So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4)

by Amber Lynn Perry

  “Aye.” He nodded, grinning, and continued to take in the room that resembled nothing of his last visit there. Though ’twas pleasant, to be sure, how would Jacob feel?

  “I suppose ’twould be best to have you ask him.”

  Kitty’s sudden words interrupted Joseph’s thoughts.

  “If he cannot…that is, if he wishes another place to sleep, I will do whatever I can to make him comfortable.”

  Joseph glanced toward Jacob. “I shall speak with him.” He stopped just through the doorway and turned. “I cannot properly express my thanks—”

  “Not at all.” Kitty grinned sweetly and started toward the kitchen. “I believe the turnovers are just about done. I shall check on them.”

  She hurried through the study and past the parlor, disappearing into the kitchen.

  Joseph neared the couch, pulling the rocking chair in front of Jacob, who still held his drink and sat motionless as the snow fell harder outside the window. Joseph rested his elbows on his knees. “Jacob, I—”

  “I want you to stay.”

  Jacob looked up, the ache in his eyes reaching across the small distance to strangle Joseph’s already pained longing.

  “I know I shouldn’t think such a thing. I know your efforts are needed for the cause, but I cannot help it.”

  His chin quivered, and he looked down, the small thread of sound hammering Joseph’s heart to his ribs.

  “I…I cannot lose you as well.”

  Joseph’s throat swelled, and he coughed to let his answer free, but still he couldn’t speak. Only eleven years old and already the boy had been made to suffer far too much. Losing both parents in the same day only months ago… Joseph allowed his vision to linger no longer than a second on the neatly pinned pant leg that covered the place Jacob’s knee and lower leg should have been. Joseph took the cup from Jacob’s grasp and held the boy’s hands in one of his. His other he placed behind Jacob’s neck with a gentle grip. Binding his gaze with his nephew’s, he strained his voice to keep it from wavering. “I shall think of you every day until I return. I shall return. I promise.”

  “If I had my leg, I could go with you.” The boy’s eyes reddened with tears. “We wouldn’t have to be parted. I could fight alongside you and—”

  “Jacob…” Joseph checked his words before speaking them, every immediate response lacking the true depth of feeling that pressed in his chest. He smoothed his hand down to Jacob’s shoulder and lowered his tone. “I would be honored to fight alongside you. You are fearless, Jacob. I have never known anyone so brave.” He released his hold on the boy and straightened, allowing a half smile on his lips. “You would send those Redcoats running, I have no doubt of that.”

  Grinning wide, the red in Jacob’s eyes dimmed to pink. “I’m a good shot too.”

  “You’re an excellent shot.”

  His face beamed. “Aye? Excellent?”

  “Near as good as I, and I’m almost twenty years older.”

  “Aye, but no one fights like you.” Jacob’s smile broadened. “You could lick a whole lot of Lobsterbacks all on your own.”

  Joseph laughed at the well-intended compliment. Growing up, he had been forced to learn how to defend himself against this boy’s very father and earned a reputation for strength he’d rather not have gained. Suddenly he debated his previous wisdom in having shared even abridged versions of the scrapes of his youth.

  Winking, Joseph sat back. “Perhaps I need not fight at all. Perhaps those Redcoats will take one look at the militia and sail right back to England, hmm?”

  “These turnovers are just right.”

  Kitty entered between their conversation, swirling steam rising from the fresh-baked goods on the tray she carried. She rested the vittles beside the coffee, the scent of such delicious food making Joseph’s stomach emit a loud grumble that could not be ignored.

  Jacob suppressed a laugh, his boyish face lifting into a wide grin that made his countenance shine.

  Kitty made a surprised face and pretended to stifle a giggle, making the boy laugh harder.

  “Forgive me.” Joseph exaggerated an apologetic frown and reached for a turnover. “I suppose I should take one. It seems my stomach speaks the truth I wished to hide.” He winked at Jacob, then looked to Kitty. “Turnovers are my favorite.”

  “Well then, I’m pleased I made them.”

