In a swift motion he took her hand in his. “I see you blush, my dear. Forgive me. I suppose I should refrain from mentioning such matters.”
“No, indeed, sir.” Careful not to reveal how his touch discomfited, she tugged her hand away. “I find such things most fascinating.” She paused, her next words scrolling through her mind so bright she could not help but speak them. “In truth, I wish I could do more to help the king in this valiant effort. If only I could…”
Stockton tilted his head, his gravelly timbre deep. “You would do such a thing?”
“Aye.” She fussed again with the pudding. “The longer this conflict continues, the more pain for all of us.”
“You are a woman with wisdom beyond her years, Miss Young.” Stockton stepped directly beside her. “An attractive quality.”
The compliment stuck to her skin like a hungry leech, and she hadn’t time to yank it free before he started again.
“There is something you can do, if you earnestly wish to be of service to your king.”
She stilled, her stomach in her throat. What did he mean? Fear tugged at her lips, frantic to keep them closed, but curiosity opened them. “What is that?”
Stockton moved so near she could feel the warmth of his body behind hers. “I am in need of a scribe. Someone to help me pen messages to my fellow officers.”
“A scribe?” She turned and ducked away, moving backward around the table. “I am honored sir, but would such a thing be most proper?”
He shook his head, following her. “’Tis common, and your acceptance would be of great help not only to myself but to the valiant efforts we strive to achieve.”
Her insides squirmed. Valiant efforts to achieve what? The suppression of fellow British citizens? She exhaled away the smoke of anger that clogged her lungs. “I…I hardly know what to say.”
“Miss Young…” He crept closer and stopped within inches of her, his voice growing rich, his words bold. “I have never met anyone so lovely, and I find I crave your company.” He continued, his tone lightening, as if he feared alarming her. “That is, if you are willing to spend time with a lonely old soldier.”
Now she truly feared she would be sick. She swallowed and dared to meet his hooded gaze. “Not lonely, surely.”
“I am surrounded by soldiers, aye. But what companions are they?” He pinned her motionless. “I do not mean to make you uncomfortable, naturally. I simply wish for the help of one whose smile will ease the burdens of my station. You understand.”
His last two words hit like the gouging stab of a bayonet. This was not for her to decline. She could see it in the fine lines around his eyes. Her answer must be yes. Both for his demand of it, but also… Her mind stilled and cleared, like a breeze that parted a cloudy sky. Aye. She must do it. Think of what she might learn from his very lips?
Thank you, Lord. This was His doing.
Molding a modest grin on her face, Hannah pretended reluctance. “’Twould be an honor, Major. But I must tell you…” A barrier should be in place, something that might hopefully keep the man at a distance. “In hopes that our relationship is quite understood, I must tell you that I am being courted.”
Stockton’s expression rounded, and his brow shot up before he relaxed his look with a sigh. “I cannot say I am surprised.”
Hannah lowered her lashes in humble response. Pray do not ask more.
“You have dashed all my dreams, dear lady.”
She looked up to find Stockton’s smile heightened on one side. Was that teasing in his voice?
“Tell me, who is the fortunate gentleman who claims your affections?”
A few breaths, and the rest of the falsehood popped free. “He is at sea, sir. I expect him home next year.”
Stockton tsked in disapproval. “So long? How can he bear to be away from you for any length of time?”
“We endure it as best we can.” She sealed her lips to cover the fragile lie she’d just shaped before returning her attention to the various goods on the table.
“I do hope this will not keep you from assisting me. You must know how humbly I implore you.”
Knife in hand, she hovered it over the waiting mass of pudding. “You are too kind, sir.”
He took the place Joseph had occupied only minutes before. “Then you will accept.”
A spark of rebellion ignited from the core of her soul, heating her entire frame. She could not resist. This man was as culpable as Greene in the death of her uncle. And now he offered her this chance, this favor? A grin rose to her mouth. Raising her chin, she spoke to the window. “Aye, sir. Most agreeably.”
