His plan made perfect sense. A twinge of conscience pricked him. The vicar had warned him against deceit. But this was war, and deception was one way to stay alive.
CHAPTER FOUR
Three days later, Agnes rediscovered the small note that had fallen from Edwin’s jacket. She had stuffed the paper into her pocket the day she found him and forgotten all about it until she dug down deep into her pouch searching for a pin and heard the document crumple in her fingertips. Between tending to Edwin, keeping up with her regular chores, and working in the forge, she had precious little time to even think.
Much to her relief, Edwin seemed significantly improved after three days. He appeared more alert, less sleepy, and quite hungry. Indeed, he had eaten nearly half a loaf and a bowl of Colleen’s stew as well. The fever had left him, and though pain continued to plague him, he endured his suffering with remarkable patience.
Late at night after Margaret had fallen asleep, Agnes wrapped a shawl around her shoulders to cover her shift and moved downstairs, trying not to make any noise on the narrow, winding stairway. She lit one precious candle and tried to read the words on the note again, but the language seemed like nothing more than gibberish. However, as she moved the paper closer to the flickering flame, more words appeared as if by magic.
Her fingers trembled. She had heard about invisible ink from her father and Uncle Fitz. Both the British and the Patriots used the method to keep their messages secret, but until now she had never seen one.
Her heart fluttered in fear as she studied the words on the page.
To my most loyal friend,
I shall dine with you this afternoon. I trust you have some excellent Madeira.
The scrawled signature took away her breath. General Henry Clinton.
Why did Edwin have this note? Was he to deliver the message to the general’s friend? Who could that be?
Danger lay in having the paper in her possession. She tossed it into the embers and watched the parchment curl and burn. She paced the kitchen floor. What had she expected? Edwin was a British soldier. He had been assigned to deliver the note, but on the way to his destination someone shot him. Somehow he managed to escape further harm and crawled into her barn, presumably to hide.
The general’s friend never received the paper. Since General Clinton’s army had reached the safe haven of Sandy Hook, it probably did not matter. Still, Edwin remained in danger.
She pulled out a sheet of paper from the desk. Dipping the quill into the ink, she penned a quick missive. Edwin Lederer needed papers to travel safely. The innkeeper, Mr. Newton, had a brother who practiced law in Elizabethtown. The town lay more than thirty miles distant, but she knew of no other lawyers she might be able to trust. She prayed he could provide her with the proper documents. Folding the letter, she sealed it with wax. She would hand it to the Newtons tomorrow.
Before she blew out the candle, she heard a thump in the next room followed by a guttural howl. Fearing her patient had fallen out of bed, she hurried to check on him. He sat at the edge of the old four-poster, grimacing.
“I must get to the necessary.”
“You cannot walk.” Agnes set the candle on the table. “The chamber pot is here beneath the bed.” She bent down to retrieve the pot.
“No. I will walk.” He stood, swayed, and grabbed her shoulder.
“You are dizzy.”
“It will pass,” he hissed.
“You might fall.”
“Let me lean on you.”
“I am not a pair of crutches.”
“You are now.” His attempt at a smile appeared more like a scowl.
“I…I have only my shift, and a shawl. It is unseemly.” She had used Aunt Sally’s favorite word again. Aunt Sally would be horrified if she discovered Edwin had seen her in such a state of undress.
“I promise not to look at you.”
She glared at him, but it was difficult to tell if pain caused the expression on his face or whether she had caught him attempting not to laugh.
“Alright then.” She did not have much of a choice. If she disturbed Colleen or Margaret in the middle of the night, they might ask questions she did not want to answer.
Awkward and clumsy at first, he stumbled several times while his features contorted in obvious pain, but he refused to quit. She guided him in establishing a rhythm to his gait and they made better progress, though he had to stop often and catch his breath. Nevertheless, he completed the trip.
“Thank you.” He said once he returned to the bed. “Tomorrow, if you can find a good-sized stick for me, I shall walk alone. I’ll not lay here anymore.”
