by Angela Couch
Andrew steeled himself as he moved his gaze to Joseph’s grim face.
Joseph’s mouth formed a tight line. “Rachel, I want you to come to the house. And you...” He blew out his breath, shaking his head. “I suggest you pack whatever you have. I don’t think it’s safe here any longer.”
“You don’t believe Daniel would tell, do you?” Rachel’s arm brushed Andrew’s.
“With the whole countryside waiting for another spark to light their fear?” Joseph asked as he headed to the cabin. He halted abruptly, pausing to wait for his sister.
Rachel looked at Andrew. Her hand gripped his sleeve.
Oh, how he wanted to take her in his arms again. To kiss her. They had been so close. But maybe this was for the best. Perhaps the Lord was trying to remind him of his responsibilities elsewhere. It was time to leave.
“Rachel,” Joseph called.
Andrew brushed a loose strand of honey behind her ear, and then nodded. “You should go.”
~*~
As they entered the cabin, Joseph stopped by the door, not removing his coat. “What did you do, Rachel?”
“Why are you so certain anything happened?”
“Daniel said Andrew kissed you. Is that true?”
“No.” She wet her lips almost tasting Andrew. “But he was about to. I wanted him to.”
A shadow crossed Joseph’s face as it angled away.
“And what’s wrong with that?” She couldn’t help but plead. “I love him.”
“We’re still in the middle of war,” Joseph’s pitch rose, “and no matter what we see him as, he is still an enemy officer and still in great danger. He’s the wrong man, Rachel. It’s the wrong time and the wrong place.” His voice softened with a sigh.
“Everything is wrong except what I feel.” Rachel looked down. She still held the small piece of red fabric. “What’ll we do?”
“We have to take him somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps back to his army. He hopes to find his brother. With his leg not completely healed, they may send him home.”
The realization struck her with a very real and powerful force. “To England?” To Miss Grenville and her wealth? “I’ll never see him again.”
“But he’ll be safe.” Joseph pulled his hat on and turned to the door. “I need to get some information before we decide what’s best. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
30
Andrew set aside the satchel Joseph had brought him and took a breath. The single change of attire had left plenty of room for food. He’d have to speak with Rachel about that.
Rachel.
His chest ached at the thought of her…of how close he had come to forgetting what duty demanded. He raked his fingers through his hair, dropping his head forward. Duty left no place for love. Not for him, anyway.
The rooster crowed, and Andrew looked out across the loft. The creak of hinges brought him to his feet. Had Joseph returned? No. His stallion usually made his presence known. Perhaps it was just the wind. Or Rachel. As Andrew reached the top of the stairs, a shadow caught his gaze and drew it toward the large haystack near the doors.
Fannie Reid crouched at the base of the hay, cramming something into an old sack. In the same motion she stood and vanished out the front.
He frowned and leaned into the railing. Though he hadn’t seen what the sack contained, there was only one logical conclusion. Fire ignited the ends of his nerves. He wouldn’t wait around to find out what Daniel planned to do. Andrew would give Joseph a half hour more, and then leave. He would not put them in more danger than he already had.
~*~
Rachel’s pulse quickened. She stood from the rocker, fighting the urge to run to Andrew’s embrace.
He slipped into the cabin, her Bible gripped in his hand. He looked nervous, but there was more than that. Deeper emotions played at the corners of his mouth and tugged his brows together. “Joseph has not returned. I must go.”
Rachel sent a glance to the bag she’d packed. She couldn’t let him return to a woman he didn’t love. She had to convince him to let her leave with him. “Where?” Was that her voice? It sounded detached. Everything seemed disconnected, as if a dream.
Then his fingers brushed hers, wrapping around them.
She clung to his hand as though it were a thin rope saving her from a flash flood of feeling. “Where will we go?”
“I suppose I will work my way North.” He jerked back an inch. “Wait. We? Rachel, I cannot let you—”
“We’ll take Sorrowful. Joseph can manage without him.”
Andrew shook his head. “Rachel, I could not risk your life.”
“I don’t care about the risk.”
“Please, listen to me.” His eyes shone as two dimples became ravines in the wake of a pained, yet determined smile. “This was never meant to be. But soon the Lord will wipe away all these tears and help us see His greater purposes. He remains in control.”
“It seems to me He’s been detained elsewhere.” Bitterness tightened her voice. “Or perhaps He doesn’t care.”
Andrew’s eyes darkened with sorrow. “‘We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed.’” He pressed the Bible into her hands. “That is the legacy of faith. Rachel, don’t you see? That is why we’re here. The Bible speaks of being proved. We are born into trials. It is how we grow to become the people the Lord desires us to become. It is because He loves us more than a moment of happiness. He’s trying to build us. But it isn’t all trial.” Andrew encircled Rachel in his arms and leaned his forehead against hers. “The Lord gives us joy as well.”
If only this moment, the feeling his embrace, would last. “For a short time—before it’s again snatched away.”
“I could never forget you, Rachel Garnet. And I shall always love you. You have given me a memory of joy that no one could ever steal, so long as I live. I do not care how large the next stone may be.”
