"Yes?"
The young man pulled a rolled missive from inside his coat. "For you, ma'am. Direct from the Colonel in Dover."
"You must mean for my husband, Captain Beale. I'm afraid he's returned to New York."
The young man lowered his hand. "No, ma'am, the message is for you."
Leah stripped off one kidskin glove and reached for the rolled paper. Her heart was beating so hard beneath her breast that she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Something was wrong . . . something was deathly wrong. Never had she had such a sudden sinking feeling in her heart. Not even the day she had married Edmund . . .
She broke the wax seal and quickly scanned the flowery script. She read it a second time.
. . . Great sorrow to inform you of your husband and son's capture by enemy forces . . .
She bit down on her lower lip, her hand trembling. No, not William, not her sweet William . . . She struggled to take a breath, suffocating in fear. She fought to keep her emotions in check.
Dear, God, he could be dead. The only child she would ever bear . . .
But he couldn't be dead. She had borne him from her body. He was as much a part of her as her own hand. Wouldn't she know in her heart if he was truly dead? Wouldn't she feel the pain? Wouldn't a part of her have died too?
She looked up at the soldier as she carefully rerolled the letter. "I must see the Colonel at once," she said, surprised by the strength she heard in her own voice.
"He said for me to tell you there was no need to come all the way into town. He said he would send more information as soon as he gained it, Mistress Beale."
Leah tucked the message inside her olive green riding coat and slipped her hand into her glove. "Noah," she called.
The elderly black man looked up at her from where he stood in the corn field. "Mistress."
"I ride to Dover. Saddle and catch up."
He took the burlap bag from his shoulder and handed it to a young boy. "Yes, Mistress. Old Noah won't be but a minute."
"As I said. There's no real need to go to Dover, ma'am."
She turned her attention back to the militia man. "Now, sir. I'll see the Colonel, now."
"It's a long ride into Dover, Mistress. Surely you'll want your coach."
Leah lifted the reins, thrusting out her chin determinedly. Her son needed her. What if he was hurt? He was so young, just eight years old. Good God, how frightened he must be . . . "Private, either you escort me, or you don't, but I will see the Colonel today." Without waiting for the young man's reply, she urged her mount into a gallop, turning east toward Dover.
The sun was setting as Leah dismounted and tossed the reins to the private who had had a difficult time keeping up with her on the twenty mile ride into town. "See that my horses are rubbed down and given adequate water," she ordered.
"Yes. ma'am."
"Noah, wait for me here."
Noah sat down on the front step. "That I can do."
Leah stopped at the front door of the house on Dover's Green and straightened her somber riding coat. Then she flipped open the door, and walked inside. A makeshift office had been set up here in someone's residence. Leah had been here once with Edmund.
A young soldier dozed in a chair at a desk near the fireplace. She cleared her throat. "Sir?"
The boy's eyes flew up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ma'am?"
"I'd like to see the Colonel. I'm Leah Beale of Tanner's Gift. Please announce me."
"He . . . he's dining, Mistress."
She swept off her three-cornered riding hat and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. "Well, his duckling will have to wait, won't it? Tell him who I am. He'll see me."
"Mistress Beale, the Colonel is having a dinner party. He asked that he not be disturbed. He—"
"Well, the young lady will have to wait, won't she? Let the Colonel know I'm here, or I'll do so myself." She started for the door leading to the back of the house.
The soldier rushed for the door and slipped through it ahead of her. "I'll be back directly, mistress."
She gave a curt nod. "See that you do."
When he disappeared through the doorway, banging the door behind him, she heaved a sigh. It wasn't that she liked being hard-nosed like this, but she had found through trial and error that it was the only way for a woman to get matters done in a man's world.
Leah walked to the window and gazed out at the garden below. Trim boxwood hedges graced the sideyard. A vine still flowered on a trellis.
She touched her hand to her heart thinking she might well be able to feel it breaking. William. What if he was gone? What then? What would she have to live for?
