“Well, actually, that’s why I’m stopping by Philadelphia on my way back, Colonel. I’ve made some progress, but Mr. Franklin says he has a new idea.”
“Benjamin Franklin? Well, tell him I sent my regards,” Washington replied. “If we could get a weapon that was accurate, that could be loaded in less time and fitted with a bayonet, we’d be a force to be reckoned with!”
“It’s just a matter of time, Colonel.”
“Ah, but that’s just what we don’t have—time! Those Frenchies will be settled so thick in the Ohio Valley in a year or two that we’ll never get them out.”
“You think there’ll be another war, sir?”
Washington smiled grimly. “We’re already in it! Remember Fort Necessity? Those bullets we heard whistling around our ears? Now we’re going back. And I tell you if we fail, it’ll take a miracle of the Almighty to root those scoundrels out!”
Adam asked curiously, “You believe in miracles, Colonel Washington?”
The man’s features broke into a smile, and he murmured as he turned to leave the room, “There are precedents!” He turned to smile strangely at Adam. “There are, indeed, precedents!”
* * *
Molly never forgot that trip to Boston, for despite Adam’s mild objections, she insisted on accompanying him. She gave several reasons, but did not mention the chief one—that she did not want to be left alone anywhere near Henry Stirling.
Months had passed since Adam’s humiliation of the nobleman, and on the surface the affair seemed to have been forgotten. Adam of necessity had to go to Charles’s home, and it was impossible to avoid Stirling. There had been no way for the man to avoid having Tanner set free, and he nodded and spoke whenever he met Adam, but there was a coldness in his watchful eyes.
“Watch out fer ’im, Mr. Winslow!” James Tanner counseled. “I had me a mule once who’d behave ’imself a whole year jes to get the chance to kick me once!”
Charles had come to Molly once after the incident and pleaded, “Molly, he’s not a bad man—just spoiled, you know? Try to get on with him.” Charles had suddenly looked haggard, his handsome face tense. “I—I haven’t been careful enough, perhaps, in some ways.”
“You owe him a great deal of money, Charles?” Molly had asked.
“Oh, I’ll get it back when the company starts producing—but until then, I’m tied to the man. He won’t bother you again, Molly, so if you could just try to keep things—well, smooth, you see?”
She had seen no profit in offending Stirling, though the thought of his hands on her made her flesh creep. But Adam had been her strength; she had subconsciously made him so, and when he had announced that he was going to be gone for several weeks on a trip to Boston, she had felt a streak of fear at the thought of being at Stirling’s mercy—so she had asked if she could join him for the trip.
It turned out to be a wonderful trip, spring setting the frozen brooks free to gurgle in their beds, and the fruit trees shimmering pink and white dresses in the distance. The air was crisp and clean, and after the hard winter both of them relaxed in a way they had not since the days back at Northampton.
They avoided the inns along the way, preferring to camp out beside the trail. Every night they would stop early beside a stream or a spring, bring out the cooking gear and feast on game that Adam killed along the way.
On the last night before they arrived in Boston, they pulled off from the main road farther than usual. Adam shot a buck in a stand of oak and hickory half a mile to the east, and since there was plenty of dead wood and a creek, they made camp early. He skinned and dressed the deer, and by the time Molly had made a fire and they had cooked a choice cut, the sun was down.
“It may be a little cold tonight,” he said, staring into the fire. “If you get cold in the wagon, just pull up another bale of beaver pelts.”
Molly stood up, stretched, and said lazily, “It’s so cozy in there, Adam!” She sat down across the fire, picked up a stick and began to poke the coals, sending up tendrils of smoke. “I wish Boston were another hundred miles away!”
Adam laughed. “So do I, Molly!” He lifted his head and watched as an owl sailed silently across the open field to their right and dropped making a sudden tiny scuffle in the grass. “It’ll be strange seeing the house again.”
