Hues turned. “A game?”
“I know who Charles Selby is.” At least Daniel was quite sure the man was Lydia’s brother-in-law. “And he’s a Tory.”
A smile forced up the corners of the large man’s beard. “So they say.”
“Are you trying to tell me he’s a Patriot?” Daniel shoved his arms in his now dry coat and stood.
“One of the truest.”
“Then why does he ship weapons, ammunitions, and supplies for the British?”
Hues folded his thick arms across the breadth of his chest, making Daniel hope he would never come to blows with the man. “He inherited the arrangement from old Mr. Reynolds. Reynolds was a Tory as true and blue as they come. When he went down with the Magellan, Mr. Selby had no choice but continue on to support his wife and then his child. But he has not been sitting idle. Slowly he’s been switching out the crew with them who are Patriots, myself included. The Americus was the first. He arranged for her to join the Continental Navy along with a hold full of supplies not three weeks ago. And soon the Zephyr will follow, but with men—prisoners meant to be shipped away from their homeland.” He swore.
Daniel braced his hand against the wall behind him. “Then?”
“Mr. Selby has been biding his time. Now his personal affairs are nearly in order, and he will be ready to leave Georgetown when the time comes.”
“But…does not his family know what his plans are?”
Hues shook his head. “Maybe his wife.” Another chuckle rattled in his chest. “At least, she soon will be Mrs. Selby. But he couldn’t trust any others with a secret like this.”
All Daniel could think of was how relieved Lydia would be when she knew that she wasn’t alone in that house, the only one true to the cause. If she was safe. Unless she was the one playing a game. He shook the thought from his head, her reply to his kiss too fervent to be pretend. Still he wondered. “Why are you telling me?”
“Because if you’re one of the Swamp Fox’s men, you know how to get a message to him.”
~*~
Lydia watched the clouds of breath billow from her lungs as she moved through the grove in the early morning light. She followed the hoof scratches toward the shore line. One set of hoof prints deepened and then dug up an area, clods of mud marking where the gelding had stalled and turned. Footprints led to the water’s edge. One still held Daniel’s boot—the one she had given him. A gull cried and swooped to the water’s surface. Sunlight glistened. The air warmed. But even a summer’s day could not thaw what felt like a solid piece of ice wedged in her core. “God?” Her voice resounded in her ears, hollow and raw. Moisture touched her cheeks and she looked heavenward. A brilliant blue sky. No rain. “Help Thou mine unbelief.”
“Miss Lydia?”
She swiped at her tears and spun to where Eli stood. “What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Selby was asking for you. Sent me to find you, and I’d seen you coming in this way.” His black eyes regarded her without expression. “Are you all right, Miss Lydia?”
Another blatant lie formed on her tongue. “Yes. I am fine.” But no doubt Eli could see past her pretexts. He had known her since her birth. What must the man think of her—his master through inheritance?
Perhaps if you saw him as a man, instead of an heirloom.
She had never considered it before Daniel had said those words, and she had tried not to contemplate it since, but she could no longer help herself. This was Eli’s life, but did he like being a slave? Could anyone like such an existence?
No man should be enslaved, not by king, or his neighbor.
Daniel’s words pricked her with the thought of her Patriot in chains—still possibly his fate. Bondage. When his whole reason for fighting was freedom.
“Is there anything you need?” Eli’s voice held concern.
Need? The answer was yes, but she didn’t know what she lacked. She glanced down to Mother’s Bible cradled in her arms. Could the answer possibly be within? “You said you believe in God.”
“I do. Your mother shared that with me. She was a good woman with a strong faith.”
Lydia hugged the book to her chest, wishing she could do the same with the one who had given her life. “I want to believe too. Will you help me?”
His mouth pressed into a frown, but his eyes seemed to smile as he nodded. “I would like that, Miss Lydia.”
Walking with him to the ancient oak, Lydia sat on the large branch that formed the perfect seat against the wide base and opened her mother’s Bible onto her lap.
