“I think that was the point, Lydia,” Birch said dryly. “It was your fault you listened to Galen’s lies. Anyone could see the type of man he is. You were foolish to believe him.” He pushed away a wave of irritation. Even now she was angry with her sister instead of Galen.
Lydia gripped his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh. “Galen loves me, Birch. I know he does. But he was bewitched by Hannah long ago. If he had never met her, things would be so different.” Her voice was filled with malice. “I hate her!”
He took her by the arms and shook her. “Stop it, Lydia! Stop blaming Hannah for your own actions. Galen loves no one but himself. You are willfully blind.”
She jerked herself away and almost fell. He put out a hand to steady her, but she stepped back again. “You are just as bad as Galen,” she hissed. “You are bewitched by her as well. She looks at a man with those big green eyes, and he has no sense left.” She sat in the chair and began to weep with helpless sobs. “I hate her. I hate her. I wish she would die.”
She couldn’t mean what she said. Birch knelt beside her. “You must get some rest, Lydia. You love Hannah—you know you do. You are not yourself tonight.” He felt a stab of unease at her wild babbling. She sounded almost mad. He wasn’t sure it was entirely safe to leave. Would she try to harm Hannah or Charlotte? It was too horrible to contemplate.
Her shoulders drooped. After a long moment she raised her head and stared at him in the moonlight. “Faith, but you are right. What on earth was I saying?” She sounded bewildered. “Of course I love Hannah. She would never do anything to harm me.”
He released his pent-up breath and rolled his shoulders to alleviate the tension. She was calm now. It must have been a momentary fit of hysteria. “Let me help you to bed. You shall feel better in the morning.”
She clutched his arm. “You will look for Galen, will you not? He is likely to be in one of the rebel camps. He thought to act as a spy for General Howe.”
“Oh, I shall look for him all right,” he said grimly. He would look for him and see him hang as a traitor.
She stared at him uncertainly. His harsh voice must have frightened her. He put a hand on her arm. “You must get some rest. Come along now.” He gently propelled her toward the stairs.
She stopped at the foot of the steps, her eyes wide. A pool of water at her feet glimmered in the moonlight. “My-my baby. It is coming!”
Birch didn’t have much experience with childbirth, but he remembered the same thing happening before Charles was born. He scooped her into his arms and hurried up the stairs. Stopping outside Hannah’s door, he hammered on it. “Hannah, the baby is coming!”
He rushed down the hall and put Lydia into bed. He would buy Hannah a new mattress. Before he could turn to see if she’d heard him, he heard the creak of Hannah’s door, then her footsteps down the hall. He lit a candle and held it aloft as she came through the door.
He felt a surge of love for her when he saw her standing there in her nightgown with her dark curls hanging to her waist. Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned his back to her. He couldn’t look at her, or he would take her in his arms and kiss her resistance away. He focused on Lydia.
“Her waters have broken.” His uniform was soaked from carrying her up the stairs. “Shall I go for a midwife?”
Hannah stepped to the bed and placed a soothing hand on Lydia’s head. “It will likely be many hours yet. Our mother often acted as midwife. I helped her many times, so I shall care for Lydia.”
Lydia clutched her hand. “I want no one but you, Hannah. Am I going to die?” Her young voice was frantic.
“Of course not,” Hannah said soothingly. “This little one wants to see his mama, and we shall oblige him.”
Lydia lifted her lips in a weak smile. “’Tis a boy. I know it, Hannah.” She sighed, then her eyes widened. “Oh!” Grimacing, she put her hands on her stomach.
“The pains have begun?” Hannah asked.
Lydia nodded. “I am frightened, Sister.” She sat up in bed and reached for Hannah’s hand again. “Promise me you will care for my child if I die.”
Hannah laughed. “You know that I would. Do not fret so. You will be fine. You are young and healthy. Now try to rest between pains. It will be a long night.” She pushed Lydia back against the pillow. “Let me get you a dry gown.”
