“I had no choice. I could not bear the sight of her—it pained me so. Did not she know that?” Head spinning, he looked to the fire. “And yet I am forced to endure the sight of her lover near every day, so it would seem. Though I try, I cannot escape the shame of what they have done.” He looked back over his shoulder. “I turned her out, aye, but what else could I have done?”
“You could have loved her as a father should.”
The answer spat a muddy truth over Philo’s white conscience. “She defied me. She defied God—she sullied the name of Young, and that mattered not to you? How could I allow her—”
“She has suffered enough, Philo. Can you not forgive her after all this time? Surely God has. Surely ’tis compassion she needs, not your disdain.” Disgust in his eyes, Ensign stepped away. “I refuse to give you access to her or the land.”
The claws of rage stabbed up through Philo’s feet. Allowing a curse to strike the air, he stepped to his brother, only a fist of space separating them. “It has always been your wish to rip from my life anything that might bring me joy.”
Head shaking lightly, Ensign breathed out, his tone a freshly whetted knife. “Nay, brother.” He started toward the door and paused before gripping the handle. “That power belongs to you alone.”
“You know what is best for her, is that it? Yet I, her own father, does not?”
Glancing behind him, Ensign held Philo with pointed eyes. “So it would seem.”
In two large strides Philo grabbed him at the shoulder and spun him around. “Eaton Hill has belonged to Young blood for near a hundred and fifty years, and now you would see it thrown into the hands of someone else?”
“I have never said it would leave our care.” His eyes flitted over Philo, as if he inspected some piece of work and found it unworthy. “Do you not feel Hannah has Young blood? Does she not have any right to the property?”
A sigh breathed out, cooling his frame from scalding to a low, steady burn. “You have bequeathed it to her.” Perhaps he still had a chance…
“I have not said that.”
Would the man speak in riddles? “Do not play games with me. Is Hannah to own the land or not?”
The sun’s mournful winter light dimmed, darkening along with it what glimmer of belief still flickered in the dark corners of his heart. “Ensign, tell me. Who owns Eaton Hill?”
Ensign reached for his hat, holding it in his fingers a moment before preparing to place it back on his head. “One who will care for it. That is all you need to know.”
He turned the handle, but Philo gripped his arm. “Tell me!”
Tilting his head, Ensign sighed, as if Philo were a mere curiosity. “Had you any remorse, any showing of caring for her, I would in an instant seek ways to help mend what should be between father and daughter. But until then, I will strive only for her well-being. And you are no part of that.”
Ensign pulled open the door, the winter air blasting through the room. With a nod, he strode to his waiting horse, not once looking back.
How dare he!
Philo hurried a few steps after him, stomping through the snow before the weight of his anger made his legs too heavy to move. “Tell me!” The yell scraped up from the ground, hurling through him to shake the very clouds above.
Ensign continued on, the words seeming to die amongst the newly falling snow before they reached his ears. He untethered his horse, mounted, and rode away with only a cursory glance before he kicked his horse to a steady run, leaving Philo to stumble about in the darkness of unknowing.
Streams of hate trickled down his neck to his chest. The land was his. If Ensign wished to relinquish it to anyone, it must be him, not some unknowing, unfeeling stranger who cared nothing for it, as he did.
Nay. His lungs heaved as a hard, heated rage flowed through his veins. The atrocities Ensign had heaped upon him before were mere specs of dust compared to this mountain of dirt. Never would he forgive him. Ever would he make him regret it.
Chapter Three
Hannah leaned back in the soft chair that faced the fireplace, pulling the shawl tighter around her shoulders, the evening’s chill as deep as the night was dark. The warmth of the radiating flames reached out to her, comforting away the coal-black sorrows. Sparks popped. The clock ticked. Otherwise, only silence.
A week had passed. Seven days that dragged on and on, the grief draining her tears and parching her heart. Closing her eyes, she rehearsed the Bible verse that quenched her dry spirit like a cool mountain spring. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.
