A Heart for Freedom: He longs for freedom, but won’t risk the lives of those he loves.

by Janet S. Grunst

  “Mark sounds like he misses being home.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. “Mary may have an adjustment when she returns home, with no assemblies, receptions, fascinating people, and elegant gowns.”

  “’Tis time for bed.” Matthew rose and reached out to help her up from her chair.

  They walked into the common room. The night sounds grew distant, and the dim light from the lantern lent it an intimate atmosphere. His arm around her waist was comforting. But his distant look suggested his mind was elsewhere.

  “Is something wrong, Matthew?”

  “No, my dear. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem preoccupied. Please tell me if you are troubled about something.”

  He took her in his arms and held her close, and his gentle voice in her ear was a balm to her spirit. “Forgive me, I have much on my mind, but never want to give you cause to be anxious.”

  The following week, Matthew readied for his return trip to Pennsylvania. Bringing Mary and Mark home after all these weeks would be a relief. They had been missed, but he also wanted them closer to home during these uncertain times. As soon as he got to Philadelphia, he would take care of his business with Henry, then let the Moores know he had arrived.

  Matthew had finished packing the evening before his departure. While Heather put Douglas to bed, he retrieved the gift he had purchased for her earlier in the week while in Leesburg on business. He opened the small velvet bag and held up the ribbon with the silver Celtic cross attached. It shimmered in the lamplight. A token of his love for her, but perhaps also to assuage the guilt he felt. Honesty was a personal attribute he valued, and deceiving Heather was a constant irritant. Even if the lies were for his family’s protection. He returned it to its box at the sound of her footsteps in the hall.

  The door opened, and Heather entered. She frowned, glancing at his travel bag resting on the floor. She approached him. “I have very mixed feelings. I’m eager to see the children, but I hate your being gone.”

  He took her in his arms, and she eased into him in one fluid movement. “We are of like mind, my dear.” He bent down and smelled the fragrance of her freshly washed hair. There was a citrusy scent to it. “You know I will be back as soon as I can.”

  “Aye.” She looked up at him with trusting light blue eyes and loving smile. “I will count the days,” she whispered.

  He kissed her nose. “I have something for you.”

  She scanned the room before noticing the green velvet bag on the bed. “What is that?” Her eyes glistened, and her smile broadened.

  “Open it.”

  She pulled out the ribbon and held it up with one hand, then reached for the cross with the other. She rubbed the embossed knotted design. “I love it, Matthew. ’Tis precious.” She went to where the mirror hung on the wall and tied the ribbon behind her neck. “What a sweet gesture.”

  “For my delightful lady.” He came up behind her and turned her around to face him, touching his lips to hers, gently, then with more intensity as she returned his kisses. Her hands caressed his back. Then as if on cue, they both pulled back, looked at each other, and laughed.

  Heather blushed. “I fear something ... well someone has come between us.”

  “That was a pretty healthy kick I felt.” He laughed again. “Our child is already asserting his or her self. So much for passion.”

  “My love, in case you have forgotten, ’twas passion that initiated that kick.”

  Early the next morning after breakfasting, Matthew brought the wagon to the front of the Green. He placed his bag and a basket of food into it before returning to the porch where Heather stood.

  He caressed her cheek. “Do not exert yourself, and no climbing. ’Tis not too many weeks before our little one will join us. The Gordons will help you with anything you need done.”

  “Aye, dear.” She opened her arms, and he pulled her close.

  His kiss, only meant to be a farewell, met with hers, was difficult to walk away from. “Baiting the hook to reel me back?”

  “’Tis true.”

  “I shall come back for more.” He smiled and climbed onto the wagon and made his way down the lane. When he turned to wave, she was doing likewise.

  CHAPTER 14

  Matthew left Henry a note at the Ferguson residence when he arrived in Philadelphia. From there he went to Chestnut Street and checked into the Davis Inn. He would complete his business with Henry before announcing his arrival at the Browns’ home to pick up the children. An hour later, a courier arrived at the inn with a note from Henry requesting a meeting at Tun Tavern near the waterfront at six that evening.

