“If I may be so bold, Reverend…”
Philo peered up at Stockton’s sudden change of subject. “Aye, sir.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“She is eight and twenty and so much like her mother.” Though he hadn’t seen her in far too long, he knew such a statement to be more than true.
Stockton gazed to the window, a dreaminess in his soldierly expression. “I find it strange she has not married.”
Realization dawned, the spikes of light rising into the black corners of his remaining questions. He might have known Hannah would be the very thing that would unlatch the shackles and send Philo’s chains into a blissful free fall.
Philo stood, emboldened by this newfound knowledge. “I suppose…I suppose she never found a man to her liking.”
“Hmm.” Gaze unwavering from the window, Stockton nodded in thought. “I wonder what she shall do when the conflict is finished.” He looked to Philo with a minuscule slant of the head.
A more perfect interlude could not have been crafted. “There will need to be someone to care for the property—and for Hannah—for I doubt my nephew will stay on much longer.” For I shall throw him out.
Stockton’s quick shake of his head noted his agreement. “His trade takes him far and wide, I understand.”
Trade? What lies had the man told? “I worry over it, and my daughter.”
Striding to the lowboy in the corner, Stockton poured two drinks. “She seems an intelligent, capable woman. Not to mention her angelic beauty.” He handed Philo an amber-filled glass, secrets in his genial grin. “I daresay I must keep her from my soldiers, or she’s like to be stolen away by one or more of them.”
Bringing the cup to his mouth, Philo chuckled in politeness. However, the statement settled with little amusement. He took a sip of the tepid liquid. “I almost wonder—forgive me for speaking so openly—but I do almost wonder if my brother’s passing was not meant to be. I have long wished to mend what I have lost with my daughter, and it seems now is the chance. But…”
He paused, staring into the glass, hoping the man would bite at his dangling bait.
“You worry she will not trust you?”
Philo strode to the window. “I must have more time with her.” He turned back around, sighing in perfect choreography to his words. “But how to ease it upon her. I have made so many mistakes…”
Stockton’s jaw ticked, and he remained quiet before he leaned his head back and drained the rest of his drink. A flash of some unspoken grief flared, then died in his eyes. “I believe every parent feels the depth of their inadequacies.” Again he was silent, pensive. “I cannot speak for her of course, but…if you feel it needful, and as she allows, I will permit you to visit the property.”
“You are most generous, Major.” Wings of elation took flight, driving straight to the heavens, but he kept it hidden behind the slightest of smiles. “I should like to do my best to begin to mend my wrongs.”
Chin down, Stockton stared into his empty glass. “There is a ball this Saturday eve.”
“A ball?”
“’Tis for officers and other such of the king’s men, but Miss Young will be there as my guest. The presence of a Reverend would be prudent, would it not?” Stockton made a quick gesture before bringing the cup back to his lips. “You are welcome to attend if you like.”
Philo struggled against the urge to smile as wide as the cold winter sky. “I would like that very much. Very much indeed.”
* * *
As they approached the yard after their journey to Duxbury, Hannah felt lighter and more joy filled than she had since her youth. She glanced up to heaven, pouring out her unspoken prayers to the One who knew her better than she knew herself. He’d known she needed that levity, that laughter and freedom from woe, however short it might be. She might not have been able to bear the return if she hadn’t. All because of God—and Joseph.
She glanced up at him, the grin on her lips stretching over her face and deep through her heart. Looking down again at her hands as Joseph directed the horses and wagon to the barn at the side of the foundry, she flicked away the prick of disappointment, as one might a crawling pest in summer. Here they must shed what familiarity they’d enjoyed on the brief ride. They must don again the heavy cloak of secrecy. They were cousins. Nothing more. ’Twas the way she wanted it, of course. With a swallow and a cough, she labored to ingest that belief, but the jagged edges of truth scraped on their way down.
