Seconds passed as Grayson stared at her, as if time could change the answer to her question. “I am—” His voice cracked. “I am so sorry.”
“Please, do not leave me,” she said, her voice small.
Grayson sat beside her and brushed her beautiful hair away from her forehead. “I will not.”
Sarah’s eyes found Seth. “But you must leave and continue your fight, for all of us.”
Seth embraced her. “I shall stay until morning.”
Sarah kissed his cheek. “Please tell Father that I did my best.”
“He would be so proud of you,” he said as he fought his tears. “We are all proud of you.”
Seth hugged her one last time before retreating into the hall. Lydia stood to leave Sarah and Grayson alone for the night, but Sarah reached out to stop her. “Lydia?”
Turning back, she fought against her tears as Seth had done.
“You have been the best of friends,” Sarah said.
Lydia kissed her forehead. “We are friends and sisters.”
Sarah smiled weakly. “I want you to know, I have forgiven those men who killed Thomas and burned my home.”
“I am very glad.”
Her smile grew stronger. “Do you remember how we used to dance?”
Lydia nodded. “There were no cares for us then.”
“After I die, I want you to dance for me.” Sarah leaned forward, coughing, before she rested back on her pillow again. “Dance as if you haven’t a care.”
Lydia kissed her friend’s damp forehead once more. “I will dance.”
“Do you want more water?” Grayson whispered.
“Aye,” Sarah said as he sat beside her, holding the glass for her to drink.
Her body could hold no water or sustenance—at least that was what Dr. Cooper had told them. Hers was a thirst that could never be quenched in this life.
After she finished, Grayson lay down on the lounge beside his wife and gently wrapped his arms around her waist. She clung to his arms as if they could hold her back from leaving.
He was the one who was supposed to die, back on the ship. Sarah was full of life and love and hope for their future. A future they were supposed to share. If only he could rescue her as she had done for him. He knew he should pray that God’s will be done, but he couldn’t bear to offer that prayer.
He pulled her closer to his chest. “I have taken your life.”
“No, Grayson, you gave me life.”
He trembled. “I never should have left you.”
She stopped his words with a gentle squeeze. “This is no time for regrets.”
But his heart was full of regrets. For leaving her the first time and then for traveling with her these past weeks when she was fighting to live.
He’d begged the doctor to tell him what to do—he could travel to wherever necessary to find a cure for her—but Dr. Cooper insisted there was no cure. Her body was flushing out her life.
“Do you think I will see angels?” she asked, her soft voice blending with the night.
“I believe you might.”
“And perhaps I shall be able to fly with them.”
With her wings spread, her smile a reflection of the glorious, she would be radiant.
“I believe you shall be able to journey wherever you like.”
“I am ready to be with my Savior.”
“I love you, darling.”
She squeezed his arm again. “You must call me Madam. Madam Knight.”
He kissed her hair and then carefully rolled her toward him so he could see her face in the starlight. “I love you, Madam.”
“I may be leaving, but you must live, Grayson. You must buy a new ship and sail away.”
He brushed her hair over her ears. “I will not talk of sailing without you.”
“You came back here for me, but I do not want you to stay. You must be free.”
“I do not want to be free without you.”
Her body shook as she gasped for air. For a moment, he thought he’d lost her, but she spoke again. “Perhaps He will let me sail with you.”
“I pray He will.”
She closed her eyes. “Until we meet again.”
“We shall meet again soon.”
As he told her of his love, Sarah slipped into a deep sleep.
He held her close to him until dawn.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Everyone was asleep when Lydia sneaked into the great hall. The light from her lantern spilled over the freshly waxed floor, and she breathed deeply of the sweet scent of the flowers Mother had clipped from the formal garden. Flowers and the accompanying weeds were the only things on the plantation that seemed to thrive without much care.
The room had been scrubbed clean, the broken glass swept, the curtains washed. But the success of their work didn’t diminish their family’s sorrow.
Sarah’s funeral had been a small affair. Their family and Seth had gathered at the family plot on the Hammond property this afternoon for the burial. Father had the grace to tell both Seth and Grayson that he was sorry for their loss. But after the burial, Father insisted that Grayson help him harvest the crop on the plantation. In his grief and anger, Grayson stormed away from the Hammond plantation, and with great sadness, Lydia knew she might never see her brother again.
But tonight she must stop thinking of conflict.
Tonight she would remember Sarah.
Lydia did not want to think about her friend—her sister—being deceased. Sarah was one of the most alive people she knew, and tonight she wanted to celebrate her life.
She would dance.
As the music played in her head, Lydia curtsied to the shadows and took an imaginary hand. She held out the sides of her linen shift as if it were made of the finest satin from Paris, and then she and her partner swirled around the floor.
Couples dressed in the finest of velvets and taffeta danced around them, but she only had eyes for her partner. She couldn’t see his face, but it didn’t matter. She knew who she danced with. He would never be welcomed into this house, but she could pretend that he had been invited to one of their grand balls.