  When he entered the tavern, Henry waved him back to a table. Matthew searched the dark room. Quite a few patrons but no uniforms in sight. “Henry.” Matthew shook his hand and sat down across from him.

  Henry scanned the room before directing his gaze back at him. “Any issues?”

  A server came to the table, took their orders for drinks, and left.

  “No.” Matthew handed the packet to Henry, which he placed inside his jacket. “How are your parents and sister?”

  “As well as can be expected. Barbara has moved back home but rarely speaks to me.”

  “Is she hostile because of your Patriot associations?”

  “She blames ‘my kind’ for her loss, and she is very bitter.”

  The server returned with their order, picked up Henry’s coins, and departed.

  Henry continued. “Since I also cause my parents anxiety, I’m usually occupied elsewhere, thereby facilitating a more tranquil atmosphere at Ferguson House.”

  Matthew drank some cider. “’Tis unfortunate when families are at odds with one another.”

  “Agreed. ’Twill be easier once I leave the Locust Street residence.”

  “You are leaving Philadelphia?”

  Henry laughed. “I’m getting married next month and will establish my own residence.”

  Matthew tipped his head. “Congratulations, my friend. And she is?”

  “Her name is Constance.” Henry gave him a knowing grin. “The daughter of one of the delegates to the Convention. Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes.” Henry was as astute as ever. “I wish you both a happy and long life together.”

  “You can meet her Saturday at the State House reception. I want you to be my guest.”

  Matthew took another drink and set the tankard down. “I have some other business to attend to while I’m here. Not sure I will be available.” Henry did not know he was in town to pick up his children, and Matthew saw no reason to address that with him.

  “Please consider it. Seven o’clock at the State House. You will not only be able to meet Constance and her father but also many other gentlemen who are our friends.”

  “I appreciate the invitation, but do not be disappointed if I cannot come.”

  “If not Saturday, then next month. Stephens will give you an address where we can meet.”

  “I shan’t be back next month. My wife and I expect a child in October.”

  “Then you are to be congratulated also.”

  “Many thanks. Now I need to go and contact some of my family in town.”

  The men both stood, and Henry picked up his hat. “Saturday or November.”

  Matthew pushed his shoulders back. Why had he not asked Stephens or Jones how many trips to Philadelphia he would be expected to make? “I suppose so.”

  Matthew sent a courier with a note to the Moores informing them he was in town and asking when it would be convenient for him to call.

  Their response arrived at the inn early the next morning. The Moores extended the Browns’ invitation to stay at their home and attend the State House reception with them and his children. He looked out the window. Interesting. Two invitations to the same event.

  When Matthew arrived later that day at Cypress Street, Mary and Mark flew into his arms. At dinner, the children shared stories of their excursions, all the sites they
had visited and calls they had made. It would seem there had not been any major problems during the children’s visit.

  Louisa leaned toward him. “Your arrival could not have come at a better time. You can attend the reception with us and meet some of the delegates to the Convention who are still in town.”

  “I appreciate your invitation, but I only brought clothes suitable for Sunday services.”

  Mary’s amber eyes cajoled. “You must come, Papa. ’Twill be exciting.”

  Mark’s eyes rolled. “Please, Papa, I need you to come. Who else will I talk to?

  He chuckled. It was going to be difficult to reject such coaxing.

  John Moore settled the question. “I assure you, Sunday clothes will be very acceptable.”

  That Saturday, two coaches, one for the Browns and their daughter and son-in-law and the other for the Stewarts and the Moores, arrived at six-forty-five to take them to the State House.

  Mary came down the stairway to the center hall dressed in a stunning amber damask gown with her hair worn high and adorned with ribbons. She took his breath away. Where had his little girl gone?