He straightened, voice subtly proud, as if he’d just won a battle. “I am most pleased. Most pleased indeed.”
Chapter Twelve
“Who are you?”
Joseph stood in the open doorway of the foundry, fists rounded and ready. Two men, one at each forge, dropped their hands from their work with a quick nod.
The nearest man stepped forward, wiping his palms on his leather apron. Ruddy complexion and thinning hairline, the round man’s face appeared much younger than the rest of him. “Private Sackett, sir.” He nodded sideways with his head toward the other one. “That there’s Private Deane.”
They didn’t appear threatening, but that meant little. “What are you doing here? Did Stockton send you?”
“He did, sir.” Sackett reached out and offered his hand. Joseph took it, impressed with the firmness of his grip. “He said to have things ready so you could get started right away.”
Impressive. It seemed Stockton took this work as seriously as Joseph did. He scanned the rest of the foundry to be sure there were no other Redcoats lurking in the shadows.
Closing the door behind him, Joseph locked in what meager warmth hovered in the giant room. Taking another quick assessment, he removed his greatcoat and hat. A welcome sensation breezed through Joseph’s frame as he glanced across the foundry. How right it felt to be surrounded by the blast of heat and scent of scalding metal. The itch to hold a hammer in his fingers and feel the bite of flying sparks on his skin warmed him despite the chill in the air. Wherever a bellows blew and iron glowed, there he belonged.
Both forges were at work, but with only three men the task would take longer than he supposed Stockton would like. “Anyone else coming?”
The short soldier at the second forge shook his head. “Just us. Sackett’s got the order.”
Sackett pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “’Tis straightforward.”
Joseph unfolded the paper and schooled both his face and his breathing to show nothing, despite the scowl that tugged at his features and the excitement that tried to speed the pace of his lungs.
100 gun barrels to be made and delivered to Willis Plains in Duxbury by February 3.
His mind charged at full speed, kicking up clods of questions as it raced. Why Duxbury? Would they ship them north? Were there other munitions they planned to get into British hands? Nathaniel and Henry would need this information immediately.
He refolded the paper and slid it into his breeches pocket. “Such a task will be difficult with only the three of us.” He took Sackett’s place by the forge and yanked on the chain, the bellows rushing the flames high and hot. “Who’s Willis Plains?”
“Our gunsmith.” In stride, Sackett poked at the coals. “Poses as a Patriot, but he’s workin’ for us. If those idiot rebels haven’t figured that out by now…” A rough chuckle left him. “Eh, the job’s not bad. We’ll have to work morn’ and night, but we can do it.”
Joseph glanced to Deane, who was inspecting the growing glow at the end of his rod. “There’s no one else in your camp who can help?” He turned back to Sackett, who still yanked on the chain. “We could work faster with more men.”
“We’re the only ones who know how this is to be done.” Deane pumped the bellows. “Better this way instead of trying to teach someone who knows nothing at all.”
“Perhaps.” Joseph stopped
to look behind at the water bucket. Ice covered the top, and he reached for the nearest hammer, breaking through the thick covering. The men would need this water to cool their iron. “You’ve made gun barrels before?”
Deane nodded. “So’s Sackett. We both worked in smithies before recruitment.”
Looking from one soldier to the other, Joseph measured their strength. Their intelligence was harder to analyze. “Best see what we can accomplish before noon.”
“With focus and speed I believe ’tis quite attainable.” Sackett pulled the swage block beside the anvil. “Deane, you need help with that?”
The man grumbled his reply. “I can’t keep the flame up and poke the coals at the same time.”
Sackett left his post and went to pull on the chain while Deane heated the iron.
Joseph grumbled. This wouldn’t work. These two were obviously capable but lacked practice. They needed at least four men, or the work would take far too long. He glanced behind, the men mumbling between themselves. Perhaps that was a good thing. Delaying the shipment of gun barrels by the mere fact they could not be produced might be sabotage enough.