Once stopped, she secured that ponderous cloak around her shoulders with strings of reality. She was here for the cause, for Ensign—as was Joseph. He had made his choice ten years ago, and if she thought their nearness would change that—that a mere playful fight in the snow would unravel the mass of tangled emotions, she was as daft as she’d been before.
Joseph hopped down and came around to assist her.
Hands at her waist, hers at his shoulders, he lowered her to the ground, his grip and gaze lingering. The small, unopened grin that warmed his face mirrored hers, no longer as light or as wide as it had been, yet just as real. And the depth of it held her like an embrace.
For a moment they stayed motionless, neither of them speaking, fearing, it seemed, that words might dim the brightness of what they’d shared and snip away what had been mended.
Slowly his hands fell away, and she wrapped her arms around her waist, reluctant to let the warmth of his touch fade. Glancing to the house, she focused her eyes on the unfamiliar horse that waited out front.
Another soldier perhaps?
Sighing, she started for the yard, when a firm grip on her arm stopped her.
“Hannah.”
Her whispered name, deep and filled with an emotion she couldn’t name, tugged at her heart as real as his hand at her elbow.
Like a stern mother, she scolded the sudden yearning and hid it behind a questioning look. “Aye?”
“Would you…” He swallowed and licked his lips, looking briefly away.
In that moment she saw the same nervous expression in his eyes—that same tentative want she’d seen the first night he’d asked to see her home. Dear heaven. If he were to ask her anything, she would be powerless to resist.
Releasing a quick breath, he tried again. “Would you sit with me by the fire this evening?”
Keeping her tone void of the exuberance that whirled within her took painful effort. “Of course.”
She hesitated just long enough to note the easing around his eyes and the drop of his chest, as if he’d been holding a heavy breath. With a nod she turned back to the house, letting out at last the smile that burst from her spirit. Even her steps were quicker, lighter, forgetting the admonition of minutes earlier.
Attempting to restrain the childish thrill was folly, but she tried nonetheless. He simply asked to spend time at the fire. They had done that before. ’Twas nothing remarkable. So why did her heart labor under the hope that it was something more?
Having crossed the yard, she glanced at the waiting horse before gripping and turning the cold handle of the door. Pushing it wide, she took a step in, and the two men standing at the fire twisted her direction.
Lord in heaven, give me strength.
Unable to move, she stared at the one man who stared back, her emotions fleeing every direction, leaving only fear in her center. Fear and its shadow, suspicion.
Philo’s smile was hesitant, his voice equally so. “Hannah, my dear.”
Her tongue welded to the roof of her mouth. Still within the doorframe, the cold nipped up Hannah’s skirt, but she welcomed the sensation, preferring it to the type of cold that waited within.
Stockton smiled, that familiar protectiveness deepening the lines around his eyes. Cup in hand, he left his spot beside the fire, placing the unfinished drink on the table between the chairs as he came toward her.
“If you’ll excuse me, Miss Young, I should like to speak with your cousin about your visit to Duxbury.” He stopped beside her, reaching
out as if he would touch her arm. His throat worked, and his eyes darted to Philo before returning to her. “If you should need anything…”
With a dip of his chin, he left. She wanted to call out, beg him to come back. Even his presence would be more welcome than solitude with this man.
“Come in, my child.” Philo motioned to the fire, his actions hesitant and strained as his eyes trailed her. He shook his head, looking as if he might speak something genuine, intimate, before he coughed it away. “You must warm yourself. You look chilled.”
So much of her was weak, childish. For now, in his presence, the young Hannah emerged—the Hannah that was, and always would be, a daughter peeking from around that looming pillar of fear, always hopeful, always wishing. But a blink was all it took to right her mind and her heart. She closed the door, once again feeling the woman she was, and all the heartache she’d endured that made her so.
“What are you doing here?”
He set down his drink next to Stockton’s and took a step forward, then stopped. His gaze rained over her like a summer downpour, covering every inch. “You’ve not changed.”
