The farmer climbed down from the seat. He went to the back, picked up a basket and took it inside the inn. He did not come out. Edwin figured the farmer decided to have a drink while he and the owner of the inn discussed the worth of the beets.
Edwin grew anxious as the minutes went by. He studied the horse. If he removed it from its traces, he might ride it bareback. However, he came to the conclusion that resorting to thievery, even for a noble cause was not worth the danger, either from the law, or from the stain on his immortal soul. He put the fallen beet into one of the baskets and started walking along with his stick again.
He did not get far before he came to a fork in the road. Both paths appeared to head west, but either one might veer off in the wrong direction farther along. He wanted to get to Leedsville today.
He sat on a log to rest his leg and stared at the divergent tracks. Nobody passed by him to offer a suggestion as to which would be the better choice. One recourse was left to him. He closed his eyes and allowed his heart to speak. His soul’s yearnings rang with more eloquence than the murmurings of his lips.
He realized his need for guidance was not only for the surest road, but also for his life. He left his country and all its privileges behind and stood at the beginning of a change he never anticipated. In his mind, it seemed as if he hung above a great chasm and listened to something in the wind. The answer he needed came to him then, not in words, but in the enlightened knowledge of true discernment.
Suddenly, the loud squeal of a pig distracted him. He opened his eyes, turned around and saw Margaret riding atop Jonas. At first, he thought it was a hallucination, but she called out to him.
“Cousin Edwin! Are you lost?” She reined in the pig and slid off.
Jonas sniffed him and squealed some more, as if he were happy to see him.
“Actually, yes. I don’t know which road to take.” He couldn’t tell her about his fears for Agnes.
“The one on the right. Jonas knows how to get home.”
Jonas nodded his head and grunted.
“How did you get away from the men who kidnapped you?” he asked.
“I waited until they had a cup too many and fell asleep. Then I tied them to a tree.”
Edwin thought of the terrible fear Agnes suffered over the loss of her sister and now here the plucky child stood right in front of him after riding homeward on her precocious pig.
His throat tightened with emotion. “We were worried about you.”
“I was mad! Those men intended to slaughter Jonas. Jonas was mad, too. Where are your crutches?”
“I’ll tell you later. Let’s get back to Leedsville.” He started hobbling along with the stick.
“Do you want to ride Jonas?”
Edwin patted the pig. “I think I’m too big for him.”
The pig shook his head and squealed.
“He likes you. You are bigger than I am, but you might lean on him a bit.” The child frowned. “Is Agnes looking for me, too?”
He told her about the trip in the boat to Sandy Hook, but he made it a very long story, putting in every detail. That way, he figured they should get to Leedsville before he wound up telling her the part about the bullet-ridden boat and his fears for Agnes.
* * *
Agnes sat gagged and bound by ropes to a chair. The miller left her alone in the cellar of the barn with the promise to return as soon as darkness fell. He claimed to have business to attend to first. She wondered how he would explain his swollen face, split lip, and bruises to his daughter.
Or, perhaps, he intended to obtain his revenge against the man who beat him. Would he call him a traitor? Would he hang him or stab him in the back?
She shuddered in the damp chill of the cellar. Daylight did not penetrate the thick stone walls, but the miller left a candle burning for her inside a punched tin lantern. Small shafts of light illuminated the area closest to her. In the dim flickering glow, she saw an assortment of cannonballs, muskets, small shot, kegs of gunpowder, and artillery guns in a variety of sizes. Judging from the size of the cache, the miller and his cohorts possessed the means to decimate an entire battalion.
Until now, she never gave much thought to the design of the miller’s barn. From the road it did not look imposing. The front of the barn sat on ground level with the road, but the structure had been built on a small hill, which sloped away into the woods behind it. The sandstone foundation supporting the back of the barn stood many feet high. Thick mortar held the irregular stones in place.
Glancing upward, she realized the floor above her contained a double layer of planks. Even if she screamed, no one would hear her, but he made sure she would not let out a peep by tying a gag around her mouth.
After he had felled her with his whip, the miller made short work of trussing her up like a beef roast. He tossed her over his shoulder and went down the hill behind the barn. Shrubs grew along the foundation, but it was the large one that caught her attention as he shoved it aside. A flowering boneset bush. Colleen had been searching for more boneset for Edwin the day she was murdered. Was this the one she found?
Behind the bush was a cleverly concealed tunnel which was not part of the stone foundation, but dug out of the hill. Though lined with the same type of local sandstone, the surface of the tunnel’s walls were covered with mold, for daylight never touched it. The tunnel went back about twenty feet. At the end the light grew so dim, she saw nothing, and the miller, with his swollen eyelids probably saw less, but it did not matter. He obviously knew the way quite well.
She heard the key in the lock and the squeak of the rusty hinges, and then the overpowering and pervasive odor of gunpowder, metal, and oil, which clung in the stale, damp air, crept into her nostrils and further down into her lungs.
It was the smell of death.
Had Colleen discovered this tunnel and the contraband it held? Was that the reason for her murder?
