Ring of Secrets

by Roseanna M. White

  Freeman stepped out from the same door Percy had, but his usual steadiness seemed to snap and crack. Dark dread pulled at his features. “Percy, don’t. You would be no better than him.”

  “So be it.” He took another step toward Grandfather, who stared with bulging eyes. “Get yourselves gone, Free. I’ll not let him chase after you.”

  Bennet gripped Winter’s arm and pulled her toward the stable.

  Freeman held out a hand toward Percy, imploring and cautious. “Don’t kill him, Percy. You don’t need that guilt on your shoulders.”

  “Where lies the guilt in slaying a monster?” Another step.

  Winter stumbled backward, but she couldn’t turn, couldn’t take her eyes off the scene, even when Grandfather lunged for Hank’s weapon. When he raised it up. When he pointed it, not at the slave threatening his life, but at her.

  Save me from the hand which hates me, God my God. Redeem me from the hand of my enemy.

  The world slowed and then shifted. ’Twas as if she saw the breeze dance around her and felt the touch of a flower’s scent. Heard the music of fire’s spark as she tasted the motion of the ones she loved.

  Bennet pulled, tugged, and lifted. She went where he willed, but her gaze remained locked on Grandfather’s musket.

  Hammer, released.

  Frizzen, stricken.

  A spark. A puff of powder from the pan.

  She closed her eyes and felt the darkness cover her. Heard the crack of coming death, wood splintering nearby.

  Then another shot, of a different tone. A scream. She opened her eyes to see Grandfather clutching his leg, falling.

  “Hurry!” Freeman shouted from somewhere out of sight.

  Bennet hoisted her into the wagon, jumped up after her, and grabbed the reins. The world came back into startling alignment. The post of the stable door was absent a hunk, but she was whole.

  “He missed.” The whispered words felt like a miracle upon her tongue as she burrowed into Bennet’s side. “He missed.”

  “’Tis what he gets for buying a weapon from the Knights’ rivals.” Bennet pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let us get Freeman. Yah!”

  The horses jolted forward, following the same path Major Lane had taken a few short minutes earlier. As they swung near the garden, Freeman vaulted into the wagon, the pistol in his belt. Winter turned to him. “What of Percy?”

  He shook his head, his mouth pulled down, and reached across Winter to take the reins from Bennet. “He collapsed the moment he fired the shot. He’s gone. ’Tis only by a miracle he managed to stand long enough to save us. God rest his soul.”

  A shudder overtook her as a tear slid down her cheek. “We owe him everything.”

  “Indeed.” Bennet craned around as the wagon turned toward the alley. “Your Grandfather is writhing as much as he is screaming. Depending on where the ball lodged…”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “I give him to Thee, Mighty God. If it be Your will, preserve His life.”

  Bennet put his arms around her and tucked her in close to his side. “I was rather hoping He would rain His vengeance down. But then, I have not been about this faith business as long as you.”

  Freeman chuckled and set the horses to a reasonable pace as they hit the street. “You two keep your faces concealed as much as you can. And pray we can get out of the city without anyone recognizing you.”

  Her hand still trembling, Winter reached behind her for the bonnet she had tossed in with her bag. A few years out of date and inexpensive to begin with, it had seen better days—but then, that alone should make anyone looking dismiss her. She tied it on and lowered her face as if studying her hands.

  Bennet pulled his tricorn low and his cloak up. “We should be fairly safe once out of the city.”

  Winter sighed. “May the Lord grant us wings as well as guardians. Otherwise, there is no way we will catch up with Roe.”

  “Maybe not, but that does not mean his letter will go straight to seven-one-one. Tallmadge could be out on campaign and not there to forward it.” Freeman reached over to pat her shoulder. “The Lord’s will shall be done regardless, Winter.”

  “I know.” She gripped Bennet’s hand, closed her eyes, and prayed with all her might that the Lord’s will would be merciful to the Patriots.

