Mr. Mallory sat on a low stool by the hearth, using a special spoon to hold pieces of lead over the fire, and then pouring the molten metal into a bullet mold. He already had a sizeable pile of bullets next to him, cooling, before he put them into a leather pouch. Mr. Mallory sang under his breath, content to be in the bosom of his family.
Yankee Doodle went to town
A-riding on a pony,
Stuck a feather in his cap
And called it macaroni.
Yankee Doodle keep it up,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
Mind the music and the step,
And with the girls be handy.
Finn liked the melody of the song, but he couldn’t understand the words. They didn’t make any sense to him, but the rest of the family seemed to know exactly what Mr. Mallory was singing about, especially the younger children who gleefully joined in the chorus.
Finn suddenly felt tears sting his eyes, and ran from the house, clutching his stomach. Let them think he went to the privy. He was too embarrassed to allow anyone to see his misery. Finn climbed onto a stile, facing away from the house, and gazed up at the stars. The night sky was clear, with thousands of distant stars twinkling in the velvety heavens. He tried to focus his attention on finding familiar constellations to distract himself from his morbid thoughts, but it wasn’t working.
Were his parents looking up at the same stars right now, or were even the stars different? Hot tears ran down his cheeks, drying quickly in the cool evening breeze. What did his parents think happened to him? Did they believe he was dead? The thought of his parents mourning him nearly broke his heart. They wouldn’t even have a body to bury or a grave to visit. Was there no way to get home and let them know that he was alive? Finn wrapped his arms around himself as his chest constricted with terrible longing.
He didn’t hear Abigail come up behind him until she leaned against the stile, silently taking his hand. She handed him a handkerchief without looking at him; her face turned up to the moonlit sky. They remained that way for a while, lost in silent camaraderie. Finn suddenly realized that this was the first time he was holding a girl’s hand. Abigail was almost sixteen, with wide brown eyes and blond curls that escaped from her cap, framing her heart-shaped face. They hadn’t really spoken, but Finn caught her watching him a few times, a look of intense sympathy in her dark eyes.
“They are dead, aren’t they?” she asked quietly. “Sometimes it helps to speak of it.”
Finn supposed that even if they weren’t dead, by 1775 they certainly would be, so he wasn’t lying when he nodded. By now, all traces of his family would be long gone.
“I know how it feels to lose someone. I had a twin. His name was Luke, and he died of a fever when he was ten. He was my best friend. When I was little, I thought I could marry him when I grew up, before I knew that brothers and sisters couldn’t marry. I thought that nothing could be more perfect than being married to your best friend, one you’ve known since before you were even born. I still think of him every day. He pops into my head at the oddest moments, like when I’m really happy or really sad. I suppose those are the moments that I wish I could share with him. Knowing that I will never see him again still breaks my heart. Ma and Pa don’t speak of him often, but I know he is always there, in their thoughts.” Abigail leaned closer to Finn, finally looking at his face.
“I’m sorry about your brother. I had a sister – Louisa. She was always following me about when she was small; wanting to me to play with her. I had no patience. I wanted to do grown-up things, manly things. Now, I wish I would have been kinder to her. I miss my parents. I should have been kinder to them as well, especially my father.” Finn wiped away another tear, thankful that Abigail couldn’t see it in the darkness.
“Why weren’t you kind to your father?” she asked, looking up at him.
“My real father died before I was born. He was a hero. He died fighting for what he believed in. His brother married my mother and raised me as his own. I always thought that my real father would have been better somehow, braver and stronger.” Finn felt a terrible guilt even uttering the words.
“Wasn’t he a good father to you? Was he cruel?” Abbie was watching him, her face illuminated by the light of the moon. Her eyes looked bottomless in her face, giving her a solemn expression.
“No, he was a wonderful father. I was just too stupid to realize it. I wish I had the chance to tell him that, just once. I wouldn’t feel so terrible if he knew that I loved him.” Finn felt his heart squeeze with regret. What a fool he’d been.
