So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4)

by Amber Lynn Perry

  Stockton’s small eyes narrowed, only shedding that sheen of disapproval when they flitted toward Hannah. “I suppose temporary suspensions are to be expected.”

  Joseph nodded. “A slight impediment is all. Once I have what I need, I shall return to work.”

  Stockton turned his back to the fire. “Of course.”

  Reece emerged, the articles bunched in his arms. He hurried to the kitchen, depositing the clothes on the table beside where Hannah stood.

  “Very good of you, Reece.”

  His rosy cheeks lifted in response, as if such gratitude were rarely shown him, and his pale eyes brightened. “Aye, of course, miss.”

  “I shall be off then.” From in front of the parlor door, Joseph’s resounding voice echoed through the room.

  He flung a look to Hannah that sailed across the small distance to coat her with a kind of reassurance, a kind of courage that seemed to all but lift her feet from the floor.

  “I will return before supper.”

  With that, he was out the door and gone. Hannah tucked away the gift he’d secreted her in the clearness of his eyes and gathered the next items to be washed as both Stockton and Reece took their places in front of the parlor fire, discussing wagons, road conditions, and the petty arguments of soldiers that needed remedying. Nothing useful. Positions of regulars, plans of action, munition stores—those were the particulars she needed.

  Hannah lifted the cloak and unfolded it, when a paper slipped from a hidden pocket on the inside of the garment. Slapping a hand to her thigh, she caught the paper before it landed to the ground. Pulse raging, she stood still, listening to the rush of blood in her ears and the undisturbed conversation behind her. Cautiously she craned her neck to glance back. The discussion continued undisturbed. Blessed heaven. Her heart thumped so hard behind her ribs she could feel its savage drumming through her stays. The paper singed her fingertips. She had only seconds…

  She straightened and hung the cloak over her arm. Flipping the paper back to front, she looked for a seal. Nothing, not even the remnants of one.

  Nerves charged like the sky before a storm, Hannah unfolded the paper close to her chest and read.

  Four hundred troops arriving to Boston by week’s end. Supplies on board. Forty cannon and two thousand rounds. Docking at Duxbury to get remaining munitions then marching north. Majors Pitman and Stockton will prepare for engagement—

  “Miss Young?”

  A hard grip of panic seized her throat as the sound of footfalls approached from behind. Clumsily refolding the note, Hannah whirled around and dropped it behind her. Smiling, she locked her knees to keep them from buckling. “Aye, sir?”

  The rushing blood in her ears crashed loud and hard, like storming waves on the shore.

  Stockton neared, that sticky sweetness in his face still present, still loathsome. “Do forgive me, but I’ve just remembered something.” He gestured to his cloak, and she offered it to him.

  She stepped back to allow him room, and he reached for the inner pocket. A scowl clawed his brow, and he spread the garment wide, flapping it twice.

  “Is something…” High-pitched and tense, the voice coming from her throat sounded nothing like her own. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Is something wrong?”

  He threw a pinched glance her way, then back to the cloak. “Nay. It seems…it seems I’ve misplaced something, is all.”

  “Oh, I see.” She stepped back, turning casually, praying God would enhance her playacting to its fullest. “Dear me!” She bent and picked up the article, handing it to him innocently. “Is this it?”

  A bright flash of relief lit his eyes before formality and business replaced it. “Thank you, Miss Young.”

  “How fortunate it fell to the ground and not into the water.” The laugh she let out carried a heavy lilt of freed anxiety, but from the smile he offered, he heard naught of it.

  “I shall find a way to repay you, Miss Young. You have saved me, I daresay.”

  “’Tis nothing, sir.” No doubt her cheeks were red, for they burned, and not from shy embarrassment, as Stockton’s satisfied smile professed.

  Bowing, he took the paper and replaced the cloak beside the basin. “I shall leave you to your work.” But before he left, he whispered, “We shall have a bit of time to ourselves before the day is over.”

