The Tory's Daughter, page 13
“Will you tell me what you found so amusing back there?” Hannah asked.
Joseph chuckled again. “You hate not knowing, don’t you?”
Not anymore than she hated that question.
“I think that was the first time you’ve apologized for hitting me.”
Hannah saw no humor in that. “I told you it was an accident.” Unlike every other time.
“As did the expression on your face.” He opened the door to one of the tiny cabins. Rudimentary, but adequate, with a small fireplace and bed.
Hannah stared at the single cot hugging one wall. Half the size of the bed they had shared in the Garnet cabin. They could both fit, but with no room to spare.
Joseph brushed by her with the saddle and dropped it in the corner with the packs.
She turned to him, the quickening of her pulse making words difficult. “Joseph.”
“Umm?” He tossed their bedrolls on the cot.
“Wh—what would you like me to do?”
“Sit tight while I see if I can find anything more substantial to eat than what I brought.”
Her stomach pinched at the thought of food. Their midday meal had been brief and already seemed forever ago.
Joseph splashed some water from the canteen on his face and cleaned the blood from his hands, before flashing her a smile. “I’ll be back.”
Hannah wished she felt more certain of that. Maybe he’d stick with her for now, but as soon as they found Myles or Samuel, what would keep him from walking away and not looking back? Hannah sank to the cot and pulled her feet up. What would it take to win that man’s affections? Fannie Reid had somehow managed it.
Fannie Reid with her chestnut curls and fair complexion. Not to mention her docile nature. The perfect wife for a man like Joseph Garnet.
~*~
“Thank you for your time, sir.” Joseph shook the officer’s hand. “I hadn’t expected you would know of them, but felt it best to ask all the same.” He glanced out the open door at the torrents of rain turning the ground into thick mud. A long, wet walk to let Hannah know they still had no clues.
“You should ask Colonel Willett. He was just given command of the Mohawk Valley. He might point you in the right direction.”
“Marinus Willett?” The man had served directly under Colonel Peter Gansevoort when it had been decided a certain British captain could remain in the valley. He’d even been present at Rachel and Andrew’s wedding.
“Aye.”
“Good to know. Where would I find him?”
“He’s made Fort Rensselaer his headquarters, so you don’t have far to go.”
Not far at all. Less than a day’s ride. “Thank you.” He had something more hopeful to tell Hannah now. Maybe she’d forgive him for speaking with the army without her. Collar pulled tight round his neck, and hat set low, Joseph plunged into the deluge. He dodged through the mud across the yard. As he passed the church, he couldn’t help but wonder about the nearby gravestones. He’d been told General Herkimer had made it back this far before he’d died.
Joseph changed course.
None of the graves belonged to the general, but a larger stone stood apart from the rest. Not a grave, but a tribute to the man he sought.
General Nicholas Herkimer 1728-1777.
Joseph straightened and raised his right hand to his head in a salute. Hannah was wrong. He hadn’t needed to leave home to fight in this war, even at the side of some of the greatest officers the American cause knew.
The slosh of footsteps warned him of someone’s approach, and he glanced over his shoulder.
“What are you doing out here?” Hannah clutched the shawl under her chin, but the rain appeared to have already penetrated it.
He removed his hat—no longer caring for the water pouring down on them—and motioned with it to the memorial. “I served under General Herkimer once. He’d gathered the local militias on his way to break the British’s siege at Fort Schuyler—you probably know it better as Fort Stanwix.”
She nodded. “What happened?”
Joseph’s hand sagged to his side.
Hannah stepped closer. “You never made it that far, did you?” She said it as though she already knew the answer—knew what had happened. Perhaps she did.
“No. We made it about halfway when we were ambushed.”
“By the British?” She sniffed and swatted at the drops of rain dripping from the tip of her nose. “Or by Loyalists?”
“Everyone was there.” But mostly the Tories and Iroquois.
