by Jerri Hines
Jonathan’s attention turned toward his own issues. He reminded himself of his beliefs; belief in the cause that they were willing to lay their lives on the line for; the fight to secure the liberty so desired, so strongly felt.
Lately, the memory of the last time he saw his father kept playing over in his head. Relentlessly. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his father, smiling broadly at him before he ready himself to depart for Philadelphia.
“I want you to have something. It was mine,” his father held out a handsome sword. “I used it when I served. I would be honored if you take it now. I’m proud of the man you have become. A man of convictions, Jonathan. I’m confident that you will serve with honor.”
The gift touched Jonathan profoundly. He wished he had told his father how much it meant to him, but he could find no words. A handshake. A hug. Jonathan couldn’t remember, but he had left with the sword by his side. He placed it in the bedroom he now shared with his wife. One day, he would find it a place of honor in his own home.
Now, though, he couldn’t shake an ominous feeling that wouldn’t leave him alone. His worry ran deep. He hadn’t heard from his father for weeks. He sighed heavily walking up to the Pollard Tavern. Peter Lanson had requested a meeting. That in itself made Jonathan nervous.
Jonathan entered into the populated room. It was late. The serving girls scrambled around picking up the litters of mugs and plates. Chairs scraped the floor as brooms swept up the mess underneath the tables. Only a few patrons still remained within the tavern. Jonathan paid them no mind. He caught sight of Lanson in the back corner. Alone.
“Thought you might not be able to make it tonight,” Lanson said. He gulped down his ale remaining in his tankard.
Jonathan sat and motioned to a serving girl for ale. “Another?”
“The news isn’t good, Jonathan.” Lanson’s lips thinned on the utterance.
Jonathan stiffened with the remark. The man across from him clearly had much on his mind. His redden eyes, his drawn face. Jonathan wondered when the last time the man slept. “I am here. What do you know?”
“When was the last you heard from your father?” Lanson asked directly. Looking up at the serving girl, he accepted his new mug from the girl. He took a sip. “It has been a while?”
“Three weeks back,” Jonathan uttered thinking of the last letter. “Father wrote about the theft, his suspicions. He had filled the letter with details of the Hampton action. How Colonel William Woodford with Captain Buford silenced the British guns at Hampton. How the forest outgunned the sea. He bragged about the accuracy of the riflemen and that it had become suicidal for any of the British to load a cannon.”
“Did he state his intentions to come to Philadelphia with William?” Lanson asked, glancing around the room.
Jonathan shook his head. “No, but Hannah wrote me last week saying Father had left a note for Mother Agnes stating he left for Philadelphia. They haven’t heard anything since. William was with them. Where are they?”
Lanson gave Jonathan a dour look. He said bluntly, “There is a report that came through, although not confirmed, that the British laid hold of both on the road to Philadelphia. We’re expecting news soon, but Jonathan, it doesn’t sound promising.”
Jonathan’s heart choked in his throat. Unbelieving the words, yet knowing…“I need to go back.”
“No, Jonathan. At this point, George Wythe has asked for your presence,” Lanson said. “I will go with you. We all have much to handle, but need to do so together.”
Around the room serving girls snuffled candles. There were few within the room, but to Jonathan it felt as if the walls were closing in. He stood, “Then let us go.”
Jonathan followed Lanson down the street until they came to a lighted house. Set back from the street, they entered through an iron wrought gate. Trepidation filled him as he walked into George Wythe’s home. Not for himself, but the words he might hear.
George Wythe was a respected friend of his father’s who at one time tried to influence Jonathan into law. The man had changed little since the last time Jonathan saw him.
“Jonathan, come in. I hated to drag you out in the middle of the night, but time is of the essence now,” the gray headed Wythe calmly said. He motioned for Jonathan to take a seat across from him.
A sudden urge to run came over Jonathan for he knew before anyone spoke and if he didn’t hear it then it couldn’t be true. He sat silently. George Wythe stood and talked, uttering the words Jonathan dreaded..words that echoed around him. The comprehension of the words fell hard upon him.