“I think about your father a lot—and Rachel.” Molly dropped the stick and watched it begin to glow in the coals. She leaned her cheek on her knee, and by the firelight her eyes seemed large and her lips looked soft as memories stirred through her. “I—I miss them, Adam,” she sighed.
“So do I. They were—different.” There was a hesitation in his speech and somehow he could not frame his thought. Finally he said, “They were godly people, Molly. I envy them that.”
They had not talked much of religion since those days at Northampton, and now she asked, “You were bitter, weren’t you, Adam—I mean about the way the church treated Rev. Edwards?”
“Yes! I still am, I guess. It wasn’t fair!”
“Nothing much is.”
He looked up swiftly, for in all the years he had known her, there had been few times when she had spoken so sadly. He tried to weigh her tone, her words, then asked, “Are you unhappy, Molly?”
She stood up and there was a restlessness in her as she took a few steps away from the fire, then came back to stand over the blaze. “No, I’m not.”
He rose and she turned from him, but he reached out and pulled her around, trying to read her expression. A golden wash of light from the fire tinted her smooth cheeks, and her eyes were enormous. “You don’t worry about being indentured, do you, Molly? You know that’s never meant anything.”
Suddenly her lips quivered, and he saw tears form in her eyes. She had been thinking of how he had come to her that first time—long ago in England. For years she had struggled to bury the memories of the filth and poverty, the mistreatment she had suffered at the brutal hands of her father. Each time those thoughts rose in her like ghastly phantoms, she had learned to force them deep down—yet all the time she was aware that somewhere they lurked in her spirit.
The last year had been difficult in a way she could not understand. Her thoughts had often been confused, wandering back across the years like ghosts seeking freedom from a dread yet uncertain bondage. Often she had been wrenched from sleep drenched in perspiration with a scream rising to her lips, terrified of something she could never quite understand. Sometimes it was a dream of sinking into some dark pool; she would thrash out wildly, seeking for something solid to grasp, something to keep her from sliding helplessly into the depths.
She had been restless in mind, and her body was changing in some subtle way, so that she was often swept with a vague emptiness—more like a longing—but she could not have said what she sought.
Now here in the darkness broken by the flickering fire below and the cold silver points of brilliant stars, she stood close to Adam in a silence that became almost palpable. All these things seemed to converge, causing her throat to constrict, her breathing to quicken, and her heart to trill like the voice of a small bird.
His face was only inches away from hers as he bent forward, striving to see what troubled her. His dark eyes were warmed by the reflection of the yellow tongues of fire, and every plane of his face was familiar to her in a way that no other had ever been.
Perhaps it was the cathedral-like silence of the forest that seemed to breathe gently, stirring her heart like the tender green leaves high overhead. Perhaps it was the sudden rising of the old fears that loomed like dusky phantoms, but died as she saw the kindness in his face. She remembered how he had come to her years ago, and warmth suddenly filled her as she recalled he had held her in his arms and soothed away the fears, murmuring softly into her ear.
Perhaps it was the long loneliness she had known for years, having no one, of walking alone with her guard held high while her heart cried out for someone to walk beside her—for Adam!
He leaned toward
her and asked again, “Molly, you don’t worry about being a bound girl? You—you have never belonged to me!”
Without volition, her hands rose, and she placed them on both his cheeks, gently caressing the scar that ran the length of his face. She whispered the thought that must have been kept guarded for a long time, but now passed her lips almost like a prayer:
“But—Adam—I want to belong to you!”
The words startled him, and his eyes suddenly opened wide. He was caught by the same spell that had caused her to speak, and there was a roaring in his ears as he searched her face, taking in the smooth cheeks brushed now by the thick curling lashes. His arms encircled. Suddenly her lips were under his; in a gesture as unrehearsed as her utterance of trust, he kissed her softly, warmly.
For her, it was like coming into a port after a wild storm. The fears that lay beneath her mind were now no more, for his arms were holding her tightly. Standing there, so secure, so safe, a sudden gust of joy swept through her.
