“Message?” Her fingers faltered, slowing.
He coiled the yarn around his hand. “I would rather speak of how charming that crimson color was upon your cheeks.”
“If you think to keep me from finding out what message was delivered, you are wasting your time. I need only ask my father.” She looked across the room and choked back a gasp when she realized they were alone.
“I have no reason to keep the contents of the message from you. It was simply a report to your father that those sympathetic to the rebels might know the possible smugglers around here.” He arched a dark brow and sighed. “It was longer than I had hoped.”
She gathered up her knitting. “Do not tell me what names were on the list. I do not want to imagine my friends being interrogated.”
“You have friends who are rebels?”
“Yes.” She would not lie about this. “I do not judge my friends by their opinions, but by the past we share. I may not agree with everything they say or do, but they are my friends, and I cannot forget that.”
“I thought you hated the rebels, as your father does.”
“No.”
“But you hate British soldiers.”
She came to her feet. “Yes. I hate all of you!”
“Because of the way you have been treated?” He stood and put his hands on her shoulders. When she tried to shrug them off, he drew them back. “Faith, I promise you that you will not be treated so again by my men.”
“It is not because of that.”
“Then what?”
“It is because,” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes, “British soldiers killed my best friend.”
Four
Faith watched Sebastian’s men walk past the well house. She knew she should not be lurking in here like this, as frightened as the rabbit that Molly and Nancy loved. This was her home. They were the outsiders. She should ignore them and their glances, which unsettled her so.
As she peered around the door, which was opened no more than a slit, she could not. With the windows shuttered, the narrow opening allowed in the only light. None of the men took note of her, and she prayed they would not.
Once this part of Pennsylvania had been peaceful. The colonists and the Lenape Indians traded and worked side by side. The only hunting had been for food among the ancient trees that grew in the valleys that followed the streams. The melody of water tumbling over the rocks had been a glorious undertone to the birds singing in the sky.
Then the war had come.
It had burst out of New England and Virginia, but had taken root in Philadelphia, a two-day hard march to the east. First it had been words, then threats. Then the cannon and the guns had begun firing, and all her hopes that the anger could be appeased peacefully were smashed like china on a stone floor. Even then, it had not seemed real until the day she was told that Wade Mertz was dead, along with too many other lads from Goshen.
Listening to Sebastian’s men boast about the ignoble defeat of the rebels, she stepped out of the well house and smiled weakly at the trio of dogs that rushed up to her. Two were brown, and one was black-and-white. All of them wagged their tails and offered no protection against the British soldiers, who were staring brazenly at her. Her fingers tightened around the hemp handle of the bucket.
The soldiers watched her and the dogs in silence. She noted one man perched on a stone. He was sharpening a knife, the steady scrape of it against a stone gnawing at her like a rat’s teeth on wood. When she realized her steps were in tempo with the sound, she shifted the bucket from one hand to the other.
“Bring us something to drink, mistress!” called one of the men.
Faith wanted to pretend she had not heard him, but said, “You are welcome to draw water.”
“But you have already done so.”
“This is for my mother in the kitchen.” She hurried into the house.
Her mother was stirring more flour into the bread pan, and Faith noticed her face had little more color than the wheat flour. When she started to ask if something was wrong, her mother waved aside her questions as she gave the two servants instructions that sent them to other parts of the house.
“Set that water on the hearth, Faith,” Mistress Cromwell continued. “I want to make more soup, because the day looks as if it is turning colder. That usually brings travelers to our door, and they appreciate having some hot soup.”
“The sky is low. It looks like snow, although it does not smell like it yet.”
Her mother smiled. “You have your grandfather’s gift for taking note of all the signs of the seasons.”
“Simply observing what is right there in front of me, as Grandfather was fond of saying.” Putting the bucket far enough away from the flames so that no spark would burn it, she sighed.
“That is a very dreary sound.”
“I am in a dreary mood.”
“Your father has spoken with Major Kendrick about his men.”
Faith whirled to face her mother again. “How did you know what was bothering me?”
Wiping flour from her hands, her mother smiled. “I have eyes and ears, too, Faith. I may not be able to judge an oncoming storm like you and my father, but I do know when my children are distressed, and why.” She put her hand on Faith’s arm. “The only question I do not have an answer to is whether you are bothered more by Major Kendrick or his men.”
“I try to pay them no mind.”
“His men? Yes, I suspect you can ignore them easily.” Mistress Cromwell sat on the low bench by the hearth and dipped a ladle into the water bucket. “I think you are having a more difficult time ignoring the major.”
“I am doing my best.”
Her mother laughed. “Just remember that some men find a challenge even more appealing.”
“What a horrible thought!”
“Really?”
Faith bent and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I would like to say really, but that would be not quite true.”
“He is a handsome lad, Faith.”
“I did notice that.”
“I thought you might have.” Ladling water into the pot on the hearth, releasing the luscious scent of chicken broth, Mistress Cromwell said, “And he has noticed you, as well.” She laughed again. “Which is why you are bothered by him. A circle that goes ’round and ’round.”
