The soldier who had spoken to her the whole time nodded and walked out the door. The other two stood guard inside her home.
“Would you not rather stand outside?” Faith quirked an eyebrow at them.
“No, ma’am.” The shorter one looked at her. “We have been ordered here. There are two more at the rear. And a number of soldiers around the house, so please don’t try anything stupid.” He looked away and stared straight ahead. The steel in his eyes told her that he was trained. Being a soldier was his career. Even if he did look to be far too young.
What could she do now? “Very well.” She walked back to the kitchen as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Clayton stood by the table. “I tried to get everyone out, ma’am. But they have soldiers everywhere.” His words were a hushed whisper.
“Did you succeed in getting anyone out?” Her throat choked on the query.
He shook his head. “But I do believe we have come up with a plan.”
All she could manage was a nod. “ ‘Twas Anthony Jameson who told them to come here and arrest me.” Her hand flew to her mouth, and she started chewing on her nails again. “That man. He is the most detestable man I have ever met.”
“Which makes me wonder what he is up to.”
“What do you mean?”
“He told you he wondered what George Washington would think of you meeting with a Loyalist, and then he went to the British.” Clayton shook his head. “The man is more dangerous than we gave him credit for. I worry for your safety.”
He had a point. “But with these soldiers guarding the house so I cannot go anywhere, certainly, they wouldn’t let anyone in, either?”
“We can but hope.” Clayton winked. “Now, let me tell you about the plan.”
Saturday, July 1, 1775
Unknown detention camp
Matthew’s stomach rumbled for the millionth time. It was so raw that it felt like it rubbed up against his backbone.
He’d lost track of the days somewhere. Or even the last time he’d been given anything to eat. He remembered a small cup of water sometime yesterday. But his cracked lips begged for more.
The straw on the floor did nothing to give him comfort or ease the odor of his surroundings. The chamber pot was overflowing. The floor full of droppings from an uncountable amount of vermin. The stench of death surrounded this place.
Having no idea where he’d been brought, he attempted to sit up. He needed to take note of his surroundings, be observant, look for some way to escape.
So far, all they’d done was beat him. Ask for information. Then beat him when he refused to speak.
At this point, he was so weak he wanted to give in and beg for food. If they only knew who he really was, they wouldn’t treat him this way.
But that was the problem. He couldn’t tell them. Here he was: a Patriot. Captured by other Patriots while he was playing the Loyalist. But he’d been taken captive with a number of other Loyalists. Men that he’d been meeting with. Men that knew him. Recognized him. If any of them were released, Matthew’s cover had to remain intact. They’d never be able to get another Patriot entrenched into the upper ranks like him.
If Matthew gave away who he really was, all would be lost.
During the last beating, he’d asked to see the senior officer. But there didn’t appear to be anyone of any rank among this ragamuffin troop. He asked to get a message to General Washington. They all just laughed in his face.
Matthew was left to suffer—and possibly die—known as a Loyalist.
Not a Patriot sacrificing his life for the cause as a spy. No.
He’d chosen this course. He’d made his promise. He’d have to live with the consequences.
What would Faith think? She already probably thought him dead. If she was even still in Boston. Things had gotten bad so fast that he couldn’t predict what would happen next. Would she wait for him?
Unlikely.
Especially if he was dead.
The thought made him think about the afterlife. Heaven was a better choice than the suffering going on here. If it was his time to go, he was ready. He’d given his life over to the Lord years ago. He had no regrets.
Other than Faith.
He hated hurting her.
But she wouldn’t be alone.
She’d have George—her friend and guardian. And she had all her family in Plymouth now that she’d reconnected.
Plymouth. His sister would be distraught with the news of his death. But hopefully she would know his sacrifice. If he died at the hands of the Patriots because they thought him a Loyalist, someone would have to let her know the truth, wouldn’t they?
Everything within his body ached. Maybe it was his time.
An incredible weariness overwhelmed him. It would be gracious of God to take him in his sleep. Maybe he should beg for that.
If only he could see Faith one last time…
George rode his horse down the line as he inspected his troops. They’d be attempting to take Boston back soon. These men had seen a lot of battle already. They weren’t the same trained, career soldiers that the British had. But they had heart, and that is what mattered.
In the two weeks since he’d been unanimously voted in as the Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, he’d surveyed troops, read military stratagems, and made plans. This wasn’t a war they could lose. Every single one of them had put everything on the line.
He’d been in command two whole days, and the weight on his shoulders grew heavier by the minute.
There wasn’t time to prepare each militia for what George knew was coming. He’d fought for the British, after all. And had worked side by side with General Gage of the British back when they were both aides for General Braddock.
But now they were on opposite sides. And Gage had the upper hand when it came to troop readiness. It was a daunting challenge.
As George made his way back to his tent, a scuffle took place off to the side. Some overweight, fancy fellow was causing quite a ruckus. George shook his head and continued on.
“General Washington! General Washington, I must have a word with you.” The portly man’s voice squeaked on the end. “Unhand me, man! Washington, I demand to speak to you! It’s about Faith.”
