Love’s Betrayal

by DiAnn Mills

  “Yes, sister. We are also having our tea with sugar and cream and bread with apple butter.” Hope lifted a piece of broken pottery that no doubt served as a saucer.

  Mercy swiped a sprinkling of dirt from her indigo skirt and stared up with the gathered portion of her mobcap framing her face. “We’re not doing anything wrong, Delight. Please do not be angry. Mr. O’Neill offered to play with us.”

  Delight crossed her arms over her chest and scrutinized the three before her. “You volunteered to play with two children?”

  He offered a faint smile—the first she had seen or believed she would ever see cast in her direction by him. “Aye, the wee lasses were looking for a playmate. Since I am engaged in idle time and enduring the pain in my leg, well, I offered.”

  Since when do soldiers play with children? Suspicion inched through her thoughts. This must surely be a new ploy by the British, and Delight knew a devious act when she heard one.

  “I’m the oldest of twelve back in Ireland,” he continued. “Sometimes I miss me brothers and sisters.” A rather sad look swept over his pale face as he peered at her through deep blue eyes.

  Henry obviously desired sympathy, but he would not get it from her. Let him waste away his hours with children’s games. She didn’t care.

  “Very well.” She felt quite victorious in seeing through his words. She turned to leave, but another notion crossed her mind. “If you are going to have a tea party, why not the Boston Tea Party? Mercy and Hope could pretend to be the Sons of Liberty.”

  Henry dug his fingers into his palms. Oh, how Delight Butler vexed him. She twisted her remarks like a knife in a man’s flesh. Why didn’t she leave the affairs of war to men and the business of play to children? He found it no surprise that these rebels plagued the king. Anger brewed inside him and threatened to bubble over. If not for Mercy and Hope playing nearby and the threatening words of their father, he would lash out at this impertinent young woman without delay.

  Instead he simply smiled. “Thank ye for the suggestion, Miss Butler, but if we conducted that party, we’d have to dress as Indians and steal away in the dead of night like criminals.”

  Delight’s face reddened, and her large brown eyes appeared to ignite like a raging fire. Clenching her fists, she swallowed hard, no doubt to maintain her composure in the presence of her younger sisters.

  “Girls, I could use your help in preparing the noon meal,” Delight said with tenderness in her words.

  How could one woman be so disagreeable in one breath and reflect an angel’s smile in the next?

  “Must we?” Hope offered a most dismal look.

  “I believe so, but this afternoon you can visit Mama and the baby for a little while.”

  Mercy brightened and clapped her hands. “Dare we hold him?”

  “It is quite possible.” Delight bent to gather up a walnut cup and pottery saucer. “I believe there will be time today for us to have a tea party beneath the shade of the maple tree outside, with real milk and a biscuit.”

  “Will Mr. O’Neill join us?” Hope said. “He is quite lonely, you know.”

  Delight tilted her head and touched the cheek of the youngest sister. “Oh my sweet Hope, he cannot come outside until his leg heals.”

  “How sad.” Hope rose to her feet and curtsied to him. “Perhaps another time. Thank you, Mr. O’Neill, for playing with us.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mercy echoed as she offered an identical curtsy.

  “Thank ye for joining me, lasses. I appreciate your conversation.” Henry did enjoy the little girls. Their delightful chatter eased the frustrations of war, the steady throbbing in his leg, and the memories of Adam’s last moments.

  Once alone in the hall, exhaustion and weakness embittered him. He clearly wanted to rejoin his regiment soon and put this captivity behind him. For a few hours he had indulged in children’s play when in fact this was the home of the enemy.

  A shadow grasped his attention. Delight stood in the doorway, carrying a huge knife and towering over him like an executioner.

  Gracious, what is this woman intending to do now? Henry closed his eyes. “Miss Butler, did you have something to say?”

  “You are to stay away from my sisters.” Her voice stung with hatred.

