“I do not disapprove.”
The four words blew against Joseph and froze him as if he’d been gripped by an icy blast. The man could not be serious.
Rolling his shoulders back, Joseph’s brow crimped down. “You have always hated me.”
Philo’s gaze drifted downward as a sigh heavy with regrets breathed free from his mouth. “I did.” His stare swept up and circled Joseph in pleading. “But I was wrong.”
Confusion settled like a heavy fog. This was not the man Joseph knew. “I don’t understand.”
Even in the dark Joseph could see grief creasing in the corners around Philo’s eyes.
“I learned this night that all these years I had felt myself to be the one that was wronged…but I see now I was the one doing it.” He stopped, his voice fragile. “My regrets are a prison from which I cannot escape.”
Regrets? Hadn’t Philo always made it clear he’d wished them apart? He’d not seen much of the man since that awful day ten years past, but the cut in his soul had throbbed even so. Philo’s hurtful words never fully found refuge in forgetfulness. Joseph inhaled, but a deep breath could not blow away the clouds that grew ever more turbid.
Philo’s bereaved tone groped in the space between them. “I blamed you for what happened—both of you—because I feared more what others would think, when I should have embraced you.” His voice wavered. “All I can do now is beg your forgiveness and pray my daughter will as well, for I will never see her again in this life, and I have no one to blame but myself.”
The more Philo spoke, the more Joseph’s heart pulled apart at the seams, bulging with a dolor that even the deepest of hopes could not contain. The man was in earnest. “You say you have just come to see this now—how? How is it you make this change and choose in the final moments to take such a thing upon yourself? Philo, I do not understand. Hannah is beside herself with the pain of questions she has no answers to.”
“I suppose…” Philo looked away, a quick breath huffing from his mouth. “I suppose I have felt the tickings of change within me but was too prideful to admit my wrongs.” At that he looked to Joseph and rested a hand on his shoulder. “The pain I feel for having caused her too much sorrow destroys my soul. Now I can make it right.”
“By standing in our place of judgment?” Joseph pointed a rigid arm toward the rising gallows outside the far doors, straining to keep his volume from reaching past Philo. “You will die, Philo.”
“I know.” The resolve in his tone was serene, strong. Peaceful. “I must do it. My daughter deserves to have the happiness I denied her. She deserves a family—with the man she loves.” Philo looked away again, clearing his throat. “She told me of her child, your child.” Again he paused and coughed, his voice a fragile thread. “I had not known any of this. All I could see was my own suffering, my own selfish desires. I…I wish there was a proper way for me to beg your forgiveness. I hope what I offer you now is enough to prove the depth of my contrition.”
Joseph stilled, his entire frame numb as Philo’s entreaty and offered love reached out to cup his sorrowed heart, mending it with not only words but with sincerity as real as the blood that flowed within his veins. His throat thickened with hot emotion. Hannah must hear this. She must feel this love, this unspeakable peace—she needed it more than he.
He swallowed and took Philo at the wrist. “You cannot die.” Joseph turned back to the door, heart pulsing. There must be a way to save him. He turned back, staring at the man who by all accounts should despise him, but whose sincerity swelled so rich that Joseph believed he could bottle it and store it for times when he and Hannah wished to relive this memory.
Philo shook his head. “Do you expect if we attempted to escape now that we would not be caught?”
Gritting his teeth, Joseph refused just yet to relinquish the seedling thought, but Philo continued to cut it at the roots.
“If we fled, we would both be captured, both be killed, and what of Hannah then? The woman we both love would have no future at all.” He took Joseph by the shoulders. “I have placed my sins upon the altar, Joseph. I have sacrificed my pride and anger, and I have never felt such supernal freedom. ’Tis a peace I should have allowed myself so long ago. But now, and after I am dead, I will continue in that peace—if God, in His mercy, will see me into His kingdom.”
The voices out the door increased in volume, and both stiffened.