  Her eyes sparkled. She pulled him near. “Papa, do you like my new gown? And look. Grandmamma gave me these pearl earrings and pendant to wear and this beautiful fan.” Her gloved hand flicked it open and waved it before her face as if she had exercised the skill her entire life.

  Dressed equally well but enjoying it far less, Mark sat reading on a heavily embroidered bench along the parlor wall. When the Moores entered the room, they all exchanged compliments before heading out to the coaches.

  The setting sun cast a beautiful glow on the warm evening.

  Inside the State House, the group entered a large, elegant room decorated for the reception. Well-dressed men and women milled about everywhere. Chairs were set against the walls for those who preferred to sit. Liveried servants carried trays with drinks.

  Louisa drew Mary and Mark toward a gathering of women while John introduced Matthew to the Reverend White.

  The cleric reached for Matthew’s hand. “’Tis good to see you again, Mr. Stewart. We have enjoyed getting better acquainted with your children this summer at church.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “From what the children have told me, their time here has been well spent.”

  The young man they met on their walk to the church approached and greeted them. “Patrick O’Brian. We met at Christ Church.”

  “Yes, Mr. O’Brian, I remember you well, the cabinetmaker.” Matthew took a shrub glass from a liveried server. “You were constructing a desk for Reverend White. Have you finished it yet?”

  “No, but it will be completed within the month.” The young man’s manner was engaging.

  John Moore stood nearby and introduced himself. “Have you an establishment?”

  “Not yet, sir. One day, I hope to have my own shop. I have been working for Thomas Affleck the past two years.”

  John nodded. “I have heard good things of Mr. Affleck’s work. A fine profession and one that will keep you well employed here, I think.”

  “Yes, sir. I have learned much from him about the craft and the administrative side of the business.”

  Matthew set his glass on a table and listened as John spoke of some prized furniture he had. Matthew scanned the room for Henry Ferguson and his intended but could not locate them. But it was impossible to miss Patrick O’ Brian’s gaze across the room to Mary.

  She stood with some young ladies, deep in conversation, but her eyes were on Patrick.

  Matthew felt John’s hand on his arm. “If you and Mr. O’Brian will excuse me, I must return to the discussion of the Olive Branch Petition Mr. Penn will take to London.” He turned and rejoined a group of gentlemen in a heated discussion in the far corner of the room.

  Matthew turned to Patrick. “Do politics interest you, Mr. O’Brian?”

  “The current events force one to take an interest. Soon ’twill be more than talk.”

  John called out to him. “Matthew, come here. You need to meet these gentlemen.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. O’Brian.” Matthew bowed and made his way over to the group. Matthew was introduced and listened to those gathered. Among the group of eight were three delegates to the convention still in town. Matthew listened as the men discussed General Washington’s appointment as Commander in Chief of the Continental forces.

  One of the younger men present shook his head. “The vote was ultimately unanimous. General Washington has a commanding presence, and with his military experience, he is the right man for the job.”

  The man to Matthew’s right added, “With all the insurrection taking place up north, a southerner like Washington will be a unifier and bring support from the southern colonies.”

  Another man bellowed, “We must enlist the Canadian provinces. All along the waterways, the colonials and Canadians have forts. We cannot afford to let the English get a stronger foothold than they already have. I understand General Schuyler is organizing the Continental forces in New York,”

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen.” John Moore raised his hands. “Shall we put aside our strategies for this evening and join the ladies?”

  Matthew returned to searching the room for Henry while also distracted by the visual exchange between Patrick and his daughter. Mary was fiddling awkwardly with her fan. The coy smile she wore implied she wasn’t nervous but flirting, and Patrick appeared receptive.

  Matthew noticed John Moore also observing the flirtation, and the old gent could hardly contain his laughter. Mary was definitely maturing at a rate Matthew wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.

  He looked around the room for Mark. There he was, in a corner playing a game of cards with some of the other young guests. He walked over for a closer look. The boys were absorbed in a game of Lanterloo.