  “The young lasses sought me, and I merely obliged.” I am not afraid of this woman. Her father, perhaps, but not this snip of insolence.

  “I must ask you to discourage them in the future.” She shook slightly.

  “Is your weapon intended to add weight to your demands?” Henry had no regard for his safety at this point. With the burning agony in his leg, she could hasten his journey into the Eternal, and he would not mind the least. “For it means nothing to me.”

  She stared at the blade and turned it over in her hands. “It would make a fine tool to amputate your leg, although I dare say the process might take a sight longer for me than it would a doctor.”

  He laughed and forced himself onto one elbow. “I do not frighten easily, lass. I’ve experienced the horrors of war: the screams of the wounded, the sight of mangled bodies, and the death of a dear friend beside me. You are but a gray cloud in a vast storm.”

  Delight clutched the knife against her body.

  Immediately Henry regretted his bitter statement. “I did not intend to shock your sentiments, of which I ask your humble pardon.”

  She nodded, but for once she had no reply. She’s a fair lass, too. Henry noted the deep color of her pursed lips, the smoothness of her skin, and her wavy hair, the color reminding him of tea with cream.

  “War is not a pleasant task, Miss Butler.” Henry no longer felt compelled to punish Delight with words or jesting. Across his mind marched the memories of those he’d no longer see in this life. “Those whom we serve enlist us to do what they cannot comprehend alone. We train to kill, we march in honor, and we forget we are mortals who might not live to see the next sweet blue sky. For each battle, a certain number must die to attain victory, or we admit defeat.”

  She moistened her lips. “Nevertheless, it is a sad state of affairs, nothing to take lightly.”

  “Is your cause worth the deaths of good men like your father, who is celebrating the birth of his son?” Henry had not intended to sound morose. The words simply flowed from his heart, for he indeed ached with what he had seen and heard on the battlefront. He detested the rebels and the problems they caused in refusing to obey the king’s and parliament’s commands, but more so he hated the ravages of war.

  Delight stared into his eyes. He saw her defiant stance coupled with determination, a look he’d quickly learned was a vital part of the young woman before him. “I believe, Mr. O’Neill, as my father says, freedom is worth any price. I only wish I could do more in the strife.”

  The incessant pain forced Henry to lie back. “What is this freedom you rebels seek to die for? Define it for me so that I might understand.” He hoped she saw his seriousness. The matter had plagued him for months, especially since Adam’s death.

  She slowly anchored herself on the floor beside Henry. The faraway look and the moisture pooling in her eyes told him she believed wholeheartedly in the American cause.

  “I would like to join this discussion.” Elijah appeared in the hall with them. “If Delight does not mind.” He sauntered into the hall and seated himself beside his daughter. Flashes of gray streaked through his hair, tied back with a piece of leather, and his eyes held the lines of age. But his body appeared lean and strong.

  “I will tend to the noonday meal,” Delight said, offering her father a smile.

  “Your sisters are capable. I would prefer you remain with me. Your views are important, too.” Elijah grasped his daughter’s hand, his white blouson shirt brushing against her arm.

  He truly loves his daughter, this man who more closely resembles their dog and yet exhibits the gentleness of a lamb, Henry thought. What a strange fellow to value a woman’s opinion. Is this another characteristic of the rebels?


  “Freedom is not a word to simply offer a definition, but a condition of the heart and mind so compelling it calls cowards to acts of heroism.” Elijah spoke softly, reverently. “It is independence from oppression and a commitment to a way of life that knows no class or favoritism. It is a conviction of representation by all the people.” He took a deep breath, his very countenance exhibiting pride. “A portion of the Declaration of Independence says, ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among them are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.’ ”

  Henry could not quarrel with the claim, but he wasn’t certain about the contents. The words sounded more like a child’s dream, and it troubled him. “What is this Declaration of Independence?”

  “A document signed on July 2, 1776, in which the thirteen united American states declared their separation from England.”

