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Chapter One
Boston, 1773
Don’t leave us, Father, we need you!
Eliza Campbell tried to keep her fingers from trembling as she tenderly stroked her father’s arm and watched him struggle to breathe. Her heart withered, and she stared out the partially open window of the large upstairs room, praying. Lord, how will we live without him?
The early October sun spilled into the bedchamber, imparting the loamy fragrance of autumn. Large cotton-like clouds dotted the pale sky, while a cardinal floated across the breeze and into a clump of orange-colored maples.
A beautiful day.
Far too beautiful for Father to die.
Eliza mopped his brow and smoothed away several strands of his brown hair, guarding her tears. He was only fifty—a skilled physician in the best years of his life. Eliza shuddered. Though she knew God always worked in wisdom, she couldn’t see why He would take Father from them now.
Outside the window, the view across the swaying fields of grasses looked the same—peaceful, welcoming, joyful. But without Father this home, this place that had always brought so much happiness, would never be the same. The dreaded consumption that plagued him for so long would now take his life. The gray color of death painted his lips and small beads of sweat dotted his forehead. They could only try to comfort him and wait for the end.
Sitting opposite Eliza on the large four-poster bed, Kitty knit her fingers and blinked. Large tears rolled down her porcelain cheeks, and thick dark-auburn curls pulled free from their pins, giving testament to her constant vigil. A sob escaped her lips and Eliza instinctively reached for her younger sister’s hand and squeezed. I won’t fail you, Kitty. I won’t.
“Kitty?” Father gasped for air. “Will you . . . fetch me some more cool cloths?”
She straightened and patted her tears, trying to smile. “Aye, Father, I should have thought of that myself, forgive me. I shall return directly.” She crunched her apron in her fingers and nodded at Eliza before darting out of the room, her light step echoing down the stairs.
Eliza scooted closer to Father and gulped down the painful lump of sorrow in her throat. But it wouldn’t budge. She propped the pillows around his neck and back, but Father still winced with every rise and fall of his chest.
Lord, please be with me. I need thy strength.
“Eliza . . . listen to me.” Father wheezed as he spoke.
“Yes, Father, I’m here. I’m listening.”
He swallowed. “Behind you . . . on the mantel, underneath the candlestick is a letter.” Father stopped and tried to inhale what little air he could. “Go . . . retrieve it.”
Eliza shook her head. “I don’t want to leave your side even for a moment. I—”
Father inched his hand across the bedding and gripped Eliza’s fingers. “Get it. That letter is of . . . great importance.”
Eliza opened her mouth to protest but snapped her jaw closed. No need to cause Father any added discomfort by her disobedience. “As you wish.” Slowly, she moved from her perch at his side, careful to watch him should he begin another fit of coughs.
She removed the folded paper from underneath the heavy candlestick atop the wooden mantel. The paper was crisp and the seal fresh, as if he had just written it. But he couldn’t have. She’d been at his side for almost two weeks. When had he composed it? What information could it possibly contain that was so important?
Father turned his head on the pillow. “Aye, that is it.” He paused, his lungs wheezing. “That letter . . . is for your eyes alone. No one . . . not even Kitty can know what it reveals.”
Peering at the empty doorway, Eliza quickly took her position at his side. “What do you wish me to know that Kitty cannot?” Thank heaven her sister hadn’t yet returned with the cloths.
“You are ready for the truth, but Kitty . . . she is too headstrong . . . she must learn of it in God’s time.” Father blinked slowly.
Eliza forced a smile on her lips, while her insides twisted. Father had turned delirious. Kitty was only three years behind Eliza’s twenty. And yes, she may be headstrong at times, but she was mature and stable. Surely she could . . .
No. Best to leave this alone and change the subject before Kitty returned. “I promise I shall do my best to care for Kitty, to protect her and give her everything she needs. I shall try and raise her the way you would have me.”
Father moved his thumb across Eliza’s hand, providing comfort even in his last moments. “I know of your fears, my dear. What happened with Peter . . . was not your fault.”
Her chest constricted. Of course it was her fault. She opened her mouth to speak, but the crowd of emotions in her throat blocked her words.
Father’s tired gaze reached around Eliza’s shoulders like a tender embrace. “There is plenty of money for you and your sister to live on…. Do not worry.” He paused, his shoulders quaking as he coughed. “Focus on the letter . . . it is vital. I want you . . . to know the truth about me.”
Eliza pressed her teeth into her lip and tucked the mysterious note into her skirt pocket. What truth? Was he trying to say he’d been hiding something? Surely he knew not what he was saying.
“How is he?” Kitty rushed in, her arms laden with rags and a large pitcher of water.
“Worse.”
“I was afraid of that.” After wetting a cloth, Kitty quickly took her place at the other side of the bed and patted the damp cotton rag against Father’s forehead.
The weight of her responsibilities crushed what strength Eliza had left. Clinging to the last thread of hope within, Eliza pinned a weak smile on her lips to let Kitty know that all would be well. Though of course, it would not. They had no real family to speak of and would be alone in the world if not for Samuel. Thank the Lord he would be there for them.
“My daughters. . .” Father’s eyelids flickered, his chest barely moved.
No!
Eliza couldn’t breathe. It was upon them. The moment she’d feared for months. Eliza’s gut cramped and her eyes burned. Dearest Lord, he cannot leave us, please do not take him!
“My spirit . . . will strive with you.” Father’s mouth barely moved, his voice no more than a whisper. He lifted his gaze to Eliza’s. Somehow, in these last moments, his eyes cleared and penetrated into the raw chambers of her heart. “Find the truth . . . find the truth.”
The light left his face and his last breath hissed from his mouth.
Numb, Eliza stared, unable to move.
“Father!” Kitty draped herself over his limp form, her body shaking as she wept.
Eliza’s chest constricted as she stared at the lifeless form on the bed. Father, her greatest confidante, friend and hero had returned home to God. He still smelled of coffee and sweet tobacco. His body was still warm to the touch. Yet, he was gone.
His last words hung heavy in the air. Find the truth.
She covered her
face. What truth?
Clutching his limp hand, Eliza blinked away the blur in her vision as she set her mouth in a determined line. She clasped his fingers tighter. Whatever truth you want me to search for Father, I will find it. I promise.
The vacant alley was darker than usual, adding to the shadows that littered his heart. Thomas Watson peered up at the black sky, his hands shaking. How much longer could he endure this? He jumped at a rustling sound along the cobblestone and almost dropped the folded paper into the puddle at his feet.
Someone was watching him.
It couldn’t be . . .
His breathing stopped. He froze.