The music ended, and she stepped back.
“Thank you, Mr.—” She paused. It was strange, not knowing his last name. “Thank you, Nathan.”
The next song began, a country dance. Sarah would be pleased at the faster pace. The dancers looked so elegant in her mind, as if the troubles of today evaded them. That is what she loved about dancing. There was no sorrow when she danced, no regrets. She could lose herself in the beauty of it.
The shadows on the floor flickered, and the music faded in her head. Had Hannah or someone else come downstairs?
Quickly she extinguished her lantern as she listened for footsteps. No sound replaced the music at first, but then she heard the low rumbling of voices outside the door.
“This is a fine place,” a man said.
She held her breath. Who was in their house?
“It should make a decent summer residence.” She recognized Major Reed’s voice, and relief washed over her for a moment. At least she knew who intruded upon them.
“You sound as if you already own the plantation.”
“I am only acting on behalf of the king.” Major Reed paused. “I do think it would be a tolerable dwelling for the governor of Virginia. Do you agree, Captain?”
“Indeed.”
Tolerable?
How dare he presume to secure her family’s home before they even won this war! Was he planning to take it by force or, heaven forbid, marry Hannah and claim it for himself?
It was a pleasure to call Sarah sister, but the thought of having to call this man brother made her stomach turn.
The footsteps grew louder, and she moved toward the servants’ closed door beside the fireplace.
“Why are you still in Virginia?” the captain asked.
“General Cornwallis requested that I return to Virginia in case of a disturbance.”
> “What of your men?”
“Most of them went with General Arnold to defend New York, but a few dozen have stayed with me.”
Before they stepped into the great hall, she slipped through the servants’ door. Her face pressed against the frame, she peered through the crack to see the men. Major Reed was easily distinguishable by his short stature and white wig.
The captain wrung his hands, his voice filtering clearly into the narrow hall. “Why have you summoned me?”
“I feared the news had not yet reached Richmond of the arrival of General Washington and his men.”
“W–Washington?” the man stuttered. “I thought he was preparing to attack New York.”
“It seems as if the approach of our reinforcements has deterred this attack. Now, I fear, he is focused on attacking our troops on the Chesapeake Bay.”
The captain paced across the floor. “What is required of me?”
Major Reed sat in one of the chairs that lined the room. “The general is staying in a private home owned by one of the men who signed the statement for their independence.”
“Our enemy is being careless.”
“Not as careless as we would like. No one has access to Washington except for a few slaves and his top advisors.”
The captain moved closer to the fireplace and then paced back toward Major Reed. “Can any of these slaves be bribed?”
“I believe a man named Samar can. The promise of freedom is the greatest bribe of all.”
The captain shook his head. “The slave will be stopped before he can shoot the general.”
Lydia slumped against the wall, her hands trembling. She couldn’t allow them to kill General Washington.
“There will be no guns,” Major Reed insisted. “He will simply mix a tablet into the general’s drink.”
“And who will help him escape?”
“I said the promise of freedom,” Major Reed replied, the icy cold in his voice sending a chill through her skin. “He will have to escape on his own.”
“You want one of my men to contact him?”
“I want you to contact him in Williamsburg, dressed as a Continental soldier, to blend in with the others.”
The captain rubbed his hands together again. “If this Samar succeeds, do you think the Americans will continue their attack on York?”
“It is doubtful.” Major Reed’s laugh was dark. “If they do, we will reciprocate as we did in Savannah and Charles Towne.”
The man joined him in the laughter.
“I will travel to Williamsburg tomorrow,” the captain said. “Do you plan to spend the remainder of the night here?”
Her eye at the crack, she tried to see if he nodded his head, but his face was darkened by the shadow.
“You can bed down in the parlor if you’d like,” Major Reed replied.
As if it were already his home.
The major continued. “I have other business to attend to before morning.”
He stood, his heels clicking as he crossed the floor toward the fire-place. She gasped; then, praying he didn’t hear, she hurried down the narrow hall and rushed up the staircase, not stopping until she was safe inside her chamber on the second floor.
She locked her door and paced by the fireplace.
Should she awaken her parents?
No, the men might guess she’d spied on them, and that would ruin everything. Father trusted the major, and even if Mother opposed what they planned, Father might applaud the assassination plot.
She must get a message to Nathan, but it was much too pressing to hide her message in the brick wall. She would have to write a letter to Mrs. Pendell, using the ink Nathan gave her, and deliver it herself.
By candlelight, she began to write of the plans on one side of the paper. On the other side, she wrote a letter to Mrs. Pendell about material she wished to order for a winter dress. Then she tumbled into her bed.
At first light she would devise a way to deliver her message, hopefully before this captain arrived in Williamsburg.
It was well past ten when a knock jolted Nathan from his reading. Few had access to the Wythe home, and anyone who knocked on his door at this hour must have a good reason.
Perhaps it was time for him to go to York.