“It will be broken when he and his men leave.”
Her mother continued to stir the pot. “Maybe.”
A thrill of something splendid rushed through Faith. She fought to ignore it, but was no more successful than she had been at ignoring Sebastian. As the day faded into early darkness, she worked beside her mother in the kitchen. There was such comfort in doing the tasks she always did.
Even so, her breath caught as the door opened and Sebastian walked in. He drew off his cloak, folding it over his arm. “Good afternoon, Mistress Cromwell. Whatever you are cooking smells luscious.”
“Your hunger has been honed by a day’s ride, Major.”
“You miss little, Mistress Cromwell.”
“My mother usually knows everything that is going on here,” Faith said with a smile. She had not guessed that Sebastian was gone, but that would explain why his men had looked so bored and restless.
“And what I know now,” her mother said, chuckling, “is that you will be late for dinner, Major, if you do not get washed up. Faith, take his cloak, so he can ready himself for dinner.” Without a pause, she added to the serving woman, “Irma, will you call the other children in? The boys were working in the yard, and the twins should be back now from their visit to Mistress Mertz’s house.”
Faith held out her hands for Sebastian’s cloak. He placed it on them, capturing her fingers through the thick wool. She did not try to pull away, remembering what her mother had said about some men liking a challenge. Sebastian Kendrick must be such a man. His easy smile dared her to denounce him for being so bold when her mother was only a few feet away.
When his fingers stroked h
ers through the wool, she could not keep from smiling back. His touch teased her, even through the cloak, its heat searing the fabric as he slowly curled her fingers within his hands. He did not draw her closer, but she knew he wished to because his eyes took on a roguish glint.
“If you wish to dine, Sebastian,” she said, “you must relinquish your cloak.”
“I am suffering from a most disturbing hunger.” His thumb grazed the wool.
She stared up at him. He was not speaking of her mother’s good soup or the roasting joint that would soon be done. The skin around his dark eyes crinkled as his smile reflected in their depths. Would he leave his enticing eyes open or close them if he bent forward to touch his lips to hers? If they remained open, would she dare to look into them and discover the strong emotions in them?
The clang of her mother’s spoon against a pot startled Faith, and she pulled herself out of her daydream and her fingers out of his clasp. She rushed to hang Sebastian’s cloak on one of the hooks by the front door, hoping that no one else had taken notice of her fascination with him.
But Sebastian noticed. She wanted to silence that thought, which filled her head with both her own voice and her mother’s. Adrat!
Caught up in the preparations for dinner, Faith was able to keep one step ahead of her own thoughts. Sebastian had gone into the front room to sit with her father, and their voices drifted to her each time she carried something into the blue-walled dining room. Her brief escape ended when her mother called everyone in to eat. Sebastian took the chair next to Faith’s. Rising and selecting another chair would have been too rude, so she did not move.
“Where are the rest of the children?” Father asked.
“I sent Irma to get the twins.” Mother went to the dining room door. “Children?”
Emery burst into the dining room, nearly running into her. “They are not outside!”
Ezekial careened around the corner from the front hall. “They are not in their bedroom—or anywhere else upstairs.”
“Oh, my!”
Faith echoed her mother’s gasp as she leaped to her feet and went to ease her into a nearby chair. “Just sit, Mother.”
Father put his hand over his wife’s. “Do not fret. They are probably busy chasing that confounded rabbit.”
“The rabbit is in his pen,” Emery said, frowning.
“They should have returned from Mistress Mertz’s house by now,” Mistress Cromwell said with a moan.
Sebastian was on his feet. “Are they often late for dinner?”
“Never,” Faith said when her mother did not reply.
“If you will excuse me, Cromwell, Mistress Cromwell, I shall go and tell my men to begin searching for the children.” Sebastian turned toward the front door.
“Searching where?” Faith stepped between him and the door, blocking his way as he had hers so often. If his men wandered into the byre where she had left some supplies early that afternoon, if Tom Rooke had not taken them, the truth might be revealed. “Let me help you look.”
“You need not go out on this chilly evening,” he replied. “Stay and wait with your family.”
“Don’t be silly. We will not sit here and wait for you to play the hero by finding Nancy and Molly.”
“Daughter!” scolded both of her parents at the same time.
Sebastian’s face closed up. It was to no avail, because she could see his fury in his eyes. Her words had stung him more than any of her other gibes.
Instead of wondering what was amiss with him, Faith went to the front door. She did not want to explore why this man reacted the way he did. Getting too familiar with any British soldier would be foolhardy—doubly so with Sebastian, for she could not forget how his chaste touch created the most unchaste images in her head.
When she reached for her cloak, which was hanging by the door, it was lifted off its hook. She stiffened as it was settled on her shoulders. She should not be exulting in the very anticipation of his touch when he might stumble on Tom Rooke and discover how she had been taking supplies to the rebels. Sebastian’s fingers did not linger on her shoulders, for he reached for his own cape. Tying her cloak around her neck, she watched as he drew gloves from beneath his cape. Their leather was smooth and the color of maple syrup.