Opening her eyes, she stared into the parlor’s dark corner where the light of the oil lamp refused to reach. So much darkness in the world, so much pain. She prayed the Lord would impart His grace. They needed it now more than ever.
“You left your supper untouched.”
Hannah sat straight as Ensign entered the parlor. Shrugging, she tried to grin away the truth. “Did I?”
Taking the seat beside her, he scowled through his remark. “You are not feeling unwell, I trust?”
“Nay, I am well, Uncle.” Sighing, she pressed mirth into her words. The scent of stewed beef curled on the air, and though she tried to find pleasure in it, she could not. “I shall have a few bites before bed—worry not.”
He gave an approving nod, then slowly turned his head and stared at the orange flames. “I find I am somehow more fatigued than I have been. Forgive me.”
The grief weighed him down, as it did her.
“You take too much upon yourself.” Hannah reached out to touch his arm. “It has only been a week. It will take time. I do not wish for you to work harder than you have strength.”
“You are too good to me.” He leaned back in his chair and stared forward, deep creases lining his brow. It seemed he wished to speak more, but the hard line of his mouth refused him.
After a few more pops of the fire, she forced herself to speak. “How was your work today?”
Looking sideways, his eyes found her, but his mind was still wherever he had left it, the blankness in his pale expression crimping worry between her eyebrows.
He blinked and shook his head. “Oh, ’twas fine.” He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Micha Ross’s last day. He’s leaving for Washington’s camp in the morning.”
Hannah nodded, the unspoken message of his words ringing loud in her ears. Now they had all gone, every worker to join the Glorious Cause. Panic wound its wiry fingers around her throat. Her uncle would not go too? He’d spoken of his wish to join the brave men-at-arms many a time—how he wished he could lend his hand in the grand fight for freedom. She too championed the cause and wished herself to take part somehow in the valiant efforts for liberty, but how could either of them—
“Hannah?”
Startled, she blinked. “Aye?” The way he swallowed and looked at the ground made her clutch the fabric of her shawl. Do not say it. “What is it?”
He licked his lips and cleared his throat, his words spilling out in a choppy mix of fast and slow. “I have…I have been meaning…meaning to tell you something particular for some time now.”
“Oh?” Please do not say it…
“I…” Still leaning forward on his knees, he rubbed one thumb against the other, the answer dripping with resigned remorse. “I have sold Eaton Hill.”
She exhaled, the relief at his answer overwhelming the surprise at his words. “Sold it? Why?”
He stood and moved to the fire, a slight release of air bobbing his shoulders. “’Twas time.” He faced her, love reaching out from his smile. “I have many good years left in me, but ’twas time to place the foundry into the hands of someone younger. With no apprentice to leave it to, I could make no other choice.”
Hannah shook her head, trying to put her scattered thoughts into place. She stood and rounded the chair, giving her unease a resting place as she gripped the soft fabric of her seat. “Who is the purchaser?
Are you sure they will care for it as you have? Have they the same skill? No one can match your work—” She released her hold, the next words so thick with disbelief she could barely form their sound. “Tell me you did not sell to him.”
His thin lips flattened, and his gaze gripped to hers as he answered clear and full. “You know I would not.” He breathed in deep, his chest rounding, and continued only after a long, heavy sigh. “Though your father has beseeched me these many years, I would not reward him ownership or nearness to you.”
Moving to the fire beside Ensign, worry clipped her tone. “He will not relent. You know how he is.”
“Aye, I do.” His expression sighed away, as if his mind took him to some place he would rather not journey. “If I had any indication he wished to mend what has been broken between you, I would have acted differently—”
“But he does not.” After ten years the pain still throbbed like a fresh wound. “I know he will never change. That he thinks only of himself. He cares nothing for me.”
Ensign reached out to touch her shoulder. “He allowed you here, Hannah. That says something, does it not?”