Eli leaned nearby. “Open to the Psalms—the heart of the book. That is where your mother used to read the most. Maybe you will find more than God within those pages.” He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but shook his head and started away.
“Where are you going?” He was supposed to help her.
“I think what you need right now, Miss Lydia, is time. Sit and read awhile. I’ll tell Mr. Selby you’ll see him after dinner.”
Eli walked until his retreating form vanished through the trees as though a messenger from the heavens.
Had God sent him? She’d tried escaping the hurt without success, and she could no longer bear such a burden alone. If there was a God, she had to find Him. Opening to the very center of the Bible, Lydia began to read. With real intent. Hope. Desire to believe. She read and prayed, and prayed and read. And gradually a gentle balm smoothed over her heart. “‘He only is the rock of my salvation: He is my defense.’” A rock. A defense. That was what she wanted. But what she needed… “‘My refuge is in God.’”
Lydia had thought a cottage on the other side of the ocean would be that for her. She had been ready to give everything for that.
“‘Trust in Him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before Him: God is a refuge…’”
Lydia slipped from the branch to the cushioned ground. The Book remained open before her though she no longer saw the words. She didn’t have to. They recited over and over in her mind in a voice not her own, yet so familiar. Margaret’s? Mother’s? Lydia wasn’t sure.
“Help me, God.” She flattened her palms against her moist cheeks. “Give me refuge, please. Heal my broken heart. Teach me to trust.”
When her tears were finally spent and her face dried, Lydia sat back and closed the Bible. Her soul felt more complete, and she no longer doubted God heard her prayers. But now what? England was again out of her grasp. Charles was in the process of committing treason, and forming himself a new family in which she had no place. And Daniel was gone—perhaps forever. With nothing left but to return home, Lydia hurried through the back and up the stairs. Her niece’s laughter drew her to the nursery.
The nursemaid sat in a rocking chair, Maggie on her knee.
Lydia took a breath and stepped into the room. “Will you please leave us for a few minutes?”
The woman looked up in surprise. “Pardon me?”
“Set Maggie on the rug and leave us.”
Though hesitant, the woman did as ordered. “I’ll be right outside in the hall.”
Lydia waited for the door to close before she stepped to the baby and lowered herself to the woven rug. The child stared at her with wide eyes as though she were a stranger, which in many ways she was. Lydia traced a finger down Maggie’s arm, skin so smooth and fair. Maggie wrapped her small hand around the finger, gripping it, and then tried to pull herself up. Giving her a second finger, Lydia helped her stand. Maggie smiled, and Lydia tried to do the same, but pain distorted her lips. Again, her vision swam.
“Look at you. Already such a little lady.” She blinked to clear her vision and tears cascaded down her cheeks. “Your mama was a fine one. So beautiful, and strong…” Lydia suppressed a sob, her breath jagged. “Be like her. Not like your aunt.”
Maggie stared, eyes wide and curious, appearing happy just to be on her feet.
The last of Lydia’s resolve crumbled, and she pulled the baby to her. She rocked, holding Maggie as ima
ges and memories filled her, displacing the pain she had clutched for the past year. It leaked from her, again running with the tears from her eyes. Until every last one was spent and peace settled into her heart.
A tapping at the door forced Lydia to compose herself, and she set Maggie back on the rug. She let the nursemaid in to care for her charge. Excusing herself, Lydia moved toward her own chambers. The mumble of voices pulled her short, and she stepped to the stairwell. Below, Charles stood, a letter in hand.
Ester leaned near. “I cannot begin to imagine who would use my name. You say this is not the first you have seen? It is not even my penmanship.”
“I had not considered that.” Charles turned the envelope in his hands and ripped the edge.
Lydia rushed down the stairs. “No! Charles, you mustn’t.”
She tried to grab the letter away, but he snatched it out of her reach. “Who is the letter really from, Lydia?”
“None of your affair.” She lunged and ripped the envelope from his hold. “It is in my name.”
“But what is my name doing there?” Ester asked.