  Hannah gripped the edge of the workspace where the basin rested, her fingernails biting into the wood. Smiling, she nodded, her mind scattering like a panicked crowd. She turned away and stared into the dark water. Pulling in long drinks of air, she waited for her pulse to calm and the blood once more to return to her numb limbs. But it did not.

  The gravity of what she’d just learned weighed upon her so heavy her shoulders began a slow, pulsing ache. She had to get this message to Joseph—he had to deliver both his secret knowledge and hers.

  Sighing, she spoke another silent prayer, invoking the powers of heaven to work on her behalf. She would have to leave in a matter of minutes if she were to catch Joseph in time. A quick glance to the parlor grounded her fledgling hope. The two sat in chairs, Stockton all but lounging while Reece sat with elbows on his knees.

  Hannah closed her eyes, praying as she had not prayed before.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The hollow stump was a half mile out of town at the edge of the wood, Nathaniel had told him. Leave your missive stuffed deep in the left corner. Another man will check it each day after sunset.

  Only partway through town, Joseph’s legs itched to tap Anvil’s flank and race to his destination, the message almost smoking from its hiding spot in his pocket. Keeping his spine relaxed and his smile easy took more strength than he’d thought. Would to God that Hannah would not have to harbor any such secrets. The thought of her enduring this harrowing anxiety made his stomach turn. Let him do the spying. And him alone.

  He’d like to have this over and done, though checking on the availability of coal and supplies would be his first stop.

  Anvil nickered, and Joseph patted his neck, nodding at a man who walked past. His fleeting inquisitive glance made Joseph sit taller and call himself the fool that he was. Traveling midday might be necessary, but it certainly was not prudent. Praise heaven there were only a few townspeople about, thanks in most part to the stinging cold, no doubt.

  Joseph tugged Anvil to a stop and dismounted in front of the mercantile, securing his reins to the post. A chuckle bubbled through him at Anvil’s wayward expression. “I know ’tis cold. I won’t be long.”

  Ducking into the building, the pungent scents of mace and clove swirled in the air, tickling his nose. He closed the door behind him and dodged a row of baskets hanging from a rope that spanned the length of the room. Pausing, he grinned at the laden but organized shelves of wares. The aligned jars of soaps, polished crocks, and lines of thread and cloth pried open his heart, tucking in the open space a melancholy homesickness. His blacksmith shop had been just as tidy, just as strictly arranged. But he was never going back, though every hour that passed seemed to censure what once he called wisdom. Leo might have been qualified, but did he love the work as Joseph did? More, could Joseph endure Hannah’s presence day after day when the war was over? He tossed the invading thought away and continued to peruse the empty shop, still void of its proprietor.

  Joseph glanced to a row of children’s toys and baubles, that unsettling melancholy pressing deeper. He stopped and fingered a cup and ball that resembled almost exactly the one he’d crafted for Jacob so many years ago. How did the boy fare? Had his smile begun to broaden under Kitty’s care? He upbraided himself. Next time he came to town, he’d be sure to have a letter prepared.

  “Welcome, sir. May I help you?”

  Joseph spun on his heel, a ready smile on his lips. “Good day. I am looking for—”

  “Forgive me—is that your horse?”

  Following his gaze to the large window, Joseph’s body clenched. A pair of Redcoats were stopped beside Anvil, untying h
is reins.

  Bolting, Joseph burst through the door, careful not to allow his rage to hurl him unwittingly into prison, or worse.

  “Gentlemen?” His neck corded as he strained to keep his voice even. “May I ask where you’re taking my horse?”

  The soldiers turned to him, mouths tight and eyes hard. The tallest spoke first, rampant disdain riding his words. “We’ve been instructed to check any and all mounts for hidden documents and missives.”

  “What?” His answer came out like a thrown fist.

  Eyes thinning, the man spit his answer. “It seems there’s an informant about.”

  Joseph’s ears went hot. “You are looking in the wrong place, checking him.” He nudged his chin toward Anvil. “Neither of us is culpable. I am working under the command of Major Stockton. You may ask him yourself.”

