Lydia will keep things interesting for you.” He was careful to keep his tone light and amused. She must never know how hard leaving her would be.

  She sighed. “I don’t know what to do about her. If I thought I could do it, I would send her back to Charles Town. But the trip home would take her through New York, and she would be certain to disappear with Galen.”

  “The man needs a thrashing.” And he would like to be the one to do it.

  “He needs more than a thrashing. He needs God. But I hate him too much to ever tell him.” Her eyes darkened with shame at her admission.

  He frowned and felt a restlessness in his spirit. She’d been talking about God more and more lately. Or was it only that the references bothered him more? “I used to believe that twaddle. But then I grew up.”

  Her luminous green eyes widened. “How can you sail the seas and look at the sky and not know there is a God who loves you?”

  He snorted. “Where was he then when my brother was pulled from his horse and made to run like a fox through the forest while men chased him? Where was he when my brother took a last look at the blue sky before soldiers cut his throat and strung him by the heels from a nearby tree? He was only fifteen!”

  Birch clenched his fists and turned away before she could see the tears in his eyes. He had said too much already. A slip of the tongue such as this could get him killed. What was there about her that had loosed his tongue in this way? He had sworn to tell no one of this until Montgomery paid for his crime.

  Hannah gasped and stepped closer, touching his arm gently. “Our men did that? You said soldiers. Surely you would not be defending England if British soldiers had done such a thing.”

  She was perceptive. Too perceptive. He clenched his jaw. He must let her think it was colonials. “Speak to me no more of God. If he does exist, I want nothing to do with a God who would let such atrocity wreck a family.”

  Her fingers tightened on his arm, and he glanced down at her. Her expression was tender, and he had to resist the impulse to take her in his arms and forget all about the war. He shook her hand off, then thrust his hands in his pockets.

  “You are not the only one to suffer loss and heartache,” she said softly. “But bitterness hurts only you.”

  “You are only eighteen, Mistress Hannah. What do you know of real heartache and loss? Though you are a widow, you will marry again and life will go on. My brother’s bones lie cold in his grave.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we return to the house? I think your duties call you.” He knew he was being unfair. Her husband also lay in a cold grave, but at least he had enjoyed a long life. Death hadn’t claimed him until he was almost forty.

  She opened her mouth as though to say more but then closed it again and took his arm. He felt a strange sense of regret as he escorted her to the base of the first tower. She was a closed book, in spite of her talk of God. Though something had caused that shadow in her eyes, and he didn’t think it was the loss of her husband.

  A cold rain soon changed to snow the next morning. Birch packed his few belongings in a valise salvaged from the wreck of the Temptation. After breakfast Lydia hitched the horse to the cart, and the three of them went to the village. Gurnet was quiet this early. The stores were not open yet, and few strolled the snowy streets.

  At the livery he tossed his valise to the ground, then clambered down from the cart. “Don’t bother to stay,” he told Hannah and Lydia. “The sky looks as though this snow may stay awhile. I shall purchase a horse and get as far as I can by nightfall.”

  “I still wish you would take the stage or a ship.” Hannah bit her lower lip and stared at him anxiously. “Your leg is not ready for a long trip by horseback.”

  “Perhaps you are right. But I need to make my way to New York as quickly as possible. I’ll be fine. By the time the next ship stops, I should be to New York.” Hannah’s heart-shaped face looked pinched and wan. The words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue, but he dare not utter them. If they had been alone, though, he would have dared one more kiss. But a look at Lydia’s glowering face convinced him not to push his luck. She had been curt and unfriendly ever since she caught her sister in his arms in the kitchen.

  He took his valise and tipped his hat. “Many thanks for your kind hospitality, Mistress Hannah. Perhaps we will meet again one day.” He tried not to look at her too closely, or she would see the longing in his eyes.

  “Godspeed, Captain. I shall pray for you.”

  Were those tears on her lashes? He did not dare look closer. He found a woman’s tears hard to bear. He gazed at Lydia. “Farewell, Miss Lydia.”

  “Farewell, Captain.” Lydia curtsied.

  Only then did he dare to look at Hannah closely. He fixed her image in his mind, the green eyes tipped with heavy black lashes, her luxuriant hair, black as midnight, the dimples that flashed in her cheeks. He would never forget her beauty or goodness. He executed a stiff bow, then pivoted on his heels to go.

  “Captain!” She tossed the reins aside and scrambled from the cart.

  He turned in time to catch her as she rushed into his arms. Her wet cheeks dampened his face, but he didn’t care. He tightened his arms about her, and she raised her face to meet his. He heard Lydia’s gasp of outrage, then the joy of holding Hannah eclipsed any thought of remorse. He bent his head and kissed her thoroughly.

