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ave done what I did. He would never have betrayed the cause of liberty. He risked everything for it. I’m also certain he’d hang me for putting you in danger the way I have.” Thomas spat the words as if they were bitter gall.
Wrapping her arms around her knees, Eliza laced her fingers to keep from touching him. She longed to show him comfort, to assure him she held no ill feelings.
“None of what’s happened to us is your fault, Mr. Watson. ‘Tis all my father’s doing. Had he never joined the group you would never have felt to use his name. I know you did it to protect your family from harm.”
Thomas chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then turned to her. “Would you like to know the first thing your father said to me?”
Eliza jerked back and blinked. “Of course.”
“At my first meeting, your father approached me before anyone else and shook my hand. After introducing ourselves to one another he said, ‘I’m doing this for my daughters, Mr. Watson. Why are you here?’”
Eliza’s throat closed and her eyes filled with tears she could not contain. They slipped past her lashes and splashed her cheeks. “He never raised us that way, you know.” She shoved back her emotions and carefully returned the note to her pocket. Looking over at Kitty, Eliza dotted the moisture from her cheeks. “I never knew his true feelings until after he died. Neither of us did. I wish he would have told me.” She swiped at a tear with the back of her hand. “So, Mr. Watson, why were you there?”
He tossed her a fleeting grin before his expression turned somber. “Those of us in the colonies are treated like second class citizens. Our king robs us with his taxes and we have no proper representation in Parliament. Our lives will never be the same if we continue to let King George dictate his will at every delicate whim.”
Thomas looked in front of him into the mass of trees. “I was there initially for the welfare of my business. I’ve dedicated my life to my press, small though it may be. I could not much longer continue with such oppression. Through the years I have come to see the importance of the cause for the entirety of the colonies. We must be allowed to represent ourselves and live our lives separate from the king’s constant oppression.”
His eyes latched with Eliza’s. “What do you think about it all?”
Eliza could hardly believe the question. Her mouth dropped open. He cared about what she thought—what a woman thought about politics? Samuel believed it wasn’t a woman’s place to discuss it, and even her own father had never spoken to her in this way. She stuttered. “I’m . . . I’m not sure what to think about anything anymore.”
Thomas’s mouth bowed upward as he slipped his masculine hand over hers. She lifted her watery eyes, the intense loneliness of seconds ago evaporating at his touch.
“You’ll come to know in time, Eliza. God will show you.”
The low resonance of his voice sliced through her and his gaze seemed to be memorizing her face. Her breath stuck in her lungs and her muscles froze.
He’d used her first name! It sounded so good when he said it.
She pondered his words. Yes, she did believe God would show her. But would she have the faith to follow whatever it was He revealed?
The intimacy of the moment heated her cheeks. Eliza pulled her hand away and rested her back against the tree once again. Samuel’s face flashed across her mind. What would he have said to her at that moment? He certainly would not have asked her what she thought about it all.
Silence enveloped them and she cleared her throat. “You better get going if we’re to start again soon. We’ll be here when you get back.”
His face brightened in a smile that stopped her heart and he gave a quiet laugh. “I’m delighted to hear it.” After that, he was gone.
She watched until his tall form vanished from sight. Within seconds, her body surrendered to a welcoming sleep.
Samuel glared at Thomas’s uncle who slumped in the corner of his small headquarters. The room had smelled a bit unpleasant before—from dirty soldiers, smoky fires, and stale air. Now it reeked.
Even though the temperature of the room was cold, the man dripped with sweat. His fat legs were spread out in front of him and his swollen hands were tied with thick rope and lying across his bulging stomach. His fingers twitched.
Samuel slid a chair across the hardwood floor and sat only inches from his prisoner.
“Now, George Watson. If you find any value in your miserable life, you will tell me everything you know.”
George’s small black eyes rounded. “Sir, please! I know nothing. I tell you honestly. I came to port just yesterday. Tommy offered me a job. I was looking for work, you see. I needed to escape my gaming debts so I—”
“Shut up!” Samuel slapped him across his face. “I know Watson had a plan and I know you’re part of it!”
“I swear by all that’s holy, I know nothing!”
“Where did he go? Tell me now!” Samuel leaned in closer.
The man stuttered, beads of sweat trickling down his face. “All I know is that he had to meet someone last night. He said, ‘Take care of the press, Uncle.’ And then, he left.”
Samuel’s heart pumped pebbles of hot coals into his limbs. He leapt from his chair, launching it into the wall with the backs of his legs. George whimpered, shrinking into the corner as far as his large body would allow.