For Adam the kiss was like nothing he had ever known. He had kissed women, but in Molly’s response there was a sense of trust—complete and without reservation. She leaned against him, and though her woman’s figure stirred him, somehow, for one fleeting moment, she was the small child that he had comforted so long ago.
Molly never knew how that kiss ended, nor did she remember who pulled back. But finally his arms dropped and she took a step back.
“Molly! I—I’ve never felt like this!” He seemed embarrassed, and uttered a strange half-laugh, saying, “Don’t be afraid. I just—lost my head for a minute.” Then he bit his lip and smiled, adding in a voice of wonder, “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Molly! I hadn’t realized how pretty you are until . . .”
She smiled at his rising color, and said quietly, “I’m not afraid, Adam. How could I ever be afraid of you?”
His head rose and he looked into her face, then relaxed. “I’m glad of that!” He seemed awkward and uncertain of himself, and it was as if he were the small child and she the adult. Finally he said, “Guess I’ll take a walk before I turn in.”
It was his way of giving her time alone, and she watched him move across the tree line and disappear like a wraith in the silver moonlight. She made her preparations for bed, washing her face and hands in the cold waters of the brook, then climbed into the wagon and lay down. She could see the silver points made by the stars through the rear of the wagon, and for the first time in many years she was not afraid of the darkness. She remembered the firm warmth of his lips, and raised her hand to touch her own mouth. Finally she smiled enigmatically, but she did not sleep until after what seemed to be a long time, she heard him come back to the fire. She listened as he unrolled his blanket, and then she smiled and went easily into a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“YE MUST BE BORN AGAIN!”
The trip to Boston was uneventful, but the scene beside the fire had marked both Adam and Molly. She had gotten up at dawn lighthearted, singing cheerfully as she made breakfast. Adam, on the contrary, seemed subdued, and more than once he let his gaze rest on her face, a puzzled expression in his dark eyes.
Although neither of them mentioned the kiss, the moment was a sharp memory to both of them. Once she turned suddenly and caught him looking at her, and as his face burned with embarrassment, she laughed and said, “Why in the world have you been staring at me?”
He gave the reins a twitch, thought about it, then shrugged his massive shoulders. “Don’t rightly know, Molly. Guess I ought to know by this time that you’ve grown up—but it keeps sneaking up on me.” It was as close as he would ever come to mentioning the kiss, and he added, “If anybody had tried to tell me the dirty little girl I bought a handkerchief from in London would turn out like—like you have, I’d not have believed it.”
Her eyes dropped with pleasure, but she said only, “That was a long time ago, Adam.”
They pulled in to the warehouse in Boston, only to discover that Saul was out of town, so the next day they headed home. The weather held firm, and they made good time, arriving at Philadelphia at midday on Thursday. Adam drove straight to Franklin’s shop, but the master of his shop shook his head, saying, “Mr. Franklin’s gone to France. Won’t be back for two months.” He had wiped his hands on his blackened apron, cocked his head and added with a sly grin, “He wanted to stay and hear Preacher Whitefield, but he likes them French gals a leetle better’n hearing a sermon.”
“George Whitefield is here?” Adam asked.
“Been here nigh on to a week—and like always, he’s got the whole town buzzin’! Ain’t no church big enough to hold the crowds, so he’s out in a big field the militia uses for drillin’ soldiers.”
Adam thanked the man, then went back to the wagon and told Molly what he’d learned. “Sure am sorry to miss Franklin,” he added ruefully.
“Could we go hear Mister Whitefield, Adam?”
He looked up in surprise, then smiled, “Why not? Soon as we get back, I’ll be leaving with the army. Why don’t we walk around town, get something to eat, then go to the meeting?”
“Oh, that would be so nice!”
Adam drove to a modest hotel, took two rooms, and after cleaning the dust of the trail off, they walked around town for a few hours. There was a holiday air about Philadelphia that infected them, and when they saw a theater with a sign that offered the latest drama direct from London, Adam bought two tickets, and they went in, feeling rather guilty. Neither of them had ever been to a theater, and the play was a melodrama with singing, romancing, duels, and a happy ending. Sitting there in the darkness, Molly became so tense when the heroine was threatened by a fate worse than death that she unconsciously reached out and gripped Adam’s arm.