Agnes sighed. The pig had not been much of an invalid either. Maybe pigs and men had something in common. Pigheadedness. “I believe the Newtons have crutches. I shall walk to the inn in the morning and borrow them for you.”
“The Newtons?”
“They run the inn, but they have all sorts of odds and ends in the carriage house. Many have paid for their lodging with their possessions. Some simply forget items and leave them behind.”
“Lucky for me.”
She smiled at him as she moved toward the kitchen. “You are doing so much better than the pig.”
“Pig?”
“Yes, the one stolen by the British. A few months ago somebody shot our young hog, Jonas. The poor thing suffered in great pain, so I took out the lead shot and dressed the wound, which was in his hindquarters.”
“You dug a musket ball out of a pig?”
“There was no one else who could handle the task. You were more fortunate since the ball passed through your flesh. You’ve been a far more agreeable patient than the pig, too. Still, it is a pity he was taken from us.”
He sat up in the bed and glared at her. “That is preposterous! Why did you not call a physician for me?”
She gave a light laugh and closed the door. Colleen’s knowledge of herbs exceeded that of most physicians. Edwin did not realize what a propitious decision he made when he crawled into their barn. Certainly, the Lord favored him.
She smiled as she tucked her letter into the drawer and climbed the winding stair to the room above where Margaret still slept soundly. The heat of the day had dissipated, but inside a strange glow warmed her. Edwin was doing well.
The joyful warmth died as she realized he would leave soon and she might never see him again. Why should that matter, she wondered? She did not need any friends. She only wanted to work in the forge and take care of Margaret. She needed nothing else.
When she lay down, Edwin’s image floated through her mind. Gazing into his blue eyes stirred emotions she had never experienced until now. Flutters tickled her belly and her pulse sped up. Her skin grew unaccountably warm and her breathing altered. Did she have some strange illness?
She stared into the darkness, but it was a long, long time until sleep claimed her.
* * *
Agnes overslept and stumbled around in a muddleheaded haze the next morning. As she walked to the inn with Margaret, the brilliance of the dew sparkling in the grass stung her eyes. She slid her hand into her pocket and felt for the edge of the letter she had written.
“Edwin howled like a coyote when you poured the vinegar on his leg.” Margaret giggled.
“Though his fever is gone, the wound is red and pus is draining from it.” Agnes yawned. “I packed it with more yarrow.”
“We could never keep yarrow on the pig.”
“He ate it.”
“Maybe that’s why Edwin is doing so well.”
“Colleen believes it is the boneset which has been most efficacious.” Agnes had laid her hand on his brow that morning, but while his forehead remained cool, touching him caused a heated sensation inside her, as if she were a kettle bubbling over. The emotions he stirred within her alarmed her, for she seemed to have no control over them.
“Colleen showed me some of her favorite places to find boneset.” Margaret danced along the path. “She handed a small sprig to Edwi
n, too. He says he will press it and save it. He likes to collect specimens. Studying plants is a science called botany.”
“When did he talk of this?”
“While you slept this morning.” Margaret laughed. “I brought Puddles to him when you were milking Lilly in the barn. Puddles likes him and he made her do a trick.”
“Chicanery is a foolish pastime,” Agnes grumbled. Why did the sun have to be so bright? The light made her eyes water so she squinted.
“He taught Puddles to roll over like a dog. It was funny.” Margaret’s tinkling laughter sounded merry, and Agnes had to smile despite her weariness.
“Puddles trusted him?”
“He gave her a piece of bacon.”
“What a foolish waste of food!” With the loss of their pig, bacon would be a precious commodity.
“Only this big.” Margaret put her thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. “But Puddles loved it.”
Agnes bit back another retort. Margaret and Edwin were getting along well. That fact alone would aid in their deception.
Then her conscience reared up. She never wanted her sister to believe lying was acceptable, but she assuaged herself with the knowledge that this was a time of war, when people committed horrible atrocities against each other. She had the opportunity to save a life. It did not matter if he was British and a soldier of the king. His family would be happy to see him again. That’s what mattered.