Philo pushed Joseph to the back door, speaking through closed teeth. “Go. You must leave now!”
“I will not leave before—”
“I shall get him right away, sir.”
The soldier’s voice outside the large barn doors was loud and strong. Panic-stricken, Philo shoved Joseph deeper in the shadows. “I will not have you taken.” He took the Bible from Joseph’s grasp and pressed it to Joseph’s chest. “Tell Hannah I love her.”
“Philo, please. There must be a way to—”
“Go to Ensign. I pray he lives.”
Joseph almost stumbled backward. More answers, and yet at their side came more questions. “What do you mean he lives?”
“If he has not yet been called to heaven, you will find him at the home of Nathaniel Smith. I cannot watch your family grow in joy, but perhaps he can.”
A rustling at the door made Joseph’s breathing stop. “I would stay with you until the end.”
“I refuse it.” Loving anger made Philo’s tone heavy. “Stay, and you risk destroying the very thing I wish to give you. You cannot be discovered.”
Just then the back door opened and Higley rushed in and whispered through closed teeth. “Come now.”
Philo reached out for Joseph’s arm. “Tell her I love her. Tell her how sorry I am. Tell Ensign—”
The large doors opened, and Higley jumped back. Joseph pressed his shoulders against the wall, where the shadows were thickest.
“Where are you, prisoner?”
Philo turned. “I am here.”
The soldier pushed the door fully open and stood motionless, the glow of the torches giving his frame a dark silhouette. “Ready to meet your maker?”
A hand gripped Joseph’s arm, forcing him into the pitch of the shadows.
“I am.” Philo stepped forward, not once glancing back. Though as he moved away, his shoulders and straight posture were like a petition, a secretive message that only Joseph could see. Go, it seemed to say. I am not afraid.
Holding tight to the hope that reached across the space, Joseph collected it in his heart and prayed God would grant him the strength to share that peace with the woman he loved. If only he could hurl out of the shadows and bring the man to safety.
But that was not to be. Philo’s future was decided. And there was naught Joseph could do but pray.
* * *
The soldier stepped forward and yanked Philo by the arm. “Get a move on.” With a crisp jerk, he shoved Philo out of the barn and into the yard where the gallows loomed, high and hateful. Torches flickered. A smattering of soldiers littered the otherwise empty space. Some with lanterns, others motionless, arms crossed.
“Major Stockton doesn’t want to wait.” Reaching for his arms, the soldier tugged Philo’s hands behind his back and tied them into place just as Stockton exited the house.
Hat affixed, sword at his side, the man carried his shoulders high and chest out. “Is there anything you wish to confess? Any last words you want spoken before you can speak no more?”
Philo shook his head. Thanks to the mercy of the Almighty, he had said all he wished to. He now prayed God would carry Joseph to Hannah, that he would give her the message Philo had so wanted to give himself.
With a brusque exhale, Stockton turned and nodded to the man beside Philo. “Prepare him.”
Pulling him forward, the soldier held him at the elbow, Philo’s vision bound to the rope that in moments would unwittingly be the means of his escape from this mortal travail. It hung motionless, almost as if it drooped in sorrow for what it knew it must do.
He blinked away the hot threat of tears as the soldier led him to the platform, pushing him to stand upon the stool. As Philo stared forward, the rough rope circling his neck, his vision found him. There, far in the back, almost at the trees and illuminated by the faint light of the torch-lit yard, was Joseph atop his horse. He kept there, a clement witness to Philo that God had heard his prayer.
Across the yard, through the darkness, Philo poured his love through his gaze, not moving, not blinking. Though he could not discern Joseph’s eyes, he imagined—hoped—he felt a strength whispering through the wood toward him. The rope tightened, and a quiver snaked down his back.
Closing his eyes, a tear wet his face.
Lord, forgive me. I have sinned against thee and against those I love. If only he had been granted a chance to read God’s word before this moment.