“You’re talking about Oriskany, aren’t you?” Her large eyes moved to look at the nearby graves. She didn’t even know that her father had one.
And he couldn’t tell her.
“Please, Joseph, I want to know what happened that day.”
He let the air out of his burning lungs and filled them afresh before summoning his voice. As much as he didn’t want to, he would return one last time. For her. “There were over eight hundred of us. It had rained a little that morning.” He glanced heavenward. “Though not as torrential as this. Finally, the sun came out.” But it had still been hard to breathe with the heavy humidity. “We had less than ten miles to go before we reached the fort.” And faced the British. He’d felt a strange sort of anticipation as they’d started the last leg of their journey.
“Pa and I marched together along with others from the area. I remember watching the men in front of us file down into the ravine. I’d wished that they’d hurry.” He closed his eyes, and the memories sharpened. The thick foliage surrounding them. The first shots cracking the stillness of the woods. “Then they started to fall. Some by arrow. Some by ball. Some by tomahawk.”
Like Pa.
“That’s how it began?”
Joseph glanced to her and nodded. When he spoke again, his voice rasped on the back of his throat. “General Herkimer took a ball to his knee right away. But that didn’t stop him. Propped up against a tree, he shouted for us to attack, to keep fighting, to protect ourselves. We tried to keep together and took shelter in the trees. With a partner you had time to reload before the enemy could get close enough to raise your scalp. I was with Pa for the first while, but somehow we got separated. I found Daniel Reid with his arm already opened by a tomahawk. I tried to hold everyone back long enough for him to get the bleeding staunched.”
Joseph’s head spun even now at the memory of blood. Everywhere. Daniel had just regained his feet when Joseph saw Pa again. In time to witness the fatal blow of a tomahawk.
Even the memory almost made Joseph lose his footing. And his mind.
After a while there had been no time to load the muskets. Sabers and knives became their best defense. Joseph had only his long hunting knife left when he came face to face with Henry Cunningham—a face he knew too well. Someone to hold responsible for the insanity surrounding him. Someone who wanted to kill Joseph as much as he had wanted to kill them.
Their grapple had been brief. Joseph had survived. And then, when the Tories had finally withdrawn, he’d spent the next half hour retching into the bushes.
“Joseph?”
Hannah’s voice broke through the blackness swallowing him, but he couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t draw his gaze away from the stone darkened with moisture. When he’d gone back to the ravine a few days later to find Andrew Wyndham’s scarlet coat, most of the corpses had remained. Including Henry Cunningham’s. Joseph had done his best to scrape a shallow grave for the man who had been his neighbor. The man whose young daughter had always fascinated him with her flashing eyes and obsession with Pa’s horses.
“Joseph?”
Where had he left off his tale? He couldn’t let her guess how greatly he’d been affected. “We lost almost half our men. Most of us headed home. Herkimer was taken back down river this far and died within a few days.”
Hannah braced his arm. “Are you all right?”
All right? Joseph looked at his hands. They trembled. No. He was far from all right. Especially as he turned to the woman who stood beside him. She searched his face with such innocence, and something more. He wasn’t sure what, but for some reason he feared it—feared to know what she hid behind those lovely eyes.
He pulled away. A faulty step back. Was he more afraid of her secrets…or the ones he kept from himself? Like what he was beginning to feel for this woman.
20
“I’m sorry. I never should have asked you to remember that.” Hannah wasn’t sure what he had remembered, but she’d seen enough torment written on his face to understand why he couldn’t seem to voice it. Joseph didn’t need to tell her anything more for his agony to crack her heart open. It bled for him.
He combed his wet hair with his fingers and pushed his hat back onto his head. “You need to get out of this rain before you catch your death.”
And he wouldn’t? Joseph had stood out here longer. But his eyes hadn’t focused on her yet. He still hadn’t completely returned from wherever she’d sent him.