“I told Edwin all about Father, Uncle Fitz, and Aunt Sally,” Margaret cheerfully informed her. “I told him the miller is going to court you.”
“I refuse to be courted.” She hated the very thought of wasting her precious time with the tedious ritual of courtship. “If I married Mr. Withersby, he would not allow me to work in the forge.”
“You must stay home and take care of babies.”
“I do not want to have children. The miller can find someone else to court.”
“Aunt Sally will be angry.”
“Mr. Withersby is a wealthy man, but he is not a good match for me. Many other young women would be delighted with fine dresses and linens. I need leather aprons, tongs, iron rods, and charcoal.”
The inn came into view and Agnes tensed. The two Zimmer men lounged outside on the grass. From the time they began to walk, they made a habit of playing mean tricks on everyone. One was now twenty and the other eighteen, but growing up had not changed them at all. Though they had become members of the local militia, they always meant trouble.
“Do I smell something good in your basket, Miss Margaret?” asked Zeb, the older one.
“Raisin cakes, but you shall not get them from me.” Margaret glared at them.
“Are you saving them for the Tories, then?” Obadiah growled.
“These are for Patriots willing to pay for them.” Margaret’s chin rose in defiance.
The men got to their feet. Agnes’s fingers clenched.
“We are protecting the good citizens of Leedsville and rightfully deserve payment.” Obadiah snatched Margaret’s basket.
Margaret kicked him and he grabbed her arm. She shrieked.
Though her heart thundered in fear, Agnes pulled the knife from her pocket. “Patriots are not thieves.”
Time stood still for a moment. She did not tremble as she had when she aimed the musket at Edwin, but if one of the Zimmer men hurt her sister, she would have not a single qualm about using her sharp blade.
Mr. Newton came to the door. “The day is too hot for fighting when I have cold cider for all inside.”
Obadiah released Margaret and her basket. Agnes did not trust the brothers at all, but Mr. Newton gave her such a pleading look, she sheathed the knife. Though the men grumbled, they stepped inside the inn.
“Would you have stabbed them?” Margaret whispered as she rubbed her arm.
“They better keep their hands off you.” Agnes ground her teeth together. “Let’s go in the kitchen door.”
Mistress Newton welcomed them at the back of the inn, giving them each a big hug and a cup of tea. “Those Zimmer boys are hot-headed to be sure. They must be weary, for they are hunting British deserters. They intend to catch them, put them in prison, and trade them for our own soldiers.”
The blood in Agnes’s head suddenly pooled in her feet. Margaret choked on her tea.
Mistress Newton patted Margaret on her back. “Sip it, my dear.”
After a few minutes, the older woman broke a raisin cake in half and tasted it. She pronounced it as excellent and the bartering began.
Margaret settled for a jar of molasses in trade and a beautiful lavender silk ribbon. While Margaret happily tucked her earnings into her basket, Agnes slipped her letter into Mistress Newton’s hand. The woman appeared surprised at first, but she glanced at it and shoved it into her own pocket before Margaret looked up.
“I wondered if I might borrow the crutches you have in the carriage house?” Agnes asked.
“Did someone get hurt?” Mistress Newton frowned.
“One of our cousins is visiting and suffered a mishap.” Agnes kept her voice low. She did not want the Zimmers to hear her as she repeated the same story she had told Aunt Sally.
“You must have been rushing. You know haste makes waste.” Mistress Newton pronounced with a hand on her bosom as if the thought grieved her very soul. She continued to twitter on about the trouble a body can get into being reckless as she led the way to the carriage house. She located the crutches and handed them to Agnes. “Fry onions and put them directly on the wound. His leg will be as right as my leg in no time.”
Agnes thanked her for the crutches, her advice, and the tea, which had restored her flagging energy. She and Margaret headed toward home, but they had not gone far when they heard the rumble of a wagon behind them.
