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

by Amber Lynn Perry

  “Mr. Plains, we are not related—though we do pose as cousins.”

  “Aw, I see. Donaldson didn’t say anything about that, so I assumed…” He raised his head and lowered it, as if amused, and cleared his throat. “Forgive me.”

  He bowed to Hannah, and she inclined toward him, a half smile revealing her endearing dimple. Joseph offered his hand to their new friend. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

  Willis’s hearty grip infused a sort of brotherly kindness in Joseph that warmed through his spirit.

  “Be safe. Be cautious.” Willis released his hold and looked to Hannah. “And you, dear lady. God be with you.”

  That dimple sank deeper into her cheek as she smiled her good-bye before starting for the wagon. Joseph followed, already teetering on a precarious ledge. He helped Hannah into the wagon, touching her as minimally as possible, and climbed up himself, but his mind was elsewhere.

  A strange brew of frustration and imprisonment bubbled, and he coughed to release the discomfort, but it refused to abate. Not two hours ago he’d decided on finding her a way to safety. Now, instead of Hannah being farther from danger, she was as close as she would ever be.

  “It seems you cannot be rid of me so easily.”

  Immediately scowling, he turned his head to face her. “Rid of you?”

  She looked up to him, then back to the road. “Until the raid is over at least.”

  “What do you mean?”

  One of her shoulder’s bobbed up and down. “Oh, ’tis nothing.”

  ’Twas something and he knew it. Whether he would attempt to have her expose what she wished to hide was another matter.

  He pressed a heavy sigh from his nose. “I don’t like it.”

  “I know.” Keeping her gaze forward, she nodded and continued after a beat of silence. “But I feel I shall be safe. I shall be at the ball at least two miles from the raid, and though Stockton’s attentions are unwelcome, I do not believe he would wish me harm.”

  However he hated to concede, Hannah was right. The major’s affections for her were not fabricated, and though Joseph pined to be the one at her side, Stockton would no doubt be sure she was safe. That was, unless he learned who and what she really was.

  Unsure how to arrange his feelings about the developments, Joseph ruminated over the looming future as they rode back through town. The ball. The raid. Both necessary evils they could not circumvent. Allowing himself a sideways glance, he noted Hannah’s gaze was fixed across the road and followed it to the gown in the window.

  He swung his eyes back to her, and she looked away innocently, as if she’d not just been gazing with girlish longing.

  The irritations that had piled began to slough away. He couldn’t control everything, even if he wished to—even if his intentions were sincere. He had to trust that God would indeed protect her, as Willis had said.

  Shifting in his seat, he tested the waters of playfulness that would hopefully be the balm for his ire. “Since you will attend the ball despite my protestations, I suppose I must insist that you wear sackcloth. For anything else would bring you far too much attention.”

  “Is that so?” Her mouth held hard against a smile that seemed difficult to suppress, her eyes sparkling with unreserved delight. “I fear sackcloth would bring more attention than less.”

  A rich satisfaction warmed his limbs. He chuckled, easiness massaging away a mite of the former tensions.

  On through town they went, the silence equal parts tension and comfort—part of him wishing they would speak, the other relishing the peaceful quiet between them. The kind of comfortable reticence that existed between two people so content in each other’s presence no words needed to be spoken at all.

  Without warning his stomach grumbled, and he tossed her a strained glance, to which she smirked.

  He chuckled. “I suppose my lack of breakfast is making itself known.”

  Hannah reached down, pulling a basket from beneath her seat. “Then ’tis a good thing I brought you something.”

  How had he missed she’d brought a basket? She eyed him hopefully, and he teased her with a suspicious frown before tipping sideways to inspect what awaited him. She slipped back the cloth and bit her lip, as if awaiting his expression of approval.

  Sitting straight, he kept a sideways glance on her, an almost girlish expression on her womanly face. She wanted to please him. The thought did terribly wonderful things to his stomach, and not from the thought of food. “You made turnovers.”

  Satisfaction, sweet and humble, dusted over her cheeks. “They are your favorite.” She added the next quieter, “I hadn’t forgotten.”