Hannah remained mute as she followed his determined stride to the cold shack where they’d left their things. Not much more than four walls and a roof. No lamp, but she took a minute to dig out Joseph’s flint and steel and light a fire.
Joseph didn’t move from where he stood near the door, the muscles in his jaw rigid.
“Come.” She took his hat and set it on the saddle with her soaked shawl, and then drew the coat from his arms.
He watched her now, a ridge forming on his brow.
“Your shirt is wet too. You won’t get warm with it on.”
Gaze still on her, he tugged on the single button securing his collar. “You’re just as soaked as I.”
And yet at the moment she didn’t feel cold at all, not as she touched the ties of the simple gown. They were married, and it was not wrong to remove the wet frock, but still… “Turn your back.”
The corner of his lip extended slightly, and he rotated away. “Then wrap up in one of those blankets before you chill.”
She started loosening the thin cloth ties binding the bodice to her, but her hands faltered as Joseph raised his arms over his head, his shirt following their motion. She’d seen him without his shirt in the confines of his cabin, but never had she been so affected by those broad shoulders and tapered waist.
He found a peg near the door to hang his shirt to dry. “Are you finished?”
“No.” Her voice squeaked, and she deepened it. “Not yet.” Almost normal.
Joseph rubbed his arms. “I could use one of those blankets.”
“Oh.” He was probably freezing. And she was still modest. Hannah grabbed one of the quilts and draped it over his shoulders.
“Thank you.” He took the corners and pulled the blanket around this torso.
She still couldn’t move.
Joseph glanced at her. “You’re still in your wet gown.”
And he still had a strand of hair plastered to his brow releasing droplets down his cheek. Eyes like a clear day stared into hers. And then looked away. He stepped past her and reached for one of the bedrolls to unravel it. With his own blanket hooked over his arms, he raised the new one to form a wall and block his view of her. “Go ahead.”
Though he stood closer now, it was somehow easier to undress without seeing him. She quickly loosened her ties and slipped from the gown. The shift was moist, but she left it on and grabbed the last blanket from the bed.
Across the room she found another peg and hung up her gown. More warmth enveloped her shoulders and body as Joseph wrapped the other quilt around her.
“Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” Again his mouth stretched but this time with a downward turn. “I forgot to ask how your hands and ankles feel.”
“They’re fine.” The deeper cuts still stung a little, but not enough to distract her from him. Did he have any idea how his closeness twisted her in knots?
Concern marked his expression and kept his eyes soft. At least, she wanted to believe it was concern she saw. Perhaps he hadn’t yet recovered from the memories of battle.
“What about your arm? Does it hurt?” Joseph’s hand settled above where the ball had ripped her flesh.
“Not much.” Only a scab remained. She’d hardly thought of it today. But there had been so much else to think about.
Like Joseph Garnet.
Her husband.
Hannah’s pulse hammered. She gave him a quick smile and retreated. “You haven’t told me anything yet. Any word of my brothers?”
“Oh.” Joseph’s chest expanded, and he straightened the blanket around his arms. “They knew nothing, but Colonel Willett, who has taken command of the area, has set Fort Rensselaer as his headquarters. As soon as this rain stops, we’ll continue down river and ask if he or anyone has records of your brothers. If not, I still believe Albany is our best course.”
Hannah nodded and tried not to be disappointed. She hadn’t expected to hear anything yet. But hopefully soon.
“Try not to worry about them right now.”
Not easily done. Hannah sat on the thin straw mattress, and Joseph moved to do the same. There wasn’t anywhere else.
“Nothing we can do right now but pray this storm passes.” He spoke of prayer as though it were the natural thing to do.
“I don’t know how to pray.” And she didn’t know who to pray to. The Great Creator? Joseph’s God?
Under his studious gaze, she cinched the blankets tighter around her. Those blue eyes were much too penetrating.
“Can I show you?”
Hannah forced her shoulder into a shrug. It couldn’t harm anything.
