Love’s Betrayal

by DiAnn Mills

  The day before Papa left for the war, he drew each family member aside to tell of his love and to insure encouragement for the days ahead. His visiting took most of the day and into the evening.

  After rocking little Elijah, he lifted his gaze to Delight. “We have not yet spoken. I’d like to take a walk.” He settled the baby into Mama’s arms and kissed the top of his forehead. Mama whisked away a tear, and Delight pretended she did not see.

  Silently they moved into the evening and ambled toward the road winding from the town.

  “Delight, I am leaving a tremendous responsibility for you as the oldest. You’ve always excelled in taking care of the younger ones and assisting your mother, but I am afraid this will be the hardest time of all.”

  “God will help me.” I will not cry. I’ll be stalwart.

  “Allow Henry to share the burden while he is still here.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “He is a good man, daughter.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Hadn’t they discussed Henry’s merits enough?

  “Delight, is your heart torn between Henry and James?”

  “I haven’t given the matter enough consideration to be able to answer your question.”

  “Let me suggest you speak with God about the matter. I have a preference for you, but I would rather you hear it from Him.”

  “I’ll devote more time to prayer and reading the scripture,” she said. “Perhaps it is neither man.”

  Papa chuckled, his voice musical with the sounds of the evening insects. “Whoever steals your heart must first give his own.”

  “Yes, Papa.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, longing to listen to his words until the sun rose.

  A few moments later, he cleared his throat and slowed his pace. “Another matter needs to be remedied.”

  Her pulse quickened. “And what is that?”

  “I want you to promise that you will not endeavor upon anything foolish or dangerous during my absence.”

  Her heart pounded furiously. “What do you mean, Papa?”

  He shook his head and released a deep sigh. “I know about your activities in Boston—the things you did for the patriots.”

  She felt her strength drain away. “How … how long were you privy?”

  “Since the beginning.”

  She feared her weakened knees would force her to the ground. “Oh Papa, I am so sorry, but I could not tell you about carrying the messages.” The realization he knew about her activities all along both alarmed and relieved her. Shame for the deceit plagued at her heart.

  “Daughter, I lived in fear of your being caught. What were you thinking the night you crept out to Cavin Sullivan’s tavern?”

  Speechless, Delight could only wring her hands.

  “I nearly killed those soldiers when they pounded on Cavin’s door in search of rum.” His voice rose with each word. “My daughter at a tavern in the wee hours of the morning?”

  “You were there?” she said.

  “Child, I followed you when I couldn’t find the message myself!” Papa grabbed her shoulders and swung her around to face him. She gasped. His tone softened. “I admire and respect your courage, but you were taking too many chances.”

  But I did it for our country! She swallowed hard, remembering the times when she’d sensed someone stood in the shadows watching her as she skirted about Boston. “Why didn’t you reveal your knowledge?”

  “Because I was involved more deeply than you, and I saw that you could get past the British when the rest of us would have been detained.” He broke into a sob. “I am a selfish man to allow my own flesh and blood to face insurmountable odds.”

  Her heart nearly melted in a pool of tears. “You are not selfish. You love your country and seek its freedom.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, and the two walked a bit farther. “I saw in you a sense of pride in your country, and I realized you would do whatever you could to aid the patriots. Unfortunately, my love of freedom blinded me to making sure you were free from danger. I should have forbidden you to continue your work. Will you forgive me?”

  Her heart seemed to wrench from her chest. “Papa, there is nothing to forgive. If we did not come first in your prayers, you would not have volunteered to help.”

  He leaned his head upon the top of hers. “I had been involved with the Sons of Liberty since the very first. I’ve debated with Sam Adams, Hancock, and the others, helped unload those three ships loaded with tea in Boston Harbor, and smuggled muskets and supplies to our troops.”

  His confession brought a surge of deep pride to Delight, but then a thought needled at her, one she could not dispel. “Am I the reason we fled from Boston?”