  When he pulled away, Hannah’s eyes were still closed. She opened them slowly and smiled tenderly. “Now I can say farewell, Captain. I pray for a good life for you, and that you may find peace with God.”

  What could he say to that? “Farewell, Mistress Hannah,” he said hoarsely.

  She stepped away, and he had no choice but to release her. He felt bereft. Mayhap he would find her again when this war was over. Until then he must put her out of his mind. He touched his tricorn hat and approached the livery.

  Plodding through the snow on the horse gave him plenty of time to think. Too much time. Eve
ry time he found his thoughts straying to Hannah, he resolutely turned them to the duties that lay before him. This would be a dangerous mission. What did he know of working for a merchant? How had Major Tallmadge come up with such a plan? But he could learn.

  Where was Major Montgomery now? Birch hoped he was in New York, but it was not likely his luck would stretch that far. He had hoped to work with General Washington and so be on the front lines where his opportunities to seek his revenge would be greater. Thoughts of that sweet revenge kept him warm on the trip to New York.

  When he reached the city, he was surprised to find many buildings still standing in charred ruins of the city. The British had not bothered to tear down the destroyed buildings. It was nearing nightfall, so he decided to find a tavern where he might sup and retire to a room for the night. On the morrow he would seek a boardinghouse.

  He was more at home near the water, so he made his way to the quay. From several blocks away he could smell the sea brine, and he urged his horse as quickly as was safe. Chaucer’s Tavern, the building weathered gray by the sea, crouched beneath a great sycamore tree a block from the water. He tethered his horse to the post and limped inside. His leg had pained him a great deal, and he was ready to rest it and warm his hands.

  Though he sent a quick look around, no familiar faces were among the sailors swilling beer and ale. A bit disappointed, he paid for his room and hired a boy to care for his horse. The innkeeper showed him to his lodgings, a tiny room with a small cot in one corner that depressed him further. These accommodations were far inferior to Hannah’s comfortable home. He pulled off his boots and lay back against the straw pillow. At least he could rest his leg and sleep.

  The next morning he found his way to the offices of Samuel Rivers. Men hurried down the hall, and he passed several offices with men huddled over desks and shouting about political views. He finally found someone who told him where he might find Mr. Rivers, who was also a patriot masquerading as a loyalist. He wrote impassioned loyalist articles in the paper, and the English trusted him implicitly. Birch hoped to be as successful in his charade.

  He rapped on the door, and a slight man with sandy-brown hair looked up from the great desk in the middle of the room. “Yes?” He frowned.

  “Samuel Rivers?”

  “If you are selling something, see yourself out. I have work to do.”

  Birch stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “I am Captain Birch Meredith.”

  Mr. Rivers’s scowl disappeared, and he came around the desk to shake Birch’s hand. “Captain! I expected you weeks ago.” He indicated a leather chair facing his desk. “I heard you had a bit of trouble near Plymouth. Lost your ship, did you?”

  Birch grimaced. He made it sound like it was Birch’s own negligence that caused the accident. “The lighthouse was expected to be attacked that night, and the keeper extinguished the lights.”

  Mr. Rivers stroked his chin. “Excellent idea. A lightkeeper who was on his toes.”

  “Her toes. It was a woman.”

  “A woman lighthouse keeper?” For a moment he looked surprised, then shrugged. “Well, I am glad you have finally arrived. We have many tasks ahead of us.”

  “I hope so. I wish to make a difference in this war, Mr. Rivers.” It was the only reason he was here. That and his revenge.

  “Call me Samuel. We shall be working closely together.” His face brightened. “The British do not suspect me at all, and by extension, you should have no problem. Major Howe’s headquarters are here in New York City, and I have been able to uncover much intelligence from his officers. They love a good party, and my wife is an excellent hostess.” He stared at Birch with approval. “She will be delighted to have an eligible bachelor to squire the young ladies.”

  Birch scowled. “That is not why I have come.”

  “Perhaps not, but the young ladies hear more than you might expect. The British officers strut and crow about their accomplishments, and we find out their plans right after they are made.” He grinned. “We all have to make our sacrifices, Birch.”

  Birch compressed his lips. He had no intention of getting embroiled with flirtatious young women and fancy balls. He had come here to do a job, not play.

  Samuel smiled again. “You look too gloomy, sir. Let me show you to your office, and I shall tell you what your other duties will be.” He wagged a finger at Birch. “But make no mistake, young man. You will find the social life here will yield far more results than normal skullduggery.”

  “What of the British headquarters? Who mans them?” Birch asked as he followed Samuel down the hall to the small, dark cubicle that was Birch’s new office.