  Without a second look, the man began leading Anvil away as if Joseph had said nothing. Crimson clouded his vision. He grabbed the soldier by the arm. “Do not think of it.”

  Turning, the man’s face cramped. “Let go.”

  Joseph shoved the soldier back, rage locking into his muscles’ memory—how it felt to know that he was about to fight and that he would win. A bolt of strength shot down his back. He firmed his fists and widened his stance. “You will not take my horse without a fight.”

  Righting his posture, the soldier hunched, mouth sneering to one side. “You will regret this.”

  “Private Abrams!”

  The two soldiers turned at the shout, but Joseph remained, fists ready, muscles taut, not willing to take his pointed vision off the enemy.

  “Captain Higley, sir.”

  Higley?

  At this, Joseph allowed a brief look, but his tension only increased, teetering on the edge of explosion. He’d fought three men many times before, but…Hannah’s face flashed in his vision like a pleading apparition.

  If he were taken, she would be alone.

  Easing his curled fingers, Joseph brought himself to his full height, the incoming fire of demands and explanations seconds from impact.

  “What’s going on here?” Higley’s impressive frame made the two privates look laughably small.

  The tall one answered first. “I have just been assaulted by this man.” His arm stretched out in full, long finger pointing.

  Higley offered a cursory glance toward Joseph before marking the other two in his sights. “It appears to me you are taking a man’s property.”

  “Property?” The second soldier finally spoke. “You know Major Pitman’s orders.”

  Higley’s expression was unchanged, but for his eyes that narrowed. “Nowhere is it stated we are to take anything.” He threw a look to Joseph. “I can vouch for this man. He is working with us.”

  Again the spindly soldier stepped forward, his voice sounding more like a whining child. “You will let him get away with what he did—”

  “On your way, Private Abrams. You too, Cotton.” The gruff command made both men straighten. “I shall see you at camp.”

  Striking Joseph with a last hard look, the men huffed off, leaving Joseph and Higley alone.

  Reaching for the dangling reins, Joseph nodded to Higley and tugged Anvil back to the post, grappling for a reason why the man would have come to his aid.

  Once again tying Anvil secure, he spoke, blaming his frank remark on his spiked pulse. “An informant, hmm? Good luck catching him.”

  Whatever reaction Joseph expected, the slight chuckle and quick smile Higley offered wasn’t it. “What are you doing in town? I thought you were to be at the foundry?”

  His words were so genial and familiar, Joseph found himself strangely comfortable. He eased his stance. “I needed a few other supplies.” He paused. Something about Higley’s expression prodded him to expose the rest of his needs without a second thought. “Problem is, the work is difficult with only three men.”

  “You need another?”

  Joseph gave a slight nod to the side. “With more we could work faster, but it seems there’s only the three of us that know the workings of a forge. Making gun barrels is simple enough, but it takes a few men to—”

  “Perhaps I could lend assistance.”

  “You?”

  Higley turned his head aside and stroked Anvil’s nose, and ’twas then Joseph noticed the scar that scooped deep across Higley’s ear, the top part completely missing. A battle wound perhaps?

  “I have only a little experience.” Higley spoke again and looked up. “But perhaps enough to make your work less burdensome.”

  He would do that? “Could Stockton spare you?”

  The angled muscle in Higley’s jaw flexed back and forth before he answered. “He has Greene to help him. And Reece.”

  Such an offer. Joseph glanced to the shop behind him, mind reeling. Having an officer in the foundry every day, watching his every action, would make the work more onerous, not less.

  Joseph rubbed his gloved knuckles against his jaw. ’Twas not his place to deny Higley, no matter how he wished to and no matter how innocuous the man appeared to be. “If you should like to, I cannot decline your offer.”

  Higley bobbed his head, lowering his hand from Anvil’s nose. “I shall speak with Stockton.”

  A nod of thanks and Joseph prepared to turn, but Higley’s voice rendered him motionless.

  “And Mr. Wythe…they are looking for someone. I would be cautious, if I were you.” He patted Anvil on the neck and moved back up the road.

  Joseph froze, his heart igniting a cannonade of explosions with every pump. What had he called him?