George halted his horse. Not that anyone should demand his attention, but the man obviously had something devious up his sleeve because he knew to mention Faith. Very few knew his relationship to his ward or her Christian name. He turned his horse and rode over to the man.
Taking his time, he dismounted and stepped up to the frivolously dressed, pompous-faced man. He allowed himself a moment to size up the visitor.
Everyone around them quieted.
The stout man raised his chin.
George stood straight and tall. His frame soared more than half a foot over the man who’d made the demand. “Exactly what is it that is so urgent that you demand my attention, Mr… .?”
“Jameson. The name is Jameson.” He bowed. “And I am at your service.”
George raised his brows. Really?
“I have come to you to speak about Faith. Mrs. Faith Jackson. I am sure you know of whom I speak?” The man looked entirely too confident.
What was his game? “I do. What of Mrs. Jackson?”
“Not so fast.” The man shook a finger at him. “This discussion is delicate and should be in private. Offering some refreshment to your guest would also show some manners.”
“Mr. Jameson. Might I remind you that we are at war. Do you understand what that means? Do not come in here commanding attention and then expecting high tea. I have more pressing matters at hand.” He turned on his heel. “You may follow me to my quarters for a word, but I will only give you a few minutes of time. I’m sure you understand that is all I can offer.”
“Well. I say!” Jameson sputtered and spewed.
George didn’t look behind him to see if the man followed. Either he did or he didn’t. It was his choice. George didn’t pla
y games.
He reached his tent and walked inside. Shockingly, the portly little man kept up and huffed beside him.
“Washington, I will not insult your intelligence, nor will I waste your time.”
“Good.”
The man straightened his waistcoat and then clasped his hands behind his back. “I have disturbing news about Mrs. Jackson, and I am here to gain your approval for our marriage.”
George shook his head. “Your what?”
“Our marriage.” The man looked a bit too confident.
“Faith has told me nothing about you, nor your intentions. I find it a bit odd that you are coming to speak to me about marriage.”
“ ‘Tis my purpose, whether you think it is odd or not, and I believe you will agree that I am most suited for her.”
“I will, will I?” Who was this man? And was he crazy?
“Yes, of course. Now back to the disturbing news. I caught her meeting a Loyalist the week or so past. I knew this news would be disturbing to you, and so I confronted her. She denied it because I fear she didn’t want to disappoint me, but rest assured, I knew I needed to handle this with you. I let her believe that I would take care of everything. Thus, my visit to you.”
George shook his head again. What on earth was this man up to? He crossed his arms. “Exactly how are you going to ‘handle this with me’?”
“Why, by securing Faith’s hand in marriage.” The man looked at him as if he was daft.
Were they even speaking the same language? George couldn’t figure out how this man thought this all made sense. “To whom?”
Jameson rolled his eyes. “To me! Were you not listening?”
“Why would she want to marry you?”
“Because I am the best match for her and because it is what is best for her. Surely you can see that.”
At this point, George wasn’t sure he saw anything clearly. He lifted his hand up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not sure I see that at all, Mr. Jameson.”
The portly fellow stepped closer. “She was meeting a Loyalist. She has been up to all kinds of no-good in that house of hers with a bunch of gossiping women. I am telling you, the woman needs straightening out.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. But Mrs. Jackson is one of the smartest women I have ever known. I doubt she needs straightening out.” George crossed his arms over his chest. This man needed to leave. And fast.
“I do not think you understand what I am saying. I will be marrying Faith Jackson. You will give your permission. Or …”
Ah, so there was the threat. But of what? “Or you will do what, Mr. Jameson?”
“I will go to the general of the British troops and hand over the evidence I have against Mrs. Jackson. She is already under house arrest for her conspiracy against the Crown.”
“House arrest? And what evidence? I thought you said you caught her meeting with a Loyalist? How is that damaging to the Crown?” George tried to follow the twisted mind in front of him. Obviously, this man thought he held some kind of power, but over what or whom, there wasn’t any clear idea.
“Yes, house arrest. I went and told the general myself.” Jameson seemed awfully proud of that fact.
“And you did this on purpose? To the woman you wish to marry?”
“Of course.” Jameson huffed. “She needed to know who was in charge.”
“Of course.” George couldn’t hide his sarcasm. But the man appeared oblivious.
“She was meeting with a Loyalist. I saw her with my own eyes. And I saw them exchange messages. Then I followed the man she met with.” He clasped his hands behind him again. “I know you care for Faith. And you want the best for her. Well, if you do not agree to my terms, then I will have no other choice than to tell them that she is spying for both sides.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” George could not believe the man in front of him. “You dare to come in here and tell me that you are the best thing for Faith and then if you do not get your way, you are going to turn her in as a spy…to both sides? Do you want to get her killed?”
The man crept closer. “I believe the question is, do you want to get her killed.” He sneered and showed his white teeth.
But the nasty breath of the man made George want to vomit all over his guest. Not taking an eye from Jameson, he shouted, “Thomas, Edwards!”