Margaret turned to see who was following them. “It’s the miller.”
Agnes wished she could run and hide in the woods so she would not have to deal with him.
He soon came alongside them, pulled at the horses’ reins, and tugged at the brake.
“Are my hooks finished?” he asked in a jolly, booming voice. His cheerful greeting grated on her nerves.
“Yes, they are. You may stop in at the forge now to pick them up.”
“If you climb in, we’ll arrive sooner.” He winked.
“I prefer to walk, thank you.”
“Who needs the crutches?” he asked.
“My cousin.”
“They are much too large for one of the twins.”
“They are for my mother’s cousin.”
“Didn’t your mother come here from England?”
Agnes nodded, but said nothing else. She and Margaret walked briskly forward. The miller released the brake and shook the reins lightly. The horses moved at a slow pace as they followed.
When they reached the forge, they found the twins, Aunt Sally, and a strange horse.
Aunt Sally handed a broken trivet to Agnes. “The boys did this. I’ll be needing another. Immediately.”
Agnes bit back a groan and nodded. Looking fearful, Ryan and Lewis sat obediently on the grass beneath the willow tree. Aunt Sally kept such a tight rein on them that Agnes did not understand how the little cherubs wreaked any havoc at all.
“Whose horse is that?” Agnes asked.
“The Zimmer brothers handed it to Hobart early this morning. It’s in need of a shoe,” Aunt Sally explained.
“The Zimmers don’t own a horse.” Her pulse sped up.
“Maybe they stole it.” Margaret muttered low.
The miller climbed down from his wagon and studied the large chestnut gelding.
Agnes told her aunt what had happened at the inn. “The Zimmers are dreadful ruffians.”
“That they are!” The miller agreed. “This poor beast has been ridden hard.” His hand slid down the animal’s neck and patted the withers.
Agnes fingered the horse’s saddle, which showed signs of wear and age. With saddlebags, a bedroll, and a length of coiled rope s
trapped to the animal, it appeared as if the owner had been on a long journey. The Zimmers never traveled far and they always went on foot.
Aunt Sally chatted with Mr. Withersby while Agnes stepped inside the forge to pick up the finished hooks. When she handed them to the miller, he smiled at her. The hair prickled on the back of her neck in warning.
“A picnic is to be held on Sunday in Shrewsbury Towne.” He placed the hooks in the wagon. “I am asking you to go with me.”
“I have told you I do not intend to marry. You must find another woman to court.” Agnes turned to step inside the forge again.
“Nonsense,” said Aunt Sally. “Besides, Mr. Withersby is going to take all of us to the picnic. Isn’t that so, Thomas?”
“Indeed, I planned to do just that. We will need to know each other better.” The miller held his arms out wide, encompassing them with his gesture.
“Please, Agnes. I haven’t been to a picnic since Father left,” Margaret begged. “Everyone is going. Even the Newtons.”
“How can they leave the inn?” Agnes wondered aloud.
“They hired Colleen and Hobart to take care of it for them,” Aunt Sally said.
Agnes thought the tight ball of anxiety in her chest would cut off her breath. What would happen if she left Edwin alone all day? What if the Zimmers found him? Would they assume he was a deserter? Would he be safe if they took him along to Shrewsbury Towne?
Well aware that bowing out of this picnic would cause undue suspicion, she said, “I suppose I have no choice.”
“Thank you!” Margaret clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “I cannot wait. It will be so much fun. Thank you, Mr. Withersby.”
Ryan and Lewis clapped their hands, too. “Candy?” they asked in unison.
“Yes, there is always candy at a picnic.” Mr. Withersby climbed back into his wagon, released the brake, and shook the reins. As the horses moved on, he called out, “We will all be merry.”
“You are going to get married, Agnes,” Aunt Sally warned. “You cannot do better than the miller.”
With her lips clamped together, Agnes went inside the forge and put on her leather apron.
Patriot's Heart Page 5