“We have only had confirmation. Your father and William were on their way here. With the theft of the device, they were attempting to bring the sketches back. They were stopped outside of Hampton and detained. Your uncle claimed the British wanted to question them more. They were charged with treason, Jonathan, although from what we understand there had been a chance for William, but your uncle, Wick, put at stop to their mercy. Dunmore had them hung on board his ship without a trial.”
Wythe paused, for he too was caught with emotion. “I can’t express my own sorrow at this news. I have lost a dear friend, a true patriot. But there is more to concern ourselves with. They haven’t made the deaths public knowledge which is a concern.”
The old man walked over to Jonathan, who hung his head down behind his hands. He couldn’t speak for fear he would break down. Wythe put his hand on his shoulders. “It’s of small consolation for your injury and personal grief, but they died for their beliefs. Their deaths won’t go unanswered. I need to know, though, son. Do you know any about the device itself?”
Jonathan slowly shook his head. “Nothing. William helped him. I only covered for him at times after Lanson came down. I do know that Father wasn’t convinced of its worth. He wanted more time to work with it.”
Jonathan closed his eyes, trying to remember anything. He remembered his concerns over the device…his uncle…Hannah.
“Hannah,” Jonathan uttered. Peter Lanson shook his head.
“As far as we know she is fine. Does she know anything about the device?”
“No, but my uncle showed undue interest in her when he came. Father was worried. One of his fears was my Grandfather getting his hands on Hannah.”
“As far as we know, she is safe within Williamsburg with your mother,” Lanson said.
Wythe patted Jonathan’s back and sighed. “Jonathan, they’re assigning you up North to Montgomery and his men. Not only because they’re in desperate need of physicians, but for your own safety. We don’t know what the British know. They may think you have knowledge of the device.”
“I need to go home.”
“No, Jonathan. I promise you, I will go. I agree with you that something is amiss. They have kept too quiet. I’ll leave immediately. You have my word,” Lanson assured him.
“Lydia, Mother,” Jonathan started.
“Write them letters. I’ll take them,” Lanson said. “This I can promise you, Jonathan. I’m tired of being outmaneuvered. Tell no one anything. We have a leak. We can trust no one until we find out who the leak is.”
The next day Jonathan left. It was a gray November morning. Catherine’s eyes reddened from her crying. He hated to leave her upset but she was with her family, more importantly safe. Her father had generously offered his home to Jonathan’s family.
“They are our family also, Jonathan. Don’t concern yourself,” Gannon said. “I’ll do anything necessary to ensure the safety of family. Go. Catherine will find comfort with her mother. You go and do your job.”
Jonathan departed secure in the knowledge Catherine was safe. He wished to God he could feel the same about Hannah and the rest of his family.
* * * *
It was a gray November evening with a slight drizzle tapping on the glass. Hannah gazed out the window. She couldn’t dismiss the worry gnawing within her. She released her hold on the curtain, letting it fall back in place. She had grown restless. Weeks had pass
ed since the night of the storm. Her worries heightened with every passing day and no word had come.
Shortly after her father departed, Uncle Nathaniel had come into town and retrieved her. Hannah hadn’t wanted to leave Lydia who was beside herself with worry, but Lydia assured Hannah she had her mother, who didn’t want her far from her side in her condition.
“Go,” Lydia said firmly. “But upon the first word, let me know. I’ll do the same of you.”
The correspondence had been sparse with Jonathan and Gabriel. How she longed for them both. Something was wrong. Her uncle, coarse and tense, hadn’t allowed Hannah to ride, and only allowed the occasional walk with a male companion, even then only upon the open grounds. Sadness encompassed Mother Agnes. She tried, but couldn’t hide her apprehension. She had already made her way to her bed this night.
Hannah wanted to ease Mother Agnes’s fear, but she had fears of her own. Mother Agnes had squeezed her shoulder before climbing the stairs. Hannah gave her a small kiss on the cheek. They couldn’t speak their fear, but both understood it. She watched her mother walk up the stairs until she disappeared.