“I have. If you knew me at all, you would see it.”
The light breath he pressed from his mouth, the drop of his eyes, said her words hit their mark. He spoke of things physical, she of things much deeper.
Lifting his chin, and again his gaze, he tried once more. “’Tis good to see you.”
Hurt, with its thousand weeping cuts, throbbed hard in her chest. “You have heard the news of Uncle then?” What else would make him come these twenty miles? Certainly not her presence. But how would he have learned of it?
“Aye.” Philo’s throat bobbed. “I am grieved at the loss.”
Hannah shook her head, a bitter breath escaping her nose at the lack of sincerity in his profession. She was no fool. “You wish Eaton Hill for yourself. That is why you are here. Do not let pretense paint over reality.”
Finally, the man she knew emerged. That hard look found its place over his expression, and the girl within her shrunk further away as he spoke.
“Then let me be plain. Eaton Hill should always have been mine, but my brother had an idea that perhaps he could take the future into his hands.”
If not for lack of strength, and the fact her shoes seemed fastened to the floor, she would have fled, his bitter presence bleeding a raw ache through her muscles.
She gripped hard to her unraveling rope of strength. “He wanted only what is best for the foundry—for all of it.”
“Ha!” Philo’s head bent back as the laugh shot to the beams above. “So he would sell to your lover then, hmm?”
Hannah blinked, unsure she had heard him. “I have no love—”
“Joseph!” Philo took a giant step, his arm outstretched as he pointed to the door. “Joseph is here, Hannah. Don’t think I don’t know it.”
Knees quivering, her mind flailed about for something to grasp hold of. Her body went numb, and her tongue thick. She didn’t know how to act, what to say—should she try to deny it or simply stand against his accusation as if it were nothing but a simple spring breeze?
She ground her tone into submission. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
He lowered his arm and his voice. “I am no idiot, Hannah. Ensign sold the foundry to Wythe, allowing that hateful man one last blow to my life. It is too much to be borne.”
She could hardly formulate a response before he started again. “How long have you been with him, hmm?” Mouth tight, nostrils flared, his voice rumbled across the floor. “Are you even married? Or have you long since disposed of that formality?”
Hannah’s mind struggled, stumbling and gasping as it raced uphill over the jagged rocks. Joseph had bought the foundry? Why hadn’t he told her? She nearly protested the accusation, but halted. If she denied the claim, he would want to know why Joseph was here—and that she could not say. Then again, he hadn’t seen Joseph, so how could he know for certain? Perhaps this was a ruse to get her to come away with him? Perhaps he lied—made up such a thing to get her to speak, to spill all she held close so Stockton could know her secrets.
“I owe you no explanation.” She shook her head, flinging aside the grip of weakness. “You cannot know he is here. You have not seen him.”
“One does not need to see to know.”
A quick glance to the window eased some hidden fear that perhaps Joseph would return to the house. The yard was vacant. “And if he is, what of it?”
“I would know if my daughter lives in sin.” ’Twas more an accusation than a question.
“You are not my reverend, and I am your daughter in little else than blood.”
He stormed forward, skin scarlet. “What would people say of you if they knew? Have you no thought of my reputation? I hoped after your first ignominious transgression you would have—”
“I do not care what others think. I never have.” Her chin quivered. “’Twas you who despised the ruin of flapping tongues—tongues that bespeak only shadowed, partial truths.”
Philo’s high cheekbones glistened with rage. “Eaton Hill will be mine, Hannah, no matter what you may say.”
“I have never had a say in any of it, nor do I wish to.” She stepped forward, feeling the spirit of Ensign beside her. “Before he died, I gave my word to my uncle that I would care for this land, and I intend to do so, and not even you will I allow to stand in my way.”
Unmoving, Philo’s stare darkened in the center, his stance strangely relaxed. “Your tenacity does you credit. But your ignorance does not.”