  Jacob continued to chuckle lightly and took one of his own, peeling off a corner and blowing on it before stuffing it into his mouth.

  Kitty sat beside Jacob on the couch, the expression on her face bright and kind. “Eat as much as you like. I’m so pleased to have someone around that I may cook for.” She flung a glance to Joseph before looking once again to Jacob. “What do you think of your sleeping arrangements?”

  Hang it.

  He should have spoken of that right away. Joseph put down the turnover. “I hadn’t spoken to him yet—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Face ashen, Kitty rose from the couch.

  “No, no. Not to worry.” Joseph shook his head and motioned for her to stay seated before turning to Jacob. “Mrs. Smith has prepared a wonderful room for you.”

  Jacob slowed his chewing, looking between them with peaked brow and questioning eyes.

  “’Tis…” Joseph looked to Kitty before spilling out the words in a tone he hoped would seem natural, matter of fact. “’Tis a very welcoming space in the room the surgery used to be.”

  Jacob’s eyebrows folded hard as he swallowed the bite in his mouth. He sat back and after a long, slow blink shifted his eyes toward the room he knew so well.

  Kitty shot a frantic look to Joseph and spoke to fill the vacuum. “There’s a new bed, and I’ve stocked the cabinet with books and the articles you need for drawing, if you like.”

  At this he looked up, and she continued, smile coaxing. “’Tis quite cozy. There’s a soft quilt and a lamp and—”

  “You mean I won’t have to go up the stairs?” A hopeful lift in his brow mirrored the ribbon of relief in his voice.

  Joseph shook his head, a welcoming relief brushing away a layer of worry. “Nay, you shall not.”

  Resting her hand atop Jacob’s, Kitty answered with a slight tilt of her head. “I hoped you would be happy, but I was…I was concerned that perhaps—”

  “Nay, I am pleased. Thank you.” He met her gaze before looking again to Joseph. Eyes instantly flooding, Jacob glanced at the ground. He blinked, not speaking again for several seconds. “I suppose you must leave now.”

  Neck tight, Joseph inhaled a long, pained breath before sliding off the chair to kneel in front of Jacob. He cupped his hands on the boy’s shoulders, praying God would mask the agony in his voice with a courage he couldn’t feel but needed. “No matter what happens, you must hold to hope, and I shall do the same. Hope will keep our courage alive, will allow us to make this sacrifice of separation. Can you do that?”

  The boy swallowed, nodding quick and shallow. “Aye.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “I shall write to you.”

  Joseph smiled his response, then reached around Jacob, pulling the boy into an embrace he prayed would convey the love he hadn’t the strength to speak. Moving back, he held Jacob’s face. “I shall take you fishing when I return.”

  Jacob nodded, forcing a strained grin. “Promise?”

  “Promise.” He planted a kiss to the boy’s head and rose to his feet, the urge to flee the suppressing sorrow consuming his muscles as he started toward the back door.

  “Joseph.” Kitty hurried behind him. “Take these with you.”

  He turned to see a large knapsack in her hands. She offered it to him, and he peered inside. Journey cakes and rolls, as well as dried fruit and meat, filled the bag to the brim.

  “You needn’t have—”

  “I know you haven’t anyone at home to…to make you anything. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. I am grateful indeed.” He’d thought of the fact he would need food, but not how he would c
ome by it. God surely worked in wonderful ways.

  Kitty tilted her head. “There should be enough to sustain you until you reach camp, and when you see Nathaniel…you can give some to him as well.” Her voice cracked, but she lifted her chin and forced a smile. “I’ve a letter for him in the bag. If you would be so kind—”

  “I will be sure he gets it.”

  Kitty reached for his arm, her large eyes brimming and voice faltering. “Thank you.”

  Joseph grinned, wrestling back the emotion that threatened to choke away his response. “Of course.”

  He reached for his greatcoat and put it on before he opened the back door. Placing his hat on his head, he prepared to leave, when she stopped him again.

  “Come back to us. You must all come back.”

  Joseph glanced over his shoulder and past Kitty to where Jacob sat on the couch, his eyes fixed on Joseph, his young face gripped with heartache, as if he was ready to spring from the couch and run to him.