  Silence prevailed until Papa spoke. “Indeed you are. Your mother knew about me, but I did not tell her about your daring work until we moved to Chesterfield. I have continued my responsibilities here, but fortunately your work has been curtailed.”

  “I wish I could do more.” Her regrets riddled through her body. “Making musket cartridges doesn’t give me the satisfaction that running messages offered.”

  Papa squeezed her lightly. “It will have to do, because I want your word you will not venture into anything dangerous during my absence.”

  Given the opportunity, she would do anything for the cause, but Papa demanded an answer. “What do you mean by dangerous?”

  He stopped in the road. “Any act that threatens your safety.”

  She groped for words.

  “Delight.”

  “I promise to do my utmost not to involve myself in anything … dangerous.”

  Chapter 11

  At dawn, the family rose to properly send Papa off to war. Mama kissed him lightly and gave him a miniature of herself. He laced a piece of leather through the top and tied it around his neck. Charity packed his knapsack full of biscuits, hard cheese, and dried beef. A wooden canteen swung over his saddle.

  “I am so lucky to have such a fine family to see me off. Many soldiers don’t have a horse either. God is blessing us indeed.”

  Remember gave him her Bible so Mama could keep the family Bible with all their family history. Patience slipped a piece of paper inside, most likely a poem or possibly a letter. Faith made certain he had a mug, a few cooking utensils, and a pewter plate—Mama had saved it from being melted into musket balls. Mercy and Hope stroked the horse, obviously unsure of what to do to keep their tears at bay.

  “Here is a powder horn. It belonged to me friend who was killed. I’d like for ye to have it.” Henry shook Papa’s hand and they hugged.

  Delight knew the two men had discussed matters long into the previous night. They’d become fast friends, and Henry wouldn’t be with them much longer either.

  Delight had shined Papa’s boots with her tears and polished his musket until it glistened. All the talk about liberty and separation from Britain seemed to lessen in meaning in the face of Papa’s leaving. The British occupation in Boston, Henry’s abrupt arrival, and even the making of musket balls and cartridges had kept the war on the surface of her heart, the part ravaged with anger. But this event tugged at her very being. This was Papa who rode off in defense of his country and his beliefs, Papa who might not survive the ordeal. Suddenly the war became more than a challenge. The mutual struggle had snatched her spirit and left her vulnerable and afraid.

  Biting back a fresh sprinkling of tears, she forced a smile and handed Papa his musket. He kissed her forehead and met her smile with one of hope and a special look meant just for her—be strong and courageous.

  He held Mama close while she silently wept against his chest. “Soon, it will all be over, my dear Elizabeth, and then I shall be home.”

  “God be with you.” Mama touched his cheek as if memorizing every beloved portion of his face.

  Delight repeated the blessing with her sisters, blinking back the stinging wetness blinding her vision. “Hurry home, Papa.”

  He swung up onto the saddle and nodded toward Henry. “I
thank you for last night’s conversation. We have a kindred spirit, and I am appreciative of your friendship.”

  “We have much to do once the war is won,” Henry replied. “And I will be lookin’ after things until it’s time for me to go.”

  A feeling similar to the time when she was a child and fell out of a tree rose in Delight. The jolt had knocked the wind out of her, just as now she was left breathless at the realization of the sacrifice required to win this war. The battles would not be won by those carrying messages through enemy lines, melting pewter and iron into musket balls, or nursing British soldiers to health, but by the blood of those emptying themselves for America’s right to liberty. Delight had mastered the simple maneuvers, but Papa had volunteered his life.

  Papa waved, and his horse trotted down the road. Oh, that he might never need to fire his musket, but Delight knew better. Oh, that he might not be cold, wet, and go without food and water, but Delight knew better. Oh, that he might never see his friends and fellow soldiers perish, but Delight knew better. Father God, bring him back to us unharmed. I beg of Thee.

