He prepared to mount as two young soldiers rounded the corner, ambling as if they were school boys avoiding work on the farm. Paul busied himself with his saddle and kept his head down.
“Good day to you, sir,” one of them offered as they neared.
Paul barely looked up and waved a hand. Get on, you fools.
The soldiers stopped only a few feet from him in the center of the road. The other soldier spoke this time. “You look as if you are lost. Perhaps we may be of assistance.”
Stunned, Paul stilled. He knew that voice.
Jimmy Brown.
Paul jerked his head up, instantly finding the source of the voice. He darted his gaze to Jimmy’s companion, but the boy’s round face called no recollection to mind.
But would Jimmy recognize Paul? Paul deepened his voice with a mask of accent. “Is this the way to Boston?”
Jimmy’s eyebrows pulled close, a deep line creasing in the center of his eyes. “Aye.” He turned to his companion. “Still sixty miles though, wouldn’t you say?”
The boy, even younger than Jimmy nodded. “Aye, just about.” His expression grew stern. “You one of them patriots? What’s your business on this road, anyway?”
Jimmy shot his companion a warning glare, but Paul took the reins of the encounter. “I should like to talk to this one, if I may.” He pointed at Jimmy then staked his stare on the other. “Alone.”
The stranger balked and shifted his feet, chuckling. “Who are you? Giving orders to a—”
“Do as he says, Marcus,” Jimmy commanded.
“But—”
“Just do it.” Jimmy’s voice cracked with more depth than Paul had ever heard from him. “Continue on and I shall meet with you soon enough.”
Scowling, the round-faced soldier backed away, taking a last and lingering look at Paul before turning down the road once again.
Paul kept his eye on the receding figure, carefully crafting the method he must employ to obtain the information that evaded him. For surely this little minion, though he likely knew little of import, could surely tell him something of worth.
He released a full sigh, placing a half smile on his face, and allowing his usual sound to emerge. “So they’ve promoted you to nursemaid, have they?”
Jimmy’s forehead wrinkled and his eyes flitted to the receding figure of his companion. He opened his mouth to answer, but snapped it shut, staring for a moment before speaking. He breathed out through his nose. “What do you want, Captain?”
Paul stepped forward, patting the horse and grinning to ease the angst in Jimmy’s stance. “I was only jesting.” He chuckled, summoning all the ease and useful charm he had trained so well. “Frankly, I don’t understand why you haven’t been moved up in the ranks. You were one of my best soldiers.”
The compliment seemed to hit a mark. Jimmy’s posture rose, but his eyes still questioned, so Paul continued. “I haven’t seen you since we lost Donaldson that day. Who are you serving under now?”
“Randall.”
“Ah, I see.” Paul relaxed his stance. “What are you doing so far from camp? Where are you stationed?”
Jimmy shifted his weight over his feet, answering in quick clipped words. “We are headed to Sandwich to bring back a wagon of goods for camp. Food and so forth.”
“Just the two of you?”
Staring, Jimmy’s wary expression carried into his words. “What do you want, Stockton?”
Paul laughed again, hiding the pinch of irritation that started at his back. “Don’t be so suspicious, Jimmy. I’m simply pleased to see you. I always thought of you as a brother, you know that.”
Jimmy’s expression flattened and his gaze turned back to the road.
Shifting tactics with all the talent of a well-rehearsed actor, Paul rested his elbow on his horse’s mane and lowered his head. “Truth is, I’m on assignment.”
At this, Jimmy faced him once again.
Paul continued, clouding his face with a grave expression. “Several of us have been given the task of infiltrating the patriot ranks.”
“Oh?”
“Aye.” Paul looked down then up again. “We’ve lost track of Donaldson, and we believe he might be in danger.”
“Hmm.” Mouth tight, Jimmy’s fingers tapped against his leg.
“I’m headed to Boston to see if I can find him and bring him to safety before the patriots can hang him.”
Paul looked up and noted the tick in Jimmy’s jaw. Did he know something?