She glanced over her shoulder. Betsy and Faith played in the corner. Hannah smiled to herself as she listened to them pretend with their dolls, readying for an imaginary wedding. All laughs and giggles. Hannah prayed they were right.
She pulled back the curtain once more. Suddenly, a sharp movement in the dull mist caught her eyes. Shadowy figures emerged forth. Terror seized her. The curtain dropped to the side as she backed up. Her legs found feeling again and dashed for the girls. The window shattered all around them. Betsy screeched.
Hannah pushed them hard, but in that instant a shot rang out. The front door burst open. She heard a shriek and then a thud as if someone fell from the stairs. Hannah rapidly grabbed each girl’s hand, but an assailant lay in wait behind the door as she swung the it open.
He grabbed at her. She screamed for the girls to run. Wildly, she wrenched free, fell and rolled along the floor. From the corner of her eyes a pistol blared in front of her. Fired right into her attacker. Shocked, Hannah stared at Uncle Nathaniel. He extended his hand down to her and helped her quickly up.
“Take your cousins to the Witherspoons. Now. Don’t look back. Take James with you. Hannah, do whatever it takes to get through,” he said. There was no mistaking the urgency in his tone.
She understood and accepted the loaded pistol he handed her. She could only manage a nod, but bolted down the hall where the three young ones huddled close together. James had his arms protectively around his sisters.
Hannah nudged James who grabbed Faith’s hand. Hannah gripped Betsy’s. They burst out the back door. The night was dark with the new moon, but Hannah could hear a stirring to the left. Hannah’s heart beat wildly in her chest. Chaos encircled them. The alarm bell began to toll. Screams and cries all around. Shots and more shots.
She nodded to James to move against the corner of the house. She had to get her bearings. Cries from within in the house stabbed her heart. She couldn’t listen. She had to get the girls out of this. The girls’ faces stained with tears, stood frozen. James tugged at them to no avail. A resolve overtook Hannah. Instinctively understanding she had to get them out quickly or they wouldn’t make it.
Shots rang out again. Terrified wails echoed outward. Hannah ignored all, but pointed to James toward the stables. James nodded his acknowledgement. Hannah’s bare feet felt the wet ground beneath them. She quickened her pace upon hearing sounds coming rapidly behind her.
A horse pulled in front of the fleeing group. The rider’s eyes caught Hannah. An evil grin appeared upon his face. A stocky, burly man grinned at her. His eyes glared. He jumped off his horse in front of Hannah. His filthy hand reached out for her. The stench of his liquor overwhelmed her.
“Where d’ya’ thin’ ya goin’?” he laughed. He pulled Hannah toward him. James reacted, launching himself at her attacker. In one motion, he knocked James back over to the ground and kicked him in the stomach, taking the wind out of him. His sisters screamed.
“Ain’t goin’ to ruin my fun, boy!” he said with a wicked twist. He spun round to Hannah, who stood stoically, pistol raised. She fired point blank range. He fell with his eyes open in shock; his blood spurted forth over Hannah and the girls.
Faith shrieked hysterically, covering her face with her hands. James stared momentarily at Hannah. Hannah didn’t even glance downward, but stepped over the body. She grabbed the reins of his horse.
“Get on!” she demanded. Wailing from the slave cabins resonated all around. Faith stood frozen, screaming and couldn’t be budged. Hannah pleaded. “Faith, come on. You have to go.”
The smell of smoke, the clanging of the bell, cursing, wailing, blood. Faith attempted to withdraw from Hannah. Hannah seized her hand. Still Faith drew back screeching. Hannah instantaneously slapped Faith across the face.
She fell silent.
Hannah picked her up, lifting her to the back of the horse with James and then Betsy. She commanded her cousin, “Ride as fast as you can to the Witherspoons. Don’t stop for anything, no sounds, nothing. Ride.”
Hannah’s hands trembled and she caught James’s expression. He didn’t want to leave her. Water welled up within his eyes; she slapped the back of the horse and motioned for him to hurry. Reluctantly he turned and took to the woods. She stood long enough to watch them disappear with no one following and then hurried to the stables.
