Valerie squeezed his arm in an effort to get his attention. “Alec, I can hear you thinking from here. What’s on your mind? Are you very disappointed with what she said?”
“I can’t honestly say that I expected her to tell me anything more, but I was surprised by the hostility of the woman. I don’t believe she told us the whole truth,” he said, walking faster in his agitation. “Did you see how desperate she was to get rid of us? She knows more than she admitted to, and she’s terrified that we’ll find out the truth, which obviously still has the power to destroy someone.”
“Do you really think so? How do we find out?” Valerie was almost running to keep up with Alec, his boots raising a cloud of dust as he strode down the dirt lane, oblivious to everything around him.
“The only thing we can do is talk to some locals, starting with the innkeeper and his wife. A nun giving birth to a bastard and drowning herself in the river is not something people forget in a hurry. It must have been a great scandal in a place like this. Someone must know something. Small towns thrive on gossip, and there’s always someone who’s eager to talk, especially when there’s money to be made. I will offer a reward to anyone who can give me any information, then wait for them to come to me.” Alec slowed down a little, taking Valerie’s arm as she stumbled over a stone, nearly losing her balance.
“Are you sure you want to stir all this up again? It was over twenty years ago. Maybe it’s wiser to let it rest.” Valerie looked up at him, imploring him to just move on. Nothing he could learn from the locals would bring him any comfort; if anything, it would raise more questions that he wouldn’t be able to find answers to. Rose was dead, and nothing anyone could say would change that.
“Val, you are probably right, but I will never be able to rest if I don’t at least try to find out the truth. Someone fathered that child, someone here in Loudun. Rose became pregnant after being at the convent for a year, so that greatly narrows down the number of men she might have been exposed to, rather than if she had already been pregnant by the time she arrived here, so someone must know something.”
“You’re right, but Mother Superior said no one laid claim to the child. If the father had been a local man, surely he knew the child was his. Most likely, he either had no way of caring for it, or was a married man who didn’t want his indiscretions to ruin his life. If he’s managed to keep his secret this long, what makes you think he would allow it to come to light now? He must have had some way of protecting his secret.”
“He could also have been someone who forced himself on a nun, and didn’t see fit to take responsibility for his actions. His cowardice resulted in the death of my sister, and the less than happy life of his daughter,” Alec replied stubbornly. “I have to see this through.”
September 1777
Staten Island
Chapter 49
Abbie pulled the pot from the fire, leaving it on the hook by the hearth to keep the stew warm. She’d already made supper, washed her shift and stockings in the stream, swept the floor, washed last night’s supper dishes, and saw to the animals. She needed to keep busy to stop herself dwelling on the fact that if it hadn’t been for Finn and Sam, she would have been dead hours ago; her life cut short by the hangman’s rope, and her body tossed into some stinking hole full of other corpses. And now it was Sam who could be dead, and all because of her. She couldn’t stop seeing his pale face and glazed eyes as they left him behind at South Beach, bleeding and helpless.
Abbie glanced out the window again, but Mr. Jenkins and Finn still weren’t back. She stepped outside to check if her things had dried and gazed up at the sun, shielding her eyes from the still-bright rays. It was somewhere close to 5 p.m., but there was no sign of the men. What was taking so long? They’d gotten to the farm around noon, Finn and Mr. Jenkins setting off as soon as Finn changed out of his uniform into plain clothes and made sure she was all right. She wasn’t really, but her priority was getting Sam. He was all that mattered at that moment, and she wouldn’t delay Finn by a second knowing that it could make the difference between life and death. She had to believe that Sam’s wound wasn’t fatal, and that she’d be able to nurse him back to health. The bayonet could have punctured some vital organ, but Abbie pushed that thought away, unable to accept that there was nothing she could do for her brother. If only they would come back.