She cursed Edmund foully beneath her breath. She knew she shouldn't have let the boy go with him. War was no place for a child! But Edmund was such a bastard. A day didn't go by that he didn't remind her how he'd saved her and her family from disgrace by marrying her.
Leah ran her finger along the window sill. She knew she should feel something for Edmund, after all, he could well be dead too. But when she thought about life without him, she felt no pain, only the same emptiness he had brought to her on their wedding day. Of course she was not such a hard-hearted woman that she couldn't feel sorry for him. No man deserved to die so young.
But William . . .
Just then the door swung open behind her. She turned around. It was Colonel Myers, a friend of her husband's, a dull man, but honest enough.
"Mrs. Beale . . ."
She nodded her head. "Colonel."
He came to her offering his hand. He was a short man with a hooked nose, unattractive but said to be quite popular with the single women and widows in the middle county of Delaware. "Mrs. Beale let me offer my condolences—"
"Let's not waste my time or yours with pleasantries, shall we?"
He pulled back his hand when he realized she wasn't accepting it. "Ma'am?"
"I want to know precisely what you know of my husband and son's capture. And I'm not talking of the official word. I want to know the truth."
"I'm sorry you had to come all the way into Dover, but as I said in my message, I truly know nothing but what word was sent to me from New Jersey."
"Horse crap."
The Colonel blinked.
"Let's not mince words. Are they dead, or aren't they?"
"Mrs. Beale, your husband's position was delicate. He—"
"He was a bloody spy. So is he dead or isn't he?"
The Colonel turned away from her. "I hadn't realized that your husband had made you aware of his position in the army. Normally families are not informed of such delicate information. It's not safe, nor is it wise."
Leah frowned. God in heaven how she hated that condescending tone in a man's voice. "Colonel. My husband never once spoke of his position in the army, but just how stupid do you men think we women are?" She raised a hand. "I don't expect you to answer that. Let's just get on with this. Tell me about my husband."
Taken aback by Leah's words, it took the Colonel a moment to respond. He cleared his throat. "Ah . . . he has been reported missing. He and your son were captured by enemy forces during the retreat from Manhattan."
"But the retreat began nearly two weeks ago!"
"You have to understand, messages are slow to come through. This is war time, Mistress Beale."
"So tell me the truth." Her voice never wavered. "Were they really captured or were they killed?"
"Captured," he repeated.
"So have the English contacted you? Has there been discussion of a trade? I know that generally officers are traded for English officers we hold."
"There had been no communication that I know of, but the message I received this morning was written over a week ago."
Leah raised her hands to rest on her hips, lost in thought. She looked up at the Colonel. "Obviously they wanted information Edmund had, but why did they take the boy too?"
He shrugged. "The uh . . . the details were sketchy."
> She watched his face. His mouth was pulled back tightly, his eyes avoiding hers. He was a poor liar. The good Colonel was hiding something. "Could I see the original message?"
"Classified information pertaining to other affairs, I'm afraid." He looked up uneasily. "I'm sorry."
She refused to let him worm away this time, demanding eye contact. "So just tell me. What is it that I'm not supposed to know? What has happened to my husband and son?" She took two long strides toward him and grabbed his pressed uniform sleeve. "Damn it, George. I have to know!"
He exhaled softly. It seemed to Leah that an eternity passed before he finally spoke.
"Savages, Mrs. Beale."
She frowned, confused. "Sir?"
The Colonel suddenly sounded older than his years. He exhaled a brandy-smelling breath. "Your son and husband were taken from a guarded tent in the middle of the night, not by English soldiers, but by Indians . . ."
Chapter Two
Leah rode through the dark, lonely woods at a comfortable canter. Tree branches hung over the narrow roadway casting long fingers of eerie moonlight across her path. She'd refused to allow the Colonel to send someone to escort her home. At this moment, she couldn't stand the sight of a uniform. The pistol she wore in her riding habit and her servant made her safe enough. Noah rode a good distance behind her, sensing she needed time to be alone.