She seemed almost startled to see Birch, as though she had forgotten he was there. “You may go to bed, Birch. I will see to Lydia.”
He wanted to tell her he was leaving, but he couldn’t leave until the baby was born. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
She shook her head. “Later you can fetch me some water, but it will be many hours yet.” She touched his arm and smiled. “Sleep while you can. Soon there will be two children here with their demands.” She seemed pleased at the prospect.
Birch grinned. “Methinks you would be happy with a dozen.” What a wonderful thing it would be to have such a large, happy family. He could not still the thrust of hope the image gave him. But he would never have that family as long as Hannah was so stubborn.
She blushed. “Go now. I need to change Lydia.” She gave a slight shove toward the door.
It took all Birch’s strength to move toward the door. She looked so delectable with her hair around her shoulders like that. He wanted to bury his face in that mass of curls and inhale the sweet scent. He thrust his hands into his pockets before he did something he would regret. “Call me if you need me.”
She nodded and turned back to her sister. “If you hear Charlotte, you might see to her.”
“I will check on her.” He pulled the door shut behind him and went down the hall. Peering into the baby’s room, he saw the noise had not disturbed her at all. He pulled her door closed and went to his own room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled his boots off and removed his damp coat. He started to undress and put on a nightshirt, but he might be called out in the night. Shaking his head at his own vanity, he lay down on top of the bed fully clothed.
He was certain he would not be able to sleep, but to his surprise, the sun streaming through the window awakened him. He bolted upright in the bed. Had the babe arrived? No sound in the night had awakened him. Padding down the hall to Lydia’s bedroom, he listened at the door. Nothing. He raised his hand to knock but heard sounds downstairs and let his hand drop.
Hannah looked up when he entered the kitchen. Her eyes were shadowed with fatigue, but she smiled when she saw him.
“How is Lydia?” he asked. She had dressed sometime in the night, and he wasn’t sure whether to be glad for the reduced temptation or sad to see her prim and proper again. She wore a brown cotton-print gown with a tan stomacher, and her mobcap covered that glorious dark hair again.
“Holding up well. The babe likely will not make an appearance before this afternoon. The pains are not bad yet. She finally fell asleep, so I left to let her rest.” She turned away and continued to shave tea into the caddy. “Would you care for some breakfast?”
“You rest, and I shall prepare it.” He took the cube of tea and the knife from her hands and propelled her to a chair. “I’ll watch Lydia while you sleep this morning.”
She chuckled. “And what would you do if the babe began to come on your watch?”
He shrugged and grinned. “Bellow for you, of course. You would just be down the hall.”
“I am tired. Mayhap I shall take you up on your offer.”
“I shall insist on it.” He dropped the tea caddy into the teapot and poured hot water over it, then set the lid on for it to steep. “I only know how to prepare porridge. Will that suit for breakfast?”
“I had thought to just have some bread and jam with tea.”
“I can do that too.” He cut slices of still warm bread—she had evidently baked it earlier this morning—and slathered them with butter and jam. “I see the goat has kept you in dairy.”
“Quite nicely. Charlotte has thrived on the goat milk, and I have become quite adept
at making cheese and butter.” Hannah yawned and propped her head on her hand. “How did you happen to hear Lydia last night?”
His hands stilled, then he put the plate of bread in front of her and poured two cups of tea. “I was leaving.”
A shudder shook her shoulders, and she closed her eyes. “I feared that was what happened. You would leave without a farewell?”
“I did not trust myself in your bedroom.” He didn’t trust himself anywhere near her. She was as necessary to him as breathing, and it hurt to know she didn’t love him the same way. It was easier when he didn’t have to look in her face or hear the low melody of her voice. He finally dared a glance at her and saw two large tears slip down her cheeks.
“If you wish to leave me, I shall not stop you,” she whispered. “I had hoped you would listen to my words last night. I failed you.”
“They ring in my head, Hannah. But you must not blame yourself when I avenge my brother against Montgomery. When it is done, I will be at peace.”