It had taken Finn and Abbie nearly two hours to walk to the farm, so by cart it should have taken less than half the time. They should have gotten to Sam by 1 p.m. and back by 2; no later than 2:30. Abbie sat on a wooden bench, leaning against the wall of the farmhouse. She was exhausted physically and mentally, but she couldn’t allow herself to rest. She had to stay alert and ready for when they brought Sam back. She had prepared some rags to use as bandages, and even found some silk thread and needles in case Sam needed to be sewn up. She’d never done anything like that before, but she would if she had to. Mr. Jenkins didn’t have much in the way of medical supplies, but there was whiskey and even a small bottle of laudanum. The bottle was more than half-full, enough to keep Sam sedated if necessary.
Abbie wondered briefly what happened to Mrs. Jenkins. Her things were all over the house, her clothes in the wooden chest by the bed, and a silver-backed hairbrush on the dresser in front of the small mirror mounted on the wall. A tortoiseshell comb was next to the brush, both items likely prized possessions of a woman who wasn’t accustomed to luxury. Jim Jenkins hadn’t mentioned his wife, and Abbie didn’t ask, not wanting to pry. He was likely a widower who didn’t have the heart to get rid of his wife’s things, needing to hold on to that last bit of her just a little longer before letting her go and settling into a lonely, barren existence.
The shadows slowly began to lengthen, the air cooling slightly as the treetops swayed soothingly above her head. Abbie could hear the animals moving restlessly in the barn and the chickens clucking about in their enclosure, but there was no sound of a wagon approaching. She took her things off the line and went back into the house to put them on. She had washed as best she could and was completely naked under her dress, unwilling to borrow something belonging to Mrs. Jenkins for fear that her husband might object.
Abbie put on the clean shift and stockings, pulled on her dress, and brushed her hair before pinning it up and putting on her cap. She felt marginally better now that she was wearing clean things, but her anxiety was increasing by the minute. It had to be around 6 p.m. now. What was keeping them? She bolted from the room as she heard the sound of wheels approaching, exploding from the house just in time to see the wagon coming down the road. Thank God, she thought, running to meet them. Abbie slowed down as she saw Finn’s face, unable to take another step forward. The idea of Sam being dead pierced her like a dagger straight through the heart. They must have waited for him to die before loading his body into the cart, not wanting to fill his last moments with more agony than was strictly necessary. Mr. Jenkins slowed down next to Abbie, but she was afraid to look at the bed of the wagon. She couldn’t bear to see him dead. Tears streamed down her face as she stepped closer, forcing herself to look into the wagon. It was empty, a layer of straw undisturbed and unsoiled.
“Where’s Sam?” she asked, turning to Finn, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to read Finn’s face, but she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing there. He seemed nervous and afraid, but most of all apologetic.
“I don’t know. He wasn’t where we left him. We searched for hours, going a mile or more in every direction. We found no trace of him save the blood on the grass where we laid him this morning.” Finn jumped off the bench, taking Abbie into his arms. “I’m sorry, Abbie — he’s gone.”
“I don’t understand,” Abbie muttered. “Gone where?”
“Sweetheart, Sam was in no condition to go anywhere on his own. He didn’t leave — someone took him.”
“Oh, God,” Abbie moaned as she slumped against Finn. “Why would anyone take him? Do you think they meant to help him? How will we ever find
him now?”
Finn just shook his head, having no answers. He’d asked himself the same questions over and over as he searched the area, desperate for any clue to Sam’s whereabouts. The shady copse where they’d left Sam had been deserted, not near a road or a village. It was unlikely that someone would have come across him by accident. They’d left him well-hidden. Even if someone did find him, what would be the purpose of taking Sam unless they hoped to help him? Or maybe they wanted to rob him and leave him for dead somewhere. Sam didn’t have much on him, but he did have a few coins, a musket, and the brass buttons of the uniform which could be worth something. But why would someone need to take him to rob him? He was badly injured; they could just take what they wanted and leave him to his fate.
“Abbie, Jim and I will go out again first thing tomorrow morning and look for Sam. In the meantime, you need to lie down and get some rest. You look all done in. Have you eaten anything?”
Abbie just shook her head. She tried eating some of the stew she’d made, but it just stuck in her throat, tasting like ashes.