Then like the breath of an angel, the passage he’d read only one night past rose through his soul.
Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and put your trust in the Lord. The tears flowed, his neck cording as Stockton ordered his face covered with a sack. This must be, but how could he die with such regrets? Would Hannah forgive him? Would God?
All his senses faded as he narrowed his mind upon the only thing that would give him comfort. My Lord, my God. And ’twas there, as Stockton called for the stool to be kicked free, that God’s warm voice opened the heavens.
My son, greater love hath no man than he lay down his life for his friends.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The moment the stool was yanked away, James could see Joseph’s back stiffen.
He kept his volume around a fragile whisper. “You must go.”
As if the quiet declaration pulled him by degrees, Joseph nodded and turned his head. “Thank you.”
There were grief and gratitude in his expression too deep for anything else, though James could see more words in his eyes. If only he could have done more for this courageous pair. “Take Miss Young away immediately. Stop at Eaton Hill to change horses and head directly to Sandwich.”
Joseph glanced right, then turned away again, the scene in the faraway yard likely too terrible for him to witness further. “I will.” He gripped the reins and sat straighter, ready to ride the back way to the house where Miss Young waited. “We are indebted to you, Major.”
“I shall hope to see—” A movement behind him made James’s spine rigid. “Go!”
Without a second glance, Joseph kicked his horse and raced into the cover of morning’s inky shadows.
James sat motionless, his mare nickering and sidestepping. She could feel his angst. Tapping his heels against Ginny’s flank, he led her onto the road, trying to keep his mind from straying to the past, but it would not obey. He ground his teeth. If Joseph had been caught, he too would have been hanged, and the mere thought made James’s muscles cramp. Joseph Wythe was brave to a fault. As was Miss Young. Pray to God they would remain unseen. They must make it to Sandwich. For the boy, aye. But also for—
“Delinquent in your post again?”
Fate would not allow him a moment’s peace. James breathed out a smooth, quiet breath before answering the man who had been the thorn in his side from the day they’d met. “You should be happy, Lieutenant Greene. Your informant has been found. And killed.”
Also atop his mount, Greene reined in his horse beside James’s, looking toward the small crowd of soldiers who worked busily in the yard to disassemble the hastily made gallows. “So it would seem. Though I am not convinced.”
No wonder this man and Stockton’s son had been such keen companions. They were so much alike. “You believe an innocent man has been killed, is that it?”
“Nay, he was guilty of working for the enemy, that much is clear, but I do not believe the informant Major Pitman is searching for was that man.”
James caged his disgust behind his ribs with a long inhale. “What now then? Will you continue your search? I understood Major Stockton had banished you to Sandwich.”
“Oh, he had.” The laugh Greene let out was harsh and low. He trained his eyes on James as if the directive he prepared to issue would cut him from head to foot. “But I have just returned from issuing a report of this evenings events to Major Pitman and it seems he is so impressed with my efforts, that he has requested that I be transferred to his regiment so that I might be put solely in charge of discovering this elusive traitor.” The triumphant grin curled up his face. “I shall soon have full authorization to use any and all tactics to sniff out the one who will feel the tight end of a rope.”
So much pride. But pride’s companion was often cowardice. “I heard tell you were the informant.”
Greene’s expression coiled. “By whom?”
James eased his posture. “By several.”
“’Tis a lie.”
Shrugging, James tilted his head in the direction of the gallows. “None of this business with the Youngs happened until you made your appearance at the foundry.”
“I was the one who found out Willis this very evening! Do not tell me—”
“I am telling you nothing except I wonder if Major Pitman has requested your transfer because he trusts you or because he believes you culpable.” He paused, watching Greene’s expression evolve from indignant to hateful. “Keeping you closer to him, he can watch you with greater scrutiny.”
Greene’s jaw shifted back and forth as he chewed on the tack James had tossed him. “I will find this informant, and when I do, I will discover who it was that first slandered my name and I will be sure they regret it.”