  God give him strength. All amusement, all hunger fled in the face of wanting. He stared overlong, fearing he would lose the battle that raged and pull over the wagon, at last to hold her to him and kiss her as he’d dreamed of doing for so long.

  Wisdom intervened, and Joseph reached for a cold but perfectly browned morsel and filled his mouth, if not fully his hunger. That might not ever be satiated.

  He finished the rest in silence, when he pulled on the reins and scowled. Something wasn’t right. Joseph pitched sideways and tugged the horses to a stop.

  Hannah turned her head. “What’s happened?”

  He hopped down. “A harness has come loose.”

  The next moment he heard her footsteps on the snow. “May I help you?” There was something untapped in her words, but what it could be, he’d dared not hope.

  She stayed on the other side of the second horse, peeking around its neck and shoulders. Was that yearning in her bright eyes? Or did she simply want to be near him?

  Joseph cleared his throat to dispel the mystifying imaginings. “You may pet his nose if you like. I don’t know this horse as well as I know Anvil, but he’s patient. A touch from a pretty woman wouldn’t hurt in keeping him happy while I work.”

  Her cheeks bloomed to the loveliest shade of pink, and she nodded, ducking away before he could linger over that perfect dimple any longer.

  He bent to discover exactly what had come loose, and within moments had righted the buckle, pulling it tight. Straightening, he stepped back, brushing his hands. “On we go.”

  Circling back to his seat, he was struck directly between the shoulders…by a snowball. Slowly he turned, spying Hannah’s impish expression as she hid most of herself behind the safety of the horse’s huge frame.

  He stayed motionless, trying to decipher the strange form of such a moment. A laugh built up, exuberant and bright. This was the Hannah he remembered. Her beauty was one thing. Her strength of will another. But ’twas the playfulness and humor he found breathlessly irresistible—and something he’d seen little of since their lives had been thrown back together.

  With the slightest tip of one eyebrow and cant of her head, she dared him to hit her back.

  Bending, he scraped together a large ball of snow. If she wished to play, he was all too willing to oblige.

  * * *

  Dear heaven, what had she been thinking?

  Joseph’s frame disappeared as he ducked for snow, and she hurried for shelter behind the horse. She could hardly see over the top of the animal’s back, and there Joseph would have the advantage. He could find her out more easily than she could him.

  Bursting with a joy she hadn’t felt in years, Hannah looked over the horse’s back one last time, and not seeing Joseph, darted to the other side of the wagon. What had possessed her to do such a thing? Smiling, she nearly laughed aloud. He’d looked so surprised, but she couldn’t seem to help it—the action almost springing from her without her knowing. Things were becoming easier between them…more as it had been.

  This was how she’d wanted things. Easy, natural. Husband and wife.

  Her neck and ears burned at the memory of Mr. Plains’s mention of them as such. Oh, why did her heart have to cling to such a thing?

  A cold lump smacked her in the shoulder from behind, spraying bits of icy wetness onto her neck a
nd ears. She squealed, laughing. Joseph lunged from his place behind the back of the wagon, four more crude balls in his large hands. His face beamed with that perfect white smile that made her knees turn to pudding. Crouching, she grasped for more snow, when another ball hit her on the knee.

  She hurled a hurried handful from her position at the ground, but it missed him, and he strode toward her with long, determined strides.

  Hannah jumped to her feet and raced to the trees, her limbs weak from laughter. She reached the edge of the wood where the snow was untouched, when an ironlike arm grabbed around her middle.

  Joseph’s rumbling chuckle vibrated against her ear as he held her firm. “You wanted a fight, hmm?”

  “You were so serious.” She spoke between spurts of sprite laughter.

  “I was serious?” His grip loosened slightly, and she took the chance, wringing free from his arm, but he caught her back again.

  Struggling against his solid frame, Hannah lost her balance and tumbled into the snow with a yelp, he following after.

  Cold snow on her face, she rolled to her back, blissful laughs bouncing through her. He moved his body from hers, though his arm was still beside her right shoulder, his face directly above hers.