She stood firm against the verbal blow.
“That man is, and always will be, unworthy of you. I tried to warn you, to save you years ago, but still you have a weakness for him. For all I know, ’twas you who put my brother up to this. Do you not remember how he left you? He wasn’t the marrying kind then, and he won’t be now. That sort of person thinks only of himself and none other.”
Hannah stepped aside as a signal for him to leave, but she was not quick enough to escape the fiery path of his words. They hit and burned deep through her skin to scar her tender spirit.
She motioned to the door, her throat so bulged with emotion she hadn’t the capacity to speak.
With a nod, he started for the exit, slowing as he passed her, such a tangle of emotions in his eyes she couldn’t begin to unravel them. Disdain? Anger? Sorrow, perhaps? Regret? Nay, the last was a figment of her hurting soul.
He placed his hat on his head and peered back over his shoulder as he opened the door. “You are not to be rid of me so easily.” Said with jest more than anything else, he nodded and stepped out. “Good-bye, Hannah.”
The door closed, cutting off the last of her strength. She reached for the chair at her side, her lungs heaving for the air she’d denied them. Awash with questions, her mind hung heavy like a sopping garment. Had Joseph really bought Eaton Hill? Why had he not told her? Hannah quickly replayed Ensign’s promise that he’d sold to an honorable, just man who would care for the land and foundry as he had. In truth, she knew few others who fit the description as well as Joseph. And yet…
Her father’s words drilled through her ears like a burrowing insect. Do you not remember how he left you? That sort of person thinks only of himself…
The words circled her heart like wolves around their prey. Hurrying to the stairs, she pulled her skirts to her ankles and raced for the safety of her room, slamming the door behind her.
She stared at the dressing table at the opposite side of the room. It seemed to beckon her, oblivious to the turmoil that writhed within. The treasures it harbored whispered her near, but she would not allow herself to bring to life the pains that now clawed at her.
Joseph had left her. That truth would never fade. He had not known of the child she bore or the pain she’d suffered. Would knowing of their son have even changed his mind?
Tears burned hard at the back of her eyes, spilling over her cheeks and down her neck. S
he breathed through clenched teeth. Perhaps her father was right. Perhaps she hadn’t changed at all. Perhaps she was still as blind and foolish as she had ever been.
Chapter Twenty-One
Joseph finished the last barrel, dunking the molded iron into the water, its hissing and wheezing a melody to his ears. Sackett and Deane were beginning to slow, their day nearly as long as his.
“Enough for today.” He put back his iron and tipped his head to the door. “Get back and rest. Tomorrow shall be equally demanding.”
A pair of sighs heaved through the room as the men placed their tools on the bench. Sackett nodded, smiling. Deane did the same, both of them talking between themselves, mounting their horses and hurrying to the food and warmth that awaited two miles away.
Joseph glanced through the partially open door to the light in the kitchen window, the pleasant sensations in his chest stealing the concentration he needed to tidy shop and prepare for the night. He’d not felt this way since…since her.
After arranging the tools the others had laid haphazardly on the table, he left, securing the latch on the door. His legs wished to race him across the yard, but he resisted. Peering quickly through the window, he noted the lack of Stockton, Higley, or Reece. Or Hannah. She must be upstairs.
He entered through the back, grateful the house was empty. He needed a wash, and desperately. Hurrying up to his room, he pulled his soiled shirt over his head and poured a generous amount of water into the porcelain basin on the table and scrubbed, the scent of the fresh soap a pleasant change to the smoke and grime he’d been covered with throughout the day. No woman wanted to converse with a man that smelled of soot and sweat. Almost deciding against it, he hurriedly washed his hair, content now that he was presentable. He dried thoroughly and snatched a clean shirt from the drawer but halted before pulling it on. A line of fine new stitches graced the edge of the collar. He’d seen the fraying but hadn’t known what to do.
So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4) Page 21