“I…” Paul lowered his chin and sobered his tone. “I only hope I reach him in time.”
Jimmy looked away, then down before meeting Paul with a pointed stare. “I thought you hated him.”
“Trivial differences matter little when such issues are at hand—when lives are at stake.”
Unmoving, Jimmy’s eyes penetrated, as if reaching into Paul’s very soul. With a swift nod of the head, Jimmy stepped back. “I fear I cannot help you, Captain.”
That was it? He really had nothing to tell?
Paul reached out and grabbed Jimmy’s arm. “I know you cared for him. If you know anything at all—if you have heard anything that might save his life…I…” He paused and quieted. “If you fear what may happen to you if you tell, be assured that I will never divulge where I gained my knowledge.”
The boy looked away, his lips tightening.
Patient, Paul waited before prodding further. “He could be walking into a trap. But if I can reach him first—”
“He is not in Boston.”
Paul stopped. “How do you know this?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Do you really think he is so foolish to allow himself to be caught?”
“I want only to be sure he is safe. Tell me what you know.”
With a sigh, Jimmy studied his boots. “He didn’t say where he was going. Only that he was working with the patriots.”
“When was this, Jimmy? Where did you see him?”
Blinking, the young soldier answered. “I saw him here. Yesterday morning.”
“He didn’t say where he was going.”
“Nay, Sir.”
Hang it all. He was on his tail but still a day behind. And a greater dilemma impeded him now. Should he continue to Boston or reverse his journey south? The harsh exchange that volleyed in his mind made his head swirl. Boston would provide a large number of men to hide among. But it would also mean more soldiers. Nay. The patriots were distrusting and Donaldson would risk too much suspicion. I should have considered that before. Donaldson would have to find someone he knew…
In the far corners of his memory, a tiny glimmer of light flickered. Hadn’t Donaldson spoken of his encounter with a patriot in a small town on the coast? Captain Martin had gone there some years past and had taken Donaldson with him, but what was the name of the place? ’Twas the same family of the woman Donaldson had helped escape before his capture. Paul squinted, straining to rouse that small flicker to a blaze. He looked over the saddle tapping his hand against the seat when in an instant the name burst like the flash of musket fire.
Paul launched onto his saddle and yanked the reins left. With a nod he kicked the horse. “Thank you, Jimmy. You’ve been most helpful.”
Hurrying backward away from the horse, Jimmy’s face bunched in question. “Where are you going?”
Paul answered over his shoulder. “Sandwich.”
~~~
A mere three days after being in their new home, Eliza had invited Anna and William for supper. “Once you are settled, of course,” she had said. A fortnight had passed now, and the appointed day was upon them. Walking down the dirt-covered road, Anna welcomed the yellow autumn light on her back and the loamy scent of the air as she found her way to the mercantile in the center of town. She grinned wide. Of all the towns she’d seen in her travels, this might be the smallest. But size or population mattered little. She’d have chosen this lovely little place over the foul streets of London a hundred times over.
Reveling in
the sun against her skin, she nodded at a mother and daughter as they passed along the road, other travelers and shoppers dotting the street. ’Twas only a few hours before they were expected for supper at the Watson’s and she had much to prepare. She increased her pace.
Blessedly Eliza hadn’t asked for her to bring any food to contribute for the meal—Kitty may have suggested against it—but the thought warmed rather than frustrated. She could hardly feed her own husband, let alone prepare anything for their friends. A smile budded. Coming without food did not mean she would arrive empty handed. All she needed was a bit of ribbon.
She stopped and looked up at the shingle that rocked back and forth in the afternoon breeze. “Breets: Goods and Wares”, it read. Wasn’t that what Eliza had mentioned to be the best mercantile?
Mouth scrunched in thought, she stepped in, the powerful scent of spices tickling her nose.
“Good day to you, lass.” The proprietor approached, his round spectacles sitting crooked on his nose. He touched them and squinted. “How may I be of service?”
Warmth radiated from his dimpled smile, allowing her to set her shoulders at a more relaxed slope. “I thank you, sir. Indeed I am in need of some ribbon, if you have it.”
