The Tory's Daughter, page 4
Instead, she’d lost her mind and ran.
As Hannah neared the homestead where Papa had settled their family, thoughts of Joseph faded. A strange sort of nostalgic excitement tightened her insides. A lifetime had passed since they’d been forced from their precious valley.
The afternoon sun warmed the chill from the air but not from the breeze as Hannah stepped into the small clearing where she had worked beside Mama and played with her siblings. Tall grass and weeds already claimed the once well-tamped path leading to the cabin Papa had so painstakingly constructed for his Mohawk wife and their four children. Now only blackened boards and smoke-stained stones of the fireplace marked what had been home.
Hannah’s steps slowed. Ash. Only ash. What had she expected to find? Her brothers had been taken away the night the Patriots had set torches to the cabin. They were old enough to serve the rebel cause and would be compelled to do so. Old enough? Yes, Myles had been almost a man at sixteen, but Samuel was two years her junior. What sort of brutes forced a mere boy into their army?
Joseph Garnet.
Memories of him rose despite her attempts to push them back. He’d ridden with the men that day, along with his father. But James Garnet’s face had worn a different, kinder look. He hadn’t been there to evict a woman and her children from their home. Joseph, however, had looked down at her family with his blue eyes glazed with cold disinterest.
So similar to the look he’d worn when she’d fled his cabin.
Hannah climbed through the charred ruins. She sank to the black and crumbling beam that had held up the roof, facing what was left of the fireplace, eyes clamped closed against reality and the utter loneliness burrowing through her. She’d been foolish to return here. Nothing was left.
Nothing that would help her locate her brothers.
Doubt strangled her. After so many years forced to fight a war, what were the odds Myles and Samuel were even still alive?
Hannah swiped a trickle of moisture from her chin. She didn’t try to keep her cheeks dry. Though only five or six when Papa built this cabin, she remembered him taking his time to fit the logs tight so little chink was needed. He’d always hungered for adventure, and maybe that was the reason he had gone to fight for the King, but his skill had been with wood. Now, most everything he’d created for his family was reduced to ash. Even the doll and cradle he’d made her, and she’d passed to her little sister.
In the shelter of the meadow, the sun’s heat beat down on Hannah’s head without the interruption of a breeze. She opened her eyes to blackened hands and wiped them across her shirt. Time to say goodbye and begin her search in earnest.
At the river’s edge, Hannah washed the black from her hands, the paint from her face, and the blood streaks from her arm. Her shirt and leggings still wore the dirt and grime of three days’ travel. The glistening water beckoned. She gasped at the cold as she waded out to her knees in a cove protected from the main current. She was in no condition to swim. Shivers worked through her body as she submerged herself, clothes and all, in the icy embrace.
Though well over a month since the last of the snow had melted, the sun had little effect on the temperature of the water. She scrubbed out her shirt and hair as quick as she could with one hand, but by the time she stepped back onto the bank, her body trembled like a frightened colt and her teeth chattered. She rested on a rock in the sun for a few minutes to warm, before turning back toward the Garnet homestead. As much as she didn’t look forward to facing Joseph again, he was her best hope of finding her brothers.
The twitter of birds and soft whoosh of her feet on the littered ground followed her to the acres of cleared field lined with the deep furrows Joseph planted. Shirtsleeves billowing and his cocked hat nestled low on his head, he dropped seed with steady rhythm from the sack looped over his shoulders.
Hannah hesitated at the edge of the woods though her heart continued racing. She would not blame him for running her off, but she needed to leave her pride and anger behind. She squared her shoulders and started toward him, her focus alternating between him and not rolling her ankle as she made her way over the deep ridges of earth. The closer she got, the harder it became to look away from him, the breadth of his shoulders and the wheat-blond locks tied at the nape of his neck. If possible, the last few years had only made him more handsome. But they were enemies. And he had married Fannie.
Joseph’s head jerked up, and he narrowed a look at her.