  Which is why I am fighting this war, Henry thought. “Have you no loyalty to the king?”

  “None, neither do I have respect. He brought this on himself when he taxed us unfairly in order to pay for his war with France. We were not even consulted before they demanded we pull from our pockets that which we have earned on our own.”

  Henry felt his temper mount. “But King George and the parliament have the right to exercise power.”

  “Why?” Delight did not raise her voice, but her chin quivered. “Does the king or the prime minister really care about you, Henry O’Neill, wounded in his service far from England?”

  Henry swallowed hard. He had always been given to contemplation on serious matters before expressing his views. Elijah spoke of political affairs of which he had little knowledge, and Delight asked a question he could not answer. He recalled the poverty in Ireland and Adam’s stories of the poor conditions in London. The aristocrats ruled over the impoverished. They had the financial means to educate their children and purchase land. Henry needed time to deliberate this strange way of thinking, for to him it sounded like a dream. And if he conceded to their way of thought, then Adam died for naught.

  “A country cannot stand without those versed in authority ruling over the people,” Henry finally stated.

  Elijah offered a grim smile. “This United States of America will have all the people electing those of their choice to make laws and carry them through.”

  Frustration agitated Henry. “Your ideas are foolishness. England is the most powerful nation in the world—more than any rebel colonies—and they have the Germans and many tribes of Indians to assist them. You will lose and beg King George to draw you into his fold.”

  “Not I,” Elijah said with quiet conviction. “I will die first for my God-given rights.”

  “And I shall pick up a musket and follow after you.” Delight’s tears trickled down her cheeks. Never had Henry seen such radiance

  Have these people gone mad?

  Chapter 5

  With her pale blue skirt wrapped around her ankles, Delight struggled to stand, but Papa lent a hand, righting her to her feet. He wrapped his arm around her waist and planted a light kiss on her forehead.

  “Daughter, we need to pray again for this man’s healing. Despite his beliefs being contrary to ours, he is loved by God, and we are wrong to hinder his healing by omitting prayers.”

  Oh Papa, I know you are right, but this is so hard when I know he defies your very soul. Looking up at her father, Delight said, “Of course, shall I gather the others?”

  He nodded, and she slipped into the kitchen to summon them. A few moments later, all seven sisters and their father held hands and bowed their heads around Henry. She glanced at the soldier, and curiosity etched his brow. He blinked, and for a brief moment she viewed a solitary tear.

  “Almighty Father, we are heartily sorry for not beseeching Thee more often about the condition of Henry O’Neill’s leg.” Papa’s voice, his prayerful tone, thundered about the hall. “We implore Thee to heal him and make him whole again. We also ask that Thou wilt heal the differences between us. Show the errant their sins and increase Thy glory. In the midst of war, we forget Thy bounteous love knows no manner of men. May the world see the victory of liberty comes from Thee. In Thy Son’s precious and holy name, amen.”

  For the first time, Delight felt the nudging of her heavenly Father to treat Henry with love. But her heart refused to sway. Father God, I am so confused. Help me, above all things, to be a godly woman convinced of my purpose in Thee.

  During the following week, Delight chose to have a sister accompany her when she tended to Henry and prompted others to serve him his meals. The mere notion of being alone with him tugged at her conscience. She felt a peculiar mixture of anger and guilt in the presence of this man whom she wanted to hate but knew she should not.

  “Your leg is healing properly,” she said one morning while placing a clean bandage over the wound. Patience sat by her side, gathering up the soiled rags to wash.

  Henry offered a faint smile. “Splendid. May I trouble ye to ask how much longer it will be before I am healed?”

  Delight shrugged. “I daresay not as quickly as you might fancy. In a few days, you might try to stand, but even then it will be days before you can walk unassisted—or join your regiment.”

  “Aye, and I remember a few days ago when sitting up was an accomplishment.” He released a sigh. “This wasting away of hours plagues my mind. If only I could toil at something.”