“You need to take care of yourself. Come, let me take you inside.” Finn put his arm around Abbie, guiding her toward the door. “Something smells really good.” He was ravenously hungry, having had nothing to eat since last night. Deborah Morse had given him supper and a bed for the night, but Finn never went to sleep. He and Sam slipped out close to midnight, ready to put their plan into action and in place just in time for Diana to do her bit.
Finn was exhausted, but he couldn’t allow himself to rest until he knew Abbie was all right, at least physically. She needed to eat and get some rest after the terrible ordeal she’d been through for the past forty-eight hours. She was near collapse, her face white as a sheet and her eyes full of pain and fear. She’d come precariously close to a violent death, and now her brother was missing without a trace, injured and helpless somewhere out there, at the mercy of whoever took him. Finn sighed, not wanting to think of what Sam might be going through at that very moment, possibly already dead.
Finn washed his hands and face and sat down at the table, the events of the day crashing over him now that he had a moment to think. Jim Jenkins sat down heavily across from him, his eyes full of sorrow as he looked at Abbie, who busied herself with serving the stew and pouring ale into pewter mugs. She didn’t look at either Finn or Mr. Jenkins as she put the bowls on the table, biting her lip as she tried not to cry.
“I’m that sorry, Abbie. We’ll do everything we can to find him.” Mr. Jenkins squeezed her hand as she put a bowl of stew in front of him, her hand shaking with stress and fatigue. A tear slid down Abbie’s cheek, and she angrily wiped it away, refusing to give in to her worst fears.
“I know you will, Jim,” she replied, sitting down in front of her own bowl and just staring at the contents. She was hungry, but she couldn’t eat a bite, her throat closing even at the mere thought of food. She dumped the stew back into the pot and left the room, curling into a fetal position on her cot.
“Where are you, Sam?” she whispered into the silence, praying that he was alive somewhere. Abbie turned to the wall, pulling the thin blanket over her head and wrapping her arms around her knees. She didn’t stir as Finn lay down next to her, putting his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. He didn’t say anything, just held her as she cried for Sam, her shoulders quaking with silent sobs.
“Abbie,” Finn whispered, “you are alive, and we don’t know that Sam is dead. Maybe some Good Samaritan helped him. Please, don’t torment yourself so. I can’t bear to see you like this.”
“Finn,” Abbie said suddenly, turning to face him. “I wouldn’t have died alone today.”
“Of course not; I wouldn’t have let you die.” He pulled her close, holding her as if she would vanish.
“That’s not what I meant. Our baby would have died with me.” Finn held her as tears ran down her face, soaking his shirt. “My stupidity and carelessness would have been responsible for killing our baby, and now Sam is somewhere out there, hurt and alone, because of me.”
“Nothing will happen to you or our baby; I promise. I will take care of you both now and forever.”
“You don’t seem surprised,” Abbie said, looking up at him, her nose red from crying. “How did you know?”
“Oh, Abbie. I’ve been such a fool, such a blind, idiotic fool. You looked so tired and pale. You were starving half the time and sick the other half, and your flow is late. I should have realized it sooner, but I was preoccupied with getting the information out, not paying attention to you as I should have been. When I found out they’d taken you, I nearly lost my mind. I should have gotten you away from here weeks ago, but I foolishly thought we were safe.”
“How on earth did you get those uniforms anyway?” Abbie asked, suddenly recalling her dramatic rescue. Things happened so quickly that she hadn’t had time to wonder how Finn and Sam had been able to pass for British soldiers without anyone noticing.
“Oh, that was Diana’s doing,” Finn said, smiling at the memory. “Seems she has a few regulars who come like clockwork. She invited two of them up to her room, for a… well, never mind, but they were only too happy to oblige. They took their time about it too, I can tell you that. Diana made sure they were soused by the time they finally came back down and she told them that their commanding officer was in the parlor, being entertained my Madame Mabel. She helpfully offered to lead them out the back way to avoid any embarrassment. They were so drunk they never even bothered to question how Diana might know who their commanding officer was. She led them into the alley where Sam and I were waiting. Don’t worry, Abbie,” said Finn, watching her anxious face, “we didn’t kill them, just knocked them out for a time. I think the only thing really hurt was their pride when they came to and found themselves stripped of uniforms and weapons.”