“I have no ulterior motive for offering to help find your sisters, if that is what you fear,” he said quietly as her brothers rushed past them and out the door, the family’s dogs racing after them, barking wildly. “Your father is my host, and it is my duty as his guest to help.”
“And you always do your duty, don’t you?”
His mouth tightened into a straight line. “Can’t you set aside your ludicrous hatred of soldiers long enough to let me be your ally in finding Nancy and Molly? I know you harbor much rancor toward the soldiers who have treated you coarsely and who slew your friend. She—”
“He. My best friend is—was a he.” She opened the door and flinched as the cold air struck her. “Wade Mertz, who lived on the farm bordering this one, was my best friend.”
“Mertz? The same name of the family your sisters were visiting?”
“Yes.”
“Did you plan to marry this man?”
“No.” She smiled sadly as she crossed the narrow porch beside him. “He was betrothed to Lillian Horner. Wade and I went fishing together and picked berries together. I was the one who suggested he start calling on Lillian.”
“He died in the battle by the Brandywine?”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this any longer. I still cannot believe he is dead.”
“I am sorry, Faith.” With his fingers gloved in the fine leather, he took her hand, and that spiral of beguiling warmth surged up her arm. “I shall say no more about it unless you wish to speak of this again.”
How could she be thinking of Sebastian’s touch at the same time they were talking about Wade’s death? Everything she should hate was embodied in this man, yet she was drawn to his sense of honor and his easy smile and his incredible touch.
“All I want to think of now is finding my sisters,” Faith said sternly, both to herself and to him.
Telling her to wait on the porch, Sebastian ran toward the barn. His shouts to his men rang sharply through the still night.
Faith drew the edges of her cloak more tightly around her. She could not stay here and let the soldiers search wherever they wished. Would Nancy and Molly go into a tumbledown byre more than a mile beyond Mistress Mertz’s farm? That was unlikely, but so was it unlikely that the two girls would not be home in time for their meal.
She followed Sebastian as far as the fence surrounding the barn. The hushed mooing from the shadows vanished beneath the clamor of Sebastian’s men’s boots on the hard ground as they poured out of the barn. Sebastian turned and held out his hand to her. Even in the twilight, she could see his men’s eyes widen, but she did not hesitate as she put her fingers in his.
“Cromwell’s youngest children are missing,” Sebastian said. “They were paying a call on a neighbor, and they have not returned. I have offered our assistance in finding them.” He paused as Emery and Ezekial raced by on horseback. Waving aside the frozen mud raised as they passed, he added, “Faith, you know best where to look. Tell us.”
Faith outlined various places where the twins liked to explore. In quick order, Sebastian commanded his men to go to the creek and to the neighbors’ houses. He sent two men toward the field where the twins had found their rabbit.
As his men hurried to obey, Sebastian asked, “Any other places?”
“There is one.”
“Then let’s go there.”
Faith hesitated, then said, “This way.”
Pausing only to get a lantern, for the stars piercing the night clouds offered too little light, Sebastian walked beside her as she went in the opposite direction of Mistress Mertz’s house. “Why this way?”
“Because there is an old barn in this direction that Father uses to store hay. It belon
ged to a farmer whose house burned. Instead of rebuilding, he sold it to Father once the last war with the French was over and moved farther west.”
“Enemies become friends quickly, don’t they?”
She opened a gate in the fence around the field they had to cross. When Sebastian offered his arm, she put her fingers on it. He drew her hand more deeply into his arm by lowering his elbow toward his side.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said as he held the lantern higher so they could walk across the field without stepping into any frozen pools among the furrows.
“You are speaking of politics, which do not interest me as much as finding my sisters.”
“I assumed that, but I thought we might talk while we search. Maybe the sound of our voices will reach them before we do.”
“We could sing. Melodies carry farther than voices.”
He chuckled. “My attempts to sing would be guaranteed to chase them away. So, will you answer?”
“You are vexing.”
“And you are trying to find any excuse not to answer my question.” He stepped over a puddle, then into another. With a curse, he kicked water and mud from his boot.
Faith laughed. When he glowered at her, she laughed harder. “You should be grateful that this is not the field where the cows graze.”
“I shall be most grateful to return to your father’s house and get out of this cold.” He shook his foot again. “I was promised these boots would not leak.”
“If you wish to go back, give me the lantern, and I will check the old barn.”
“And avoid answering my question.”
“I don’t even remember what you asked.”
He led her around yet another puddle. “Don’t worry. I will ask it again when we are warm and your sisters are safe. Time enough then for you to give an answer.”
“If I have one.”
He bent his elbow, squeezing her fingers on his arm. “I am sure you will. You have had an answer for every other one I have asked.”
Was he jesting with her again? She had avoided answering other questions and given him noncommital responses. Since the lantern was held out in front of him as they approached the gate on the other side of the field, she could not see his face to discover if he was trying to goad her into retorting.
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