  Snow flicked Joseph’s face and neck, rendering him motionless with grief. Lord, please give him strength. Give us both strength.

  “Joseph.”

  Kitty’s quiet voice pulled his gaze away from Jacob and back to her.

  She lowered her chin, encouragement in the lift of her mouth. “We shall be fine here. Do not worry over us.”

  He swallowed and shifted his jaw before responding. “The conflict will be over soon.” He spoke the words, but hoped more than believed them to be true. “Tell Jacob I will write when I can.”

  Turning, he left, raising the bag in his hand with a nod and smile of thanks.

  Kitty waved and closed the door, cutting the tie that bound him to that awful moment.

  Joseph patted his hand on his horse’s neck before securing the bag at the side of the saddle. Straining to focus his mind away from the boy that ached for him inside the house, he untied Anvil from the post and slipped his cold hands into his leather gloves. He mounted, and with a quick tap of his heels, the animal started across the snow-covered road. Keep moving. Don’t look back. The cause. He must keep his mind upon the cause.

  As he moved slowly forward, his mind trailed backward, far into the past—to another time he had been forced to walk away from someone he loved.

  He clicked his tongue and tapped his heels again to move his mount faster, as if doing so would help him evade the memories that stalked him. But no matter how he tried, the torturous thoughts nipped at his heels. How had she fared these past ten years? Did her mind toy with the pleasant memories of their love the way his did? Did she grieve as deep as he?

  He ground the thoughts into submission. Such things were best left untouched, no matter how they festered, like a weeping wound that begged for healing. Of course Hannah Young would not think of him, not after so much time had passed.

  Growling low, he rubbed his hand against his forehead. Why? Why could his thoughts not remain buried under the layers of hurt and resolution that piled so thick? He lowered his hand and stared through the snowflakes as they folded on the road ahead. Unbidden, the deep green of her eyes, the merry song of her laugh, the honey-sweet scent of her hair circled and consumed him until he could hardly breathe.

  Looking forward, he exhaled his memories into the cold January air. He must steady his mind upon the future—upon Jacob and the liberty for which he would fight.

  The snow fell harder, and a brush of wind pulled at his coat. He might have hope for the fight of the future, but he would never be able escape the prison of his past.

  Chapter Two

  Looking to the clock for the hundredth time, Philo Young rubbed his palms against his black jacket and straightened. Noon. Any moment a knock on the door would signal his brother’s arrival. How many months had passed since he’d paid a call? A drop of hope rippled through Philo’s chest. This must be a sign of goodwill. He spun from the healthy fire, nodding with satisfaction that everything was in place, the floor swept, the mantel dusted. Hurrying to reposition the first seat, he scooted it an inch closer to the fire. There. He nodded with satisfaction. His elder sibling would have the chair closest the warmth. Philo would sit opposite.

  The yet to-be-spoken conversation toyed with his imagination, and a few more splashes of eager anticipation began to rain. It shall be mine at last. Again he wiped the moisture from his hands, pacing back and forth in front of the hearth. There was only one reason Ensign would come twenty miles.

  The awaited knock jolted Philo like a crack of splintering wood. He shook his head, huffing away his frayed nerves. Hurrying to the door, he swung it open and stepped back with a slight bow. “Welcome, brother.”

  Ensign dipped his chin slightly. “Philo.” Entering, he removed his cocked hat and set it on the table by the door. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  Philo closed the door against the cold. “Shall we sit?”

  Hardly so much as a nod of acknowledgment, Ensign moved to the offered chair and sat, but his shoulders and back refused to relax.

  Such gray lines under his eyes. Was he ill? At the chair beside him, Philo rested with his hands in his lap. “Your journey was not too unpleasant, I trust?”

  Expression drawn, eyes unmoving, Ensign answered with only a fleeting glance. A thread of silence knit back and forth between them. Looking to the fire, Philo rubbed his thumb into the palm of his other hand. He might not have seen much of his brother over the past years—their closeness might have even been strained betimes with anger—but he knew him and could sense some unvoiced woe from the slant of Ensign’s shoulders.