  Slowly, their laughter dispelled, his nearness consuming every nerve already alive with the joy of him. Dear Lord, how am I to endure this? The lines around his eyes softened, their rich blue deepening to match the color of his navy-blue coat.

  His gaze brushed over her lips, and her mouth parched. Would he?

  With a grunt he moved back and pushed to his haunches, snapping like a dry reed the moment she’d used to lean her hopes against.

  “Come.” Offering his hand, he helped her to her feet and brushed a bit of snow from her shoulder. “We best be back before Stockton begins to wear a path in front of the fire.”

  She nodded but couldn’t help the slant of her head or the words that matched. “Is that all? Or are you simply afraid I shall overtake you?”

  “Overtake me?” With a half smile, he stepped back. “I believe, dear Hannah, you have done that already.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The yard was empty when Philo rode in, weary and chilled from the twenty-mile ride. He slid from his mount and swept his gaze over the land that should be, nay, would be his. Eaton Hill hadn’t changed, as somehow he’d expected, knowing the British had taken it. ’Twas as wild and lovely as it had always been. The land still vast and blanketed with trees, the view still…mournful. From where he’d stopped in the middle of the yard, he could easily detect the new mound on the hill. He squinted. Or was it two? Raw, like a grave freshly dug, a pit began in his stomach. He shook his head. Nay. It couldn’t be. His vision played tricks upon him, surely.

  He secured his horse near the front door, when the clanging from inside the foundry across the yard met his ears. Must be Ensign at work. Or the British, but likely they’d commandeered him for their purposes.

  A smile tickled his cheek. Ironic that Ensign was for the Patriots and yet would be made to work for the enemy. Had he sold to Philo as he should have, perhaps Providence would have looked more kindly upon him.

  Philo strode to the door, tugging at his jacket before he knocked, struggling to ignore the swirling in his chest. Any moment Hannah would open the door. He hadn’t seen her in years. Would she look even more like her mother? The thought made his throat tighten. What would he say? What would she say?

  He prepared to knock again, when the door immediately opened. His heart lifted and sank in the same moment when his daughter did not greet him.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  The ruddy cheeks of the soldier who looked not much older than nineteen were lifted in a smile that seemed far too friendly for one in the service of the king.

  “I uh…” He hadn’t expected this? And why not? Imbecile. “I am here to see my brother, Ensign Young.”

  A truth, aye. But his mission was twofold, and if his plot were to be completed, he must find the man in charge. Certainly that was no longer Ensign.

  The soldier nodded. “I see.” His mouth twisted in thought as he leaned back toward the parlor, then turned again to Philo. “One moment, sir—what is your name?”

  “I am Reverend Philo Young, sir.”

  The soldier nodded quickly before closing the door all but an inch. After a few voices jumped back and forth, the soldier returned, swinging the door wide. “Major Stockton will see you.”

  Major Stockton, hmm? Philo tucked the name away and entered, taking stock of the house in a single glance before his attention was stolen by the imposing man in front of the fire. His commanding stance was enough to herald his status even if his decorated scarlet coat did not.

  The young soldier motioned to Philo, then the officer. “Reverend Young, Major Stockton.”

  “Thank you, Private Reece.” The major dipped only his head in greeting. “Reverend.”

  Bowing deeply at the waist, Philo encased himself in all the charm and ease of one who spent a lifetime learning how to gain a man’s trust. “At your service.”

  Stoic, the man only nodded. “You are here to see your brother, I understand?”

  “Aye, sir.” Philo straightened, easing the muscles in his shoulders and neck to give the impression he hadn’t a thread of tension, though the longer he stood in the same room with this stranger, the thicker it became. “It has been some time since I have paid a call. What is family if not to love and care for one another, hmm?”

  The man’s eyes flicked up and gazed over Philo’s shoulder to the young soldier behind him. It seemed there was a message in his look, for the soldier who’d seen him in excused himself, leaving Stockton and Philo alone.