Her chuckle became a sob. “Why must it hurt so?”
Andrew pressed his lips into her hairline and inhaled deeply. He tipped her head back, his gaze dancing between her eyes and her lips. His breath caressed her mouth as he drew her toward his own.
The door flung open as Fannie burst into the cabin. Her hair was disheveled and her skirt torn in several places. “They’re coming!” She gasped for air. “And it’s all my fault.”
Andrew spun. “Daniel?”
“He has your red coat. He told me he needed it to protect Rachel and Joseph. I thought he’d destroy it. Instead he’s been gathering men at the old fort. More than twenty are on the road coming from there now, with that coat as proof that you’re a British spy. You must go.”
As soon as Rachel’s brain registered more than the words, she lunged past Fannie and grabbed the musket from over the door. She thrust it to Andrew.
“You know I cannot. I will try to slip away, but that is more for your sake than my own.” He brushed a finger across her cheek, and then retreated into the yard, half running, mostly hobbling in the direction of the barn.
Rachel dropped the musket on the table.
Fannie touched her arm. “I’m praying,” Fannie whispered.
But would God listen?
Rachel walked out to meet the unwanted guests. They were close now, and her blood turned cold with the realization of how many there truly were. They had come from everywhere—men, women, and even some children—and most were armed.
Daniel led them.
Rachel fought the desire to fetch the weapon out of the cabin, but Andrew was right, it would only serve to worsen an already deadly situation.
“Where’s Joseph?” Fannie questioned.
“I wish I knew.” Rachel felt faint at what would happen if the mob found Andrew, but how would he get away in time?
The mob swarmed the yard like wasps, their stingers primed.
Red d
raped down beside Daniel’s leg.
“What do you want here, neighbors?” Rachel called as they began to rein their horses and pull up their wagons.
Every eye locked on her. Maybe it was good Joseph wasn’t here.
She forced a smile and kept her voice friendly. “Has something happened?” Her legs wobbled.
“We’ve come for the man who’s been hiding here.” Daniel raised the scarlet coat into the air. “We’ve discovered he’s a British spy.”
Rachel felt the blood rush from her head. “My brother’s away, and there’s no one here besides your sister. I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play coy, Rachel. Where is that British dog?” Daniel swung from his mare.
She faced him fully, rage building within her. “There is no such man here.”
A cold smile crossed his lips, and he turned back to the mob he had gathered. “Search the property. He couldn’t have gotten far.”
Men dashed in every direction, several pushing past Rachel and Fannie into the cabin.
The largest group raced to the barn.
Rachel held her breath. If only she trusted the Lord enough to pray.
~*~
It was Andrew’s intent to pass through the barn and corrals, making his escape into the woods, but after a few yards, he remembered that the crutch remained in the loft, and the satchel. Not only were they proof of his stay there, but his hip had been strained enough today and hurt more with each step. He wouldn’t make it far. Andrew returned to the barn, reaching the loft as the pounding of hooves echoed unmercifully in his ears. Trapped. There was no way to outrun them even if he had two good legs.
“Oh, God, what have I done?” He glanced to the heavy rafters above. “Do not let Rachel and her brother be punished for the kindness they have shown me. That is all I ask.” A sack of grain leaned against the wall and he sat down to wait for the arrival of the mob. Footsteps on the stairs caused him to brace against the growing fear.
“‘Trust in the Lord with all thy heart,’” Andrew breathed, “‘and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and he shall direct thy paths.’”
The first man appeared, searching the shadows. “I think I got him, boys!”
Andrew’s legs had no strength. “I wondered when you would come.” He didn’t bother to mask his rich English tones as several rough hands pulled him up—Daniel would have already told them everything. “I appreciate not having to wait too dreadfully long.”
“Don’t worry. We know how to take care of swine like you nice and quick.”
31
Rachel’s heart lurched as the victory cry rose from the barn. Everyone suddenly ran in that direction, their shouts drowning out the calls of frightened animals. She grabbed Fannie’s hand and pushed ahead, reaching the large entrance just as someone gave Andrew a shove down the last half of the stairs. He fell forward, unable to catch himself until he slammed against the ground, tearing the elbow of his shirt. Blood ran from his nose and more came from a cut on his lip.
“No! Leave him alone.” Her cries fell on deaf ears.
Men hollered as they dragged their prize from the barn.
Daniel reached Andrew as they pushed him past Rachel. He lowered his voice as he touched the slight bruise on his jaw. “I told you this wasn’t over.”
She tried to grab Daniel’s arm but they continued past.
In the yard they formed a tight circle around Andrew. Daniel moved into the center, his voice thundering over the crowd. “We are at war. The British have killed us, destroyed our crops, burned our houses and terrorized our families.” He raised the scarlet coat above his head. “This man is a British spy and will be treated as such. What did the British do to us, our sons, and fathers? They killed them in cold blood for protecting their families. What shall we do to this spy?”
Everyone seemed to cry out at once, all calling for blood.
Rachel shoved through the mob, struggling against the mass of bodies with all her strength. Finally she broke through. “Stop this. You don’t know what you’re doing.” Rachel clutched Daniel’s sleeve. “Don’t do this.”