Allowed? A generous way to describe it. Releasing a tight breath, she leaned against him, and he put his arm around her. Her head on his shoulder, she stared at the charred wood in the fire, crumpling away the fragile memories and sacrificing them to the flames. “I suppose whoever has bought the foundry must be a man of great talent.”
“Aye, and character.”
The comfort of his embrace soothed the rising anxieties. “Well then, I shall trust your judgment.”
Quiet eased around them, Ensign stroking her arm. “I have only one concern.”
She craned her neck to look up at him. “What is that?”
“The only thing that eats at my heart is the thought of what will become of you when I am gone.” Tender, but nipped with worry, the answer spilled from him like water from a wintery stream.
“Gone?” Pulling from his grasp, she stood before him, willing his spirit to believe what next she spoke. “Heavens, Uncle, you will not leave me—”
His light chuckle stopped her. “I have many years ahead of me, ’tis true, but selfishly…” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “Selfishly I wish to see you with a family of your own. I wish you to be as happy as I have been.”
The tenderness of his statement baited the question. “What do you mean? I have never been more happy.”
His kind, worn smile lifted gently at the corners. “I should like to see you marry.”
A stiff wind blew across her heart. “You know I cannot.” Grinning up at him, she laughed lightly, a barrier against the tender memories that pined for recollection. “I need no one but you. Besides, my heart has grown so accustomed to this place I cannot bear the thought of leaving it.”
He pulled her against him. “Then I suppose it is a good thing the buyer has generously offered to allow us both to stay while he lends his hand to Washington…and upon his return, as well.”
She tugged away from his embrace. “In truth?”
“Indeed. He has also asked that I stay on and do the books for him.”
The goodness of God opened before her like a vast, star-filled sky. Whoever could be so generous? “We must give thanks for such a man.”
Ensign looked down, his eyes reflecting the glow of the fire. “That we must.”
“Who is it?” The question popped from her lips, her childlike curiosity warming her chest like a summer dawn. “You must tell me, Uncle.”
Ensign’s chest lifted and lowered, and she moved away, the question of his sudden silence being answered by the sheen of reserve in his stare.
She straightened, that dawn clouding with gray. “You will not tell me.”
The answers waited just beyond the kindness that lined his tired gray eyes, but still he would not speak them. “All will be revealed in time.”
“What? Why?” She stepped back, letting her arms drop at her sides. “Why can you not tell me?”
“Do not press me, child, I pray you.” He shook his head and rested his hands on her shoulders. “There are things that are better left unsaid.”
She blinked, trying to flush away the questions that crowded her vision. “Is secrecy your wish? I would not betray a confidence, if that is what you fear.”
“Of course not, dear one.” He glanced up, his neck working with emotion before meeting her gaze once again. “’Tis hard to keep anything from you, you know that. But this…this I feel is best learned in the future.”
“When?” Hannah glanced down, then back up, questions falling thick like the snow that blanketed the ground. “A week, a month, a year?”
He gripped her fingers and shifted his jaw before answering. “When the war is over.”
“When the war is over?” The shock of his statement forced her to repeat his words. “That could be endless. No one knows when—”
A loud knock pounded against the door. “Open in the name of the king!”
Hannah jumped back with a gasp, body suddenly numb. Soldiers.
Ensign pulled his hand from hers, his voice thin. “Dear God…”
A shiver of disbelief trickled down her skin when the forceful knock once again shook the door. She spun to Ensign. “Uncle—”
A voice called from the other side of the door. “Open now, or we shall force ourselves in.”
Ensign hurried to the door. “Coming.” Turning, he pointed to the kitchen.
The firm line of his mouth and rigid angle of his arm drilled a pit in Hannah’s middle.
Spinning, Hannah dashed for the darkened kitchen and jerked through the entryway just as the front door squeaked open. She pressed her back against the wall, trying to quiet the frantic pace of her breath.