“I do believe I can assist you there.” He hummed and pinched the bridge of his nose then wagged his finger in the air. Silent, he disappeared through the backdoor and reemerged seconds later. “My wife takes care of these things most of the time, but she’s visiting down south.” He held out his hand, his mouth pulled down in a disparaging smile. “I’ve got only four here. I do hope one of these will be to your liking.”
She reached out, granting him a quick, thankful grin before examining the pieces. Two simple white strands, a thick blue and another light pink. Either of them would look lovely for the christening gown she had nearly finished for Eliza’s baby. She looked up again and removed her glove, pointing. “Do you mind?”
“Nay, lass.” He chuckled. “The feel of it makes all the difference.”
She offered a pleasing hum as she dusted her fingers against the different ribbons. All were remarkably soft and of incredible craft. “Beautiful. I’ve hardly seen anything so delicate. From England, I suspect?”
“Aye.” With a scowl both stern and cordial, he continued. “But no more. From now on I sell only goods produced in the colonies, lass. We do not take lightly to what King George has imposed and ’tis our duty to prove it.”
Her cheeks heated as embarrassment crept up her face. She should have known. “Oh, of course.”
“We do not need Mother England to care for us like a pudding-capped child.” The words, deep with conviction, were soft, as if he wished to share with her, and perhaps even convert her to the deepest thoughts of his soul. “The king will soon see that we can provide for ourselves and that our lives must not be so unjustly forced upon. Unless he wishes to respect our needs, we shall force independence.”
The set of his jaw and slight upturn of one eyebrow sent a spark through her. What courage. Had these brave colonists any idea of the trouble that awaited them if they continued to oppose the king? They must, surely. Not that she was opposed to it, only that the vastness of such a paradigm was impossible to grasp. And if this war did continue, she would undoubtedly feel the inevitable lashings of it. Was she prepared for such a future?
She brushed away the deep thoughts with a smile and quick breath and reached in her reticule. “How much for the blue?”
He waved his hand, mouth bowed down. “’Tis a gift to you.”
“Sir, I—.”
“Nay, nay.” He put his hands in his pockets, eyes bright. “You’ve brought a smile to me this quiet afternoon, lass.”
Her face lifted in a smile that started from deep within. “I cannot begin to thank you.”
He blew out from his lips and wagged his hand at her again, then pointed. “No thanks is needed. I’ve just arranged a lovely stack of new fabrics—in the corner over there.” His dimples made another grand appearance. “You are welcome to look over them and see if anything appeals to you. I shall be in the back if you have need of anything more.”
“I should love to look at them, thank you.”
He made his way to the far corner, and Anna only removed her eyes after another full breath. Such kind people the colonists were. If she’d have known as much, she might have gained enough courage to insist she and Edwin visit here years ago. And perhaps he would have wished them to stay. If so, she could have seen Samuel before…
She shook her head and forced her vision on the stack of patterned fabrics by the front door. A hard sigh left her lungs. Better to put her energies in the present than to wish for things that could never have been.
Lifting three thick folds of solids and stripes, she reached for the soft printed cotton. Undoubtedly, these were English made as well. The delicacy of the tiny dual-colored floral seemed to float before her, begging to be snipped and styled, to feel the bite of the cool needle in its weave. Such a lovely petticoat it would make, or even a waistcoat for William.
She held the fabric to the light, examining its length and breadth as two others entered the shop. The brush of air as they passed jostled the fabric and she pulled it tighter and lifted it up, studying the fine craftsmanship.
“Sheriff Bergman, what brings you to town?” the proprietor asked, his voice muffled from his position in the back.
“Good day, Porter.”
Anna heard the conversation, but didn’t look back, still considering the many uses for something so fine.
“We’re looking for a missing woman.”
The downy hairs at her nape went rigid.
“A woman you say?” The proprietor’s tone thinned with concern. “What’s happened to her?”
One of the strangers continued. “This man says someone has kidnapped his daughter, and he’s employed me to assist him in finding her.”