He looked over to see her large eyes fixed, her teeth biting her full lower lip in an agony of suspense. She was leaning forward, completely absorbed in the action on the stage, not at all conscious that she was holding his arm tightly.
Finally, when the rather exaggerated heroine was saved by a tall actor wearing a blond wig, Molly leaned back and expelled her breath. Turning to Adam she cried, “Oh, I was so afraid he’d be too late!” Then she noticed she was clutching his arm, and a rosy tint spread over her neck and cheeks. She dropped her eyes and pulled her hand back quickly. Noticing her confusion, he laughed, saying teasingly, “You only bruised me slightly!”
After the performance and dinner, they still had an hour, so the two walked along the boardwalks looking into the windows at the new fashions. He offered her his arm, and as she slipped her hand under it, she felt a sense of delight and security. Other couples were walking together, and she watched them, wondering how they had met and if they loved each other. Not once did she see a man who seemed as attractive to her as Adam, plainly dressed though he was.
He was aware of her hand on his arm, and like her, felt a strange sense of delight in walking with her. When they turned and left the central section of town to walk to the drill field, she suddenly looked at him trustingly, “Adam, do you ever think of Mary?”
Giving her a startled glance, he considered her question. “Well, I got a letter from Rev. Edwards last week,” he said casually. “Mary and Dwight had a son last month. Named him Timothy, too. They’re doing fine, Rev. Edwards says.” He took a few more steps, then asked, “Why’d you ask about Mary?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” The crowd grew as they moved off the boardwalk and took a wide path to the large field that was already beginning to fill up. “You were very much in love with her. I guess you always will be.”
“Why, I guess not, Molly.” Adam was struck with a thought that seemed to disturb him. He bit his lip and his brow wrinkled as it did when he was intent. She thought he would say no more, but finally, he spoke.
“I wanted her pretty bad—and for a long time it hurt to think about her. But now that’s all gone. I just think of her as Timothy’s wife, a nice girl I knew a long time ago.”
She conside
red that, then said timidly, “I thought love was supposed to last forever.”
“Maybe it does in stage plays—or maybe it really does,” Adam mused. “Most likely, all it proves is that I never really loved her at all.”
At his answer she gave him a swift look, trying to discern his expression, then she smiled and said, “I’m glad you feel that way, Adam. It’d be hard going through all your life loving somebody you could never have, wouldn’t it?”
They had become a part of a river of people that came from every section of the town and merged into one stream, already packing the area around a platform at one end of the field. Adam spotted a small rise over to the left where a large oak spread its branches, and taking her arm, he guided her through the crowd. “This is about as close as we’re going to get, I reckon.”
For the next half-hour they watched the crowd grow until a sea of humanity surrounded the platform. There seemed to be no single type of hearer; many who wore silks and sported diamonds rubbed shoulders with laborers wearing rough clothes. Age was not a factor, either, for though there were many young people with rosy cheeks, there were more with white-hair, and leaning on canes.
The sun was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Finally there was a stir in the crowd over to the left, and someone shouted, “There he is!”
A small group of men were making their way through the massed spectators toward the platform. Adam recognized Whitefield at once as the group mounted the wooden structure. He was heavier than the other men, leaning somewhat to corpulence, but he mounted the platform gingerly and waved his hand to the crowd.
“He looks older,” Adam commented, “but not bad for a man who’s preached as hard as he has for all these years.” Since Adam had heard Whitefield preach, the man had crossed the Atlantic back and forth a dozen times. He had preached before the King, and the Countess of Huntington had introduced him to the nobility of England. David Garrick, the greatest living actor, had said, “I’d give a fortune to have his voice! He can make people cry by saying Mesopotamia!”
The Indentured Heart Page 23