  “Reverend.” Stockton pivoted slightly, resting his hand on the mantel. “I fear I’ve some sorrowful news to report…had we known of any family, we might have sent word—”

  “Nothing’s happened to Hannah.” Panic’s pointed fingers clutched his throat. Did that account for the second grave on the hill? Though he’d not seen her in years, though he hated her for what she’d done, it didn’t change that she was his child and her death would be a blow he couldn’t bear.

  “Miss Young is well, sir.” Eyebrows knit tight, Stockton kept his expression hard. “’Tis your brother.”

  “Oh?”

  Lowering his hand from the mantel, the man straightened with a look that gripped Philo around the shoulders. “He is dead.”

  Dear God.

  Philo’s gaze lowered by degrees as the gravity of such a revelation forced his eyes to the ground. He spoke, his stare at the place where the wall met the floor. “When?”

  “Some days ago.” Strangely sincere, the man motioned in the direction of the hill. “His body rests beside his wife. I assure you he received a proper burial.”

  Still as a windless summer day, Philo allowed the words to first cling and then drag against him, waiting for the grief to strangle. It did, aye, but not as much as he’d expected. In truth, the future gleamed like a light in a firmament of pitch. Through loss would come joy then, it would seem.

  He swallowed, aligning carefully what he would say next before he spoke. “Eaton Hill is a family estate.” Lowering his head, he directed a heavy dose of sorrow through his words. “I wonder what shall become of it now he is gone?”

  When Stockton didn’t immediately speak, Philo seized the quiet. “I am pleased you have made use of it. I do fear my brother may not have been friendly toward the king, but I for one would see those rebels hanged for their treason.”

  Only the man’s eyebrows lifted, as if he knew such a response was expected, but his trust was still in the balance. “You are kin of Miss Young then, I take it, as you asked after her?”

  “Hannah? Aye, she is…” Of a sudden he was pained with a distant longing. “She is my daughter.”

  “She said nothing of a father.” Suspicion creased his forehead.

  “We are estranged.”

  The rising sk
epticism that settled ever deeper in the soldier’s weathered face would not serve Philo well. He needed the man at his side, not apart from it.

  Philo at last removed his hat and moved politely to a chair, praying the unsolicited act would be taken as a statement of his grief and not his pride. “When her mother died, I feared caring for a daughter myself, so I…I gave her into the care of my brother and his wife, who had no children of their own. I fear she believes I abandoned her. A father can only do his best.”

  Something of the partial truth he’d shared must have struck a chord. Stockton’s hard features softened at the edges, and he looked over to the window. “Your daughter is a good woman. A brave one.”

  There was more than simple kindness in his words—there was a familiarity that wormed against Philo’s skin, but he ignored it, bringing the conversation around again to him—to Eaton Hill.

  “Well, sir, I will have you know that I would like to do what I can in your efforts. If you are in need of anyone to oversee the property—”

  “You are generous indeed, sir, but I do believe Mr. Young has everything well in order.”

  “Mr. Young, did you say?”

  “Aye, your nephew of course. Quite a talented blacksmith, I must say. He’s generously offered to look after the work in the foundry while…”

  Stockton continued speaking, but Philo heard none of it, while his mind chased and bound what he’d not dared even to consider. Joseph? Here with Hannah and posing as a relative?

  Rage, disbelief, and confusion suffocated him, filling his lungs with their vile stench enough to force him to cough it free. It had to be Joseph. Who else could it be? Had they been together all this time? Had Ensign known of their continued love affair and sold to him for that purpose? Were they even married, or living in sin?

  “Reverend, are you well?”

  Philo coughed again, waving his hand in the air. “Aye, forgive me.”

  He wouldn’t reveal her now. He couldn’t. If he wished Eaton Hill for himself, his hand must be played with ever more caution than before. He must find a commonality with this man, something to break the tension and form that bond that was the basis of trust. Only then would he be able to carve the needed path that would make Eaton Hill his own. With the war upon them, what of deeds and bonds? This man alone had the power, and Philo must harness it.