  Once he disappeared from view, she gathered up her skirts and hurried across the field behind their house. She had to flee the dismal scene of Mama and the girls weeping. Scurrying up a little hill, she swept down across a tiny, gurgling stream, up another grassy bank, and under a grove of elms, where she sank to the hard earth in a heap of liquid emotion. Mama had always said she and Papa shared liked temperaments. As a little girl, she had tagged along behind him wherever he went. This time she’d been forced to stay behind … and wait … and pray.

  “Delight.”

  Unaware of another mortal nearby, she lifted her head from whence the sound came. Henry stood before her, his face filled with compassion.

  “May I join ye, lass?” he whispered.

  Too spent to argue or agree, she said nothing. He eased down beside her, favoring his leg and allowing it to stretch out before him.

  “You shouldn’t have followed me,” she said with a sniff. “Your leg is not mended enough.”

  “It grows stronger every day.” He handed her a handkerchief. “I stopped for this.”

  “Thank you.” Soon you’ll be gone as well. The thought made her nearly as miserable, but she shoved away its confusion. “Why did you come?”

  Henry picked up a golden leaf and appeared to study its veins. “Thought ye might need to talk.”

  She lifted her head and met his blue gaze. “I don’t know what to say about anything.”

  “’Tis nothing wrong about grieving your father’s departure.”

  His words served to open the floodgates of her soul again. She attempted to swallow the tears, but her efforts failed.

  Henry drew her into his arms and held her close against his chest. “Go ahead and cry. It will make ye feel better.” His embrace comforted her while she soaked his shirt with her weeping. After several long minutes, she became aware of his chin resting atop her head and his hand stroking her back as if she were a small child. Humiliation overcame her at the thought of allowing Henry to witness her sorrow. She pulled back, not certain what to say, if anything at all.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I do not like others to see me distraught.”

  “There is no reason for an apology. I am your friend, remember?”

  His words coaxed a smile from her. “I rather others not see my weaknesses.”

  He nodded to punctuate his words. “The last thing ye are is weak, lass. At the very least, you are the strongest woman I’ve ever seen—and the most stubborn.”

  Delight found another smile curving her lips. “Like my papa.”

  “Aye, I believe so.” He leaned back against the elm and pulled her next to the hollow of his shoulder. Do not be refusing me this wee bit of holding ye. It may be all I have to cherish in the days to come when I can’t see your face or hear your sweet voice.

  Her back remained stiff, but she did not pull away.

  “Tell me about Elijah. In your eyes, what best describes him?”

  She entwined her fingers and pressed them beneath her chin as though she planned a lengthy prayer. “He is a proud man, my papa. Decidedly stubborn and determined all of us should have the best of things—not wealth, but love and a sense of purpose in our lives. He never complained of so many daughters and not having a son but always claimed God gave him the utmost of everything.”

  Henry chuckled. Indeed He has. “I hope to have many of his fine attributes someday.”

  “You have many now,” she whispered. A moment later she rubbed her palms together vigorously, no doubt embarrassed of her assessment of him.

  “What is your fondest memory of Elijah, the one standing foremost in your mind?”

  Delight tilted her head. “Without a doubt, I remember the occasion.” She smiled faintly. “Albeit I’m a little reluctant to tell you the story.”

  He afforded himself a light pat of her shoulder. “Tell me, please. I promise ye will feel better.”

  She clasped her hands together as though ready to offer a prayer. “And you promise not to laugh?”

  He heard the hint of a threat, but he had been the target of her temper before and had lived through it. “I’ll do me utmost.”

  She settled back against him. Aye, the touch of her is heaven.

  “What I best recall is a time before Mercy or Hope was born, so I must have been about five years old. Mama had asked me to feed our dog—Bear’s mother—but I was afraid of her. The animal stood as tall as my head, and I thought she might devour me if I didn’t give her enough food. I hadn’t told Mama or Papa about my fears because I didn’t want to disappoint them.”