  “I…” Ensign’s voice cracked. He quickly cleared his throat and tried again. “She is gone from me, Philo. I have lost my dearest friend.”

  Bea.

  Philo’s stomach lurched. So the illness had taken her, after all her years of fighting. “Ensign, I am so sorry—”

  “Hannah feels her loss almost more keenly than I.”

  At the sound of his daughter’s name, a flowering joy bloomed and instantly wilted. Any response he might have spoken fled like birds before a pursuing dog. How many years since he had seen her? Too many. But the rift between them gaped wider with every phase of the moon. What she had done could never be forgiven. Not by him.

  “Bea shall be missed.” Philo wrestled the phantom that clutched him from behind, struggling to answer as if Hannah’s name had not been spoken. “She was a good companion to you.”

  “She was my heart, my very life’s breath.” Ensign’s throat shifted. “If not for Hannah, I am not sure I could bear the loss.”

  Must he speak of her? Philo squirmed as the chair became a cluster of upward-pointed nails. The pricking forced him to stand. “I am grieved at your news indeed. And honored, truly, that you would come all this way to tell me.” He placed a hand at his back. “But I am sure you did not traverse the ice-covered roads for that alone.”

  Eyes unmoved from the fire, Ensign sat back, and his chair creaked. “Aye.” His voice tapped across the weak thread that bound them. “I have…I have come to a decision.”

  The silence roared as Philo turned to stare at the orange waves in the hearth, waiting in agony for the words he’d longed to hear. When still the quiet clawed him several moments later, he spun back. The dipped brow and working jaw of his brother made Philo’s stomach pitch. Would he not speak?

  Skin spiked with anxiety, Philo glanced to the kitchen, then the window, then again his brother. He couldn’t long remain here in such torturous quiet. Perhaps Ensign was parched from the journey. Philo should have offered him a drink. “Shall I get you a—”

  “I’ve sold it, Philo.”

  Philo went still, his mind grinding over the revelation like a millstone over grain. “You what?”

  Ensign licked his lips before lifting his eyes to Philo’s. “I’ve sold Eaton Hill.”

  His former hopes dried in an instant, leaving behind a sandy plain of hate. The grains blew wild in the winds of Philo’s rage, stinging his skin, as he pra
yed his words would do to Ensign. “How dare you. Eaton Hill should be mine!” His volume rose slow and thick, pulse thudding hard through his ears. “You came here thinking to soften me with your sorrows before revealing you have taken from me that which I have longed for all these years?”

  Ensign flicked his head up at the outburst. “Believe what you like. But I tell you only the truth.”

  Philo’s neck corded. “Eaton Hill should go to none but me, and well you know it.”

  Standing, Ensign pulled his shoulders back, his tone staying sickeningly calm, as if the man hadn’t the enmity Philo knew was there.

  “As the land is mine to do with it what I will, I choose to give it into the hands of one who will work the foundry and care for the land, not simply own it only to place it in the care of an overseer who will use it for profit.”

  Philo narrowed his vision until he could see only the man who betrayed him. “Faithless sot. I should never have trusted you.”

  Chest rounding, Ensign’s eyebrows evened while the foundation of his words turned to stone. “I did what I felt was best, and I stand by it.”

  “You lied to me!”

  His expression was unchanged, but his voice deepened. “At no time did I tell you Eaton Hill would be yours. Where there is such want, Philo, there is weakness, and you have fallen prey to it.”

  Philo’s fist pounded the air. “You made me think you were coming here with tidings of goodwill, but instead you tear asunder the only thing that could have mended what has long torn us apart.”

  Ensign shook his head, his brow peaked in the center. “How could I have done it, brother? You know full well I could not let you near her.”

  There it was. The truth of it all.

  The rope that held him snapped, and the pit he’d dangled over consumed him in quenching flame. “This is not about Hannah.”

  “It has always been about Hannah.” Ensign pulled his shoulders back, his height bringing him a full two inches above Philo. “It has been since the moment you turned her out.”