He shook his head. Nay. That could make Stockton suspicious. The man was no fool. What then? Craft all one hundred and deliver as planned, but with an attack at the ready? He bit his cheek. ’Twas too early for such plans. But what a sweet victory it would be to bring such an enemy to heel.
The next several hours passed with frustratingly little progress, the weight of the note in his pocket all but ripping a hole through the fabric of his breeches.
Glancing out the window, he attempted to assess the placement of the sun, but the thick white clouds shielded its location. It must be at least noon.
With a grunted sigh, he released the chain he’d been pulling. “I’m to the house.”
The soldiers paused, sweat glistening their brows, questions in their eyes.
Joseph motioned to the pile of coal in the corner. “I miscalculated the needed supplies. I must go to town.”
“Shall not I go?” Sackett stepped forward, obviously keen to be rid of the foundry for the time being. “Tell me what you need, and I shall—”
“Thank you, but I must do it.”
Sackett tipped his head with an acquiescent frown and turned back to his work.
Hat and coat on, Joseph spoke before closing the door. “I shall be back soon.”
Striding across the yard, Joseph made for the kitchen, leaving behind the mission he must now perform, to consider the woman who likely worked just beyond the door. Heaven help him. If Hannah were still there, he might not be able to resist another bit of banter. He growled inwardly. Foolhardy, that would be. Not even a simple interchange was safe. The slightest slope could give way to an avalanche that would cover him, forever sealing him in a mountain of emotions from which he would never have the strength to dig free.
He stood at the door, taking a long inhale of air he hoped would cool the rising temperature of his blood.
Two weeks. That was all. Nothing could happen in that time. He was safe. So why did he feel as if he had never been in more danger?
* * *
The clock in the parlor struck the nooning hour. Twelve chimes, each one louder than the last. From her place by the laundering she’d just begun, Hannah glanced through the kitchen window to the foundry. She cursed herself for the countless times she’d peered through the frosted panes, secretly pining for a view of him. Scrubbing the shirt harder in the basin, she wished she could as easily scour away the longing that held like an old stain.
Up to her elbows in hot water, Hannah rubbed the linen between her hands, the conversation of hours past still struggling to find a comfortable position in her mind. But it would not, she knew, until she told Joseph. A thrill beat through her. She now had a chance to move forward in their mission more quickly than she’d anticipated. ’Twas so simple, it seemed almost too good to be true.
All that remained was to tell Joseph and to pray he wouldn’t be upset.
Hannah noted a fraying spot on the collar of one of his shirts and rubbed more carefully, making a mental reminder to mend it. She continued to wash the shirt more carefully, pondering how she would explain her opportunity to Joseph. Surely once she explained how innocuous it truly was, he would be understanding and allow it—how could he not? Removing the shirt and wringing the water free, she hung the damp fabric near the kitchen fire.
Just then the door flung open behind her, and she whirled. “Oh!” She pressed a wet hand to her chest. “Joseph, you startled me.”
He shut the door, cutting off the blast of chilled air. His half smile did dangerously delightful things to her middle.
“Hard at work, I see.”
Hannah reached for the nearest cloth to dry her hands and find occupation for her sudden nerves. “’Tis noon. You must be hungry.” Of course he was. He’d hardly eaten anything. She should have thought to bring a basket out to the foundry. Ensign had always liked that. “Let me fix you a—”
“Perhaps later.” His grin lingered a moment, fading only when his vision shifted to his musket over the mantel. “I’m off to town.”
She stalled, hands still clutching the towel. “To town?”
Caution knit through his expression, mouth tight, brow creased. The silent message roared from his expression.
“Oh.” She knew the parlor was empty but glanced there anyway. Stepping forward, she came to the edge of the table. “You’ve already a missive to send? Will they not find it strange to have you leave when the work has just begun?”