Leah glanced overhead at the sprinkling of stars appearing in the clear, dark sky. She fought the lump of panic that rose in her throat and the tears that threatened to spill.
That bastard husband of hers had taken her only child and now he'd been kidnapped. For all she knew, he might be dead.
But Leah knew he wasn't dead. She knew it in her heart, a mother's heart. William was somewhere out there, cold, frightened, perhaps alone. She could feel him. She could hear his voice calling on the wind, calling to her. Mama . . .
She had to find him.
Bits and pieces of Leah's conversation with the Colonel drifted through her mind as she slowed her horse to a walk to give him a chance to breathe. She had reached her own property boundaries, but still had a good half hour's ride until she arrived at the manor house on Tanner's Gift.
Kidnapped by Indians . . . the Colonel had said.
No further information . . .
Due to the delicate nature of Captain Beale's assignment, no search party has been sent yet . . .
. . . Just have to sit back and wait it out.
"Well, to hell with waiting it out!" Leah shouted into the treetops. A covey of quail burst out of the trees, startled, and sailed into the dark sky, wings beating rhythmically.
Leah glanced over her shoulder at Noah who rode patiently behind her pretending not to have heard his mistress's outburst.
She took a deep breath and faced forward again. The sound of her own strong voice made her feel better. She had always taken pride in her own strength and now when she was facing her greatest challenge yet, she knew she couldn't allow herself to be paralyzed by her fears. She had to be logical. She couldn't allow her emotions to overcome her. She couldn't be an hysterical mother. She had to have a plan.
If the army wasn't going to send anyone to find her son, then Leah would find him herself. She didn't care what the Colonel said about secret information and the necessity for careful planning before making a rescue attempt. If she depended on the army, William would be dead by the time they found him.
So now what? How was she, a woman, going to find her child in the northern wilderness? How was she going to face a band of redskins and take back her son?
When the thought of Harrison first flashed through her mind, she pushed it aside. How absurd. Of course he wouldn't help her. She wouldn't want him to. And even if she did, she could never find him. He'd been gone nine long years. She had no idea where he was or where he'd gone the day he'd abandoned her.
But she did know . . . or at least had an idea. All these years she'd kept mental note of comments made by others. Become the savage that we knew he always was . . . Run off into the woods to play Indian . . . living in an Indian village yonder side of the bay . . . what a disappointment to his father . . .
She could find Harrison if she wanted to. She knew she could. All these years she could have found him at anytime if she'd wanted to. The bastard . . . She'd loved him and he'd left her, left her to the wolves, left her to Edmund . . .
But this was William, her son. He was her life. He was the heir to Tanner's Gift. So what would stop her from asking for Harrison's help? Harrison had been a tracker for the army for a while before the war. She had heard rumors that he had even rescued a woman kidnapped by Indians. Even as a young man he had been able to follow a trail no white man his own age could follow, be it a deer or a lost child. It was in his blood, he had teased her.
Leah made up her mind in an instant. If anyone could find William, it was Harrison.
So, would she let her own pride stand in the way of her son's rescue? Could she allow those old wounds in her heart to be ripped open? What was she willing to give to have William back?
She would give anything.
Leah grasped the leather reins in her gloved hands and veered off the road onto a narrower one that cut across her own property and led to the DeNay property lines. She heard Noah steer his own horse in behind her. A light rain was beginning to fall. She lifted the hood of her black cloak and urged her mount into a easy gallop. She would speak to Harrison's father, tonight. He would know where to find his son.
Leah paced the short distance between the bookshelves that ran floor to ceiling, and the door of DeNay's library, her heeled slippers striking on the hardwood floor. Candle sconces on the mantel lit the room in dim yellow light. The comforting smell of tobacco hung in the air.