Hannah stopped and braced for what he would say.
Waited for it.
From the top of her wet head, to her moccasined feet, he studied her. Then, with only a bit of a grunt, he twitched his head toward the cabin.
She reminded herself of a skittish foal as she scampered past. This time she would wait until he was ready to talk. Only a few paces from the door, she dodged out of sight.
The jangle of harnesses and thudding of hooves accompanied a wagon as it turned onto the property. She peeked around the corner of the cabin to make out the gentleman from the day before, and a woman, babe in arms, on the seat beside him.
Rachel Garnet—or whatever her name was now—and her family.
Hannah darted into the cabin and pressed the door closed. How had the years and this war changed Rachel? Though probably not as informed as her brother, perhaps she would make an easier ally.
The ends of Hannah’s hair dripped water down the back of her shirt. A man’s shirt. And a man’s leggings. She would have more success winning over the sister if she didn’t still look like a member of a raiding party.
~*~
Joseph stood in place, his fist closed around a handful of seed, the image of the Mohawk maiden frozen in his mind. She was the last thing he had expected when he’d raised his gaze to the horizon. A deer, a hare, or fox scurrying over his freshly plowed field. Any rodent would have made sense, but instead she was there, wending her way toward him.
Why?
She’d wanted to escape bad enough to wedge herself in a broken window. Why return?
And why was there a familiarity about her−even more so now her face was clean.
Joseph emptied his hand back into the sack on his shoulder. No doubt she had made it as far as the river and gained an appreciation of her predicament. Had she actually tried to swim with her arm as it was? What else would account for her saturated appearance? While his conscience eased, his gut tightened with the fact he still didn’t know what to do with her. And that she’d looked far too beautiful.
Joseph groaned and pressed his fingers into his temples. The last thing he needed was to acknowledge any attraction to the girl. He’d already given his heart to a woman—a kind, wise, beautiful woman he still yearned for. The months had only numbed the ache, not removed it from the hole in his chest. He turned toward the cabin and compelled his legs to carry him in that direction. He only made it as far as the barn when the chatter of voices met him.
Rachel. And the children.
Joseph dropped his load inside the barn.
“I am no longer accepting of your decision, Joseph.”
He swung to Andrew as he rounded the side of the barn. “What? Why on earth did you bring Rachel here?” Not that he didn’t agree she needed to be informed, but he wished Andrew would have respected his initial request.
“As much as I attempted to let it alone, this whole situation has not ceased to torment me. It is most imprudent, Joseph. You are a single man, and she is a young woman. For you to remain here alone together−”
“Surely you do not think I would take advantage of her.” He bristled at the insinuation. “As far as I am concerned, she might as well be the boy she is clothed as.” And yet he couldn’t forget the shapely form of her legs undisguised by leggings, or the way her wet shirt had molded to a distinctly feminine figure, her long hair draped over her curves. Joseph looked at Andrew, only to find his penetrating gaze narrowed at him. “What?”
“I think you should to come to the cabin with me and tell your sister.”
“Is that why you brought her?” No doubt she would gladly step in and tell him exactly what to do with their guest. And most likely, as with Captain Andrew Wyndham, she would be correct. And he would be wrong. And the situation would again be out of his hands.
“Joseph, I have not ceased praying since I left you yesterday.”
Now even God was against him. “So you’re speaking as my pastor?”
“And as your friend and brother.”
“Very well.” He had already decided to tell Rachel anyway. Hadn’t he? He’d been so back and forth it was hard to remember his final thoughts. He waved Andrew toward the cabin.
It appeared Rachel had taken the children inside, so the introductions may have already been made. What would his sister make of the wild girl?
Joseph slid to a halt at the open door.
Rachel, his baby girl on her hip, wrapped her free arm around a young woman in a pale yellow gown. Fannie’s gown. Moist dark hair had been twisted up on the back of her head, revealing a slender neck…and too much of the dark bruise he’d laid across her fine jaw.