Not a question Lydia wanted to answer. She darted back up the stairway, Charles on her heels. She slapped her chamber door in his face and jammed the bolt to lock it.
His fist hammered the solid wood. “Lydia!”
“This is none of your affair, Charles. It has nothing to do with you. Either of you.”
He muttered something, and his boots pounded back down the stairs.
The thundering in her chest drowned out any further conversation between Charles and Ester as Lydia tore the envelope and freed the note. Daniel’s halting penmanship marked the pale page with glorious streaks of black.
Dearest Lydia,
The weather was tempestuous yesterday outside of Georgetown, and the horizon was painted in scarlet. I pray you are well, but fear I will not be able to visit you as planned. Forgive me.
What was that supposed to mean?
She took a jagged breath. Foremost, it meant Daniel was alive. He probably swam to safety and hid. He would not be coming to her, and she wasn’t to expect him for their usual meeting.
At least he was alive and out of Major Layton’s grasp. For now.
25
Far from Georgetown, on a horse supplied by Charles Selby, Daniel rested his hands on the pommel of the saddle and closed his eyes. The black mare stirred under him as the rushing water of the Santee River sounded close by. Not an identical sound to the Mohawk, but it still tugged at him, reminding him of home.
Christmas Eve. In most ways Christmas had been much like any other day of the year back home, but his mother had always tried to make something a little special, something sweet. In the evening they had sat around the fireplace and told stories, read the Christmas story together, and even sang hymns when his sisters had their way.
More than ever since he’d left home, a lonely sort of melancholy pressed over him. He wanted to go home and be with his family…and he wanted to ride back to Georgetown. Thoughts of family were drowned out by the memory of Lydia’s lips against his and the feel of her in his arms. Her eyes. Her smile. The stubborn determination he often saw on her pretty face.
“It’s been a quiet week,” Colonel Horry said, pulling his horse alongside Daniel’s. “Do you think the King’s soldiers are celebrating Christmas?”
Daniel straightened, shifting his weight. The saddle leather squeaked. “Colonel Marion must not think so, else why would he have us out here patrolling?”
“Probably just wants us to keep warm.” Horry winked. “Though, your restlessness is keeping you from chilling, isn’t it? Explains why your horse is always pointed toward Georgetown.”
Daniel looked to the northeast. It would be foolhardy to return after his last meeting with the British. It wasn’t as though he could meet her under that oak again. Had she understood his note, or would she be left waiting for him? And if he did go to town, where could they safely meet? The thought of waiting even another day to see her was misery. Maybe he’d figure something out during the ride. Fully aware that he was indeed insane, Daniel looked to his superior. “Do you think I’d be missed for a few hours?”
“Probably not. It has been quiet.” Horry smirked. “We won’t miss you, that is. Can’t say the same for that lass you’re dreaming about if you don’t show up tonight. If Colonel Marion asks where you went, I’ll tell him you rode out to get some more information from Georgetown. Might as well, seeing we aren’t getting much riding this river.”
Daniel needed no more encouragement, though the mare needed some. The beat of her hooves on the ground matched that of his heart as anticipation rushed through him. He might be risking his freedom, and even life, but that seemed to matter little at the thought of being with Lydia again.
He could only hope that she hadn’t been the one to betray him. He hadn’t felt confident enough in Charles Selby to risk asking him about his sister-in-law, or even informing him of their acquaintance. He had no proof of Selby’s or Captain Hues’s loyalties other than their word, and the fact they’d helped him. Not knowing the contents of the message he’d conveyed to Colonel Marion, made it difficult to judge. He raced his mount toward Georgetown, with the very real possibility he would ride into another trap.
~*~
Lydia glanced to Eli as he shifted her chair closer to the dinner table for her. “Thank you.”
The wrinkles on his face deepened with the slight upturn of his mouth. He gave a nod.