He opened the door, and in the narrow hall stood an officer he didn’t recognize.
“What is it?” Nathan demanded.
“Yesterday morning, one of my best officers went to visit his home. He was supposed to return by day’s end.”
Nathan raked his fingers through his long hair. “Captain Hammond?”
“Aye. I am told you might know where he is.”
“Perhaps he lingered near his home.”
“I need him right away. We are preparing to march to York.”
Goose bumps covered Nathan’s arms. The battle for Virginia was about to begin.
“I will search for him at first light.”
A noise startled Lydia and she sat up in bed, listening to hushed voices in the hall. She clutched her bedsheet to her chest as the clock outside her room chimed thrice.
Was Major Reed searching their rooms? Her letter was written, and she had hidden it in a place she hoped no man would ever look, but she feared Major Reed might still discover it.
The whispering continued as Lydia padded slowly toward the door.
Had the major awakened her parents? And for what reason? Perhaps he wanted the last of their horses, the dwindling storehouse of food, the barn filled with curing tobacco. . . . Or perhaps he wanted Mother to retrieve fresh linens for a bed.
Then she heard the sound of Hannah giggling, and she leaped from her bed.
Major Reed had paid a visit to her sister.
Wrapping a blanket over her shift, she rushed toward the door, but by the time she opened the door, the laughter had stopped. Hannah had dreamed of her wedding, but Lydia feared the major wouldn’t care much about such things.
She hurried down the corridor, toward the grand staircase that led downstairs, and opened the front door. In the faint light, she saw the outline of a horse galloping away. Running back upstairs, she yanked open the door to Hannah’s chamber, hoping she might be mistaken, hoping that Major Reed had left without her.
Hannah was gone.
Turning, she rushed toward her parents’ chamber.
Not only had her sister compromised herself, but she’d compromised the reputation of their entire family. A marriage to a British officer might offer some sort of protection after the war, but the mistress of a British officer could only bring shame.
Foolish Hannah.
She’d found her way off the plantation, but to what end? Her life would be ruined.
“Mother,” Lydia cried, pounding on their door.
Father opened it, and in the moonlight from the portico window, she could see his nightcap slightly askew. “What is it?”
She looked over his shoulder at Mother, sitting upright in bed. “I believe Hannah has left with Major Reed.”
Father swore. And then he was gone, down the long hall to check for himself whether what she said was true.
Lydia collapsed against the doorpost. “He will not treat her well.”
Mother squeezed a pillow to her chest. “I fear you are right.”
“And then she will return to us.”
“There is no reason for her to return.” Mother began to cry into the pillow, and Lydia moved toward her, wrapping her arms around the woman who’d worked tirelessly to make it all right. But she could not control the battle within. Their country might be divided between Loyalists and Patriots, but they were all free, in a sense, to make their own choices. The consequences were beyond Mother’s control.
As Lydia hugged her mother, her own tears spilled down her shift. “You have loved our family well.”
Mother wiped her tears on her sleeve. “Sometimes love is not enough.”
Lydia moved to the edge of the bed. “Indeed, but that does not mean you shouldn’t love
.”
“It hurts terribly.” Mother’s tears flowed again. “I tried to protect Grayson. For all those years I knew he had escaped, but I was afraid to tell anyone. Now he has left us for good, and Hannah—”
Lydia stopped her. “You knew Grayson was alive?”
“I knew he left, but I did not know if he had survived.”
Lydia slowly processed this news. “Why did you not tell me?”
“I did not know what those men in town would do if they discovered he had run,” Mother said. “I could not ask you to bear that secret with me.”
If only her mother knew what secrets she had borne these past months. “You protected him well.”
Mother trembled. “But I can no longer protect my family.”
Lydia wished she could assure her that she could keep her children safe, but she found no words to speak.
When Father returned, his forehead was covered with sweat. “She left with him.”
“Are you going after her?” Lydia begged.
He shook his head. “There is nothing to be done.”
“You must go.” Mother tossed her pillow to the end of the bed. “Straightaway.”
But Father didn’t move. His eyes were stoic, looking back at the door as if Hannah might appear at any moment.
“You must detain her—” Lydia began.
He stopped her. “She has chosen her route.”
She sprang from the bed. “But you went after our Negroes when they ran away. You must go after your daughter as well!”
He collapsed onto a wooden chair by the bed. “She is not bound to stay with us.”
“If you do not stop Major Reed, the British are going to destroy our family and probably take our plantation as well.”
“They will not take the plantation,” Father said. “We are Englishmen. Subjects of the king.”
“I am not English, Father. I am an American.”
Father’s fist slammed against the bureau. “I will not have treason in my house!”
Lydia’s heart lurched, her mind tangled. She didn’t want treachery; she wanted truth.
She fled into the corridor but stopped when she heard her mother calling her name. She would not run away like Hannah. She desired freedom, but she didn’t want to break her mother’s heart in pursuit of it.
The Courier of Caswell Hall (American tapestries) Page 26