“I think he knew you loved him. Parents have the ability to see past the silly things we say and do, and see what’s in our hearts. Well, I’d better go in. I’m cold.”
Finn drew Abigail to him without thinking, sharing his warmth with her, grateful for the warmth she’d shared with him. “Thank you, Abigail. You made me feel better.”
“You can call me Abbie, if you like. Abigail is so formal. I’ll see you inside, Finn. Maybe we can take a walk after church on Sunday,” she suggested shyly just before she ran back to the house, her skirts fluttering in the wind.
“I would like that very much,” whispered Finn to her retreating back, feeling marginally better.
Chapter 14
Abbie climbed into bed next to Martha and turned toward the wall, pretending to be asleep. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about Martha’s wedding tonight. She had her own thoughts to contend with. Abbie had surprised herself when she offered to walk home with Finn after church. She hadn’t meant to do it, but it just slipped out. Normally, Matthew Granville walked her home after church, as had been their pattern for the past few months.
Matthew had been the first boy to show any interest in Abbie, and she had been surprised and flattered by his attention. He was a nice-looking boy with flaxen hair and light eyes that were the color of the sky on a cloudless summer day. Abbie had been terribly nervous the first time Matthew had asked to walk her home, but she tried to retain her composure, letting him do most of the talking. They’d never had a proper conversation before, so Abbie was curious as to what Matthew’s personality was like. She had to admit that although she found him to be handsome; he was a bit of a braggart, always going on about his accomplishments and dreams. She had dreams too, but he never really asked her about them. Still, being courted by a boy was exciting and new. Martha said that Abbie had to be nice to him, and try to be coy to pique his interest. After all, there were lots of girls he could have invited to walk with him, but he’d chosen Abbie.
By the time Matthew had walked Abbie home for the third time, she felt more comfortable with him. All she had to do was ask him a few questions, and he was off talking. She didn’t have to work very hard to keep him interested. Abbie wondered if Matthew would eventually say something about the future or try to kiss her. She didn’t have long to wait. Just two weeks ago, Matthew had let it slip that his parents approved of Abbie highly and would like nothing more than to have someone like her for a daughter-in-law. They thought her to be hardworking and obedient; two extremely desirable qualities in a wife for their son. Abbie didn’t think of herself as being particularly obedient, but there was no need to disillusion Matthew. He’d find out for himself soon enough.
All that talk of possible marriage brought Matthew to his real purpose. He asked permission to give Abbie a kiss. Her heart pounded in her chest as she nodded mutely, closing her eyes and raising her face to receive the kiss. She’d fantasized about being kissed often, since seeing Gil kiss Martha. She wasn’t sure what a proper reaction for a woman was supposed to be, but she hoped to find out. Matthew’s lips came down on hers, kissing her softly, then retreating again. Abbie opened her eyes, to find Matthew watching her, a smug look on his face. She had to admit that she was somewhat confused. He’d done exactly what he was supposed to do, but she felt nothing. His lips had been warm and soft, but it didn’t feel any different than kissing Annie or Sarah. It just felt, for lack of a better word, nice.
Abbie slid her arm through Matthew’s as they continued their walk. She felt as if she’d sealed a bargain with that kiss, but her soul was in turmoil. Was that all? Is that what it felt like to kiss a husband? What about the other stuff? She’d begged Martha to tell her what happened in a marriage bed, and Martha reluctantly explained; her cheeks blazing as she avoided meeting Abbie’s eyes. She didn’t go into any details, but she said it was much like the animals, except that people usually faced each other during the act. Martha said that it was supposed to feel nice after the first time, and that according to her sources, which were a few of her now married friends, the wives didn’t really mind.
Abbie tried to imagine having Matthew do that to her, and if she would mind, but she simply couldn’t picture it. The idea of having Matthew stick his prick into her just seemed ludicrous. He’d probably just keep talking as he did it, expecting her to ask questions and fan his ego all the while. Abbie turned to Matthew, interrupting the flow of his monologue.