  Samuel snorted. “Howe leaves Major Hugh Montgomery much in charge as well as Montgomery’s simpering assistant, Lieutenant Galen Wright.”

  Birch couldn’t stop the quick intake of breath. Montgomery and Wright both here? What luck. His thoughts raced. Was there any chance Wright would be suspicious of him? He didn’t see how that could be. Hannah and Lydia both thought he was a Tory. How fortunate he had never told them the truth, though he had oft been tempted.

  “I know both men, Samuel.”

  He snorted again. “You do well to stay away from both of them. Two more unsavory rascals I have never met.”

  Birch narrowed his gaze. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that will be possible.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Lydia attacked the clothes in the washtub as if they were all the reasons keeping Galen from her side. Why had there been no word from him? A fortnight had come and gone and still she had no reassurances of his love. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped into the tub of water with gentle plops. She was just glad Hannah was tending the light this morning. She would blame Galen for the tears, and Lydia was too upset to put a good face on her hurt.

  She loved her sister, but sometimes she wished Hannah wasn’t so narrow. Her shocked expression when she’d realized Lydia had been with Galen had hurt. It wasn’t wrong, not like Hannah thought. Neither one of them were married, so it wasn’t adultery. God surely understood youthful passions. A prick of guilt made her bite her lip. She and Galen would be married soon, anyway. He said only the press of his duties postponed their marriage. Perhaps that was the sticking point.

  Why did Hannah hate Galen so? It made no sense. The family had fully expected them to marry. They would all have welcomed him into the family with open arms with the hopes of turning around their bad fortunes. Lydia had given up trying to understand her sister.

  She sniffled and wiped her face against her sleeve. There was no use in wallowing in self-pity. If she did not hear from Galen this week, she would steal away and go to New York to find him. She just hoped he was all right. Those Yankees were everywhere. Galen told her the danger was great. They must be circumspect and on their guard until the time was right. By then Hannah would just have to accept him.

  She dumped the laundry in the basket and began to hang it over twine strung around the fire for that purpose. Lydia looked out the kitchen window at Hannah hurrying in from the lighthouse. The wind whipped her skirts and blew her black hair around her face. Lydia composed her face in a smile to greet her sister. She must not give Hannah more cause to hate Galen.

  Hannah’s cheeks were pink when she entered the kitchen. “Brr, I hate the cold! Why could John not have owned property in South Carolina? I don’t know how I shall endure the winter of tending the light.”

  “You could leave it, and we could go home.” Lydia had no intention of going back to Charles Town, but she could not resist the impulse to poke her sister a bit.

  Hannah took the teakettle from the stove and prepared a pot of tea. “And how would I live, pray tell?”

  “You have nothing from John?”

  “We had a bit of money set aside, but nothing to sustain me for long.”

  “What about Mother Thomas? She could give you John’s inheritance.”

  Hannah gave her an incredulous look. “You have met my mothe
r-in-law and still make that suggestion? Have you lost your wits, Lydia?”

  Lydia smiled to show she jested only. “I would fear to even ask the dragon.”

  Hannah chuckled. “And you have seen only her good side.”

  “I think Birch escaped just in time. She would have found some way to snare him for Olive.” It would have been a good thing. She had no desire to see her sister involved with the handsome captain. She wasn’t quite sure why. He was a Tory, after all, and might actually be able to convince her sister of the error of supporting the revolution.

  At the mention of Birch’s name, Hannah’s smile faded. “He would never have been taken in by Mother Thomas or Olive. Birch is much too wary—and intelligent.”

  “All men are tempted by money and power. Even a pretty face pales in comparison to what an advantageous union can bring them.” Why was she goading Hannah? Was it because she wanted her sister as miserable as she?

  Hannah gave her a long look. “Perhaps you should apply that to your own life, Lydia. You will have no dowry besides your own fair self. Galen is a man who likes power, especially power over women. I fear for your future. And he’s cruel. Surely you heard of Abraham Nettles who was beheaded in the night this week? He was called a traitor, but I don’t believe it. I suspect Galen’s appearance here had something to do with it.”

  Guilt rose in Lydia’s breast, but she struggled to tamp it down. She’d only passed along what she heard. And she was so tired of Hannah’s cryptic remarks. “Why can you not say what it is you have against Galen? Why must you always talk in riddles?”

  Hannah’s face went white. Was her news so terrifying? Hannah’s hands shook as she poured the tea into cups. She slid one cup toward Lydia and took the other herself, then sat at the kitchen table. Her head bowed, she hunched her shoulders and two tears slid down her cheeks.