Faith was glad they’d formed a plan but prayed it wouldn’t have to be implemented.
Eighteen miles away in Concord, Nicholas and over a hundred men were making preparations. Blacksmiths were by their fires pounding bayonets out of white-hot metal while the smoke filled the skies. Donations from colonies up and down the coast were flowing in with everything from food and clothing, to wagons filled with old lead utensils and tools, to a herd of sheep. Everything except the lead was divided up and secreted away for use later. The lead was being melted down and turned into musket balls. Nicholas was on pouring detail, a task that involved ladling out the hot melted lead and pouring it into molds for musket balls. Once the metal cooled again, the balls of lead would harden and be given to the minutemen to use in their guns. Problem was, not only were the muskets so inaccurate as to be virtually useless in a battle situation, but not all the molds in use were of the same size. Some balls were larger than others, and some, depending on the quality of the lead, were not uniform in their density, which would only add to the ineffectiveness of the muskets, but it was all the minutemen had, so they worked feverishly in order to make enough.
Most of the men he was working with were from Concord and its surrounding towns but men from the Boston area were in attendance, too. Arte and his contingent were moving a cannon the last time he’d seen him. Nick had also seen a few of the men of color he’d helped train for Prince Hall. While he hoisted yet another steaming ladle of lead and dribbled it slowly into each round cup, the air rang with the sounds of the smithy’s pounding, feet marching and drilling, and the comings and goings of messengers and other men on horseback. It was orderly chaos. They were in the field of one of the local farmers, and men were swarming over the place like ants, but were focused on one purpose, freeing themselves of the British.
When his shift was over, the weary Nicholas handed his heavy apron to the man who’d come to relieve him. Barrels of fresh water had been set about, so he ladled himself enough to quench his dry throat and walked over to trees where his bedding lay to try and get some rest. The chaotic atmosphere, coupled with the not knowing if Gage’s men were on their way, made it next to impossible to sleep, even for a short while. However, Nick closed his eyes, and Faith’s face shimmered into his mind. He wondered how she was faring and if she missed him as much as he was missing her. If he couldn’t handle being away from her for a few days, he had no idea how he’d make it through when the war came, and it was coming. Being here and working so hard had cooled his anger a great deal. Instead of it consuming him as it had been immediately after he tossed Kingston out of the house, it was now only a simmer. Although he still wanted the man’s head, Kingston was the father of the woman he loved, and killing him would affect his marriage no matter Faith’s anger at her father and his deeds. Nick wasn’t used to bridling his anger. He was more accustomed to handling his emotions on his own terms because there’d never been anyone in his life who cared enough about him to do it any other way. No one had ever wanted to help shoulder his burdens. To open himself up and show someone the depths of what he had inside was foreign. Being with Faith seemed to be altering that. However, now that he’d found her, married her, and fallen in love with her and found the answer to the questions surrounding his own father’s arrest and death, could he find peace?
He thought back on her confession that she’d been Lady Midnight. He still found that amazing. She had pulled the wool over the eyes of nearly everyone in the community. What was a man supposed to do with a woman like that? It never occurred to him that the stooped, gravel-voiced lady in black who’d visited him that night was the daughter of one of the area’s staunchest Tories. Her father would probably keel over were he to learn the truth; first her marriage into the family of his nemesis, and now the revelation that she was working with the rebels against the crown would send him blithering to the nearest lunatic asylum. Nick allowed himself a tired smile. He needed to return to her because she was the peace he’d been searching for. As he drifted off into the twilight just before sleep, he vowed to ride back as soon as he could.
Faith spent the bulk of the next few days peddling her bread up and down the road but did not meet with much success. Of the twelve loaves she’d made she was returning home with eight. Many of the owners of the inns and taverns that she stopped in declined because they were already purchasing their bread from someone else. One owner did buy four loaves because he was running low and his regular baker had taken ill. He promised her that if his patrons liked the bread, he’d consider buying more on a regular basis, but he wasn’t ready to commit just yet, and Faith had to be content with that. She’d avoided places that were known Tory gathering spots because she didn’t have the requisite permits. Registering for a permit also meant her profits would be subjected to crown taxes and she had no intention of adding to the British coffers.
Frustrated by the lukewarm results but still determined to sell the remaining loaves, she’d driven all the way to Lexington, an eleven-mile journey, and now heading home on the eleven-mile return trip, she was so weary she could barely keep her seat on the wagon’s bench. She had never driven such a long distance before or had to handle a animal who was not her own. He belonged to Nicholas. His name was Barney, and she spent most of the time trying to keep him under control. It was obvious that he was more accustomed to the strength of a man’s hand, because he kept trying to gallop away at full speed, a pace that would crash the wagon and possibly throw her from the seat. Her arms were stiff from pulling back on the reins for so many miles, and the burning in her shoulders matched the fire feeding on her spine and lower back. More than anything she wanted to stop and let someone else drive but there was no someone else. It was up to her to hold on to the reins and make the balky horse take her home.