  An hour later, the Stewarts and Moores made their way back to Cypress Street. Matthew was seated in the coach between Mark and Mary. Louisa and John sat across from them.

  “’Twas a lovely evening,” Matthew said, “and kind of you to include me.”

  “We are glad you joined us.” John grinned.

  Louisa’s eyes were trained on Mary like a hawk. “Was that young man you were speaking with the Mr. O’Brian we spoke of a few weeks ago?”

  “Yes. Papa and Grandpapa spoke with him also.” Mary’s blissful expression became apprehensive.

  Matthew took her hand. “He seems like a fine young man.”

  “And Grandpapa,” Mary said, “did you not find Patrick O’Brian cordial?”

  John smirked. “Very pleasant and well mannered ... and quite restrained when you messaged him with the language of the fan.”

  Mary’s jaw dropped.

  John continued. “You wished him to speak with you, then indicated you were married before asking him if he loved you. Finally, you informed him you were engaged, yet wished to speak with him and wanted to be friends.”

  Matthew bit his lip. Poor Mary. The look of mortification on her face and the look of horror on Louisa’s would be etched in his mind forever.

  CHAPTER 15

  Heather rubbed her swollen hands against her lower back. September arrived with a violent storm that brought howling, driving winds and torrential rain. Wringing out saturated towels and cloths was taking its toll, but they had stemmed the flooding around the windows and doors. She glanced out the kitchen window. Tree branches waved, and leaves blew everywhere. The wind’s sound increased to a deafening pitch as Polly carried in another bucket of soaked towels and cloths.

  Heather handed her bucket to Polly. “We shall need these again. The storm seems to be getting worse.”

  “Let me take over for a while. You sit for a bit.”

  Heather nodded. “I’m worried about Matthew and the children traveling back from Philadelphia in all of this.”

  “The storm’s path is unknown. Who knows if ’tis raining where they are? They may be in Baltimore or Alexandria with friends or
taking refuge at an ordinary along the way.”

  A loud crash made them both jump. Heather screamed, “The children!”

  They ran to the public room. Douglas was under a table, and Laura was in her cradle.

  Douglas ran up to Heather and nestled into her skirts. “What was that noise?”

  “’Tis all right, laddie.” She turned to Polly. “We need to check upstairs. Where are Thomas and the boys?”

  Polly nodded. “In the barn. I will check upstairs.”

  Douglas followed Heather to the kitchen still holding on to her skirt. From the window, she spotted Philip opening the large barn door. She waved. Philip and Todd were looking toward the Green. Todd looked anxious. “Polly,” she yelled. “I think the sound came from the barn.”

  Polly ran into the kitchen. “Upstairs is fine.” She ran out the back door.

  Heather looked down on Douglas, still hovering at her skirt. She leaned down and put her arms around him. “Dear God in heaven, please let no one be hurt. Please protect us.”

  Thomas, drenched, came through the back door. “Polly said everyone was safe here.”

  “Aye.” Heather nodded. “We have been dealing with the rain coming in, but ’twas the sound that frightened us. How are Todd and Philip?”

  Thomas leaned against a wall. “Polly is with them. They are fine and seeing to the animals in the barn. The horses were shaken when the tree fell. We will have a job cutting up all that wood and repairing the barn roof.”

  Heather poured him some coffee. “We can deal with that once the storm passes.

  Twenty-four hours later, the sun was shining, and the common room was the gathering place for its exhausted residents. Thomas and the boys had spent hours cutting the tree and moving the wood.

  Heather set a large tray of bread, ham, cheese, and apples on one of the tables. “That tree did a lot of damage.”

  Thomas, his legs spread out in front of him, looked out a window and rubbed one of his shoulders. “We can get started on the repairs as soon as we get all of the wood out of the way. ’Tis amazing the difference a day can make. It could not be sunnier outside.”