“You still do not understand. Hatred grows and feeds on itself. Once Montgomery is dead, the cycle will continue. You must give it to God, Birch. You are not strong enough to bear it. The Good Book says, ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’”
“If I really believed that, I might be able to do it. But I have seen no evidence of God repaying evil. Montgomery still walks the earth while my brother’s bones molder in his grave.” The word picture made him shudder. He had not been back to visit Charlie’s grave since he was buried. He couldn’t bear the thought of what lay beneath the gentle swell of green.
She shook her head. “Not necessarily in this world, my love. We may not see it until eternity.”
“I would see it in this life. I will see it in this life because he will die by my hand.” He pushed the plate of bread toward her. “Eat, love. Your concern does you justice, but you will not sway me from my purpose.”
Tears filled her eyes. “You would throw our future away on mere vengeance? Am I so unimportant to you? You say God is more important than you are to me. Well, I say revenge is your mistress, and I’ll not share you with her!” She rose and rushed from the room.
His stomach churning, Birch stared after her. Was she right? Was his vengeance more important? He shook his head. Who could argue with a woman? Hannah just left his head spinning with doubts. The sooner he left the better. Action would keep the thoughts at bay. He gulped his tea and went to check on the baby.
“Mama.” Her tiny voice chattered gibberish, but her call for her mother was easily understood. He pushed open the door and went to get her.
She stood clinging to the rails of the crib, her dark eyes fixed on the doorway. When she saw Birch instead of her mother, her face puckered to cry.
“There now, darling,” he said soothingly. “Come to Papa.” As soon as the thoughtless words were out of his mouth, he flushed at what they revealed. He thought of Charlotte as his daughter. His and Hannah’s.
He picked her up and made a noise of disgust. “Faith, but you are soaked.” She smelled too. Holding her at arm’s length, he looked around for clean clothes, and she would have to be bathed first.
He picked up a gown and nappy from the dresser and tucked it under his arm. Then still holding the squirming mite away from his body, he carried her downstairs. He poured hot water from the kettle into a bowl and undressed her. After setting her in it, he washed her with the bar of soap. She kicked and squirmed so hard, he had trouble holding on to her wet little body. Finally, she was clean, and he managed to get the nappy and gown on her.
She held her chubby arms up to him and chattered her incomprehensible sounds again. “You are a charmer. I hope you know that,” he said with a smile. “Come here, sweet one.” He picked her up and snuggled her against his chest. She smelled clean and fresh again. “You are going to get a new cousin today. Will you like having a playmate?”
As if the words had an impact on what was happening upstairs, Lydia cried out. His heart dropped, and he hurried up the steps with the baby in his arms. Dry mouthed, he paused at the door to Lydia’s room. He could hear murmurs but could not make out any intelligible sounds. Tapping his knuckles on the door, he called out, “Can I do anything to help?”
“Just take care of Charlotte.” Hannah’s voice sounded strained. “Things are speeding up, and I cannot come out right now. Oh, and pray.”
Pray? Not since Charlie’s death had shattered his faith.
He paced back and forth in the hall. Charlotte squeaked a bit and gnawed on her fist. Shamed, he hugged her. “You are hungry. I should have realized.” He carried her downstairs and plopped her in her chair.
Charlotte reached eagerly for the bread and jam he offered and crammed half of it in her mouth at once. He laughed at her antics and watched to make sure she didn’t choke. With half an ear listening for sounds from upstairs, he paced across the kitchen floor. How would he bear it if that were Hannah in such pain? He could hear the moans and screams from down here.
He sank weakly into a chair beside her. “I think having a baby the way we had you is much better.” She seemed to be finished and raised her arms for him to pick her up. “You need another wash.” Taking the still-wet cloth, he wiped the jam from her face and fingers, then took her from the chair and went into the parlor.
More noises erupted from upstairs, and he paced the floor some more. He should take Charlotte outside where they didn’t have to listen to Lydia, but he wanted to be here if Hannah needed him. The morning trickled by like sand through an hourglass.
