Patriot's Heart

by Marzec, Penelope;

  Aunt Sally followed her. “He is wealthy. You would never want for anything.”

  “I would be denied doing the work I love.”

  “When your father comes home, he plans to take Hobart on as an apprentice.” Aunt Sally turned, grabbed the twins’ hands, and stalked off.

  Agnes clamped her teeth together. The ache in her throat swelled until she thought she would suffocate. She did not mind if her father taught Hobart to be a blacksmith, but she wished he had told her himself.

  Margaret put down her basket, walked up to Agnes, and hugged her.

  “You are an artist. That’s what the Newtons said. Your designs are fancy.”

  Agnes sniffed and kissed her sister’s golden head. “Some women are accomplished in painting and praised for their skill. Why doesn’t anyone understand I do the same thing with iron?”

  “Maybe Aunt Sally thinks she’ll have more flour if you marry the miller,” Margaret mused. “Then she can start a bakery.”

  “Am I to be traded for a supply of flour?”

  Margaret’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “I won’t.” She smiled at her sister though pain pricked at her heart. “Now go and give Edwin those crutches and put away the molasses.”

  Margaret’s face brightened in an instant. She walked toward the house with the basket swinging on her arm as if she did not have a care in the world.

  Agnes sighed. They were sisters, but very different in temperament. Sometimes she wished she was more like Margaret.

  She set to work putting a new shoe on the horse. When she finished, she walked him along the path to the barn and let him into the pasture to graze. As she latched the gate, a laugh came from behind her.

  “You have found my horse.” Edwin leaned against a fence post with the crutches under his arm.

  “It cannot be yours.” Agnes stared in shock while the tickling and fluttering sensations inside her went wild. Though his chest heaved from his exertion and beads of sweat poured down his face, he wore a triumphant grin. He looked as if he had won a race.

  “His name is Swindle. He looks good.” He whistled, the horse perked up his ears, and sauntered to the fence. Edwin smoothed his hand along the horse’s neck and the big animal nudged him gently. “Sorry, I have no sweets for you.”

  Margaret ran up to them. “I told him not to walk here, but Colleen said not to stop him from his foolishness. She gave him some of Father’s clothes.”

  “She said she wouldn’t use British rags even to scrub the floor,” Edwin shrugged.

  “You are lucky she didn’t scrub the floor with you,” Agnes pointed out. “How is this your horse?”

  “I suppose Swindle is a loan, but it matters not. It looks as if he was not injured. Now I can return to my company.” Edwin laughed once more, a deep rich sound that echoed in Agnes’s heart.

  Anxiety swirled through her. “You should not be here,” she whispered. “We are too close to the road. Anyone might pass by and start asking questions about you. Besides, if the Zimmers found the horse, they will claim the rights to it. There is bound to be trouble.”

  “I am well acquainted with danger.” His fierce glower only served to strengthen her resolve.

  “You are to get back into bed,” she ordered with her hands on her hips.

  “I will not be a milksop,” he groused. “Lying abed makes a man weak. You wrapped my leg so well with bandages, I would be able to walk even if all my bones crumbled into powder.”

  “Your wound bleeds again,” she pointed out as she took off her heavy apron.

  “It is no more than a trickle,” he complained.

  “You must give your skin time to knit together.” She struggled to keep her tone firm, but with her heart beating so fiercely, her words had a breathy quality.

  “Did the pig lay abed until he was healed?” he asked with that sly grin on his face that made her insides tumble about. “Did he refrain from wallowing in the mud?”

  “No, and surely that is why it took so long for him to mend.”

  “And he ate the yarrow,” Margaret reminded her.

  Agnes gnawed at her lip and studied the horse for a moment as she fought to calm herself. “The Zimmers will return for the gelding.”

  “Then they will be thieves.” Steel braced his words. “Horse thieves are hung.”

  “The Zimmers are probably sleeping by now since Mr. Newton said they might have as much cider as they wanted.” Margaret perched on a fence rung.