When the house finally came into view, she wanted to weep with relief. Her leaden arms were so numb and heavy, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to move them when the time came to drop the reins. She made a mental note to work up to driving longer distances so that she could increase her stamina for the future.
Moving as if she was made of wood, she managed to get the wagon unhitched and the horse in the barn. Shooting daggers Barney’s way, she took care of his needs, then slowly trudged up to the house and entered by the back door. Her steps took her into the kitchen, where she stopped to bank the fire and add more wood. She then retrieved two large buckets and went back outdoors to the pump. She planned on taking a long, hot soak in the bathing tub. In a perfect world, Nicholas would be there to pump and then heat the water while she went up to her room to fall across her bed until he called and said everything was ready. It wasn’t a perfect world, however, and she also wondered just when she’d become so pampered that pumping her own water had become something to whine about.
While the water heated atop the fire in the bathing room, she did indeed go and lie down across the bed. Too weary to move, she lay there and took in a deep breath. Finally. A knock sounded at the door, and she found herself growling at the inconvenient intrusion as Nicholas might have done. The knock sounded again, so she dragged herself up to see who it might be.
She opened the door to find Elizabeth Sutter, or more correctly Elizabeth Sutter Kingston, standing on the other side. Either way, it was the last person Faith expected to or wanted to see. “May I help you?”
“It’s your father.”
“What of him?”
“May I come in?”
Faith studied the seventeen-year-old for a moment, taking in the perfectly painted face, the costly cape and black velvet slippers. She was fair enough to pass for White. According to the rumors, her older sister, Ellen, had indeed crossed over and was now the wife of a prominent tanner down in New Bedford. Both Sutter girls were fabled beauties but between them couldn’t read a word.
“I’m very tired, Elizabeth, is this something that can wait until tomorrow?”
The dark eyes flashed anger for a second before she masked it. “I’m afrai
d not.”
An unhappy Faith stepped aside to let her enter. “Let’s go into the parlor.”
As they both took seats, Elizabeth silently studied the portrait of Adeline. “Is that her? The woman who betrayed Stuart?”
“She is Nicholas’s mother, if that’s your meaning. We have only my father’s side of the tale.”
“He’s been ranting about her for days.”
Faith stayed silent.
“He’s also becoming increasingly difficult to manage.”
Faith thought her choice of the word manage an interesting one. “He’s always been difficult to live with.”
“More so than normal. He yells and threatens if his breakfast is not done on time, or if the table is not set correctly. He seems to think that in comparison to you I am lacking in all things.”
Faith waited.
“Your man beat him very badly. His lips had to be sewn by a surgeon and he lost a few teeth.”
“Nicholas didn’t care for him striking me any more than I.”
“He said you deserved it for being disrespectful and obstinate.”
“Again, he’s only given you his side of the matter.”
Faith still had no idea what this visit was about, but her bath was waiting. She needed Elizabeth to get to the point. “Is there another reason you are here?”
“His wealth, or should I say his lack of it.”
“Meaning?”
“Is he as penniless as he now claims?”
Faith met the question in Elizabeth’s eyes. So the fatted calf turned out to be straw. Faith had nothing for her. “You will have to take that up with him.” Hoping to intimate the end of the visit, Faith got to her feet.
Elizabeth ignored it. “He promised me new dresses, a home, a carriage.”
“That’s between you and your husband.”
“Did he think I married him for his handsome appearance?”
“Why did you marry him?” Faith asked her bluntly.
Elizabeth turned away for moment as if to ponder that, and Faith saw a brief modicum of what appeared to be regret. But in the end, she flashed Faith a hostile look and stood. “Thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll show myself out.”
Faith watched her depart. Upon hearing the door close she left the parlor to make certain the young woman was truly gone, and saw her being driven away by a young, blond-haired British soldier seated atop the wagon. The surprising sight made an interesting encounter even more so. However, Faith didn’t have the time or the desire to dwell upon the new Mrs. Kingston’s machinations; the water for her bath was probably good and hot, so she wearily ascended the staircase once more.
That evening as Faith lay in bed reading, she wondered how Nicholas might be faring. She missed him dearly. Was he still angry, or had the time away allowed his ire to drain? She’d prefer the latter, but had no way to determine whether it had or not, until he came home.
Her mind drifted to Elizabeth’s surprising visit. Faith felt not a teaspoon of sympathy for the conniving young woman with her soldier driver. It was plain from the conversation that she was beginning to regret her marriage, but Faith felt nothing for her on that, either. Although the church encouraged people to take the high road, she couldn’t help but enjoy learning that the bed her father and his bride had made was filled with rocks and nails.
Exhausted after the long day, she set her book aside, blew out the candles, and snuggled down into the bedding to sleep.
On the fourth morning that Nicholas was away, Faith was returning home from visiting Bekkah when Henri Giles rode up.
“Good morning, Henri,” she said with as much cheer as she could manage. Both she and Bekkah were worried that they’d heard no news from their men.
“Good morning. Is Nicholas about?”
“He’s away for a few days. Business.”
Henri looked her in the eye. “Rebel business, no doubt.”