  “Soldiers are required to stay on their feet,” she replied, not at all condemning, but truthful. “What can you do?”

  “I’d settle to be working at my craft.”

  She lifted her gaze to meet his. He does have kind eyes. “And what is your craft?”

  “I weave cloth, taught to me by my father.”

  “An honorable trade.” Delight secured the bandage in place. No longer did she take comfort in his pain.

  “I’m proud of my skill. I wanted to come to the colonies and set up my loom.”

  Understanding nestled into Delight’s mind. “So you joined the British army?”

  Henry nodded. “’Twas the only way I could afford passage. Life in Ireland is quite difficult.”

  “So now you make life hard for us? If you want an easier way of life with more opportunities, then you are fighting for the wrong side.”

  Henry shifted. “I know you are convinced of my error, but I must be loyal to my king.”

  “Again, I ask why.”

  Henry said nothing, and Delight did not feel compelled to taunt him further with her convictions. He leaned back onto the pillow and clasped his hands behind his head. “I need to ask your father about the affairs of the war.”

  “Shall I fetch him?” Patience said.

  “That is not necessary,” Henry replied. “I shall inquire of him later.”

  Delight deliberated revealing what she knew. What harm would it do? She realized no good would come from her boasting and purposely spoke softly. “I hear your General Burgoyne is not faring well along the Hudson River.”

  Henry closed his eyes. “Would you mock my loyalties, lass?”

  “Indeed not. I speak the truth clearly.”

  He moistened his lips. “What do you know?”

  “At a place called Freeman’s Farm on 19 September, a fierce battle took place in the afternoon.” She paused. A wave of guilt swept over her at relaying the information.

  “What else happened?”

  She took a deep breath, realizing God did not relish any man losing his life. “Nearly six hundred of General Burgoyne’s men were killed, wounded, or taken prisoner.”

  “So he surrendered?”

  “No,” she said sadly. “Americans withdrew at nightfall, but they did not have the casualties of the British. I expect there will be more fighting shortly.”

  A wave of sadness appeared to beset him by the way he sighed heavily and cast his gaze away from her. Delight knew not how to continue the conversation. “Com
e along, Patience. We are finished here.”

  “Thank ye, kindly,” he said, obviously distracted.

  Delight gathered up the basin. My heart is softening toward Henry. How extraordinary. I might not have been so eager to report the conditions of war if the British had not lost so many men.

  Late into the night of the third week of Henry’s recovery, he lay awake while a hundred thoughts raced about in his head. Tonight, he had prayed until no more words would come. He felt dirty, a traitor to the king for the substance of his musings, but he could not rid himself of the rebels’ beliefs.

  I would be hanged or shot for these treasonous ideals. Still his mind continued to wander. He’d viewed enough of the Butler family to see and feel their passion for freedom. Henry shuddered. Had he no respect for Adam’s death and the countless others who had fallen by the Americans’ hands? Rather he had died than face this disillusion about himself.

  All the talk of liberty had soured his mind to those values deemed important by the British. Yet a haunting recollection and a poignant memory of his life in Ireland nibbled at his soul. Hungry brothers and sisters, mounting taxes, no hope for a future with the rule of landowners—all these things seared his heart. If Ireland had been in revolt, he would have picked up a hoe or a stick for his homeland.

  I know how these rebels feel. But in understanding them, do I dare side with their cause? If he confessed his true feelings, he admitted a kinship to them.

  Shortly after Henry had succumbed to rest, he awoke to the low hum of voices. He recognized they belonged to Elijah, his wife, and Delight. Darkness prevailed except for the faint light of a candle, and he focused his attention on every word.

  “Elijah, cannot someone else deliver this message?” Mistress Butler wept with her soft request.

  “There is more fighting along the Hudson. Our troops need the information. I have no choice, my dear Elizabeth. My conscience gives me no rest.”