Finally, just before lunch, the thin, reedy cry of a newborn squeaked out. He released a huge grin and tossed Charlotte in the air. “Sounds like your new cousin is here.”
She gurgled with joy and patted his face with her hands. He kissed her cheek and carried her upstairs again. Standing outside Lydia’s door, he heard her voice. She was all right. Mother and baby were both all right. He didn’t realize quite how worried he was until he knew that. Hannah had brought them through.
He rapped on the door. “We want to see the new baby.”
“Just a minute.” Hannah’s voice sounded tired but happy. A few minutes later she opened the door with a weary smile. Her smile widened when she saw her daughter. “Want to see your new cousin, Charlotte? His name is John Galen.”
The baby immediately put up a fuss. “Mama.” She reached out for Hannah.
Birch handed her over, his gaze meeting Hannah’s. This was life, real life. Sharing the raising of their daughter together and a houseful more. All he had to do was give up his vengeance and leave it to God. It sounded so simple. But so impossible. He dropped his gaze. He would leave in the morning.
CHAPTER 28
Galen slipped through the throng of soldiers and into his tent. He needed to gather his things and get away before the Continental Army engaged the British, even now massing across the field near Bemis Heights, New York. He’d had all he could take of General Benedict Arnold. The intrigue of the spying game had been fun, but not enough fun to stick around for the battle. He would especially be glad to get out of this vile northern countryside.
He stuffed his belongings in his haversack and slung it over his back. Poking his head out of the tent, he saw the army rushing to form their ranks. Mayhap it would be better to simply wait in his tent for them to leave, then sneak away under cover of darkness.
He pulled his head back inside before anyone could see him and debated about what he should do. It was all that stupid cow Lydia’s fault he was even here. If not for her, he would be in New York attending winter balls and fetes and sleeping with the woman Major Hugh Montgomery desired. That had been a fine time. He had enjoyed laughing up his sleeve at the cocky major.
He released a heavy sigh. Now he was here in the dangerous countryside outside Albany, New York. He was hungry nearly all the time with a ragged uniform, holes in his boots, and fleas. He could have borne the first two, but the fleas nearly drove him mad. He felt like a peasa
nt, scratching all the time. But soon he would be back in the British camp with hot food and fresh clothes. General Howe had promised him a promotion and a new position of authority in New York. He could thumb his nose at Montgomery. He smiled at the thought.
Finally the sounds of the departing army faded, and Galen peeked outside once again. The camp looked deserted. Now was his chance. He stepped outside and faded into the forest. Avoiding the well-traveled paths, he slipped away and made his way to the British camp at Fort Edward. It was deserted too, as the two armies formed battle lines, but he would wait. He was in no hurry to get shot for the British either.
It was already October—1778 would be here soon. Galen never would have imagined Washington’s ragged army could hold on for so long. But now that the French were in the war on the side of the Americans, he had high hopes the British would take this opportunity to crush both the fledgling country and their hated enemy, France. British honor would be at stake.
The sounds of battle drifted over the meadow. Shrieks of anger and pain, the clash of bayonets, the boom of the cannons and muskets echoed for over four hours. Galen paced the deserted camp. Why hadn’t the British army squashed the American forces immediately?
The first soldiers who returned came bolting across the fields in full rout. Galen frowned and stopped the red-faced soldier who reached him first. “Hold, soldier. What has happened in the battle?”
“Total defeat,” the man panted. “The Americans surrounded us. They may be here any moment. Take cover if you value your life.” The man shook off Galen’s hand and dashed away.
Defeat? That was simply not possible. Clinton’s army was on the move this way too, and would bring reinforcements. All the men had to do was hold firm. But the panic of the returning men proved the seriousness of the situation.
After a wretched night Galen resolved to try to slip away as soon as he could. He didn’t intend to be taken captive. He walked the length of the camp to decide how he might escape. On his way back to his cabin, he heard a familiar voice.
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