Two of his best soldiers ran into his tent. “Yes, sir?”
“Arrest this man for duplicity!”
The soldiers yanked Jameson by the arms and started to drag him away.
“Wha—what?” Anthony Jameson looked around him. “You cannot arrest me! I know the King! I will have your head for this, Washington! What do you think you are doing?”
George walked up to him, and the soldiers stopped dragging the poor man, but he hung from their arms. “You, my good sir, have no honor. How dare you threaten a poor woman and have her arrested for doing good? You say you care for the woman, yet if she doesn’t do what you wish, then you punish her?
“You are not a man. You are a monster. You do not care who you side with as long as you get your way. Well, in my book, guess what that is? Treason. And you, sir, are guilty. You know what the King does to those who commit treason. Well, here in the Colonies, it is much worse.” He straightened to his full height. “But now that I think about it, maybe King George would like to know what his ‘friend’ is up to.”
He nodded to Thomas and Edwards. “Take him away and make sure he has two men guarding him at all times. No food or water. Let’s give him a couple of days to think about this, and then I will deal with him personally.” He didn’t care if he sounded harsh. He couldn’t believe the brashness of the man!
“Washington! You cannot do this! How dare you!” The man blustered as the soldiers dragged him away.
George turned back to his quarters. In the distance, he heard the man cry out in a very pathetic-sounding wail.
Good. Let him suffer. What on earth had the man put Faith through?
He rubbed his forehead. Now he had to find Faith and make sure she was all right. But how? He was in the middle of a war. How did he even know that Jameson told the truth? Was it all a ruse to use blackmail against him?
Knowing Faith, if she had indeed been put under house arrest, she’d already escaped anyway. But if Jameson had told the Brits she was a spy, then she could be in grave danger.
Thursday, July 6, 1775
Boston
With her knitting in her lap, Faith listened closely to the guards at the door. Not more than a half hour had passed since she’d given them the wonderful cookies Sylvia had made.
Cookies laced with some herb root that caused abdominal distress.
The woman was a genius. Ever so thankful that she had such people in her employ, Faith smiled to herself. Their plan had been brilliant.
All this time, Faith had been the gracious hostess and fed all the guards from her sumptuous kitchen. Sylvia prepared the very best of everything they had to impress the guards. It worked so well that the soldiers began to fight over who would run to the market to get her supplies, and if they didn’t have it all, they’d go to the British to get what they could out of their supplies.
They’d earned the trust—at least the hunger-trust—of the guards. Faith hadn’t tried anything sneaky. She had done nothing but mundane, lady-of-the-house things. Knitting. Sewing. Mending. Overseeing the staff. Reading books. And reading her Bible aloud. Just in case the soldiers needed reminders from the Good Book. Oh, she always chose scripture that would apply to them. Verses about oppression, widows and orphans, taking care of the needy. She’d found all kinds of passages to read to them. That had been the fun part.
Hopefully it all looked normal to the guards. But to her it was far from it. She’d developed the mundane skills expected of women in carrying out their duties, but she’d always used them for a bigger purpose. Like the Patriot cause. Not that sewing and knitting weren’t useful employ and honoring to the good Lord above i
n their normal capacity. But Faith wasn’t normal. Hadn’t followed normal patterns for most of her life.
Now that the guards had been lulled into a false sense of security, she and the staff put their plan into action. Sylvia made her cookies. They fed them to all the guards before bedtime. Soon—prayerfully very soon—those same guards would have some sort of symptoms.
A groan from the foyer reached her ears.
Then another.
Laying her knitting back in her sewing basket, she went to play the gracious hostess. “Is there anything wrong?”
Both guards groaned.
One was crouched near the floor.
“What did you give us?” The one still able to stand narrowed his eyes. He looked quite green.
Clayton snuck up behind them, a candlestick in each hand.
“I didn’t give you anything. Why would you think such a thing?” She reached out and patted the soldier’s hand. “Is there anything I can do?”
Now both soldiers were close to the floor.
Clayton stepped closer and clobbered each of them over the head with his makeshift weapons.
The guards crumpled the rest of the way to the floor.
Faith didn’t waste any time. She ran up to her room and grabbed her two carpetbags.
Racing back down to the foyer, she saw her staff gathered at the bottom of the stairs. “Is this everyone?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Clayton held a bag as well. “The guards have been tied up. Two in front, two in the rear, and four outside. The wagons are full.”
Faith nodded. “Good job, everyone. Thank you so much. Now somehow we have to make our way out of town without being seen. Most of you will have to hide in the back of one of the wagons, and we will lay blankets over you. We have several women and children we’re trying to get to safety, so I need everyone to work together and protect each other.”
Nods made a wave around the room.
“It will take us many days to get to where we are going. But we can’t stay here. The battles are happening all around us now, and it won’t be safe for us any longer.”
She pulled out her Bible. “I’d like to read a short passage before we begin our journey. It’s from the book of Second Samuel, chapter twenty-two.” She flipped to the page she’d marked earlier that morning and began to read:
The Patriot Bride Page 17