  “The Zimmers do not get drowsy when they have too much to drink. They get meaner.” Agnes drew a shaky hand across her brow. “Still, since they are not here, if Edwin can manage to mount the animal, he may have the luxury of riding back to the house.”

  He glared at her. “I would need help.”

  “The mounting block stands there.” Her voice held a cold challenge as she pointed to it.

  He hobbled up to the large square, balanced on the crutches, and put his good leg up, but raising the rest of his body proved impossible. He turned and gave her a pleading look. “Please help me.”

  “You should be resting. You should not be using that leg at all.” You may be crippled for the remainder of your life! She wanted to shout at him, but she knew it would do no good.

  “Maybe, we can teach Swindle a trick,” Margaret put in. “If he can get down on his knees, Cousin Edwin will be able to sit upon the horse’s back.”

  Edwin’s face lit up. “Do you have any sweets?”

  “I have an apple” Margaret pulled it out of her pocket.

  Agnes watched the two of them coax the huge animal to get down on its forelegs. A special bond did seem to exist between Swindle and Edwin. He whispered gently and the big beast obeyed him.

  Margaret clapped her hands in delight as the horse lowered itself to the ground.

  Edwin swung his good leg over the horse’s back and handed the crutches to Margaret. However, as Swindle rose, the pinched look about Edwin’s mouth and his pale, cold skin revealed the difficulty of the task.

  Agnes prayed the fever would not return and fumed with anger at him for his foolishness. “The pig could not help being stupid, but you should be able to understand how to care for yourself.”

  As they walked back toward the house, the weight of Agnes’s worries pressed upon her. She stared at the ground. What was she to do? Though Edwin’s wound caused him much suffering and continued to drain, he intended to leave with the horse. What would she do when the Zimmers came round and demanded its return?

  “Smoke!” Margaret gasped.

  Agnes lifted her head. A thick, black cloud billowed above the treetops. Horror sent an icy pain squeezing at her chest.

  When they all heard Colleen shriek, Agnes lifted her skirts and ran.

  Edwin slapped the horse on its backside. “Yah!” he yelled, and Swindle galloped away, leaving her and Margaret in a cloud of dust.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Edwin ignored the searing pain in his leg and rode hard. He caught sight of men running into the dense woods behind the house. Three, perhaps, but he did not know for sure and he dared not go after them for flames already engulfed half of the building. Colleen must be inside that inferno.

  Despite the stabbing ache crippling him, he coaxed the horse to lower itself to the ground again. Smoke as dark as pitch rolled out from the open doorway. He crouched low. Peering in, he saw Colleen’s still figure on the floor while flames danced closer to her each second.

  Quelling his own panic, he grabbed the rope and blanket from the horse’s saddle. He covered himself with the woolen blanket and, holding a corner of it over his nose, he crawled into Hades, dragging his bum leg along. Colleen did not respond when he shook her. He discovered the reason for her insensible state as he lifted her head. Blood coated his hand and his stomach churned.

  Lightheaded from the lack of air, he heard the timbers above him creak and groan as the fire devoured the wood. He did not have much time. He whipped the r
ope around Colleen’s torso while red-hot cinders rained down upon him, stinging his hands like a horde of fiery bees. Unable to breathe the scorching air, he found it impossible to keep the blanket over his nose and mouth. Staying low, he crawled out as his strength ebbed with every inch. He called to Swindle, who despite the proximity of the blaze, had not bolted. Gasping for air, he reached for the horse’s bridle.

  “Good boy.” The searing heat had scorched his throat and he barely made any sound. Securing the rope to the saddle, he nudged the horse to pull slowly. As Colleen’s senseless form slid onto the porch, the roof fell in with a startling whoosh.

  Agnes and Margaret ran up to the scene. They dragged Colleen several yards from the blazing house. Edwin leaned on Swindle for support. Tears streamed down Margaret’s face as she returned the crutches to him that were left behind when he galloped away.

  “Is Colleen dead?” she sobbed.

  He broke into a fit of coughing when he tried to answer her.