Joseph grunted his reply as he lifted his musket from the mantel and slipped the powder horn across his chest. “I’ve discovered I miscalculated a few supplies, so a trip to town is necessary. A fortunate happenstance.”
He spun toward the door, but Hannah halted him with a touch on his sleeve. “Joseph, wait.” She yanked her hand back. How could she touch him so carelessly? Her body tensed, and she curled her fingers. The complexities of their strained familiarity battled so hard she feared she might slip into those comfortable habits that seemed to return with frightening ease. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
The instant tenderness in the lines of his face, the way his thick muscles flexed under his greatcoat as he faced her, made pleasant tingles spray through her chest.
His voice was a deep, peaceful river. “Anything.”
Anything?
At that single word, the kitchen faded. The warmth of the fire behind her, the scents of freshly laundered cloth, the snapping sound of the logs in the hearth softened as if the sun were setting, stealing with its waning light all she’d thought she would say, leaving behind only the things she longed to.
Lowering her gaze, she allowed her eyes to study the swirled etchings on the center platter of the table. If only—
“Hannah?”
All the blood had fled her limbs in an attempt to help her heart keep its sudden, wild pulse in check. She hadn’t the strength to lift her head in response, hadn’t the voice to answer. She closed her eyes, hoping she could rip her mind from the trance of him that her soul submitted to so willingly.
Rough fingers brushed against her elbow. “What is it?”
Her blood thundered in her ears. Why? Why was she so weak? How easy it would be to open her mouth and tell him all the truths that pined for revelation. I waited for you for so many years, Joseph. I bore our son…
“Hannah.” Smooth and warm, the sound of her name was like a whispered prayer.
Eyes still closed against the sight of him, she drew a quiet breath. Cold knuckles brushed her cheek, and she pulled back, eyes flinging open and instantly colliding with his.
His hand hovered away from her cheek. He swallowed, slowly dropping his hand but not his gaze. A small apologetic smile flashed over his mouth before he stepped back. “What had you wanted to tell me?”
Hannah stared, blinking to try to snip away the strings of the tender, bewitching moment. A pleasurab
le burn singed her skin where his fingers had touched her. What had she planned to tell him?
After a quick inhale the last tie was cut, and she was able at last to form the words she’d forgotten, though her voice seemed as if she spoke from afar. “Stockton has asked me to be his—”
The front door burst wide, and they jumped. Hannah whirled to the door to see Stockton and another man stride in.
She looked back to Joseph. His face was drawn, his stance leaning toward her as if he were so full of anxiety he was ready to leap from his own skin.
She could read the question in his eyes. Stockton asked you to be his what?
“Good afternoon, Mr. Young, Miss Young.”
Hannah nodded to Joseph with a promise in her grin that she would tell him later, then turned toward the parlor. Peering to the others from her position in the kitchen, she curtsied. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
Bowing, Joseph responded in kind, his frustrations apparently restrained, however temporary. “Major.”
Stockton gestured to the man with him. “This is my attendant, Private Reece. He’ll be helping me and Greene occasionally.”
“Good to meet you, Reece.” Hannah nodded to the soldier, who looked more like a boy just fresh from home. “Your arrival is perfectly timed, Major.” She stepped forward. “Do forgive my boldness, but I’ve a basin of hot water and am in the middle of laundering. If you should have anything—”
“How thoughtful of you, Miss Young. I do indeed.” All politeness left his tone when he turned to Reece and gestured to his quarters in the room behind him. “Retrieve my shirt and cloak from the end of the bed and bring them to Miss Young.”
“Aye, sir.”
The youth hurried to his task as Joseph stepped forward. “Sir, I too am glad you are here.” He made his way to the parlor, gun in hand. “I am afraid I must go into town.”
Stockton’s dark brow jammed together. “For what purpose?”
“I fear I miscalculated a few of our supplies. I must purchase more coal and a few other items if we are to make real progress.”
So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4) Page 12