The miller tightened her bonds to the chair and then left, locking her inside. Nobody would ever find her. By now, the midwife and Aunt Sally would be wondering what happened to her. Would they realize she had been taken against her will? She hoped they noticed the disarray in the forge.
She ached all over from bruises and cuts on her arms where the whip sliced her skin. Rope burns stung her ankles and wrists, but her injuries mattered little. When the miller returned, she did not doubt he would hang her from a tree in a prominent place and label her a traitor.
In the strictest sense, his accusation would be true. She harbored a British soldier. He got away without languishing in prison or being traded for other soldiers. If anyone had discovered his identity as the son of a duke, he would have been held for ransom.
Yet, aside from the fact that she loved Edwin, she believed in her heart her actions were moral and correct. She saved him from a terrible fate.
Margaret’s kidnapping still angered her. That was ethically wrong and those men needed to be taken to task for what they had done.
She struggled to break her bonds, but the miller’s tight knots made her hands and feet numb. Her situation appeared hopeless. Should she do nothing and accept her fate?
A lone tear slid down her cheek as she prayed. Her life lay in the hands of the Lord. She expected no mercy from the miller.
After some time, muffled sounds came to her ears from above her in the barn. She held very still, barely breathing as she listened. Despite the thickness of the floor planks, there came a heavy thump, followed by a thud, and then something that might have been a groan or a cry. Most likely a sick cow or horse moved in their stall, but when the cry faded away to a mere whisper, she wondered whether her fear caused her to hear something when nothing was there. Quiet reigned once more after that.
Perhaps she was already insane.
She shivered and the chair wobbled. A sudden spurt of hope shot through her. She jumped, propelling herself in the chair. She succeeded in moving a few inches. Spurred by her success, she bounced some more. Controlling her direc
tion proved difficult, but she continued to struggle to get closer to the door. The handle of the door included a curved end, not unlike the handles she was fond of making at the forge. If she reached the handle, the small point would be sharp enough to take off her gag.
She stopped to catch her breath frequently. At times dizziness threatened to overwhelm her, for she had not even a drop of water for hours. Still, she refused to simply sit quietly and wait for her executioner.
After what seemed like an eternity, she hopped to within two feet of the door. With determination, she decided her next jump would bring her right to the door handle. She gave a mighty push. Instead of moving forward, two chair legs sank into a slight depression in the packed dirt floor. The chair teetered for a moment and she fought to balance it, but it went over, crashing to the floor with her tied to it.
The resounding crash as the chair broke into pieces echoed in the cellar. Agnes lay in a near stupor for a while. Her head hit the hard earth when she fell and for several minutes her eyes refused to focus. Gradually, she recovered and realized she was freed from the chair.
There did not seem to be a single spot on her body that did not hurt from either bruises or cuts, but she would not quit. She rolled and crawled to the door. Once she reached it, she pushed herself up and slipped the edge of the gag over the point of the curved handle. Then she pulled and yanked and tugged until she ripped the cloth. It fell away.
Gasping with relief, she gradually pulled herself to stand, turned around, and worked at the bonds on her hands using the small point on the handle. She used as much precision as possible, knowing she had no time to waste. She wondered if there was another way out of the cellar such as a trapdoor to the barn above.
Freeing her hands, she went to work on her feet. The moment she released her bonds, she grabbed the small lantern. She must find a ladder or a door to escape before the miller returned.
When the sound of the key jammed into the lock, she knew her luck ran out. She needed some way to even the odds, so she snatched the nearest horn of gunpowder and poured its contents on the table.
The hinges on the door squealed. The miller entered. His eyes were mere slits in his swollen face. He carried a thick rope around his arm with a neatly tied noose hanging on the end.
She took the candle out of the lantern and held it over the gunpowder.
“How did you break free? What are you doing?” he asked.
“I am going to blow you and your storehouse of weapons to kingdom come,” she smiled at him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A cold knot formed in Edwin’s stomach as he and Margaret neared Aunt Sally’s house. Outside, a large group of neighbors stood.
“What’s going on?” asked Margaret. Jonas grunted with excitement.
Edwin’s throat closed up. Had all his fears come true? Was he too late?
Mr. Newton spotted them as they approached. “You found her.”
“I found him,” Margaret corrected. “He was lost and he misplaced his crutches, too, but Jonas helped him out.”
“Bless you.” Mr. Newton hugged Margaret. “Oh child, your aunt will be so glad to see you. You have a new cousin. She’s a girl.”
Margaret beamed. “I told Aunt Sally it would be a girl.”
His wife came up behind him and hugged Margaret as well. “Child, we don’t know what to do. It appears someone has taken your sister.”
“Taken?” Edwin croaked as panic rioted within him. Taken, not murdered. He tried to calm himself.
“She went to the forge, but when she did not come back, the midwife found her hammer and tongs on the ground,” said Mrs. Newton. “Miss Agnes is particular about her tools and that’s not like her.”
Edwin frowned. Agnes must have returned home safely if she had been working at the forge and then disappeared from there. That meant she was not in the boat when it was attacked. The men succeeded in bringing her home. They must have been fired upon on the return trip to Sandy Hook. When he saw all the blood in the boat, he feared her dead and envisioned her lovely body riddled with musket shot, pierced, and bleeding.