That worn-out threat Greene was so quick to throw at the first rustle in the grass made James almost chuckle. “Good luck then.” He almost added a sarcastic remark to crown his enjoyment but swallowed it back before it could feel the morning’s biting air.
With a glare that Greene no doubt wished would stab, he clicked his tongue and finished his advance to the yard.
James stared, grinding his teeth as he calculated the work he must now do. Pitman was no fool. So why wish a man like Greene to oversee such an operation? In truth, instead of murmur over such a development, James should give thanks for it. The man was as dense as a dung pile. If he didn’t know who the informant was by now, he never would.
He’d been meticulous, careful, even cautious to an extreme. But if he didn’t begin to take even more care, James’s work for the Patriots would be discovered, and that was something he could never risk.
A grunt from Ginny lurched James’s thoughts into place, and he tugged her the opposite direction. The note in his coat pocket clawed for freedom. And he knew just the place to leave it.
* * *
In the barn of Eaton Hill, Hannah secured the last bag of goods to the side of Anvil’s saddle. The frigid midnight air pinched under her skirts. How grateful she was that they’d stopped, if only for a moment, for without her wool stockings, journeying so far in such cold would have been crippling.
Joseph strode through the open barn doors, urgency in his step. He rounded Anvil and stuffed the remaining knapsack with what he’d gathered from the kitchen. “We must hurry.”
Hannah looked to the darkened house across the yard. “I am ready.”
“Anvil is swift.” Joseph’s lips pulled tight in a sorrowful grin. “We shall not be overtaken.”
“Joseph…I know we haven’t time to speak…” The pale light from the fragment of moon illuminated the plume of her breath. “There is so much I don’t understand. I…”
A heavy breath left him, as if he’d already read the hidden missive in her expression “I know.”
She closed the space between them and rested her head against his chest. “What of the note? Will the soldiers be safe? ’Tis all my fault�
�”
“’Tis not your fault.” His warm embrace enclosed her. “Do not blame yourself.” He rested his cheek against her hair, hands stroking her back. “God will see to that.”
Closing her eyes, Hannah tipped her heart toward heaven, praying that Providence would protect the valiant men-at-arms. With that stone of worry now free, the larger rock of her sorrows toppled upon her. “I didn’t get to say good-bye.” Her chest seized, and she choked on the heated lump in her throat. “I didn’t get to tell him I loved him. Despite everything, I truly did.”
“My darling…”
Joseph’s rich tone shoved aside the boulder that threatened to crush her.
“I spoke with him.”
“You did?” She pulled away and looked up. “When? Tell me.”
“I shall—I give you my word. All you need know now is how desperately he loved you.” Joseph’s gloved finger brushed against her cheek. “He wanted you and me to be happy.”
Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against his chest, refusing to give way to the sobs that pressed on her spirit. So why had he done it? After all the years of hate—how had he come to such a change? And to have accepted such an end?
“There is much more to tell, but it shall have to wait.” Joseph kissed the top of her head. “Though I will tell you this.”
He pressed her away, the love in his face enough to carry her beyond the travails that impeded them. “What is it?”
Joseph lowered his chin. “Jacob shall need a mother.”
Jacob. Like a spark to a paper box, the thought was small in its dawning but in seconds burned bright. “Of course he will. I shall do whatever I can—”
“And Ensign…he will need you as well.”
Hannah frowned. “What do you mean?” She had misheard him, surely.
Joseph smoothed his hands down her arms. “He is alive.”
“Alive?” Her once cold limbs jolted with heat. “How can that be?”
“I know little more than you.” Something drew his attention to the house, and he gripped her elbow, leading her closer beside Anvil. “Your father said he spoke with Ensign two nights past at Nathaniel Smith’s home and that he still lived, though Philo seemed to believe Ensign’s condition was grave.”
So Pure a Heart (Daughters of His Kingdom Book 4) Page 34