  Minutes rumbled past, slow and steady, as Freeman navigated them through the streets. Her stomach clenched more and more the closer they drew to the city’s limits, where soldiers were sure to be checking passes. What if Grandfather had dispatched a messenger to the authorities? Or if General Arnold had instructed them to be on the lookout for her?

  Bennet slipped an arm around her again. “We will get out, my love. I have passes enough for that, if not to take us all the way through New York.”

  She nodded, but the anxiety didn’t abate. And so she closed her eyes again and stormed heaven with her prayers for safety, hardly paying any attention to the rate at which they rolled on or the soft words Bennet and Freeman occasionally exchanged.

  “You can look up now, Winnie girl.”

  She did and saw they had left New York behind them. Through the copse of trees they now moved through, she could hardly see the city she had never wanted to call home. “We were not stopped at all?”

  “Praise the Lord, the guards did not even look up from their cards.” Bennet glanced over his shoulder, smiling as he faced forward again. Then his grin faded all the way into a scowl. “Oh, blast.”

  Winter followed his gaze and groaned. A lone rider had stopped his horse in the middle of the road ahead of them. One with a brilliant red coat and gleaming black boots. And a posture she would know anywhere. “Fairchild.”

  Freeman hissed out a breath and pulled the horses up. Bennet grumbled.

  Winter watched as the colonel urged his mount to where they stopped and drew alongside them, on Bennet’s side. His face was sober, his brows arched as he glanced from one of them to the other. “This does not look to me like the way to England, Ben. Nor do you look dressed for Clefton, my dear.”

  Bennet cleared his throat. “Isaac—”

  “Don’t.” Fairchild lifted a hand, palm toward Bennet, though his gaze locked on her. “Did you know, Winter? Did you have any idea the gossip you shared was being used to aid the Patriots?”

  Was he truly willing to think her innocent? An inadvertent player in this game?

  Pain pulsed from his eyes. “General Arnold is convinced you knew. He is convinced you passed it along with full understanding of what you did, but I…I cannot fathom it. Tell me you were unaware, at least until recently. Tell me you had no idea. That it was Ben who…”

  He would believe her, if she said as much, if she once more played the empty-headed chit. Perhaps would let them go if she came up with a convincing enough story.

  No. The time for truth had come. She reached across Bennet to take the hand Fairchild gave her so willingly. “Isaac, I’m sorry. It was never Bennet. He didn’t even know until today. It was me. It was always me.”

  He squeezed her fingers and closed his eyes.

  “I never wanted to hurt you. Please know that. At the start, I hardly knew you, so it seemed like nothing to send along whatever you shared. But then…you are a good man.” She swallowed back a sob that threatened. “You deserve better than what I gave, and I pray the Lord you will someday forgive me. That you will find happiness far beyond what I could have given you.”

  “Impossible. There is no happiness beyond what you gave.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “The Colonel Reeves that Arnold mentioned, in Washington’s army?”

  “My father.”

  He nodded. “Then it makes sense, I suppose. Though when Arnold laid out all the evidence, I was sure it was you, Ben. Here from Yale, having arrived in the city a bit after we first suspected a spy, but with so many plausible connections.”

  Bennet lifted his brows. “And so you told me to leave town, quickly.”

  “You should have gone. I cannot stand to s
ee another friend killed for this.” He let go of Winter’s fingers, his shoulders slumped. “Certainly not the woman I love.”

  How could her heart twist so within her and yet continue beating? Winter swiped tears from her eyes. “I was never the woman you thought me, Isaac. I am sorry to have deceived you, even if it began only as my attempt to be what my grandparents demanded. But if you loved the Winter you thought you knew, you would not have loved the real one.”

  “This one I see now? With her eloquence and humility, and the fire of passion in her eyes?” He offered a sorrowful, lopsided smile. “Do not be so sure. But it is irrelevant. You are on your way to try to stop that letter, I suppose. The one bearing the news I was forced to give you.”

  She glanced at Bennet, hope struggling with fear in her eyes.

  “You will never catch it, not traveling by wagon, not if you intend to go through Patriot territory.” Fairchild heaved a sigh and reached into an inner pocket. A moment later he handed a few papers to Bennet.