Abbie thought of what happened after their last kiss. “Kiss me again,” she demanded, raising her face to his. There had to be something more. She was sure of it. Maybe if they kissed often enough the feelings would come.
“Oh, liked it, did you? I’ve been told that I’m a good kisser.” With that Matthew bent down to kiss her, but Abbie turned away, shocked.
“Oh, and who told you that, Matthew Granville?” She was glaring up at him, all thoughts of kissing forgotten. Matthew obviously realized that he’d said the wrong thing, backtracking immediately.
“Oh, it was no one. I’d only kissed my cousin once, and she said it was nice. We were just playing, mind. It meant nothing. It’s you I want to be kissing. Please, Abbie. Let me kiss you again. “
Abbie relented, allowing Matthew to kiss her again. The kiss was much like the first -- soft, warm, and completely devoid of anything she thought it was supposed to be. Abbie sighed and continued to walk, oblivious to Matthew’s confused gaze. She supposed that’s how it was, and her imagination had gotten the better of her. Abbie sighed, smiling up at Matthew as he started chattering again. He fancied himself a great wit, and tried to impress her with his observations of their neighbors.
But now there was Finn. At first, Abbie felt sorry for him. He seemed awfully sad and lost, even bewildered, when Jonah first brought him to the house. Abbie felt a strange urge to comfort him and make him feel as if he had at least one friend, but she had to admit that her motives weren’t completely pure. She couldn’t help noticing his lovely eyes. They were the color of summer leaves, fringed with thick dark lashes. He had the body of a hunter, lithe and lean, his movements economical and precise. Abbie could see the muscles in his forearms stretch the fabric of his shirt when he moved. He was strong, but graceful. As Abbie looked at him, she couldn’t help noticing his lips. They were full and looked so soft, especially when he smiled. She had no problem imagining Finn sticking his prick in her. The unbidden thought made Abbie blush crimson, but once she imagined it, the picture kept coming back. Would his kiss be the same as Matthew’s? Would it be wrong to find out?
Abbie closed her eyes, willing herself to go to sleep. Finn would walk her from church on Sunday. That was all. There was nothing between them other than friendship. Matthew might be upset, but Martha had told her to be coy. Let him think that Finn was sweet on her as well. Maybe that would make him take more of an interest in her as a person, not just a potential wife.
Chapter 15
Finn tried to ignore his aching bladder and go back to sleep, but the tactic wasn’t working. He’d had too much ale at supper, and now he’d have to drag himself outside to the privy. Despite the warmth of the day, the temperature dropped rapidly after sunset, frost glittering on the grass at dawn. A chamber pot would have come in handy, but the Mallorys only used chamber pots for the two youngest children. Mrs. Mallory couldn’t abide the reek come morning with so many people living in such close proximity.
Finn suddenly had a wicked thought. He’d get up quietly, so as not to wake Jonah, and piss out of the window. No one would be the wiser, and he wouldn’t have to leave the warm loft and freeze his bollocks outside. There’d be enough of that come winter. He froze at the thought of still being here in the winter, but put it out of his mind and crept to the window, opening the shutter just enough to do his business. Finn was just untying his flies when a voice from outside stilled his hand.
“How is it with you, John?” the voice asked. It was gravelly and low, but audible enough.
“All’s well. We’re all hoping that Sam will be able to come home for Martha’s wedding. It might serve a dual purpose, come to that. What’s the news?” answered John Mallory. The sweet smell of his pipe drifted up to the window, so he couldn’t be too far.
“The news could be better. Seems Governor Dunmore has been busy since he fled Williamsburg. He’s aboard a Royal Navy vessel in Norfolk with his family.”
“Yes, I know. He’s been there since June,” John Mallory replied. “What’s he done?”
“He’s been begging for reinforcements, so General Gage has ordered several detachments of 14th Foot Regiment to Virginia. Seems they’ve been raiding the countryside for military supplies in order to undermine the rebellion.”