  Margaret wiped her damp face with her sleeve. “I’ll get more water.”

  She walked off in a daze toward the well. Poor child, he thought. She’s in shock.

  He balled his fists and realized he had huge blisters on each hand. The hair on his arm had been singed off, as well. Yet, he felt no pain, only a strange numbness. It reminded him of his first battle.

  Agnes knelt on the grass, staring at Colleen. “What should we do?”

  The tight grief in her words twisted around his heart.

  “She…will hear…” He could not speak above a raspy whisper and his efforts were interspersed with dry coughs. “Hold…her hand…and talk…” In his short time at war, he had seen many men die. He did not like it, but he had learned how to handle the situation. “And pray.”

  Chaplains were not always available to the dying in the heat of battle. Edwin had been called upon to pray with his wounded comrades on the field in order to offer some small comfort.

  “She’s loved us as if we were her own.” Dampness lingered on Agnes’s lashes. She shivered as though a chill wind had blown in.

  “Thank…her.” He choked out the words between coughs and sought to end her quivering by placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “You risked your life trying…to save…her. I cannot tell you how grateful I am.” Though she trembled, she held her emotions in check with far more resolve than many of the soldiers who had fought with him.

  It did not surprise him to discover she possessed such strength. Simpering, clinging, frail women never interested him. His mother commanded an indomitable will. He suspected her stalwart attitude came about because she had to deal with the Duke on a daily basis. The Duchess tended to be fair, reasonable, and she listened to him. Unlike his father. But neither of them were demonstrative in their affections toward their children or even in relation to each other.

  Still, he realized now he must have hurt his mother by running off as he did. Regret weighed down upon him. He should send her a letter, but if he did, the Duke would know where he was.

  Margaret set a fresh bucket of water beside Agnes.

  Agnes pulled away from him and stared at his hands. “You’ve been burned. I did not notice.”

  “Take care of him. I will comfort Colleen,” Margaret offered.

  Agnes stood and plunged his blistered hands into the bucket. “We must get some witch hazel and clean linen.”

  “Only Colleen knows where to find witch hazel,” Margaret sobbed. “We will never find any without her.”

  Suddenly a whole group of people arrived. Edwin recognized only Hobart, the twins, and Aunt Sally. Everyone had a bucket in hand, but with one look at the situation, they realized they were far too late to end the blaze.

  “How did the fire start?” demanded Aunt Sally.

  Margaret turned to her aunt. “We were all at the barn. I saw smoke and Colleen screamed…” The child broke down and sobbed.

  Colleen’s cry of terror had reminded Edwin of the sounds of men in battle.

  With a loud rumble and crash, the chimney tumbled down. Everyone stood staring at the spectacle.

  “She must have been careless when she was cooking,” Aunt Sally stated.

  Edwin tried to clear his throat, but it did no good. Every breath burned. He needed to tell them the fire started on the other side of the house. He needed to tell them about the men.

  “Three…men…” He took one hand out of the water and pointed toward the woods.

  “Der fluss,” said Hobart.

  “Yes, the river.” Several people muttered. They turned to gaze off into the leafy forest.

  Then a strangled sound came from Margaret’s throat and everyone diverted their attention to her.

  An older woman knelt beside the child, reached out, and hugged her. “She is at peace now.”

  Though she spoke the words softly, each one stabbed at Edwin like a knife. Life was a battle. All around, comrades fell and there was no telling who would be the next. It did not seem to matter which side you were on. Or did it?

  Who killed Colleen? Who were those men running away through the woods toward the river? Where they Tories or thieves? Why would they kill an unarmed woman?

  Agnes and Margaret clutched each other in grief. Though he had known Colleen for only a short time, he shared in their mourning. He had seen many men die and knew the essence of life was fragile and fleeting.

  He had been lucky. This time. He had longed for adventure, excitement, and new horizons, but had discovered only more of his own inadequacies. He began to believe he had been a fool all along.