Empty. Nothing remained inside. Hannah quickly took refuge and hid within a vacant stall as the order for retreat screamed forth. Hannah inched over through an opening. From her vantage point, Hannah watched in horror. Zachary emerged from the shattered house. Blood streamed down his face; clothes ripped.
“I will protect our home, Father. I will. I will make you proud!” Zachary screamed. He fired his musket and stumbled wildly across the porch. He readied to fire again when a member of the raiding party circled around and fired a single shot. Her hands went to her mouth to muffle the cry when Zachary dropped his musket. In slow motion, Zachary plunged downward. He fell flat on his back; his eyes wide open.
Hannah slid down the side of the stable wall. She couldn’t breath, like a weight had been placed on her chest. She crouched low onto the floor of hay until the only sounds she heard were the slaves dousing the flames with buckets of water.
* * * *
Hannah entered the house before help arrived. On the parquet at the foot of the steps lay her aunt’s lifeless body. Hannah inched forward only to shriek. Her uncle’s body lay in a puddle of blood in front of her, gun still in hand.
She walked on backwards against the wall by the stairs. Skirting her aunt’s body she slowly took the stairs. She found Mother Agnes in her bedroom. Tears blurred Hannah’s vision. Mother Agnes’ mangled body lay upon the floor. Half her nightgown was in shreds, the rest completely gone; violently torn from her body. She had recoiled into a ball with her hands around the knife still within her stomach. She was dead.
Gently, Hannah removed the knife and covered her mother as best she could with a quilt that lay on the bed, cradling her mother’s head on her lap. Endless tears streamed down her face. There she stayed.
* * * *
Peter Lanson threw his glass into the fireplace shattering it into a million pieces. Damn it, he was late again. Leaning against the mantle with his hands, he watched the burning flames. He shook his head. The whole of the family destroyed. He had yet to see the girl, but he didn’t even know if anyone would let him. The cousins had descended down. One, a reverend from Richmond, the other in the militia, had been called home.
“Mr. Lanson?”
Lanson wheeled around to the voice. Standing in front of him stood a shadow of the girl he remembered in the spring. Dressed in mourning, her face hollowed; her eyes dimmed.
“Miss Corbett?” he asked, surprise within his tone. “I can’t express how deeply I regret. My condolences.”
Hannah lifted her hand t
o stop him. “There is no need. I have no intention to wallow in self-pity. My intention is to see justice is served.”
Lanson stared at the young woman. She stood with a letter tightly held within her hand. He motioned for her to sit pulling a chair out.
“I can assure you, Miss Corbett, I will do everything in my power for your brother, yourself, and our country.”
“I appreciate your effort, Mr. Lanson. You can well imagine how hard this is for me. Not only losing my mother in the raid, but to find out that my father and brother have been hung as spies,” she choked up. She paused to regain her composure.
“I loved my family very much and I believe strongly in the cause that they have lost their lives for. I can’t shut my eyes at night without seeing Zachary’s eyes, or my mother lying lifeless. I can hear their screams. I feel I’m left with no choice, but to do what I can to correct this injustice.”
Lanson walked over to her side, a confused look upon his face. “I’m not quite sure what you want to do.”
The letter clutched tighter within her hand. She looked down at it and then handed it to Lanson.
“I’m no fool, Mr. Lanson. I know my family was betrayed, and it stemmed from my grandfather. Within this letter comes an invitation to live with my grandparents, expressing their concern for my welfare,” Hannah said without a sign of emotion.
Lanson accepted the letter and scanned over it. She watched in silence his reaction.
She continued. “My father considered my grandfather a ruthless, unscrupulous man, but he wouldn’t fathom I would betray him.”
Lanson looked up from the paper in front of him. “Miss Corbett, are you proposing you infiltrate your grandfather’s house in hopes of finding our leak? I don’t believe you can comprehend what your grandfather is capable of. He’s a very shrewd man. It’s almost an impossible task in the best of circumstances.”
Hannah halted his words. “I don’t believe you understand me, Mr. Lanson. My mind is fixed. If it takes everything I have within me, I’m going to avenge my family’s deaths with or without your help.”