“Where are they taking these supplies?” asked Mr. Mallory.
“They’ve hastily constructed a few forts, using them as their base.”
“I think the Militia needs to focus on protecting what’s ours and retrieving what’s been taken, Alfred. We can’t fight a war without ammunition.”
“Right you are, John. Right you are. We’ll have to watch and wait, choosing an unguarded moment to seize back what’s been taken. Now, tell me about this boy that you’ve taken in. Do you reckon that’s wise in these turbulent times?” Finn decided that whoever Alfred was, he liked to stir things up.
“He’s a good lad, Alfred. Seems that he’s lost his parents, but hasn’t come to accept it yet. I need help on the farm with Sam gone, and the boy needs a place to live. Seems like a fine arrangement to me.” John Mallory sucked on his pipe, letting out a wheezy cough.
“And what of his family? Where did their loyalties lie?” Alfred asked, obviously not ready to let the matter drop.
“I can’t rightly say, Alf, but the boy is no Loyalist. I think he grew up in the backwoods somewhere. Doesn’t seem to know much about the political situation. I saw him gaping at Jonah when he mentioned Lobsterbacks. Didn’t even know he was referring to British soldiers. He’s no threat, Alfred. I think I’m a good enough judge of character to know that; otherwise, I wouldn’t be fit to be doing the work I’m doing for the Committee.”
“As you say, John. I’ve never had cause to question your judgment. I’ll be taking myself off now. I still have to visit the Crosby farm before returning to Williamsburg. Will I be seeing you there next week?” Alfred asked, already mounting his horse by the sound of it.
“Yes, at the usual place.”
“Until then, and give my regards to my sister and the children.”
“That I will, Alf. Don’t forget the pie. Hannah would be put out if you didn’t take it. She made it just for you.”
The sound of hoof beats faded into the night as the stranger left. Finn waited until he heard Mr. Mallory go into the house and close the door behind him, before emptying his bladder into the night, climbing back into bed and falling into a deep sleep.
Chapter 16
The sound of the rain lashing against the wooden shutters and the roof was somewhat soothing, but the damp chill of the room kept Valerie from sleeping well, not to mention her constant state of worry. She finally gave up, sitting up in bed just in time to see Alec’s shadowy form slipping through the door.
“Did I wake you?” he asked, tossing his hat onto the table and sinking into a chair to pull off his boots.
“No, where have you been?” Valerie could smell the liquor on his breath all the way from the bed.
“I just had a tank
ard of ale with a merchant I met at the tavern. We got to talking about the Revolution, and I lost track of time. Did you know that the colonists threw chests of tea into the Boston Harbor?” Alec asked, grinning in the dark.
“Yes, I’ve heard something about that about a hundred years ago, or was that a hundred years from now? What else did he tell you?” Valerie was wide-awake now, eager to hear what Alec had learned.
“Oh, we just talked about the grievances of the colonists against the King, and England’s response to their complaints. Very interesting. I’ve spent my life being a loyal subject of the King, even in times when I didn’t agree with what he stood for. It takes great courage to rebel against the might of England,” Alec sounded strangely impressed, making Valerie smile.
“Are you turning into a Revolutionary, Alec Whitfield?”
“No, I’m just in awe of what these people are trying to accomplish at such great risk to themselves and their families. We know that they’ll win this conflict, but they don’t. They’re risking everything.”
“Yes, they are. That’s what makes them so brave. Are you coming to bed?” Valerie scooted over to make room for Alec, but he continued to sit in the shadows.
“Val, there’s something I want to talk to you about, but please hear me out before you get upset.” His face was lost in the shadows, but Valerie could hear the urgency in his voice.
“What is it? Is it Finn?” Her heart was pounding, fear pooling in her stomach and spreading to her limbs.
“We’ve been here for a week now, and it’s clear that Finn isn’t here. I’ve walked back to Rosewood several times, and there’s no sign of him there either. We need to make a decision, Val.”
A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) Page 7