“However did you come to be here, Hannah?”
Joseph jerked to his sister. “Hannah?”
Rachel returned his stare. “Why is she here if you don’t remember who she is? And surely you remember the Cunninghams? They were our neighbors until…” Rachel’s mouth tightened, and she glanced to the younger woman.
“Cunningham? Hannah Cunningham?” Joseph sounded like a fool repeating her name, but he couldn’t help himself. “Hannah Cunningham.” How had he not recognized her? They’d been neighbors for almost three years, and she’d always been here, leaning over the fence to watch the horses. He walked to the table and deposited his pistol there. He needed to distance himself.
“I came to visit my family’s old homestead.” Hannah’s lips curved, and her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Joseph was kind enough to give me a place to spend the night.”
Rachel smiled. “He has learned a few manners over the years.”
A jolt of laughter broke from Joseph. It was only a matter of time before Rachel noticed the brace for the bar he’d built over the bedroom door. Or questioned the bruise on Hannah’s cheek.
His sister gave him a searching look, and then reached out to squeeze Hannah’s arm. “I’m just glad to know you’re safe. What they did to your family—”
A shrill screech broke off Rachel’s sentiment.
Hannah bit down on her lip, her hand hovering over her covered wound.
“I’m so sorry. What happened to your arm?”
Hannah waved her away with a sideways glance at the two men. “I gouged it on a branch.”
Andrew moaned and stepped forward. “Let us not heap lies upon our wrongdoings.”
Rachel twisted to him and hitched the baby higher on her hip. “What wrongdoings?”
He looked to Joseph, his eyes showing a degree of panic.
Joseph shook his head—he already had enough to answer for—and motioned for Andrew to continue.
“Will anyone tell me what happened?” Rachel demanded.
Andrew brushed his knuckles along his jaw and faced his wife. “I shot her.”
“You shot her?”
He winced. “At the time, I believed her to be making an attempt on your brother’s life.”
Joseph took that as his cue to come to Andrew’s defense. “Which I am quite certain she was.” He indicated the thin remains of the scratches down his cheek. “And I had no way of knowing she was a woman at the time.”
“It’s true, Rachel.” Hannah’s voice wavered, and she cleared it. “I−”
A yelp of pain echoed from the bedroom. James. In a room still littered with broken glass.
6
Every time Hannah ventured a glance at Joseph she found his gaze steadfast on her, eyes brooding. An attractive expression on him, but she could only imagine the storm brewing inside. Especially since she was the cause of his child’s cut finger. Only one more offence added to a growing heap. The broken window. His wife’s gown. Returning to the valley after her family had been compelled to leave. Keeping her identity from him.
After they’d washed and bandaged little James’s cut, Hannah stood back and let the men explain the events that had brought her here. The young boy hardly seemed affected by his injury now and followed Joseph, pacing the floor with him. When he tired, he hugged Joseph’s leg and called “Papa,” until he was picked up. Obviously Joseph and Fannie’s child—though Hannah still didn’t understand Fannie’s absence. She might be visiting her family, but reason spoke otherwise. Especially since the baby Rachel now cradled under a blanket to nurse looked much more Reid than Garnet or Wyndham, and what mother would willingly leave her baby for any length of time?
Hannah slipped into the chair closest Rachel, her one ally. The very gentlemanly Andrew Wyndham seemed kind-hearted as well−or at least penitent for having wounded her.
Joseph, on the other hand…a cloud had fallen over him since hearing her name. His face had lost most of its color, and the blue in his eyes appeared almost gray.
“Perhaps she will now tell us her true intent for coming here.” The rasp in Joseph’s voice yanked Hannah back to the ongoing discussion. “I can’t believe it was to visit the burnt-out remains of a place she once lived.”
“Joseph!” Rachel gaped at her brother.
Leave it to Joseph Garnet to remove any sentiment from something once held dear.