  Bennet’s eyes went wide. “British Passes? Isaac, you could be court-martialed.”

  “Only if you get caught and confess from whence you procured them.” He cocked a brow. “So don’t.”

  Even as he shook his head, Bennet tucked the passes into his own pocket. “But why?”

  Fairchild shrugged and looked off into the distance, toward the city. “Perhaps because I admire you for letting your hearts, rather than your families, decide your loyalty. Perhaps because I want to see you both safe and happy. Perhaps because nothing means what it once did.” He met Bennet’s gaze again. “Just go. There are Patriot passes there too, that we had confiscated. They should be sufficient to get you up the Hudson and into rebel territory.”

  Winter blinked as he sucked in a breath. “We are forever in your debt.”

  He gave her a small, fleeting smile and clapped Bennet on the shoulder. “Nay. The two of you are the dearest friends I have left, no matter your politics. Just swear to me you will keep her safe, Ben.”

  “You know I will. And when this war is over, one way or the other…”

  Fairchild nodded and backed his horse up a few steps. “We will meet again. Until then, go with God. And pray for me, as I will for you.”

  They nodded, and with one last jerk of his chin, Fairchild cantered back the way they had come, a streak of bold red against the brittle brown leaves.

  Winter leaned into Bennet’s arm. “If Arnold gets wind of what he did…”

  “He will not. I daresay Fairchild covered his tracks before he ever ventured out here.”

  “I pray so. If anything were to happen to him because of us…” She shook her head and drew in a long breath. Surely she had done nothing to deserve such devotion. ’Twas without doubt a testament to Fairchild’s character rather than hers that he held her in such esteem.

  “I know. We will pray, and we will trust that when this war is over, friendships need not be determined by the color of our coats.” Bennet looked over her head and nodded to Freeman. “Straight up the Hudson, good man. We haven’t a minute to spare.”

  True enough. They still must put all possible distance between them and New York before the darkness closed in.

  Twenty-Nine

  The fire snapped and danced, sending a few sparks heavenward. Ben let it lull him, let the cool night air soothe him, let himself bask in the beauty of God’s creation and the quiet that allowed him to revel in it.

  “One more day.” Winter snuggled close to his side, a tin mug of weak coffee in her hand. Through these last few days of grueling travel, she hadn’t once complained. She seemed, in fact, happier than he had ever seen her, in spite of them only risking an inn once, when it rained. “I hope we will be able to find Father. That at the very least someone will be able to tell us in which regiment he is.”

  “I hope so too.” He rubbed a hand up her arm and glanced at the other side of the fire, where Freeman had laid out his bedroll. A soft snore rose over the crackling of the flames. Ben grinned and cupped her cheek, and then he leaned down to capture her lips in a warm, lingering kiss. There had been little time for such stolen embraces these past four days, but Lord willing they would soon be wed and snuggled up in their home in New Haven, set to make the future theirs. “Will he give us his blessing, do you think?”

  Her grin had a note of mischief in it. “I should think so, unless he gets wind of how you kiss me the moment our chaperone is asleep.”

  “I have been a perfect gentleman.” But he kissed her again for good measure. “I love you. I cannot think why the Lord blessed me so as to give me you, but I will never cease thanking Him for it.”

  “Nor I, for you. I still cannot believe that all this time we were working for the same goal and failed to realize it.” She pressed her lips to his jaw. “You were entirely too convincing a Loyalist.”

  Ben chuckled. “I always did excel at debate, so long as there were no ladies present. And I suspect you would have too, had you been a fellow at Yale.”

  Her gaze went serious, intense. “No more secrets. Not from each other.”

  “Agreed.”

  She nodded, settled against his side again, and took another sip of her coffee. For a long moment only the pop of fire, the settling wood, and the next quiet snore from Freeman disturbed the silence of the night. Winter hummed out a breath. “Would you really have taken up the colors?”

  He breathed a soft laugh. “Do I seem an unlikely soldier? I confess I had a few moments of doubt as to whether I would be an asset or a liability to my country, but I fully intended to follow my friends into the army, yes. Until I got a letter from Archie saying he had bought a commission.”