  * * *

  The horror-filled day turned into an endless night. Tortured by her memories, Agnes twisted her hands in her lap as she sat in the Newtons’ best room at the inn beside Colleen’s body.

  “Rest. I will stay with her,” Edwin whispered.

  Agnes had almost forgotten Edwin sat next to her. Mr. Newton had dosed him with mead to soothe his throat, but every breath he took sounded like an effort.

  “You said that an hour ago.” Her lips quivered as she stared at the woman who had raised her. Thomas Withersby had donated one of his daughter’s gowns for Colleen to wear. The deep blue satin set off the fiery red of Colleen’s hair, a color which reminded Agnes of the horrible flames. The fright remained embedded in her mind and an endless stream of questions haunted her.

  “Margaret may need you,” Edwin urged.

  “I will go to her if she stirs.” Agnes had tucked Margaret into the bed in the room across the hall.

  “You will need your strength tomorrow.” He patted her hands.

  The sight of his damaged hands had her eyes welling with tears. Mrs. Newton had dressed his burns and bandaged them. Mr. Newton had given him a decent set of clothes. The jacket was far too small for Edwin’s muscular shoulders, but he had managed to squeeze himself into the garment.

  The wound on his thigh bled again and clearly caused him pain.

  “Did the sheriff believe you?” she whispered.

  “I told him I favor my father’s side of the family.”

  “Do you?”

  “I am the spitting image of my father at the same age.”

  “Then he must be handsome.” She gazed at his face, knowing she had never seen another quite as admirable, even though some of his hair had been singed away.

  “I suppose he was a dashing man when he was young.” A sour expression marred his features. “At any rate, the sheriff did not take much notice of me.”

  That surprised her. How could he fail to attract attention? Since Mr. Newton had also given him a shave the chiseled lines of his cheekbones and jaw stood out in even greater detail. Warmth crept into her cheeks. She turned her gaze down to stare at her lap.

  Silence reigned for a few moments before he added, “I told him about the men. That agitated him.”

  “Yes, the river makes it easy for them.”

  “Them?”

  “The Tories. They come up the river in their boats, steal
our livestock, and then leave.”

  “Why would they kill a woman?”

  “She must have tried to stop them.” Agnes eyes misted with tears. She struggled to regain control of her emotions. “Thank you for bringing her out of the fire.”

  “They got away.”

  “They will get their due.” She patted his hand, but he winced. “I am sorry. Do the burns trouble you greatly?” She had not realized the extent of his injuries until Mrs. Newton began to dress them. The damage had been far worse than she thought at first.

  “Mr. Newton gave me a ration of superb whiskey.”

  She nodded. She smelled it on his breath though she did not mind. It mingled with the aroma of smoke, which still clung to him. Perhaps, she should have had some of the whiskey. Mr. Newton had offered. The liquor might have helped her to relax. “The Newtons are such good people. When I was a child, I pretended they were my grandparents.”

  “They are generous,” he acknowledged. “These clothes. Allowing you to use this room.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders and a tiny flutter tickled her stomach. She had been numb for hours. How did he initiate such a reaction in her despite all that had happened?

  “Please, join your sister. Rest,” he insisted.

  She took in a ragged breath. “No. I cannot sleep.”

  “Your neighbors promised their help—”

  “Colleen was the backbone of our family. She came as a servant, but cheerfully fed us, washed our clothes, tidied the house, kept the garden, praised us for our good deeds and punished us when we misbehaved. She had the opportunity to go off and live her own life, but she stayed with us. How will we manage without her?” Emotion tightened her throat.

  “You healed the pig and me. Now, you must heal yourself, too.”

  “You are not healed and now you have burns as well.” She refused to break into tears. Weeping would solve nothing. She clenched her teeth in an effort to bottle all her misery inside her.

  He drew her against him and she did not resist. Edwin’s arms lent her strength. She had touched his ridged sinews when she cooled away his fever. Memorizing the fine contours of his body had given her a strange thrill, though she would never admit that to anyone. Now, even through his clothing and hers, she felt those well-defined muscles which harbored so much power.