Faith’s face remained bland. “Is there something I may help you with?”
“I saw your father yesterday. He came to the general’s office to show off the results of his fight with Nicholas.”
“And?”
“I assume it was earned?”
“It was. He struck me again.”
His lips thinned.
“What was the general’s response?” she asked.
“Dismissed him summarily. Said with war imminent, he had no time to intervene into petty disputes.”
The answer was a double-edged one. It was good to know that her father no longer had the general’s ear but not good to hear that the war the colonies had been anticipating would really come to pass. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“You’re welcome. When will Nick return?”
“Soon” was all she would say.
“Then consider me at your service until he does.”
She gave him a curtsy, then smiling winningly, asked, “How would you like to buy some bread?”
To her delight, he purchased what she had left, minus the two loaves she kept for herself. He also contracted with her for a future dozen loaves a week. The price they negotiated was fair in Faith’s estimation and she couldn’t have been more pleased.
As she walked with him back outdoors to where he’d tied his horse, he said, “You can count on me buying at least a dozen loves a week for as long as I’m deployed here. I’d prefer to come by and pick them up on Saturday afternoons so that the men can have fresh bread with their Sunday rations.”
“Saturday afternoons it shall be. Thank you, Henri.”
Astride his horse now, he bowed. “Thank you. When Nicholas returns please pass along my regards.”
“I will.”
Offering her a final nod and a smile, he rode back towards Boston. Faith reentered the house humming happily. In the kitchen she did a quick inventory of the ingredients she’d need to make more bread. There were enough dry goods like meal and flour but only enough molasses on hand to make Henri’s initial twelve-loaf order and then she’d have to buy more. Because of the British blockade of Boston’s harbor and the colonial boycott of slave owners in the Indies who’d gone along with the hated sugar tax imposed by Parliament, molasses, also a key ingredient in the making of rum, was increasingly difficult to come by. Any quantity that did make it to sale commanded extremely high prices. She remembered that there were two gallons back at her father’s inn, not that that did her any good, but she would have to find more for purchase if she wanted to fill Henri’s future orders.
That afternoon, an unfamiliar man came to the door. He said he had a delivery for her from Babette Locke. It was all the new clothing Nicholas had purchased and she was so eager to see what Mrs. Locke had created she could barely contain her excitement. The driver carried in first one trunk and then returned to the wagon to bring back a second. Faith tipped him for his service out of her bread profits, and once he took his leave to continue his other deliveries, she knelt and lifted the lid on the first trunk. It was filled with beautiful lace-trimmed shifts, satin drawers, and petticoats, and the exquisite design and needlework took her breath away. The second trunk held three well-tailored day dresses, a skirt, and a matching overblouse. Beneath those garments was a thin layer of linen and below it were three beautiful nightgowns. Faith held up the first one; it was made of lightweight snow white wool that weighed next to nothing. It lacked any ornamentation and had a curious split in the back that began at the top of her spine and veed down to the base. She guessed it was meant to be worn in that way, but she’d have to put it on to be sure. Gently setting it aside, she investigated the two remaining. They were obviously designed to please a husband’s eyes. There was lace, and tiny buttons she could already imagine Nicholas slowly undoing. They both weighed less than a cloud, and she was certain they’d feel that way once she put them on. She wondered how Nicholas might react to her wearing them, but in order to gauge his response he’d have to come home first, she reminded herself. However, she found Mrs. Locke’s
creations quite dazzling, and so emptied the trunks and carried the bounty up to her room.
Faith had dinner at Bekkah’s. They’d taken to eating together the past few days, and this evening Charity and the baby joined them. Ingram had left earlier in the day to be trained in his duties and Charity had needed cheering up. Peter never failed to put a smile on Bekkah’s face. She and Arte had been married for over a decade but had yet to have any children. She always made a fuss over Peter whenever he was around and the look on her face when she held him was touching to see. Holding Peter often made Faith wonder about the possibilities of her and Nicholas having little ones as well.
When they ended their evening, they shared hugs, and Charity and Faith went back to their respective homes.
Faith had decided even if Nicholas never came home again, she was never moving away unless she could take the bathing tub with her. Washing up and then soaking herself in a hot tub of rose-scented water had become an evening ritual.
She was lying in the chest-high water with her head cushioned by one of the house’s fat towels and daydreaming when she heard a few familiar footfalls on the stairs. Sitting straight up, she listened, hoping it hadn’t been a tub-fed fantasy, and then she heard his voice. “Faith? Where are you?”
The part of herself that was still modest around him wanted to jump from the tub and cover herself, but the part of herself that loved the touch of his hands and kiss wanted to catch his eye and show him just what he’d been missing by staying away for so many days. With that in mind, Faith decided she was going to seduce her husband whether he was still angry or not. “I’m in the bathing room, Nicholas,” she called out.
A second or so later, the sound of his boots neared, followed by a knock on the closed door.
“Come in.”
Opening the door, Nicholas took a look at her in the tub and had to close his eyes for a moment to steady himself.
Midnight Page 24