  The same feeling settled over him now that had four years ago—the realization that he was the only one in his family who believed so firmly in America’s right to be free. That they would never see eye to eye.

  And that he could never risk meeting Archie on a battlefield. Never.

  “I’m glad you did not. Who knows if we ever would have met had you done so.”

  “A possibility I cannot bear to entertain.” He held her close, considering yet again how the Lord had arranged his every step. “We ought to get some sleep. We still have half a day of travel before we reach the army and many prayers for safety to offer up.”

  Winter straightened and poured out the dregs from her cup. “I will never tire of hearing you talk of praying, Bennet Lane.”

  “Don’t be so sure. When I get excited about a topic, I can drone on about it endlessly.”

  She grinned and leaned over to kiss him, soft and sweet. “Drone away, my love. Drone all you like.”

  “I will remind you that you said so one cold winter night when I have been talking for hours already about some minuscule philosophical point whose importance you cannot fathom.” Smiling, he stood, stretched, and took the three steps to his bedding.

  “If it becomes unbearable, I will return the torture by lapsing into talk of hats and dresses and shoes.”

  He chuckled and settled upon his hard, cold blanket. “Which would be as tortuous for you as for me.”

  “How fortunate, then, that I enjoy minuscule philosophical points.” She took her place opposite the fire. “Good night, Bennet. I love you.”

  “And I you.”

  Freeman shifted and groaned. “Will you two please go to sleep?”

  They exchanged one last smile over the orange flames before settling in. Ben sighed as he tried to find a comfortable position on the unforgiving ground, and he turned his thoughts toward the galaxies above him and the hand that had shaped them.

  Creator, yes. One of such artistry and comprehension that Bennet could never hope to appreciate the full depths. So many things shone now to be grateful for. All that had brought them here. The safe travel they had been given straight through British territory, thanks to Fairchild’s passes.

  But one of the greatest challenges lay before them tomorrow.

  Father above, let them believe us.


  Winter could only stare at the sea of blue with tears in her eyes. Not a red coat in sight. Nay, just the deep, beautiful color of home. Her people. And somewhere out there, she hoped, Father.

  Their wagon rumbled into the Patriot camp near Passaic Falls, New Jersey, and headed for the tent they had been told belonged to Tallmadge. She twisted her handkerchief between her fingers. Let him believe us, Lord my God. Let him be here, and let him recognize the truth in our words.

  Winter caught a few curious glances sweeping over her, but no one said anything as they drew to a halt and Bennet helped her down. Freeman set the brake on the wagon, and they moved together to the open flap of the tent. Inside a cluster of men bent over a table strewn with maps, and another sat at a field desk, quill in hand.

  Tallmadge. She didn’t know how she was so sure, but it must be him. He had pale skin, with features surprisingly delicate until he cocked his head and so displayed a prominent nose. Handsome, without question, as she had heard him rumored to be. And a demeanor that put her at ease, though he had not so much as looked up at them. Something calm and sure. Something straight from heaven.

  Of course. Robbie had mentioned once that Tallmadge was a man of deep faith.

  She stepped forward and drew in a long breath. Bennet had tried to convince her that he ought to handle this, but she had insisted. She was, after all, the one who had been involved in it so long. “Excuse me, Colonel Tallmadge.”

  Tallmadge jolted and looked up, no doubt surprised to hear a female voice. A second later he surged to his feet. “Good day, miss. Sir. May I help you?”

  “I hope so, yes.” She moved forward, flanked by both Freeman and Bennet. Her throat closed as she neared his desk and spotted a familiar envelope upon it, one bearing her script. The seal was broken. Clasping her hands to keep them from shaking, she darted a glance at the other soldiers. “May we beg a private audience with you, Colonel? I have a matter to discuss of a very sensitive nature.”

  Tallmadge’s brows knit. “May I ask who begs such an audience?”

  She dipped a polite curtsy. “Miss Winter Reeves of Long Island, sir, daughter of Colonel Hezekiah Reeves.”