She had never sensed his pleasure before. But since they met together in Father’s library to study the Bible, he’d been approving. Though Eli couldn’t read, he was her guide as they pored over verses that reinforced what she had read in the grove. God was her refuge. Eli had also prayed with her, and for her, with such fervency that even now her vision moistened at the sincerity of it.
Lydia forced her attention to the meal that was being served. Already, she had garnered Charles’s gaze. Major Layton did not seem so perceptive. Did Charles sense the change taking place in her over the past week? He was so busy with preparations on board the Zephyr. Prisoners, brought in from the surrounding area, were being loaded into the hold. One more week and the ship would sail to Charles Town for more “cargo”.
And then the prisoners would be surrendered to the Continental Army to assist in the fight against Britain.
Eli stepped out of the room, and voices mumbled through the half open door. Then he returned, walking to the far end of the table to whisper something to Charles.
Charles touched his napkin to his mouth before dropping it, and shoved away from the table to stand. “Excuse me.” He disappeared after Eli. The door closed.
Lydia looked to her fork hovering over her food. Her appetite dulled. What if something went wrong with Charles’s plan? The penalty for such a betrayal would be extreme. And what of his family. What of Maggie? Or Ester?
“Any word from your rebel friend?”
Lydia’s fork clanked against her plate as Major Layton’s voice startled her from her spiraling thoughts. She glanced to make sure Charles wasn’t returning. “Do you really expect him to contact me again after you cornered him? He has probably taken that as full evidence of my loyalties.” Though the single note since the incidence suggested otherwise. No matter what his suspicions, it would be safer for Daniel if he did keep a wide berth of her. His safety was most important.
“What I expected was to catch him.” Major Layton gave a thin smile. “But do not worry. I think we have not seen the last of your Sergeant Reid. When he attempts to contact you again, I shall be waiting. And you shall help me.” His tone carried a threat.
“Of course. Though, I do wonder if you ever had intentions of finding me passage even if I handed you the Swamp Fox on a gold platter.”
A glance away seemed to be the only answer she’d get, but it was answer enough.
“It’s too late for that now,” he said. “Besides, when my men searched Snow Island all they fou
nd were cold fire pits and horse droppings. Little of what you’ve given us has been worth anything.”
Except for sending a group of Patriots into an ambush. “I have been a fool, but this time I think you are mistaken. Sergeant Reid shan’t return. He is an intelligent man, and I am sure he no longer trusts me.”
Major Layton stood and moved to where she sat. “Just as I no longer trust you?” He placed a hand on the table and leaned over her. “I am beginning to suspect the rebel is breaking your loyalties, Miss Reynolds. Your eyes betray you.”
Despite the strength abandoning her legs, she pushed to her feet. “You are mistaken, sir.”
“Am I? I hope so. But in either case, I am not concerned. You shall turn him over to me.”
Or what? The thought made her tremble inside. Lives were at stake. Lives that mattered to her. Maggie would lose her father and the chance of having a mother who loved her if Charles’s treason was discovered. And dear Ester, who had always been a friend, appeared to care for her fiancé. Lydia wouldn’t subject them to her own reality. She could not betray Daniel, either. It took every ounce of control to walk gracefully from the room and upstairs.
Maggie’s happy chatter spilled out of the nursery door.
“Miss Lydia.” Eli’s voice turned her. He crossed the floor and pressed a small scrap of paper into her palm.
She unfolded it to the scrawl of Daniel’s writing.
The scent of molasses and honey reminds me of you.
“Thank you, Eli.” She stole a glance over the banister.
Major Layton stood observing.
“Be careful, Miss Lydia,” Eli whispered, before turning away.
She touched his arm. “Please see that the carriage is prepared.” She looked once more to the major. “Miss Hilliard has asked me to call.”
Eli hesitated before nodding. “Yes, Miss Lydia.”
She turned to her bedchamber and quickly burned the note in the small fireplace. The paper withered and fell to ash. But was that enough? Major Layton would be watching her every move. Cloak donned, she paced her room until the carriage was ready. Lydia barely made a step out of the front door.
The Patriot and the Loyalist Page 17