“I’m more sorry than I can say.” The shop owner’s genuine concern darkened his words. “How may I help you, sir?”
“I am wondering if anyone has seen her about town. She’s six and twenty years—about this height, black hair, blue eyes. Very lovely, very sweet.”
Anna’s stomach lurched to her throat. Lord, help me! She’d only heard that voice once, but ’twas a voice she’d never forget. She rested the fabric back in its place and stepped from the store, acting as indifferent to the conversation as any carefree shopper.
One thought dominated. Run.
Darting left, she lifted her skirts and fled, her pulse thumping so hard her entire frame ignited with fear-induced heat. Finally at the house, she hurled herself through the doorway and slammed it behind her. Her throat scratched with every gasped breath and her lungs heaved, unable to intake the needed amounts of air.
Her hands shook and her knees threatened to buckle as the sound of that man’s voice roared in her memory. “…Black hair, blue eyes. Very lovely, very sweet…”
Had he seen her? Had she escaped in time?
“William!”
Silence answered.
“William!”
She raced to the back and flung open the door, staring at the vacant garden as panic shredded her remaining courage. Where had he gone?
Anna stepped back in and shut the door, failing to calm her racing breath. Rational thought escaped her, though she chased it with every inhale. What do I do?
The answer cleared the darkening clouds in her mind. Eliza and Kitty. They could keep her in good company until William was found. They expected her anyway, so arriving earlier than planned would not be harmful. She lurched for the door then paused. Not harmful nay, but perhaps suspicious. She put a hand to her heart as it raced behind her breast. She’d have to find a way to calm herself first. Revealing anything, even to them, could risk the very thing William had warned her of. But there was nowhere else to go. Remaining here, without another soul to keep her company, she might surely go mad. Taking the back way, through the trees and behind t
he neighboring farm could keep her from prying eyes.
Again she ran, stopping only when her shoes touched the step of the Watson’s kitchen door. She knocked and glanced behind, skimming her vision across the yard, her stomach in her throat. Lord, do not let them find me.
The door opened and Anna whirled.
“Anna,” Eliza said. “What a pleasant sur—my dear, what’s happened? You look positively white.” She reached for Anna’s arm and led her in, speaking over her shoulder. “Kitty, will you fetch a mug of cider?”
“Of course.” Kitty’s kind features scrunched as she hurried to a pitcher and did as requested.
Eliza brought Anna to a chair. “My dear, what’s happened?”
“Pray, do no not fuss over me.” Anna gestured in the air, as if all her efforts to ease her fears had not failed. “I am well, I believe I have simply forgotten to eat today.”
Her spirit groaned at the veiled truth. These women were sincerer and more worthy of her trust than anyone, and yet she feared revealing herself to them. For what they might think of her, aye, but more, for the consequences unknown and how the revelations could change everything.
A mug of amber liquid filled her vision and Anna looked up to Kitty. She took the drink and smiled. “Thank you.”
Kitty’s face beamed and her blue-green eyes smiled. “A woman must keep up her strength.” She offered Anna a still-steaming slice of bread. “There is plenty more if you would like.”
The tantalizing scent of the yeasty bread made Anna’s mouth water. Her stomach growled and she chuckled before the melancholy returned to her spirit and chased away the mirth. She looked down at the white, fluffy piece and spoke in deep earnest. “I thank you.” More than I can say. She picked at the bread and took a sip of drink. “I am looking for William. Has he been here?”
The girls looked at each other then Eliza spoke. “We haven’t seen him. But Thomas is at the shop, perhaps he has. You could go into town and ask—”
“Nay.” She answered too quickly. “I mean, ’tis not urgent.”
“Of course.” Eliza’s eyes searched as if she were unsatisfied with the answer, but chose to postpone additional questioning. “Once your strength is recovered, we would be more than pleased if you would stay.” Eliza looked behind from her position near the fire. “There is plenty to be prepared for tonight’s celebration, and a third pair of hands would be of great help.”
So Rare a Gift (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 3) Page 17