  I can see ye then as ye are now, always wanting to take care of things yourself, just like ye nursed me to spare your mother during her confinement.

  “I wanted to ask Charity to go with me, but the fear of her being eaten stopped my invitation. I knew if Charity were lost, Mama and Papa would be very angry.” She glanced up at him. “Charity did perplex me so, crying whenever she couldn’t have her own way, so the thought did enter my mind.”

  Considering the two girls were often at odds, Henry didn’t doubt her statement in the least. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Did the dog have a name?”

  She nodded. “Grace.”

  Henry couldn’t stop the mirth rising within him. “Do go on, lass. I’m not teasing you. It is the dog’s name that amuses me.”

  She sighed and moistened her lips, those lips he longed to kiss. “Mama had the bowl filled with milk and dried bread, and I nearly sloshed it over while I carried it outside. I kept hoping the dog would be gone, and all I’d need to do was set the food down and hurry back inside to Mama, but that didn’t occur. When Grace spotted me, she came bounding over. She looked like a huge creature ready to consume me. I screamed and dropped the bowl. Grace kept running, but I stood frozen to the ground.”

  Henry envisioned the frightened little girl, convinced she would be the huge dog’s dinner.

  Delight sighed. “All of a sudden, I felt Papa’s strong arms scoop me up into his. I clung to him sobbing and would not let go. Tenderly, he asked me why I feared Grace, and I told him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me I was more important to him than Grace, and if I wanted, he would get rid of the dog. Grace simply wanted to play. Of course, I didn’t believe him. So while he held me with one hand, he petted Grace with the other. Finally I lifted my head from his shoulder and saw the dog licking his hand and wagging her tail. Papa coaxed me to pet her, too. Finally, with my hand overtop his, I stroked her head. Every day after that, Papa and I went outside to visit Grace. After a few weeks, I learned the dog was not going to eat me at all, and she really did want to play. The first few times she licked my face, I panicked, but Papa called her wet splashes against my skin kisses, and somehow I managed not to mind those either.” Delight looked up at Henry. “Sounds rather silly doesn’t it?”

  “Not at
all.”

  “Grace and I became fast friends.”

  “I am not in the least surprised.”

  She glanced down into her lap. “I have a habit of fearing those things that mean no harm and ignoring real danger.”

  “I have never meant to harm you,” he whispered. With more courage than he ever imagined, he lifted her chin with his finger. Surprise illuminated her gaze, but he refused to back down. Slowly he descended upon the softness of her mouth, drinking in a light kiss and praying she would not find him repugnant.

  “Delight!”

  Chapter 12

  Startled, Delight peered up into Charity’s astonished face. “You should be ashamed.” Her sister’s tone was laced with indignation.

  Delight stammered for words. Up until a few weeks ago, she had never had a problem speaking her mind clearly—and quickly—with words that cut deeper than a sharp hunting knife.

  “Papa hasn’t been gone two hours and already you are behaving indecently. You are a disgrace.” Charity wagged a finger in front of Delight’s face. Judgment seeped from the pores of her skin. “You should have lingered for Mama. Abby Rutherford stopped by to tell her Papa was bound for eternal punishment for joining the patriots.”

  Shaking her head to dispel the accusations and the neighbor’s judgmental words, Delight fought the urge to tell her sister to mind her own affairs.

  “And I thought you felt something for James. Now I see you are fickle … or are you toying with both men’s affections?” Charity lifted her chin. “We all are going to church to pray with Mama. Looks like you need to be on your face repenting for your sordid actions.” She crossed her arms over her chest as if to punctuate her declaration.

  “I have done nothing to dishonor God or shame my family. You, sweet sister, are the one who is viewing matters as evil when I am innocent.”

  Henry rose to his feet. He appeared impassive, as though the hostility between the two sisters was nothing more than an exchange of pleasantries over a cup of tea. “Charity.” The low timbre of his voice issued confidence and control.