Footsteps stomped loud through the parlor as the intruders entered. Hannah stared down at the floor, the prayers she threw to heaven ripping her soul in two. Lord, protect him.
“Are you Ensign Young?”
“Aye.”
Her uncle’s response rang calm, steady, unlike the madness that raced through her as she listened.
“How may I help you gentlemen?”
“My name is Major Stockton.” A deep, gravelly sound scraped its way through the shadows. “I am here to relieve you of your foundry, Mr. Young.”
Dear Lord, no! Hannah leaned her head back and rested it silently against the wall. Clutching a thick mass of shawl at her chest, she forced herself to breathe through her nose, straining to calm the swells of emotion that crashed on her like a boat on an angry sea. Shock, anger, disbelief. The number of footfalls told her there were several inside, but exactly how many was impossible to tell.
The man with the deep timbre spoke again. “The king is in need of a foundry, sir. And with such a robust reputation, yours has been honorably chosen.”
“Well…” Ensign cleared his throat, his slow steps tapping across the floor. “I fear I must report ill news, gentlemen. I have just sold the foundry these three days past. It is no longer mine to give.”
“Nay, it is not. For now it belongs to King George.” A chair scratched across the floor and wheezed as someone sat. “Captain Higley, return outside and see that Reece and the others return to camp. They are not needed here.”
“Aye, sir.”
The door opened and shut before the loathed man continued. “We shall stay here this night, and you will give me a tour of the foundry in the morning.”
“I—”
“Lieutenant Greene, go to the kitchen and discover what food this man has to share. I am famished, and that scent is tantalizing.”
Hannah stiffened. Dear Lord! Not the kitchen!
“No!” Ensign’s voice echoed loud through the room. “What I mean to say is, I fear I have nothing to offer you, good sirs.”
Not moving—hardly breathing—still clutching the shawl that did little good against the gaining chill, Hannah looked to the door that led through the yard to the barn. Should she attempt
it? If she did, they would surely see her as she crossed the stream of soft light that shafted through the doorway. If she did make it unseen, that Higley fellow and the others would surely see her. She gripped her arms and looked upward. Lord, what am I to do?
Again, the chair scraped and footsteps started. “You wish not to share your wealth with the king’s men, is it?”
“I haven’t any wealth. I am a poor man whose family is not here, as you see.”
“I do see.”
Whoever owned such an ominous tone was likely as imposing as his voice was deep, for his footfall was powerful against the wood.
“Then perhaps there is something else you hide.”
Swift stomps toward the kitchen turned Hannah’s blood instantly cold.
“Nay!” Ensign rushed to the doorway and turned to face the parlor, his shoulders just visible from where Hannah pressed against the wall. “’Tis only that I am ashamed I have naught to offer.”
A shadowed figure neared, darkening the light at Ensign’s frame. This time a different voice, equally rich but more melodic, whispered past the doorway. “Do not test me, old man. For I promise you shall lose.”
Ensign remained motionless. “The king, as you say, may now own the foundry, but this is still my home, and I will not have you demanding that which I do not possess.”
The unseen man sniffed, his shadow lengthening. “Then pray, how is it I smell bread and a hearty stew? Wilson, help me persuade him.” With a grunt the man shoved Ensign, but he gripped the doorframe and looked to Hannah, the silent command blaring in his eyes.
Run.
She picked up her skirt and raced for the door.
“A girl!” The soldier barked from behind. “Major, a girl!”
Her heart stopped, but her feet propelled her to the freedom of the door.
“Run!” Ensign yelled.
“After her!”
She yanked it open as Ensign roared. “Leave her be!”
“Out of my way.”
“Never—”
A shot cracked the air, and Hannah stopped just outside the door. Shock slowed her senses. White smoke rising, Ensign fell limp to the ground in a heap. Her eyes rose to the man who lowered the pistol and stared directly at her.
So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4) Page 3