“Rachel, you are not involved in this,” Daniel whispered hoarsely. “Do you know what they would do to you and Joseph if they suspected you knew who he was? You would be worse off than him. Now get out of here.”
“I won’t let you do this.”
“Listen to him,” Andrew said from beside Daniel. Fear clouded his eyes and lined his face, but his voice was firm. “Go back to the house.”
“Get her out of here,” Daniel yelled at someone. Several men gripped her arms, dragging her away. The remainder swarmed Andrew as though bees around a hive.
~*~
“I am not a spy,” Andrew called out in weak defense. “I do not mean anyone harm.”
“Not a spy?” Daniel’s voice mocked. “Then what are you, a British soldier, doing in those clothes? Where’s your uniform? You are a soldier, are you not? An officer?” There was a pause as he held out his burdened hand. “This is yours, isn’t it?” He brought the coat down, whipping it across the side of Andrew’s face then releasing it to hang limply over his shoulder, a mark of who he was. Daniel leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Tell them truthfully, priest.”
Andrew gripped the scarlet coat in his hands and fingered the hole cut in the sleeve. Perhaps it was better this way. “Yes, it is mine.”
Someone shoved him forward, causing him to fall to his hands and knees. Sweat dripped from his face. He remained on the ground as the mob hovered over him, spiting and shouting cruel and angry jeers.
Lord, is this Thy plan for me? Help me trust.
Pulling Andrew back to his feet, several men forced his arms into the coat. “There you have him, a British pig,” one shouted.
Andrew’s gaze hesitated on him, his face as familiar as his voice. Rodney Cowden. Recognition stirred deeper memories. But from where? When?
“Shall we show him British justice?”
“Let’s do with him as his armies did with our sons,” a woman cried out, followed by a roar of approval.
“I have a rope,” a man’s voice resonated
“Take him to the big oak there.”
“Show him British justice!”
“Hang him!”
“They killed my boys.”
“We lost everything.”
“A little justice is all we want.”
“Hang him!”
The voices seemed as one, yet all crying differently. Again rough hands and the barrels of guns prodded Andrew forward.
~*~
Rachel struggled to press through the crowd. Her mind spun, unable to grasp the horror of what was happening.
Andrew stared straight ahead, his face almost passive, a sheep in the midst of ravening wolves.
They would kill him.
“Wait,” Rachel screamed. “You can’t do this. Stop. Please.” She looked up into the brilliantly blue heavens, her heart crying out despite herself. Oh God, don’t let them kill him. Have mercy, Lord.
Rachel was again grabbed from behind and pulled back to the cabin. She fought against the arms which held her fast, but was helpless.
“Don’t, Rachel.” Daniel’s voice touched her ear. “You can’t help him now.”
She swung around, a hand rising to his face with all her strength. “You dog,” Rachel spat as he caught her wrist. “You’ve killed him. How could you do this?” She pushed away, trying to strike him with her fists. They found their mark.
Daniel was forced to step back and loosen his grip.
Rachel tore herself away and sprinted to the people she had known as friends and neighbors. They’d bound Andrew’s hands behind him and were forcing him onto the back of a flat-bed wagon which had been driven directly under the largest oak. A man threw a thick rope over one of the branches and began to tie a loop at the end.
“No!”
The shouts of the mob seem
ed to drown out Rachel’s voice.
Andrew looked up, finding her gaze. His face was marred with dirt and blood, as was the scarlet coat. Leaning heavily on his left leg, he shook his head as though warning her from taking any action to save him.
She stared, her insides in pieces. How could he be so calm? Didn’t he see that they were going to kill him—that God would not save him this time? Rachel tunneled through the crowd.
Someone slipped the rope around Andrew’s neck and pulled it tight.
“Wait. Wait, I tell you!”
The crowd quieted slightly.
“Please wait,” Rachel begged as she reached the wagon. She glanced at Rodney Cowden who held the horses from bolting forward. “Please.”
“Our minds are made up, girl.”
“I know. Just give me a minute.”
“I don’t—”
“Another minute won’t hurt nothing, Rodney.” Daniel made his way to join them. “Her father was killed by them, and then he came and deceived her about who he was. Let her say her piece to him.”
Cowden showed reluctance but nodded.
Rachel scrambled onto the wagon beside their prisoner.
Andrew gave her a half smile, but his eyes bore his soul. He didn’t want to die any more than she wanted him to.
“Andrew.”
“I am sorry to have deceived you, miss.” He cocked his head to see the rope and branch above his head. “I suppose I have little choice but to promise it will not happen again.”
“Don’t.” Reaching out, she wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek. His face was so pale. Rachel bit her lower lip, unable to stop its trembling. Her arms flew around him, clinging to him.
“Rachel, no,” Andrew pled in her ear. “Do not let them see you cry. Do not make them hate you, too.”
“But I love you.”
“Then walk away now. And do not hate God for this deed. For my sake—do not blame God for what men do.”
“That’s enough,” Cowden barked from the seat of the wagon. “You’ve had your minute. Someone get her down.”