  That single word rammed into Joseph’s mind, yet the blinding shock seemed to refuse it entrance until finally the truth crashed with harrowing force, exposing every tightly shielded secret.

  He’d spoken Joseph’s true name—as if he’d known it all along.

  * * *

  The cold was not thick. ’Twas thin. So transparent it passed through her like a spirit, freezing, it seemed, the very flow in her veins. Hannah walked faster, wringing her aching fingers, irritated that in her haste she’d neglected the thick scarf her neck and ears now cried for.

  In the center of town, she stopped, scanning the road for any sign of Joseph or his giant black stallion. It had not been twenty minutes after her fervent pleading with Providence that grace smiled upon her, Stockton revealing he and Reece must go to camp until evening. God’s goodness was so immediate, so loving that no matter how she worked to show Him her gratitude, yet she would be an unprofitable servant. But that would not stop her from trying.

  The buzzing in her frozen toes pressed her to walk faster. If only she’d had a horse, she could make it to town swifter. But she feared saddling and preparing a mount would take more time than hurrying to town on foot. And if she were to meet Joseph on his return, they could easily ride back together to wherever it was he’d left the message. Nathaniel and Joseph had both insisted she not know the place where the messages were to be deposited, so if questioned, she could answer truthfully. At the time such judgment seemed wise, but now with her own message hurriedly penned and stuffed deep between her breasts, she wished she would have insisted. For if she did not meet up with him now, she could have delivered it herself.

  Turning in a full circle, she frowned, reserving a none-too-ladylike huff. He was nowhere in sight. She’d missed him. Again wringing her fingers, she studied her former reasoning. Leaving it for another time would have been fine, would it not? Glancing back the way she’d come, she licked her lips. Then again, with Stockton at the house, Joseph couldn’t leave every evening without raising suspicions. Nay. ’Twas good she’d made the attempt but folly she hadn’t reached him in time. Now what was she to do?

  “Miss Young?”

  Hannah spun. “Captain Higley.”

  He neared, stopping a polite distance. Bowing, he smiled. “At your service.” He straightened and glanced around, as if looking for someone. “What are you doing in town? Have you come alone?”

&
nbsp; She swallowed, uncertain how to reply. “Uh…aye.” The truth was rarely a poor choice, but she revealed only part of it, ignoring the first of his questions.

  His lichen-colored eyes studied her before he too glanced around the mostly vacant street. “’Tis a cold day to be out.”

  “’Tis.”

  He continued his study of her, and her cold hands moistened. She opened her mouth to speak, but when nothing came out, she simply breathed a light sigh and smiled, castigating herself for her stayed tongue. Why could she not speak?

  Thankfully, he did. “Miss Young, I should like at last to offer my sincerest apologies regarding the loss of your uncle.”

  Hannah stilled at the raw honesty of his words. “Thank you, Captain.”

  Gaze unwavering, his handsome face eased into a knowing kindness. “I know this must be of great distress to you, but I must ask you…I would beg you to not give up hope.”

  “Hope?”

  His eyes flitted away for a moment, as if he searched after the words he wished to speak. Returning his humble strength to her gaze, he sighed briefly. “Hope gives wing to many a prayer, does it not? ’Tis the very basis for what we desire.”

  But desiring one who is dead to yet live was not something for which any could dare hope.

  She met his kindness with her own, grateful that one who was supposed to be her enemy would show such humanity. “Your sincerity means a great deal, Captain.”

  The quick dip of his brow and bob of his chin said something she hadn’t a chance to interpret before he spoke again. “On a separate subject, I should like to advise you, Miss Young, that if you must come to town, do not come alone.”

  She raised her eyebrows, the action not needing to be forced as she asked the necessary question. “Is there something amiss?”

  “Nay, ’tis simply…I know not how to say this…” He craned his neck to look over his shoulder, revealing for the first time a ghastly missing section of his ear. Poor man. How had he come by such a wound? A battle injury perhaps? Thank the Lord ’twas only his ear that had been hurt.