She is not dead. Some of the weight lifted from him. If someone kidnapped her, that still left him with hope. He set his jaw. He would find her no matter what it took. He would have Agnes in his arms again.
“Hobart said he saw a wagon piled with hay heading away from the forge, but he thought little of it until later,” said Mr. Newton.
“Did anyone follow the tracks from the wagon?” he asked.
“They went into the creek and nobody was able to locate where the wagon came out of the creek bed.” Mr. Newton wrung his hands. “We sent for Joshua Huddy’s militia, but it’s going to be dark soon.”
“Where’s Hobart?” Edwin asked.
“Plowing the field with his ox,” Mr. Newton replied.
“Bring him here and get me someone who understands German,” Edwin ordered.
“The midwife can speak German,” said Mrs. Newton.
It did not take long to establish the fact that Hobart saw a wagon resembling one stolen from another farmer months ago.
Edwin’s heart began to sound like a hammer hitting an anvil as he questioned Hobart about the miller.
“Schwarzes herz,” Hobart insisted.
“He thinks the miller has a black heart,” the midwife explained.
Edwin remembered the foreign words and wished he had known their meaning sooner. He balled his hands into tight fists.
Hobart did not trust the miller, for he cheated him. Only once, Hobart pointed out, for he never let a man do it twice. Hired to help the miller with the haying on his land, Hobart was given less than the original amount agreed upon beforehand.
The second reason Hobart did not trust the man was because he caught sight of him setting fire to the house of one of their disaffected neighbors. Weeks later, Hobart noticed a very elaborate silver candelabrum from the charred home on display in the window of the miller’s own home.
“The man smiles at everyone, but he is evil, according to Hobart,” the midwife explained.
“Would he kidnap Agnes?” Edwin asked.
When the midwife asked Hobart the question, he clenched his jaw. Then he replied in his native tongue.
The midwife translated. “The miller wanted to marry Agnes, but she refused to be courted by him. It would make him angry. He is a cruel man when he is mad. He beats his horses.”
“The miller has a secret hiding place,” Margaret spoke out. Until then, she listened quietly to the proceedings. “There is a tunnel underneath his barn. Colleen and I found it when we went looking for boneset. The tunnel is moldy and the stones are green. It smells musty, but we walked along the tunnel and found a door at the end. Close to the door, I held my nose, for I did not like the bad smell. Colleen said it was the smell of black powder. The door was as sturdy as the walls of a fortress, she said, for she tried to open it and it would not budge. She was going to bring along a very thin rod next time and see if she could spring the lock.”
Everyone fell silent.
“Does anyone have a horse I might borrow?” Edwin asked.
* * *
The sun went down by the time Edwin worked out a plan. With caution and as silently as possible, he and a small force of three men approached the miller’s barn. They carried no lanterns, but the night sky was clear and the moon and stars above guided them on their way.
They split into two groups. Joshua Huddy and one other man intended to enter the top of the barn and search for a trap door into the cellar. No one knew if such a door existed, but everyone agreed on the possibility and the importance of blocking any escape route.
Edwin and another man skilled in springing locks went down the slope behind the barn. The man with Edwin went on foot, but a farmer loaned Edwin an old draft horse to ride. The ancient mare was nearly as quiet as a mouse, an unusual but excellent benefit under the circumstances. Still, the horse turned skittish when urged to go down the steep incline. Of necess
ity, Edwin moved further along the edge of the hill until the slope became more gradual. Then the horse was willing to step down, but precious minutes ticked by and the tension in Edwin’s body spiraled while his teeth clamped together so tight he thought he would shatter them from the pressure.
Margaret had drawn a map of the barn showing the entrance to the tunnel. Edwin and the militiaman went down the hill on the opposite side from the hidden tunnel. Edwin slid off the horse and tied it to a bush. The militiaman handed him a musket with the bayonet fixed in place. Edwin sucked in his breath. If someone hurt Agnes, he would do what he must.
Peering out from the corner, they studied the area. Due to the great shadow of the barn itself, they did not see the miller step out from the woods behind the barn until he pushed aside the large bush at the entrance to the tunnel.
The moment he disappeared into the tunnel, they scurried along the back of the barn. When they reached the bush, the distinctive click of a key opening a large lock echoed along the tunnel. The pain in Edwin’s leg did not matter at all. He rushed down the tunnel with the militiaman right behind him, but before they reached the door, it slammed shut and they heard the ominous click of the lock put into place.
Standing outside the door, only a tiny glimmer of light shone through the keyhole. The militiaman opened up his bag of tools to spring the lock. The heavy oak door muffled the sound from inside, but through the large keyhole, Edwin heard Agnes’s voice and the deeper rumble of the miller’s growl.
His temper flared. He wanted to break the door down, but after hearing what Colleen had told Margaret, the sturdy portal could be formidable enough to withstand a small siege.
* * *
Agnes fought to maintain a clear head. Her vision blurred as weakness spread through her. She thought of her mother falling into the roaring water of the river. Maybe her mother passed out. Maybe she did not intend to kill herself. Though she did hand Agnes the cameo.
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