At first, DeNay's new wife had said her husband couldn't possibly receive Leah tonight. He was down with his gout, she said. But when Leah had said she would go to the man's bedchamber, the young woman had muttered something about impropriety and flown off in a flurry to rouse her husband.
Leah spun on her heels at the closed library door and strode toward the wall of books. When she reached them, she put out a finger to stroke the dusty binding of a leather tome. Telemachus by Dodsley. Who was DeNay fooling? These were not his books. DeNay was a man of the earth and by no means a scholar.
No, these books were Harrison's. He had taken great pride in the collection. Leah smiled at the memory. How excited Harrison had been as he had added one rare volume after another. This would be a gentleman's library, he had told her. He would have the finest gentleman's library in the southern colonies. Leah ran her finger over the bindings. Gay's Works, Waller's Poems, Foote's Dramatic Works, Xenophon's Memoirs of Socrates . . . He had purchased them in Philadelphia, in Williamsburg, and Boston. Many had been shipped at exorbitant cost from England.
She wondered if Harrison missed them . . .
Just then the door swung open behind her. Leah spun around. "George."
Harrison's father came through the doorway slowly, aided by a silver-tipped cane and favoring his right foot. "Leah."
She offered her hand. "Thank you for seeing me so late. Your wife said you weren't receiving, but it was urgent."
DeNay waved a hand as he hobbled toward a chair. "My wife, she tries to protect me. Well meaning young chit, she is, but not a great deal of sense."
"I knew you would see me."
DeNay sank into the damask wing chair and heaved a sigh. "This is not a social call I would guess by the look on your face, so let's get to it. You and I have always been able to be honest with each other, Leah. That's what I've always liked about you. You're damned straight for a woman."
She grabbed the footstool and pushed it over in front of him. Carefully she grasped his pudgy, swollen leg by the silk-stockinged calf and lifted it onto the stool. "It's Edmund."
"Dead?"
She raised an eyebrow. "If I should only be so fortunate."
DeNay gave a chuckle. He had known Leah
since she was an infant. After what she had gone through with his son, he had felt some obligation to befriend her, especially after her marriage to Beale and the sudden death of her father a year later. Those first years she had run Tanner's Gift on her own they had spent many a meal together going over ledgers and discussing crops. DeNay was well aware that there was no love lost between Leah and her husband.
Leah turned away, carefully searching for the right words. "It's worse, George. Captured by enemy forces. Captured by Indians, for the British I'm assuming."
"So let them have him." DeNay struck his leg with his fingers, chuckling at his own quip.
Leah turned back. "But George,"—her voice caught in her throat. "George they took my William too."
George DeNay swore beneath his breath. "Have they no shame? No honor?" he demanded.
"George, I have to find him. I have to rescue William."
He looked up. "Surely the army—"
"The army isn't going to do anything but sit on their rumps and discuss what ought to be done!"
"Leah—"
"I understand that they are but one man and one child, and it's an entire country we now fight for. If I was a commanding officer I might make the same decision, but I'm not. I'm a mother."
"Surely something can be done. I could send a message to an old friend in New York. He has ties to Washington, Leah. Second cousins on a mother's side or some such nonsense."
"George, I've already made up my mind. I'm going to ride to the Patriot camp to get what information I can and then I'm going after my boy."
"What camp? You hear the war news same as I. Our men have retreated. They're running through the Jersies praying snow falls soon and the Brits put up for winter."
"I'll find them."
DeNay let out a sigh. "So this is not up for discussion?"
"Not for a moment. I came to you not for permission, but to get your help."
He shrugged. "I've few men. Most went with the army, but you're welcome to any resources I have."
"I have to find Harrison."
For a moment George DeNay was dumbstruck. In nine years he'd never once heard her speak his name. He didn't now exactly what had occurred between her and his son, but he knew it had been serious. And he knew she hated him.
Whispered Promise Page 2