“No, Rachel, he’s right. Ashes hold nothing for me now.” The moment had come, and both fear and anticipation skittered through Hannah. “Though I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that I might…” She held Joseph’s cool gaze, inwardly compelling him to know something about her brothers. “I’d hoped I might find some clue as to what became of Samuel and Myles. I have heard nothing of them since they were taken. And now there is only me. I have to know what happened to them.” The words spilled from her and she couldn’t dam them. “I must know if they still live. Have you heard anything?”
“I haven’t.” Joseph’s answer was too quick.
Hannah hugged herself, hardly mindful of her arm. She swallowed down a swell of emotion. “But surely someone in the settlement must know where they were taken. Or where they would be now.” If they’ve survived this long. She compelled her voice to stay steady. “I won’t give up. I won’t stop looking until I find them.”
Rachel’s hand squeezed hers. “Your mother and the youngest are…?”
“Gone. Dead.” Hannah swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “The past two winters have been miserable. Hundreds have died. Illness. Hunger.” She would never be able to adequately express how it felt to watch those she loved best become victims of this never-ending war. Though pain radiated across the bridge of her nose and behind her eyes, she held the tears back as she centered her gaze on Joseph. “Samuel and Myles are all I have left. Please help me find them. I only ask for a direction—where to start my search.”
Joseph turned and wiped his hand down his face.
His little boy studied him, and then patted his cheek.
“No, James, not right now.” He set the youngster on the floor and recommenced his pacing.
The child went from his father to the cool fireplace where his fair-haired cousin, probably a year younger, joined him. With frequent glances at his father, James sat on the edge of the hearth. He seemed content enough.
Hannah looked at Joseph. Was he indeed raising his children without their mother? She leaned toward Rachel. “Fannie’s dead?” she asked with a whisper.
Rachel frowned and gave a slight nod.
Poor Fannie. Hannah had never had any real care for the Reids, but to leave behind one’s babies and a beloved husband−what tragedy could be greater?
“James, no!”
The boy stood with fistfuls of ash−thankfully cold. Instead of dropping his load back into the fireplace, he threw it into the little girl’s face, and grabbed for more. The younger child screamed.
Andrew plucked up his daughter, while Rachel brought the baby out from under the blanket.
Hannah caught James’s hands, which again clenched ash.
“I can take him.” Joseph plucked James off the floor. “He can come outside with me.” He said it as though he’d planned to leave all along.
Perhaps that was his only answer for her.
Joseph stalked from the cabin, boy in arms, gray and black powder sprinkled across the floor. Andrew wrestled to calm the infant while he washed the soot from her eyes and face.
The baby joined in the chorus of wails.
Hannah stood helplessly by. She’d been mistaken to ask Joseph for any help. Obviously his life held no more room for complications.
~*~
His son’s dirty hands the least of his worries, Joseph lifted the boy over his head and set him on his shoulders. “We have fields to plant, James. You want to help Papa?”
The exuberant nod banged against the top of Joseph’s head. “Help Papa.”
“Good.” Joseph lengthened his stride. He needed to get away from Hannah Cunningham.
Rachel seemed only welcoming of the girl, but would she remember their long ago conversation when trying to decide the fate of a certain British officer?
“Surely you remember the way it was at the beginning of the war. The Cunninghams and others who professed their continuing loyalties to King George and Britain—they were considered a threat.”
Everything short of murder was done until the Tories were driven out. They had fought at Oriskany four years earlier. The ones they had called neighbors. “I even recognized some of them. Bayonets, the butts of our rifles, and even bare hands. That’s how we killed each other.”
Joseph’s lungs trembled for breath.
Hannah Cunningham.
Her parents were dead. Only her brothers remained. Brothers forced from their family and into a war. One had only been a boy, and the other not quite a man. Had they survived the bloodshed that had drenched this land? Would it be possible to find them? Or would the search only bring Hannah more heartache?