“Diana is very patriotic, isn’t she?” remarked Abbie with a smug grin. “Not many people would take on two men just to help a fellow rebel.”
“Something tells me she enjoyed it,” replied Finn, still watching Abbie intently. “And speaking of patriotic, what did you find, Abbie?”
“I found a map for an invasion of Philadelphia. I was copying it when Major Weland caught me. It seems he forgot something and came back to retrieve it. He caught me red-handed, Finn.”
“An invasion of Philadelphia? Do you remember anything you saw?”
“I remember some things. If I could have a map of Pennsylvania, I could recall where the troops were meant to be and where the Continental Army is encamped. Do you think we can still get the information out?”
“I’ll ask Jim for a map. I think it’s imperative that we let the Committee know, even if the information is not one hundred percent accurate. At least they will know what to expect, and they can find out the rest on their own. Do you have any idea when it’s meant to happen?” Finn asked. British troops had been moving toward Pennsylvania for the past several weeks, so it must be very soon.
Abbie shook her head. “I don’t know when. I only saw where the troops were stationed and where Washington’s forces are expected to be. I’ll look at the map just as soon as I have a little rest.” Abbie’s eyes were already closing, but Finn pulled her up, brushing a stray curl out of her face.
“It’s got to be now, love. Jim can get the information out tonight. Come, let’s see what you can remember.”
Finn led Abbie into the other room and sat her down at the table. She desperately needed rest, but there was no time to lose; the British were on the move and anything they could tell the Committee might make a huge difference. Jim pulled out a map and rolled it out in front of Abbie, who just stared at it, her eyes barely focusing.
“Abbie, I know you are exhausted, but you must concentrate. What did you see?” Finn put a pencil in Abbie’s hand, sitting down next to her. “Come now.”
Abbie rubbed her eyes, trying to remember what she had seen. It seemed like years ago that she sat at Major Weland’s desk copyin
g the map, but it had only been yesterday morning. She closed her eyes in an effort to envision the map and began drawing, marking the places on the map where British forces were amassing.
Jim Jenkins was already putting on his hat and coat, ready to leave with the map. Abbie didn’t know where he was taking it or if it would get there in time, but she continued to draw on the map, details coming back to her now that she was concentrating.
“That’s all I can remember,” she said apologetically as she handed the map back to Mr. Jenkins.
“Don’t you worry, Abbie. It’s priceless information, and I will get it into the hands of the Committee tonight. You just get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
Mr. Jenkins tipped his hat and disappeared into the night. Abbie tried to stand up, but her head was spinning, her legs refusing to hold her up. Finn swept her up and carried her to her cot, gently laying her down and covering her with a blanket.
“Go to sleep, love. I’ll clear up and wait for Jim to return.” He kissed her forehead, but Abbie was already asleep, unable to hold on any longer.
Chapter 50
Finn finished tidying up the kitchen, but although he was physically exhausted, he couldn’t go to sleep. The events of the day kept replaying in his mind, leaving him vibrating with tension, his mind on fire. He stepped outside, sitting down on the bench and leaning back against the wall of the farmhouse. The moon was obstructed by clouds, their fluffy shapes lit up from behind and casting an eerie light onto the world around him. The croaking of frogs and chirping of crickets filled the night with sound, making him feel slightly less alone. Finn wished he could go to bed and slip into oblivion like Abbie, but thoughts kept racing around and around in his head, keeping him wide awake.
Visions of Sam lying helpless and bleeding kept popping up in front of his eyes, making him ball his hands into fists with frustration. They shouldn’t have left him, but what choice did they have? Abbie had been on the verge of collapse after her ordeal, and he needed to get her to safety. Dragging an injured and bleeding Sam would have taken hours, and left a trail of blood for the British to follow had they come looking for them on Staten Island. Finn loved Sam as a brother, but Abbie was his first priority, especially in her condition. He had made a difficult choice, and now the blame lay with him. Where was Sam, and was he still alive? Finn jumped to his feet, walking to the stile and leaning against it in frustration. Was there anything he could have done differently? Probably not, but it didn’t make the situation any easier to bear.
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