“Here.” Joseph took her hands. Then frowned. “Does this hurt?”
“No.” Hardly at all.
“Good.” His head bowed.
The rain pelted the roof above them, filling in the lull of his words.
“Dear Lord. We come before Thee as Thy children…”
Hannah couldn’t close her eyes or look away as he continued, his voice rumbling, his words contrite. He asked for her wounds to continue healing. Then he spoke of her brothers by name. Asking for God’s mercy to protect them wherever they were. “Help us find them.”
“Lord…” Joseph paused for so long Hannah almost wondered if he were finished, but he never opened his eyes. His hold on her hands strengthened, and she fought to contain a wince. “Lord, I acknowledge that all things—all Thy creations—are in Thy hands. We are in Thy hands.” His head dropped a degree lower and he sniffed. “In Jesus’s name…amen.”
Joseph’s lashes flickered. He stared at their hands, not letting go. His thumb smoothed over her knuckles only marred by a few thin red lines. He swallowed hard.
“You didn’t pray for the storm to pass,” she whispered, not really wanting to break whatever trance held him.
He smiled a little. “The crops need the moisture.”
Always a farmer. Which made his sacrifice all the more pronounced. He’d left before all his fields had been planted. For her.
“Thank you.”
Joseph nodded. “I only wish my faith were stronger.”
After hearing him pray with such earnestness, as though speaking to Someone there with them, Hannah could not imagine how a soul could have more faith. Unless she misunderstood. “Stronger?”
~*~
Joseph released her—something much more difficult than it should be—and dragged both hands over his face. If only he could hide there. Pressure built behind his eyes and he pressed two fingers along the arch of his brows. If he were stronger, he could pretend to not be breaking inside. But returning to Oriskany, even though just in his mind, had scraped him raw. Especially being here with Hannah. How could her presence both smooth a balm over the wound Fannie had left, and rip the hole wider?
Joseph pushed to his feet and started pacing. Not that the small shack afforded him much distance. The blanket sagged off his shoulders, and he jerked it back up.
“Joseph, what’s wrong?” Hannah sounded afraid.
Had he done that to her? He forced himself to face her. And immediately regretted the action. She looked too vulnerable sitting there wrapped in blankets, her moist stockings peeking from beneath, her braid all but undone. The need to protect her overwhelmed him. And he would protect her. From himself. Not remembering what he had planned to say to her, Joseph turned to where he’d hung his drenched shirt and discarded the blanket. The shirt felt like ice as it met his skin, but he suppressed a shiver and donned his coat as well.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t look back this time. “To hunt down more firewood. And maybe a kettle.” Hopefully the by time he got back he’d be able to think clearer and have gained more willpower. Because it would be too easy to throw logic aside for a taste of her lips. Maybe he’d find some more blankets, as well. Lying beside her with not so much as an inch between them would only borrow trouble.
21
Joseph loaded Hunter, trying not to look to where Hannah waited. After four days of rain, she hadn’t seemed at all happy when he’d suggested they not leave for one more day to let the roads dry. And attend church. Not that it had been a proper sermon—or at least what he’d counted as one since listening to Andrew preach—but it was nice to have an actual church building. Perhaps someday they would build one in their part of the valley.
He swung into the saddle and extended his hand.
Hannah didn’t look at him as she placed her hand in his and her foot in the stirrup. He pulled her up behind him and the bedrolls and nudged his horse forward. Mud still adorned the ruts of the road, but they would have been a lot worse the day before.
Hannah kept a light hold on his coat, her mouth sealed. She’d been rather quiet the last few days—ever since standing with him in the rain—but he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t really encouraged dialogue. Their quarters were too intimate and the sound of her voice too harmonic.
“Hunter’s well rested, so we should make good time this morning even with the two of us riding.” The silence was getting to him, and now that they were in the wide open, there was less reason to stifle conversation. “We should be there shortly after midday.” Even if he walked part of the way to spare Hunter.
